Fenn George Manville
By Birth a Lady

Volume Two – Chapter Twenty Two.
Accident or Design?

Sir Philip Vining tried the door again and again, shaking it loudly, and repeating his son’s name; but there was no reply.

What should he do – summon assistance and have the room broken open? He dreaded calling for aid, to bring up the curious to gaze upon his anguish, and perhaps upon —

He seemed to check his thoughts there by a tremendous effort, and turning round, he gazed in both directions along the well-lit thickly-carpeted corridor.

There was no one in sight, neither could he hear a sound.

Then he tried to look through the keyhole of the door, but something arrested his vision. He knocked and called again and again, but there was not even the sound of breathing to be detected on the other side; and at last, roused to frenzy. Sir Philip turned the handle, and then dashed his shoulder with all his might against the panelling.

He was not strong, but the sudden sharp shock made the little bolt by which the door was secured give way, when, rushing in, Sir Philip hastily closed the door behind him, anxious even now to hide from the public eye any blur that might have fallen upon the Vinings’ name.

There was a small globe lamp burning upon the table, but the room seemed empty, and the bed was impressed; but on hurrying round to the foot, there on a couch lay Charley, his coat and vest thrown off, his collar and neckband unfastened, and his pale handsome face turned towards the light. His lips were just parted, and his leaden-hued eyelids barely closed; but upon Sir Philip throwing himself on his knees by the figure of his son, he could just detect a faint breathing, and upon hastily drawing his watch and holding it near his lips, the bright gold back was slightly dimmed.

“O, that it should have come to this!” groaned Sir Philip; and raising his clenched hand, for a moment it was as though he were about to call down Heaven’s bitterest curse upon the head of the gentle girl to whom he attributed all this pain and suffering. But as he did so, his hand fell again to his side, and the recollection of the fair, soft, pleading face he had last looked upon, with its gentle eyes and pale cheeks, and then the scene of her fainting when he tottered back to kiss her glossy hair – all came back most vividly, and he groaned aloud.

And then he seemed to awaken to the necessity for instant action, and running to the bell, he tore at it furiously.

But there was pride still busy in the old man’s brain, in spite of the shock: the world must not know what was wrong; and hastily looking round, he saw upon the dressing-table, lying in company with the young man’s watch, with the thick gold chain carelessly thrown around it, a small graduated bottle – Time and Eternity, so it seemed, side by side.

Sir Philip was not surprised. He seemed to know intuitively what was coming. He had suspected it when downstairs, but in a more horrible manner; and as soon as he had thrust the bottle into his pocket, he shudderingly closed and locked the dressing-case upon the table, where, glittering and bright, lay amongst velvet several unused keen-bladed means of avoiding the pains and suffering of this world.

The next minute there was a knock at the bedroom-door, and the chamber-maid appeared.

“Quick!” exclaimed Sir Philip – “the nearest doctor directly. My son is dangerously ill!”

The woman hurried out, but returned directly.

“I have sent, sir. But can I do anything? Has he taken too much?”

“Too much! Too much what?” cried Sir Philip angrily, resenting the remark. “What do you mean, woman?”

“He has been taking it now for above a fortnight, sir,” said the maid. “Poor gentleman! he’s in trouble, I think, and takes it to quiet himself.”

“What?” cried Sir Philip, but this time with less anger in his tones.

“Morphy, I think it’s called, sir – a sort of spirits of laudanum; and I suppose it’s awful strong. Surely, poor gentleman, he ain’t over-done it!”

“Are you sure that he has been in the habit of taking it?” said Sir Philip.

“O, yes, sir. I’ve often seen the bottle on the dressing-table. ‘Morphy: to be used with great care,’ it said on the label. I don’t fancy he’s so bad as you think, sir.”

Sir Philip, still trembling with anxiety, knelt by his son’s couch, to be somewhat reassured by a deep sigh which the young man now drew; and five minutes after, the doctor came in, black, smooth, and silent – a very owl amongst men – bowed to Sir Philip, and then looked at his patient.

“How long has he been like this?”

“I found him so a quarter – half an hour since,” said Sir Philip. “He had left me an hour before that.”

