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Chapter Twenty Three
Uncle Luke Grows Harder
“I would not stop over these, my dears,” said Vine, as they sat at breakfast, which was hardly tasted, “but if I neglect them they will die.”
He had a glass globe on the table, and from time to time he went on feeding with scraps of mussel the beautiful specimens of actinia; attached to a fragment of rock.
“We’ll all go on directly and see if we can be of any use. I’m glad Knatchbull called as he went by.”
“But what news!” said Louise sadly. “It seems so terrible. Only yesterday evening so well, and now – ”
She finished her remark with a sob.
“It is very terrible,” said her father; “but I hope we shall soon hear that the villains are caught.”
Harry sat holding the handle of his tea-cup firmly, and gazing straight before him.
“You’ll go up to the office, of course, my boy?” said Vine.
“Eh? Go up to the office?” cried Harry, starting.
“Yes, as if nothing had happened. Do all you can to assist Crampton.”
“Yes, father.”
“He was very quiet and reserved when I went in at seven; quite snappish, I might say. But he was too much occupied and troubled, I suppose, to be very courteous to such an old idler as I am. Ah!” he continued, as a figure passed the window, “here’s Uncle Luke.”
A cold chill had run through Harry at the mention of Crampton – a chill of horror lest he should suspect anything; and now, at the announcement of his uncle’s approach, he felt a flush run up to his temples, and as if the room had suddenly become hot.
“Morning,” said Uncle Luke, entering without ceremony, a rush basket in one hand, his strapped-together rod in the other.
“Breakfast? Late for breakfast, isn’t it?”
“No, Luke, no; our usual time,” said his brother mildly.
“You will sit down and have some, uncle?”
“No, Louy, no,” he replied, nodding his head and looking a little less hard at her. “I’ve had some bread and skim milk, and I’m just off to catch my dinner. The idiot know?”
“My dear Luke!” said his brother mildly, as Uncle Luke made a gesture upward towards Aunt Marguerite’s room; “why will you strive to increase the breach between you and our sister?”
“Well, she tells every one that I’m mad. Why shouldn’t I call her an idiot? But nice goings on, these. Wonder you’re all alive.”
“Then you have heard?”
“Heard? Of course. If I hadn’t I could have read it in your faces. Look here, sir,” he cried, turning sharply on his nephew, “where were you last night?”
Harry clutched the table-cloth that hung into his lap.
“I? Last night?” he faltered.
“Yes; didn’t I speak plainly? Where were you last night? Why weren’t you down at Van Heldre’s, behaving like a man, and fight for your master along with your henchman?”
“Uncle, dear, don’t be so unreasonable,” said Louise, leaning back and looking up in the old man’s face – for he had thrown his basket and rod on a chair, and gone behind her to stand stroking her cheek – “Harry was at home with Mr Pradelle.”
“Pradelle, eh?” said the old man sharply. “Not up?”
“Mr Pradelle has gone,” said Louise.
“Gone, eh?” said Uncle Luke sharply.
“Yes,” said his brother. “Mr Pradelle behaved very nicely. He left this note for me.”
“Note, eh? Bank note – ”
Harry winced and set his teeth.
“No, no, Luke. Nonsense!”
“Nonsense? I mean to pay for his board and lodging all the time he has been here.”
“Absurd, Luke!” said his brother, taking up a liberal meal for a sea-anemone on the end of a thin glass rod. “He said that under the circumstances he felt that he should be an encumbrance to us, and therefore he had gone by the earliest train.”
“Like the sneak he is, eh, Harry?”
The young man met his uncle’s eyes for the moment, and then dropped his own.
“You’ll kill those things with kindness, George. Any one would think you were fattening them for market. So Master Pradelle has gone, eh? Don’t cry, Louy; perhaps we can coax him back.”
He chuckled, and patted her cheek.
“Uncle, dear, don’t talk like that. We are in such trouble.”
“About Van Heldre, that boy’s master. Yes, of course. Very sad for Mrs Van and little Madelaine. Leslie was down there as soon as one of the miners brought up the news, trying to comfort them.”
Harry’s teeth gritted slightly, but he relapsed into his former semi-cataleptic state, as if forced to listen, and unable to move.
“I like Leslie,” said Vine sadly.
