LIZZIE DEEMS IT NECESSARY TO CALL CUNNING TO HER AID.
The first thing Lily saw when she recovered consciousness was Lizzie's
face bending down to hers. In that instant Lizzie began to act: as all
women do upon every possible occasion. If those who enlist in the
ranks of the drama would but act on the stage as they act off it,
there would be no talk of the decadence of dramatic art. Every trace
of anxiety vanished from Lizzie's face as Lily's eyes looked into
hers, and she smiled so brightly and nodded so encouragingly as to
infuse strength into the heart of her friend.
"Where am I, Lizzie?"
"With friends, my dear. The theatre was so hot that I almost fainted
myself."
"Did I faint, then? How foolish of me!" A look of joy filled her eyes
as they lighted on her brother. "O Alfred!"
He knelt by her side, and she took his hand and retained it. By this
time the theatre was fast being emptied.
"I remember now what it was that overcame me. The horrible sight of
that man dying!"
She shuddered, and Lizzie said briskly,
"Never mind; we're not going to think of that any more. It was only a
piece of acting, after all. We'll go to see something more lively next
time."
And Lizzie nodded emphatically at Alfred, who answered,
"Yes, we will. I didn't know what sort of a piece this was, or I
shouldn't have brought you to see it."
"But Mr. Sheldrake knew," remarked Lizzie, with a sharp glance in the
direction of that gentleman.
"I assure you I did not," was Mr. Sheldrake's reply. "You do me great
injustice, and not for the first time to-night. I have too high a
regard for Miss Lily to cause her pain. She knows that, I am sure; and
so does Alfred."
"I know it well," interposed Alfred eagerly; "and Lily knows it too.
How can you be so unjust, Liz?"
Lily turned to her friend. "I am so sorry for all this. I am the only
one to blame for being so weak and foolish."
This brought Mr. Sheldrake out in full force; he was almost tender in
his expressions of sympathy for Lily, and he even relented so far
towards Lizzie as to hold up a warning finger as a caution not to be
unjust to her friends for the future.
"And now," he said, when Lily was ready to depart, "I propose we go
and have a little supper."
"No, thank you," said Lizzie, in a decided tone, not at all softened
by the evidence of Mr. Sheldrake's magnanimity.
Mr. Sheldrake bit his lip.
"You speak for all," he said.
"I think so. Lily will not go without me, and of course Alfred must
see me home."
"Why won't you accept Mr. Sheldrake's invitation, Liz?" asked Alfred
uneasily.
"Daddy is waiting up for me, and we have a long way to go. And
besides, Lily is unwell."
For one instant, Mr. Sheldrake hesitated; but only for an instant.
"Well, it's of no use trying to persuade you. A wilful woman will have
her way. How do you propose we shall go home?" he asked of Lizzie in a
tone of sarcastic politeness. "Your way is different from ours."
Lizzie decided this without hesitation. They would all go in one cab,
and drop Lily at the door of her grandfather's house in Soho, and then
Alfred should see Lizzie home. Mr. Sheldrake made no demur to her
suggestion, and the party drove from the theatre. But he stopped the
cab at the corner of the little street in Soho, and said that the
driver need not turn, as he could see Lily the few yards she had to
go. He jumped out of the cab, and said to Alfred,
"By-the-bye, Alf, I want to say a word or two to you. The girls will
excuse us for a moment."
Alfred and he walked half-a-dozen steps from the cab, and then he
turned upon Alfred, and asked what was the meaning of Lizzie's
behaviour.
"I don't know," replied Alfred; "I never saw her in such a humour
before. I hope you don't think I am to blame for what has occurred."
"I haven't stopped to think. When a man's made mad as I've been
to-night, he doesn't think of much else but the cause. Look here,
Alfred, I don't want to pry into your secrets, my boy, and I don't
want to spoil your love-making. You know best whether I've been a
friend to you or not----"
"You have been," interrupted Alfred eagerly; "a true friend!"
"Well, then, I'm not going to be made to look small by any sweetheart
of yours. I've nothing to say against Lizzie; but she mustn't come any
of her tricks with me. Take my advice. Tell her to be more civil to me
for the future. If she isn't--" here he paused, and gave Alfred a
significant look--"well, if she isn't, I might turn rusty. And that
might be awkward for you, Alf."
