London's Heart: A Novel

"I had to make up that money, of course," he continued; "I had to get it somehow; and I did get it-never mind in what manner. You can imagine what I suffered, Liz! I thought I had fortune in my hands; and I had, but I was tricked out of it-for the whole affair was a swindle. The horse was never intended to win; and they swore it couldn't lose."

He derived comfort from the confession he was making; he took no blame to himself; and he did not, when he reached this point, tell her the story of the theft from the iron box. Then he went on to narrate how he had made Mr. Sheldrake's acquaintance, and how that gentleman had lent him money from time to time, and how misfortune continued to pursue him. He would have had his pockets filled with money over and over again if it had not been that things invariably went wrong with him just at the critical moment.

"It was from no want of judgment on my part, Liz. I had got to learn as much as any of the prophets and tipsters, and yet I could never manage to turn up trumps. I saw other fellows, who didn't know in their whole bodies as much as I knew in my little finger, make hundreds and hundreds of pounds. It only wants sticking to, Liz. I'll make all our fortunes yet; you see if I don't! There's the City and Suburban coming on; and I know something that'll open their eyes. And when I pay Mr. Sheldrake the money I owe him, I'll cut with him, if it's only to please you."

By the time he had reached the end of his recital he had recovered some of his good spirits. Lizzie listened in silence, and interrupted him only once, to ask whether he ever made any bets with Mr. Sheldrake.

"O, no," was the reply; "Sheldrake will never bet with me, Liz. Why, sometimes he tries to persuade me not to back a horse that I'm sweet on, and even tries to persuade me not to bet on races at all. 'It's a bad game, Alf,' he has said to me more than once, 'it's a bad game, unless you've got a strong bank at your back, and unless you can hold out for a long time.' Well, then, I ask him how it was he had managed to make his money; and he can't help telling me the truth. He was dead broke, Liz, in a worse fix than I'm in now-ay, a thousand times worse-he has told me so lots of times; but he stuck to it until on one race he had taken a bet of a thousand pounds to ten, and his horse won. There he was, all right in a minute. He was a made man directly the horse passed the winning-post. He told me how he threw his hat in the air, and how he almost danced for joy. Then the money began to roll in. That's how it is, Liz. You've only got to stick to it long enough, and keep your heart up."

"Do you bet with any of Mr. Sheldrake's friends, Alf?"

"With one-Con Staveley."

Lizzie repeated, under her breath, "Con Staveley!" as if desiring to fix the name in her memory.

"Con gives me long odds-longer than I should be able to get from any other of the commission agents or from any of the clubs. One of these days I shall give him a nip, as sure as fate. He has told me so, often, laughingly. 'You'll nip me one of these fine days, Alf,' he said; and 'I shall have to hand you over a big cheque. Well, you may as well have it as anybody else.' And I mean to have it, Liz. If I don't make it out of the City and Suburban, I'll make it out of the Derby. Would you like to go to the Derby, Liz?

"And so," concluded Alfred, when he came to the end of his story, which he had told and coloured in such a way as to make it appear that it was only by an extraordinary combination of ill-chances that he was not "rolling in money" at the present time, "you see where my chance lies. I shall be sure to come up all right, if I go on. And I must go on, Liz; that's a fact. It's my only chance. And as Mr. Sheldrake can shut me up at any minute, I must be careful not to offend him. I want you to be civil to him, for my sake, if you won't for his own."

"I'll try to, Alf."

"That's a dear! I can't understand why you are so bitter against him. At one time you were always praising him; and you've some reason to be thankful to him. I'm sure he's been, very kind to you and Mr. Musgrave."

"It looks so," said Lizzie thoughtfully, "outwardly."

She said no more; for she was keen enough to see that many conflicting influences were at work. That Alfred was blind to Mr. Sheldrake's character was plain; and, indeed, the feeling she entertained against him was really nothing more than a matter of prejudice. But her instincts were dead against him; and she thoroughly distrusted him. There is often in woman's character a sort of unreasoning reason, to the whisperings of which she tenaciously clings, even though outward evidence almost surely prove it to be based upon false grounds. And in the majority of instances, the instinct which prompts this refusal of direct evidence is correct. Mr. Sheldrake had become Lizzie's Doctor Fell; and she judged him accordingly.

