Englefield Grange Part 44

Albert seemed to consider himself required in some way to answer Clara's questioning look, so he said--

"Me too, grandpa, me stay with you and Kate."

"Papa, am I to go to school in England?" asked James.

"Yes, my boy, certainly, and if grandpapa consents you shall stay and be a pupil at Englefield Grange."

"Oh, jolly!" said the boy, "it's ever so much better being here than at my school in Melbourne. Oh! I shall be happy, especially when uncle Henry comes home."

And so it was settled that during their father's absence his children should remain at Kilburn under their grandfather's roof.

"I must make a home for them as soon as I can turn myself round," he said a few hours after, when talking the matter over with Kate Marston.

"I have to settle the business which brought me to England, and to ascertain what claim I have on my wife's property."

"What! did you not do so before you married her?" asked Kate, in astonishment.

"No," he replied, "she was very reticent on the subject, and I did not like to question her, or indeed her friends--she appeared to have perfect control over her property. However, she may have left a will. At all events, I must go to the apartments I have taken for three months, and look over her papers. Unfortunately, her lawyer is in Australia, and he may have a will in his possession. But, dear Kate," he continued, with a shudder, "her death is so recent, and the money subject too painful to be talked about yet. I know you will take care of my children, and that is a great relief to my mind."

"Indeed, indeed I will," she replied in a tone of sympathy; the paleness and the shudder had not escaped her. Had she known the pangs of conscience which caused that shudder, horror instead of sympathy would have filled her heart.

And yet the conscience of Arthur Franklyn could only at times arouse him to doubt the rect.i.tude of his own conduct. By fallacious arguments, and false reasoning with himself, he had acquired confused ideas of right and wrong. He had still at times the appearance of being under the effects of some powerful sedative; and at others the flashing eye and the flushed face would have denoted the presence of some strong stimulant to less unsuspecting people than the residents at the Grange.

Arthur Franklyn with all his faults had never given way to intemperance, therefore the brandy flask which he now carried in his pocket or kept locked up in his bedroom was more potent in its effects, leaving behind it, after the first moments of excitement, an opiate-like stupor and stolidity of manner, very unlike that of the bright and fascinating Arthur Franklyn of former times.

When he left the little breakfast-parlour, in which we first met three of the residents of Englefield Grange, Dr. Halford and Kate Marston were alone.

"Uncle," said the latter, "Arthur is very much changed since the death of his second wife."

"Well, my dear, perhaps he is, but it's very natural under the painful circ.u.mstances in which she died. I cannot be surprised at his marrying again; of course he wanted a companion, and a mother for his children.

The lady he chose appeared to me very pleasing and agreeable, and perhaps her money was a great temptation, although I do not think a marriage for money alone can ever insure happiness."

Kate said nothing; she had seen enough of the second Mrs. Franklyn to create a doubt respecting her suitableness to be a second mother to any children, especially to one so high-spirited as Clara, and she could not tell her uncle of the difficulties already in the way respecting Louisa Franklyn's fortune.

Arthur came in presently with his carpet bag in his hand, to wish them farewell.

"I have said good-by to the children, Kate; I am glad I sent nurse to you; they are with her now, and seem quite happy; you will find her very useful."

"I have found her so already, Arthur," she replied, "and Clara manages her little brother famously, so make yourself quite comfortable about the children."

"Arthur is going, uncle," she said gently, for the old gentleman sat dozing in his arm-chair.

"Eh? what?" he said, "Arthur going? Good-by my son; G.o.d bless you and keep you in the right path."

A few more hasty farewells, and then Arthur Franklyn started at a quick pace to catch the four o'clock train to London, with the last words of his poor f.a.n.n.y's father--"Keep you in the right path"--ringing in his tars.

The sad and sudden death and the inquest on Mrs. Franklyn had appeared in most of the daily and weekly papers, therefore when Arthur knocked at the door of the house in which he had taken apartments, the landlady met him with a doleful face.

"Oh, sir, is it true? have you lost your dear lady as we read in the papers?"

