Kitabı oku: «Roger Kyffin's Ward», sayfa 6

Chapter Nine.
Played Out. – The Last Throw

Lady Tryon had descended to her drawing-room, to which Harry had been summoned to receive her commands. He felt greatly disposed to emancipate himself from his thraldom. “Better a crust of bread and a cup of cold water than this sort of work,” he thought; “yet my grandmother has brought me up, she is the only relative to whom I owe obedience; perhaps something will turn up to free me.”

He thought this as he came up from his room. The post arrived at the same moment. A letter was delivered to him. It was from Mabel, announcing her cousin’s death. She called him her dear Harry, and concluded with “ever the same.” Had he been alone he would have pressed the letter to his lips; as it was, he merely repeated the more important part of its contents to his grandmother. Utterly worldly, and devoid of any higher feeling, the old lady received the news in a heartless way. She scarcely uttered an expression of regret; indeed, Harry could not help seeing that she was highly pleased.

“You must marry the heiress,” she said; “you must praise her to Mr Kyffin, and I will back you up, and we will see what he can do for you.”

She suddenly seemed to think Harry appeared doubtful as to what he should do.

“I tell you, boy, I’ll cut you off to a shilling,” she said, getting up and laying her hand on his arm. “You will be a beggar, and a wretched beggar, if you don’t follow my advice. I will not say more; I have said enough; but remember.”

“Yes, your ladyship has said enough,” answered Harry. “I love Mabel too well to have her for the sake of her fortune, and I have no wish to see her father die that I may become its possessor.”

“Nonsense, boy!” exclaimed the old lady, in a harsh, shrill voice. “You’re a fool, Harry.”

The unpleasant conversation was interrupted by a servant entering, and announcing a visitor.

“Mr Flockton, who is he?” asked Harry, as he looked at the card.

“I know him; I am glad he has come,” said Lady Tryon; “it will save me a long drive into the city.”

As she spoke, a middle-aged gentleman in fashionable costume entered the room. He was a somewhat short man, broadly built, with regular features, and a shining bald forehead, from which his lightly-powdered hair was completely drawn off, and fastened behind in a pigtail. The expression of his countenance was bland, with an apparently candid manner, a smile showing his fine white teeth; and an air of nonchalance, though rather evidently the result of artificial politeness than of natural courtesy or good breeding. He bowed with a flourish of his hat to Lady Tryon, and gave a familiar nod to the young gentleman as he sank back in the seat placed for him by the servant. Lady Tryon had had some previous transactions with Mr Flockton, who was the great lottery contractor. It was part of his business to know everybody, as well as their private concerns, in all parts of the United Kingdom. Many was the lady of rank, a merchant’s or a shopkeeper’s wife in London, with whom Mr Flockton had managed to scrape acquaintance, but his chief constituents were among the great masses of society that underlie the noble and the wealthy. His baits and nets lay ready for fish of the smallest size, also, many who could with difficulty raise the sum of 1 pound 11 shillings 6 pence, whereby a sixteenth share of the 20,000 pound prize might by two lucky turns of the wheel of fortune be gained. He caught others by half and even whole tickets at various prices. In country inns Mr Flockton’s advertisements were found fastened up among the political ballads on the walls of the public rooms. They were often circulated by the same book-hawkers who supplied the vast numbers of tracts and verses then published on “The rights of man,” and “Liberty, Equality, and Fraternity,” advocated by the French Revolutionists and the English Jacobins. In every manufacturing town and district they came round with parcels of goods and patterns, and were eagerly read by workpeople and masters alike. They circulated in the servants’ halls, even before they were read in the oak parlours and cedar galleries of the granges and lordly castles of the land, and many a poor clergyman dreamed of education for his boys and portions for his girls from the result of a lottery ticket.

“I have called, your ladyship, to bring the ten lottery tickets you desired to possess. A cheque on your bankers will pay me for them, and it is my belief that you will find that one of them brings you the great prize. Perhaps this young gentleman would like to take two or three, a mere trifle will give him every prospect of a large sum, and should your ladyship miss it, he would have a greater chance of gaining the prize. What does your ladyship say? Surely you have balance at your bankers’ sufficient to buy fifty tickets, and, in my opinion, the wisest people will buy the most; the more bought, the greater the chance of success.”

