Read Ebook: The Hampstead mystery: a novel. Volume 1 (of 3) by Marryat Florence

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Ebook has 616 lines and 37118 words, and 13 pages

His money and his good looks had rendered him an easy prey to the harpies of the other sex, and had landed him into one or two scrapes with more respectable women. His cousin, Philip, had often had to be the go-between and peacemaker with sundry fair damsels, who were violently bent on a breach of promise case, or a horse-whipping through means of their next friend.

Mr Philip Walcheren was quite a different sort of character from his cousin. Married, and the father of a family, a staunch Catholic, steady and prosperous in his business as a solicitor, he was almost a pattern man, and Frederick's goings-on were a marvel and a misery to him. He and his director, Father Tasker, were constantly talking over the other man, and wondering by what means they could dissuade him from his follies, and induce him to lead a more sober life. But, as yet, their exhortations and entreaties had been of no avail. Frederick laughed at their cautions, and pooh-poohed their predictions of a repentant future. He meant to live his life, he told them, and asked for no one's pity or advice. He was in reality, what Mr Crampton and Henry Hindes had called him, a dissolute and irreclaimable spendthrift, and not fit to be the husband of any girl.

And, just at that moment, there sounded a double knock on his outer door, and his man appeared to usher in his cousin, Philip Walcheren and Father Tasker.

Frederick sprung to his feet. The instincts of a born Catholic were still strong in him, and, though he never went to confession or mass, he always showed a proper deference for the clergy. Added to which, Father Tasker was an old friend of his family.

'How are you, Father,' he said, 'I'm glad to see you. Pray take the arm-chair. Well, Philip! all right at home?'

'Quite right, thank you, Frederick,' replied his cousin; 'I was on my way to have a talk with you when I met Father Tasker, so we came together.'

'I'm delighted to see you both,' said Frederick, 'what can I give you? I know that it is no use my offering the father a brandy-and-soda, but, if you will not take one, Philip, my man shall get some tea ready in half a minute.'

'I don't think we have time for either,' replied Philip Walcheren. 'I have only about ten minutes to spare, and the Father honours me with his company at dinner to-night, so I think Marion will be disappointed if I deprive her of her five-o'clock tea gossip with him. She is, doubtless, anxiously awaiting us now. But I felt I could not pass another night without asking you, Frederick, if a rumour which I have heard concerning you is true.'

'What's up now?' demanded his cousin.

'I met young Fellows in the city this afternoon, Mrs Bouchers' brother, you know, and he told me that it is commonly said in Hampstead that you are engaged, or about to be engaged, to Miss Crampton.'

'What of it?' said Frederick carelessly.

'Surely it is not true! Surely, with your antecedents, Frederick, you are not thinking of marrying any respectable woman!'

'Would you prefer my marrying a disreputable one, then, Philip?'

'Most certainly not! What I mean is, that, under the circumstances, you have no right to marry at all. How can you go up to God's holy altar with any woman, whilst that unfortunate girl down at Luton is even now expiating the awful sin you led her into?'

'Of course, it is quite impossible that it was she who led me instead of the other way?' said Frederick, interrogatively.

'Whosoever fault it may have been in the first instance, you know that you are responsible now.'

'And I am quite ready to meet my responsibilities. Do you want me to marry the straw-plaiter down at Luton?'

'No, no! I want you to do nothing but alter your mode of living, Frederick, and try and be a decent member of society. It is terrible to think how you go on, without care for yourself or others, without a thought of God, or the future that lies before you. If poor Sir Frederick Ascher had only foreseen the uses his money would have been put to, he would have thought twice before he left it to you.'

'Yes! but, luckily for me, he didn't foresee, so I can do as I like about it. Has Father Tasker a lecture in store for me as well?' inquired Frederick, turning to the priest.

'No! my son, we are not in the confessional, where I could wish we met oftener; but I would like to remind you that, although your late godfather made no actual conditions regarding the expenditure of the fortune he left you, yet his wishes, that it should be devoted to the church, were so strongly expressed, as almost to amount to a demand, and I cannot believe that any blessing will follow a different disposition of it.'

'I have confessed to no intention of marrying, remember, but should I ever do so, my wife will be my church, and I shall settle my money upon her.'

But this was a blasphemy that neither Philip Walcheren nor the priest could pass over in silence.

'Be careful, my son, be careful,' cried the one, 'lest the curse of Heaven, and the church you despise, are both provoked against you.'

'I cannot believe, Frederick, that you seriously mean what you say,' exclaimed his cousin. 'The money is only yours for your lifetime, and, if you do not dedicate it to the holy church at your death, some fearful calamity will surely overtake you, or those to whom you wrongfully give it.'

'Nonsense!' replied Frederick; 'I suppose you both mean well, but I would rather you understood me at once. As matters stand at present, I have not the slightest intention of leaving my money to the church. My godfather--peace to his ashes!--left it to me, and I recognise but one authority in the matter, and that is the law, which is on my side. I wonder, by the way, Philip, that you stick up so badly for the stability of the profession by which you live!'

'Every consideration must give way to the claims of the church, Frederick!'

'Well, I don't agree with you. I think Mother Church has feathered her own nest pretty well, considering her claims to humility and poverty. In my idea, my own nest will have the prior claim on my indulgence!'

'So you are really contemplating matrimony, Frederick,' said Philip. 'I wonder you can dare to enter a church under the circumstances, lest the walls and roof should fall in upon you.'

'Perhaps I shall be married in a registrar's office,' responded Frederick lightly; but the jest was so ill-timed that neither of his hearers commented upon it.

