MACPHERSON'S HOTEL.
Phineas, when he was left alone, found himself greatly at a loss as
to what he had better do. He had pledged himself to see Mr. Kennedy,
and was not much afraid of encountering personal violence at the
hands of that gentleman. But he could think of nothing which he could
with advantage say to Mr. Kennedy. He knew that Lady Laura would not
return to her husband. Much as she dreaded such exposure as was now
threatened, she would not return to Loughlinter to avoid even that.
He could not hold out any such hope to Mr. Kennedy;--and without
doing so how could he stop the publication? He thought of getting
an injunction from the Vice-Chancellor;--but it was now Sunday, and
he had understood that the publication would appear on the morrow,
unless stopped by some note from himself. He thought of finding some
attorney, and taking him to Mr. Kennedy; but he knew that Mr. Kennedy
would be deterred by no attorney. Then he thought of Mr. Low. He
would see Mr. Kennedy first, and then go to Mr. Low's house.
Judd Street runs into the New Road near the great stations of the
Midland and Northern Railways, and is a highly respectable street.
But it can hardly be called fashionable, as is Piccadilly; or
central, as is Charing Cross; or commercial, as is the neighbourhood
of St. Paul's. Men seeking the shelter of an hotel in Judd Street
most probably prefer decent and respectable obscurity to other
advantages. It was some such feeling, no doubt, joined to the fact
that the landlord had originally come from the neighbourhood of
Loughlinter, which had taken Mr. Kennedy to Macpherson's Hotel.
Phineas, when he called at about three o'clock on Sunday afternoon,
was at once informed by Mrs. Macpherson that Mr. Kennedy was "nae
doubt at hame, but was nae willing to see folk on the Saaboth."
Phineas pleaded the extreme necessity of his business, alleging
that Mr. Kennedy himself would regard its nature as a sufficient
justification for such Sabbath-breaking,--and sent up his card.
Then there came down a message to him. Could not Mr. Finn postpone
his visit to the following morning? But Phineas declared that it
could not be postponed. Circumstances, which he would explain to
Mr. Kennedy, made it impossible. At last he was desired to walk up
stairs, though Mrs. Macpherson, as she showed him the way, evidently
thought that her house was profaned by such wickedness.
Macpherson in preparing his house had not run into that extravagance
of architecture which has lately become so common in our hotels.
It was simply an ordinary house, with the words "Macpherson's
Hotel" painted on a semi-circular board over the doorway. The front
parlour had been converted into a bar, and in the back parlour the
Macphersons lived. The staircase was narrow and dirty, and in the
front drawing-room,--with the chamber behind for his bedroom,--Mr.
Kennedy was installed. Mr. Macpherson probably did not expect any
customers beyond those friendly Scots who came up to London from his
own side of the Highlands. Mrs. Macpherson, as she opened the door,
was silent and almost mysterious. Such a breach of the law might
perhaps be justified by circumstances of which she knew nothing, but
should receive no sanction from her which she could avoid. So she did
not even whisper the name.
Mr. Kennedy, as Phineas entered, slowly rose from his chair, putting
down the Bible which had been in his hands. He did not speak at once,
but looked at his visitor over the spectacles which he wore. Phineas
thought that he was even more haggard in appearance and aged than
when they two had met hardly three months since at Loughlinter. There
was no shaking of hands, and hardly any pretence at greeting. Mr.
Kennedy simply bowed his head, and allowed his visitor to begin the
conversation.
"I should not have come to you on such a day as this, Mr. Kennedy--"
"It is a day very unfitted for the affairs of the world," said Mr.
Kennedy.
"Had not the matter been most pressing in regard both to time and its
own importance."
"So the woman told me, and therefore I have consented to see you."
"You know a man of the name of--Slide, Mr. Kennedy?" Mr. Kennedy
shook his head. "You know the editor of the People's Banner?" Again
he shook his head. "You have, at any rate, written a letter for
publication to that newspaper."
