TAKING A MEAN ADVANTAGE OF A FIRE.
_Important disclosures--The fire at the theatre--The evidence of the
opera glasses--The startling meeting at the Inns of Court Hotel._
The dreadful disaster at Vienna brings back vividly to my mind strange
incidents connected with the burning down of the Theatre Royal,
Edinburgh, sixteen years ago.
"I am in a terrible mess, old fellow!" exclaimed Augustus Graham, as he
hurriedly entered my office in Edinburgh one morning in the year 1865.
"Sit down," I said, "and let us put our heads together. Perhaps a way
may be found out of the maze."
"Impossible: things have gone too far, and the climax has come to-day.
My bills will be protested."
"Then you favour me with a visit when your circumstances are desperate
beyond relief."
"I have been buoyed up with false hopes, but now I must inevitably
sink."
"There is one thing you have done well--you have kept up appearances;
nobody suspects anything."
"But at what a cost! For months I have not known what it is to have a
good night's rest."
"It is entirely a financial difficulty, of course--much?"
"Yes, and without remedy; the amount is so large. But there is another
dilemma."
"And what is that?" I enquired; "the other is bad enough."
"You know I am engaged to Miss Kingston."
"So I understood. She has money; why not frankly explain your position
to her father, and, if there is no objection, marry her."
"I have just posted a letter resigning her hand."
"That was a very unwise step, I think; it appears to me to be your only
chance. I should make haste to withdraw that letter."
"But I could not marry Miss Kingston, even if she were willing."
"Another complication. I knew you had a talent for getting into
scrapes."
"No, it would be a mockery to pretend that I have any feeling but that
of friendship for Kate. She is much too good for me. The fact is, Jim,
I am over head and ears in love with old Murray's wife."
"And not ashamed to own it?"
"If you knew our histories you would pity us. We are separated by a
cruel wrong."
"Oh, I daresay! Disappointment in early life, I suppose; the
miscarriage of a letter, or she found you making love to another young
lady who afterwards turned out to be your own sister, and in a fit of
jealousy made haste to marry a man old enough to be her father."
"Her grandfather."
"His age does not prevent him being her lawful husband. Now as you are
at it, you may as well confess whether Mrs. Murray reciprocates this
much-to-be-regretted passion."
"I have reason to believe she does."
"Well, you won't get absolution from me. You are a bad as well as an
unfortunate man, Mr. Augustus Graham."
"If you only knew everything you would, I am sure, think differently of
both of us."
"Doubtful, very; the lady is married. What license have you to
interfere with her husband's happiness? No sophistry will make me think
that marital bonds should not be respected. I have seen too many lives
and promising careers blasted by such impudent intrigues."
"Don't judge us so harshly without a hearing."
"Do you recollect your putting a peculiar question to me one day
some months ago, and asking what I would do under the embarrassing
circumstances? I see now you were the _A_ of this skeleton case, and
Mrs. Murray the _B_. What was my answer? Did I not tell you it was the
duty of any man, calling himself a gentleman, to hold his friend's wife
sacred?"
"I tried hard, but it was all in vain."
"You used to be clever in getting out of as well as into scrapes, but
you seem to be caught fast this time. I am really sorry, for the sake
of old school days, that you must go to the wall. Is there nothing I
can do for you?"
"Yes, you can lend me--your opera glasses."
"Is that all? Keeping it up to the end--going to the theatre?"
"Yes, will you come? I have a box; I am taking Mr. and Mrs. Murray."
"I am engaged this evening, and after what you have disclosed to me I
would not feel comfortable. Take the glasses, and go your wicked way."
Before I saw those glasses again a dreadful calamity occurred. The
Theatre Royal to which my friend and Mrs. Murray went was burned down,
and many lives were lost. It was impossible to recognize the charred
bodies, but as they were never seen again the presumption was that the
two lovers perished in the flames. A pair of opera glasses much damaged
by fire were shown to me by the Procurator Fiscal, and I proved by the
initial that they were my property. I need not say that I carefully
preserved them. Poor Murray, who did not accompany his wife, became
distracted over his loss, and only lived two or three years after her
unfortunate death. She was an exceedingly pretty and amiable lady, and
however much her affection for my friend was to be deplored, no one
could help feeling sorry for her frightful end.
It was found after the disaster that Graham's affairs were in a
helpless state, and when a balance sheet was drawn up it was seen
that the estate would not pay more than sixpence in the pound. He
had displayed immense ability in tiding over from time to time the
difficulties which were ultimately bound to ruin him. We had been
schoolfellows together, and the friendship formed in those happy days
ended only with his life.
