London's Heart: A Novel

Always willing enough to give his signature, Alfred waited, pen in hand, while Mr. Sheldrake drew up the paper. It was to the effect that Alfred had borrowed of him forty pounds, with which he had backed two horses named for the City and Suburban Race, to be run at Epsom on Tuesday 23rd of April, and that he promised to pay back the money the Saturday after the race.

Alfred read it carelessly, and remarked, as he signed it,

"This is differently worded to any of the other things I have signed."

"I have a purpose in drawing it up in this way," said Mr. Sheldrake, as he folded the paper and placed it in his pocket-book. "This document and the protested bills would be awkward things to take to your employers, Messrs. Tickle and Flint, in case you didn't pay, or in case I found that you were playing me false-or in case of other contingencies I need not mention just now. It might induce them to make an mediate examination of the vouchers and books in your care. You are cashier there, I believe, Alf. A tempting thing is the handling of other people's money, Alf-a devilish tempting thing-when one is in debt and wants to get rich too quick."

"What do you mean?" cried Alfred, with such terror in his face and in his voice that Lizzie on the outside of the door was compelled to cling to the baluster for support. "For God's sake! – "

"Don't agitate yourself, Alf. I am only putting an extreme case. I hope I may not be driven to such a course. It depends more on others than on yourself. And now I think our little conference is ended. Anything more to say? No? Well, you shall have your vouchers to-morrow."

Lizzie glided down-stairs noiselessly, and when, a few moments afterwards, Mr. Sheldrake came down and shook hands with her, she accompanied him to the gate and wished him good-bye with a smile on her lips, although her hand was like ice in his grasp.

"You've tamed that little devil, David," he mused as he walked along; "she'll be twice as civil and polite the next time you meet her. Now if Kingcraft pull off the City and Suburban – Well, Con Staveley can give the odds. I'll tell Alfred that my book is full, and that, as I can't lay any more, I got Con to take his bets. And Con Staveley needn't pay if the horse wins."

Lizzie went back to Alfred, and found him racked by despair one moment, buoyed up by hope another. She went up to him and kissed him, saying cheerfully,

"Am I not a good girl, Alf, for behaving so well to Mr. Sheldrake?"

"Yes, dear Liz, you are; I wish I were as good."

"Nonsense, dear; you're not strong-minded, that's all. And I don't think you love me enough."

"You mustn't say that, Liz. I love no other."

"I don't think you do, Alf; but if you loved me as well as I love you, you would not keep secrets from me."

He looked at her with sudden alarm.

"Secrets, Liz! Who told you I had secrets?"

"My heart," she replied, with a yearning look, and then, at sight of his troubled face, altered her tone as if she were schooling herself, and said archly, "Girls are artful guessers. And I'm jealous."

"Of whom?"

"Of Mr. Sheldrake. You have been talking secrets with him up-stairs; and I have a better right than he to share them with you. I hate that man!" she exclaimed, with flashing eyes. "There's nothing mean that he wouldn't do; he has a false heart, and his smooth words can't hide his bad thoughts. I saw in his face to-day what seems to be hidden from you. O, how I wish you had never known him!"

"It's of no use wishing, Liz. Perhaps it will all turn out for the best. Don't worry me, there's a dear! I want cheering up badly."

He laid his head upon the table wearily; his folly had made life very bitter to him. One of its sweetest blessings was his, and he had set it far below worthless things. As Lizzie's arms stole tenderly round his neck, and as her sweet words fell upon his ears, he was conscious that he had never rightly appreciated her love. He thought now how happy his life might be if he had been contented and honest, and if he had not yielded to temptation.

"Lizzie," he said with his face hidden, "I have not acted rightly to you. If I could commence over again – "

"Nonsense, Alf," she interposed, in as cheerful a tone as she could command, for his remark, with the meaning it conveyed, brought the tears to her eyes; "I'll not allow you to speak like that. I should be satisfied if I could see you happier in your mind. You have some grief that you will not let me share, and that pains me. You seem to be frightened of something that you cannot see. I have noticed that you have often been unconscious of what is passing, and that you seem to be listening – There! as you are now!"

He had risen to his feet with wild eyes, and was listening, with a terrible expression of fear in his face, to the sound of loud voices in the street. The speakers had stopped outside the house, and Alfred crept softly to the window. They passed away presently, and Alfred, with a sigh of relief, returned to Lizzie's side.

