A FOUND LETTER.
It was evening--the evening of the day on which Matthew Kelvin had
sent his brief note to Dr. Whitaker, making an appointment with him
for half-past eleven next morning. He had desired to be left alone for
an hour, and during that time he had contrived, with several intervals
of rest, for his weakness was very great, to write a longer letter
than had come from his pen since the first day of his illness. This
letter, duly sealed and directed, now lay on the little table by his
bedside. The address on it was very short, being simply--"Miss Lloyd,
Stammars."
By-and-by Mrs. Kelvin came into the room. As she did so, her son
quietly thrust the letter under his pillow. The old lady came to the
bedside, and beamed on him through her spectacles, as he lay there
with his arms crossed under his head. "Why, Matthew, my dear boy, I
have not seen you look so bright and well for many a long day as you
have looked during the last few hours! You have got the turn at last.
I feel sure you have. I knew that Dr. Druce would bring you round
again after a time."
"Yes, mother, I think I have got the turn at last, as you say,"
answered Kelvin, gravely. "We will never let any one say a word
against Dr. Druce again, will we?"
"Ah, he's very, very clever," said the old lady. Then she stooped and
kissed him, and as she did so, Matthew's arm stole round her neck, and
pressed her head gently on his shoulder, and kept it there some
minutes. When he let her go, she saw that there were tears in his
eyes; but she was too wise to notice them, and she began at once to
talk as though his recovery now were merely the question of a few
days, or a week at the most.
"But I shall not let you go back to business till you are quite
strong," she said. "Don't tell me that your not doing so will cost you
a great deal of money. I don't care if it costs a thousand pounds:
what is that in comparison with your health? You must have a month at
the seaside, at some cheerful place--Boulogne or Dieppe, where you
won't have time to grow melancholy. And if Olive and I go with you, we
shall not bore you overmuch with our society, but only be there to see
that you take proper care of yourself, and do not poison yourself with
those French dinners, of which you are so fond."
"I'm sure Olive deserves a holiday as much as any one," resumed Mrs.
Kelvin, a moment or two later. "What I should have done without her
all this long time that you have been ill, I'm sure I don't know. She
must be very fond of you, Matthew, to have done what she has done.
Now, don't you think she is fond of you?"
"Yes, I suppose she is fond of me--after a cousinly fashion," said
Matthew, coldly.
"Ah, you men!" sighed the old lady. "Whatever sacrifices a woman may
make for you, in your own hearts you never think they are half as much
as you deserve."
At this moment there came a tap at the door, and Olive entered the
room. She brought her cousin a basin of arrowroot, which he,
remembering his promise to Dr. Whitaker, resolved not to touch.
His eyes followed her curiously as she moved about the room. "I
cannot--no, I cannot believe it!" he murmured under his breath. "There
must be some damnable mistake somewhere."
"I have just been telling Matthew that I have not seen him look so
well for weeks as he looks to-night," said Mrs. Kelvin to Olive. "We
shall soon have him all right again now."
Olive started, and threw a quick, suspicious glance at the sick man.
He was looking at her very gravely but very kindly, as she thought.
"No: he suspects nothing, or he would not look at me in that way," she
said to herself. Then her black brows separated and her face broke
into a smile. "I really believe he is better," she said to her aunt.
"I believe he has only been shamming all this time, and now he is
getting tired of it. I should not be a bit surprised to see him come
down to breakfast to-morrow."
"I'd almost stake my life that Whitaker is making some strange
blunder!" muttered Kelvin to himself. "However, I'll carry out his
instructions, and let to-morrow prove to him how wrong he is."
Olive was anxious that he should drink his arrowroot. He just put a
spoonful to his lips, and then put it aside as being too hot. "Come in
again after my mother has gone," he contrived to whisper to her. Then
he lay back and shut his eyes, and presently both his mother and Olive
bade him good night, and left the room.