"I am sorry to say it is true," he replied as he entered, "and it will make a great change in my arrangements; however, you shall not be a loser, Mrs. Mills; and now if you will bring me some tea I shall be glad of a cup to refresh myself, I can't get over such a shock all at once."

"No, sir, I should think not; and indeed you're not looking at all well, and no wonder. Yes, sir," she added quickly, seeing a look of impatience pa.s.s over his face, "I'll go at once and see about your tea, it will be ready in no time."

Very glad indeed was Arthur Franklyn when, the tea being removed and his landlady's restless tongue banished from the room, he could feel himself alone. He first drew the table near the window, which he closed notwithstanding the heat; then he emptied his pockets of various letters, and at length drew forth an ominous-looking doc.u.ment tied with red tape, which he opened and spread on the table. Yes, there the name stood, clear and distinct, in his wife's handwriting, "LOUISA ELLEN FRANKLYN. Witness--HENRY HALFORD."

For some minutes Arthur Franklyn seemed fascinated to the writing before him. He turned the leaf and read the legally worded doc.u.ment through.

There was no hesitation necessary there, Louisa had intended him to have this two thousand pounds, her trustees had consented and signed. Morally it belonged to him if not quite legally; what moral law would be transgressed by claiming it? None. Then for the sake of his own credit, for the sake of his children, he was justified in this act. It would injure no one; the bulk of his wife's fortune might go to another, and virtually this two thousand pounds had been already taken from it and placed in the bank till the doc.u.ment before him should be properly signed. Yes, it was all right, and as he thus thought he folded it carefully, re-tied it and placed it in his pocket-book.

On a table near stood Louisa's desk--her keys had been given into his hands, with her rings and jewels and a few other articles found in the pocket of the deceased lady. He took the small bunch of keys from his own pocket, but as he rose to fetch the desk, there flashed across his memory the words of the old doctor, "G.o.d bless you, my son, and keep you in the right path."

Conscience awoke and made itself heard. "You are out of the right path already, Arthur Franklyn," said the small still voice. "All your false reasoning, all your absurd sophistry is vain; you have no right to that money, and if you claim it on the doc.u.ment in your possession, you know by what name the laws of your country will call you it you are found out; and even if you obtain the money undiscovered, you will never know another happy hour. Burn the paper, Arthur Franklyn, and throw off the power of the evil spirit that entices you."

The conscience-stricken man staggered to his seat; he drew the paper from his pocket, and forgetting for a moment that it was summer-time, he turned towards the empty fireplace. Then an impulse came upon him to tear the doc.u.ment to atoms, and throw from his mind the fearful incubus; but his hand was arrested by a sudden memory of his debts in Australia, which if not paid must, he knew, end in the disgrace of bankruptcy.

Again the tempter reminded him of his children, his eldest daughter growing into womanhood; poverty, disgrace for her portion. No, no, it could not be, he must risk all. There was nothing to fear. He would arrange all matters of business in England, a few days or a week would suffice for that, and then he would return to Melbourne. Where he was so well known he could easily get the papers cashed by paying a good amount of interest. His children were safe for the present. He should be able to send over payment for their board. Yes, this plan must be adopted, it was the best and the only one; and with this resolution strong in his mind conscience was crushed, its voice silenced for a time, and Arthur Franklyn left to follow the downward road on which he had made the first false step.

He again rose to fetch Louisa's desk, and placing it on the table before him, eagerly examined its contents. Letters from friends, a banker's book, a cheque for seventy-four pounds which he had given her at the time of the transfer of her ready cash to his name, about fifty pounds in ready money, and at last a little packet of his own letters written before their marriage, carefully and neatly tied together, several little articles of jewellery, and others of no importance, but no will.

Arthur Franklyn as he made this discovery knew that all hope of his late wife's fortune was lost to him, unless she had left a will with her lawyers in Melbourne, and this appeared another urgent reason why he should return thither.