"What's the meaning of this, Alf?" she asked, with a fainting heart. "I have a right to know. Tell me."

"Not now," he replied, taking her cold hand and placing it on his forehead. "I dare not. If you love me, don't ask me questions. I have been foolish, and have not taken care of myself. It will be all right after next Tuesday, and we'll be happy again as we used to be. Come," he cried, with an attempt at gaiety, facing her with his hands on her shoulders, "if you want to do me good, wish me luck next Tuesday."

"I wish you luck, dear, with all my heart."

"That's right, Liz; and when you go to bed, pray that I may be lucky, my dear. For if I am, all this trouble will be over, and we'll commence a happy life-you, and I, and Lily. And we'll tell our secret then-our own secret, dearest, that no one knows but you and me."

He drew her towards him, and she laid her head upon his shoulder. Something in his words made him the consoler now.

"It will have to be told soon, Alf dear, or it will tell itself," she said, in a tone in which joy and pain were subtly mingled.

"I know it, darling; and I've been working, and trying to get money for you and me and Lil, and bad fortune has pursued me so steadily that I have been driven almost mad. Ah, Liz, I love you! You'll see how I love you when all this trouble comes to an end. And it will come to an end now that you've wished me luck, and will pray for it."

She pressed him in her arms, grateful for his calmer and tenderer mood.

"May I say something to you, dear?" she asked.

"Anything, darling; kiss me first."

She kissed him, and he said softly.

"What a pity it is that time will not stand still, isn't it, Liz? Now, if we could be like this for a long, long time, what happiness it would be! I almost feel as if I should like to die now, with you in my arms. What is it you want to say, darling?"

"Something about Lily."

"Dear Lily! Go on."

"Have you noticed that Mr. Sheldrake has been paying her a great deal of attention?"

"I think he likes her, Liz."

"You think! You know, you mean. But, Alf, if I had a sister that I loved as you love Lily, and who loved me as Lily loves you, I would rather see her in her grave than see her placed as Lily is now."

"Lizzie!"

"I mean what I say, Alf, and you ought to have seen it more clearly before. Do you believe that Mr. Sheldrake has any honourable intentions in his open admiration for Lily?"

"If I thought otherwise – " cried Alfred hotly.

"What would you do?" interrupted Lizzie; "what could you do, placed as you are with that man? He has been working for this, Alf dear, and you haven't seen it. So deep and true is Lily's love for you, that if he were to say to her, 'I have your brother in my power, and I can bring misery and shame upon him, and will, if you are cold to me!'-if he were to say this to Lily in his own bad way, and work upon her loving heart in his own bad way – O, Alfred, I could almost pray that somebody would kill him! – if he were to do all this, as he may, I tremble to think what Lily would do."

"What would she do?" The words came faintly from a throat parched by remorse.

"Can you ask, Alf? What would I do for you? To secure your happiness, is there any sacrifice that I would not make? Lily's love for you, although it is the love of a sister, is not less strong than mine. But I have learnt harder lessons than Lily has had to learn, and I should not be so easily led as she would be. A bad, calculating man, as Mr. Sheldrake is, could work upon such a simple nature as hers more easily than upon mine. I should be strong where she, through innocence and simplicity, would be weak. And when she felt, as she would feel, that any sacrifice of happiness which she would be called upon to make would be made to secure the happiness of a beloved brother – "

"Stop, Lizzie!" cried Alfred, rising in his agitation, and turning from her. "Stop, for God's sake! I have been blind."

Yes, he had been blind; and blindly had walked, step by step, to the terrible abyss which lay before him now, deliberately taking with him a pure devoted girl, whom, despite all his selfishness, he loved next in the world to Lizzie. All the sweet memories of his life, until he met Lizzie, were of his sister, and he had conspired against her happiness. He was powerless now to undo the past; but he might atone for it. He silently swore that if he were fortunate on Tuesday he would become a better man.

"I have something else to tell you, Alfred," said Lizzie, after a long pause. "Lily is in love."

"In love! Ah, I see more clearly now, dear Lizzie. With Felix?"

"Yes, a happy life is before her, with that true man, if happily they come together."

"And he?"

"Loves her."

"Has he told you?"

"No; but there are things that need no telling. We women know. He has not spoken to her, because, because – "

"Go on, Lizzie."

