Mr. Crane obtained nothing by his visit to the city, except a bad cold,
caught in a draughty omnibus, in which he rode because he was too stingy
to indulge himself with a cab; all the men he wished to see were out of
town, or attending some special appointment, and no information could he
obtain in regard to the security of his property invested in the “Direct
Overland Route to India Railway” shares, so he returned home in a worse
temper than any in which Kate had yet seen him, and led her such a life
of misery, during the evening, by means of a process termed, in the
_patois_ of back kitchens and washhouses, “nagging” at her, that when
she retired to her own room, at ten o’clock, she was so utterly worn
out, that she sat down and cried, from sheer nervous depression. If
Arthur Hazlehurst could have seen her then, he would scarcely have
recognized in that shrinking, trembling, spirit-broken woman, the proud,
cold, haughty, beautiful Kate, who had won his heart but to trample
on it in her career of worldly ambition;--if he had heard her broken,
faltering prayer that death might soon relieve her from the daily,
hourly martyrdom of striving to render respect and obedience to a
man whom she did not hate, only because hate involves some degree of
equality, and Mr. Crane she too utterly despised,--if Arthur could have
witnessed her total prostration, mental and bodily, he would scarcely
have retained his hard thoughts of her, although the gentler ones which
might have replaced them, would, in their way, have been exquisitely
painful to him.
The next morning, Mr. Crane’s cold was worse, and Kate recommended him
to dispatch a note to his man of business, asking him to come to Park
Lane; which advice, being good and sensible, was, of course, rejected,
and Kate was asked whether, not content with impoverishing him by her
extravagance, and by the burden of supporting her pauper relatives, she
wished to ruin him quite, by inducing him to neglect the management
of his property. Having delivered himself of this kind and judicious
remark, so well calculated to call forth and rivet the affection of
the wife of his bosom, this noble specimen of “Man, the great master of
all,” took ’bus for the city, to clip the wings which, he feared, his
riches were about to make for themselves. His man of business was again
“in court,” and uncome-at-able; but when he reached the office of the
“Overland Route to India Railway Company,” he found there Mr. Bonus
Nugget, in as near an approach to a rage as was at all compatible with
his high standing and intense respectability; a frame of mind in which
Mr. Crane speedily sympathised, when the disastrous intelligence was
communicated to him that a sum of nearly £18,000 had been drawn out of
their bankers’ hands, in the joint names of Horace D’Almayne and Herr
Vondenthaler, the former being abroad, and no trace to be discovered of
the latter. Poor Mr. Crane! he loved his money dearly, he could not
bear to part with it even to pay a bill; and, as to giving it in
charity (“fooling it away” was the term he applied to such senseless
squandering), that was an unbusiness-like weakness of which he had never
been guilty; and now to have his idol thus rudely torn from him, oh! it
was too cruel. If Nugget had not been present, he would have sat down
and cried, for his sympathy with, and pity for himself was unbounded;
but, as he was not alone, he swore instead, for the sake of appearances;
but he did not swear well; for to anathematize, _con brio_, demands more
energy than Mr. Crane possessed. Having sworn, however, to the best
of his ability, he and Mr. Nugget went into the affairs of the company
together, and really, according to the latter gentleman’s showing, the
speculation appeared to be progressing so well, that these ministers of
Mammon agreed the defalcation must be made good, and the public be kept
in the dark as to aught being “rotten in the state of Denmark.” So,
strange and mysterious proceedings were entered upon; bills for large
sums of money, drawn by Mr. Nugget and endorsed by Mr. Crane, and
cheques bearing that gentleman’s signature, were deposited with the
company’s bankers, to replace the £18,000 with which Herr Vondenthaler
had eloped; also astute detectives were placed on that gentleman’s
track, and desired to look out for Horace D’Almayne, should he venture
to set his foot on English soil,--an imprudence which Mr. Crane
declared, confidentially, he was sure he never would be fool enough to
commit. For once, however, that worthy man’s sagacity was at fault, as
he was informed, on his return home, that a gentleman was waiting to
see him in his library; and greatly was he astonished, and, if the truth
must be told, considerably alarmed also, when the stranger proved to be
none other than the unblushing Horace himself. Their interview was
long, but it ended much more agreeably than it began; for Horace, first
clearing himself from the imputation of having had any hand in the
railway company defalcation, by proving that, at the time the cheque was
drawn and presented, he was at Ostend, gradually elicited from Mr.
