Alger Horatio Jr.
Ralph Raymond's Heir
CHAPTER XVI.
A MERCENARY PARENT
James Cromwell lost no time next morning in waiting upon Mr. Manton. He was in that state when suspense is intolerable, and he wanted to have his fate decided at once. Accordingly, soon after breakfast, he was introduced into the presence of Clara's father, whom he found alone. The young lady, considerately foreseeing the visit, had gone out for a walk.
Mr. Manton was sitting indolently in a rocking-chair, reading.
"Good-morning, Mr. Cromwell," he said. "Take a chair, if you please, and excuse my not rising. I am not young and strong like you, but an invalid."
It may be remarked that Mr. Manton's invalidism proceeded as much from constitutional indolence as from confirmed ill-health, and furnished him an excuse of which he was always ready to avail himself.
"Oh, certainly," said Cromwell, doing as directed. "I have come to see you, Mr. Manton," he proceeded, "on important business."
"Indeed!" said his companion, whose cue was to assume entire ignorance until informed of the nature of his errand.
"You have a daughter," proceeded the young man, nervously.
"Yes, and an excellent girl she is," said Mr. Manton, warmly.
I am sorry to say that this was not Mr. Manton's real opinion. He and Clara, in fact, used to quarrel pretty often in private, and he had more than once styled her a cross-grained vixen and termagant, and used other terms equally endearing. He felt rather rejoiced at the prospect of having her taken off his hands, though, like Clara, he thought it prudent that his prospective son-in-law should be well supplied with the gifts of fortune, that there might be no necessity of contributing to their support from his own income. Of course, it was his policy to speak well of Clara to her lover, and not allude to the little defects of temper of which he knew rather more than he desired.
"Yes," said James Cromwell, fervently, "your daughter is charming, Mr. Manton."
"She is a good girl. It would break my heart to part with her!" said the father.
"You wouldn't object to her being married, would you?" said Cromwell, alarmed at this last statement.
"I suppose she will marry some time," said Mr. Manton. "No, I should not feel it right to interfere with her marrying, if she desired it. Far be it from me to blight her young affections."
"I love her, Mr. Manton. Let her marry me," exploded Cromwell, nervously.
"Really, you surprise me," said Mr. Manton. "You wish to marry Clara?"
"I should consider myself the most fortunate of men if I could win her as my wife," said Cromwell, who talked more freely than usual under the influence of the tender passion.
"You think so; but marriage will cure you of all that," so thought Mr. Manton; but he said:
"Have you spoken with Clara on this subject?"
"Yes."
"And does she return your love?"
"She authorized me to speak to you. If you have no objection, she will give her consent."
"It is an important matter," said Mr. Manton, slowly; "giving away the hand of an only daughter in marriage."
"I will do my utmost to make her happy," said the enamored lover.
"I have no doubt of it. To be sure I have not known you long; but I have formed quite a favorable opinion of you from our brief acquaintance."
This was hardly true; for Mr. Manton had designated James Cromwell as an awkward booby in familiar conversation with his daughter, and she had assented to the justice of the epithet.
"Thank you, sir," said Cromwell; "may I then hope for your consent?"
"Why, you see, Mr. Cromwell," said Mr. Manton, throwing one leg over the other, "there are several things to be taken into consideration besides the personal character of the husband. For instance—I hope you won't think me mercenary—but I want to make sure that you are able to support her in comfort, so that she need not be compelled to endure any of the privations of poverty."
"I have a good business," said Cromwell, "which is sure to bring me in a good income."
"Do you own your shop and stock up clear of incumbrance? Is it all paid for?"
"Yes, sir."
"That is well—for a beginning. Now what property have you besides?"
"Why," said Cromwell, "I make about five hundred dollars clear from my ward, Robert Raymond."
"Indeed! that is handsome. Still, he is likely to be taken from you."
"I don't think he will."
"Still, it is not a certainty. It is not equal to property producing this amount of annual income."
