Henty George Alfred
Dorothy's Double. Volume 1 of 3
'No, father, I could not write and say two days beforehand that I was unwell and unable to come.'
'Very well then, we will go. I always like their dinners, because she comes from our neighbourhood and one always meets three or four of our Lincolnshire friends.'
'It is the Botanical this afternoon, father. Shall I go there with Cousin Mary?'
'Do so by all means, dear.'
As they drove that evening to the Deans', Mr. Hawtrey said, 'I had that letter from Levine as I was dressing, Dorothy. He goes over nearly the same ground as Danvers did, and is also of opinion that I should pay under protest, in order that if at any time we can lay our hands on the real offender, we can claim the return of the money. I shall go round in the morning and have a talk with Gilliat.'
Dorothy was more herself than she had been for weeks. Her engagement had, since her trouble first began, been a greater burden to her than she had been willing to admit even to herself. Lord Halliburn had jarred upon her constantly, and she had come almost to dread their daily meetings.
At an early stage of her troubles she had thought the matter out, and had come to the conclusion that she had made a mistake, and was not long in arriving at the determination that she would at the end of the season ask him to release her from her engagement. Before that she hoped that the rumours that had affected him would have died out completely, and would not necessarily be associated with the termination of the engagement. Had not this fresh trouble arisen, matters would have gone on on their old footing until late in the autumn, but this new trouble had forced her to act at once, and her first thought had been that it was only fair to him to release him at once. She was surprised now at the weight that had been lifted from her mind, at the buoyancy of spirits which she felt. She was almost indifferent as to the other matter.
'You are more like yourself than you have been for weeks, Dorothy,' her father said, during the drive.
'I feel like a bird that has got out of a cage, father. It was not a bad cage, it was very nicely gilt and in all ways a desirable one, still it was a cage, and I feel very happy indeed in feeling that I am out of it.'
Dorothy enjoyed her dinner and laughed and talked merrily with the gentleman who had taken her down. Mrs. Dean remarked to her husband afterwards that the absence of Lord Halliburn, who sent a letter of regret that important business would prevent his fulfilling his engagement, did not seem to be any great disappointment to Dorothy Hawtrey.
'I never saw her in better spirits, my dear; lately I have been feeling quite anxious about her; she was beginning to look quite worn from the trouble of those abominable stories.'
'I expect she feels Halliburn's absence a positive relief,' he said. 'You know you remarked, yourself, the last time we saw them out, how glum and sulky he looked, and you said that if you were in her place you would throw him over without hesitation.'
'I know I said so, and do you know I wondered at dinner whether she had not come to the same conclusion.'
'Dorothy has lots of spirit,' Mr. Dean said, 'and is quite capable of kicking over the traces. I should say there is no pluckier rider than that girl in all Lincolnshire, and I fancy that a woman who doesn't flinch from the stiffest jump would not hesitate for a moment in throwing over even the best match of the season if he offended her. She is a dear good girl, is Dorothy Hawtrey, and I don't think that she is a bit spoilt by her success this season. I always thought she made a mistake in accepting Halliburn; he is not half good enough for her. He may be an earl, and an Under-Secretary of State, but he is no more fit to run in harness with Dorothy Hawtrey than he is to fly.'
When the gentlemen came up after dinner Dorothy made room on the sofa on which she was sitting for an old friend who walked across to her. Mr. Singleton was a near neighbour down in Lincolnshire; he was a bachelor, and Dorothy had always been a great pet of his.
'Well, my dear,' he said, as he took a seat beside her, 'I am heartily glad to see you looking quite yourself again to-night, and to know that I have been able to help my little favourite out of a scrape.'
Dorothy's eyes opened wide. 'To help me out of a scrape, Mr. Singleton! Why, what scrape have you helped me out of?'
'I beg your pardon, my dear,' he said hastily. 'I told you we would never speak of the matter again, and here I am, like an old fool, bringing it up the very first time I meet you.'
Dorothy's face paled.
'Mr. Singleton,' she said, 'I seem to be surrounded by mysteries. Do I understand you to say that you have done me some kindness lately – helped me out of some scrape?'
