TOM DURHAM'S FRIEND.
On the morning after the Reverend Martin Gurwood and Madame Du Tertre
had had their game at chess, and held the conversation just recorded,
a straggling sunbeam, which had lost its way, turned by accident into
'Change-alley, and fell straight on to the bald head of a gentleman in
the second-floor of one of the houses there. This gentleman, who,
according to the inscription on the outer door jamb, was Mr. Humphrey
Statham, was so astonished at the unexpected solar apparition, that he
laid down the bundle of red tape with which he was knotting some
papers together, and advancing to the grimy window, rubbed a square
inch of dirt off the pane, and bending down, looked up at as much as
he could discern of the narrow strip of dun-coloured sky which does
duty for the blue empyrean to the inhabitants of 'Change-alley. The
sun but rarely visits 'Change-alley in summer, and in winter scarcely
ever puts in an appearance; the denizens endeavour to compensate
themselves for its absence by hanging huge burnished tin reflectors
outside their windows, or giving up all attempts at deception, and
sitting under gaslight from morning till eve. So that what Mr. Statham
saw when he looked up was as satisfactory as it was unexpected, and he
rubbed his hands together in sheer geniality, as he muttered something
about having "decent weather for his trip."
A tall, strongly-built man, and good-looking after his fashion, with a
fringe of dark-brown hair round his bald crown, large regular
features, piercing hazel eyes, somewhat overhanging brows, a pleasant
mobile mouth, and a crisp brown beard.
Humphrey Statham was a ship-broker, though, from a cursory glance at
his office, it would have been difficult to guess what occupation he
pursued, furnished as it was in the ordinary business fashion. There
was a large leather-covered writing-table, at which he was seated, a
standing desk in the window, an old worn stained leather easy-chair
for clients, the customary directories and commercial lists on shelves
against the wall, the usual Stationers' Almanac hanging above the
mantelpiece, the usual worn carpet and cinder-browned hearth-rug. In
the outer office, where the four clerks sat, and where the smaller
owners and the captains had to wait Mr. Statham's leisure (large
owners and underwriters being granted immediate audience), the walls
were covered with printed bills, announcing the dates of departure of
certain ships, the approaching sale of others; the high desks were
laden with huge ledgers and files of Lloyd's lists; and one of the
clerks, who took a deep interest in his business, gave quite a
maritime flavour to the place by invariably wearing a particular short
pea-jacket and a hard round oilskin hat.
Not much leisure had these clerks; they were, to use their own phrase,
"at it" from morning till night, for Mr. Statham's business was a
large one, and though all the more important part of it was discharged
by himself, there was plenty of letter-writing and agreement copying,
ledger-entering, and running backwards and forwards between the office
and Lloyd's when the "governor," as they called him, was busy with the
underwriters. This year had been a peculiarly busy one; so busy, that
Mr. Statham had been unable to take his usual autumnal holiday, a
period of relaxation which he always looked forward to, and which,
being fond of athletics, and still in the very prime of life, he
usually passed among the Swiss Alps. This autumn he had passed it at
Teddington instead of Courmayeur, and had substituted a couple of
hours' pull on the river in the evening for his mountain climbing and
hairbreadth escapes. But the change had not been sufficient; his head
was dazed, he suffered under a great sense of lassitude; and his
doctor had ordered him to knock-off work, and to start immediately for
a clear month's vacation. Where he was to go he had scarcely made up
his mind. Of course, Switzerland in November was impossible, and he
was debating between the attractions of a month's snipe-shooting in
Ireland and the delight of passing his time on board one of the Scilly
Islands pilot-boats, roughing it with the men, and thoroughly enjoying
the wild life and the dangerous occupation. A grave, plain-mannered
man in his business--somewhat over cautious and reserved they thought
him at Lloyd's--Humphrey Statham, when away for his holiday, had the
high spirits of a boy, and never was so happy as when he had thrown
off all the ordinary constraints of conventionality, and was leading a
life widely different from that normally led by him, and associating
with persons widely different from those with whom he was ordinarily
brought into contact. Mr. Statham was, however, in his business just
now, and had not thrown off his cautious habits. By his side stood a
large iron safe, with one or two of its drawers open, and before him
lay a number of letters and papers, which he read through one by one,
or curiously glanced at, duly docketed them, made some memorandum
regarding them in his note-book, and stowed them away in a drawer in
the safe. As he read through some of them, he smiled; at others he
glanced with an angry frown or a shoulder-shrug of contempt; but there
were one or two during the perusal of which the lines in his face
seemed to deepen perceptibly, and before he laid them aside he
pondered long and deeply over their contents.