There was no mistaking his meaning, and Alfred's heart sickened at the
threat conveyed in the words. It suited Mr. Sheldrake not to notice
Alfred's discomposure, and they returned to the cab in silence.
"I'll walk with you, Lily," said Lizzie, as Mr. Sheldrake held out his
hand to assist Lily from the cab; "it's only a few steps, and the cab
can wait."
But Mr. Sheldrake put a restraining hand upon her arm.
"I can see Miss Lily safely to her door," he said politely. "You have
a long way to go, and Mr. Musgrave is waiting up for you, you said.
It's very late, and you'd best be moving. Eh, Alfred?"
"Yes, yes," returned Alfred hurriedly; "we must rattle on. Good-night,
Mr. Sheldrake. I'll see you to-morrow some time."
The cab drove away, and for a few moments neither Lizzie nor Alfred
spoke. Their thoughts were not in unison. But Lizzie, the more gentle
nature of the two, presently crept close to Alfred and placed her hand
in his. He threw it from him angrily. She resented this at first, and
shrank from him; but a better feeling came upon her soon, and she
asked:
"What have I done, Alfred, that you behave in this manner to me?"
"Done!" he repeated, with bitter emphasis. "Been the ruin of me, I
shouldn't wonder!"
"Alfred!"
"O, yes," he said sullenly. "It's all very well for you to cry Alfred
in that tone; but it won't mend matters. I thought you loved me----"
"Have I not proved it, Alfred?" she interrupted, in a tone of sadness.
"But I have found out my mistake," he continued, not heeding her
words; "it's always the way. Mr. Sheldrake is right in what he says
about women; no man ought to trust them."
"Do you think you ought not to trust me?
"Do you think there is anything in the world that I would not do for
your sake? O Alfred, you speak blindly!"
"I am the best judge of that," he returned quickly; "you don't know
all. If there is nothing in the world that you would not do for my
sake, why should you act in such a manner to-night as to set Mr.
Sheldrake dead against me?"
Lizzie did not reply for a few moments; her face was turned towards
her lover, as if striving to read his thoughts. She could not see his
features distinctly in the gloom of the cab, but his voice was a
sufficient index to the trouble that possessed him.
"You speak as if you were afraid of Mr. Sheldrake, Alfred?"
"I should have reason to be if he turned rusty. He gave me a warning
to-night."
"Because I displeased him?"
"Yes, because of you. It makes me sick to think of it, to speak of it.
I wish I was dead! I am the most miserable wretch in the world! If it
were not for you and Lily, I think I should make away with myself."
"Don't speak like that, Alf," said Lizzie, placing her arm tenderly
around him; "it breaks my heart to see you so unhappy. I know you love
me and Lily. And you ought to be sure that we are better friends to
you than Mr. Sheldrake can be, and that we would do more for you if it
was in our power."
"That's it. If it was in your power. But it isn't, and it _is_ in Mr.
Sheldrake's; and he has behaved like a true friend to me."
"Sometimes I ask myself, Alfred, what can be his motive?"
"I know that you are prejudiced against him; and that's the reason you
suspect him, and can't be civil to him. You think he wouldn't do me a
kindness without a motive?"
"I am sure he wouldn't," said Lizzie firmly; "and I am sure of another
thing--that you, in your heart, do not like him. I wish you had never
seen him."
"I wish I hadn't," groaned Alfred.
"And yet you have told me he was your best friend, Alfred."
"Don't badger me, Liz, for God's sake I am almost torn to pieces as it
is. You ought to comfort me, and try and make things better for me."
"Ah, if I could! If I knew how to, how gladly would I! Why not
confide entirely in me, Alf? Who can have a better right to your
confidence that the girl that loves you with all her heart and
soul?--as I do, Alf, my dear! Come now, tell me all. Who knows?
Something good may come of it. What's your trouble?"
"Money."
"Yes, I know that; and that you owe Mr. Sheldrake more than you can
pay. Tell me how it all came about, dear."