“Humph!” said the doctor. “Any reason for thinking he would commit suicide?”

“H’m – no!” said Sir Philip, hesitating; “but he has, I fear, been suffering a great deal of mental pain.”

“Any bottle or packet about?” said the doctor – “bottle, I should say. No strong odour existent; but it seems like a narcotic poison at work.”

“I found this,” said Sir Philip, producing the little flask he had taken from the table.

“To be sure – exactly – graduated too! My dear sir, I don’t think there is any cause for alarm. He has evidently taken a strong dose; but, you see, here are ample instructions, and the bottle is nearly empty.”

“But he may have taken all that,” said Sir Philip anxiously.

“My dear sir,” said the doctor, “if he had taken one-eighth part, he would not be lying as you now see him. Depend upon it, that after a few hours he will wake calm and composed, when, if you are, as I suppose from the likeness,” – here the doctor bowed, – “his father, a little quiet advice would not be out of place. It is a bad sign for a fine young man like this to be resorting to such subtle agencies to procure rest. Depend upon it, his brain is in a sad state. I should advise change.”

“But do you not think that you had better wait?” said Sir Philip anxiously.

“I would do so with pleasure,” said the doctor; “but really, my dear sir, there is not the slightest necessity, and, besides, I am within easy call.”

The doctor departed softly, as he had arrived; and taking his seat by the couch, Sir Philip watched hour after hour, forgetful of his own fatigue, till towards morning, when Charley turned, sighed deeply, and then sat up to gaze anxiously in his father’s face.

“You here, dad?” he said lightly.

“My dear boy – at last!” cried Sir Philip. “You have alarmed me terribly! Why do you take that?” And he pointed to the bottle.

“To keep myself sane, father,” said Charley sadly – “because I have lain here night after night waiting for the sleep that would not come. I’ve smoked; I’ve drunk heavily; I’ve walked and ridden till so tired I could hardly stand; and then I’ve lain here through the long dreary nights, till I felt that I should lose my head altogether.”

The old gentleman rose and began to pace the room.

“But there,” cried Charley cheerfully, “I’ve kept you up too. So now go to your room, and I’ll turn over a new leaf, dad. Look here!”

As he spoke, he took up the little bottle from where it had been placed by the doctor, and threw it sharply into the grate, where it was smashed to atoms.

“There, I’ll be a coward no longer, sir! I’m going to begin a clean page of the book to-morrow. No more blots and random writing, but all ruled fair and straight. There, good-night, or, rather, good-morning! Breakfast at ten, mind!”

Sir Philip left the room, and Charley plunged his face into a basin of cold water before sitting down quietly to think; and as he thought, he turned over and over again his intentions for the future.

It did seem now certain that Max Bray had supplanted him – there could be hardly a doubt of it, but still there was that shade; and till he was certain he would still hold to his faith. He told himself that he was wanting in no way, that he had done all that man could do; but still he must have the final certainty before he would hide for ever in his breast the sharply-cut wound, and trust to time to do something towards alleviating his suffering.

Then he thought of Max Bray, and his brow lowered as he recalled his words, till those floated before his mind respecting Laura, and his treatment of her.

It was absurd, certainly, but the whole family must have supposed that he had intended to ask her hand. But he had never said word of love to her. What, though, of the lady? There was no doubt that Laura did love him, poor girl! perhaps very earnestly; and if so, he was sorry for her; for it was not his wish to give her pain.

Then once more he thought of Ella. Would she have accepted him, he would have set the world at defiance; but no – under the guise of a modest retirement, she had rejected him to accept Max Bray.

But was it so? No, no, no! He would not believe it. He would hold to his faith in her till the last came, and then he knew that he should be a changed man.

Once more he asked himself whether he had done all that man could do; and his heart honestly replied that he had – everything.

“Then my policy now is, to wait and see,” said Charley aloud, and with a bitterness in his tones that told how what he had seen rankled in his breast. Then, throwing himself on his bed, he said once more aloud, “It can’t be long now before I have some proof, and after that – ”

He did not finish his sentence – he could not; for “after that” seemed to him to be such a weary blank, that he almost wondered whether he would be able to live through it all. And there he lay, sleepless now, awaiting the convincing proof; a proof that was to come sooner even than he anticipated.