"What a queer lot it is!" said Humphrey Statham wearily, throwing
himself back in his chair; "and how astonished people would be if they
only knew what a strange mass of human interests these papers
represent! With the exception of Collins, outside there, no one, I
suppose, comes into this room who does not imagine that this safe
contains nothing but business memoranda, insurances, brokerages,
calculations, and commissions; details concerning the Lively Polly of
Yarmouth, or the Saucy Sally of Whitstable; or who has the faintest
idea that among the business documents there are papers and letters
which would form good stock-in-trade for a romance writer! Why on
earth do those fellows spin their brains, when for a very small
investment of cash they could get people to tell them their own
experiences, actual facts and occurrences, infinitely more striking
and interesting than the nonsense which they invent? Every man who
has seen anything of life must at one time or other have had some
strange experience: the man who sells dog-collars and penknives at the
corner of the court; the old broken-down hack in the outer office, who
was a gentleman once, and now copies letters and runs errands for
fifteen shillings a week; and I, the solemn, grave, trusted man of
business--I, the cautious and reserved Humphrey Statham--perhaps I too
have had my experiences which would work into a strange story! A story
I may have to tell some day--may have to tell to a man, standing face
to face with him, looking straight into his eyes, and showing him how
he has been delivered into my hands." And Humphrey Statham crossed his
arms before him and let his chin sink upon his breast, as he indulged
in a profound reverie.
We will anticipate the story which Mr. Statham imagined that he would
some day have to tell under such peculiar circumstances.
Humphrey Statham's father was a merchant and a man of means, living in
good style in Russell-square; and, though of a somewhat gloomy
temperament and stern demeanour, in his way fond of his son, and
determined that the lad should be educated and prepared for the
position which he would afterwards have to assume. Humphrey's mother
was dead--had died soon after his birth--he had no brothers or
sisters; and as Mr. Statham had never married again, the household was
conducted by his sister, a meek long-suffering maiden lady, to whom
hebdomadal attendance at the Foundling Chapel was the one joy in life.
It had first been intended that the child should be educated at home;
but he seemed so out of place in the big old-fashioned house, so
strange in the company of his grave father or melancholy aunt, that,
to prevent his being given over entirely to the servants, whom he
liked very much, and with whom he spent most of his time, he was sent
at an early age to a preparatory establishment, and then transferred
to a grammar-school of repute in the neighbourhood of London. He was a
dare-devil boy, full of fun and mischief, capital at cricket and
football, and though remarkably quick by nature, and undoubtedly
possessing plenty of appreciative common-sense and savoir faire, yet
taking no position in the school, and held in very cheap estimation by
his master. The half-yearly reports which, together with the bills for
education and extras, were placed inside Master Humphrey's box, on the
top of his neatly-packed clothes, and accompanied him home at every
vacation from Canehambury, did not tend to make Mr. Statham any the
less stern, or his manner to his son any more indulgent. The boy
knew--he could not help knowing--that his father was wealthy and
influential, and he had looked forward to his future without any fear,
and, indeed, without very much concern. He thought he should like to
go into the army, which meant to wear a handsome uniform and do little
or nothing, to be petted by the ladies, of whose charms he had already
shown himself perfectly cognisant, and to lead a life of luxury and
ease. But Mr. Statham had widely different views. Although he had
succeeded to his business, he had vastly improved it since he became
its master, and had no idea of surrendering so lucrative a concern to
a stranger, or of letting it pass out of the family. As he had worked,
so should his son work in his turn; and accordingly, Master Humphrey
on his removal from Canehambury was sent to a tutor resident in one of
the Rhineland towns, with a view to his instruction in French and
German, and to his development from a careless, high-spirited lad into
a man of business and of the world.