"No; sir; but–"
"Hear me out. There is nothing so substantial as property invested well. A good income is a good thing, but if it comes from anything else it is not sure. Now I will tell you what my intentions have been when anyone applied to me for my daughter's hand, though I did not expect the occasion would come too soon. I meant to say, that is, provided the party was otherwise suitable, 'Are you ready to settle five thousand dollars on my daughter on her wedding day, and will you still have an equal sum left?' That is the question I meant to ask, and I will ask it now of you."
He leaned back in his rocking-chair as he spoke, and fixed a glance of inquiry on James Cromwell. He hoped that the young man would be able to answer in the affirmative, for if Clara could be well married, he would have his income entirely to himself, and he had about made up his mind in that case to go to Europe on a pleasure trip. This he could do without breaking in upon his principal if he went alone; but as long as Clara remained unmarried, he knew that he should be expected to take her with him, and this would involve more expense than he was willing to incur.
James Cromwell was taken aback by this unexpected difficulty.
"I am afraid my means are not sufficient to admit of my doing this, just yet," said Cromwell, reluctantly; "but just as soon as I am able I will agree to make the settlement you propose."
Mr. Manton shook his head.
"I am sorry," he said, and here he only told the truth, "that you are not in a position to comply with my conditions, for they are indispensable. You must not think me mercenary, but I don't believe in love in a cottage! As for Clara, she is a dear, unselfish girl, and she would think me mercenary. She never thinks of money, (I wish she didn't, he mentally added,) and would as soon marry a poor man as a rich man. But I want to guard her against the chances of fortune. So I desire that five thousand dollars should be settled upon herself, so that if her husband should fail in business, and you know such things happen very often, she will have a fund to fall back upon. I am sure you will think I am reasonable in this."
"My business is a very safe one, and the percentage of profit is large," pleaded Cromwell, rather downcast; "and I think there would be no danger of that."
"Yes, of course, you think so. Nobody believes he is going to fail. But disasters come to the best business men."
"Then you insist upon your condition, Mr. Manton," said James Cromwell, in a tone of disappointment.
"I must," said Mr. Manton, with suavity. "Of course, I am sorry to disappoint you, but then the happiness of my daughter is the first consideration with me."
"Perhaps her happiness would best be promoted by marriage."
"She may think so now! but you may depend upon it that the happiest marriages are founded on a solid money basis."
"You haven't any objection to me personally, as a son-in-law?"
"Not the least in the world. My only objection arises from the fact that you are unable to comply with my conditions."
"Supposing, then, I should be able to do so in six months or a year, what would be your answer?"
"I should say, take her, and may you be happy."
"Then," said Cromwell, "I may tell you that, though I am not worth the sum necessary to secure your consent, I have a relative who has me down in his will for a legacy of ten thousand dollars. I don't think he will live long. Within a few months I may be worth the required sum."
"I hope you will, Mr. Cromwell," said Mr. Manton; "when that time comes, come to me again with your suit, and I will grant it, that is, unless Clara has formed another attachment during that time."
Cromwell winced at this suggestion, but he saw that he could accomplish nothing more with the father, and in rather an unsettled frame of mind he took his leave.
CHAPTER XVII.
LOVE AND LUCRE
When James Cromwell alluded to the possibility of his receiving a legacy of ten thousand dollars at no distant date, it will be understood at once that he alluded to the sum promised him by Paul Morton in the event of the death of his ward. He had endeavored to compass Robert's death at Niagara Falls, but since his failure there, he had let the matter drop, partly from a timid fear of consequences, partly from the thought that even without this sum he was sure of a good income. But the unexpected condition imposed by Mr. Manton, again turned his thoughts to the question of Robert's death, and its pecuniary advantage to himself; and again our young hero was menaced by a peril by no means insignificant. James Cromwell was neither strong nor brave; but there is no one so powerless that his enmity may be disregarded, especially when it is unsuspected.
But Cromwell's timid nature shrank from the audacity of the crime which suggested itself to his mind. Besides, though he was fascinated by Clara Manton, he was not clear about settling so large a sum as five thousand dollars upon her. He would have done it if in his power, rather than lose her, but if he could obtain her on any easier terms he thought that it would be better. He decided, therefore, to see Clara herself, to communicate to her her father's answer, and prevail upon her, if possible, to marry him without her father's sanction.