'With the fact of that misguided female down at Luton, you are about to commit a great sacrilege, my son, in taking the sacrament of matrimony on yourself!' remarked Father Tasker.

'You mistake both me and your cousin, my son,' replied the priest. 'It is not that we are not most anxious to see you turn over a new leaf and lead a pure life, but marriage is assuredly a condition of great temptation for a man situated as you are. It will bring cares and expenses with it, and your mind will be filled with the thought of providing for the future of your family. You have been brought up to no profession, for your sainted mother had no idea that you would be anything but a priest, and that your godfather's fortune would go as he wished it should do, to our holy church. But since you elected otherwise, there is but one honest course for you to pursue, and that is, to remain single, and preserve your money intact for the purpose for which your godfather left it to you. Marriage will interfere with this, therefore marriage is not for you!'

At this juncture Frederick's temper got the better of his judgment.

'Then I'm d--d if the church shall have the money,' he exclaimed loudly; 'all your advice, and precepts, and exhortations to a purer life count for nothing; they are only made so you may hear yourselves talk, and plume yourselves with the idea of how much better men you are than myself. But this matter is in my own jurisdiction, thank goodness, and I shall do exactly as I choose about it. I shall marry, or remain single, as pleases me, but, whatever I may do, the church doesn't get my money, so you may put that thought out of your heads at once. I'll leave it to the Salvation Army, or the Home for Lost Dogs, first.'

He had thrown himself into a passion by this time, and he walked quickly up and down his little room in order to cool his temper. Philip Walcheren looked as if he expected the heavens to open and strike his cousin dead for the utterance of such blasphemy, and the priest rose and prepared to shake the dust of those apartments off his feet.

'Mark my words,' he said solemnly, as he turned to leave the room, 'God will not be mocked, Frederick Walcheren. He knows all our hearts, and He will avenge himself. Good-morning.'

And with that Father Tasker disappeared.

'For shame!' cried Philip, as he prepared to follow him, 'for shame, Frederick. You may have law on your side, but you have neither right nor conscience. You have not told me whether the rumour I mentioned is true or false, but, if it is true, and you have any such intention in your head, pause, I beseech you, before you carry it into effect, or some fearful calamity will follow it. You have defied our holy church, and God will defend her rights. I shall not come again until you send for me.'

And in another moment the room was clear.

Still, with the superstitious ideas which the Catholic religion infuses in all her followers, with the childish inbred fear of the priestly power to save or damn, with the fear of purgatory and a fiery hell, and becoming an outcast from salvation for ever, Frederick Walcheren did not feel quite comfortable, though he tried to laugh the feeling off, and was as resolute as before, that no power in heaven or earth should separate him from Jenny Crampton.

'Going to Hampstead again to-night, sir?' asked Watson, as he laid out his master's dress clothes upon the bed.

How well our servants know where we go, and who we go to see, and what we do it for.

'Yes,' replied Frederick, 'to Mrs Bouchers' dance. You needn't sit up for me, Watson, for I shall be very late. Order the brougham to call for me at Simpson's at nine o'clock. I shall go on straight from there.'

He hurried into his dress clothes, for he was determined that nothing should make him late that night, for fear he should miss the interview in the picture gallery after the fourth dance.

The picture gallery at the Bouchers' was very seldom entered by any of their dancing guests, being some way removed from the ballroom, but both Jenny and Mr Walcheren, being intimate friends at the house, knew it well.

Frederick thought rightly that, since a prohibition had gone forth against his dancing with the girl of his heart, it would be more prudent if he did not put in an appearance to the ballroom till after he had held the interview with Jenny. So, when he presented himself at the house, between nine and ten o'clock, and had divested himself of his crush hat and overcoat, he peeped into the dancing room to see how far the evening had advanced. The number two had just been placed above the bandstand, so he concluded he had at least half an hour to wait before Jenny could join him, and turned away again to seek the solitude of the picture gallery until the time of meeting had arrived.

But he reckoned without his host. Henry Hindes, who had been one of the earliest arrivals, and on the express look-out for Walcheren, spied him as soon as he looked into the room, and, rising quietly, followed him out. So, as soon as Frederick had reached the picture gallery, he heard a step in his rear, and, turning with annoyance to see who had discovered the retreat besides himself, met the outstretched hand and smiling glance of Mr Hindes. Mr Walcheren could not fail to return his civilities, but he was infinitely vexed. Of all the people he knew, he would rather have encountered anyone than Mr Hindes.

'How are you, Walcheren?' he said, cordially, as he came up with him. 'You don't mean to tell me you are going to eschew dancing to-night, when there are so many pretty girls doing "wallflowers"? I saw you look into the ballroom and disappear again, and wondered if you had found your way to a buffet and a whisky-and-soda. I shouldn't mind following you if you have, for the night is very warm and I am very thirsty.'

'No, I had no such intention,' answered Walcheren, in a tone of annoyance. 'I fancy it is rather too early for that game. I came in here because I have a slight headache, and thought the cool and quiet might charm it away before I encountered the heat and glare of the ballroom.'

'To be sure, and I daresay it will. This is a charming place, though one cannot see much of the pictures by night. It is in semi-darkness. I do not suppose the Bouchers intend their guests to use it on such an occasion as this, or they would have it better lighted.'

'Perhaps not,' replied Walcheren. 'But I am an old friend of the family, and consider myself privileged to do as I like.'

'Oh! I am not finding fault with your decision, my dear fellow; on the contrary, I am very glad of the opportunity of a few words in private with you. It is not often that my wife can drag me out to a dance, and, to tell you the honest truth, I came here this evening expressly to see you.'

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