The conversation she had had with Alfred this night set her thinking more seriously. She yearned to set matters right; but turn which way she did, one obstacle started up constantly before her-Mr. Sheldrake. He seemed to hold them all in his power by the relations which existed between him and Alfred. As she thought of the terrible blow he could inflict upon them all, she began to hate him. Alfred was powerless; Lily was powerless; Mr. Musgrave was powerless. Lizzie had a large share of woman's wit and cunning, and much confidence in herself. In her musings now, Mr. Sheldrake presented himself to her in the light of a foe to her dearest hopes, as one who was weaving treacherous webs around her friends; and she found herself watching him, and looking about her for some means to break the threads, and so defeat him. "If I had some one to help me," she thought, "some man to depend upon who is not in Mr. Sheldrake's power. Felix!" She started; for the name had come so suddenly upon her, and with such vivid force, as to make her almost fancy that she had really heard it spoken. Felix! The man of all others whom she would have chosen; the man of all others upon whom she could best depend. The thought of him gave her such hope and comfort, that she kissed Alfred tenderly. He returned her caress, and called her a dear good girl, and told her how he loved her.

Mr. Musgrave, who was waiting up for Lizzie, heard the sound of the cab wheels, and ran to the gate.

"Will you come inside, Alfred?" he asked.

"No, thank you, I will bid Lizzie good-night here."

"I'll be in presently, daddy," said Lizzie, with a kiss, which sent the old man into the house with a light heart.

As the lovers stood together in the quiet night, some better influences, born of the peace which surrounded him and of the consciousness of the love which Lizzie bore towards him, entered Alfred's heart, and he experienced a genuine feeling of regret for the folly of the past. It had floated him on to rocks so perilous that his liberty was endangered and his honour was lost. How much better had it been for him and all of them had he avoided the fatal snares! "Let me but once get free," he thought, "and I will take care not to be caught again." In this way do all weak natures repent the consequences of their folly. What was bad in Alfred's nature sprang out of his weakness; his very selfishness only asserted itself when he was in trouble-but then, indeed, it asserted itself with such strength as to sweep aside every other consideration, and as to make it impossible for him to recognise the danger he might inflict on those he loved in his efforts to free himself from the net he had woven for himself.

The lovers did not part for nearly an hour. The little that Lizzie said to Alfred soothed and comforted him, and when he bade her the last good-night, and gave her the last kiss, he was in a quieter and better mood than he was when they quitted the theatre.

"Will Lily be asleep when you get home, Alf?" asked Lizzie.

"I should think so, Liz."

"And I should think not so, Alf," said Lizzie, half gaily, half sadly. "See. When you are at home, knock at her door, and if she is awake, give her this kiss from me."

She watched Alfred till he was out of sight, then went indoors, where Mr. Musgrave was patiently waiting for her.

"Did you enjoy yourself, Lizzie?"

"Yes-no," replied Lizzie, taking off her hat and mantle. "It isn't a very lively piece, and Lily was ill. Why, how pale you've turned, daddy! She was better before we left her. It was the piece made her ill, I think."

"Tell me more about it, Lizzie; she was well when she went to the theatre?"

"O yes, and we thought we were going to enjoy ourselves very much. And so we should have done if the play had been a lively one. But it was horrible. I wouldn't go to see it again for ever so much. Well, and the theatre was very hot and the last scene was so dreadful that Lily fainted. She soon recovered, and we all went to Soho in one cab."

"That was right, Lizzie."

"Yes," said Lizzie, with assumed carelessness, but watching the old man keenly, "it was my doing, that was. Mr. Sheldrake wanted to walk home with Lily, and wanted me and Alfred to start off at once in a cab from the theatre-but I wouldn't have it so. I insisted that we should all go together, and that we should drop Lily at her door. Mr. Sheldrake wasn't very pleased. To tell you the truth, daddy, I think I rather set him against me to-night. Do you mind?"

Such a concentrated look of watchfulness did she flash into his face that it would have startled him to see. But as he did not see, he could only answer her spoken words.

"No, my dear, I don't mind; but it will be as well not to quarrel with him, if you can help it."

"He would be a dangerous enemy, wouldn't he, daddy?"

"Yes, my dear; very dangerous."