The German tutor, a dreamy misty transcendentalist, was eminently
unfitted for the charge intrusted to him. He gave the boy certain
books, and left him to read them or not, as he chose; he set him
certain tasks, but never took the trouble to see how they had been
performed, or, indeed, whether they had been touched at all, till he
was remarkably astonished after a short time to find his pupil
speaking very excellent German, and once or twice took the trouble to
wonder how "Homfrie," as he called him, could have acquired such a
mastery of the language. Had an explanation of the marvel ever been
asked of Humphrey himself, he could have explained it very readily.
The town selected for his domicile was one of the celebrated
art-academies of Germany, a place where painters of all kinds flocked
from all parts to study under the renowned professors therein
resident. A jovial, thriftless, kindly set of Bohemians these
painters, in the strict sense of the word, impecunious to a degree,
now working from morn till eve for days together, now not touching
pencil or maulstick for weeks, living in a perpetual fog of tobacco,
and spending their nights in beer-drinking and song-singing, in cheap
epicureanism and noisy philosophical discussions. To this society of
careless convives Humphrey Statham obtained a ready introduction, and
among them soon established himself as a prime favourite. The bright
face and interminable spirits of "Gesellschap's Englander," as he was
called (Gesellschap was the name of his tutor), made him welcome
everywhere. He passed his days in lounging from studio to studio,
smoking pipes and exchanging jokes with their denizens, occasionally
standing for a model for his hosts, now with bare neck and arms
appearing as a Roman gladiator, now with casque and morion as a young
Flemish burgher of Van Artevelde's guard, always ready, always
obliging, roaring at his own linguistic mistakes, but never failing to
correct them; while at night at the painters' club, the Malkasten, or
the less aristocratic Kneipe, his voice was the cheeriest in the
chorus, his wit the readiest in suggesting tableaux vivants, or in
improvising practical jokes.
A pleasant life truly, but not, perhaps, a particularly reputable one.
Certainly not one calculated for the formation of a City man of
business according to Mr. Statham's interpretation of the term. When
at the age of twenty the young man tore himself away from his Bohemian
comrades, who kissed him fervently, and wept beery tears at his
departure, and, in obedience to his father's commands, returned to
England and to respectability, to take up his position in the paternal
counting-house, Mr. Statham was considerably more astonished than
gratified at the manner in which his son's time had been passed, and
at its too evident results. About Humphrey there was nothing which
could be called slang in the English sense of the term, certainly
nothing vulgar; but there was a reckless abandon, a defiance of set
propriety, a superb scorn for the respectable conventionality
regulating the movements and the very thoughts of the circle in which
Mr. Statham moved, which that worthy gentleman observed with horror,
and which he considered almost as loathsome as vice itself. Previous
to his presentation to the establishment over which he was to rule,
Humphrey's long locks were clipped away, his light downy beard shaved
off, his fantastic garments exchanged for sad-coloured soberly-cut
clothes; and when this transformation had been accomplished, the young
man was taken into the City and placed in the hands of Mr. Morrison
the chief clerk, who was enjoined to give a strict account of his
business qualifications. Mr. Morrison's report did not tend to
dissipate the disappointment which had fallen like a blow on the old
man's mind. Humphrey could talk German as glibly and with as good an
accent as any Rhinelander from Manheim to Düsseldorf; he had picked up
a vast amount of conversational French from the French artists who had
formed part of his jolly society; and had command of an amount of
argot which would have astonished Monsieur Philarète Chasles himself;
but he had never been in the habit of either reading or writing
anything but the smallest scraps of notes; and when Mr. Morrison
placed before him a four-sided letter from their agent at Hamburg,
couched in commercial German phraseology, and requested him to
re-translate and answer it, Humphrey's expressive face looked so
woe-begone and he boggled so perceptibly over the manuscript, that one
of the junior clerks saw the state of affairs at a glance, and
confidentially informed his neighbour at the next desk that "young S.
was up a tree."
