The Orange Girl Part 19

He stood up. 'I am going, Mistress,' he said--'unless you have something else to say.'

'Mr. Halliday--you lost two hundred guineas last night, and on Sunday you lost four hundred.'

'Zounds, Miss or Mistress, how do you know?'

'I know because I am told. You are a very rich man, Mr. Halliday, are you not? You must be to lose so much every night. You must be very rich indeed. You have whole fleets of your own, and Quays and Warehouses filled with goods--and you inherited a great fortune only two years ago.'

He sank back in a chair and gazed stupidly upon her. 'How speeds your n.o.ble trade? How fares it with your fleets? How much is left of your great fortune?' He growled, but made no reply. Curiosity and wonder seized him and held him. Besides, what reply could he make?

'Who are you?' he asked.

'I will tell you, perhaps. How do you stand with Mr. Probus?'

He sprang to his feet again. 'This is too much. How dare you speak of my private affairs? What do you know about Mr. Probus?'

'How long is it, Mr. Halliday, since you agreed with Mr. Probus that your cousin should be locked up in a Debtors' Prison there to remain till he died, or sold his birthright?'

He answered with a kind of roar, as if he had no words left. He stood before her--the table between--half in terror--half in rage. Who was this woman? Besides, he was already very nearly beside himself over the long continuance of his bad luck.

'Who are you?' he asked again. 'What do you know about my cousin?'

'I will tell you, directly, who I am. About your cousin, Matthew, I warn you solemnly. The next attempt you make upon his life and liberty will bring upon your head--yours--not to speak of the others--the greatest disaster that you can imagine, or can dread. The greatest disaster,' she repeated solemnly, 'that you can imagine or can dread.' She looked like a Prophetess, standing before him with hand raised and with solemn voice.

'This is fooling. What do you know? Who are you?'

'I cannot tell what kind of disaster it will be--the greatest--the worst possible--it will be. Be warned. Keep Mr. Probus at arm's length or he will ruin you--he will ruin you, unless he has ruined you already.'

'You cannot frighten me with bugaboo stories. If you will not tell me who you are. I shall go.'

She tore off her glove. 'Does this hand,' she said, 'remind you of nothing?'

On the third finger of the white hand was a wedding-ring which I had never seen there before.

He stared at the hand. Perhaps he suspected. I think he did. No one who had once seen that hand could possibly forget it.

She tore off her domino. 'You have doubtless forgotten, Matthew, by this time, the face--of your wife.'

He cursed her. He stood up and cursed her in round terms. I don't know why. He accused her of nothing. But he cursed her. She was the origin and cause of his bad luck.

I would have interfered. 'Let be--let be,' she said. 'The time will surely come when the ruin which I have foretold will fall upon him. Let us wait till then. That will be sufficient punishment for him. I see it coming--I know not when. I see it coming. Let him curse.'

He desisted. He ran out of the room without another word.

She looked after him with a deep sigh.

'I told you, Will, that I had a surprise for you--the greatest surprise of your life. I will tell you more to-morrow if you will come in the afternoon. You shall hear more about Matthew, my husband Matthew. Get you gone now and home to bed with all the speed you may. Good-night, cousin Will--cousin Will.'

I left her as I was bidden. I walked home through the deserted streets of early morning. My brain was burning. Matthew the gambler! Matthew the husband of Jenny! Matthew the gambler. Why--everything shouted the word as I pa.s.sed: the narrow streets of Soho: the water lapping the arches of Westminster Bridge: the keen air blowing over the Bank; all shouted the words--'Matthew the gambler! Matthew the husband of Jenny! Matthew the gambler!' And when I lay down to sleep the words that rang in my ear were 'Matthew my husband--Cousin Will!--Cousin Will!'

CHAPTER IV

WHO SHE WAS

'You now know, Will,' said Jenny, when I called next day, 'why I have been interested in you, since I first saw you. Not on account of your good looks, Sir, though I confess you are a very pretty fellow: nor on account of your playing, which is spirited and true; but because you are my first cousin by marriage.'

She received me, sitting in the small room on the left of the Hall. The great house was quite empty, save for the servants, who were always clearing away the remains of one fete and arranging for another. Their footsteps resounded in the vacant corridors and their voices echoed in the vacant chambers.

'Jenny, I have been able to think of nothing else. I could not sleep for thinking of it. I am more and more amazed.'

'I knew you would be. Well, Will, I wanted to have a long talk with you.

I have a great deal to say. First, I shall give you some tea--believe me, it is far better for clearing the head after a night such as last night, than Madeira. I have a great deal to tell you--I fear you will despise me--but I will hide nothing. I am resolved to hide nothing from you.'

Meantime the words kept ringing in my ears. 'Matthew a gambler! The religious Matthew! To whom music was a snare of the Devil and the musician a servant of the Devil! The steady Matthew! The irreproachable Matthew!'