"Because he sees what you have been blind to, and out of the nobleness of his heart will not add to her distress."

"It would have been better for her," groaned Alfred, "and for you, if I had never been born."

"Nay," remonstrated Lizzie, in a gentle loving tone, "we must not repine: we must try to do better. Promise-and I will help you, with all my strength, and so will Lily and Felix-ah, you don't know what a heart he has! And your grandfather, Alfred, that good old man – "

"I know what you would say about him, Lizzie. I am punished enough already."

Indeed, he was very humble and repentant; and, when he went home, he knocked at his grandfather's door. It was dusk, and they could but dimly see each other's faces.

"I have come to ask your forgiveness, sir," said Alfred.

Old Wheels started to his feet, in joyful agitation. He understood it all immediately.

"My dear boy," he said, with a sob, taking Alfred's hand, "Not another word; not another word."

He pressed the young man to his heart and kissed him. Lily, hearing the voices, came into the passage.

"Come here, Lily," cried Old Wheels. "Come hear, dear child."

Lily flew into the room, and after the joy that this glad meeting brought to them, they settled down quietly, and talked, and thought, and hoped, while the evening shadows deepened. The tender movements she made towards Alfred and her grandfather, the expressions of exquisite happiness she uttered, almost unconsciously, every now and then, the loving caresses, the musical little laughs, the words, "O, I am so happy now! so happy!" that escaped again and again, like music from her lips, delighted the old man.

"We want Lizzie here," said Old Wheels tenderly.

"And Felix," thought Lily. This reunion seemed to bring Felix nearer to her.

CHAPTER XL

ON EPSOM DOWNS

"Pray that I may be lucky, my dear."

Alfred had spoken these words to Lizzie with fullest meaning. He did not ask for a wish; he asked for a prayer. He was not himself given to praying, but on this night, before he went to bed, he knelt at his bedside for the first time for many, many months, with a distinct devotional purpose, in his mind, and prayed with all his mental power that Kingcraft, the horse he had backed, might win the City and Suburban race on the following day.