As soon as Mrs. Kelvin was gone to her own room, Olive came quietly
back. She was on the tiptoe of expectation to know what her cousin
could have to say to her. He did not keep her long in doubt.
"Olive," he said, "I have been writing a letter this evening--a letter
which I want you to deliver for me to-morrow morning."
"Very well, Matthew. You know that I am entirely at your service. To
whom is the letter addressed?"
"To Eleanor Lloyd."
"Ah!--then you have made up your mind at last to tell her everything?"
"I have made up my mind to tell her this: that I have discovered that
she is not the daughter of Jacob Lloyd, and, consequently, not
entitled to his property. But I have not made up my mind to tell her
that I've known this fact for more than six months, and have concealed
it purposely from her. I cannot tell her that."
"But why do you wish me to take the letter? Why not send it through
the post?"
"Because I am too weak at present to put down in writing more than the
barest outline of the facts, and I want you to supplement by word of
mouth what my letter fails to convey."
"Why not wait till you are a little stronger--till you can tell her,
in person, all that it is necessary she should be told?"
"Not one day longer will I wait. Eleanor Lloyd shall know the great
secret of her life before she is twenty-four hours older."
"As you will. Perhaps you are right," said Olive, quietly. "There is
no reason why Miss Lloyd should be kept in ignorance any longer."
"None whatever. I don't remember anything in my life that I have
regretted so bitterly as not having told Eleanor at first. But it is
useless to speak of the past. The future is all we can now deal with."
"Then your feeling of resentment towards Miss Lloyd has an existence
no longer?"
"It is wholly dead. A sick-bed alters one's views and feelings in many
ways. How can a man have room in his heart for any petty jealousies or
resentments when he sees the shades of death closing slowly round him?
To me all such feelings now seem as strange as though they were those
of another man, about which I had read somewhere, and had never been a
portion of my own inner life."
Olive longed to ask him whether his love for Eleanor was dead equally
with his resentment, but she was afraid that the old wound might not
yet be altogether healed.
"Then you wish me to go to Stammars to-morrow?" she said.
"I do. Miss Lloyd is there at present. I had a letter from Sir Thomas
this morning, in which he casually mentions that fact. You had better
start early--not later than ten or half-past, by which means you will
get your business over by luncheon time. Of course, you will seek a
private interview with Miss Lloyd, and not say a word to either Sir
Thomas or Lady Dudgeon about your errand. Eleanor must be left to
break the news to them in her own way and at her own time."
"It will be a bitter task to have to do so."
"It will, indeed, poor girl! Cannot you understand, Olive, my chief
reason for wanting you to go to Stammars?"
"You have told me already, have you not?"
"I have told you one reason, but not the only one. You are a woman,
Olive, and I want you to break this news to Eleanor, to whom, in any
case, it must come as a terrible shock. You do not like her, I know--at
least, I judge so from what you have said at different times. But
this is not a question of likes or dislikes. It is a question of one
woman being overwhelmed by a great trouble, and of another woman
smoothing away the sharp edges of that trouble with a little sympathy
and kindness--articles which cost so little, but, at such seasons,
mean so much. This is all I ask you to do, Olive; this is my other
reason for sending you to Stammars. Am I asking more than you care to
perform?"
"Certainly not, Matthew. It is not much that you ask me to do."
"But it means a great deal."
"How little men understand about us women!" thought Olive. "None of my
own sex, who knew the circumstances of the case, would ever have
dreamed of asking me to do what Matthew has asked me to do, and
believes I will do."
"Think what a revelation my letter will be!" continued the lawyer. "At
one fell blow she will be robbed of name, wealth, and position. Think,
and pity her."
He lay back, exhausted by the exertion of having spoken so much.
"What can I give you?" asked Olive. "Will you not have your
arrowroot?"
"No: I will take that later on. A little weak brandy-and-water is all
I need at present."
"And now I must bid you good night," said Olive, as soon as he had
revived a little.
He put the letter into her hand, and as he did so he drew her towards
him and kissed her. "I should like you to start about ten in the
morning," he said. She promised to be ready by that time, and then she
went.