It was impossible to hide these shortcomings from Mr. Statham, who was
anxiously awaiting Mr. Morrison's report; and after reading it, and
assuring himself of its correctness by a personal examination of his
son, his manner, which ever since Humphrey's return had been frigid
and reserved, grew harsh and stern. He took an early opportunity of
calling Humphrey into his private room, and of informing him that he
should have one month's probation, and that if he did not signally
improve by the end of that time, he would be removed from the
office, as his father did not choose to have one of his name the
laughing-stock of those employed by him. The young man winced under
this speech, which he received in silence, but in five minutes after
leaving his father's presence his mind was made up. He would go
through the month's probation, since it was expected of him, but he
would not make the smallest attempt to improve himself; and he would
leave his future to chance. Punctually, on the very day that the month
expired, Mr. Statham again sent for his son; told him he had
discovered no more interest in, or inclination for, the business than
he had shown on his first day of joining the house, and that in
consequence he must give up all idea of becoming a partner, or,
indeed, of having anything farther to do with the establishment. An
allowance of two hundred pounds a year would be paid to him during his
father's lifetime, and would be bequeathed to him in his father's
will; he must never expect to receive anything else, and Mr. Statham
broadly hinted, in conclusion, that it would be far more agreeable
to him if his son would take up his residence anywhere than in
Russell-square, and that he should feel particularly relieved if he
never saw him again.
This arrangement suited Humphrey Statham admirably. Two hundred a year
to a very young man, who has never had any command of money, is an
important sum. He left the counting-house; and whatever respect and
regard he may have felt for his father had been obliterated by the
invariable sternness and opposition with which all his advances had
been received. Two hundred a year! He would be off back at once to
Rhineland, where, among the painters, he could live like a prince with
such an income; and he went--and in six months came back again. The
thing was changed somehow; it was not as it used to be. There were the
same men, indeed, living the same kind of life, equally glad to
welcome their English comrade, and to give him the run of their
studios and their clubs and kneipes; but after a time this kind of
life seemed very flat and vapid to Humphrey Statham. The truth is,
that during his six weeks' office experience he had seen something of
London; and on reflection he made up his mind that, after all, it was
perhaps a more amusing place than any of the Rhineland towns. On his
return to London he took a neat lodging, and for four or five years
led a purposeless idle life, such a life as is led by hundreds of
young men who are burdened with that curse--a bare sufficiency,
scarcely enough to keep them, more than enough to prevent them from
seeking employment, and to dull any aspirations which they may
possess. It was during this period of his life that Humphrey made the
acquaintance of Tom Durham, whose gaiety, recklessness, and charm of
manner, fascinated him at once; and he himself took a liking to the
frank, generous, high-spirited young man, Tom Durham's knowledge of
the world made him conscious that, though indolent, and to a certain
extent dissipated, Humphrey Statham was by no means depraved, and to
his friend Mr. Durham therefore exhibited only the best side of his
nature. He was engaged in some wild speculations just at that time,
and it was while careering over the country with Tom Durham in search
of a capitalist to float some marvellous invention of that fertile
genius, that Humphrey Statham met with an adventure which completely
altered the current of his life.