Had he known Clara better, he would not have ventured to hope for success, but he was wholly unaware that the mercenary condition had been affixed by Clara herself. He fancied that she loved him for himself, and believed her incapable of being swayed by self-interest.
Chance, as he thought, favored him, for only a short distance from the house he met Clara, herself. She had left the house considerately, in order to allow him an opportunity to call upon her father, and was now returning.
"Mr. Cromwell?" she said, with affected surprise. "I supposed you were in your shop. I fear you are becoming inattentive to business."
"I cannot attend to my business until one matter is decided," said Cromwell.
"What is that?"
"How can you ask? Clara, I have just called upon your father. I asked his permission to marry you."
"What did he say?" inquired the young lady.
"He told me he would consent on certain conditions."
"Certain conditions!" repeated Clara, innocently. "What could they be?"
"He said that I must prove to him that I was worth ten thousand dollars, and must consent to settle half that amount upon you."
"I hope," said Clara, quickly, "that you don't think I had anything to do with such conditions?"
"No; I am sure you had not," said Cromwell; and he believed what he said, for no one, to look in the face of the young lady, would have supposed her mercenary.
"I hope you don't blame papa. He carries prudence to excess."
"No, I don't blame him. It is natural that he should wish to make sure of his daughter's comfort."
"And what did you say in reply?" asked Clara, considerably interested.
"I told him that at present my circumstances would not permit me to comply with his conditions."
"That's a pity."
"But that I was expecting a legacy from a near relative that may possibly fall to me very soon, which would remove every difficulty."
"What did he say then?"
"That when I received the legacy he would give me your hand, provided you were still willing."
The young lady cast her eyes upon the ground. She did not think much of waiting for dead men's shoes, and doubted whether her lover had any such relative as he referred to. In her own mind she looked upon the matter as at an end; and began to consider for whom she had better angle next. She did not, however, mean to say this to Cromwell, for she had no objection to keeping him dancing attendance upon her. It would gratify her vanity, and perhaps he might serve, unconsciously, to help her in snaring some other fish. She thought her best policy in the present case, was to remain silent, unless she was called upon to say something.
"What do you say to that, Clara?" asked Cromwell.
"I suppose it is fair," she said.
"No; it is not fair," he said, "to make me wait so long. I have a good income; I am careful, and not extravagant, and I know I can support you comfortably. Do not make me wait. Tell me will you marry me at once?"
"I cannot disobey my father," said the young lady, who had all at once become very dutiful.
"But do you think he has a right to interfere with your happiness?"
"He does it for my good."
"He thinks so; but do you agree with him?"
"Perhaps not; but I have always been taught to obey my father. I suppose he knows better than I what I ought to do."
"Surely, you are not afraid that I should be unable to support you comfortably?" said Cromwell, reproachfully.
"Oh, no," answered Clara. "I never think of money. My father often tells me that I ought to think more of it. As far as I am concerned, I should never think of asking whether you were worth one thousand dollars or ten."
James Cromwell listened to Clara as she spoke with assumed simplicity, her eyes downcast, and he was so infatuated by his love for her that he never thought of doubting her. In his inexperience of female wiles he was by no means a match for Clara, who was already, though yet under twenty, a finished female coquette. So he accepted her for what she chose to appear and the flame of his passion was increased.
"I am sure," he pleaded, "that if we were once married your father would not object. The legacy I spoke of is sure to come to me in a year or two, for my relative is very old and in very poor health, and there is no fear of his changing his will."
"I have no doubt what you say is all true," said Clara, though in her own heart she had very serious doubts; "but then it will not be very long to wait a year or two, as the money will come to you then."
"A year or two!" repeated Cromwell. "It seems to me like waiting forever."
"I am afraid you have not the gift of patience, Mr. Cromwell," said Clara, smiling archly.
"No; I have not in this case, for I do not think there is any occasion for waiting."
"But my father thinks so, unfortunately. If you can succeed in persuading him to the contrary, you will find me ready to do as you desire."
"Then you are determined to abide by your father's decision," said Cromwell, in accents of disappointment.
