THE END OF THE CLUE.
And what was Charles Yeldham doing with himself during all these
months? What indeed, save pursuing his "treadmill," daily increasing
in reputation and practice, and accumulating more and more money for
little Constance's dowry. The attorneys' clerks who climbed up his
black staircase were more numerous than ever. Though never relaxing
from his work for five minutes more than usual, he found himself
compelled day by day to postpone the acceptance of cases, with the
alternative of rejecting them altogether; and by the sheer force of
perseverance and industry he was on the high road to fame and wealth.
He did not relax now any thing like so much as when his old chum
Gordon Frere shared his chambers with him: there were no five minutes
of chat and chaff and raillery; no listening to poor Gordon's
confidences on love, debt, future career, now. The only time which
Charley Yeldham allowed himself for talking of unprofessional matters
was the half-hour during which he smoked his final pipe, and drank his
glass of grog before going to bed; and then he would pass in review
the curious events that had happened eight months before, and wonder
at and reason over them. Three men running after one girl--three!
Well, he could hardly count himself; though, certainly, he had thought
more about Katharine Guyon than of any other woman before or since
(and, let it be noted, that at this stage of his reflections he
invariably produced from his desk a photographic _carte_ which he had
obtained of her, and gazed at it with great tenderness)--two men,
we'll say, in hot pursuit, and Bob Sobersides winning the race! She
must have been an outrageous flirt, that Miss Guyon, though! Dear old
Charley Yeldham, with all his partiality, his romantic fondness for
Katharine, is constrained to admit--an outrageous flirt. Did not she
carry-on with poor Gordon, fooling him to the top of his bent; meeting
him at the Opera, at Botanical fêtes, at balls, and what not; flower
from her bouquet, hand-pressure, appointment for the next day? And,
after all, did she not whistle him down the wind, throw him away as
one does a split-pen, and marry Robert Streightley? Ay, ay! ay, ay!
Better the old desk and the long "treadmill"--better the flirtations
with attorneys, and _billets-doux_ from Bedford Row, all of which have
some satisfactory result, at least, than the pinning of your faith on
a woman's word, and the breaking of your heart by a woman's tricks!
After all, it was perhaps better that such a girl should have married
such a man as Robert Streightley. His steadiness would guide and
control her; his wealth would enable her to indulge her taste for
extravagance; and her dash and beauty would give pleasant _status_
amongst his acquaintance. Nothing of that kind could have happened had
she married poor Gordon Frere. Both young, extravagant, and reckless;
both accustomed to have their own way; both fond of flirtation;
neither understanding the theory of "give and take"--dear me! dear me!
thought Charley Yeldham to himself, when the honeymoon was over, that
would have been a disastrous business and a wretched _ménage_.
He had had several letters from Gordon, then private secretary to
Lord ----, acting minister at Rudolfstadt; letters full of complaints,
which were ludicrous to the reader, though evidently insufferable to
the writer. "It's a dull, wearying, dreary place, dear old boy," said
Gordon; "a beastly hole, with no one but besotted Germans to talk to,
who all are either professors, when they bore you to death with their
metaphysical cant, or half-fed dragoon officers, who make you long to
kick them for their infernal impertinence. Old Wigsby, who has nothing
to do, and who never opens a book or gives what ought to be his
brains, but what I firmly believe is either tow or wool, the smallest
exercise, passes his days in calling on the Frau Ober Consistorial
Directorin or the Hochgeborner Herr, and his nights in sitting in
their wretched twopenny theatres listening to their squealing singers.