Crane the fact of the anonymous letter, which, when it was with
much reluctance submitted to him, he at once recognised to be in the
handwriting of the perfidious Vondenthaler. Having produced satisfactory
evidence of this fact also, he produced something still more
satisfactory, viz., certain bills, promising to pay on demand, at an
early date, the cash which he had proceeded to Holland to obtain.
This palpable proof of his factotum’s integrity quieted all Mr. Crane’s
suspicions, and D’Almayne was from that moment reinstated in his
patron’s good opinion. But now, according to his own showing, this
excellent young man was himself the victim of circumstances. His name
having been the name selected by the forger Vondenthaler, he felt
that he ought to withdraw from the railway company altogether; if he
remained, he should always be an object of suspicion. He knew the nature
of city capitalists well; they had not all such enlightened views, such
generous souls, as his excellent friend Mr. Crane; besides, he could
not reconcile it with his honour to remain a director without paying, in
ready money, his share of the loss they had sustained by the rascality
of Vondenthaler--a man who, he blushed to reflect, he had introduced. He
would most gladly pay his share that minute, but he honestly confessed
he had not the money ready.
He knew what he would do; he would sell his estate in Normandy--England
was the country of his adoption; if he could not live there, life would
become a burden to him. No! he would go to France, sell his estate, and,
with the proceeds, return to redeem his honour. But it would be at a
sacrifice; he must part with his shares in the Overland Railway, shares
that were certain to become so fine an investment: did Mr. Crane know
any one who would like to purchase them? Mr. Crane paused, considered,
and then, in what he considered to be an off-hand, indifferent manner,
though eager rapacity twinkled in his cunning eye, and quivered on his
trembling lip, he replied, “If it will be any accommodation to you,
D’Almayne, I don’t know that I should object to take your shares myself;
and, in regard to your Normandy estate, it seems a pity you should
be forced to sell it, at a time, perhaps, when you may not obtain its
proper value. You have the title-deeds in England; suppose we look
through them together. I have lent you money on them already, and might
perhaps be willing to advance you more on the same terms--six per cent.,
I think? this would afford you time to look about you, and to sell
your estate, if you must part with it, to better advantage.” Horace
D’Almayne’s gratitude was quite touching to witness; so was his manner
at dinner, which Mr. Crane insisted upon his stopping to partake
of. Kate was greatly astonished, and not best pleased, to find him
reinstated in his former high position in her husband’s favour; but he
treated her with such respectful deference, and his conversation was so
clever and interesting, that it was impossible for her not to contrast
his social advantages with those of Mr. Crane, which did not gain by
the comparison. Kate was nervous and unhappy, a state of mind in which
kindness, or its reverse, is felt with a morbid degree of acuteness; and
just as much as Mr. Crane’s peevish irritability oppressed and annoyed
her, did Horace D’Almayne’s soft voice, polished manner and considerate
tact, calm and soothe her, and reinvigorate her drooping spirits.
If Kate Crane had a heart to win, now was the time to gain it. Horace
D’Almayne was by no means a tyro in such cases; he perceived the
situation at a glance, and availed himself of it to the utmost. When
he rose to take leave, Kate, knowing to what his departure would expose
her, and being, as we have before explained, overwrought and ill,
forgot her self-control so far as to observe, “It is very early; are you
obliged to go so soon?” The moment she had spoken the words she
would have given worlds to have recalled them. Her husband’s fretful
observation, “Really, my dear, it’s past ten o’clock,”--and D’Almayne’s
look of triumph, ill-concealed under the guise of polite, conventional
regret at being obliged to leave such kind friends, showed her
the indiscretion of which she had been guilty. But, ere she could
sufficiently collect her ideas to attempt to redeem the false step
she had made, Horace had bowed himself out. Then Mr. Crane took up
his parable, and drew a feeble picture of a vicious young wife, who,
possessing a sapient, tender, and judicious husband, in the prime of
life, laid herself out to attract the attentions of, if he might be
allowed the expression, mere boys, who, fortunately for her, had too
strongly innate ideas of--yes, of propriety and morality, to avail
themselves of her very reprehensible levity, &c. &c. Poor, proud Kate!
