The days passed by and brought no letter, in answer to Castalia's, from
Lord Seely. Dreary were the hours in Ivy Lodge. The wife was devoured by
passionate jealousy and a vain yearning for affection; the husband found
that even the bright, smooth, hard metal of his own character was not
impervious to the corrosive action of daily cares, regrets, and
apprehensions. Algernon was not apt to hate. He usually perceived the
absurd side of persons who were obnoxious to him with too keen an
amusement to detest them; and the inmost feeling of his heart with
respect to his fellow-creatures in general approached, perhaps, as
nearly to perfect indifference as it is given to a mortal to attain. But
it was not possible to preserve a condition of indifference towards
Castalia. She was a thorn in his flesh, a mote in his eye, a weariness
to his spirit; and he began to dislike the very sight of the sallow,
sickly face, red-eyed too often, and haggard with discontent, that met
his view whenever he was in his own home. It was the daily "worry" of
it, he told himself, that was unendurable. It was the being shut up with
her in a box like Ivy Lodge, where there was no room for them to get
away from each other. If he could have shared a mansion in Grosvenor
Square with Castalia he might have got on with her well enough! But
then, that mansion in Grosvenor Square would have made so many things
different in his life.
At length one day came a letter to Castalia, with the London post-mark
and sealed with the well-known coat of arms, but it did not bear Lord
Seely's frank. Another name was scrawled in the corner, and the
direction was written in Lady Seely's crooked, cramped little
characters.
"I'm afraid Uncle Val must be ill!" exclaimed Castalia, opening the
letter with a trembling hand. She was so weak and nervous now that the
most trifling agitation made her heart beat painfully. My lady's epistle
was not long, and, as a knowledge of its contents is essential to the
due comprehension of this story, it is given in full, with her
ladyship's own phraseology and orthography:--
"MY DEAR CASTALIA,--I cannot think what on earth you are about
to write such letters to your uncle. Go abroad, indeed! I
suppose Ancram would like the embassy to St. Petersburg, or to
be governor of the Ionian Islands. It's all nonsense, and you
had better put such ideas out of your head at once, and for
all. I should think you might know that we have other people to
think of besides your husband, especially after all we have
done for him. Your uncle is very ill in bed with an attack of
the gout, and can't write himself. The doctor thinks he won't
be about again for weeks. You can guess what trouble this
throws on to my shoulders, so I hope you won't worry me by any
more such letters as the last. As if there was not anxiety
enough, Fido had a fit on Thursday. I hope you are pretty well.
What a blessing you've no sign of a family. With only you two
to keep, you ought to do very well on Ancram's salary, and you
can tell him I say so. Yours affectionately,
"B. SEELY."
"Poor Uncle Val!" exclaimed Castalia, dropping the letter from her hand.
"I was afraid he was ill."
"Pshaw! A touch of the gout won't kill him," said Algernon, who had been
reading over her shoulder. "But it's deuced unfortunate for me that he
should be laid up at this time, and quite helpless in the hands of that
old catamaran."
"Poor Uncle Val! Perhaps he never got my letter at all."
"Nothing more likely, if my lady could prevent his getting it."
"Perhaps, when he gets better, I can write to him again, and ask
him----"
"When he gets better? Oh yes, certainly. We have plenty of time. There
is no hurry, of course!"
"I see that you are speaking satirically, Ancram, but I don't know why."
Her husband shrugged his shoulders and walked out of the room. As he
left the house he was met at the garden-gate by a bright-eyed,
consumptive-looking lad, in shabby working clothes, who touched his cap,
and held out a paper to Algernon. "What do you want?" asked the latter.
"Mr. Gladwish, sir. His account, if you please, sir."
"And who the devil is Mr. Gladwish?"
"The shoemaker, sir."
"Oh! Mr. Gladwish, then, is an extremely importunate, impatient,
troublesome fellow. This is the third or fourth time within a very few
weeks that he has sent in his bill. I'm not accustomed to that sort of
thing. I don't understand it. Don't give me the paper, boy. Take it into
the house."
"Please, sir," began the lad, and stopped, hesitatingly. Then seeing
that Mr. Errington was walking off without taking any further notice of
him, he repeated in a louder, firmer tone, "Please, sir, Mr. Gladwish is
really in want of the money. He has two of the children bad with fever.
And I was to say that even five pounds on account would be acceptable."