He remained at his devotions for fully a quarter of an hour, and had his grandfather seen him in his attitude of contrition, the old man would indeed have been comforted. But during this quarter of an hour no entreaty for forgiveness of folly and crime passed Alfred's lips. Remorse he felt, but it was the remorse born of fear. Every form of prayer with which he had been familiar in childhood was unconsciously made subservient to his present purpose. His one prayerful thought shaped in silence by his lips was, "I pray with all my soul that Kingcraft may win the City and Suburban. Let Kingcraft win, O Lord! I pray that Kingcraft may win. Kingcraft! Kingcraft! Win the race! Win the race!" He transposed these words in a hundred different ways, and thought them with as much agonising intensity as the most righteous saint could have done. When he rose to his feet, he felt strengthened by the charm he had laid upon himself. He felt that nothing could prevent Kingcraft from winning; and he already began to look ahead beyond the day, when, with the money he would receive, he could set himself free, and begin again; already his better resolutions were beginning to be weakened by the prospect of large gains easily obtained. He argued with himself, as he had done scores of times before. There was no harm in betting; there was only harm in losing. If there were any harm in it, would the newspapers encourage it? It was reading the newspapers that first put the idea into his head; what followed had followed naturally. He had been unlucky, that was all. Well, luck would turn now. Why, here he would prove that luck would turn. He did, as he had often done before; once again he wrote on separate pieces of paper the names of the horses that were likely to run in the race; he folded them up separately, and shook them in his hat; he shut his eyes, and putting his hand among the papers, fumbled with them until he selected one. He drew it forth and opened it. Kingcraft! There was a plain proof. How could the horse lose after that? He laughed gleefully, and would not entertain the thought that he had purposely written the name of this horse on a larger piece of paper than the others, so that he might be sure of drawing out the one he wanted. He went to bed, and dreamt of the race. The whole of the familiar scene passed before him in his dream; he had staked a lot of money on Kingcraft, and he saw the horse sailing past the winner's post, an easy winner, and found himself the winner of a thousand pounds. "Why not?" he asked of himself, as he awoke exultant; "why shouldn't I win a thousand pounds? If I could borrow money somehow, I could pay it back at once. No one would know, and we should all be happy." He read the daily newspapers eagerly, and sucked fresh hope and renewed incentives from them. The papers said that Kingcraft was in blooming health; that the stable believed in him; that a fine jockey was to ride him to probable victory; and that the public were backing him. Even, thought Alfred, in his endeavours to come to a fair conclusion, even if Kingcraft should, by some strange and unaccountable chance, not come in first, what horse was to beat him? For, notwithstanding the honest and upright manner in which the national sport is carried on, strange and unaccountable occurrences do sometimes happen; roguery does occasionally triumph. Well, what horse would win, if Kingcraft came in second instead of first? Xanthus, of course. Xanthus, the horse that was rising daily in popular favour. Were not all the honest and disinterested tribe of prophets and tipsters warning their miserable public to look after him? Said one, "Xanthus must not be lost sight of;" said another, "Keep Xanthus on the right side;" said another, "Put a bit on Xanthus;" said another (a cautious prophet, who never allowed himself to be caught tripping), "But-if-notwithstanding-nevertheless-such or such a thing occurred to Bertram-or, if Pax is not what is represented-or, if a mistake has been made in Marmora's trial-or, if Phosphorus gets off badly-or, if Kingcraft has entirely lost his old form-or if, notwithstanding, and nevertheless, with half-a-dozen other horses-why, then, keep your eye on Xanthus; he may be dangerous." With what zest and animation did Alfred read the words of these inspiring writers! How attentively he studied their elegant English, and read their prophecies again and again! They all spoke well of Kingcraft, but none gave the horse as the absolute winner. Well, but was not Alfred as good a judge as any of them? Had not the secret been revealed to him, as it was to Daniel, in a night-vision? But the course of reading such worshippers as he goes through is of an intensely distracting nature, and Alfred could not be blind to the fact that there were other horses that might have a chance. If he only had some money to back these horses, and to back Kingcraft and Xanthus to be first, second, or third, in the race, winning would be an absolute certainty, beyond the possibility of doubt. On Saturday morning he rushed to the sporting papers, and read dozens of columns concerning the race. Some of the most respectable and reputable of these papers gave Xanthus as the winner, coupling him, however, in most instances, with other horses. Alfred was tortured by doubt-now thinking this, now that, until his mind was in a whirl of bewilderment over the miserable affair. Other papers gave other horses as the certain winners. One said, Pax or Bertram would win; another, Pax or Bridgwater; another, Bertram or Hector; and so on and so on; and Alfred had not backed one of these horses. If either of them won, he was ruined past redemption. But his favourite prophet had to speak yet; a prophet whose name was in every backer's mouth. On Monday morning this prophet would unbosom himself, and Alfred determined to wait till then before he decided his course of action.

He went by train to his office, and on Monday he read the deliverances of his favourite prophet as he sat in the railway carriage. The prophecy recorded, with an appearance of satisfaction, that backers of certain horses who had made their bets weeks ago had burnt their fingers, as the horses they had backed would not run in the race. The horse named Pax, who held the position of first favourite, had been backed heavily in every part of the country by those connected with the stable the owner, it was said, having played a waiting game with his horse, now intended to win a fortune with him. Alfred's prophet declared he did not believe in Pax, although, after the usual fashion of prophets, he put in a saving clause in a few words which he could quote by-and-by, in proof of his own sagacity, in case the horse should win. He pinned his faith, after much wavering, on Xanthus and Bertram, chiefly on the former, and in an elaborate and confusing summing up, declared, in capital letters, that one of these must win, and that either Kingcraft or Marmora would be certain to be among the first three. Alfred was much excited by the hopes held out in this prophecy; and, with some difficulty, obtained from his employers leave of absence for the following day. He had not been too attentive to his duties lately, and his employers demurred at first; but he pleaded the fire that had taken place in Soho, and said that his sister and grandfather required his assistance to set their new home in order. "You shall have no cause to complain of me after this," he said humbly, and received a reluctant assent to absent himself from his duties. He stopped at the office later than usual that evening, and was very careful and painstaking in what he did. Early in the morning he was up and away. He had told Lizzie that he was going to the races, but had made her promise not to let any one know. Lily and Old Wheels supposed he was going to his office as usual, and they stood at the window watching him with smiling faces. Lily kissed her hand to him as he looked back, and he waved his gaily towards the window, and smiled brightly.

"A great change has come over him," said Old Wheels thoughtfully, "for the better, thank God! It makes you happier, Lily."

"Yes, dear; and you, too. Things seem brighter and happier than they did a little while ago. He is coming back to us!"

