“HORNABY HOOK”
Time, it is said, will dull the deepest sorrow. There are some who put
out of sight everything to remind them of the lost one, while others
treasure every memento, and never tire of recalling the virtues of the
departed.
In Alice's case the presence of her little boy was a constant reminder
of her husband. In Aunt Ella she found a willing listener, and talking
of her past happy married life aided greatly in restoring her nerve
power and improving her general health.
She said one day, “Aunt Ella, don't you think it better to face your
troubles bravely than to fly away from them?”
“I certainly do. You are following the right course, Alice; the same as
I did when Robert died. Your parting with Quincy was sad, inexpressibly
so, but imagine my feelings to awake and find my husband dead in the bed
beside me. Did I try to forget him? You remember his rooms in the Mount
Vernon Street house. They became my Mecca--the place to which I went
when I had a 'blue fit,' or was depressed in any way. God has sent you
a child to keep your husband's memory fresh. I repeat, Alice, you are
doing the right thing.”
“I do it,” said Alice, “for two reasons. One is that it makes me happy.
The other is, that believing that my husband still lives, I wish to
bring up his son so that he will be proud of him.”
Florence, after awhile, made a confidante of Aunt Ella and told her
about Captain Hornaby. She confessed her interest in him and said that
notwithstanding his crime she loved him, but that her father would never
forgive him.
“What part of England did he come from?” asked Aunt Ella.
“He said from Hornaby--that the place was named after his family. Their
home was called Hornaby Hook, because, as he said, it was built upon a
promontory in the form of a hook.”
“What is his father's name?”
“Sir Wilfred, and Reginald is the fourth son.”
“No chance of his ever getting the title,” remarked Aunt Ella.
“I wonder where Hornaby Hook is,” said Florence.
“That's easily found out. Linda has _Burke's Peerage_ and I'll write to
her to-day.”
Lady Fernborough more than kept her promise, for in her letter she
told the Countess Florence's unhappy love story besides asking for
information about the Hornaby family.
Linda's reply was a revelation.
“MY DEAR AUNT ELLA,
“I was very sorry to hear that Quincy's sister has been so unfortunate
in her love affair, and astonished to find that Captain Hornaby is
the cause of it. You will be surprised to learn that Algernon is well
acquainted with Sir Wilfred who is an old-fashioned English gentleman
and the soul of honour. He has met the Captain and thought him a fine
young fellow. Hornaby Hook is on the Sussex coast about ten miles from
us. Come and see us and bring Florence with you. Perhaps there is an
explanation of the affair which the Captain can give. He should not
be condemned without a hearing. Give my love to Alice and tell her I'm
coming to see that baby very soon. With love, ever yours, LINDA.”
Aunt Ella was now in her element. There was a mystery to be explained
and she held the key. She told Florence where Hornaby Hook was, and that
the Hornaby family was a fine one, and that Sir Wilfred was held in the
highest respect by everybody, but did not mention Linda's suggestion
of a visit, and a possible explanation. She knew Florence would not
accompany her if there was any possibility of her meeting the Captain.
It would appear as though she was running after him, and no American
girl, especially a Sawyer, would do that.
Sir Stuart was greatly interested in young Quincy, and Mrs. Villiers,
the housekeeper, thought him the handsomest and best baby she had ever
seen. Thus the way was paved for the first step in Aunt Ella's plot.
“Alice, do you think you would be very lonesome if I went away for a
week?”
“Why no, Aunt Ella. Why should I be? I have the baby, and Sir Stuart and
Mrs. Villiers are both goodness itself to me.”
“Florence is not looking very well. Don't you think a week at the
seashore would do her good?”
“I wish she could go, poor girl. When I think of her, I say to myself
that I have no right to be unhappy. If Quincy is dead, he died nobly,
to save others. But the shame connected with Captain Hornaby is what
Florence feels so deeply.”
That same day Aunt Ella wrote to Linda that she was coming with
Florence, and that Algernon and she must arrange in some way to bring
about that “explanation.”
Algernon, Earl of Sussex, and the Countess Linda lived at Ellersleigh
in the County of Sussex, not many miles from historic Hastings. To
Aunt Ella and Florence they extended a warm and heartfelt welcome, and
Florence, used as she was to the luxuries of life, could not but marvel
at the beauty and even splendour that surrounded the Countess--once an
American country girl named Linda Putnam.
“I have sent out cards for a dinner party next Thursday,” said Linda to
Aunt Ella. “There will be an opportunity for that 'explanation,' but you
must assume the responsibility if there should be a tragic ending.”
“We must hope for the best,” replied Aunt Ella. “I will gather up the
fragments after the explosion.”
From the expression on Florence's face, when Sir Wilfred Hornaby and
Captain Reginald Hornaby were announced as guests, the explosion seemed
imminent.