"Whitaker's suspicion is nothing but a horrible nightmare," he said to
himself, as Olive left the room. "He is wrong--utterly wrong." But for
all that, Matthew Kelvin hardly slept a wink all night.
Olive took the letter to her room, locked the door, and then, after
deliberating for a few moments, she quietly tore open the envelope and
read what was inside. "If it be requisite to deliver the letter, I can
put it into another envelope, and no one will be any the wiser," she
said to herself. "If I decide not to deliver it, then another envelope
will not be needed."
"A thoroughly business-like document," she said to herself, as she
folded up the letter, "and such as any lawyer might write to any lady.
If there is no resentment in it, neither is there any love. The
resentment is dead without a doubt, but is the love dead also? Query.
Well, I will take the letter with me: there will be no harm in doing
that: but it by no means follows that Miss Lloyd will ever read it.
How easy it will be to pretend that I have lost it, and then I can
tell the story my own way--with a sting in it, and before witnesses
too, if such a thing be anyhow possible. Oh! to see her humiliation!
that will pay for everything."
She was up betimes next morning, and ready to start for Stammars soon
after ten o'clock. In answer to her anxious inquiries, her cousin
declared that he was much as usual--neither better nor worse. "You
will try your best to soften the blow, won't you, Olive?" were
Matthew's last words to her.
"You know that I will do my best," she said, with one of her faint
smiles. She laid her thin fingers in his hand for a moment, and then
she went.
By-and-by came Dr. Whitaker. Pod succeeded in smuggling him upstairs
unseen by anyone, and then took up a position in the corridor outside
to keep away any would-be intruders. Mrs. Kelvin, especially, was to
be kept out of the room. Were she to find out that her son was
closeted with Dr. Whitaker, she would imagine at once that there was a
conspiracy afoot to dispense with the services of her favourite. Dr.
Druce. Fortunately, she was busy downstairs just about that time, and
did not go near. Matthew had said that he fancied a certain sort of
pudding--an elaborate pudding, which Mrs. Kelvin was positive that no
one but herself could make properly--a pudding, as her son was quite
aware, that would require her undivided attention for at least a
couple of hours below stairs.
Mr. Pod Piper, keeping watch and ward outside his master's door, had a
long corridor all to himself, up and down which he could march as
though he were a sentry on duty. After a time, from a door at the
extreme end, there issued a pert-looking damsel, who smiled sweetly on
Pod. In one hand she carried a broom, in the other a dust-pan.
"Ah, Molly, and how are you this morning?" said Pod, with the air of a
duke addressing a dependent. "Blooming as ever, I see."
"I'm quite well, Mr. Piper, and I hope you are the same," answered
Molly, with a little blush. Then she added, with a confidential air,
"I've got such a beautiful rose downstairs. You shall have it for your
button-hole, if you'll promise to wear it."
"I'll wear it for your sake, Molly. But whose room is that that you
have just come out of?"
"Oh, that's Miss Deane's room. I've just been tidying it up a bit
while she's out of the way."
"You like her, of course? Everybody likes Miss Deane."
"Then everybody's welcome to like her.--She's too sly for me.--But,
see, I found this letter when I was sweeping just now behind her
dressing-table. It must have slipped down without her knowing it. It's
been opened; but as it's got master's name on it, I hardly know
whether to leave it where I found it or to let master have it."
"Allow me," said Pod, authoritatively, taking the letter from the
girl's hand. "You were quite right, Molly, to ask my advice." As Molly
had said, the letter was plainly addressed to Mr. Kelvin, and it had
evidently been opened. As two-thirds of the office correspondence was
seen by Pod in one form or another, and as this particular letter was
not marked "Private," he felt no compunction about opening it and
reading it. It was Gerald Warburton's first letter, in which he asked
whether it was true that Jacob Lloyd had died with out a will, and
that he was his uncle's heir.