He expects me to attend him on both occasions, and airs himself to
this German-silver nobility, this veneered _haute noblesse_, in his
patronage of me, d--n him (that's by way of parenthesis). On Wednesday
nights we go to the Jäger Hof, where the Duke von Friedenstein lives
when he is visible; and the entertainments there are something which
would be too much even for you, Charley, old fellow--and you know you
can stand a lot in the way of dulness! The old duke stands at the end
of a big room, and bows away like mad to every one who comes in, until
I wonder how his old spine holds out; and then the company wander
through the rooms, and look at the curios and the pictures in the
Kunst Kammer, which they've all of them seen a thousand times before;
and then the squealing singers from the theatre tune up and shriek
away for dear life in the music gallery. And then there's not a bad
supper of a queer kind: big hams and potato-salad and herring salad,
and hot salmon and cold jelly, and cold rice and jam, and some very
decent light wines; and it's all over by ten o'clock, and we're off to
bed. Old Wigsby goes to these lets-off _en grande tenue_, and is, I am
sure, seriously grieved that etiquette does not permit him to wear his
court suit. He is the most stupendous ass you can conceive, and is
always haranguing me about 'the position of a diplomatist,' and the
'representative of her Britannic Majesty;' he makes a _précis_ of his
washing-bills, and tells me that Lord Palmerston would not 'suffer my
handwriting, which is frivolous and unformed.' What the deuce do I
care? I only wish I was back in England--not for the reasons which you
probably assign for the wish. All that is past and gone, and I
sometimes grow hot all over when I think of the melodramatic farewell
which I took of you, my dear old Charley, at the London Bridge
station. I was an idiot then; but now that fire has burnt out, and
left very cold ashes. I hope Mrs. Streightley is well and happy, with
her charming husband. You'll grin at this, you old sceptic; but on my
honour it's true. I haven't the smallest shadow of regret for K.G.,
and I don't care one straw for any woman in the world. But I do long
to be out of this infernal place, to be rid of old Wigsby and his
pomposity and patronage, and to be out of earshot of this hard grating
German cackle, which sometimes makes me stop my ears and kick with
sheer rage. How are the old chambers looking, and how is their old
owner? O, if I could only put my hands on his dear old broad
shoulders, and have half-an-hour's chat with him, it would do me a
deal of good! Yours always,--G. F."
_Ex uno disce omnes_. This was a specimen of Gordon Frere's letters,
and the perusal of which left Charley Yeldham any thing but satisfied
with his friend's position. It was a good thing to think that he was
cured of his love infatuation,--so cured that he could write calmly
and even kindly of the traitress and his successful rival; but the
monotony of his life, and the dull dreariness of Rudolfstadt, were
evidently eating into his soul. No good could come of the continuance
of such distasteful work; and if Gordon Frere's career were to be any
thing but one of blighted hopes and miserable vegetating, he must
begin anew, and that too with all possible speed. So Yeldham, after
cogitating deeply over the matter, at last wrote to his friend, and
told him he felt that the sooner he put an end to the business in
which he was at present engaged, the better it would be for him, and
the greater likelihood he would have in adopting some new profession,
which he might pursue with pleasure and profit to himself. It was
evident that Gordon was wasting his life in Rudolfstadt; and his
friend's advice to him was, to make his adieux to his patron Wigsby,
and return at once to London. Here the old chambers were ready to
receive him; and if he were to make up his mind to go to the bar,
Yeldham thought he might do well enough. "I don't mean to say that
you'll soon be Attorney-General, young fellow, or that your opinions
are likely to outweigh Chitty's; but you used to be fluent enough at
the Apollo Debating Society; you've a certain knowledge of the world,
and unparalleled impudence; and with the possession of these
qualities, and with the aid which I can give you among the attorneys,
I think you're likely before long to be able to gain your
bread-and-cheese at the Old Bailey: at all events, you will be in
London, where a man ought to be, if ever he wants to profit by
chances; and you'll be relieved from that harassing depression which
seems to me to be sapping your character, and rendering you utterly
degenerate."
It was a great relief to honest Charles Yeldham's mind to find that
Gordon Frere had so readily, and to all appearance so effectually, got
over his disappointment in regard to Katharine. Often and often in the
few leisure minutes stolen from his work had Yeldham sat, with his
pipe in his mouth, pondering over the curious history of Robert
Streightley's marriage, and wondering how it might be influenced by
Frere's return. For, recluse as he was, unworldly in the "society"
sense, and nearly entirely given up to his work, Yeldham knew enough
of human nature to feel perfectly certain that the marriage which Mr.
Guy on so prided himself in having brought about was no love-match;
that Streightley was by no means the kind of man to have awakened any
passion in the breast of such a woman as Katharine; and that when any
strong opposing influence might be brought into play, his tenure on
her fealty would be slight indeed. The only thing that puzzled
Yeldham was, how the marriage had been managed, and how Kate's
consent to it had been obtained. Unless Gordon Frere's vanity was most
self-deceptive, this girl had undoubtedly been hotly in love with him
within an ace of her engagement to Streightley. She was not by any
means the sort of girl to be prevailed upon by parental coaxings or
threats (though her father was exactly the man to employ both); and
Robert had only his honesty of purpose, which was nothing to women
in general--and his wealth, which was nothing to this woman in
particular--to back his suit. There was something in the whole affair
which was inexplicable to Charles Yeldham; and being inexplicable, he
resolved never to rest until it was explained.
He had not seen Streightley, save in one or two casual
street-meetings, since the marriage; and though he had received a warm
invitation to Middlemeads, pressure of business had prevented him from
availing himself of it. Pressure of business, he said; but he wasted
the whole of the evening on which he received the invitation (and on
which, with his powers of working, he might have got through a great
deal of work) in handling the dainty note, and conning it over and
over, and in smoking many pipes, and thinking over many strange
things. The note was in Katharine's hand, and ran thus:
"My Dear Mr. Yeldham,--Finding that his own efforts at inducing you to
visit us are completely useless, Mr. Streightley asks me to try mine.
