SURPRISES.
Alfred remained silent for so long a time, that Lily had to repeat her
question; and again, in a timid tone, she asked him why their
grandfather must not be told of his troubles and joys. Alfred asked
her, in reply, whether she did not have confidence in him, whether she
mistrusted him, whether she thought he had not good reason for what he
said? To all these questions she answered, O, yes, yes; she had full
confidence in him; she trusted him thoroughly; she knew that he must
have the best of reasons for his desire that their grandfather should
not be made acquainted with his secrets.
"There isn't another person in the world," said Alfred, "that I would
confide in but you; but I could not keep anything secret for long from
the dearest sister that man ever had, and whom I love--well, you know
how I love you, Lily."
She answered sweetly, "Yes, she knew; had he not given proof of it
this day? She would be worthy of his confidence; he need be sure of
that." Alfred received these heartfelt protestations graciously.
"I feel better for having spoken to you, and now I shall smoke a
cigar. What do you think Lizzie did the other night, Lil? I asked her
in fun to light my cigar for me, and she actually did, and took a
puff. She didn't like it, though; but she'll do anything for me.
There's one thing I've been thinking of, Lil. When you and Lizzie are
friends--as you're sure to be directly you see each other--it will be
nice for you; for now I think of it, you never had a girl friend, did
you?"
"There's Mrs. Gribble," answered Lily, "and Mrs. Podmore, and little
Polly----"
"O yes, they're all very well in their way, but they're married women,
and little Polly's only a child. What I mean is, a girl of your own
age--one that you can say all sorts of things to that you can't say to
any one else."
"No, I have never had a girl friend; it _would_ be nice."
"Lizzie's just the girl for you. How I should like to be hidden
somewhere, and hear you talking about ME! Mind you always search under
the table when you're talking secrets, Lil, for I shall look out for
an opportunity to hear what you two girls have to say about me."
They made merry over this, and extracted from it all kinds of gay
possibilities to suit their humour.
"You said a little while ago, Alf, that you could make a thousand
pounds as safe as--as safe as----"
"As safe as nails, Lil. And so I could, and more perhaps, over the
Cesarewitch."
"The Cesarewitch!" she repeated, curious to know the meaning of so
strange a word.
"It is a big race that will be run soon--a race worth thousands of
pounds--and I know the horse that's going to win."
"That's very clever of you, Alfred."
Alfred nodded, taking full credit to himself.
"But how can you make a thousand pounds by that, Alf? A thousand
pounds! I never heard of so much money."
"Little simpleton I'll show you as much one day, and more thousands at
the back of it. How can I make it? Why, I'll tell you. Here I am with
'the tip.' The tip," he continued, noticing her puzzled look, "is the
secret that some of us get hold of as to which horse is going to win a
race."
"O," was Lily's simple reply.
"That's what the tip is," said Alfred, with a confident air; he was in
his glory, airing himself on racing matters. "And I've got it for the
Cesarewitch."
"Do they know, then, beforehand what horse is going to win a race?"
"Sometimes pretty nearly, you know. Some horses that run haven't a
chance; some are not intended to win----"
"Is that right, Alf?"
"Of course it is. If a man has a horse and can't back it, perhaps he
backs another; then of course he doesn't want his own horse to win,
for if it does, he loses his money."
Lily shook her head.
"I can't understand it; it doesn't seem right to me; but of course you
know best."
"Of course I do, Lil. Women are not expected to understand these
things. As to its being not quite right, that's neither here nor
there. What you've got to do is to find out the secret, get into the
swim, and make money. And that's what I've got the chance of doing.
But I haven't explained it all. Here am I with the tip; I know the
horse that's going to win. Well, what do I do, naturally? I bet on
that horse. I put as much money on that horse as ever I can scrape
together, and when the race is over, there I am with my pockets full.
I can get fifty to one on my tip. Think of that, Lil. Fifty to one
against the horse that's sure to win! If I had twenty pounds to-day, I
could get a thousand to twenty, and win it. Only think what I could do
with a thousand. I've got my eye on two lovely gold watches and chains
for Lizzie and you, and I know where there's a stunning diamond ring
to be almost given away."
"But tell me, Alf! Isn't that gambling? and isn't gambling wrong? I've
heard grandfather say it is."
"Grandfather!" exclaimed Alfred, contemptuously. "What does
grandfather know of such things? When he was a young man, things were
different. A young fellow didn't have the chance he's got now of
making a fortune in a day, if he's wide awake. That's why I don't want
grandfather to know anything of this, nor anything that I've been
speaking of. And of course you'll not tell him, Lil, for you've
promised."