“So do I. At least, I don’t dislike him so much as I do some folks. Now if he had been there, he’d have behaved better than you did, Master Harry.”
“Uncle, dear, don’t be so hard on poor Harry.”
“Poor Harry! Good job he is poor. What’s the good of being rich for thieves to break through and steal?”
“Ah! what indeed!” said his brother sadly.
“Look at Van Heldre, knocked on the head and going to die.”
“Uncle!”
“Well, I dare say he will, and be at rest. Knocked on the head, and robbed of five hundred pounds. My money, every penny.”
“Yours, Luke?” said his brother, pointing at him with the glass rod.
“Thanks, no, George; give it to the sea-anemone. I don’t like raw winkle.”
“But you said that money was yours?”
“Yes; a deposit; all in new crisp Bank of England notes, Harry. Taking care of it for me till I got a fresh investment.”
“You surprise me, Luke.”
“Always did. Surprised you more if Margaret had had five hundred pounds to invest, eh?”
“Then the loss will fall upon you, uncle,” said Louise sympathetically, as she took the old man’s hand.
“Yes, my dear. But better have the loss fall upon median Crampton’s heavy ebony ruler, eh, Harry?”
The young man looked once more in the searching malicious eyes, and nodded.
“Bad job though, Louy. I’d left poor Harry that money in my will.”
“Oh, uncle!” cried Louise, holding his hand to her cheek.
“Yes; but not a penny for you, pussy. There, it don’t matter. I shan’t miss the money. If I run short, George, you’ll give me a crust, same as you do Margaret.”
“My dear Luke, I’ve told you a hundred times, I should be glad if you would give up that – that – ”
“Dog kennel?” sneered the old cynic.
“That hut on the cliff, and come and share my home.”
“Yes, two hundred times. I’ll swear,” said Uncle Luke. “You always were weak, George. One idiot’s enough for you to keep, and very little does for me. There’s my larder,” he continued, pointing toward the sea; “and as to Harry here, he won’t miss the money. He’s going to be the Count des Vignes, and take Aunt Marguerite over to Auvergne, to live in his grand château. Five hundred pounds is nothing to him.”
The perspiration stood on Harry’s brow, cold and damp, and he sat enduring all this torture. One moment he felt that his uncle suspected him, the next that it was impossible. At times a fierce sensation of rage bubbled up in his breast, and he felt as if he would have liked to strangle the keen-eyed old man; but directly after he felt that this was his punishment called down by his weakness and folly, and that he must bear it.
“Going, Harry?” said his father, as the young man rose.
“Yes; it is time I went on to the office.”
“Good boy. Punctuality’s the soul of business,” said Uncle Luke. “Pity we have no corporation here. You might rise to be mayor. Here, I don’t think I shall go fishing to-day. I’ll stop, and go on with you two to see old Van. Louy, dear, go and tell your aunt I’m here. She might like to come down and have a snarl.”
“Uncle, dear,” said Louise, rising and kissing him, “you can’t deceive me.”
She went out after Harry.
“Not a pair, George,” said Uncle Luke, grimly. “Louy’s worth live hundred of the boy.”
“He’d drive me mad, Lou, he’d drive me mad,” cried Harry, tearing his hand from his sister’s grasp, and hurrying away; but only to run back repentant and kiss her fondly before hurrying away.
Chapter Twenty Four
The Trifle that Tells Tales
As Harry Vine left his father’s house, and hurried down the slope he gazed wildly out to sea. There were no thoughts of old Huguenot estates, or ancient titles, but France lay yonder over that glistening sea, and as he watched a cinnamon-sailed lugger gliding rapidly south and east, he longed to be aboard.
Why should he not do as Pradelle had done, escape from the dangers which surrounded and hemmed him in? It was the easiest way out of his difficulties.
There were several reasons.
To go would stamp him with the crime, and so invite pursuit. To do this was to disgrace father and sister, and perhaps be taken and dragged back.
When he reached the harbour, instead of turning down to the left, by the estuary, he made his way at once on to the shore, and after a little hesitation, picked out the spot where on the previous night he had thrown himself down, half mad with the course he had been called upon to take.
The engraved gold locket with which his nervous fingers had so often played would be lying somewhere among the stones, perhaps caught and wedged in a crevice. It was so easy when lying prone to catch such an ornament and snap it off without knowing. He looked carefully over the heap of stones, and then around in every direction; but the locket was not there.
