Caught in a Trap Part 11

"I thought I could rely on you, Joe. The fact is, I shall want you to be a witness to a marriage between a lady and myself."

"How much will you stand?"

"I'll do the thing handsomely. I tell you what, I will give you a fiver after it's all over, because I shall want you to swear to it perhaps in evidence afterwards."

"I'm your man, sir," replied the marker, with alacrity; "swear to anything for that sum. When is the little affair coming off?"

"I can't say yet, Joe. Maybe in a week, maybe not for a month; but when I want you I shall write here and let you know. Mind! You must be ready at once to accompany me when I write for you."

"I'm fly, sir," responded Joe, with a cunning movement of his left eyelid, more expressive than an ordinary wink. "I'll be ready any time; and perhaps, sir, as the business is partickler, it'll be worth more than a fiver, who knows?"

"I shan't forget you, Joe; we won't quarrel about terms," answered Markworth, meaningly, and he then went away, for he had even more important arrangements to make.

He paid a second visit to the dingy purlieus of Doctors Commons.

This time not to the deed depository of the dead, but to the legal portals of Hymen, where Cupid sits enthroned on the bench, in all the majesty of the law, with a horsehair wig and a pair of clerical bands, to issue licenses to marry and for giving in marriage.

It was now Friday, and the pic-nic was to come off at Bigton on the ensuing Tuesday, so Markworth determined that he would manage to get Susan Hartshorne away from The Poplars on that day, as he would be less liable to observation and detection; and taking her up to London, could have the marriage solemnised on the succeeding day. Tuesday, strange to say, was the very day, the 27th of August, according to the information of Miss Kingscott, retailed from the Family Bible, when the girl would be of legal age, one and twenty, and ent.i.tled to the free disposal of her money.

He accordingly got a license made out without much trouble, by means of a little stretch of the imagination--called perjury in courts of law-- and the initiatory step for his design was taken. If everything went well, he would before that day week be the husband of Susan Hartshorne, and master of her twenty thousand pounds. He had well weighed every step in his programme; he had studied every possible consequence to himself; and he saw no reason to antic.i.p.ate failure when everything pointed to success.

After leaving Doctors Commons he went to some old lodgings of his in a retired street in Bloomsbury, where he was well-known, and a set of rooms always kept vacant for him, for his comings and goings were so irregular that no one knew when to expect him. None of his West End friends knew of his ever living here, for he always gave an hotel as an address; and to tell the truth, he had often been comfortably installed in these same Bloomsbury lodgings when the world thought him travelling on the Continent, or shooting grouse on the moors.

His appearance was therefore looked upon as a usual thing, and no surprise was manifested; for his ways had always been inscrutable, and as he checked curiosity and was a good and regular paying lodger, he could do as he liked. He had always done so from the first, and his landlady never bothered herself about him or his business, "it was no concern of hers, he always paid his rent, and that was all she cared about," she said.

He stopped here that night, and went away the next morning, telling Mrs Martin, the landlady, that he was going to bring "his sister" to town on the following Tuesday, and would require the rooms to be ready for her reception. This was the first time she had ever heard of his having a sister; but he might have brought twenty so long as he paid his rent. I believe a regular London lodging-house keeper is more of a cosmopolitan than any other person in the world. She will take in anybody with a decent supply of luggage, and who is tolerably regular in the payment of his or her weekly bills--the wandering Jew, Calcraft, or Eugene Aram.

It is all the same to the proprietors of the "apartments" whether her tenant be Jew or Gentile, gentleman or "sn.o.b," criminal or honest man; she has but one standard for social position, morality or nationality, and that is a pecuniary one. A lodger may be forgiven everything, even seventy times seven, if he only pays his rent regularly; that is the _ultima ratio_ to which appeal is made--it is practical and works well!

These preliminary arrangements being seen to, Markworth walked down through Lincoln's Inn Fields, across into Chancery Lane, and paid a visit to some dingy, tumble-down looking chambers close to the projected site for the new Law Courts, which are to be built at some era dim in futurity. A bra.s.s plate was on the door, with the names "Solomonson and Isaacs, solicitors," engraved thereon.

His business was with the senior partner, who greeted him as an old client or customer, which indeed he was. Solomonson was not at all averse to transact business, even on the Jewish Sabbath.

"Vell, Mishter M," said the Jew, who was part money lender, part lawyer, and all rogue. "Doesh de leetel affairsh go on? Have you got de mad girlsh yet. I vants to see her Mishtressh M'sh--"

"Not yet, Shylock; but everything's in train, and I shall do it before the week is out. But you told me right, I hope, about the law; I would not like to commit a felony?"

"You are all rightsh, Mishter M'sh. Leave de cashe in dese hands and ve vill see you trough!"

"I rely upon you then, and will let you conduct the whole affair,--but I must have some money to carry the thing through, Solomonson. How much can you let me have on my own security?"

"I vill letsh you ave two hundredsh pound. S'help me Gadsh, Mishter M's.h.!.+ itsh all I've got!"

"Nonsense, Shylock! you can't fool me like that," replied Markworth, and he tried unsuccessfully to get more out of the Jew. He had to be contented for the present with a couple of hundreds. Solomonson knew, however, the stake for which he was playing, and told him that as soon as he was really married to Susan Hartshorne he would advance him more.

Until then he would not let him have another penny. So Markworth was forced to content himself with what he had got, and he was not pleased when he recollected that he would have to give the governess half.

He was, however, provided with the sinews of war, so he wished Solomonson good day, cheerfully as he went out, and told him he would soon see him back again.