Pod's mind was made up in a moment. It seemed doubtful whether hi
master had ever seen the letter: in any case, he should see it now.
"You had better leave this in my hands, Molly," he said, still with his
ducal air. "It is only an ordinary business letter, which has been
given to Miss Deane for some purpose, and which she has evidently
mislaid. You may depend upon my making it all right, and there will be
no need for you to say a word about it." Then he kissed Molly and told
her not to forget the rose, and then he let her go.
"Another of your little tricks, Miss Deane, or else I'm vastly
mistaken," said Mr. Piper to himself. "This letter has been cut open
with a pair of scissors. The governor never cut open a letter with a
pair of scissors in his life. Funny, very."
Pod's watch came to an end in about an hour. He was summoned into the
room, and, much to his surprise, found his master dressed and sitting
in his easy-chair. How gaunt and hollow-eyed he looked! What a wreck
of his former self! How loosely his clothes hung about him! Tears came
into Pod's eyes as he looked at him. All Kelvin's sternness and
arbitrary ways were forgotten in pity for the plight in which he saw
him now. Dr. Whitaker, with his arms folded on the table, was
regarding him attentively.
"Piper," said Mr. Kelvin, "I want you to let Dr. Whitaker out, and you
must contrive it so that my mother does not see him."
"Yes, sir."
"After that, you will come and help me to crawl downstairs as far as
my mother's sitting-room."
"Yes, sir."
Dr. Whitaker rose and took his hat. "Beg pardon, sir," said Pod to his
master, "but here's a letter which Molly the house-maid gave me just
now. She found it in Miss Deane's room while sweeping behind the
dressing-table. As the letter is addressed to you, I thought I had
better let you have it."
Kelvin took the letter with hands that trembled a little, and looked
first of all at the direction, and then at the mode in which the
letter had been opened. Dr. Whitaker came forward to shake hands.
"Don't go for a minute or two," said Kelvin. "There is something else
I want to say to you."
Dr. Whitaker sat down again, and Kelvin drew out the letter and
glanced first of all at the signature. He started when he saw the
name, and then he ran his eye quickly over the contents; last of all
he read the letter through, slowly and carefully.
"This is dated nearly a month ago," he said, "and yet I have never
seen it till to-day. It has been kept purposely from me. By what a web
of treachery and deceit am I enmeshed! It is horrible--horrible!" He
sat for a little while in silence, holding the letter in his hand, his
eyes bent sadly on the floor. No one spoke.
"Whitaker," he said at last, turning abruptly on the doctor, "I want
to go to Stammars."
"To Stammars! When?"
"Now--at once."
"Impossible! I would not answer for the consequences of such a mad
act."
"Whatever the consequences may be, I must go, and at once. Piper, run
to the 'King's Head,' and order a brougham to be here in ten minutes
from now." Pod was off like a shot.
"Kelvin, you must be crazy to do this thing."
"Perhaps so, my friend, but still, I shall do it. During the last
half-hour it seems as if the scales had fallen from my eyes. I seem
now to see that woman as she really is--not as I have always believed
her to be. I sent her to Stammars this morning with a message of the
utmost importance. How will she deliver that message? Not as I asked
her to deliver it, but----What a fool I must have been to send her on
such an errand! I tell you, Whitaker, that I must go after her: that
there is not a minute to lose."
"If you must go, you must, but in that case I shall go with you."
And in that way the matter was settled. Dr. Whitaker, finding that
further opposition was useless, yielded the point, but was determined
not to lose sight of Kelvin till he had seen him safely back in his
own room. A quarter of an hour later the brougham came round. Kelvin
managed to crawl downstairs, a step at a time, supported on each side
by Whitaker and Pod. Mrs. Kelvin, being still busy with her pudding in
the back part of the house, knew nothing of all this. Matthew sent her
a message by Mr. Bray, his chief clerk; but it was not to be given to
her till after the brougham had started.
Then Pod climbed on to the box beside the driver, and away they went.