“It must be somewhere about,” he said angrily, as if he willed that it should; but there was no sign of the glittering piece of well-polished gold, and a suspicion that had for a long time being growing increased rapidly in force, till he could bear it no longer, and once more something seemed to urge him to fly.
He had clung so to that hope, shutting his eyes to the truth, and going down to the beach to search for the locket. Even when he had not found it, he said that perhaps some child had picked it up; but there was the truth now refusing to be smothered longer, and he walked on hastily to reach Van Heldre’s office, so as to search for the locket there. For it was the truth he had fell that sudden snatch, that tug when the old merchant dashed at him, and then fell. The locket was torn off then. He might not be too late. In the hurry and confusion it might not have been seen.
The ordinary door of entrance to the offices was closed, and at the house the blinds were half drawn-down. He felt that he could not go to the front door. So after a little hesitation, he went round into the back lane, and with a strange sensation of dread, passed through the gateway and down the steps into the neatly kept garden yard.
Everything was very still; and Harry Vine, with an attempt to look as if entirely bent upon his ordinary task, went up to the door, entered the glass corridor, as he had entered it the night before, and by a tremendous effort of will walked quickly into the outer office.
The inner door was open, and after a hasty glance round, he was in the act of crossing to it when he found himself face to face with the old clerk. For some moments neither spoke – the old man gazing straight at Harry with a peculiar, stony glare, and the latter, so thrown off his balance, that no words would come.
“Good morning,” he said at last.
The old man continued to stare as if looking him through and through.
“What do you want?” he said at last.
“Want? It is past nine o’clock, and – ”
“Go back. The office is closed.”
“Go back?” said Harry, troubled by the old man’s manner more than by the announcement; for it seemed natural that the office should be closed.
“Yes, young man; you can go back.”
“But – ”
“I said, go back, sir – go back! The office is closed,” said the old man fiercely; and there was something menacing in the manner of his approach, as he backed his junior to the closed door, and unlocked it and pointed to the street.
“Mr Crampton – ” began Harry.
The old man looked at him as if he could have struck him down, waved him aside, and closed and locked the door.
Harry stood a few moments thinking. What could he do to gain an entrance there, and have a quiet search of the place? The only plan open seemed to be to wait until Crampton had gone away.
He had just come to this conclusion, after walking a short distance along the street and returning, when a fresh shock awaited him. Van Heldre’s front door was open, and Duncan Leslie came out, walking quickly towards him, but not noticing whom he approached till they were face to face.
“Ah, Mr Vine,” he said, holding out his hand; “I had some thought of coming up to you.”
“What for?”
“What for? Surely at a time like this there ought not to be a gap between friends. I am afraid you misunderstood me the other night. I am very sorry. There is my hand.”
But trembling with that other anxiety, Harry Vine had still the old sling of jealousy festering in his breast. Leslie had just come from Van Heldre’s; perhaps he had been talking with Madelaine even there; and, ignoring the proffer, Harry bowed coldly and was passing on, but Leslie laid his hand upon his arm.
“If I have been more in the wrong than I think, pray tell me,” said Leslie. “Come, Vine, you and I ought not to be ill friends.”
For a moment the desire was upon him to grasp the extended hand. It was a time when he was ready to cling to anyone for help and support, and the look in his eyes changed.
“Ah, that’s better!” said Leslie frankly. “I want to talk to you.”
Why not go with him? Why not tell Leslie all, and ask his help and advice? He needed both sorely. It was but a moment’s fancy, which he cast aside as mad. What would Leslie say to such a one as he? And how could he take the hand of a man who was taking the place which should be his?
Leslie stood still in the narrow seaport street for a few moments, looking after Harry, who had turned off suddenly and walked away.
Chapter Twenty Five
On the Rack
How was he to pass that day? At home in a state of agony, starting at every word, trembling at every knock which came to the door? He felt that he could not do that, and that he must be engaged in some way to crush down the thoughts which were fermenting in his brain.
Certain now that he had lost the locket in the slight struggle in the office, he literally determined to leave no stone unturned, and walked once more down to the beach, where he went on searching, till glancing up he saw Poll Perrow, the old fish-woman, resting her arm on the rail at the edge of the cliff, looking down at him, and apparently watching him.