"So if we know he is our enemy we shall have to behave cunningly towards him; we shall have to be on our guard. To be civil to him to his face, and ready to tear him to pieces directly we get a chance."

There was so much excitement in her words and manner that Mr. Musgrave looked at her in uneasy amazement. She walked about the room restlessly, with a bright flame in her cheeks. Presently she grew calmer, and sat down by the table, on which supper was laid. There was trouble in her face, and it brought trouble into his.

"Take some supper, Lizzie; we will talk afterwards."

"No, we will talk now. I can't eat any supper. Mr. Sheldrake wanted us to go with him to some supper-rooms, but I wouldn't hear of it. Was I right?"

"Quite right."

"So that I've been twice right to-night, and this enemy of ours with the curled moustaches has been twice wrong.

"You seem to be very much set against Mr. Sheldrake, my dear."

"Seem to be! I am. I mean every word I say, and a good deal more. Tell me-do you like him?"

"He is my employer, Lizzie, and could turn us out of this house any day he chose."

"And could do many other hard things-and would, and will, if he's thwarted; so we must be cunning, and must enter into a league against him. Shake hands upon it." And she held out her hand earnestly to him. "Shake hands upon it!" she repeated, almost vehemently.

"Child, child!" he said sorrowfully. "I take your hand, and kiss it because I love you, and because I feel that your words convey a deeper meaning than they express. But I am an old man, and I have seen trouble, and have felt its bitter experiences. I would not willingly encourage you in what may bring bad consequences to both of us."

"Not if we are wary, daddy-not if we are cunning. You don't know what prompts me to speak so! Ah, daddy! Do you remember my telling you, when you first opened out the prospect of this pretty little cottage to me, that I was wilful, and might tease you a good deal, and that for that reason you had better consider very seriously whether it would do for you and me to live together as you proposed? I don't know whether to be thankful or sorry that I consented. I was very happy then-very, very happy."

"You did it for my sake, Lizzie," he said humbly.

"Not altogether; I did it a good deal for my own. I thought how nice it would be for Alfred."

She covered her face with her hands to hide her tears.

"You took pity on my lonely life, Lizzie, and I bless you for it, my child! You have brought much happiness to me, and things have occurred to me since then-such wonderful things."

She looked up, with the tears in her eyes.

"What wonderful things, daddy?"

"That is my secret, my dear," he said sadly. "You do not know the history of my past life. The time may come-and soon-when you will learn it. I have become a better man, I hope, since we came to live here. Sit by me, my child, and tell me your trouble."

She seated herself on a stool at his feet, and took his hand and caressed it.

"And you have a secret, too," she murmured, "and a new one. We all of us have secrets, I think, that we are keeping from one another."

"All of us! Have you a secret that you keep from me?"

"Yes, daddy; and one that I must not tell anybody, not even you. I have promised. You must not ask me any questions about it, for I cannot answer them."

"Very well, my dear. But tell me the reason of your feeling against Mr. Sheldrake."

"Suppose you knew that he could destroy the happiness of the one you loved best in the world-suppose you knew that he was ready to use that power if you crossed him in any of his bad ways."

"That is all supposing, Lizzie."

"It is reality to me. Mr. Sheldrake has Alfred in his power, and can ruin him any minute he pleases. Alfred told me so to-night. O, daddy, daddy! I am unhappy and miserable, and I don't know which way to turn if you will not help me."

"I will help you, child, in any way that I can. Does Alfred owe Mr. Sheldrake money?"

"Yes, more than he can pay."

"How has that come about?"

"You must not tell anybody. Alfred would be angry. Alfred has lost the money in betting on horses."

Mr. Musgrave started. The business that was conducted in Ivy Cottage was conducted in so secret a manner that Lizzie did not know its nature. She had been curious about it, and once or twice had asked the old man; but he had laughingly evaded her, and it was she who had dubbed the room in which he and Mr. Sheldrake were often closeted together for so long a time the Bluebeard's room.

"Does he bet with Mr. Sheldrake, Lizzie?"

"No-with a man named Con Staveley."