Volume Two – Chapter Twenty Three.
Nelly’s Confidence

The Brays’ mansion in Harley-street, and as grand a dinner as had been in the long, gaunt, dreary place for months past. Sir Philip and Charley had called the morning before, and Nelly had planted herself by Charley’s side, to keep there the whole time. Not that Laura seemed to mind; for she was gentle, slightly constrained, but there was a saddened suffering look in her countenance which lighted up whenever Charley said a few words.

For some reason she kept glancing at him with a troubled air – perhaps from some dread in connection with her plain avowals; but Charley was the quiet gentleman in every word and look; and before they left, all seemed to be quite at ease, so that the young man was almost angry with himself for feeling so quiet and happy during the half-hour or so the visit had lasted, besides which he had been merrily laughing two or three times with Nelly.

“Do, do, please!” Nelly had whispered; and those whispers had made Laura’s breast heave as she interpreted them to relate to Ella Bedford, whose name, however, had not been mentioned.

“I daren’t,” said Charley laughingly, in answer to Nelly’s appeal.

“O do —do– do!” whispered Nelly again. “You owe me ever so much for being your friend.”

Charley’s face darkened.

“Please I didn’t mean to hurt you,” said Nelly gently; “don’t be angry with me,” for she had seen the cloud cross his countenance.

“I’m not angry, my child,” he said, smiling again.

“That’s right!” whispered Nelly. “I do love to see you laugh; it makes you look so handsome. I say, Charley, I do wish you had been my brother! But now, I say, do declare you won’t come unless they let me dine with you all. I am so sick of the schoolroom.”

Poor Nelly! Inadvertently she kept touching chords that thrilled in Charley Vining’s breast; but he beat back the feelings, and laughingly said aloud that he thought he should not be able to come.

“O, really,” shrieked Mrs Bray, “I shall be so disappointed!”

Laura looked pained, but she did not direct her eyes Vining-ward.

“I find that a particular old friend of mine is not coming to dinner,” said Charley, “and therefore I shall decline.”

“O, really, my dear Vining,” said Mr Bray, ceasing to warm the tails of his coat, “don’t say so; give us his name, and we’ll invite him at once.”

“’Tain’t a him at all,” cried the ungrammatical one, jumping up, laughing, and clapping her hands; “it’s a her, and it’s me; so there now – you must have me to dinner, after all. And why not, I should like to know. I’m only an inch shorter than pa.”

So Nelly dined with them that day, and Charley took her down, and sat between her and Laura, “behaving more jolly than ever he did before,” so Nelly vowed; while Laura could not but own to the quiet, staid, gentlemanly tact with which he avoided all the past; and trembling and hopeful, she watched him unseen the whole evening.

He did not, neither did she, seek a tête-à-tête; but at the first opportunity Nelly dragged him aside in one of the drawing-rooms, under the pretence of showing him pictures; and though Laura saw all, she did not stir.

“That’s pretty, ain’t it?” said Nelly. “I sketched that.” Then in a low voice, “You like me, Charley, don’t you?”

“Yes, very much, my child,” said Charley quietly. “Do you want me to do something for you?”

“No,” said Nelly; “I only want to say something.”

“Go on, then.”

“You will not be cross?”

“No.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes, yes, my child,” said Charley sadly.

“It’s about that I wanted to talk to you,” said Nelly. “I don’t like seeing you so low and dumpy when you ought to be jolly and happy. You know you are miserable about some one that I got to love very – very much.”

Charley was silent; but his breath came thick and fast.

“And do you know, I’m sure that, if she had been left alone she would have been all that’s wise and good and dear? May I go on?”

“Yes,” said Charley, with quite a hiss.

“I thought you would like me to say anything, when you wouldn’t hear it from any one else. Do you know, Charley, you mustn’t be miserable about Miss B – any more? and if I wasn’t going to have Hugh Lingon when I get big – I mean old enough – I should ask you to let me love you, and try and comfort you, and make you happy. I do love you very much now, you know, but I mean the other way.”