"Five pounds! He's too modest. I haven't got five pounds, nor five
minutes. I'm busy."
"Then, I'm sorry to say, sir, that Mr. Gladwish will take legal
proceedings for the debt at once. He told me to tell you so."
"Nice state of things!" muttered Algernon, as he walked towards the
post-office, with his head bent down and his hands deep in his pockets.
"But that's nothing. It's those cursed bills in Maxfield's hands that
are on my mind like lead."
His spirits were not lightened by that which awaited him at the office.
He had to undergo an interview with the district surveyor, who was very
grave, not to say severe, in speaking of the irregularities which had
been complained of, and were looked on as very serious at the head
office. The surveyor ended by plainly hinting his hope that persons
having no business at the office would be strictly forbidden from having
access to it at abnormal hours. "I--I don't understand you," stammered
Algernon.
"Mr. Errington," said the surveyor, "I am speaking to you, not
officially, but confidentially, and as man to man. I have been having a
little conversation with Mr. Gibbs--who seems to have none but good
feeling towards you, but who--in short, I think it is not needful to be
more explicit. I advise you in all friendliness to be stern and decisive
in keeping every person out of this office except such as have
recognised business to be here. If further trouble arises, I shall have
to do my duty, and make my report without respect of any persons
whatsoever."
"Perhaps," said Algernon, who was white to his lips, but otherwise
apparently unmoved, "perhaps it would be best for me to resign my post
here at once. If the authorities above me find cause for
dissatisfaction----"
"I can give you no advice as to that, Mr. Errington. You must know your
own affairs better than I do."
"There are things which a man can scarcely say even to himself;
considerations which are painful as they float dimly in one's own mind,
but which would be unendurable uttered aloud in words. Anything like a
public scandal--or--or--disgrace to me, would involve a large circle of
persons--many of them persons of rank and consideration in the world.
You are possibly aware that--my wife"--there was a peculiar tone in
Algernon's voice as he said these two words--"is a niece of Lord
Seely?"
But the official gentleman declined to enter into the question of Mr.
Errington's family connections. "Oh," said he, coldly; "we must hope
there will be no question of scandal or disgrace." Then he went away,
leaving Algernon in a chaos of doubt as to whether he should, or should
not, speak further on the subject to Obadiah Gibbs. Obadiah Gibbs,
however, decided the question for him. He came into Algernon's room,
closing the door carefully behind him, and asked to speak a few words in
private. Algernon was sitting in the luxurious easy-chair which he had
had carried into the office for his own use. It was about three o'clock
in the afternoon of a dull November day. The single window which looked
on to a white-washed court threw a ghastly pallid light on Algernon's
face as he sat opposite to it, with his head thrown back against the
cushions of the high chair. Mr. Gibbs was touched with compassion at
seeing how changed the bright young face looked since he had first been
acquainted with it. And yet, in truth, the change was not a very deep
one: it was more in colouring, and the expression of the moment, than in
any lines which care had graven.
"Come in, Gibbs; come in," said Algernon, with his affable air. The
clerk seemed the more anxious and disturbed of the two. He sat down on
the chair Algernon pointed out to him in a constrained posture, and
seemed to have some difficulty in beginning to speak, albeit not a man
usually liable to embarrassment of manner. His superior stretched his
feet out nearer to the hearth, and slightly moved his white hand to and
fro, looking, as a child might have done, at the glitter of a ring he
wore in the firelight.
"Mr. Wing did not seem very well pleased, sir," said Gibbs, after
clearing his throat.
"Of course he had to appear displeased, whether he was or not, Gibbs. A
little hocus-pocus, a little official solemnity, is the thing to assume,
I suppose. I think that man's nose is the very longest I ever saw.
Remarkable nose, eh, Gibbs?"
"But, sir," continued Gibbs, declining to discuss the surveyor's nose,
"he said that from inquiries that had been made, it's pretty certain
that the missing letters were--stolen--they must have been stolen--at
Whitford."
"Very intelligent on the part of the official, Mr. Wing! Only I think
you and I had come to pretty nearly the same conclusion before."
"He made strict inquiries about the people in the office here, and I had
to give him what information I could, sir."