I think I need scarcely say how happy we shall be to see you here, and
how our utmost endeavours will be used to compensate you for your
absence from those legal studies, in which, I am assured, you find
your sole delight.--Very faithfully yours,
"Katharine Streightley."
A simple note, with a very slight touch of very mild badinage. But
Charles Yeldham was unaccustomed to the receipt of letters from
ladies, and this one certainly had a singular effect on him. What a
pretty hand she wrote! how refreshing were the thin, slight, angular
strokes after the rounded fists of the attorneys' clerks! how the
dainty paper and brilliant monogram contrasted with the blue-wove and
the wafer-stamp seal of his ordinary correspondence! And then, as he
puffed at his pipe, and watched the blue vapour curling up around his
head, Charley remembered the first, almost the only time he had ever
seen her in that soft diaphanous dress at the Botanical Fête, where,
even before he knew who she was, he had been sensible of her presence,
and where he had felt himself completely subjugated by her loveliness,
her elegance, and grace. They would laugh at him, Frere and some
fellows of his acquaintance, as a stoic and a cynic,--not that he was
one or the other,--but, after all, was it not better to go through
life unvexed and untroubled by thoughts of lovely women, who were as
far removed from you as the stars, than to endeavour to win them, and
find yourself cast down from star-height as the reward of your
presumption? It was a dull life his, no doubt; with nothing to cheer
it but the success of his work, and--good God! how beautiful she was!
(here he took the photograph out); what perfect grace in the pose of
her head, in the resting of her hands, in the long sweeping folds of
her dress! Ah, if little Constance ever grew up to be any thing like
that, there would be less need of the dower which her brother was so
carefully putting by for her! No wonder Gordon Frere, young,
impressible, buoyant, and hopeful, was desperately in love with such a
beauty; no wonder that, looking at her, Robert Streightley forgot his
ventures, his shares, his cautious dealings, and his longheaded
speculations, and rushed into the matrimonial market, determined, at
whatever cost, to carry off the prize.
How had Robert Streightley accomplished this result? The desire of
being successful was intelligible; but how was the success arrived at?
As Yeldham pondered over his question, during his midday interval of
rest, and while smoking his midday pipe, there came a knock at the
oak; and opening it, Yeldham admitted the man of all others most
likely to be able to answer him--Robert Streightley himself.
He came in wincing a little at the clouds of strong Cavendish which
filled the barrister's room, and seated himself in the attorneys'
chair. He looked pale and a little careworn, but he greeted Yeldham
certainly as heartily as usual, and smiled as he said, "For once in
his life!--bravo! for once in his life, I've found the machine without
the steam up, and Charley Yeldham _not_ at his desk!"
"Sir," replied Charley, "you come at a peculiar time; these are the
five minutes of relaxation; so let us relax together! Robert, my boy,
you're looking very seedy, white and peaky!"
"Well, I have been rather seedy; but I'm not very bad after all. I've
had a good deal of worry lately, in one shape or another, and worry
tells on me more than it did. Getting old, I suppose!"
"You ought to take a partner, Robert; I mean a business partner. That
affair of yours is too big to carry on single-handed. O, tell me, by
the way--you won't misconstrue the reason of my asking--that
confounded bank failure? Rumour says you were hit hard by it. Is it
true?"
"Yes; for once in the course of events rumour hasn't lied. Our house
was in heavily, and has suffered with the rest."
"That's part of your trouble, Robert?"
"Well, perhaps part; though I should scarcely say so, as the
money-loss has been replaced, and Streightley and Son have passed the
sponge across the slate, and look upon it as an unutterably bad debt."
"Lucky for them that they are able to do so; had it been my case, I
should either have been playing rackets in Whitecross Street, or
wearing a black wig and whiskers, and hiding myself as much as
possible in a steamer bound to a country without an extradition
treaty. I often think if you great commercial swells only knew how we
professional men live, and the amount of the balance presently
standing to our credit at our bankers----"
"Yes; and if you professional men only knew how the commercial swells,
as you call us, envy you your freedom from responsibility."
"Freedom from responsibility, indeed! By the way, how's your wife?"
"_Apropos_ of responsibility! She'd take that as a compliment. She's
very well indeed, old boy, very well; not up in town yet. Still
staying at Middlemeads, where you've never yet been, though both of us
have done our best to get you there."