She was silent for a few moments, while he went on turning over the pictures.

“Charley,” she then said earnestly, “I don’t think she has done right; but whether she’s been persuaded, or somebody’s told stories about you. Max goes to see her very often – nearly every day now – and she writes to him lots of letters. O Charley, dear Charley!” she half sobbed, “what have I done? Pray! – please don’t look like that! I thought telling you would make you leave off looking miserable, and ready to be happy again when you knew you couldn’t have her. But pray – pray don’t look like that!”

For the young man’s ghastly face had frightened her, as he stood gazing full in her eyes, crushing the while one of the drawings in his hand.

“How do you know that?” he whispered hoarsely.

“I heard Max tell Laury; and one day, when I went with her to his rooms, there was a whole heap of little narrow envelopes directed to him, and they were all in her handwriting. But please try and not fret, or I shall be so – so unhappy.”

Charley drew a deep long breath, and for the space of a good minute he stood there supporting himself by, and gazing blankly down at, the table, for a sharp pang had shot through him, and he felt giddy; but the next minute it passed off, as he muttered to himself:

“Not yet, not yet. I must have farther proof!”

Then, by an effort, he recovered himself, and leading Nelly to the piano, he sat by her while she sang. A few minutes after, he was by Laura’s side, talking to her quietly and gently, as he would have talked to any other lady.

And she knew the while what had passed in the farther drawing-room – knew as well as if she had listened; for she knew that Nelly had heard her brothers words, and, in spite of Nelly’s quickness, Laura had seen her looking at the letters that were in Ella’s handwriting.

Laura’s breast heaved as Charley sat beside her, and again she trembled, and her heart smote her as she saw how deeply that wound had been cut. But though she pitied, she was hopeful; for she said to herself, “The day must come when Max’s words will be true, and he will run to me for solace. The day must come! But when?”

Volume Two – Chapter Twenty Four.
Mr Whittrick Again

During the rest of the evening at the Brays’ party Charley was lively and chatty. By an effort he seemed to have cast aside the feelings that oppressed him; and as they went back to the Bond-street hotel, Sir Philip felt quite hopeful, as it seemed to him that his son was indeed going to turn over the fresh leaf.

The next day Charley was off betimes to Branksome-street, where he was fortunate in getting an immediate interview with the great Mr Whittrick.

“You received my letter, posted two days since?” asked Charley.

“Same evening, sir,” said Mr Whittrick.

“You grant, I suppose, that it is as I said – Mr Maximilian Bray had been here before me?”

“My dear sir,” said Mr Whittrick, with a smile, “when a gentleman pays me certain fees for certain services, he has bought those services – they are his private property, and I have done with them – that is all finished. Do you understand? This is a private-inquiry office, and every client’s business is private. What I might divulge upon that pleasant old institution the rack, I can’t say – that being enough to make any man speak; but I believe I should do as many another man did.”

“What was that?” said Charley, smiling.

“Tell any lie the inquisitors wished,” said Mr Whittrick. “But as we have no rack nowadays, only moral thumbscrews, why, we are not forced to speak at all. No, sir; if there is such a person as Mr Maximilian Bray, or Cray, or Dray, or whatever his name is, and he came here on business, if we could, we did his business – we can’t always, you know – and there was an end of it; but if you want me to private inquire him, I’ll do it, just the same as if he came here and wanted me to private inquire you, I should do it – both together if it was necessary – though I don’t think I should say anything about visits here,” he said, with a slight twinkle of one of his dark eyes. “So now, my dear sir, what’s it to be? Shall we report to you upon this gentleman’s proceedings? Let me see,” he said, referring to the letter, “Bury-street, Saint James’s, isn’t it? Yes, quite right. Well, sir?”

“Yes,” said Charley; “and set about it at once.”

“How often, and how much, would you like to know?”

“How often!” cried Charley fiercely. “Every day – every hour if it is necessary. Write, send, telegraph to me. I want to know his every act and deed, till I tell you to leave off, if you can do it.”

“I think we can manage it, sir,” said Mr Whittrick, with a quiet smile. “Not quite so quickly as we did the last, though.”