"Of course, of course, Gibbs! I quite understand," said Algernon,
putting his hand out to shake that of the clerk with so frank a
cordiality that the latter felt the tears spring into his eyes as he
took the cool white hand into his own. "I have felt very much for you,
Mr. Errington," said he. "Your position is a trying one, indeed. I would
do almost anything in my power to set your mind more at rest. But I'm
sorry to say that I have an unpleasant matter to speak of."
"I wonder," thought Algernon, leaning back in his chair once more,
"whether my friend Obadiah conceives our conversation hitherto to have
been of an agreeable and entertaining nature, that he now announces
something unpleasant by way of a change!"
"You will understand," said Gibbs, "that I am speaking to you in the
very strictest confidence. I should be sorry for it to come out that I
had meddled in the matter. Nor, sir, would it be well for you to have it
known that I gave you any warning."
"I wish the old bore would not be so confoundedly long-winded!" thought
Algernon, nodding meanwhile with an air of thoughtful attention.
But Gibbs was prone to long-windedness and to the making of speeches.
And he now availed himself of the opportunity of haranguing the
postmaster (one of whose chief faults was a vivacious impatience of his
clerk's eloquence) to the fullest extent. But the gist of what he had to
say was this: Roger Heath, the man whose money-letter had been lost,
now declared that his correspondent at Bristol, being interrogated in
the hope that he might be able to furnish some clue to the
identification of the missing notes, stated that he remembered one was
endorsed in blue ink instead of black: and that he, Heath, had reason to
know that one of the notes paid by young Mrs. Errington to Ravell, the
mercer, had been endorsed in blue ink!
"Now, sir," proceeded Gibbs, "I remember its being a good deal talked of
in the town at the time, that young Mrs. Errington had money unknown to
you, and Mrs. Ravell spoke of it to many."
"Damn Mrs. Ravell! What does it all mean, Gibbs?"
Algernon got up from his chair, and leant his elbows on the
chimney-piece, and hid his face in his hands, but he so stood that he
could watch the clerk's countenance between his fingers. That
countenance expressed trouble and compassion. Gibbs got up too, and
stood looking at Algernon and shaking his head ruefully.
"I thought it well you should know what was being said, Mr. Errington,"
said he.
"What can I do, Gibbs? How can I stop their cursed tongues?" Algernon
still spoke with his face hidden.
"No, sir, you cannot stop their tongues, but--you might possibly put a
stop to what sets their tongues going. Of course, the matter may be all
explained simply enough. There may be plenty of bank-notes endorsed in
blue ink----"
"Of course there may! Chattering idiots!"
"And as to that particular note, Mr. Ravell paid it away, as well as the
others Mrs. Errington gave him, to the agent of a Manchester house he
deals with, the next day after it came into his hands. I ascertained
that from Ravell himself."
"I'll have the note traced!" exclaimed Algernon, looking up for the
first time.
"That would be a difficult matter, sir. It has gone far and wide before
now."
"I tell you I will have it traced! And I will have that malignant
scoundrel, Heath, pulled up pretty sharply, if he dares to make any more
insinuations that----it is not difficult to see what he is driving at!"
Gibbs laid his hand on the young man's shoulder.
"I feel for you, Mr. Errington," he said. "If I did not, I shouldn't put
myself in the disagreeable position of saying what I have said. I should
have attended to my own business, and let matters take their course. I
hope you believe that I had only a kind motive in speaking?"
"I do believe it--heartily!"
"Thank you, sir. Then I shall make bold to give you one word of advice.
Don't stir in the matter, nor make any threats against any one, until
you have ascertained from Mrs. Errington where she got the notes that
she paid to Ravell."
Algernon had bent down his head again, and he now answered without
looking up:
"No doubt Mrs. Errington can account for them to me, but she is not
bound to do so to any one else. Nor can I allow any one to hint that she
is so bound. I should be a blackguard if I could listen to a word of
that sort."
"I hope it may come right, Mr. Errington. After all, there has been
nothing, and, so far as I see, there can be nothing, but talk to hurt
you."
"My good fellow," said Algernon, as he once more gave his hand to his
clerk, "it's a kind of talk which poisons a man's life. You know that as
well as I do."