"Need I consult you as to what I write?"
"But he,--the editor,--has consulted me."
"I can have nothing to do with that."
"This Mr. Slide, the editor of the People's Banner, has just been
with me, having in his hand a printed letter from you, which,--you
will excuse me, Mr. Kennedy,--is very libellous."
"I will bear the responsibility of that."
"But you would not wish to publish falsehood about your wife, or even
about me."
"Falsehood! sir; how dare you use that word to me? Is it false to say
that she has left my house? Is it false to say that she is my wife,
and cannot desert me, as she has done, without breaking her vows, and
disregarding the laws both of God and man? Am I false when I say that
I gave her no cause? Am I false when I offer to take her back, let
her faults be what they may have been? Am I false when I say that her
father acts illegally in detaining her? False! False in your teeth!
Falsehood is villany, and it is not I that am the villain."
"You have joined my name in the accusation."
"Because you are her paramour. I know you now;--viper that was warmed
in my bosom! Will you look me in the face and tell me that, had
it not been for you, she would not have strayed from me?" To this
Phineas could make no answer. "Is it not true that when she went with
me to the altar you had been her lover?"
"I was her lover no longer, when she once told me that she was to be
your wife."
"Has she never spoken to you of love since? Did she not warn you from
the house in her faint struggle after virtue? Did she not whistle you
back again when she found the struggle too much for her? When I asked
you to the house, she bade you not come. When I desired that you
might never darken my eyes again, did she not seek you? With whom was
she walking on the villa grounds by the river banks when she resolved
that she would leave all her duties and desert me? Will you dare
to say that you were not then in her confidence? With whom was she
talking when she had the effrontery to come and meet me at the house
of the Prime Minister, which I was bound to attend? Have you not been
with her this very winter in her foreign home?"
"Of course I have,--and you sent her a message by me."
"I sent no message. I deny it. I refused to be an accomplice in your
double guilt. I laid my command upon you that you should not visit my
wife in my absence, and you disobeyed, and you are an adulterer. Who
are you that you are to come for ever between me and my wife?"
"I never injured you in thought or deed. I come to you now because I
have seen a printed letter which contains a gross libel upon myself."
"It is printed then?" he asked, in an eager tone.
"It is printed; but it need not, therefore, be published. It is a
libel, and should not be published. I shall be forced to seek redress
at law. You cannot hope to regain your wife by publishing false
accusations against her."
"They are true. I can prove every word that I have written. She dare
not come here, and submit herself to the laws of her country. She is
a renegade from the law, and you abet her in her sin. But it is not
vengeance that I seek. 'Vengeance is mine, saith the Lord.'"
"It looks like vengeance, Mr. Kennedy."
"Is it for you to teach me how I shall bear myself in this time of my
great trouble?" Then suddenly he changed; his voice falling from one
of haughty defiance to a low, mean, bargaining whisper. "But I'll
tell you what I'll do. If you will say that she shall come back again
I'll have it cancelled, and pay all the expenses."
"I cannot bring her back to you."
"She'll come if you tell her. If you'll let them understand that she
must come they'll give way. You can try it at any rate."
"I shall do nothing of the kind. Why should I ask her to submit
herself to misery?"
"Misery! What misery? Why should she be miserable? Must a woman need
be miserable because she lives with her husband? You hear me say that
I will forgive everything. Even she will not doubt me when I say so,
because I have never lied to her. Let her come back to me, and she
shall live in peace and quiet, and hear no word of reproach."
"I can have nothing to do with it, Mr. Kennedy."