she bore it all silently--her will was now as strong for good as it had
once been for evil, and duty sealed her lips, though she suffered none
the less for her silence. Saint Bartholomew was flayed alive, yet we
nowhere read that the good man was garrulous under the operation. When
D’Almayne quitted Park Lane he returned to his former lodgings, and,
taking pen, ink, and paper, wrote the following note to the waiter at
Liverpool:--
_“A well-wisher of yours has much pleasure in enclosing for your
acceptance a £10 note; should any impertinent inquiries be made in
regard to the gentlemen who have visited your hotel lately, he
feels sure you know your duty too well, as a faithful servant of the
establishment, to reply to them in any way which might injure the
interests of your employer or _your own!_ in which case you shall hear
again from--
“MORE WHERE THIS COMES FROM.”_
Having dispatched this Machiavellian document, Horace the indefatigable
sought and obtained interviews with Guillemard, Bonus Nugget, and
Captain O’Brien, from all of whom he obtained useful information; then
proceeded to the gaminghouse in J-------- Street, where he found the
Russian Prince Ratrapski, unprofitably sober, and playing for sovereigns
only. To him therefore he devoted himself with so much success, that
between five and six on the following morning the Russian was taken home
in a cab, considerably disguised in liquor, having lost above £20,000 to
the bank. It is a laudable practice of some pastors, to exhort the
members of their flock to chew the cud of reflection before they retire
to rest, and so to strike a balance of the good and evil deeds which, in
the course of that day’s transactions, they may have performed. Now,
although Horace D’Almayne had either no conscience at all, or one of
such an elastic material that its expansive limits were still
undiscovered; although, moreover, if he belonged to a flock, it must
have been composed of the very blackest sheep known to zoology, he
nevertheless conformed to this good habit of self-examination; and on
the night, or rather morning in question, his meditations assumed some
such shape as the following:--
“_Voyons, Horace, mon ami!_ You have not been slothful, what have you
accomplished? the affair of Le Roux safely got over, without the fact of
our having encountered each other being suspected; good so far: but the
interview might transpire at any moment; I dare not remain here very
many days, scarcely hours, longer.--Crane, ha! ha! there is no pleasure
in duping him, he is so dense a fool; but if there is no pleasure there
is profit, which suits my book equally well--what between the shares and
the Normandy mortgage, I shall draw £5000 of him; to-morrow morning I
must obtain the money.--Then the Russian; I did that neatly; my
share will be £7000; though I shall claim more, for it was all my
management--yes, when I turn my back upon this _triste_ and mercenary
country, I shall be able to take at least £30,000 with me.” He paused,
reflected for some minutes, then continued: “With such a capital as that
to start with, in America a man with a head on his shoulders may do
and become almost anything, president perhaps, who knows? _She_ is
ambitious, I can read it in her haughty glance, her queenly step; such a
career might tempt her!” Again he mused, but the working of his features
showed how deeply his feelings were excited. Rousing himself with a
start, he exclaimed, passionately, “I shall fail with her, I know; I
feel it! --she does not love me, nor, excepting at times when I make her
feel my power, does she even hate me; I wish she did, for then I should
have more hope--why should she be so indifferent to me? I have played my
game well and carefully; if I had it to play over again, I do not see
how I could mend my hand. That declaration, perhaps, was premature; yet
with any other woman, though it failed at the time, it would have told
afterwards. I wonder whether she had any attachment before she married
Crane? that cousin Arthur Hazlehurst, perhaps; if so, she loves him
still; in that case, I need not seek far for revenge, even if she again
disdains my passion. Married to Crane and loving her cousin, she must
bear about a living hell in her own bosom. Strange the power she has
over me; I really and honestly believe I am as completely in love with
her as if I were a green boy of eighteen! if I had known her five years
sooner, before I became so thoroughly and hopelessly involved, I might
have been very different, who can say? that old man Le Roux was right,
the life of an adventurer is an unsatisfactory affair, either to look
back upon, or worse still, to look forward to; but so it is with every
phase of life, when you come to know it well and examine it
closely;--for what are we placed here? nay, what are we ourselves? have
we lived before? shall we live again? Can spirit exist without matter?
who knows? the religionist? bah! a set either of feeble-minded
enthusiasts, bigoted to childish superstitions, or canting hypocrites,
who assume piety as a cloak beneath which to conceal their vices, as the
devil is said to lurk behind the cross. Who then? philosophers,
metaphysicians, your men of science? solemn pedants, dreamy mystics,
vain fools, who, because they have invented a rushlight, fancy they can
illuminate the universe--ah! charlatans all of them; an adventurer’s
career is preferable to a life devoted to such dreary mummeries. I may
succeed with the fascinating Kate yet; she was singularly amiable last
night; and if so, _Horace, mon ami_, the line you have selected will not
prove such an unprofitable one, after all.”