So by many little endearing ways she coaxed him to tell her the whole
of his miserable story. How, excited by the glowing accounts in the
papers of the easy manner in which fortunes could be made on the turf,
he had commenced to bet, a few shillings at the time at first; how he
attended races, and how one unfortunate day he won a few pounds, and
came home flushed with the idea that he had found the philosopher's
stone; how little by little he had been led on, with the inevitable
result of losing more than he could afford; how on one important race,
when the prophets and tipsters in every one of the papers declared--in
such glowing and confident terms that it was impossible to resist the
temptation of making a bold plunge for fortune--that a certain horse
could not possibly lose, he had used money which did not belong to
him; and how the horse came in last instead of first.
"I had to make up that money, of course," he continued; "I had to get
it somehow; and I did get it--never mind in what manner. You can
imagine what I suffered, Liz! I thought I had fortune in my hands; and
I had, but I was tricked out of it--for the whole affair was a
swindle. The horse was never intended to win; and they swore it
couldn't lose."
He derived comfort from the confession he was making; he took no blame
to himself; and he did not, when he reached this point, tell her the
story of the theft from the iron box. Then he went on to narrate how
he had made Mr. Sheldrake's acquaintance, and how that gentleman had
lent him money from time to time, and how misfortune continued to
pursue him. He would have had his pockets filled with money over and
over again if it had not been that things invariably went wrong with
him just at the critical moment.
"It was from no want of judgment on my part, Liz. I had got to learn
as much as any of the prophets and tipsters, and yet I could never
manage to turn up trumps. I saw other fellows, who didn't know in
their whole bodies as much as I knew in my little finger, make
hundreds and hundreds of pounds. It only wants sticking to, Liz. I'll
make all our fortunes yet; you see if I don't! There's the City and
Suburban coming on; and I know something that'll open their eyes. And
when I pay Mr. Sheldrake the money I owe him, I'll cut with him, if
it's only to please you."
By the time he had reached the end of his recital he had recovered
some of his good spirits. Lizzie listened in silence, and interrupted
him only once, to ask whether he ever made any bets with Mr.
Sheldrake.
"O, no," was the reply; "Sheldrake will never bet with me, Liz. Why,
sometimes he tries to persuade me not to back a horse that I'm sweet
on, and even tries to persuade me not to bet on races at all. 'It's a
bad game, Alf,' he has said to me more than once, 'it's a bad game,
unless you've got a strong bank at your back, and unless you can hold
out for a long time.' Well, then, I ask him how it was he had managed
to make his money; and he can't help telling me the truth. He was dead
broke, Liz, in a worse fix than I'm in now--ay, a thousand times
worse--he has told me so lots of times; but he stuck to it until on
one race he had taken a bet of a thousand pounds to ten, and his horse
won. There he was, all right in a minute. He was a made man directly
the horse passed the winning-post. He told me how he threw his hat in
the air, and how he almost danced for joy. Then the money began to
roll in. That's how it is, Liz. You've only got to stick to it long
enough, and keep your heart up."
"Do you bet with any of Mr. Sheldrake's friends, Alf?"
"With one--Con Staveley."
Lizzie repeated, under her breath, "Con Staveley!" as if desiring to
fix the name in her memory.
"Con gives me long odds--longer than I should be able to get from any
other of the commission agents or from any of the clubs. One of these
days I shall give him a nip, as sure as fate. He has told me so,
often, laughingly. 'You'll nip me one of these fine days, Alf,' he
said; and 'I shall have to hand you over a big cheque. Well, you may
as well have it as anybody else.' And I mean to have it, Liz. If I
don't make it out of the City and Suburban, I'll make it out of the
Derby. Would you like to go to the Derby, Liz?
"And so," concluded Alfred, when he came to the end of his story,
which he had told and coloured in such a way as to make it appear that
it was only by an extraordinary combination of ill-chances that he was
not "rolling in money" at the present time, "you see where my chance
lies. I shall be sure to come up all right, if I go on. And I _must_
go on, Liz; that's a fact. It's my only chance. And as Mr. Sheldrake
can shut me up at any minute, I must be careful not to offend him. I
want you to be civil to him, for my sake, if you won't for his own."
"I'll try to, Alf."
"That's a dear! I can't understand why you are so bitter against him.
At one time you were always praising him; and you've some reason to be
thankful to him. I'm sure he's been, very kind to you and Mr.
Musgrave."
"It looks so," said Lizzie thoughtfully, "outwardly."