In her mind, she had looked forward to such a meeting with a sensation
of delight. Now that it had come her pride was up in arms. She had
been tricked into coming. The Countess and Aunt Ella had arranged this
meeting. Perhaps he had been told that she would be present. Well, if
they did meet, he would have to do the talking. She had no explanation
to make. If he had one, he must introduce the subject.
At the dinner Florence sat next to Sir Wilfred, but the Captain was far
removed on the other side of the long table. Sir Wilfred was politely
attentive. Did he know of his son's crime? Evidently not--but, if he
did, he had condoned the offence. But how could he if he was the man of
honour that the Countess had pictured him in her letter to Aunt Ella?
No, the son had deceived _his_ father as he had _her_ father. Did she
really love him? Had she forgiven him? If he had proposed when Florence
was in that state of uncertainty, his rejection would have been swift
and positive.
When the dinner was over, the Captain, apparently unconscious of guilt,
approached Florence. He offered his arm.
“Will you come with me, Miss Sawyer? I have a very important question to
ask you.”
Should she go? He was going to ask her a question. She had many to ask
him. This unpleasant uncertainty must end--now, was the accepted time.
She took his arm, and he made his way to the conservatory--that haven of
confidences, where so many lovers have been made happy, or unhappy.
“Why have you not answered my letters?” he said.
“I never received them.” Her voice was cold, and she removed her hand
from his arm.
“I sent them in your father's care.”
“That is probably the reason why I did not get them.”
“Why should he refuse to give them to you? I borrowed money from him but
I repaid him before I left America.”
He thought she was not acquainted with his perfidy. She would undeceive
him.
“Did you tell him the truth when you borrowed it?”
His face flushed. How could she know? But she did. He would be honest
with her.
“No, I did not.”
“I knew it. My sister Maude recovered your coat, but there was no money
or bills of exchange in your pocket book--only a few visiting cards
bearing the name of Col. Arthur Spencer.”
The young man bowed his head. He was guilty. She would leave him
without another word. She turned to go. He caught her hand, which she,
indignantly, withdrew from his grasp.
“I will explain, Miss Sawyer.” Was he going to tell the truth, or invent
another story?
“Arthur Spencer was the Colonel of the first regiment with which I
was connected. I do not belong to it now. He is a poor man, and an
inveterate gambler. I had not seen him for two years, when we met in New
York just before I went to Boston. You are tired, Miss Sawyer.”
He pointed to a seat beneath some palms, and led her, unresistingly, to
it.
“He asked me to dinner with him, and I went. Then he suggested a game of
cards while we smoked and I foolishly consented. The stakes, at first,
were small, and he won rapidly. He increased his bets and I was forced,
against my will, to meet them. When we stopped playing, he had not only
won all my money, but had my 'I O U' for three hundred dollars. I had to
borrow money from him to pay my hotel bill and fare to Boston.”
Florence nodded. She could not speak.
“I had letters of introduction to Boston families--among them, your own.
When that accident happened--” she looked up at him inquiringly--
[Illustration: “You have acknowledged that you are a gambler]
“No, don't think that of me--it was not intentional on my part--I was
without money--the Colonel must be paid--my allowance was not due for
ten days--I invented the story that I told your father.”
“It was a lie!” Florence choked as she uttered the accusing words.
“Yes, it was a lie, and one for which I have sincerely repented, I told
my father, and he forgave me, but said, as the coat was gone, to let the
matter drop, that nothing would be gained by confessing to your father
as he had been paid, and had met with no loss.”
Florence sprang to her feet. “No loss!” she cried. “How can you say
that? You have acknowledged that you are a gambler and a liar--why not
finish the story and confess your crime?”
“Crime, Florence! What do you mean?”
Her lips curled
“You do not know what I mean?”
“No, as God hears me, I do not. You accuse me--of what?”
She felt that the crux was reached. “Did you not know when the check
for five hundred dollars came back to my father's bank that it had been
raised to five thousand dollars?”
The Captain reeled, and came near falling. He clutched at the palm tree
which sustained him until he regained his footing.
“My God! And you have thought me the thief!”
“What else could I think?”
“I can't understand.... I met Col. Spencer in Boston--those birds of
prey always follow their victims, and gave him the check, receiving two
hundred dollars in return. He must have--and yet I cannot believe he
would do such a thing. He is in London now. To-morrow I will go and find
him.”
“But if he denies it--how can you prove him guilty?”
“Unless he frees my name from such a charge--I will challenge him--and
kill him!”
Florence could no longer act as accuser. Her heart plead for the young
Englishman who had confessed his error, but who so strenuously denied
his participation in a crime. “Miss Sawyer, will you mercifully suspend
judgment until my return from London?”
She did not reply in words, but gave him her hand.
When they rejoined the company both Linda and Aunt Ella noticed
Florence's heightened colour and the brightness of her eyes.
“He must have explained,” said Linda, “when an occasion offered.”
“I hope so,” was Aunt Ella's reply, and she felicitated herself upon the
success of their joint plot.