"You may depend upon me, dear Alf. It is for your good."
But she said these last words in a doubting tone.
"That it is, and for yours, and for Lizzie's, and for grandfather's,
too. As to its being gambling and wrong--now, look here, Lil. You know
what grandfather thinks of the newspapers. You know that he's always
speaking in praise of them, and saying what capital things they are,
and what a blessing it is that a poor man can get all the news of the
world for a penny. You know that, Lil."
"Yes, dear."
"Why, it was only last week that grandfather said that the cheap
newspapers were the poor man's best friend and best educator, because
they taught him things and showed him truthfully what was going on
round about him, and that they were doing more in their quiet way for
the improvement of the people than anything he ever remembered in his
time."
"Yes, dear, I heard him say so."
"To be sure you did. Well, then, you look in the newspapers, and
see what they say of racing. Why, they give columns upon columns
about it! They employ regular prophets and tipsters, and pay 'em
handsomely--regular fly men, who think they know every move on the
board; and they tell you what horses to back, and what horses are
going to win. They _are_ educators and improvers, I can tell you, Lil!
And they tell a fellow lots of things worth knowing--though I don't
follow them always; not I! I know as much as they do sometimes, and a
little more, perhaps. But I read them; I read every word the prophets
write. Why, I spend sixpence a day often in papers; if it wasn't for
what the prophets write in them, I don't suppose I'd spend a penny."
If Alfred had said that the columns devoted in the newspapers to the
vaticinations of the prophets were his Bible, he would have been as
near to the truth as he ever was in his life. The lessons they taught
were bearing bitter fruit. Not for him alone; for thousands of others.
"There's the Cambridgeshire and the Cesarewitch," continued Alfred,
"going to be run for soon. All the best horses in England are engaged.
There won't be less than three columns about each race in some of the
newspapers, and people get to know which horses have the best chances,
and which horses are sure to run straight. Though, to be sure, you
never can depend upon that. You must keep your eyes open. But come
now, Lily, ain't you satisfied that there's nothing wrong in a young
fellow doing a little betting now and then?"
"I don't see how there can be any wrong in it after what you've told
me, Alf."
"And after what grandfather said," he added.
"Yes, and after what grandfather said, my dear."
"So then," he summed up, "that's where it is."
Which was Alfred's almost invariable way of disposing of a question.
"And here I have a chance," he presently resumed, "of getting out of
all my money troubles, and of making everything straight for you and
Lizzie, and all of us."
"But," insisted Lily, "I am very happy, Alf."
"Well, I'm going to make you happier, Lil. But you can't be quite
happy, Lil, when I am in trouble."
"O, no, my dear," she said quickly: "I forgot. Forgive me for my
selfishness. But you'll be out of it soon."
"It depends a good deal upon you, Lil."
"How upon me, dear?"
"Well, I don't quite know if it depends upon you, but it may, and of
course I'm anxious! for to tell you the truth, I owe some money which
I _must_ pay very soon, or it will be all up with me."
"O, Alfred!"
"It's true, Lil, every word I'm telling you. My contemptible screw at
the office melts away without my knowing how it goes. Besides, what's
fifteen shillings a week? Fifteen shillings! When I have the
opportunity of making thousands of pounds! Grandfather says, 'Think of
the future;' but I say, 'Think of the present.' Grandfather preaches
to me about the career that such an office as Tickle and Flint's opens
out to me, if I am steady and study hard. As if he knew anything about
it! A nice career indeed! Why Tickle and Flint, the pair of 'em, are
like two musty old Brazil nuts. Old Flint looks as if he hasn't got a
drop of blood in his body; I don't believe, if you pricked him, that
you'd get a drop out of him. Well, he came to that, I suppose, because
he was steady and worked hard, and never saw a bit of life, and never
enjoyed himself; never wasted a minute, I daresay; a precious steady
young card he must have been when he was my age, poking his nose over
his law books, which give me a splitting headache only to look at 'em.
You should see what he's grown into, Lil, by being steady and studying
hard. He can't see an inch before his nose; his clothes are as musty
as himself. Now, I put it to you, Lil," he said, with an effort at
merriment, "would you like to see me like that? Would you like to see
me, as he is, bent double, old, snuffy, musty, with a voice like a
penny tin-whistle that's got a crack in it? Would you like to see me
like an old Brazil nut? You know the kind I mean: they're very brown
and very wrinkly; when you crack 'em, you find that they're filled
with dust which almost chokes you."