She said no more; for she was keen enough to see that many conflicting
influences were at work. That Alfred was blind to Mr. Sheldrake's
character was plain; and, indeed, the feeling she entertained against
him was really nothing more than a matter of prejudice. But her
instincts were dead against him; and she thoroughly distrusted him.
There is often in woman's character a sort of unreasoning reason, to
the whisperings of which she tenaciously clings, even though outward
evidence almost surely prove it to be based upon false grounds. And in
the majority of instances, the instinct which prompts this refusal of
direct evidence is correct. Mr. Sheldrake had become Lizzie's Doctor
Fell; and she judged him accordingly.
The conversation she had had with Alfred this night set her thinking
more seriously. She yearned to set matters right; but turn which way
she did, one obstacle started up constantly before her--Mr. Sheldrake.
He seemed to hold them all in his power by the relations which existed
between him and Alfred. As she thought of the terrible blow he could
inflict upon them all, she began to hate him. Alfred was powerless;
Lily was powerless; Mr. Musgrave was powerless. Lizzie had a large
share of woman's wit and cunning, and much confidence in herself. In
her musings now, Mr. Sheldrake presented himself to her in the light
of a foe to her dearest hopes, as one who was weaving treacherous webs
around her friends; and she found herself watching him, and looking
about her for some means to break the threads, and so defeat him. "If
I had some one to help me," she thought, "some man to depend upon who
is not in Mr. Sheldrake's power. Felix!" She started; for the name had
come so suddenly upon her, and with such vivid force, as to make her
almost fancy that she had really heard it spoken. Felix! The man of
all others whom she would have chosen; the man of all others upon whom
she could best depend. The thought of him gave her such hope and
comfort, that she kissed Alfred tenderly. He returned her caress, and
called her a dear good girl, and told her how he loved her.
Mr. Musgrave, who was waiting up for Lizzie, heard the sound of the
cab wheels, and ran to the gate.
"Will you come inside, Alfred?" he asked.
"No, thank you, I will bid Lizzie good-night here."
"I'll be in presently, daddy," said Lizzie, with a kiss, which sent
the old man into the house with a light heart.
As the lovers stood together in the quiet night, some better
influences, born of the peace which surrounded him and of the
consciousness of the love which Lizzie bore towards him, entered
Alfred's heart, and he experienced a genuine feeling of regret for the
folly of the past. It had floated him on to rocks so perilous that his
liberty was endangered and his honour was lost. How much better had it
been for him and all of them had he avoided the fatal snares! "Let me
but once get free," he thought, "and I will take care not to be caught
again." In this way do all weak natures repent the consequences of
their folly. What was bad in Alfred's nature sprang out of his
weakness; his very selfishness only asserted itself when he was in
trouble--but then, indeed, it asserted itself with such strength as to
sweep aside every other consideration, and as to make it impossible
for him to recognise the danger he might inflict on those he loved in
his efforts to free himself from the net he had woven for himself.
The lovers did not part for nearly an hour. The little that Lizzie
said to Alfred soothed and comforted him, and when he bade her the
last good-night, and gave her the last kiss, he was in a quieter and
better mood than he was when they quitted the theatre.
"Will Lily be asleep when you get home, Alf?" asked Lizzie.
"I should think so, Liz."
"And I should think not so, Alf," said Lizzie, half gaily, half sadly.
"See. When you are at home, knock at her door, and if she is awake,
give her this kiss from me."
She watched Alfred till he was out of sight, then went indoors, where
Mr. Musgrave was patiently waiting for her.
"Did you enjoy yourself, Lizzie?"
"Yes--no," replied Lizzie, taking off her hat and mantle. "It isn't a
very lively piece, and Lily was ill. Why, how pale you've turned,
daddy! She was better before we left her. It was the piece made her
ill, I think."
"Tell me more about it, Lizzie; she was well when she went to the
theatre?"
"O yes, and we thought we were going to enjoy ourselves very much. And
so we should have done if the play had been a lively one. But it was
horrible. I wouldn't go to see it again for ever so much. Well, and
the theatre was very hot and the last scene was so dreadful that Lily
fainted. She soon recovered, and we all went to Soho in one cab."
"That was right, Lizzie."