"Then, sir, you shall abide my wrath." With that he sprang quickly
round, grasping at something which lay upon a shelf near him, and
Phineas saw that he was armed with a pistol. Phineas, who had
hitherto been seated, leaped to his legs; but the pistol in a moment
was at his head, and the madman pulled at the trigger. But the
mechanism of the instrument required that some bolt should be loosed
before the hammer would fall upon the nipple, and the unhandy wretch
for an instant fumbled over the work so that Phineas, still facing
his enemy, had time to leap backwards towards the door. But Kennedy,
though he was awkward, still succeeded in firing before our friend
could leave the room. Phineas heard the thud of the bullet, and knew
that it must have passed near his head. He was not struck, however;
and the man, frightened at his own deed, abstained from the second
shot, or loitered long enough in his remorse to enable his prey to
escape. With three or four steps Phineas leaped down the stairs, and,
finding the front door closed, took shelter within Mrs. Macpherson's
bar. "The man is mad," he said; "did you not hear the shot?" The
woman was too frightened to reply, but stood trembling, holding
Phineas by the arm. There was nobody in the house, she said, but
she and the two lasses. "Nae doobt the Laird's by ordinaire," she
said at last. She had known of the pistol; but had not dared to have
it removed. She and Macpherson had only feared that he would hurt
himself,--and had at last agreed, as day after day passed without any
injury from the weapon, to let the thing remain unnoticed. She had
heard the shot, and had been sure that one of the two men above would
have been killed.
[Illustration: "Then, sir, you shall abide my wrath."]
Phineas was now in great doubt as to what duty was required of him.
His first difficulty consisted in this,--that his hat was still in
Mr. Kennedy's room, and that Mrs. Macpherson altogether refused to go
and fetch it. While they were still discussing this, and Phineas had
not as yet resolved whether he would first get a policeman or go at
once to Mr. Low, the bell from the room was rung furiously. "It's
the Laird," said Mrs. Macpherson, "and if naebody waits on him he'll
surely be shooting ane of us." The two girls were now outside the bar
shaking in their shoes, and evidently unwilling to face the danger.
At last the door of the room above was opened, and our hero's hat was
sent rolling down the stairs.
It was clear to Phineas that the man was so mad as to be not even
aware of the act he had perpetrated. "He'll do nothing more with the
pistol," he said, "unless he should attempt to destroy himself." At
last it was determined that one of the girls should be sent to fetch
Macpherson home from the Scotch Church, and that no application
should be made at once to the police. It seemed that the Macphersons
knew the circumstances of their guest's family, and that there was a
cousin of his in London who was the only one with whom he seemed to
have any near connection. The thing that had occurred was to be told
to this cousin, and Phineas left his address, so that if it should be
thought necessary he might be called upon to give his account of the
affair. Then, in his perturbation of spirit, he asked for a glass of
brandy; and having swallowed it, was about to take his leave. "The
brandy wull be saxpence, sir," said Mrs. Macpherson, as she wiped the
tears from her eyes.
Having paid for his refreshment, Phineas got into a cab, and had
himself driven to Mr. Low's house. He had escaped from his peril,
and now again it became his strongest object to stop the publication
of the letter which Slide had shown him. But as he sat in the cab
he could not hinder himself from shuddering at the danger which had
been so near to him. He remembered his sensation as he first saw the
glimmer of the barrel of the pistol, and then became aware of the
man's first futile attempt, and afterwards saw the flash and heard
the hammer fall at the same moment. He had once stood up to be fired
at in a duel, and had been struck by the ball. But nothing in that
encounter had made him feel sick and faint through every muscle as
he had felt just now. As he sat in the cab he was aware that but for
the spirits he had swallowed he would be altogether overcome, and
he doubted even now whether he would be able to tell his story to
Mr. Low. Luckily perhaps for him neither Mr. Low nor his wife were
at home. They were out together, but were expected in between five
and six. Phineas declared his purpose of waiting for them, and
requested that Mr. Low might be asked to join him in the dining-room
immediately on his return. In this way an hour was allowed him, and
he endeavoured to compose himself. Still, even at the end of the
hour, his heart was beating so violently that he could hardly control
the motion of his own limbs. "Low, I have been shot at by a madman,"
he said, as soon as his friend entered the room. He had determined to
be calm, and to speak much more of the document in the editor's hands
than of the attempt which had been made on his own life; but he had
been utterly unable to repress the exclamation.