"No, no," replied Lily amused with the description and with the
vivacity with which Alfred gave it; "that I shouldn't indeed, Alf."
"Well then," said Alfred, pleased with his brilliant effort, and
concluding as usual, "that's where it is."
"You haven't told me all yet," said Lily quietly, after a pause.
"I've got nothing new to tell you, Lil dear," he said, biting his
nails nervously; "you know that, with the exception of you and Lizzie,
I have only one friend in the world."
"Mr. Sheldrake, you mean."
"Who else? I should have been floored long ago if it hadn't been for
him. If he was to throw me over I should have to run from the country,
or hide myself, or do something worse perhaps."
She caught his hand in deep alarm, and begged him not to speak in that
dreadful manner. "You make me so unhappy, Alfred," she said, with
difficulty checking her tears.
"I don't want to, I'm sure," he replied gloomily; "I want to make you
happy. I've got no one else to sympathise with me but you. I can't
tell Lizzie all these things. It would make me look small, and no man
likes to look so in the eyes of the girl he's fond of. Supposing you
were me, Lil, how would you feel?"
Terribly perplexed at these alternations of feeling, Lily said
whatever she could to comfort him.
"Tell me what I can do, Alfred?" she implored. "A good deal depends
upon me, you say. If it does, dear, although I cannot see the meaning
of your words, you may be sure that you will get comfortably through
all your difficulties. We have been everything to each other all our
lives. Do you think there is anything you would ask me to do for you
that I would refuse?"
"No," replied Alfred triumphantly, "I am sure there is not. It is
ungrateful of me to doubt you even for a moment. Everything will come
right--you'll see! Why Lily--look yonder! Is not that Mr. Sheldrake
coming along? Yes, it is, by Jove! Almost the best friend I have in
the world. How strange, now, that he should appear just as we have
been talking of him!"
With perfect trustfulness, Lily said, "Yes, it was strange;" and if
her eyes sought the ground, and a troubled feeling took possession of
her breast, it was not because she doubted the brother whom she loved
with all her heart. Doubt him! No. She was too guileless, too
unsuspicious, too simple in her nature, to doubt where she gave her
love. But she could not banish the feeling of uneasiness that stole
upon her when Mr. Sheldrake came in view, and she could not help
hoping he might turn away before he noticed them. But her hope was not
to be fulfilled. Mr. Sheldrake, walking in the centre of a broad patch
of sunlight, strolled leisurely towards them; apparently he was in an
idle mood, for he stopped every two minutes, and gazed about him with
a bright look and with the air of one who was gratefully enjoying the
beauty of the scene. It was singular that he never once looked before
him, and he must therefore have been unconscious of the presence of
Lily and Alfred. His grateful mood took a benevolent turn presently,
for observing an old woman humbly dressed walking in the shadow of the
trees, he called to her, and gave her a small piece of silver. Truly
we are a nation of beggars. Strictly speaking this old woman was not a
beggar, but she accepted the money with a thankful curtsey. Then Mr.
Sheldrake paused before a couple of birds which were hopping about on
the ground, contemplating them as though he derived pleasure in all
such pretty things, and when they left the ground, he followed their
flight with a pleasant smile. In this manner, giving full play to his
benevolent instincts, only because he was conscious that he was not
being observed, Mr. Sheldrake approached Lily and Alfred. He was quite
close to them before he looked up and recognised them.
"What--Alfred! Miss Lily!" he exclaimed. "This is indeed a surprise!
and a pleasure," he added, as he raised his hat and bowed to Lily,
and shook hands with her and Alfred; then asked of Alfred gaily,
"What brings _you_ into the woods? You ought to be reckoning up
six-and-eightpence! This is not a fit place for lawyers, is it, Miss
Lily? They're not in keeping with birds, and trees, and blue clouds.
They ought to be locked up in offices filled with cobwebs. But I never
thought Alfred was cut out for a lawyer--did you?"
He addressed Lily, and she, having in her mind Alfred's description of
his employer, Mr. Flint, replied, "No, indeed!" and looked at her
brother affectionately. Alfred, however, was not quite at his ease; he
appeared to be a little disturbed by Mr. Sheldrake's expressions of
surprise at seeing them.