"I must," said Clara, mildly, "however much my own heart suffers in consequence," and she put on the air of a victim of parental tyranny; "unless," she added, "I am able to make my father regard it in a different light."
"Promise me that you will try," said her lover, grasping her hand.
"I will do what I can," she said. "But, really, I must go now. My father will not know what has become of me."
With a sweet smile, she left him, and returned to the house. He turned, and went back slowly to his shop.
"Well, that's all over," said Clara, to herself. "I should be a fool to marry such a stupid gawky, unless he could settle money upon me. I don't mean to throw myself away just at present."
"Well, Clara, I have had an offer for your hand," said her father, as she entered his presence.
"Well?"
"I said what you told me, and found he could not comply with the conditions."
"So you refused the honor of a son-in-law?"
"Yes."
"That was right."
"He said he was expecting a legacy of ten thousand dollars in a year or two."
"All humbug, papa. I don't believe a word of it."
"You don't seem inclined to break your heart about the disappointment," said Mr. Manton, with a smile.
"No; he is the last man I would break my heart about, if I were fool enough to break my heart about anybody. I must look out for somebody else."
"And meanwhile?"
"I'll keep a hold on him. There might be something in the story of the legacy, you know."
"I see you are well able to look out for your own interests, Clara."
"So I ought to be."
Thus spoke the unselfish Clara Manton, who was above all mercenary considerations.
CHAPTER XVIII.
A DARK DEED
"There is no other way!" thought James Cromwell, as fresh from his interview with Clara, he returned to his shop. "The boy stands in my way. His death will bring me money, and then that man will give me the hand of the woman I love. There is no other way, unless Clara prevails upon her father to recall his condition."
But another interview with the young lady in the evening, dissipated any hope of this nature which he may have entertained. She reported that her father was immovable on this point, and that persuasion and entreaty had alike been in vain.
"I may soon be able to comply with your father's conditions," said Cromwell. "I have received a letter to-day, which informs me that the party from whom I expect a legacy, is in very feeble health."
"Perhaps there may be something in his story," thought Clara, and influenced by the doubt, she smiled graciously, and said, "Let us wait and hope that fortune may favor us."
"Promise me one thing," asked Cromwell, "that you will wait for me, and will not admit the attention of any one else?"
But this did not suit the plans of the astute Clara. She by no means wished to compromise her matrimonial chances by binding herself to an uncertainty, and accordingly answered:
"I would willingly do as you ask, Mr. Cromwell, if papa were willing, but he has expressly forbidden me to bind myself by an engagement, or make any promise."
James Cromwell's countenance fell.
"After all," she added, with a smile, "is any promise necessary in our case? Do we not understand one another?"
These words and the smile that accompanied them, restored the cheerfulness to her lover. He thought he did understand Clara Manton, but in this, as we know, he was egregiously mistaken.
The next morning he received the following letter from Paul Morton. It was the first he had received from the merchant, and was in reply to one of his own written from Madison.
It was as follows:
"James Cromwell:
"Dear Sir:—Yours of the 15th inst., informing me of your safe arrival at Madison and your determination to make that place your home, was duly received. The accident which you speak of as near befalling my ward at Niagara Falls did not surprise me. He is a careless boy, and I should not be surprised at any time to hear of his coming to harm from this cause. Of course, you will exercise proper care in cautioning him, etc., and then, should he meet with any accident, I shall exonerate you from blame in the matter. How is his health? I have at times thought he inherited the feeble constitution of his father. I understand also from the late Mr. Raymond, that his mother was an invalid, and it is hardly to be expected that he would have a very strong or vigorous constitution. However, I do not feel anxious on this point, as I am aware that you have a knowledge of medicine, and I have full confidence in your ability to take all proper care of my young ward. I suppose you have found a suitable school for him. I shall be glad to hear that he is doing well in his studies, though on account of his not very strong constitution, previously referred to, it may be well not to press him too hard in the way of study.
"Let me hear from you respecting Robert's welfare, from time to time. Yours, etc.,
"Paul Morton."
James Cromwell read this letter twice over.