"Yes," said Lizzie, with assumed carelessness, but watching the old
man keenly, "it was my doing, that was. Mr. Sheldrake wanted to walk
home with Lily, and wanted me and Alfred to start off at once in a cab
from the theatre--but I wouldn't have it so. I insisted that we should
all go together, and that we should drop Lily at her door. Mr.
Sheldrake wasn't very pleased. To tell you the truth, daddy, I think I
rather set him against me to-night. Do you mind?"
Such a concentrated look of watchfulness did she flash into his face
that it would have startled him to see. But as he did not see, he
could only answer her spoken words.
"No, my dear, I don't mind; but it will be as well not to quarrel with
him, if you can help it."
"He would be a dangerous enemy, wouldn't he, daddy?"
"Yes, my dear; very dangerous."
"So if we know he _is_ our enemy we shall have to behave cunningly
towards him; we shall have to be on our guard. To be civil to him to
his face, and ready to tear him to pieces directly we get a chance."
There was so much excitement in her words and manner that Mr. Musgrave
looked at her in uneasy amazement. She walked about the room
restlessly, with a bright flame in her cheeks. Presently she grew
calmer, and sat down by the table, on which supper was laid. There was
trouble in her face, and it brought trouble into his.
"Take some supper, Lizzie; we will talk afterwards."
"No, we will talk now. I can't eat any supper. Mr. Sheldrake wanted us
to go with him to some supper-rooms, but I wouldn't hear of it. Was I
right?"
"Quite right."
"So that I've been twice right to-night, and this enemy of ours with
the curled moustaches has been twice wrong.
"You seem to be very much set against Mr. Sheldrake, my dear."
"_Seem_ to be! I am. I mean every word I say, and a good deal more.
Tell me--do _you_ like him?"
"He is my employer, Lizzie, and could turn us out of this house any
day he chose."
"And could do many other hard things--and would, and will, if he's
thwarted; so we must be cunning, and must enter into a league against
him. Shake hands upon it." And she held out her hand earnestly to
him. "Shake hands upon it!" she repeated, almost vehemently.
"Child, child!" he said sorrowfully. "I take your hand, and kiss it
because I love you, and because I feel that your words convey a deeper
meaning than they express. But I am an old man, and I have seen
trouble, and have felt its bitter experiences. I would not willingly
encourage you in what may bring bad consequences to both of us."
"Not if we are wary, daddy--not if we are cunning. You don't know what
prompts me to speak so! Ah, daddy! Do you remember my telling you,
when you first opened out the prospect of this pretty little cottage
to me, that I was wilful, and might tease you a good deal, and that
for that reason you had better consider very seriously whether it
would do for you and me to live together as you proposed? I don't know
whether to be thankful or sorry that I consented. I was very happy
then--very, very happy."
"You did it for my sake, Lizzie," he said humbly.
"Not altogether; I did it a good deal for my own. I thought how nice
it would be for Alfred."
She covered her face with her hands to hide her tears.
"You took pity on my lonely life, Lizzie, and I bless you for it, my
child! You have brought much happiness to me, and things have occurred
to me since then--such wonderful things."
She looked up, with the tears in her eyes.
"What wonderful things, daddy?"
"That is my secret, my dear," he said sadly. "You do not know the
history of my past life. The time may come--and soon--when you will
learn it. I have become a better man, I hope, since we came to live
here. Sit by me, my child, and tell me your trouble."
She seated herself on a stool at his feet, and took his hand and
caressed it.
"And you have a secret, too," she murmured, "and a new one. We all of
us have secrets, I think, that we are keeping from one another."
"All of us! Have you a secret that you keep from me?"
"Yes, daddy; and one that I must not tell anybody, not even you. I
have promised. You must not ask me any questions about it, for I
cannot answer them."
"Very well, my dear. But tell me the reason of your feeling against
Mr. Sheldrake."
"Suppose you knew that he could destroy the happiness of the one you
loved best in the world--suppose you knew that he was ready to use
that power if you crossed him in any of his bad ways."
"That is all supposing, Lizzie."
"It is reality to me. Mr. Sheldrake has Alfred in his power, and can
ruin him any minute he pleases. Alfred told me so to-night. O, daddy,
daddy! I am unhappy and miserable, and I don't know which way to turn
if you will not help me."