She ran down-stairs, and Old Wheels followed her. Alfred was at the door.

"I've come back to give you another kiss," he said; "you looked so pretty standing at the window, that I could not help it."

"Prettier than Lizzie?" she asked saucily and affectionately.

"As pretty, I do believe," he replied gaily, and shook hands with Old Wheels, whose face, notwithstanding its kind expression, had a trace of seriousness in it.

"Isn't he good?" asked Lily, as she and Old Wheels stood at the gate. "Dear Alf! See! He's running into Lizzie's house, and Lizzie's opening the door for him!"

"I have had such nice dreams about you," said Lizzie, as she stood in the passage with Alfred's arm around her.

He laughed blithely, and took her face between his hand, and kissed her lips seven times.

"Because seven's a lucky number, Liz."

"O that's the reason!" she cried, with a little toss of her head.

"Yes," he replied merrily, "and not because I love you the least bit in the world. Here's seven more-and seven more-three times seven."

And, the charm being complete, he pressed her in his arms again, and darted away.

There was something more than idle meaning in his words; in the excited state of his mind he was impelled to place an important construction upon every little incident that occurred. It was not merely an affectionate impulse that caused him to turn back and kiss Lily again. Something seemed to whisper to him, "If you don't go back, you will be unlucky to-day;" and if he had resisted the impulse, he would have fretfully made that the cause of any ill-luck that might befall him. In the same manner, he kissed Lizzie the number of times which seemed to him to bear the most fortunate significance. In this way he strove to make assurance doubly sure, and drew the most favourable auguries from his attention to these details, connecting them, with strange sophistry, with the great stake he was about to play. Once as he walked under a ladder; and the thought occurring to him that it was an unlucky omen, he retraced his steps, so as to undo the evil consequences that might result from his act, and walked outside the ladder the second time, and congratulated himself upon his wisdom. When he was in the train that was to convey him to Epsom, he bought the newspapers containing the last outpourings of his favourite prophet upon the City and Suburban race. He read a glowing account of the appearance of the course, of "straggling gipsy women wandering about," of "knots of men in the middle of the road, or leaning against the public-house corners, talking in quiet and almost solemn tones, which indicated that they were absorbed in considerations much more important to them than racing-the means of living from hand to mouth, of which one sees so much on the turf." He read how one individual "in the centre of these groups, footsore, wretched, ragged, and deplorable, had formerly been a tout in highly prosperous circumstances, and absolutely won close upon £1500 when Blair Athol won the Derby;" and how this unfortunate man was "exciting the compassion of his almost equally forlorn companions by narrating how he had walked, or rather crawled, for weeks by road from Liverpool, as nigh starving as makes no matter." He read how the mysterious horse, known as Pax, was conveyed to the scene of action in high state, in a "private van drawn by four grey horses: " and how his owner and backers, confident of victory, declared, in racing phraseology, that the horse would "walk in." This and much more Alfred read, and then came to the kernel-the prophecy-which stated that either Pax, Xanthus, Bertram, Kingcraft, or Phosphorus would be certain to win, and that of the five, Xanthus, Bertram, and Kingcraft were the three upon which this wise prophet pinned his faith. Alfred looked round triumphantly. The carriage in which he was seated was crowded, and the occupants were reading the prophets' predictions in the newspapers with avidity. Alfred, fingering some crisp bank-notes in his pocket, soon made up his mind as to his course of action. He had twenty new £5 bank-notes, and these he would judiciously invest upon all five of the horses named by his favourite prophet, backing them all to win and to be in the first three, in such proportions as to be certain to win. He took pencil and paper from his pocket, and made his calculations; so much upon one horse, so much upon another, and so much upon the others, at the current odds. Against one of the horses named-Phosphorus-he could get as much as forty to one. He would put £20 upon this horse, so as to gain £800 if the horse won. He gloried at the thought of it. By the time the train reached Epsom he had made his calculations, and had determined so to invest that he could win from a hundred to nearly a thousand pounds. "How happy I shall be to-night," he thought, "with the money in my pocket! I'll be at the office early in the morning to make everything straight, and then – " The perspective that stretched itself out in his imagination was too delightfully vague for words or distinct thought. It contained a hazy vista of delight, and in this he basked, and saw Lizzie and himself, and Lily and Felix perhaps, the happiest of the happy.