"Good days.h.!.+" replied the Jew. "Don't forget to send me the weddingsh cakesh, my dears.h.!.+ I likesh weddingsh cakes.h.!.+"

The last visit Markworth paid before leaving London was to the curate of a small church in the city, with whom he was acquainted--how he had made his acquaintance I cannot say; and to this gentleman he made some explanation about a forthcoming marriage which appeared to be highly satisfactory to both parties.

Everything was now settled but the great event itself, and so Markworth returned to Hartwood by the afternoon train. To shew that he did not forget even trifles in considering everything for his plot, he bought an odd volume of the recently revived "Essays and Reviews," at the railway book stall, for the personal edification of the Dowager Mrs Hartshorne, who had been speaking of the book in connection with her now favourite topic of ritualism. This he presented to her the same evening, much to her surprise, and peculiarly snappishly-expressed pleasure and thanks.

The old lady had recently been over head and ears in pre-adamite geology, and nothing interested her so much as a secular essay on theological truths.

Tom was delighted to see him back in such good time, and planned out all sorts of pleasant things for the pic-nic, which was in everybody's thoughts--little knowing how Markworth intended to dispose of his day.

All the Suss.e.x world was going to be there. A pair of violet eyes comprised "all the world" to Tom now.

Some time that evening Markworth had a long conversation with Miss Kingscott, preparing for "the end." Both--strange anomaly!--had worked together for once, and not for good. He gave her a hundred pounds, the first instalment of the "hush money," and their compact was nearly completed.

To one who had not marked out every phase in Susan Hartshorne's treatment, the change that had been worked in her since Markworth had devoted his energies to her care, was nothing less than marvellous.

From dull, irksome melancholia the patient had been transported to the fields of reason. A constantly unchanged vacuity of expression on her face had given place to mobility of feature. Instead of void animal eyes, the windows of the soul now looked out of her face. From an idiot she had been changed nearly if not quite into a reasoning being.

Markworth had done all this, aided by Miss Kingscott acting under him and by his directions. It is true the girl had only got back the germ of reason, the reason of a child in nature, and measured by the experience of years. But it was a germ which, although now of delicate growth, and requiring every fostering and care, might yet expand into the fullness of moral culture.

No one had any idea how poor Susan had improved, for she saw no one to speak to as yet; and although Tom and Mrs Hartshorne noticed some change in her, yet the former was too much engaged with observing another to notice much in his sister, and as for the mother she really, I believe, did not care either way. She had so long looked upon Susan as insane, that the possibility of her ever recovering her reason now after the lapse of so many years, was put beyond the pale of consideration altogether.

And so only Markworth and Miss Kingscott knew of her dawning reason; with them both she spoke now as sensibly as themselves, and as to Markworth she was his abject slave.

The first reasoning thought that filled the poor girl's vacuous brain was one of heartfelt devotion to him who had led her out of darkness to light. She looked upon him as her saviour, ignorant as she was of a higher and more powerful G.o.d than he; and he was so uniformly kind and considerate to her, seemingly antic.i.p.ating her every wish, that one cannot wonder at her slavish idolatry. He was her G.o.d--her all; she loved him as a dog would love its master, and everything he did was right: his word, law.

Markworth's material was now plastic enough.

Volume 1, Chapter XIII.

BROTHER AND SISTER.

"Now, Lizzie, I want to know what all this means?" said the Reverend Herbert Pringle, B.A., putting on quite a fatherly dignity of manner to his sister, an evening or two after Lady Inskip had spoken to him. "I want to know what all this means."

Lizzie was at the time engaged lifting pots up and down, and poking about in her little conservatory, which jutted out of the drawing room, with a trowel and watering-pot, in the manner peculiar to young ladies of a horticultural tendency. Her back was turned to her brother, so that he could not see her face, but a brilliant tinge of pink carnation coloured her little white neck, and suffused her dainty-cheeks, and ascended even to the pure white forehead; still she steadfastly kept her head down, bent apparently on investigating the wonderful mysteries of some flower with a horribly long Greek name, which she was inspecting.

She must have guessed intuitively what her brother was going to speak about, but with a woman's n.o.ble gift of dissimulation, she asked, with an air of candour and conscious rect.i.tude--little hypocrite!

"Why, Bertie, dear, what on earth do you mean?"

They are all deceivers, every one; bless you! that's the way with them.

They are tricksters at heart, and conceal their feelings with a sort of savage deceit, which only a Red Indian besides possesses. See how calmly and placidly Miss Dissembler smiles with elegant ease, whilst Madame Verjuice pierces her little writhing heart through and through with a malicious sarcasm that wounds her to the core. She looks as if she never felt it whilst she is bleeding to death inwardly. Look at the poor fainting wife and mother, who with a smile on her lips and death at heart, cheerfully gives her husband and starving children the last morsel of bread in the hovel, and says with a martyr-like dissimulation that she does not want it, she is not hungry. Bless you they are all deceivers, every one, from little miss in her teens, who flirts with her boy lovers, to old Joan of threescore, who still wheedles her venerable Darby!

"Why, Bertie, what on earth do you mean?" as innocently as you please.

The Reverend Herbert Pringle, B.A., had for the last two days been puzzling his small amount of brains how to broach the subject to his sister. He did not wish to vex her, or hurt her feelings; in fact, he did not know what to do, it was "such a delicate matter, you know, such a very delicate matter," that he wished it were settled and done for, and off his hands. But still, all the same, he did not know how to begin.

"Well, humph!" clearing his throat portentously, "the fact is, Lizzie, you know all about it."

"Really, Bertie," said Lizzie, laughing--oh! such a faint little laugh, "you are very enigmatical to-day."

"I'm not joking, Lizzie; it's a serious business, a very serious business. What is all this going on between you and Tom Hartshorne?"

Poor Lizzie's little defences of affected ignorance and nonchalance at once broke down, although she bravely struggled on to preserve her equanimity.