'Well, my dear, those were your own words,' he replied, looking surprised in turn; 'but please do not let us say anything more about it.'
Dorothy sat quiet for a minute, then she made a sign to her father, who was standing at the other side of the room, to come across to her. 'Father,' she said, 'will you ask Mr. Singleton to drive home with us; I am afraid there is some fresh trouble, and, at any rate, I must speak to him, and this is not the place for questions. Please let us go as soon as the carriage comes. Now, will you please go away, Mr. Singleton, and leave me to myself for a minute or two, for my head is in a whirl?'
'But, my dear,' he began, but was stopped by an impatient wave of Dorothy's hand.
'What is it, Singleton?' Mr. Hawtrey asked, as they went across the room.
'I am completely puzzled,' he replied; 'what Dorothy means by asking me to come with you, and to answer questions, is a complete mystery to me. Please don't ask me any questions now. I have evidently put my foot into it somehow, though I have not the least idea how.'
Ten minutes later the carriage was announced. As she took her place in it, Dorothy said, 'Don't ask any questions until we are at home.'
The two men were far too puzzled to talk on any indifferent subject. Not a word was spoken until they arrived at Chester Square.
'Has Mrs. Daintree gone to bed?' Dorothy asked the footman.
'Yes, Miss Hawtrey; she went a quarter of an hour ago.'
'Are the lights still burning in the drawing-room?'
'Yes, miss.'
They went upstairs.
'Now, Dorothy, what does all this mean?' her father asked, impatiently.
'That is what we have got to learn, father. Mr. Singleton congratulated me on having recovered my spirits, and took some credit to himself for having helped me out of a scrape. As I do not in the least know what he means, I want him to give you and me the particulars.'
'But, my dear Dorothy,' Mr. Singleton said, 'why on earth do you ask me that question? Surely you cannot wish me to mention anything about that trifling affair.'
'But I do, Mr. Singleton. You do not know the position in which I am placed at present. I am surrounded by mysteries, I am accused of things I never did. Now it seems as if there were a fresh one; possibly if you tell us the exact particulars of what you were speaking of it may help us to get to the bottom of it.'
'I don't understand it in the least,' Mr. Singleton said, gravely. 'You are quite sure, Dorothy, that you wish me to repeat before your father the exact details of our interview?'
'If you please, Mr. Singleton; every little minute particular.'
'Of course I will do as you wish, my dear,' the old gentleman said, kindly, 'it seems to me madness, but if you really wish it I will do so. If I make any mistake correct me at once. Well, this is the story, Hawtrey. I need not tell you it would never have passed my lips, except at Dorothy's request. A short time since, a fortnight or three weeks, I cannot tell you the day exactly, my servant brought me up word that a lady wished to see me. She had given no name, but I supposed it was one of these charity collecting women, so I told her to show her in. To my surprise it was Miss Dorothy. After shaking hands she sat down, and to my astonishment burst into tears. It was some time before I could pacify her, and get her to tell me what was the matter; then she told me that she had got into a dreadful scrape, that she dared not tell you, that it would be ruin to her, and that she had come to me as one of her oldest friends, to ask me if I could help her to get out of it.
'Of course, I said I would do anything, and at last, with great difficulty, and after another burst of crying, she told me that she must have a thousand pounds to save her. She said something about wanting to pawn some of her jewels, but this would not come to enough. Of course, I pooh-poohed this, and said that I was very sorry to hear that she had got into a scrape, but that a thousand pounds were a trifle to me in comparison to the happiness of the daughter of an old friend. She was very reluctant to receive it, and wanted, at least, to pawn her jewels for two or three hundred pounds, but I said that that was nonsense, and eventually I drew a cheque for a thousand pounds, which I made payable to Mary Brown or bearer, as I, naturally, did not wish her name to appear at all in the matter.
