POOR JOHN!
Miss Brancker had told her brother that, whether he liked it or no,
she should insist on his taking a month's holiday before he even began
to look for another situation, and at the time she quite believed in
her power to make him to do so. It was not as if he could not afford a
holiday, for he had between three and four hundred pounds put away,
which he had saved up month by month, a little at a time, out of his
salary. But John in a situation and John out of one were two very
different people. To have taken a holiday under his present
circumstances would, to his thrifty notions, have seemed both a waste
of time and a waste of money. Instead of enjoying himself he would
simply have "grizzled," to use his own term, and would have come back
worse in health, both of mind and body, then he went. Even Miss
Brancker, after a day or two, was compelled to admit that it would be
useless to press the point further.
John did not lose much time in setting about looking for something to
do. His first proceeding was to call on Mr. Umpleby, the chief partner
and manager of the Dulminster Bank, to whom he was personally known as
one of Mr. Avison's most trusted officials.
No one could have received him more kindly than Mr. Umpleby received
him, to whom, of course, all the facts connected with the trial and
verdict were well known. While John went on to unfold, which he did
without reserve, his reasons for sending in his resignation, the
Banker simply interjected an occasional "Ah! yes," or "Just so," or "I
quite understand," but was careful to commit himself to no opinion in
the case either one way or the other. John had told him frankly at the
beginning of the interview with what purpose he had sought him, and
Mr. Umpleby now went on to explain that, highly as he thought of Mr.
Brancker's business abilities, and greatly as he esteemed his personal
character, he was afraid it was out of his power to do anything for
him in the way he, Mr. Brancker, seemed to have half-expected he could
do. In the first place, at the present time there was no vacancy of
any kind in the Bank staff; and, in the second, even had there been a
vacancy worthy of Mr. Brancker's acceptance, it would scarcely have
been right and fair, as Mr. Brancker would doubtless be the first to
admit, not to have filled it up from the ranks of the more subordinate
members of their own staff, among whom, Mr. Umpleby was sorry to say,
the chances of promotion were by no means so frequent as he would have
liked them to be. This latter was a point which it was impossible for
John to contend against: in a similar position he would have acted in
a similar way. He came away with his hopes a little dashed, and
feeling much less sanguine about his future than he had hitherto done.
The next thing he did was to advertise in the local newspaper for a
situation, but although the advertisement appeared for three
consecutive weeks, it elicited no response whatever. Then John fell
back on the London dailies, or rather, on two of them, in which an
advertisement, drawn up by him, made its appearance day after day
with praiseworthy regularity, while, at the same time, he did not
fail to wade through the daily lists of situations vacant. It was a
heart-wearying task, as hundreds, nay thousands, of others have proved
to their cost. Sometimes he replied to a likely advertisement;
occasionally he received an answer to his own. In the majority of
cases his age and his lack of general commercial experience proved
fatal barriers to success. In other cases, where his acquirements
seemed to be the very things advertised for, and after he had been
asked to furnish his name and address, together with those of his
referees, would come the inevitable question:
"Are you the person who was lately tried on a charge of murder?"
On John's replying in the affirmative, the correspondence would
abruptly cease. Heart-wearying work, truly! For the first time in his
life John began to despair.
Hitherto no one save his sister and his friend, Mr. Kittaway, had been
made the confidants of his many disappointments. The knowledge had
been carefully kept from Hermia. He was unwilling that the sunshine of
her young life should be overshadowed by ever so faint a cloud, if he
could in any way help it. One evening, however, when his heart felt
more than commonly sore, and he and Clement Hazeldine happened to be
alone together, Miss Brancker and Hermia being out shopping, he could
not resist pouring the story of his trials and troubles into the
sympathetic ears of the young surgeon. Sympathy, of course, was all
the latter could give in return, and John asked for nothing more.
A few days later, Clem made it in his way to call upon his brother at
Beecham. His chief object in doing so was to tell him of his
engagement to Hermia, but he determined to mention John Brancker's
case at the same time, knowing how fully convinced Edward was of the
latter's innocence.
Clem found Edward in his office, and was glad to see how much better
he was looking than he had looked during the two months immediately
following their father's death.
After a little conversation, having reference chiefly to Mrs.
Hazeldine and her affairs, Clem said, a faint flush dyeing his cheeks
the while:
"And now I've an item of news to tell you which may, or may not,
interest you. I am engaged to be married."
Edward gave vent to a low whistle. "May I ask the lady's name?"
"Miss Hermia Rivers. I don't think you are acquainted with her, but
you may, perhaps, have heard of her existence. She is niece to John
Brancker, and lives with him at Nairn Cottage."
Edward Hazeldine's jaw dropped a little, and he sat staring at his
brother for a few moments without speaking. "John Brancker's niece!"
he exclaimed presently, but not as if addressing himself to Clem.
"What is there to be surprised at, may I ask?" queried the latter,
with just a shade of annoyance in his voice.
"Has the young lady any dowry--any fortune of her own?"
"Not one penny," was Clem's emphatic reply.
"Hum! That's rather a pity, is it not, when there are so many
well-to-do young ladies in Ashdown--you know how scarce eligible men
are in these small provincial towns--among whom, and I say it with no
wish to flatter you, you might have your pick and choice."
"That may or may not be the case, but seeing that there is not one
among the young ladies in question whom I have any wish to make my
wife, there is no need to drag them into the question."