Lady Tryon was for a moment silent. She recollected too well that on the previous night she had not only lost every shilling which she had at her bankers’, but a considerable sum above it; not only that, but she had raised large sums at different times of late, which if she paid the principal would absorb the whole of her property. Should she pay her debts of honour, or buy the lottery tickets? Mr Flockton’s confident and glowing descriptions decided her on the latter course. When she got the lottery prize she would satisfy the debts she had incurred at cards. She took the tickets Mr Flockton offered, giving him a cheque, which left her scarcely more that 50 pounds at her bankers’. Her greatest annoyance arose from her thus being unable to indulge in gambling till the day for drawing the lottery. Mr Flockton handing the tickets to her ladyship, and buttoning up the cheque, took his departure.

Scarcely had he gone, when a servant entered with an announcement that a person of a very suspicious appearance desired to see her ladyship. “I told him, my lady, that you were engaged, but he would take no denial.”

Lady Tryon, who was constitutionally brave, having Harry by her side, desired that the man might be shown up. He entered the room with a confident air, though perfectly respectful, and presented an official-looking document.

“Why, it’s to summon me to Bow Street police-office for gambling!” exclaimed Lady Tryon. “What is this? Are ladies and gentlemen not to be allowed to amuse themselves if they think fit?”

“I have nothing to do with that, my lady,” answered the man, “I have delivered the summons; this young gentleman and your servant are witness to that; the hour is mentioned on the paper. I’ve done my duty, I wish your ladyship good-morning.”

“Fearful impertinence!” exclaimed Lady Tryon. “What is the country coming to? Ladies of rank to be treated like criminals, and ordered about at the pleasure of police magistrates!”

Harry was naturally considerably annoyed, at the same time he could not forget the scene of the previous evening, and he had heard that some very just enactments had lately been passed to put a stop to gambling, both public and private.

“I will go instead of you,” he said, “if that will answer.”

“No, I must go myself,” she said, looking at the paper through her spectacles. “Fearful impertinence of these people! Horrible indignity to be subjected to!”

At the time appointed Lady Tryon drove up to the police-office. Several carriages were already there, their occupants fashionably-dressed ladies. Lady Tryon recognised them as her acquaintances, with whom she had played at Lady Buckinghamshire’s. The gentleman who had acted as croupier, and kept the faro-table, was among them. They entered together, looking very hot and very indignant; they were accommodated with seats while the evidence was read. The witnesses against them were two servants, who had been dismissed from her ladyship’s service, and had taken these means to revenge themselves. As these ladies of rank had no excuse to offer, and could not deny the charge, they were each fined 50 pounds, while the keeper of the table, a gentleman of fashion, had to pay 200 pounds as a punishment for his transgression of the law.

Lady Tryon drove back in even a worse temper than usual. The 50 pounds she was to pay was the remainder of the balance at her banker’s. She was now literally penniless unless her lottery tickets should turn up prizes. The eventful day of the drawing was looked forward to, not only by her, but by thousands more, with intense anxiety. At length it arrived. Harry set forth with his grandmother in her carriage. The evening before she had sent for the doctor, and procured a quieting potion. In truth she required it, for she looked very ill and excited. Harry saw her maid, by her directions, put into the pocket of the carriage two or three small bottles.

“They are little draughts which I may require, Harry, to keep me up. I am an old woman, you know, and my nerves are not as strong as they used to be.”

They drove on. The crowd increased as they proceeded westward, towards Guildhall. The great drawing was to take place there.

“We are certain, Harry, to obtain a prize; if not the 20,000 pound prize, a smaller one, at all events, and that will enable me to purchase a few more tickets for another lottery, or to set me up at the card-table again. If I get the 20,000 pound prize you shall have 1,000 pounds, I will promise you, to cut a figure with in town, and then to go down and marry pretty Mabel Everard. Ah, Harry! you are a fortunate fellow to have such a kind old grandmother as I am, and to be loved by such a sweet girl as Mabel. I know your secret; she loves you, you rogue, and you have only to ask her, and she will marry you at once. I can manage her father; he is a good-natured, easy man, and has a great respect for me.”

Thus Lady Tryon ran on; but she could not long keep her thoughts from the hope of the prize. As they passed by Saint Paul’s they found a dense crowd: every moment it increased. Besides a long string of carriages there were numberless people on foot: not only those who possessed tickets, and those who had ensured them, but the friends of the holders, and also many idlers who came to see the drawing, and not a few who were there to prey on the unwary, and pick their pockets literally and metaphorically. As much time would have been lost had the carriage attempted to reach Guildhall, Lady Tryon alighted in Cheapside, and leaning on the arm of her grandson, walked with eager steps towards the renowned hall. Harry felt her arm tremble as she hung heavily on his; but not a word did she utter. All her thoughts and feelings were absorbed in the prospect of the prize she hoped to obtain. Had he known more than he did, he would have understood how much hung upon it.