They were making Leeds their headquarters, but Tom Durham had gone
over to Batley for a day or two, to see the owner of a shoddy mill,
who was reported to be both rich and speculative; and Humphrey was
left alone. He was strolling about in the evening, thinking what a
horrible place Leeds was, and what a large sum of money a man ought to
be paid for living in it, when he was overtaken and passed by a girl,
walking rapidly in the direction of Headingley. The glimpse he caught
of her face showed him that it was more than ordinarily beautiful, and
Humphrey quickened his lazy pace, and followed her until he saw her
safely housed in a small neat dwelling. The next day he made inquiries
about this girl, the transient glance of whose face had made such an
impression upon him, and found that her name was Emily Mitchell; that
her father, now dead, had been a booking-clerk in one of the large
factories; that she was employed in a draper's shop; and that she
lived with her uncle and aunt in the small house to which Humphrey had
tracked her. Humphrey Statham speedily made Miss Mitchell's
acquaintance, found her more beautiful than he had imagined, and as
fascinating as she was lovely; fascinating not in the ordinary sense
of the word, not by coquetry or blandishment, but by innate
refinement, grace, and innocence. After seeing her and talking with
her a few times, Humphrey could no longer control his feelings, and
finding that he was not indifferent to Emily--his good looks, his
frank nature, and his easy bearing, well qualified him to find favour
in the eyes of such a girl--he spoke out plainly to her uncle, and
told him how matters stood. He was in love with Emily, he said, and
most anxious to marry, but his income was but 200_l_. a year, not
sufficient to maintain her, even in the quiet way both he and she
desired they should live; but he was young, and though he had been
idle, now that he had an incentive to work he would show what he could
do. It was possible that, seeing the difference in him, his father
might be inclined to relent, and put something in his way, or some of
his father's friends might give him employment. He would go to London
and seek for it at once, and so soon as he saw his way to earning
200_l_. a year in addition to his annuity, he would return and claim
Emily for his wife.
In this view the uncle, a practical old north-countryman, coincided;
the young people could not marry upon the income which Mr. Humphrey
possessed; they had plenty of life before them; and when the young man
came back and proved that he had carried out his promise, no obstacle
should be made by Emily's friends.
Humphrey Statham returned to London, and wrote at once to his father,
telling him that he had seen the errors of his youth, and was prepared
to apply himself to any sort of business which his father could place
in his way. In reply he received a curt note from Mr. Statham, stating
that the writer did not know of any position which Humphrey could
competently fulfil, reminding him of the agreement between them, and
hinting dislike at the reopening of any correspondence or
communication. Foiled at this point, Humphrey Statham secretly took
the advice of old Mr. Morrison, the chief clerk in his father's
office, a kindly as well as a conscientious man, who had endeavoured
to soften the young man's lot during the few weeks he had passed in
the dull counting-house, and at his recommendation Humphrey
established himself as a ship-broker, and for two years toiled on from
morning till night, doing a small and not very remunerative business,
but proving to such as employed him that he possessed industry,
energy, and tact. During this period he ran down to Leeds, at four
distinct intervals, to pass a couple of days with Emily, whose uncle
had died, and who remained in the house of her helpless bed-ridden
aunt. At the end of this time Mr. Statham died, leaving in his will a
sum of 10,000_l_. to his son, "as a recognition of his attempt to
gain a livelihood for himself;" and bequeathing the rest of his
fortune to various charities.
So at last Humphrey Statham saw his way to bringing Emily home in
triumph as his wife, and with this object he started: for Leeds,
immediately after his father's funeral. He had written to her to
announce his arrival, and was surprised not to find her awaiting him
on the platform. Then he jumped into a cab, and hurried out to
Headingley. On his arrival at the little house, the stupid girl who
attended on the bed-ridden old woman seemed astonished at seeing him,
and answered his inquiries after Emily inconsequently, and with
manifest terror. With a sudden sinking of the heart Humphrey made his
way to the old lady's bedside, and from her quivering lips learned
that Emily had disappeared.
Yes! Emily had fled from her home, so said her aunt, and so said the
few neighbours who, roused at the sight of a cab, had come crowding
into the cottage. About a week ago, they told him, she had gone out in
the morning to her work as usual, and had never returned. She left no
letter of explanation, and no trace of her flight had been discovered;
there was no slur upon her character, and, so far as their knowledge
went, she had made no strange acquaintance. She received a number of
letters, which she had always said were from Mr. Statham. What did he
come down there for speering after Emily, when, of all persons in the
world, he was the likeliest to tell them where she had been?