The guilty look that stole into Mr. Musgrave's face bore no meaning to Lizzie's sense. Some part of the scheme was now revealed to him. Mr. Sheldrake lent Alfred money, which he received back through Con Staveley; and he himself perhaps had been an unconscious instrument in Mr. Sheldrake's hands, and had assisted in Alfred's entanglement. But what could be Mr. Sheldrake's motive? There was nothing to be gained from Alfred, who had no money and no expectations. Knowing Mr. Sheldrake thoroughly, Mr. Musgrave knew well that there must be some deep motive at the bottom of all this. The old man had parts of the chain in his hand, but the important link was wanting. Could Lizzie supply it?

"Have Alfred and Mr. Sheldrake been friends for a very long time, Lizzie?"

"No, daddy; not twelve months, I think."

"How did they become acquainted?"

"I don't quite know, but I suspect it was through Lily."

"Through Lily!" echoed the old man, almost in a whisper.

"I think that Mr. Sheldrake lends Alfred money because of her. I think-no, I don't think; I am sure-that Mr. Sheldrake wants Lily to be fond of him."

Lizzie was frightened at the white face which met her gaze. A terrible fear smote the old man dumb for a time. The missing link was found! This Mr. Sheldrake-this man without principle, without honour, without heart-had designs upon the tender girl who had brought light into the old man's life. Lizzie had indeed found a friend in her design-how eager and willing a friend she little knew-but one whose motive for aiding her was so strong as to overleap every other consideration in life.

"You are ill, daddy!" she cried.

He rose and paced the room, and Lizzie's anxious eyes watched him. What were his thoughts during the silence that followed he did not reveal. But a new strength seemed to have entered into him, and he paused before his adopted child with a determination in his face which robbed him of many years.

"Answer my questions, Lizzie," he said, "without asking for reasons. First let me tell you that when you brought Lily here as your friend, I was glad. I have grown to love her, as well as I love you, child. Has she any affection for Mr. Sheldrake?"

"No!" Very decided and emphatic was Lizzie's reply.

"Thank God for it! He is unworthy of her. You speak as if you knew."

"How do girls learn each other's secrets, daddy? Lily has never told me, although I have tried to coax her a hundred times. She loves another man. I know this as well as I know that I love Alfred with all my heart and soul."

"A good man, Lizzie?"

"One of the best of men, daddy."

"Do not answer carelessly, child. I have a stake in this, perhaps as deep and as strong as yours."

"I do not answer carelessly, daddy. Your manner gives me such hope! I am so glad I have spoken to-night. The man she loves and who loves her, I am sure, is one to be honoured-a man worthy of any girl, worthy even of Lily."

"You asked me to give you my hand a little while ago, my dear. I give it to you now in the way that you wished."

There was something solemn in the manner in which he held out his hand to her; and something altogether so new and earnest in him, that it stirred her to deeper feeling, as his hand closed over hers.

"Now for Alfred," he said; "do you know if he bets in his own name?"

"He has never told me."

"You have some letters of his?"

"Yes, daddy."

"It is time for you to go to bed, my dear. I want to see Alfred's writing. I will come up with you, and you will give me one or two of his letters. Trust me, child, I have a good reason for what I am doing. So now, kiss me, and let us go upstairs."

He kissed her at her bedroom door again, when she gave him the letters.

"We'll try and be a match for this enemy of ours, Lizzie."

"O daddy," she answered, with a bright look, "you have made my heart light!"

CHAPTER XXXIV

GOOD COUNSEL

The cab was turning the corner of the little street in Soho in which Lily lived, and Lily was about to ring the door-bell, when Mr. Sheldrake laid his hand on her wrist, and said:

"Let me have a few minutes' conversation with you to-night. I beg it as a favour."

Not daring for Alfred's sake to refuse, Lily tremblingly suggested that they should go indoors and talk; but Mr. Sheldrake said, in a tone that was half decided and half imploring:

"I cannot speak to you in the house."

She raised her eyes to his face for an explanation, and he answered the look.

"Your grandfather is not my friend."

"But that is not grandfather's fault," she said loyally.

"I do not say it is; it is my misfortune, perhaps. He is not so much a friend of Alfred's as he should be."

"How can you say that?" asked Lily, with a beating heart. "You are wrong-very wrong; grandfather loves Alfred."

"I only judge from what Alfred has told me. So far as regards myself, of course, I can see that your grandfather is not over cordial to me. He has no right to be otherwise; I have been a good friend to his grandson, and I deserve some better return."