"I was not aware that you were in a position to marry," said Edward,
coldly; "that is to say, to marry anyone who has nothing but herself
to bring you."
"I simply said that I was engaged to be married," rejoined Clem
equably. "I mentioned no date for the ceremony. In all probability it
won't take place for a couple of years at the soonest, by which time I
hope to be in a position which will render my marriage with a
portionless girl not quite such an imprudence as you seem, and perhaps
rightly, to think it would be now. Till that time comes," he added,
smilingly, "I will refrain from asking you to congratulate me."
Edward sat trimming his nails. His manner implied, or so his brother
seemed to think, that he either did not care, or did not wish to
discuss the matter further, and Clem, on his part, was quite willing
to let it drop. He was too used to his brother's little peculiarities
of temper and manner to feel in the slightest degree offended at the
way his news had been received. He had not deemed it needful to
mention that Hermia was only the adopted niece of John Brancker. He
felt that the secret was not his own to tell. It would be time enough
to reveal it when he and Hermia were man and wife.
"The mention of what I have just told you," he presently resumed,
"reminds me of something else which I think it only right that you
should be made acquainted with. John Brancker----"
"What of him?" demanded Edward quickly, his apathy gone in a moment.
"He is in great trouble and distress of mind, and well he may be."
With that, Clem proceeded to relate all that John in his burst of
confidence had told him a few evenings before. Edward listened with
the deepest attention. When Clem had ended, he said hotly, "It seems a
great shame, an infamous shame, that an innocent man should be so
treated. To have such facts brought home to one is enough to make one
despair of one's fellow creatures."
"Something ought to be done for him in view of all he has suffered and
gone through, but I must confess that at present I don't see what that
something ought to be," remarked the younger brother.
"Something must and shall be done," said Edward, emphatically. "Leave
the matter with me to think over. I will either call on you, or drop
you a line as soon as I see my way."
Although matters with Edward Hazeldine had gone so far well that John
Brancker had been acquitted, while his father's shameful secret
remained unsuspected by anyone, he was far from being a happy man, far
from being able to boast of that peace of mind--untouched by anything
more serious than trivial business annoyances--which had been his
before his father's death. The secret he carried about with him was
the nightmare of his life. Never was there a man less prone than he to
introspective brooding, or the creation of imaginary troubles, yet,
despite his native strength of mind, despite his persistent
reassurances of himself that, after this lapse of time, after the
authorities had apparently given up all expectation of ever being able
to solve the mystery, and now that the whole affair seemed buried out
of sight and done with, anything could ever happen which would reveal
it to the world, and therewith the base and ignoble part played by him
throughout--despite all this, the secret which he hid up in his breast
was like a slow poison working in his blood, unstringing his nervous
system, and to some extent, or so it seemed to him, devitalizing his
brain. It was as if his ambition were paralyzed. He lived in perpetual
dread of he knew not what. Any day, in some mysterious way he could
not even guess at, the secret of his father's death might be brought
to light. The monstrous injustice of which he had allowed John
Brancker to be the victim did not fail to still rankle in his heart,
an unhealed sore for which it seemed hopeless to find a cure. And now,
on the top of all this, came his brother's communication. What was to
be done?
It had been his intention to propose to Miss Winterton early in the
new year, but with that black shadow keeping him company wherever he
went and refusing to be laid, he had kept putting off the decisive
moment from day to day till, for the time being, the opportunity was
gone. Lord and Lady Elstree had left Seeham Lodge for Torquay, taking
Miss Winterton with them, and the date of their return was uncertain.
Edward Hazeldine, although he would have been loth to confess it, was
not sorry for the reprieve.
Ten days after their interview, he drove into Ashdown and called on
his brother. He had not let the grass grow under his feet in the
interim. He had been successful in obtaining the promise of a
situation for John Brancker in the office of one of his friends, a
London merchant in an extensive way of business. Mr. Lucas, the
merchant in question, was under certain obligations to Edward
Hazeldine, and had at once acceded to his request to find a stool in
his counting-house for John, who was to present himself there on the
Monday morning next ensuing. Thereupon he handed his brother a note of
introduction, requesting him, at the same time, to see John as soon as
possible and give him the note, together with the writer's best wishes
for his prosperity and success in his new calling. He felt a singular
repugnance to calling in person upon the man to whom his moral
cowardice had been the cause of such unmerited suffering. It seemed to
him as if he should breathe more freely when John was a hundred miles
away.
John gave expression to his gratitude in warm terms for the service
Mr. Edward had rendered him, and yet--and yet he felt that it would be
very hard to have to break up his little home and sever the many ties
which the habitude of years had worn into his daily life till they
seemed to have become part and parcel of it. But there was no help for
it, and when that is the case to murmur is foolishness. To meet the
inevitable with repinings had never been John's way, and it was not so
now.
There was no need, however, to make any sudden or immediate change at
the Cottage. John was to go a month on trial, and should everything
prove satisfactory at the end of that time, then would a new home in
one of the metropolitan suburbs have to be looked for and settled upon
and the dreaded change made. Neither by John nor his sister was the
probable change regarded with more apprehension than by Hermia and her
lover. They would be parted; they could only hope to see each other at
infrequent intervals; the thought was infinitely bitter to both, but
it was a bitterness which they kept to themselves and only spoke of to
each other. Not for worlds would they have added to the weight of
regret which Uncle John and Aunt Charlotte had put up with already.
Monday morning came in due course, and John took his departure for
London by the seven o'clock train.