Yet, since I had always known him to be a violator of truth; a slanderer and a backbiter, why not, also, a gambler? Why not also a murderer--a forger--anything? I was to find out before long that he was quite ready to become the former of these also, upon temptation. Yet the thing was wonderful, even after I had actually seen it and proved it. And again, Matthew married! Not to a sober and G.o.dly citizen's daughter, but to an actress of Drury Lane Theatre! Matthew, to whom the theatre was as the mouth of the Bottomless Pit! Who could believe such a thing?

As for what follows, Jenny did not tell me the whole in this one afternoon. I have put together, as if it was all one conversation, what took several days or perhaps several weeks.

'You think it so wonderful, Will,' Jenny said, reading my thoughts in my face. 'For my own part it is never wonderful that a man should gamble, or drink, or throw himself away upon an unworthy mistress. Every man may go mad: it is part of man's nature: women, never, save for love and jealousy and the like. Men are so made: madness seizes them: down they go to ruin and the grave. It is strong drink with some: and avarice with some: and gaming with some. Your cousin Matthew is as mad as an Abram man.'

She was silent for a while. Then she went on again. I have written it down much as if all that follows was a single speech. It was broken up by my interruptions and by her pauses and movements. For she was too quick and restless to sit down while she was speaking. She would spring from her chair and walk about the room; she would stand at the window, and drum at the panes of gla.s.s: she would stand over the fireplace; she would look in the round mirror hanging on the wall. She had a thousand restless ways. Sometimes she stood behind me and laid a hand on my shoulder as if she was ashamed for me to look upon her.

It was a wonderful tale she told me: more wonderful that a woman who had gone through that companionship should come out of it, filled through and through, like a sponge, with the knowledge of wickedness and found in childhood with those who practise wickedness, yet should be herself so free from all apparent stain or taint of it. Surely, unless the face, the eyes, the voice, the language, the thoughts, can all lie together, this woman was one of the purest and most innocent of Heaven's creatures.

It is not always the knowledge of evil that makes a woman wicked. Else, if you think of it, there would be no good woman at all among us.

Consider: it is only a question of degree. A child born in the Mint; or in Fullwood's Rents; or in St. Giles's: or in Turnmill Street learns, one would think, everything that is vile. But children do not always inquire into the meaning of what they hear: most things that they see or hear may pa.s.s off them like water from a duck's back. Their best safe-guard is their want of curiosity. Besides, it is not only in St.

Giles's that children hear things that are kept from them: in the respectable part of the city, in Cheapside itself, they can hear the low language and the vile sayings and the blasphemous oaths of the common sort. Children are absorbed by their own pursuits and thoughts. The grown-up world: the working world, does not belong to them; they see and see not; they hear and hear not; they cannot choose, but see and hear: yet they inquire not into the meaning.

'Will,' she said, 'I would I had never heard your name. It has been an unlucky name to me--and perhaps it will be more unlucky still.' I know not if she was here foretelling what certainly happened, afterwards.

'Your cousin, Matthew, is no common player, who carries a few guineas in his pocket and watches them depart with a certain interest and even anxiety and then goes away. This man is a fierce, thirsty, insatiable gambler. There is a play called 'The Gamester' in which the hero is such an one. He plays like this hero with a thirst that cannot be a.s.suaged.

He plays every night: he has, I believe, already ruined himself: yet he cannot stop: he would play away the whole world and then would stake his soul, unless he had first sold his soul for money to play with. Soul? If he has any soul--but I know not.'

'You amaze me, Jenny. Indeed, I am overwhelmed with amazement. I cannot get the words out of my head, "Matthew a gambler! Matthew a gambler!"'

'Yes--Matthew a gambler. He has been a gambler in a small way for many years. When he got possession of your father's money and the management of that House, he became a gambler in a large way. I say that I believe he is already well-nigh ruined. You have seen him on one night, Will; he is at the same game every night. I have had him watched--I know. His luck is such as the luck of men like that always is--against him continually. He never wins: or if ever, then only small sums as will serve to encourage him. There is no evening in the week, not even Sunday, when he does not play. I have reason to know--I will tell you why, presently--that he has already lost a great fortune.'

'The fortune that my father left to him. It should have been mine.'

'Then, my poor Will, it never will be yours. For it is gone. I learned, six months ago, that his business is impaired: the credit of the House is shaken. Worse than this, Will'--she laid her hand on my arm--'he had then, already, borrowed large sums of Mr. Probus, and as he could not pay he was borrowing more. There is the danger for you!'

'What danger?'

'You musicians live in the clouds. Why does Matthew continue to borrow money? He pretends that he wants to put it into the business. Really, he gambles with it. Why does Probus continue to lend him money? Probus does not suspect the truth. In the hope that he will presently have such a hold over Matthew that he will get possession of the business, become a partner and turn out Matthew and your uncle. It looks splendid. All these ships: the wharf covered with goods: but the ships are mortgaged and their cargoes are mortgaged: and the interest on Probus's loans can only be paid by borrowing more. In a very short time, Will, the bubble will burst. The situation is already dangerous; it will then become full of peril.'

'Why dangerous to me? I have borrowed no money.'