The Shadow of Ashlydyat Part 93

A moment or two of wavering hesitation and then he drew to him a sheet of paper, wrote a few words, and folded it. "Take this yourself with all speed to the telegraph station," he said to Mr. Hurde. "Send the message up at once, and wait there for the answer. It will not be long in coming. And if you meet Mr. George, tell him I wish to see him."

"And now I dare say you will be glad to get rid of me," remarked Lord Averil, as Mr. Hurde hastened out. "This is not a day to intrude upon you for long: and I dare say the fellow to whom I intrusted my horse is thinking something of the sort."

He shook hands cordially and went away, leaving Thomas G.o.dolphin to battle alone with his care. Ah me! no human aid, henceforth, could help him, by so much as a pa.s.sing word, with the terrible battle already set in. G.o.d alone, who had been with Thomas G.o.dolphin through life, could whisper to him a word of comfort, could shed down a few drops of sustaining strength, so that he might battle through and bear. That G.o.d had been with him, in the midst of the deep sorrows He had seen fit to cast upon him, Thomas knew: he knew that He would be with him always, even unto the end.

"You had better accept my offer of a.s.sistance," Lord Averil turned back to say.

"No," broke from Thomas G.o.dolphin in a sharp tone of pain, very different from the calm, if grateful, answer he had previously given to the same proposition. "What sort of justice would it be, if I robbed you to pay the claims of others?"

"You can refund me when the panic's over," returned the viscount, somewhat surprised at the nature of the reply.

"Yes. But--but--it might be a risk," was the rejoinder, given with unwonted hesitation. "In a crisis, such as this, it is, I believe, impossible to foresee what the end may be. Thank you greatly, Averil, all the same."

Mr. Hurde was not very long before he returned, bringing with him an answer to the last message. Colder and moister became Thomas G.o.dolphin's brow as he read it; colder and colder grew his hand. It appeared to be only a confirmation of the one received before.

"I cannot understand this," he murmured.

Mr. Hurde stood by. That some ominous fear had arisen, he saw. He was an old and faithful servant of the house, entirely devoted to its interests. His master said a few words of explanation to him.

They aroused Mr. Hurde's fears. Had some deep-laid treachery been at work?--some comprehensive scheme of duplicity been enacting for some time past, making a bankrupt house appear to be still a flouris.h.i.+ng concern? If so, it could only have been done by falsifying the books: and that could only have been done by George G.o.dolphin.

Mr. Hurde did not dare to give vent to his thoughts. Indeed, he did not seriously contemplate that they could be realities. But, in the uncertainty created, he deemed himself perfectly justified in mentioning to Mr. G.o.dolphin the untoward occurrence of the previous day; the rude demand of the man for money, and the unpleasant expressions he had used of the state of Mr. George G.o.dolphin's affairs. He was clearing his throat to begin in his usual slow fas.h.i.+on, when Mr. G.o.dolphin spoke.

"I shall go to town by the first train, Hurde. The express. It will pa.s.s through in half an hour."

Then Mr. Hurde told his tale. It did not tend to rea.s.sure Thomas G.o.dolphin.

He rang the bell. He caused George to be inquired for. But George was not in the house. He had not returned since that errand of his, ostensibly to the telegraph office.

Themas could not wait. He wrote a note to George, and sealed it. He then charged a servant with a message for Miss G.o.dolphin at Ashlydyat, gave a few directions to Mr. Hurde, proceeded on foot to the station without further preparations, and started on his journey.

Started on his journey, strange doubts and fears making havoc of his beating heart.

CHAPTER XIX.

BOBBING JOAN.

Maria G.o.dolphin was in her own pretty sitting-room upstairs. She had been sitting there ever since breakfast: had not yet stirred from it, though noon had pa.s.sed, for she was very busy. Not fond of sewing in a general way, she was plying her needle quickly now: some work of fine intricate braiding, to be converted into a frock for Miss Meta. Maria worked as if her heart were in it: it was for her child.

The door was closed, the window was open to the summer air. The scent of the flowers ascended from the garden below, the gentle hum of the insects was heard as they sported in the sun, the scene altogether was one of perfect tranquillity. There was an air of repose about the room, about Maria in her cool muslin dress, about the scene altogether. Who, looking at it, would have suspected the commotion that was being enacted--or that had been enacted so recently--in another part of the house?