The money he had found, with the balance of a few hundreds still lying at the Australian bank in London, would pay his pa.s.sage, and help him to carry out his plans. He replaced the various articles in the desk excepting the jewels and the money; her watch and chain he had left at his father-in-law's for Clara. But as he placed his hand on the packet of his own letters a pang of remorse shot through his heart, which almost threatened him with another attack of conscience. He hastily drew the flask from his pocket, and seizing a winegla.s.s which stood on the sideboard filled it nearly to the brim with the so often fatal stimulant, and drank it off.

For a time it produced a false courage which enabled him to finish his search of the desk; and after closing and locking it he remained at the table and proceeded to sketch out his future movements, made a list of the boxes to be sent next day to Kilburn, and also of the articles he wished to take with him on his voyage. By this time the twilight of a June evening was fading into night; Arthur looked at his watch and rang the bell, it was nearly half-past nine. The landlady herself appeared with what she termed a nice little supper, to tempt Mr. Franklyn's appet.i.te. She lighted the gas and uncovered the tray for his inspection, but the supper failed to produce the result she expected. Mr. Franklyn could eat nothing but a biscuit, and she left the room in great distress of mind to expatiate in the kitchen on the dreadful event which had "so altered the gentleman upstairs and quite took away his appet.i.te."

Arthur Franklyn, totally unmindful of her sympathy, escaped to his bedroom soon after the clock struck ten. But there was no thought of Him on whom we are told to cast our burden. There arose in his heart no prayer for guidance in the right path. It might be said of him at this period of his life that "G.o.d was not in all his thoughts." To him in this hour of fierce temptation there was no solace but the fiery spirit, so valuable as a medicine, so dangerous as a stimulant. He took another supply before seeking his pillow, and sunk at once into an unhealthy sleep, from which he awoke in the morning unrefreshed and with a throbbing headache. During the next three days Arthur Franklyn, with a kind of unnatural energy, went through the tasks he had allotted to himself. From the lawyer to the banker's; from the West End to the City, in cabs and in omnibuses; to the shipping offices to secure a berth; to the railway station to send boxes to Kate Marston and his daughter, and to write letters in the evening--so pa.s.sed the next three days.

One discovery he made while at the lawyer's office. From a remark made by Mr. Norton, to whom Henry Halford had introduced him, he found that gentleman had made a mistake, and here he took the second step in the downward path.

After expressing his regret and sympathy, Mr. Norton said--

"You are fortunate in one thing, Mr. Franklyn; I hear that Mrs. Franklyn signed her name to the doc.u.ment on the morning before she died at her own lawyer's, so the two thousand pounds are yours to all intents and purposes."

"It may be so," replied Arthur, languidly; "but I have been so upset and so full of business I have not had time to examine it."

"Well, do so, my dear sir, when you get home; no doubt you will find it all right."

This mistake of Mr. Norton's, which will be hereafter explained, sent Arthur from the lawyer's office in a tremble of excitement. He had nothing to fear now; all would end well, and he should overcome every difficulty.

The fact that he had spoken falsely to Mr. Norton, and helped to mislead that gentleman, he entirely overlooked.

And so the time pa.s.sed on, and the morning of the Friday on which he was to sail for Melbourne rose in its summer brightness.

But the excitement, the at times clamorous voice of conscience, and the unusual amount of stimulant he took, were together combining to produce fever of the blood and irritation of the brain in Arthur Franklyn.

When he started in a cab from his lodgings his landlady remarked, "Well, if this rushing about every day don't soon kill that poor gentleman, he must be made of iron."

No idea of the truth entered her mind. To conceal his intention of leaving England it had been necessary for him to invent and prevaricate and deceive in a way that twelve months before he would have shrunk from with shame and disgust. But principles of truth, honour, and rect.i.tude, without the foundation of religion and the fear of G.o.d, are never to be relied on. In the hour of fierce temptation they had proved to Arthur Franklyn no stronger than a broken reed.

He reached the landing-place just below London Bridge at about noon, wishing to get on board early, as the vessel was timed to sail at seven in the evening.