Humphrey Statham fell back like a man stunned by a heavy blow. He had
come down there to carry out the wish of his life; to tell the woman
whom, in the inmost depths of his big manly heart he worshipped, that
the hope of his life was at last accomplished, and that he was at
length enabled to take her away, to give her a good position, and to
devote the remainder of his existence to her service. She was not
there to hear his triumphant avowal--she had fled, no one knew where,
and he saw plainly enough that, not merely was all sympathy withheld
from him, but that he was suspected by the neighbours to have been
privy to, and probably the accomplice of, her flight, and that his
arrival there a few days afterwards with the apparent view of making
inquiries was merely an attempt to hoodwink them, and to divert the
search which might possibly be made after her into another direction.
Under such circumstances, an ordinary man would have fallen into a
fury, and burst out into wild lamentation or passionate invective; but
Humphrey Statham was not an ordinary man. He knew himself guiltless of
the crime of which by Emily's friends and neighbours he was evidently
suspected, but he also knew that the mere fact of her elopement, or at
all events of her quitting her home without consulting him on the
subject, showed that she had no love for him, and that therefore he
had no right to interfere with her actions. He told the neighbours
this in hard, measured accents, with stony eyes and colourless cheeks.
But when he saw that even then they disbelieved him, that even then
they thought he knew more of Emily Mitchell's whereabouts than he
cared to say, he instructed the local authorities to make such
inquiries as lay in their power, and, offered a reward for Emily
Mitchell's discovery to the police. He returned, to London an altered
man; his one hope in life had been rudely extinguished, and there was
nothing now left for him to care for. He had a competency, but it was
valueless to him now; the only one way left to him of temporarily
putting aside his great grief was by plunging into work, and busying
his mind with those commercial details which at one time he had so
fervently abhorred, and now, when it was no longer a necessity for
him, business came to him in galore, his name and fame were
established in the great City community, and no man in his position
was more respected, or had a larger number of clients.
"Too late comes this apple to me," muttered Humphrey Statham, quoting
Owen Meredith, as he shook himself out of the reverie into which he
had fallen. "Nearly four years ago since I paid my last visit to
Leeds; more than three since, as a last resource, I consulted the
Scotland-yard people, and instructed them to do their best in
elucidating the mystery. The Scotland-yard people are humbugs; I have
never heard of them since, and shall never hear of Emily again. Good
God, how I loved her! how I love her still! Was it that she stands out
in my memory as my first and only real love, lit up perhaps by boyish
fancy--the same fancy that makes me imagine that my old bare cock-loft
in the Adelphi was better than my present comfortable rooms in
Sackville-street. _Dans un grenier qu'on est bien à vingt ans_. No,
she was more than that. She was the only woman that ever inspired me
with anything like real affection, and I worship her--her memory I
suppose I must call it now--as I worshipped her own sweet self an hour
before I learned of her flight. There, there is an end of that. Now
let me finish-up this lot, and leave all in decent order, so that if I
end my career in a snipe-bog, or one of the Tresco pilot-boats goes
down while I am on board of her, old Collins may have no difficulty in
disposing of the contents of the safe."
Out of the mass of papers which had originally been lying before him,
only two were left. He took up one of them and read the indorsement,
"T. Durham--to be delivered to him or his written order (Akhbar K)."
This paper he threw into the second drawer of the safe; then he took
up the last, inscribed "Copy of instructions to Tatlow in regard to E.
M."
"Instructions to Tatlow, indeed!" said Humphrey Statham, with curling
lip; "it is more than three years since those instructions were given,
but hitherto they have borne no fruit. I have half a mind to destroy
them; it is scarcely possible--"
His reflections were interrupted by a knock at the door. Bidden to
come in, Mr. Collins, the confidential clerk, put in his head, and
murmured, "Mr. Tatlow, from Scotland-yard."
"In the very nick of time," said Humphrey Statham, with a half-smile;
"send Mr. Tatlow in at once."