Then Gibbs took his leave of his superior, and went back into the outer
office to watch over the epistolary correspondence of Whitford. As he
sat at his desk there his mind was full of sympathy with Algernon
Errington. "Poor young man! He took it beautifully. It must be a
terrible blow--an awful blow. But, no doubt, he has had his suspicions
before now. What a warning against worldly-mindedness! He is a victim to
that vain and godless woman; and that's all that comes of the marriage
that so uplifted the heart of his mother. But he would be a beautiful
character, if he had only got religion, and would leave off profane
swearing. He is so guileless and outspoken, like a child, almost. Ah,
poor young man! I hope the Lord may bless this trial to him.
But--religion or no religion--I don't believe he'll ever be fit to be
postmaster of Whitford." Thus ran the reflections of Mr. Obadiah Gibbs.
When Algernon reached home that evening, he bade Lydia put up a few
things for him into a little travelling valise; and when he met his wife
at the dinner-table, he told her he should go up to London that night by
the mail-coach. He explained, in answer to her surprised inquiries,
lamentations, and objections, uttered in a querulous drawl, that he must
get help from Lord Seely; that it was useless to write to him under the
present circumstances, seeing that his wife would probably intercept the
letter; and that, therefore, he had resolved to go to town himself and
obtain a personal interview with Lord Seely.
"But, Ancram!--what's the use? Why on earth should you fly off in this
way? I'm sure it won't do! Do you suppose for an instant that Aunt
Belinda will let you get at him?"
"I must try for it. Things have got to that pass now, that----Do you
know what happened to me just as I went out after lunch? Gladwish, the
shoemaker, sent to threaten me with arrest! I shall be walked off to
prison, I suppose, for a few wretched pairs of abominable shoes. The
fellow has no more notion of fitting my foot than a farrier."
"To prison! Oh, Ancram! But Gladwish's bill cannot be so very large----"
"Of course it's not 'so very large!'"
"Then, if we paid it, or even part of it----"
"Paid it! Upon my word, Cassy, you are too absurd! 'Paid it!' In the
first place, I have only a very few pounds in the house--barely enough
to take me to town, I think; and, in the next place, if I paid Gladwish,
what would be the result? The butcher, the baker, and the
candlestick-maker would be all down on me with summonses, and writs, and
executions, and bedevilments of every imaginable kind. But you have no
more notion--you take it all so coolly. 'Pay him!' By George! Cassy,
it's very hard to stand such nonsense!"
Castalia withdrew from the table, and sat down on the little sofa and
cried. Her husband looked at her across a glass of very excellent
sherry, which he was just about to hold up to the light. "I think,
Castalia," he said, "I really do think, that when a man is in such
trouble as I am, reduced to the brink of ruin, not knowing which way to
turn for a ten-pound note, struggling, striving, bothering his brains to
find a way out of the confounded mess, he might expect something more
cheering and encouraging from his wife than perpetual snivelling." With
that he cracked a filbert with a sharp jerk of indignation. But
Algernon's forte was not the minatory or impressively wrathful style of
eloquence. He could hurl a sarcasm, sharp, light, and polished; but when
he came to wielding such a ponderous weapon as serious reproof on moral
considerations, he was apt to make a poor hand of it. It was excessively
disagreeable, too, to see that woman's thin shoulders moving
convulsively under her gay-coloured dress, as she sobbed with her head
buried in the sofa cushions. That really must be put a stop to. So, as
it appeared evident that scolding would not quench the tears, he tried
coaxing. The coaxing was not so efficacious as it would have been once.
Still, Castalia responded to it to the extent of endeavouring to check
the sobs which still shook her frail chest and throat. "When shall you
be back, Ancram?" she said, looking beseechingly at him. He answered
that he hoped to be in Whitford again on Tuesday night, or Wednesday at
the latest (it was then Monday), and he particularly impressed on her
the necessity of telling any one who might inquire the cause of his
absence, that he had been suddenly called up to town by the illness of
Lord Seely. He had, in fact, said a word or two to that effect when, on
his way home, he had ordered the fly, which was to carry him and his
valise to the coach-office. Castalia insisted on accompanying him to the
coach, despite the damp cold of the night, a proceeding which he did not
much combat, since he felt it would serve to give colour to his
statement to the landlord of the "Blue Bell."
"Keep up your spirits, Cassy," he cried, waving his hand from the
coach-window as he stood in the inn yard, muffled in shawls and furs. "I
hope I shall bring back good news of your uncle."
Then Castalia was trundled back to Ivy Lodge in the jingling old fly,
whilst her husband rolled swiftly behind four fleet horses towards
London.