“Then set about it at once,” said Charley. “It will be rather expensive work, sir,” said Mr Whittrick quietly.

Charley drew a blank cheque, signed by Sir Philip, from his pocket-book.

“What shall I fill this up for, Mr Whittrick?” said Charley.

“O, really, Mr Vining, I did not mean that,” said Mr Whittrick. “With some clients, of course, we make sure of the money before acting; but I am in your debt still. What I meant was, are you disposed to go to the expense of men, day after day, the whole of their time on your business?”

“Yes, certainly,” said Charley, taking pen and ink. “Shall I fill this up for a hundred pounds?”

“No,” said Mr Whittrick quietly: “fifty will do for the present. But stay – let me see: make it to bearer, sir – Mr Smith or bearer; it might not be pleasant to Sir Philip Vining to have it known at his banker’s that I am transacting family business. You see, sir, mine’s a very well-known name, and one that has been blown upon a good deal, and some people are rather fastidious about it. And to tell the truth, sir, I really am agent sometimes in rather unpleasant matters. Thank you – that will do, sir. You shall have some information to-night, and of course, under these circumstances, a great deal may seem very trivial; but you must not mind that, for sometimes very trivial acts turn out to be the most important in the end, while again noisy matters turn out empty bangs. I think we understand one another so far; but would you like a few attentions to be paid to the lady?”

“What?” said Charley abruptly.

“Would you like one of my agents to give an eye to Number 19 Crescent Villas, Regents-park, Mr Vining?”

“No,” said Charley sternly; “certainly not!”

“Very good, sir,” said Mr Whittrick, in his quiet way. “Have you any farther commands?”

“No,” said Charley, taking the hint, and rising; and the next minute he was face to face with Sir Philip Vining in the street.

For a few moments father and son stood quite taken aback at the suddenness of the encounter; but Charley was the first to recover from his surprise.

“There is only one house here, sir, that you would visit,” he said quietly; “and there is no necessity. You were going to Whittrick’s?”

Sir Philip bent his head.

“Let us go back to the hotel,” said Charley; and without a word they entered the cab Sir Philip had in waiting, and were driven back to Bond-street.

Not a word was spoken during the backward journey; but as soon as they were alone in their private room, Charley placed a chair for his father, and then seated himself opposite to him.

“You were going to have me watched, father,” he said calmly.

“My dear boy – my dear boy, it is for your own sake, and you drive me to it!” exclaimed Sir Philip.

“There is no need, father,” said Charley. “We will have no more estrangement. You have wronged me cruelly to gratify your pride, but – There,” he exclaimed hastily, “I said there was no need for my being watched. I will be open with you as the day: ask me anything you will, and I will answer you freely. To begin with: I have been there this morning for the purpose of having Max Bray watched: one proof – only one more proof, father – of what I am seeking for, and your wishes will be accomplished – there will be no fear of the Vinings’ escutcheon being lowered. One thing more,” he said hoarsely, and forcing his words from his lips, “and I have done; and we will return to Blandfield, where you shall help me to begin life again, father.”

“My dear Charley,” groaned the old man, “if I could but see you happy!”

The young man turned upon him a wistful mournful look before speaking.

“Let the past be now!” he said sternly. “It cannot be altered. Only leave me free for the present – don’t hamper me in any way.”

“But, Charley – ”

The old gentleman whispered a few words in his son’s ear.

“No,” said Charley, shaking his head; “there will be none of that. If I were to knock Max Bray down,” he said, with scornful contempt, “he would send for a policeman. My dear father, you are thinking of your own days: men do not fight duels now in England. Let us go out now – this place seems to stifle me. But don’t be alarmed, sir; if I am beaten in the race, whether it be by fair running or a foul, I shall give up. I know that I have run the course in a manly straightforward manner, according to my own convictions, and as, father, I felt that I must. But the running is nearly over, sir, and I shall give you little more pain.”

“Charley, my dear boy – ” began Sir Philip.

“Hush, father!” said Charley, checking him. “The time has nearly come for burying the past. Let us hope that some day the grass may grow green and pleasant-looking over its grave. At present, I see nothing but a black yawning pit – one which I shrink from approaching.”