"If anything could have given me an additional pleasure," continued
Mr. Sheldrake, with a warning look at Alfred, "the height of
pleasure, I may say, it is the surprise of coming upon: you both so
unexpectedly--in such a totally unexpected manner. I am an idle dog,
Miss Lily, and I often take it in my head to run into the country for
a day's quiet ramble. There is so much to enjoy in the country; it is
so much better than the smoke and whirl of London. Don't you think
so?"
Lily could not help agreeing with him, and she said as much.
"Here we are agreeing upon almost everything," he said, with another
of his pleasant smiles; "agreeing that Alfred is not cut out for a
lawyer; agreeing that the country is so much better than London. That
we have something in unison is, believe me, an honour I appreciate."
His manner was perfectly respectful, and Lily's first feeling of
discomfort at his appearance was wearing away. Everything was in
his favour. He was Alfred's friend, and must be really attached to her
brother, as was proved by his acts; he had given money to a poor
woman, and the manner in which he regarded the birds was unmistakable
evidence that he possessed a kindly nature. Then the stories which
Alfred had told her of Mr. Sheldrake's benevolence recurred to her,
and she was disposed to be angry with herself for being uncharitably
disposed towards him. Certainly she had done him an injustice;
certainly she owed him reparation. And so she spoke to him in such
tones as thrilled him to hear. She told him of Alfred's kindness, of
how she had enjoyed herself; how much she loved the country, and how
she would like to live in it always.
"But then we have everything we wish for," she said sweetly.
"You ought to have," said Mr. Sheldrake gallantly, "your wishes are so
simple. It is only a question of money."
"But what a teasing question that is!" she remarked, thinking of
Alfred's troubles.
Mr. Sheldrake replied warmly that it was a burning shame (Lily was
accustomed to hear such phrases from Alfred's lips, and therefore they
did not sound strange to her coming from Mr. Sheldrake); if he had his
way, he would take from those who had too much to give to those who
had too little; things were unequal, that's what they were. Why should
people be condemned to wish, when their wishes were reasonable and
good, as Lily's wishes were? If there was one thing that would delight
him more than another, it would be to be allowed the privilege of
helping her to what she most desired. But that, of course, could not
be; the conventionalities of society stepped in and said, "You must
not." Was that not so? Lily said, "Yes, it was so," without at all
understanding what he meant by his rodomontade.
"O, by-the-way, Alfred," said Mr. Sheldrake, after a few minutes'
conversation of this description, "I have a note for you."
Alfred started like a guilty thing, for in his excited state every
little unexpected event brought alarm with it. He crushed the note in
his hand without looking at it, without daring to look at it. What
could it contain? Was it from Con Staveley, reminding him of the
acceptance so nearly due, and which he had not the means of paying? Or
was it from Mr. Sheldrake himself, reminding him of his obligation to
that gentleman? He was in such distress and trouble that he could not
conceive it could contain any good news.
"Why don't you read it?" asked Mr. Sheldrake, with a smile. "We'll
excuse you."
Alfred stepped behind a tree, so that he might hide his agitation.
His heart beat wildly as he looked at the writing on the
envelope--beat wildly, not with distress, but with surprise and
pleasure. Opening the note hastily, he read, "Dear Alfred,--I am
waiting for you. Mr. Sheldrake will tell you where I am.--Your own
LIZZIE." And then of course came a postscript: "What a kind good
friend Mr. Sheldrake is!" Alfred read the note twice, and with a
beaming face came towards Mr. Sheldrake.
"Well!" said that kind good friend. "Alfred seems pleased at
something, doesn't he, Miss Lily? Good news in the note, Alf?"
His voice was full of hearty good-nature, and Lily was more remorseful
than ever for the injustice she had done him in not thinking
thoroughly well of him.
"What does this mean?" asked Alfred, drawing Mr. Sheldrake aside.
"How do I know?" was the reply. "I haven't read the note."
"But you know who it's from?"
"O yes; I saw her write it."
"Where is she?"
"Very near us, my boy--within a few hundred yards of this very spot."
"Here!" exclaimed Alfred. "How did she come here?"
"I brought her," replied Mr. Sheldrake with a pleasant chuckle.
"You!"
"You sly dog! Did you think I didn't know your secret? I scented it
long ago, but I didn't let on. And as two's company and three's none,
I thought you would like to have Lizzie to spend the afternoon with
you. There'll be four of us now--two and two--just as it should be.
You are a sly one, Alf. Well, never mind; you've got one of the
prettiest little girls I ever set eyes on. I made the arrangement with
her yesterday, and made her promise not to tell you, and not to spoil
the pleasant surprise. Then I thought what a capital opportunity it
would be for you to make her and your sister acquainted with one
another. What do you think of me now? Am I a good friend?"