I was always afraid his daring speculations would bring him to
grief--he was in such a hurry to get rich. Montaigne informs us
that, if you look carefully for it, you will discover there is some
consolation to be derived even from the death of a dear friend.
In some respects the sudden termination of the two lives was a
blessing--the honour of Mrs. Murray remained inviolate, at least so
far as the public knew, and Graham was saved a world of trouble with
his exasperated creditors. Good and evil are so mixed together in this
world of ours that it is impossible to keep them apart.
If my readers will turn to the papers of that day they will find all
the particulars of the burning of the theatre and a list of the persons
that perished, for "taking a mean advantage of fire" is, with the
exception of the names, a faithful record of what actually happened.
Ten years passed quickly away in the worry and turmoil of a
daily increasing business, when a morning delivery brought me a
strangely-worded invitation to dinner at the Inns of Court Hotel. I had
transferred my business to London by this time. The note I cannot put
my hands on for the moment, but it was to the effect that a gentleman
who was once well acquainted with me, and who had been out of the
country for some years, would be glad if I would dine that day with him
and his wife. The signature was not familiar to me, but I had so many
clients it (the invitation) might have emanated from one of them. I
decided to accept, and wrote a line to that effect to my unknown host.
A few minutes to seven--the hour mentioned--I presented myself at
the hotel, and was ushered into a sitting-room on the first floor,
where preparations had been made for dinner, but there was no one
present. In a minute or two, however, the door of the room opened,
and a heavily-bearded man entered, whom I did not know from Adam, who
heartily shook hands with me.
"So you don't recollect me?" he said with a laugh.
"I have not that pleasure," I answered. "A client, I presume."
"Why, Jim, you are more stupid than I thought; has ten years made such
a difference in your old schoolfellow, Augustus Graham?"
It was a few minutes before I could speak--I was so utterly taken by
surprise. He was the very last man I expected to see on earth. When the
film of doubt had at length been removed from my eyes, he went into the
next room, and came back leading a lady.
"My wife!" he said.
"We are old acquaintances," said the lady, smilingly.
It was Mrs. Murray, looking as beautiful as she did ten years before.
"So you did not perish in the theatre that night, after all?"
"Not a bit of it. Are you sorry? You can pinch us if you like--we
are really flesh and blood; and you shall see us eat, for here comes
dinner. The Richmond air has given us an appetite."
After dinner I heard their wonderful story. Early in life they had
loved each other, but a malicious friend, in the interests of Murray,
separated them. When they again met, a few words of explanation from
both sides showed them that they had been made the victims of a clever
plot; but, unfortunately, Isabella Crighton had in the interval--in
a mad fit of jealousy--changed her name, and given herself to a man
nearly thrice her age.
They agreed that the proper thing to do was not to refer to the past
again, and meet as seldom as possible. But such resolutions, wherever
they were recorded, were soon broken; and now that it was necessary
that there should be restraint, the old passion revived with redoubled
force. The husband originally intended to accompany his wife to the
theatre on that eventful evening, but was prevented, owing to a sharp
attack of gout. The piece--it was "Othello"--did not have much of their
attention, their conversation was to them of far deeper interest.
Graham told Mrs. Murray of his desperate circumstances, and that in a
day or two he would be off to Australia.
There were tears shed, as is usual on such occasions, and the lady
never expected to see her lover again, when such a vast waste of
waters lay between them. As many of my readers probably remember, when
the fire did break out, the theatre was consumed in an incredibly
short space of time. Graham saw his opportunity--I told you he was
good at getting out of scrapes--and when his startling proposal was
whispered into the ear of his fair companion, I am afraid there was
not much resistance. In the confusion they got to the Waverley Station
unobserved, and took the first train going south.
In Australia Graham soon recovered his position, and when the death
of Mr. Murray was announced he immediately married the partner of his
flight. He was now arranging with his solicitor to pay his creditors in
full, and settle down in the neighbourhood of London. I spent a gay and
pleasant evening with my two "defunct" friends, and rated them soundly
for not letting me into their secret. On rising to depart, at a very
late hour, Graham said, with all the old mischief beaming in his eyes--
"We have often laughed over your evidence in the _Scotsman_. We are
deeply indebted to you. You settled us both in the most conclusive
manner. By the way, I owe you some recompense."
"What for?"
"I kept the programme, but sacrificed your glasses."