'She was most grateful for it. I told her that, of course, I should never allude to the matter again, and that she was not to trouble about it in the slightest, for that I had put her down for five thousand pounds in my will and would change the figure to four, so that she would only be getting the money a little earlier than I had intended. This evening, unfortunately, I was stupid enough, in saying that I was pleased to see her looking more like her old self, to add that I was glad to know that I had been the means of helping my little favourite out of a scrape. It was stupid of me, I admit, to have even thus far broken my promise never to allude to the thing again, but why she should have insisted upon my telling a story – painful to both of us – to you, is altogether beyond my comprehension.'
Mr. Hawtrey was too much astonished to ask any questions, but looked helplessly at Dorothy, who said quietly —
'Thank you for telling the story, Mr. Singleton, and thank you still more for so generously coming, as you believed, to my assistance. You cannot remember exactly which day it was?'
'No, my dear, but I could see the date on the counterfoil of my cheque-book.'
'Was it the fifteenth of last month, Mr. Singleton?'
'Fifteenth? Well, I cannot say exactly, but it would be somewhere about that time.'
'And about what time of day?'
'Some time in the afternoon, I know; somewhere between three and four, I should say. I know I had not been back long after lunching at the Travellers'. I generally leave there about three, and it is not more than five minutes' walk up to the Albany.'
'Now, father, please tell Mr. Singleton about Gilliat's.'
'But, Dorothy,' Mr. Singleton exclaimed, when he heard the story, 'it is absolutely impossible that you could have done such a thing.'
'It seems to me impossible, Mr. Singleton, but here is the evidence of two people that I did do it; and now I have your evidence that on the same afternoon I came to you and obtained a thousand pounds from you. Either those two men were dreaming or out of their minds, and you were dreaming or out of your mind, or I am out of my mind and do things unconsciously. My own belief is that I can account for my whole afternoon,' and she repeated the details that she had given her father as to her movements. 'But even if I could have done these things without knowing it, where are the jewels and where is the cheque?'
'The cheque was presented next day and paid. It came back with my bank book at the end of the month.'
'It is not often I go out in the morning,' Dorothy said, 'and I should think I could prove that I did not do so on the morning of the 16th; but I cannot be sure if, in a state of somnambulism or in a sort of trance, I did not call at the jewellers and on you. I might, had I gone out, have changed that cheque in a similar state. That would have been a straightforward thing, but how could I get rid of the jewels? If I had them now and wanted to raise money on them I should not have the least idea how to do so, and I could hardly have carried out such a scheme in a state of unconsciousness. The jewellers say I was dressed in a blue dress with red spots, and I went out in a gown of that pattern on that day.'
'I did not notice the dress particularly,' Mr. Singleton said, 'but it was certainly a blue of some sort. Of course it is quite out of the question that you could have done all these things unconsciously; but what does it all mean? I am absolutely bewildered.'
'We have only one theory to account for it, Singleton. We believe, in fact we are positively convinced, that there is somewhere a girl so exactly resembling Dorothy that even those who know her well, like yourself, might take one for the other, and that she and perhaps an accomplice are taking advantage of this likeness to personate Dorothy. They have even gone the length of having a dress made exactly like hers. I will now tell you the real history of that affair that got into the papers. You will see that the party we believe to be at the bottom of it would know, or would have means of finding out, that Gilliat was our family jeweller, and that you were an intimate friend. Our theory is that revenge as well as plunder was the motive, and that the first part of the affair was simply an endeavour to injure Dorothy, and to suggest a motive for her need of money just at this time.'
'It is an extraordinary story,' Mr. Singleton said, when he heard it all. 'I cannot doubt that it is as you suggest. That my little Dorothy should behave in this way is too ridiculous to be believed for a moment; though I own that I should have been ready, if obliged, to swear in court that it was she who came to me.'
'Did she wear a veil?' Dorothy asked, suddenly. 'I forgot to ask Mr. Gilliat that.'
'Yes, she had a veil on and kept it down all the time. It was a warm day and I rather wondered afterwards at your wearing it, for I do not think I ever saw you in a veil. But I supposed that you did not want to be seen coming up to me, and that perhaps you felt that you could tell your story more easily behind it.'
'Was it a thick veil?'