"A good friend!" exclaimed Alfred. "The best of friends!" and became
almost outrageously effusive in his expressions of gratitude.
"And look here," said Mr. Sheldrake, "about that little acceptance of
Con Staveley's, if you want time----"
"I do! I do!" interrupted Alfred eagerly. "I'm rather hard pressed
just now, but I shall be all right presently. I've got the tip for the
Cesarewitch, and I shall make a pot of money. Can you manage it for me
with Con Staveley? I didn't like to ask you, but to tell you the
truth, I didn't know which way to turn."
"Very well; I'll manage it for you, for Lily's sake. Don't worry
yourself about it."
And then he told Alfred that Lizzie, looking as fresh as a
peach--"You mustn't be jealous of me, Alf," he said--was waiting for
him outside an inn opposite the entrance to Bushey Park. "Run off to
her," he said; "Lily and I will wait for you here. You needn't hurry;
I'll take care of Lily. We'll have a bit of dinner together, the four
of us, and a row on the river, perhaps."
With radiant face Alfred hastened to Lily.
"I sha'n't be gone long, Lil," he said, kissing her. "Wait here with
Mr. Sheldrake. I've got such a surprise for you. I don't believe any
man ever had a more out-and-out friend than Mr. Sheldrake is to me. I
want you to be very, very happy--as I am, my dear sis, my dear little
Lil!"
He kissed her again, and left her with springing step. Lily was
in a flutter of joy at his bright manner, and could not but feel
grateful to Mr. Sheldrake for bringing such happiness to her brother.
But, being left alone with him for the first time during their
acquaintance, she did not feel quite at her ease, and it was while she
was listening--with eyes cast modestly to the ground--to Mr.
Sheldrake's soft tones, that Felix caught sight of her. She did not
see him; all her attention was fixed upon Mr. Sheldrake's words.
"Yes, my dear Miss Lily," he was saying, "I am glad of the opportunity
of doing Alfred a good turn; if he had no other claim upon me, he is
your brother. I should like to see the man who would want a stronger
argument than that. I dare say you know that he is a little bit
harassed in money matters; but we'll pull him through, and when he's
all right, I hope he'll know whom he has to thank for it."
"You," said Lily.
"No, my dear Miss Lily," Mr. Sheldrake, with the slightest shade of
tenderness in his tone; "it is you he will have to thank. Or stay," he
added gaily, "suppose we say that he has to thank the pair of us.
Suppose we say that we are working together--you and I--for Alfred's
good. Shall we say so?"
"If you wish," said Lily faintly.
"That's a bargain," exclaimed Mr. Sheldrake heartily. "We enter into
a compact to work together for Alfred's good. I'm sure he deserves it,
for he's a good fellow, and such a partner as I've got can't ask
anything that I would refuse. Let us shake hands on it."
Lily held out her hand, and Mr. Sheldrake pressed it tenderly.
"And now, my dear Miss Lily, where do you think Alfred has gone to
now?"
"I don't know. He seemed very excited, all of a sudden, and very
happy."
"He ought to be. Do you know he has a sweetheart, the happy fellow?
Has he told you about Lizzie?"
"Yes, he told me only this morning."
"He will be here directly with her. She is waiting outside the park
gates for him. Are you not pleased?"
She gave him for answer a bright, happy look.
It was then that Felix turned away. He did not know, of course, what
had passed between Lily and Mr. Sheldrake. But he had seen that, when
they shook hands, Lily had held out hers first; and he saw, as he
turned his head, the bright look which flashed into Lily's eyes as Mr.
Sheldrake told her that Lizzie was near.
Something else of interest to him was taking place almost
simultaneously, at a short distance from where he stood. Outside the
park gates a company of street acrobats had halted, and having beaten
the drum and spread their little bit of carpet, were going through
their performances before an admiring audience. Among their audience
was Lizzie, who took great delight in street exhibitions. She was
dressed in her best clothes, and looked, as Mr. Sheldrake had said, as
fresh as a peach. Her whole attention was not given to the performers,
for she looked about her every now and then, expectant of some one.
But she did not see that she was being watched. From the opposite side
of the crowd an elderly woman, with a pale troubled face, dressed in
black, was observing Lizzie's every movement, and following the girl's
every motion with anxious eyes. This woman was Martha Day, housekeeper
to the Reverend Emanuel Creamwell.