That was sufficient to turn him from his quest, and he went off hastily, and without intent, to find himself upon the long, narrow, pier-like point which acted as a breakwater to the harbour.
He went on and on, till he reached the end, where with the sea on three sides, and the waves washing at his feet, he sat down on one of the masses of rock as his uncle so often took up his position to fish, and watched the swirling current that ran so swiftly by the end of the point.
“How easy it would be,” he thought, “to step down off the end of the rock into the sea, and be carried right away.”
“And disgrace them by acting like a coward,” he said half aloud; and leaping up he walked swiftly back to the cliff, and then went up the path that led to home.
At the door he met Louise and his father.
“Back again, Harry?” said the latter, wonderingly.
“Yes; the place is shut up. No business to-day,” he said hastily.
“Did you see Madelaine?” asked Louise, anxiously.
He shook his head.
“Or poor Mrs Van Heldre?” said his father.
“No; I thought it would worry them.”
“But you asked how Van Heldre was?”
“No,” said Harry, confusedly. “I – it seemed a pity to disturb them.”
“Come back and make amends,” said Vine rather sternly. “They must not think we desert them in their trouble.”
“But both you and Louise have been on this morning.”
“Yes, and would have stayed if it would have helped them,” said Vine. “Come.”
Harry hung back for a moment, and then, in the hope that he might be able to slip away from them, and search the office in Crampton’s absence, he went on by their side.
To the surprise of all, as they reached the house the door was opened by Crampton, who stood scowling in the doorway, and barred the way.
“How is he now, Crampton?” said Vine, as Harry’s heart began to palpitate with the fear that all this was intended for him.
“Dying,” said the old man, shortly.
“No, no, not so bad as that,” cried Louise and her father in a breath. “Doctor Knatchbull said – ”
“What doctors always say, Miss Louise, that while there’s life there’s hope. ’Tisn’t true. There’s often life and no hope, and it’s so here.”
“Crampton, you are taking too black a view of the matter,” said Vine, quickly. “It’s very good of you to be so much moved as his old and faithful servant, but let’s all, as a duty, look on the best side of things.”
“There is no best side,” said Crampton, bitterly. “The whole world’s corrupt. Well; what do you people want to say?”
“To say? We have come to be of help if we can. Come, Louise, my dear.”
He took a step forward, but the old man stood fast.
“You know all there is to know,” said the old clerk sourly, as he looked half angrily at Vine, and then, totally ignoring Harry, he turned his eyes on Louise, when the hard look softened a little. “Send in by-and-by if you want to hear, or I’ll send to you – if he dies.”
“Dies!” cried Vine, with a start of horror. “No, no; he is not so bad as that.”
“As bad as a man can be to live.”
“You forget yourself, Crampton,” said Vine, with dignity. “You forget yourself. But there, I can look over it all now. I know what you must feel. Go and tell Mrs Van Heldre or Miss Madelaine that we are here.”
The old man hesitated for a few moments, and then drew back to allow Louise and her father to pass; but as Harry stepped forward hastily to follow, the old man interposed, and fiercely raised his hand.
“No,” he said. “I’m master now. Go back! Go back!”
Harry shrank from him as Crampton stood pointing down the street, and then strove hard to master the abject sensation of dread which made him feel that all the old man said was true. He was master now, and with an angry gesture he turned and walked swiftly away, to turn as he reached the end of the street and see Crampton watching him from the door-step, and with his hand still raised.
“Am I such an abject coward that I am frightened of that old man?” he muttered, as he recalled how only a few hours back he used to treat him with a flippant condescending contempt. “Yes, he’s master now, and means to show it. Why did I not go in boldly?”
He knew why, and writhed in his impotence and dread. The task of keeping a bold face on the matter was harder than he thought. He wandered about the town in an objectless way hour after hour, and then went home. His father and sister had not returned, but Aunt Marguerite was down, ready to rise in her artificial manner and extend her hand.
“Ah, Henri, my child,” she said; “how pale and careworn you look! Where are they all?”
“Van Heldre’s,” said Harry shortly.
“Ah, poor man! Very bad, I hear. Yes, it’s very sad, but I do not see why his accident should so reverse our regular lives at home. Henri, dear, you must break with Mr Van Heldre after this.”
“I have broken with him, aunt,” cried the young man fiercely.