'No, it seemed to me the usual sort of thing ladies wear.'
'Did you notice anything particular about the voice?'
Mr. Singleton thought for a minute. 'I did not notice anything at the time. Of course it differed from your ordinary voice as I am accustomed to hear it. You see she was crying, with a handkerchief up to her face, and spoke low and hesitatingly. All of which changes the voice. I never doubted it was you, you see, and as I had never heard you speak in low, broken tones, sobbing and crying, any difference there may have been did not strike me.'
'But altogether, Mr. Singleton, even now that I declare that I was not the person who called upon you, you can, thinking it over, see nothing that would lead you to doubt that it was myself.'
Mr. Singleton shook his head. 'No, Dorothy, I am sorry to say that I cannot. Your word is quite sufficient for me, and I feel as certain that this woman was an impostor as if she herself came forward to own it. The likeness, however, in figure and in face was extraordinary, although I admit that the veil made an alteration in the face. It always does. I frequently pass ladies I know well, and if they have thick veils down do not recognise them until they bow and smile. There was just that difference between the face and yours as I usually see it. I can remember now that as you, or rather this woman came into the room, I did not for the first instant recognise her owing to the veil; it was but momentarily, just the same hesitation I have so often felt before, neither more nor less.'
'However, it was possible, Mr. Singleton, that the resemblance may not have been absolutely perfect, and that had she not had a veil on you would have seen it at once.'
'That is possible, quite possible,' Mr. Singleton assented.
'And now, Singleton, as an old friend, tell me what is to be done. To-day we had all but settled that I should pay the value of those diamonds to Gilliat. Dorothy has been anxious that I should fight the case, but Levine, into whose hands I put myself, and Danvers, who would have been one of our counsel, were both so strongly of opinion that we had no chance whatever of getting a verdict, and that it would greatly damage Dorothy, that I persuaded her to let me pay. But, you see, this affair of yours changes the position of affairs altogether. As she has victimised you, so she may victimise others of my friends, as well as other tradesmen, and it seems to me that the only way to put a stop to that will be publicity.'
'I think, Hawtrey, that the first person to be consulted in the matter is Lord Halliburn. You see this game may go on again in the future on even a larger scale, for the Countess of Halliburn's orders would be fulfilled without a moment's hesitation by any tradesman in London.'
'There is no need to consult him, Singleton; Dorothy broke off the engagement with him this morning. You need not commiserate her,' he went on, as Mr. Singleton was about to express his deep regret. 'I may tell you, as an old friend, that there were perhaps other reasons besides these troubles, and that, for myself, I am heartily glad that the engagement is at an end.'
'Well, if that is the case, I may say I am glad too, Hawtrey. Of course, the match was a good one, but I never altogether fancied it, and had always felt some disappointment that my little favourite should be, as I thought, making a match for position instead of for love. So it was that, young lady, and not, as I was fool enough to fancy, getting out of a money scrape, that made you so bright and like yourself at dinner this evening?'
Dorothy smiled faintly.
'It was getting out of a scrape, you see, Mr. Singleton, although not the one you thought of. I think you are a little hard on me. I certainly should not have accepted Lord Halliburn unless at the time I had thought I liked him very much; but I think that during the trouble I had I came to see that something more than liking is necessary, and that a man who may be a very pleasant member of society would not necessarily make so pleasant a partner in life.'
'Well, now as to your advice, Singleton.'
'I can give none, Hawtrey. The matter is too important and too much out of my line for my opinion to be worth a fig; but I will tell you what I will do. It is clear that you must see Levine and tell him about this affair; if you write and make an appointment with him to-morrow, say at twelve o'clock, I will call here at half-past eleven and go with you. If you will take my advice you will take Dorothy with you. Levine is pretty well accustomed to read faces, and I think he will be more likely to take our view of the matter when he has once seen her. You may as well sit down and write a note at once; I will post it as I drive back. I think, too, I would write to Danvers and ask him to be there; he is a clever young fellow, and his opinion may help us. While you are writing I will get Dorothy to tell your footman to whistle for a hansom for me.'