"Shot at?"
"Yes; by Robert Kennedy; the man who was Chancellor of the
Duchy;--almost within a yard of my head." Then he sat down and burst
out into a fit of convulsive laughter.
The story about the pistol was soon told, and Mr. Low was of opinion
that Phineas should not have left the place without calling in
policemen and giving an account to them of the transaction. "But
I had something else on my mind," said Phineas, "which made it
necessary that I should see you at once;--something more important
even than this madman's attack upon me. He has written a most
foul-mouthed attack upon his wife, which is already in print, and
will I fear be published to-morrow morning." Then he told the story
of the letter. "Slide no doubt will be at the People's Banner
office to-night, and I can see him there. Perhaps when I tell
him what has occurred he will consent to drop the publication
altogether."
But in this view of the matter Mr. Low did not agree with his
visitor. He argued the case with a deliberation which to Phineas in
his present state of mind was almost painful. If the whole story of
what had occurred were told to Quintus Slide, that worthy protector
of morals and caterer for the amusement of the public would, Mr.
Low thought, at once publish the letter and give a statement of the
occurrence at Macpherson's Hotel. There would be nothing to hinder
him from so profitable a proceeding, as he would know that no one
would stir on behalf of Lady Laura in the matter of the libel, when
the tragedy of Mr. Kennedy's madness should have been made known. The
publication would be as safe as attractive. But if Phineas should
abstain from going to him at all, the same calculation which had
induced him to show the letter would induce him to postpone the
publication, at any rate for another twenty-four hours. "He means
to make capital out of his virtue; and he won't give that up for
the sake of being a day in advance. In the meantime we will get an
injunction from the Vice-Chancellor to stop the publication."
"Can we do that in one day?"
"I think we can. Chancery isn't what it used to be," said Mr. Low,
with a sigh. "I'll tell you what I'll do. I'll go this very moment
to Pickering." Mr. Pickering at this time was one of the three
Vice-Chancellors. "It isn't exactly the proper thing for counsel
to call on a judge on a Sunday afternoon with the direct intention
of influencing his judgment for the following morning; but this
is a case in which a point may be strained. When such a paper as
the People's Banner gets hold of a letter from a madman, which
if published would destroy the happiness of a whole family, one
shouldn't stick at a trifle. Pickering is just the man to take a
common-sense view of the matter. You'll have to make an affidavit
in the morning, and we can get the injunction served before two or
three o'clock. Mr. Septimus Slope, or whatever his name is, won't
dare to publish it after that. Of course, if it comes out to-morrow
morning, we shall have been too late; but this will be our best
chance." So Mr. Low got his hat and umbrella, and started for the
Vice-Chancellor's house. "And I tell you what, Phineas;--do you stay
and dine here. You are so flurried by all this, that you are not fit
to go anywhere else."
"I am flurried."
"Of course you are. Never mind about dressing. Do you go up and tell
Georgiana all about it;--and have dinner put off half-an-hour. I must
hunt Pickering up, if I don't find him at home." Then Phineas did
go upstairs and tell Georgiana--otherwise Mrs. Low--the whole story.
Mrs. Low was deeply affected, declaring her opinion very strongly as
to the horrible condition of things, when madmen could go about with
pistols, and without anybody to take care against them. But as to
Lady Laura Kennedy, she seemed to think that the poor husband had
great cause of complaint, and that Lady Laura ought to be punished.
Wives, she thought, should never leave their husbands on any pretext;
and, as far as she had heard the story, there had been no pretext at
all in the case. Her sympathies were clearly with the madman, though
she was quite ready to acknowledge that any and every step should be
taken which might be adverse to Mr. Quintus Slide.