"I know, I know, Mr. Sheldrake," said Lily earnestly. "Alfred has told me of your kindness to him. I am very grateful to you for it, believe me."

"Well, then," rejoined Mr. Sheldrake briskly, "you can scarcely refuse me the small favour of a few minutes' quiet conversation with you-although I accept it as a great favour. It is a fine night, and after the heat of the theatre, the air will do you no harm."

She had no power to refuse, and they turned slowly from the door. Near to the house was an arched avenue which led to one of the larger thoroughfares. Not many persons were stirring in this quiet courtway, and thither Mr. Sheldrake led Lily.

"If we walk up and down slowly," he said, "our talking together at this time of night will not attract attention. Pray take my arm."

She laid her hand lightly on his sleeve, and waited anxiously for his next words.

"I hope," he said, looking into her face with an expression of tender solicitude, "that the effects of your faintness have quite passed away."

"Yes, thank you. It was very stupid of me to give way so."

"You must not say that. You could not help it. And you are the last person, I am sure, to give pain to your friends."

She raised her eyes to his.

"It pained me exceedingly to see you overcome, and I could not help reproaching myself for being the innocent cause of your suffering."

"You were not to know that I was so weak; you did not know what kind of a play it was we were going to see."

"Thank you, Miss Lily," he said eagerly, "thank you. You do me greater justice than your friend Lizzie did. I think she must be ungrateful."

"No, indeed," said Lily warmly. "She is the very reverse of that. You must not speak ill of Lizzie, Mr. Sheldrake."

"Your wish is law," he replied gallantly; "but if she is not ungrateful, I am the most unfortunate of men, for I have by some unaccountable means incurred the displeasure of two persons whom you love-your grandfather and Lizzie."

He paused here, anticipating, and wishing, that Lily would have replied to this, but she was silent.

"And the mystery is, that both have good reason to behave differently towards me, to think better of me, for they must know that I have stood a good friend to Alfred. You know that."

"Yes."

"We entered into a compact, if you remember-you and I-to work together for Alfred's good. You do remember it, do you not?"

"Yes."

"That was at Bushey Park. It is one of the pleasantest days in my remembrance. Well, now, I've tried to perform my part in the contract. I've stood Alfred's friend through thick and thin-very few men would have stuck to him as I have done. However, I can take no credit to myself for doing so; he has you to thank for it-only you. Why, here am I repeating the very few words I said to you on the day we entered into partnership!"

His treacherous hand closed upon hers with a tender pressure which made her shiver. Not so much in the words he had spoken, but in the manner of their utterance, he made her understand that he held Alfred's safety-perhaps his life-in his hand, and she felt that if she repulsed him Alfred would be made to suffer. He released her presently, and encouraged by her submission his treacherous arms would have stolen round her waist. But instinctively she evaded the embrace, and stood apart from him. Had her life depended upon it, she could not have acted otherwise. At this moment a man passed through the archway. Mr. Sheldrake's back was towards the man, who, with a keen observance of Lily's attitude, walked slowly onwards in the direction of Lily's home. Mr. Sheldrake waited until the man was out of hearing before he spoke again.

"I hope I have not frightened you by telling you that very few men would have stood by Alfred as I have done, Miss Lily?" How strong the armour of modesty is, was never better shown than in the fact that the man of the world had not yet found courage to address her simply by her Christian name. "But it is a fact, I assure you. I daresay Alfred has confided in you, and has told you some of his troubles?"

"I don't know the exact nature of them; I only know that he is very much harassed."

"Perhaps it is better," said Mr. Sheldrake significantly, "that your knowledge should go no farther. I am afraid that he has been very injudicious-it is a mild phrase, but I would not distress you by using a harsher term. Let us say that he has been injudicious, indiscreet. Well, what then? So long as you and I remain true to our compact, he is safe."

"Mr. Sheldrake," said Lily, in an agony of alarm, "is Alfred in danger?"

"Not while we stand by him. Do not needlessly distress yourself. We'll see him through it, you and I. Many a young fellow has been wrecked through want of a friend-but Alfred has two. Shall I tell you what makes me so earnest in his cause?"

"No," she replied hurriedly, and looking round as if for help; "not to-night. It is late, and grandfather will be anxious about me. Some other time."