It is a positive fact that Maria knew nothing yet of the grievous calamity which had fallen--the stoppage of the Bank. The servants knew it fast enough; were more correctly acquainted with its details (to hear them speak) than the Bank itself. They stood about in groups and talked in whispers, letting their work go. But not one of them had presumed to acquaint their unconscious mistress. They knew how ignorant of it all she was: they felt certain that not a suspicion of anything going wrong had ever crossed her. Indeed, it had not crossed their own inquisitive selves, and the blow had burst upon them that morning as a thunder-clap.

As a thunder-clap, it was soon to burst upon Maria. A few minutes'

respite yet, ere it should come. She certainly had heard the visitors'-bell ring three or four times, which was somewhat unusual, considering that no message for her had followed upon it. That bell in the daytime generally heralded guests for herself. Once, when Pierce came in, bringing a small parcel for her from the bookseller's, Maria had inquired who it was that had just rung at the hall-door. Pierce answered that it was Lord Averil; his lords.h.i.+p had asked to see Mr.

G.o.dolphin. Maria could not remember afterwards, when looking back on the circ.u.mstances of the day, whether or not it had occurred to her to wonder why Lord Averil should come to the private door, when his visit was to the Bank and Thomas G.o.dolphin. Pierce ventured not another word.

He put down the parcel and hurried off, very much after the manner of one who is afraid of being asked questions.

And yet, the man, in his sober judgment, believed that there was little danger of any troublesome questions being put by his mistress. There was none. Of all people living, none were so completely unconscious that anything wrong was looming, as Mrs. George G.o.dolphin. If there was one house in the kingdom more safe, more staid, more solid than other houses, she believed it to be theirs. Yes, it was a notable fact, that Maria, sitting there so serenely tranquil, knew nothing of what was stirring Prior's Ash, from one end of it to the other, to the highest point of excitement. Perhaps it would not be too much to say that she was the last person in it whom the news reached.

The work--her work, that she held in her hand--was approaching completion, and she looked at it with fond eyes. She had been two or three weeks over it, sitting steadily to it several of the days. It was very pretty, certainly; a new sort of work just come up, done with a new sort of braid; and would, beyond question, look charming on Miss Meta.

Now and then Maria would be visited with doubtful visions as to whether the thing would "wash." That is, wash and look as well afterwards as it did now. She could only hope for the best, and that Miss Meta would be upon her good behaviour when wearing it, and not spoil it beyond redemption the first time it was on.

"I hope I shall have enough braid," deliberated Maria, comparing the small portion of work, yet remaining to do, with the braid in hand. "I wish I had told Margery to bring me in another piece; she will pa.s.s the shop. I must send, if I find it running short. If I am not interrupted to-day, I shall finish it."

One interruption occurred almost as Maria was speaking. The entrance of her husband. With him in the room she was continually looking off to talk, if she did not quite lay the work down; altogether she did not get on as fast as when alone. He had just come in from that excursion to the telegraph office. _Had_ he been there? Or had his supposed visit been but a plea set forth, an excuse to get out of his brother's presence, away from that troubled scene, the Bank?

There was no knowing. George never said how it was, then or afterwards.

Never said whether his return now was the result of his having accidentally seen his brother at a distance, walking along at a quick pace. He came in by the hall-door (there was no other way open to-day), letting himself in with his latch-key. Mr. Hurde was still there, posting or doing something or other to a pile of books.

"Has Mr. G.o.dolphin gone for the day?" asked George.

"Mr. G.o.dolphin's gone to London, sir."

"To London?" echoed George, in surprise. "What is taking him there?"

"Some queer messages have come down by telegraph," returned Mr. Hurde, pus.h.i.+ng his spectacles up, and looking George full in the face. "Mr.

G.o.dolphin could not understand them, and he has gone to town."

George did not make any observation for a minute. Was he afraid to make further inquiries? "What were the messages?" he presently asked.

"Mr. G.o.dolphin did not show them to me, sir," was the answer, spoken, or George fancied it, in a curt tone. "He said enough to tell me that there appeared to be some great cause for disquiet--and he has gone to see about it. He left a note in the parlour, sir, for you."