"I will help you, child, in any way that I can. Does Alfred owe Mr.
Sheldrake money?"
"Yes, more than he can pay."
"How has that come about?"
"You must not tell anybody. Alfred would be angry. Alfred has lost the
money in betting on horses."
Mr. Musgrave started. The business that was conducted in Ivy Cottage
was conducted in so secret a manner that Lizzie did not know its
nature. She had been curious about it, and once or twice had asked the
old man; but he had laughingly evaded her, and it was she who had
dubbed the room in which he and Mr. Sheldrake were often closeted
together for so long a time the Bluebeard's room.
"Does he bet with Mr. Sheldrake, Lizzie?"
"No--with a man named Con Staveley."
The guilty look that stole into Mr. Musgrave's face bore no meaning to
Lizzie's sense. Some part of the scheme was now revealed to him. Mr.
Sheldrake lent Alfred money, which he received back through Con
Staveley; and he himself perhaps had been an unconscious instrument in
Mr. Sheldrake's hands, and had assisted in Alfred's entanglement. But
what could be Mr. Sheldrake's motive? There was nothing to be gained
from Alfred, who had no money and no expectations. Knowing Mr.
Sheldrake thoroughly, Mr. Musgrave knew well that there must be some
deep motive at the bottom of all this. The old man had parts of the
chain in his hand, but the important link was wanting. Could Lizzie
supply it?
"Have Alfred and Mr. Sheldrake been friends for a very long time,
Lizzie?"
"No, daddy; not twelve months, I think."
"How did they become acquainted?"
"I don't quite know, but I suspect it was through Lily."
"Through Lily!" echoed the old man, almost in a whisper.
"I think that Mr. Sheldrake lends Alfred money because of her. I
think--no, I don't think; I am sure--that Mr. Sheldrake wants Lily to
be fond of him."
Lizzie was frightened at the white face which met her gaze. A terrible
fear smote the old man dumb for a time. The missing link was found!
This Mr. Sheldrake--this man without principle, without honour,
without heart--had designs upon the tender girl who had brought light
into the old man's life. Lizzie had indeed found a friend in her
design--how eager and willing a friend she little knew--but one whose
motive for aiding her was so strong as to overleap every other
consideration in life.
"You are ill, daddy!" she cried.
He rose and paced the room, and Lizzie's anxious eyes watched him.
What were his thoughts during the silence that followed he did not
reveal. But a new strength seemed to have entered into him, and he
paused before his adopted child with a determination in his face which
robbed him of many years.
"Answer my questions, Lizzie," he said, "without asking for reasons.
First let me tell you that when you brought Lily here as your friend,
I was glad. I have grown to love her, as well as I love you, child.
Has she any affection for Mr. Sheldrake?"
"No!" Very decided and emphatic was Lizzie's reply.
"Thank God for it! He is unworthy of her. You speak as if you knew."
"How do girls learn each other's secrets, daddy? Lily has never told
me, although I have tried to coax her a hundred times. She loves
another man. I know this as well as I know that I love Alfred with all
my heart and soul."
"A good man, Lizzie?"
"One of the best of men, daddy."
"Do not answer carelessly, child. I have a stake in this, perhaps as
deep and as strong as yours."
"I do not answer carelessly, daddy. Your manner gives me such hope! I
am so glad I have spoken to-night. The man she loves and who loves
her, I am sure, is one to be honoured--a man worthy of any girl,
worthy even of Lily."
"You asked me to give you my hand a little while ago, my dear. I give
it to you now in the way that you wished."
There was something solemn in the manner in which he held out his hand
to her; and something altogether so new and earnest in him, that it
stirred her to deeper feeling, as his hand closed over hers.
"Now for Alfred," he said; "do you know if he bets in his own name?"
"He has never told me."
"You have some letters of his?"
"Yes, daddy."
"It is time for you to go to bed, my dear. I want to see Alfred's
writing. I will come up with you, and you will give me one or two of
his letters. Trust me, child, I have a good reason for what I am
doing. So now, kiss me, and let us go upstairs."
He kissed her at her bedroom door again, when she gave him the
letters.
"We'll try and be a match for this enemy of ours, Lizzie."
"O daddy," she answered, with a bright look, "you have made my heart
light!"