"He's a crafty old spider," he said to himself. "Any one to read it would think that he was very solicitous for the welfare of this boy. It would be considered an excellent letter by those who did not understand it. I am behind the scenes, and I know just what it means. He means to blame me, because I didn't make a sure thing of it at Niagara Falls, and hints pretty plainly about some accident happening to him in future. He is impatient to hear of his death, that is plain, and no doubt he will gladly pay the amount he promised, as soon as he receives intelligence of it."
This reflection plunged James Cromwell into serious thought. Already predisposed to the foul deed, the artful suggestions of this letter tended to fan the flame, and incite him still more to it. Danger indeed, and that most serious, was menacing our young hero.
So James Cromwell, spurred by a double motive, veered more and more toward the accomplishment of the dark deed which would stain his soul with bloodshed, and in return give him the fleeting possession of money and the girl whom he loved.
Once resolved upon the deed, the next consideration was the ways and means of accomplishing it.
Should he use poison?
That seemed most in his line, and he regretted that he had not secured a supply of the same subtle poison which Paul Morton had purchased of him in the small shop on the Bowery. There was likely to be no one in that neighborhood who possessed a sufficient medical knowledge to detect its presence or trace its effects. But it was rare, and there was little chance of his obtaining it unless by sending to New York, and this would, of itself, afford strong ground for suspicion against him.
Then, as to the ordinary poisons, their effects upon the human system were too well understood, even by ordinary physicians, for him to employ them without great peril. He decided, therefore, to adjure poisons altogether. The fact that he was a druggist would render their use even more readily suspected than in the case of an ordinary person.
How then should he proceed?
This question was still undetermined in his own mind, when chance decided the matter for him.
One evening, while he was still pondering this question, and much embarrassed about the decision of it, he chanced to be returning home from a desultory walk which he had taken. Now, in the town of Madison, somewhat centrally situated, or at least one side of it was near the center of the town, there was a pond of about two miles in circuit. By the edge of this pond James Cromwell met Robert Raymond.
Instantly an idea came into his mind, as casting his eyes toward the pond, he saw a small boat tied by a rope round the trunk of a tree.
"Good evening, Mr. Cromwell," said Robert. "Have you been taking a walk?"
"Yes, but I have not been far. When did you come out?"
"About half an hour ago."
"By the way, do you know how to row?"
"A little."
"I was thinking that we might borrow this boat, and have a little row on the pond. What do you say?"
"I should like it," said Robert, promptly, for he had a boy's love of the water. "Shall I unfasten the rope?"
"Yes, I wish you would."
Robert at once sprang to the tree, and quickly untied the rope and set the boat free.
"All ready, Mr. Cromwell!" he cried. "Jump aboard, and I will get in afterward."
James Cromwell stepped into the boat, his heart beating quick with the thought of the deed which he meditated. His courage almost failed him, for he was of a timid nature, but the thought of the stake for which he was playing, renewed his courage, and he resolved that, come what might, that night should be Robert Raymond's last.
"Which of us shall row, Mr. Cromwell?" asked Robert.
"I will row first, and you may do so afterward."
"All right."
Cromwell took his place, and rowed rather awkwardly until the boat reached the middle of the pond.
"Shan't I take the oars now, Mr. Cromwell?"
"Not quite yet. I am going to row into that little recess over yonder. You can row back."
The outline of the pond was irregular. In one place there was a recess, surrounded by woods, within which they would be shielded from view. It seemed a fitting place for a tragedy.
When they were fairly within it, Cromwell said:
"Now you may take the oars."
Robert rose from his seat, and stepped toward the center of the boat. His movements were naturally rather unsteady. James Cromwell turned pale, and he braced his shrinking nerve. He felt that now was his time. Unless he acted now, his opportunity would be gone.
As Robert approached, he suddenly seized the unsuspecting boy around the middle, and threw him into the water. So suddenly was it done, that before the boy understood what had happened to him, he found himself engulfed.
Never once looking back, James Cromwell seized the oars, and rowed himself swiftly back. When he got on shore, he looked nervously out over the surface of the pond. All was still. Nothing was visible of Robert.
"He is drowned!" said Cromwell to himself, wiping away the large drops of perspiration from his forehead.