“Ah! that’s right; that is spoken like one of our race should speak. Good boy. And, Henri, my darling, of course there will be no more silly flirtings with you sister’s friend. Remember what I have told you of the fair daughters of France, and let the fraülein marry that man Leslie.”
“Aunt, you’ll drive me mad,” exclaimed Harry, grinding his teeth; and without another word he dashed out of the house. His first thought was to go up the cliff path on to the wild granite plain and moors which overlooked the town, but he could not stir in that direction. There was the hunting dread of that locket being found, and he went on down again into the town, and looked about the shore for hours.
The afternoon was growing old, and his mind was becoming better able to bear the brunt of all that was to come.
He raised his eyes, and was on the point of going back home to see if his father and sister had returned, when he caught sight of old Crampton coming out of the post-office, after which the old man walked on in the direction of his home.
The opportunity at last! The office would be unguarded; and, walking swiftly in the direction of Van Heldre’s, he turned round into the back lane, and, strung up to act firmly and determinedly, he pressed the back gate.
It was fast.
Desperate and determined now, he went round to the principal office door, but it was locked. Harry drew a long breath, and walked straight to the front door and rang. The maid who opened drew back to let him pass.
“My father – sister here?”
“In the drawing-room; in with my mistress.”
“No, no,” said Harry hastily, as the maid moved towards the door; “never mind me; I’ll go in soon.”
The woman left him in the hall, and he waited till he heard the kitchen-door close, when he walked swiftly and softly to the glass window, and hurried into the office.
The inner office door was open, and he darted in, to hastily look all round, under table, chairs, beneath the bookshelves, among the newspapers that lay in places in a heap; but there was no sign of the missing trinket, and an icy feeling of dread began to grow upon him.
The waste-paper basket!
It was half full, and the locket might easily have dropped in there, but a hasty examination was without avail.
The fireplace!
He looked there, in the ready-laid fire, beneath the grate, in the fender; he even raised it, but without avail.
“It must be here somewhere,” he muttered fiercely; and he looked round again, and in amongst the papers on the table.
Still without avail.
“It is in the waste-paper basket,” he said, with a feeling of conviction upon him, as, trembling in every limb, he went to the other side of the table where it stood.
“What’s that?”
A faint sound. Was it Crampton returning?
He stood listening, his brow glistening with the cold perspiration; and as he remained breathless and intent, he seemed to see again the office as it was on the previous night, almost totally dark, the safe opened, and the shadowy figure of Van Heldre dashing at him.
Was it fancy, or was the place really dark? A curious mist was before his eyes, but all was silent; and he went down on his knees, turned to a waste-paper basket upside down – the torn letters, envelopes, and circulars forming a heap on the well-worn Turkey carpet; but no piece of metal fell out with a low pat.
“It is here; it is here; it shall be here,” he panted; and then he sprang to his feet shivering with shame and dread, face to face with Madelaine Van Heldre, who, pale with emotion, heavy-eyed with weeping, but erect and stern, flashed upon him a look full of anger and contempt.
“Ah, Madelaine!” he stammered, “have you seen a half-written letter – must be here somewhere – left on my desk?”
“Henri des Vignes – the soul of honour!” she said bitterly. “Have you fallen so low as this?”
“I – I don’t understand you.”
“You coward! And you can lie to me – the woman you professed to love!”
“Madelaine, for pity’s sake.”
“Let me tell you what you are looking for.”
“I – looking for?”
“Yes; you are looking for something for fear it should fall into the hands of the police.”
“I don’t know what you mean.”
“Oh! is it possible that a man can be so base? Let me tell you, then. You are looking for the locket snapped from your chain when my poor father was stricken down.”
“Madelaine! what are you saying?”
“Stricken down by the wretch whom, in my pity and love, I had asked him to receive into his house, that he might redeem his character, and prove to the world that he had only been weak.”
“You – you did this!” he gasped.
“I did this; and found that in his love for his old friend my father had already determined to be a second father to his son.”
“Oh!”
“And for what? To bring him where he might play the part of serpent on the hearth, and sting him to the quick.”
“Madelaine, for God’s sake, mercy!”
She could have none then.
“To give shelter, ah! and, some day, the hand of the weak, trusting girl who loved him, and said, ‘Give him time, father, and he will change’ – to give him some day her hand and love, and welcome him as a son.”