Mr. Hurde buried his face over his books again, a genteel hint, perhaps, that he wished the colloquy to end--if his master would be pleased to take it. George entered the parlour and caught up the note.

"'Be at home to callers; answer all inquiries,'" repeated he, reciting the last words of the note. "I wish Thomas may get it! Now that the explosion has come, Prior's Ash is no place for me."

Many and many a day had there intruded into George G.o.dolphin's mind a vision of this very time, when the "explosion" should have "come." He had never dwelt upon it. He had driven it away from him to the utmost of his power. Perhaps it is not in the nature of those, whose course of conduct is such as to bring down these explosions as a natural sequence, to antic.i.p.ate with uncomfortable minuteness the period of their arrival, or their particular manner of meeting them. Certainly George G.o.dolphin had not done so: but there had been ever an undercurrent of conviction lying dormant in his heart, that he should not face it in person. When the brunt of the scandal was over, then he might return to home and Prior's Ash: but he would not wait there to be present at its fall.

He crushed Thomas G.o.dolphin's note into his pocket, and stood upright on the hearthrug to _think_. He knew that, if treated according to his deserts, this would be the last friendly note written him by his brother for many a day to come. Thomas was then being whirled on his way to the full knowledge of his, George's, delinquency; or, if not to the full knowledge, which perhaps could only be unfolded by degrees, as we turn the pages of a book, to quite enough of it. It was time for him to be off now. If inquisitive callers must be seen, Hurde could see them.

Conscience makes cowards of us all: a saying, not more trite than true.

Very absurd cowards it makes of us now and then. As George G.o.dolphin stood there, revolving the _pros_ and _cons_ of his getting away, the ways and means of his departure, a thought flashed into his mind as to whether he should be allowed to depart, if an inkling of his exodus got wind. It actually did so; unfounded as was any cause for it. The fear came from his lively conscience; but from nothing else. He might be seen at the railway station, and stopped: he might----"Tus.h.!.+" interrupted George angrily, coming out of the foolish fear and returning to his sober senses. "People here know nothing yet, beyond the bare fact that the Bank has suspended payment. They can't arrest a man for that."

But, how about ways and means? Ay, that was a greater necessity for consideration. The money in George's pockets amounted--_I am telling you truth_--to three and sixpence. With all his faults, he was open-hearted, open-handed. He had been weak, imprudent, extravagant; he had enacted a course of deceit to his brother and to the world, forced to it (he would have told you) by his great need and his great dread; he had made use of other men's property: he had, in short, violated those good rules that public lamentation is made for every Sunday--he had left undone those things that he ought to have done, and he had done those things that he ought not to have done; but it was not for himself (in one sense) that he had done this. It was not for himself, selfishly. He had not been laying up in store for the evil day, or put by money to serve his wants when other moneys should fail. As long as he had money he spent it: whether in paying claims, or in making charming presents to Charlotte Pain and similarly esteemed friends--elegant little trifles that of course cost nothing, or next to it; or in new dolls for Meta; or in giving a five-pound note to some poor broken-down tradesman, who wanted to get upon his legs again. In one way or other the money had been spent; not a single s.h.i.+lling had George h.o.a.rded up; so, in that sense, though in that alone, he had been neither selfish nor dishonest.

And, now that the crash had come, he was without means. He had not so much as the fare in his pocket that would suffice to convey him away from the troubled scene, which the next week would evidently bring forth. The Bank funds were exhausted: so he had not them to turn to.

But, get away he must: and, it seemed to him, the sooner the better.

He came forth through the door separating the Bank from the dwelling, and entered the dining-room. The tray was laid for luncheon, and for Meta's dinner: but no one was in the room. He went upstairs to Maria's sitting-room. She was there, quietly at work: and she looked up at him with a glad smile of welcome. Her att.i.tude of repose, her employment, the expression of calm happiness pervading her countenance, told George that she was as yet in ignorance of what had occurred.

"What money have you in your purse, Maria?" asked he, speaking carelessly.

Maria laughed. "Why, none," she answered quite merrily. "Or as good as none. I have been telling you ever so long, George, that I must have some money; and I must. A good deal, I mean; to pay my housekeeping bills."