"My dear Robert, what on earth would be the good of my arriving at
your country place with a blue stuff bag full of papers, and enjoying
my holiday in the country by sticking to your library from morning
till night, reading cases, drawing pleas, and giving opinions? I feel
perfectly certain that at your library-table, which is probably
virgin-free from ink-blots, in your library-chair, which is probably
comfortable, and surrounded by your country atmosphere, which of
course is pure and fresh, the few wits which I possess would leave me,
and the most which I should do at Middlemeads would have the effect of
utterly depriving me from ever earning five guineas again. No, I won't
come to Middlemeads until I can--with a comfortable conscience--leave
my blue bag behind me, and when that will be heaven only knows!"
"And in the mean time, and for the mere sake of your work, you drag
your life on in these solitary chambers?"
"Listen to him! listen to Benedick the married man; so full of
domestic happiness that he must crow over us poor bachelors. Very
well, old fellow, as fate has willed it, is my life; the more work I
have the happier I am: if I had not any, I should stick my head into
the Temple fountain, and thereby incur the odium of the Benchers. No,
I must not do that quite, while I've the old governor and Constance
left, lest I should be supremely wretched; whereas in my work I'm
thoroughly happy; and as for solitary chambers--well, they are
solitary now, but they wern't once, and won't be again soon, I think.
My old chum's coming home."
"Your old chum? Who do you mean?"
"Why, the man who lived with me in these rooms before, and will share
them again, I hope. Gordon Frere."
"Gordon Frere? Is he coming back to England--to London?" Robert
Streightley's face turned pale as he asked this question, and his lips
twitched with nervous anxiety.
"I hope so. I've written to him to try and persuade him to do so. He's
a clever fellow, airy and specious, with what they call a good 'gift
of the gab;' and I want him to try his fortune at the bar."
Streightley rose from his chair, took a few paces round the room, then
settled himself again with his face shaded by his hand, looking at his
friend.
"You were very intimate with this man Frere, Charley?" he asked in a
hard dry voice, after a minute's pause.
"Intimate? Didn't he live here, I tell you?--though you knew it long
since, if you'll only give yourself the trouble to recollect."
"And you were thoroughly in his confidence?"
Charles Yeldham answered, "Entirely." But the word had scarcely
escaped him when he saw the drift of the question, and wished he had
pondered ere replying.
"Then you know, I suppose, that he--that he was--was in love with Miss
Guyon--with my wife?"
"My dear Robert, what on earth are you talking about, what on
earth----"
"Do you know it, or don't you?"
"I have heard it, of course, and----"
"You have heard it, of course; and now he's coming back! Coming back,
curse him!"
"My dear Streightley, have you taken leave of your senses? What on
earth has the young man's return--although in past times he might have
had sufficient good taste to admire Miss Guyon and hope to win her,
for which I honour him--yes! I say I honour him--what on earth has his
return to do with such an outbreak as this?"
"Never mind, Charles Yeldham! He shan't see her! Look here--mark
this--he may be a friend of yours or not, but he shan't see her. I'll
have no renewal of old friendships and all that! He shan't see her!
Mr. Guyon shall take care of that. I'll appeal to him, and he'll back
me up, I know."
"My dear Robert, if you're weak enough to have to appeal to your
father-in-law in any matter in which your wife is concerned, I think
you're to be pitied! However, don't fear! Any feeling which Frere may
have had for Miss Guyon is quite past and gone, and now that she is
Mrs. Streightley----"
"Ah! that's all very well; but he shan't see her. Mr. Guyon will back
me up in that, I'm sure. I know he will. Good-bye, Charley;" and Mr.
Streightley turned the handle of the door and left the chambers.
The attorneys whose cases Mr. Yeldham had in hand that day found the
celebrated conveyancer a little dilatory. Their clerks attending the
next morning were bidden to call again later in the day. You see you
don't get through much work when, your feet on the fender, and a pipe
in your mouth, you sit for the whole afternoon staring at the grate
and chewing the cud of mental reflection. "'He shan't see her!' Why
not? Streightley cannot be idiot enough to suppose that there is such
fascination in Frere as to--O no! That's not it. 'He shan't see
her'--that means they shan't meet, shan't speak, shan't--'Mr. Guyon
shall take care of that--he'll back me up'--Mr. Guyon!--they shan't
meet! Mr. Guyon back me up!--they shan't meet! No answer to Gordon's
proposal, no meeting with him at that ball--old Guyon's reply as to
the pre-engagement and--Now, by the Lord, Robert Streightley, I only
hope my thoughts are wrong; for if I'm right, you've been led by
weakness or worse into a base conspiracy, and henceforth are no friend
of mine!"