“Madelaine!” he cried, throwing himself on his knees, to clasp the hem of her dress and literally grovel at her feet.
“To the man who could stoop to be a vile contemptible thief!”
“No, no, no!” cried Harry, springing to his feet; “not that – not that.”
“And rob him.”
“No; anything but that. I swear I did not do that.”
“And when detected in the act did not scruple to play the would-be murderer.”
“Madelaine, have pity!”
“And cruelly struck him down.”
“Madelaine. All you say is not true.”
“Not true? Go up to where he lies hovering between life and death, and see your work. Coward! Villain! Oh, that I should e’er have been so weak as to think that I loved such a wretch as you!”
He drew himself up.
“It is not true,” he said. “I did not commit that theft; and it was in my agony and shame at being found before the safe that I struck him down.”
“You confess you were there – that you were a partner in the crime?”
“Yes, I was there,” said Harry slowly; “and I sinned. Well, I am ready. Take your revenge. I am in your hands. You have the evidence of my crime. Denounce me, and let me go out of your sight for ever.”
“And my father’s old friend – my second father? And Louise, my more than sister. What of them?”
He quailed before her as she stood, her eyes flashing, a hectic flush on either cheek; and he felt he had never known Madelaine Van Heldre till then.
“Oh!” he groaned as he covered his face with his hands, “I am guilty. Let me suffer,” he said slowly. “They will soon forget, for I shall be as one who is dead.”
“No,” she said; “I cannot speak. If he who is hovering between life and death could advise, he would say, ‘Be silent; let his conscience be his judge.’ I say the same. Go. The locket is not there.”
“The police?” he cried in a questioning tone.
“No,” she said, “the secret was mine. I found it tightly clasped in my poor father’s hand.”
“Then the secret is safe.”
“Safe?” she said scornfully. “Safe? Yes, it is my secret. You asked for mercy. I give it you, for the sake of all who are dear to me; and because, if he lives, my poor father would not prosecute the son of his old friend. There is your locket. Take it, and I pray heaven we may never meet again. Crampton!”
“Yes, Miss Maddy, Crampton – old Crampton, who held you in his arms when you were one hour old.”
“What are you doing here?”
“Watching my master’s interests – watching over you.”
“Then you have heard?”
“Every word, my child.”
“You cursed spy!” cried Harry fiercely, as he seized the old man by the throat.
“You’ve done enough, Master Harry Vine, enough to transport you, sir; and if he dies to send you to your death.”
“Crampton!” shrieked Madelaine, as Harry drew back trembling.
“Be merciful, like you, my dear? No, I cannot.”
“Then you’ll go and tell – ”
“What I’ve heard now, my dear? No; there is no need.”
“What do you mean?”
“To watch over you, whether my poor master lives or dies. I know you! You’d forgive him if he asked.”
“Never! But Crampton, it is our secret. He must go – to repent. Dear Crampton,” she cried, throwing her arms about his neck, “you must be merciful too!”
“Too late, my dear,” said the old man sternly; “too late.”
He placed his arm round her and drew her to his breast, as if to defend her from Harry.
“When I went home that night,” he continued in a slow, solemn voice, “I felt that something was not right, and I came on here – in time to see – ”
“Oh!” cried Madelaine.
“In time to see that shivering, guilty wretch flee from where he had struck my poor master down; and if I had been a young man and strong I could have killed him for his crime.”
“You saw him?”
“Yes, my dear. No need for the locket to bear witness. I had my duty to do, and it is done.”
“Done?”
“Yes; to punish him for his crime.”
“Crampton, what have you said? Harry! before it is too late!”
“It is too late, my child. See here.” He held out a scrap of reddish paper. “From the London police. I could not trust those bunglers here.”
Madelaine snatched the paper from his hand and read it.
“Oh!” she moaned, and the paper dropped from her hand.
Harry snatched it from the floor, read it, let it fall, and reeled against the table, whose edge he grasped.
Madelaine struggled and freed herself from the old man’s detaining arm.
“Harry!” she panted – “it would be my father’s wish – escape! There may yet be time.”
He leaned back against the table, gazing at her wildly, as if he did not grasp her words. Then he started as if stung by a sudden lash as old Crampton said: “I have done my duty. It is too late.”