Chapter Ten.
Prize or Blank?

As they entered at the farther end of the vast hall, where civic fêtes and feasts were wont to take place, and the huge figures of Gog and Magog looked forth from their pedestals, it was already crowded. On either side were low galleries; one devoted to ladies, the other to gentlemen, while the centre was filled with a mixed multitude of every degree, among whom it was very evident that the pickpockets were already busy. All were looking up towards the farther end, where a large stage was erected. In the centre was a table, at which sat several grave personages – the commissioners of the lottery; while on either side were two large circular cases or wheels, in front of each of which stood a Bluecoat boy, from Christ’s Hospital, with the sleeves of their coats turned up. In front of the table were several clerks engaged in noting the proceedings of the day. At either end of the table stood a man, who with a loud voice cried forth the names of the numbers which were drawn at each turn of the wheel by the Bluecoat boys.

Lady Tryon pushed her way forward in the gallery that she might be as near as possible to the table. Harry had to leave her. He went round into the centre space, and stood under the part of the gallery where she at length found a seat. With trembling hands, Lady Tryon sat with the numbers of her tickets before her. She kept those also which she professed to give to Harry. As the numbers were loudly proclaimed a change came over the countenance of the eager spectators. When the tickets turned up blanks a look of satisfaction beamed on the faces of all, except the unhappy holder of the number, whereas when a prize was announced, each one present felt that his or her chance was lessened of obtaining the wished-for wealth. Sometimes a groan of despair succeeded the drawing of a number. To purchase that number yon wretched man has been hoarding perhaps for months past, nearly starving himself and those dependent on him, or may be he has been robbing his employer, intending to repay when he should become the possessor of the mighty prize which has been the dream of his midday thoughts and nightly slumbers for so many weeks past. Occasionally, at small intervals, shouts arose from a small group – they had divided the sixteenth part of a ticket among them, and it had turned up a prize. They might be seen shaking hands and laughing strangely, and running into each other’s arms, as their feelings prompted them. Too probably, however, the greater part of the amount would be spent in other tickets, to turn up blanks. A young man was there standing near Harry with haggard countenance, his eager eye fixed on the wheels. A number was cried out. He gazed at a paper before him and ran out, frantically striding his forehead. A pistol shot was heard outside the hall, but the sound scarcely moved one of the eager crowd. Harry afterwards heard that the young man had shot himself, utterly ruined. Such has been the fate of many a man after losing his all at a gambling-house. Such in reality was the use to which the Guildhall of London was at that time put. As the numbers were called out, Harry guessed by the expression of Lady Tryon’s countenance that one after the other of those she held in her hand had turned up blanks. Even the rouge on her cheeks could not conceal the deadly pallor which was creeping over her countenance. Her hands trembled more and more. She dropped paper after paper. At length she held but one in her hand. Some hours had already passed since they entered the hall: no wonder that she was fatigued. Each time another number was called out she glanced at her paper. And now, in the same indifferent voice as before, the crier announced another number. A piercing shriek was heard.

“The old lady has fainted!” cried some of the females in the gallery near her, and Harry saw his grandmother falling back from her chair.

“Help! help!” was cried. “She is dying!”

He made his way to the gallery and lifted her in his arms. Her head fell helplessly down; her hands drooped. One hand still grasped the paper which had been declared a blank. Not one of those females, most of them ladies of rank and supposed sensibility, offered him the slightest assistance. Their numbers had not yet been drawn, and they would not sacrifice a moment to assist a dying fellow-creature even of their own station in life. Harry exerted all his strength to get Lady Tryon out of the gallery.

“Is there no medical man who will assist me?” he cried out.

“I will, sir,” exclaimed a somewhat foppishly dressed individual, stepping forward.

“Stay, beware of him, he is a pickpocket,” said a voice near him.

Harry declined the services of the stranger.

No medical man came forward. A crowd, however, collected round him, and even before his eyes he saw the brooch and chains which his grandmother wore torn off and carried away by nimble fingers, at which he in vain attempted to grasp. “It matters little,” he thought, “she will never discover her loss.” He hoped to be able to carry her to her carriage, and as the crowd at last made way for him he bore her along the street. Fortunately he soon caught sight of the livery of her coachman. She was placed in her carriage, and Harry took his seat by her side, telling the coachman to stop at the first doctor’s shop they came to. The carriage soon stopped in front of a window full of bright-coloured liquids, and before Harry had time even to get out, a gentleman bustled up to the carriage door.

“Can I render any professional assistance?” he asked, looking in.

“Yes,” exclaimed Harry; “what can be done for this lady?”

“Will she step out?” asked the medical practitioner.

“She is unable, sir,” said Harry.

“Oh! I beg pardon; I will feel her pulse,” was the rejoinder. The apothecary made a long face.

“Why, do you know, sir, the old lady is dead!” he exclaimed, rather offended at Harry having brought him out to a dead patient. “I can do nothing for her, sir.”

“Dead!” exclaimed Harry, with a feeling of horror. “Are you sure that she is dead?”

“Never was more sure of a fact in my life, sir. You can send for her executors and the undertaker when you get home; that is the only advice I can give you.”

Harry told the coachman to drive on. “But do I not owe you a fee, sir, for your trouble?”

“Oh, no, sir, no; that would be too much,” said the apothecary, thinking that he had been too plain-spoken with the young man, who might possibly be a relative of the old lady, though he was somewhat young to be her son.

Harry fortunately recollected Lady Tryon’s man of business. He sent for him, as he did also for Mr Kyffin.

“I will leave you still here,” said his old friend, who came that very evening, “and when your grandmother’s affairs have been arranged you must come to my house. I hope that you will find yourself left comfortably off. Let me entreat you not to be idle, Harry; it is the very worst employment a man can engage in.” Harry shook his head. “I doubt my being well off,” he answered. “We will hope for the best,” said Mr Kyffin. Harry had good reason for his doubts. Even before his grandmother’s body was placed in her coffin, an execution was put into the house. Every article in it was seized by her creditors, and even after all her property had been disposed of, many were still left unpaid. Harry was literally destitute. For himself he would not have felt it so much, but it was a cruel thought that he must relinquish all his hopes of obtaining Mabel. He had, however, one firm friend.

“My dear boy,” said Mr Kyffin, “this may be, after all, the best thing that could have happened to you. Had your grandmother left you well off you might have turned out an idler. I have sufficient influence, I think, with your relative, Mr Coppinger, to obtain a situation for you in his house of business. The very fact that your unhappy grandmother has deceived you and left you totally unprovided for will weigh greatly with him.”

Harry wrote immediately to his great-uncle, Mr Coppinger, and other relatives, announcing his grandmother’s death. The following day the merchant appeared. He spoke kindly to Harry, and seemed satisfied with the way he expressed himself.

“I have seen so little of my sister for so many years that I know nothing of her affairs,” he observed, “but from what you tell me I am afraid that they are not in a satisfactory condition.”

Harry, at that time, was not aware how utterly his grandmother had ruined herself. In a very few days, however, the merchant discovered that his sister had not left sufficient to pay her debts.

“However, it cannot be helped now. We must have as quiet a funeral as possible, and the less said about the matter the better. I am not surprised, as I heard something about her habits; but for you I am sorry, Harry. However, you are young, and the world is before you. If you are disposed to work you can make your way, as many an honest steady man has done, with fewer abilities than you possess, I suspect.”

Harry assured his uncle that he was ready to work, but though he might have preferred entering the army or navy, he saw now clearly that he must attempt some career by which he might maintain himself.

“Well, I will talk the matter over with your friend Mr Kyffin, and he will communicate the result to you,” said Mr Coppinger.

The people of Lynderton were greatly disappointed, and considered that they had a right to complain of Lady Tryon when they discovered that she was not to be interred in their churchyard with the usual pomp-and-ceremony of persons of her position. Instead of that, she was laid to rest in the burying-ground of the parish in which she died. Still more aggrieved were her creditors when they found they had to accept only five shillings in the pound, and that they might consider themselves very fortunate in obtaining that amount.

Roger Kyffin insisted on his young ward coming to live with him, and as soon as the creditors had taken charge of the house, Harry Tryon packed up his small possessions and removed to Hampstead.

“It is all arranged, Harry,” said Mr Kyffin, the following day; “your uncle will receive you as a clerk at a salary of 100 pounds a year. It is a very good one, let me assure you, for a beginner. Many a young man has to pay a large premium to be admitted into such a house; you may therefore consider yourself especially fortunate. All you have now to do is to be punctual, to be ready to do every thing you are required, and to forward to the utmost of your power your principal’s interest. Exactness is a great thing, and above all, rigidly honourable conduct. You will not discredit my recommendation, Harry, I feel sure of that.”