Of High Descent

“The scoundrels, as far as I can make out, Harry, my boy, seem to have got in by the back. The door was unfastened, and they must have known a good deal about the place – by watching I suppose, for they knew where to find the keys, and how to open the safe.”

Harry’s breath came in a spasmodic way, as he sat there chained, as it were, to his place.

“Five hundred pounds. A very heavy sum. I must not blame him, poor fellow, but I should have thought it a mistake to have so large a sum in the house.”

At last the doctor descended looking very grave.

“Ah, Knatchbull,” said Vine in an excited whisper as he rose and caught the doctor’s hand; “how is he?”

The doctor shook his head.

“Has he recovered his senses?”

“No.”

“Nor said a word about who his assailants were?”

“No, sir, nor is he likely to for some time to come.”

Harry Vine sat with his eyes closed, not daring to look; and, as the doctor’s words came, a terrible weight of dread seemed to be lifted from his brain.

“I may go up now, may I not?”

“No, sir, certainly not,” said the doctor.

“But we are such old friends; we were boys together, Knatchbull.”

“If you were twin-brothers, sir, I should say the same. Why, do you know, sir, I’ve forbidden Mrs Van Heldre to go into the room. She could not control her feelings, and absolute silence is indispensable.”

“Then he is alone?”

“No, no; his daughter is with him. By George! Mr Vine, if I had been a married man instead of a surly old soured bachelor, I should be so proud and jealous of such a girl as Miss Van Heldre that I should have been ready to poison the first young fellow who dared to think about her.”

“We are all very proud of Madelaine,” said Vine slowly. “I love her as if she were my own child.”

“Humph! your sister is not,” said the doctor dryly.

“No, my sister is not,” said the old man slowly.

“Then, now, Mr Vine, if you please, I am going to ask you people to go.”

“Go?” said Vine, in angry remonstrance.

“Yes; you can do nothing. No change is likely to take place perhaps for days, and with Miss Van Heldre for nurse and Crampton to act as my help if necessary, there will be plenty of assistance here. What I want most is quiet.”

“Harry, take Louise home,” said the old man quickly.

“And you will go with them, sir.”

“No,” said Vine quietly. “If I lay in my room stricken down, John Van Heldre would not leave me, Knatchbull, and I am not going to leave him. Good-night, my children. Go at once.”

“But Madelaine, father.”

“I shall tell her when she comes down that you were driven away, but I shall send for you to relieve her as soon as I may.”

Louise stifled a sob, and the old doctor took and patted her hand.

“You shall be sent for, my dear, as soon as you can be of use. You are helping me in going. There, good-night.”

A minute later, hanging heavily on her brother’s arm, Louise Vine was walking slowly homeward through the silent night. Her heart was too full for words, and Harry uttered a low hoarse sigh from time to time, his lips never once parting to speak till they reached the house.

To the surprise of both, on entering they were confronted by Aunt Marguerite.

“What does all this mean?” she said angrily. “Why did every one go out without telling me a word?”

Louise gently explained to her what had befallen her father’s friend.

“Oh,” said Aunt Marguerite, with a slight shrug of the shoulders. “Well, it might have been worse. There, I am very tired. Take me up, child, to bed.”

“Good-night, Harry; you will go and lie down,” whispered Louise. “Good-night, dear.”

She clung to him as if the trouble had drawn them closer, and then went into the hall to light a candle.

“Good-night, Henri,” said Aunt Marguerite, holding her cheek for the young man’s mechanical kiss. “This is very sad, of course, but it seems to me like emancipation for you. If it is, I shall not look upon it as a calamity, but as a blessing for us all. Good-night.”

The door closed upon her, and Harry Vine sat alone in the dining-room with his hands clasped before him, gazing straight away into his future, and trying to see the road.

“If I had but thrown myself upon his mercy,” he groaned; but he knew that it was impossible all through his regret.

What to do now? Where to go? Money? Yes; he had a little, thanks to his regular work as Van Heldre’s clerk – his money that he had received, and he was about to use it to escape – where?

“God help me!” groaned the unhappy man at last; “what shall I do?”

He started up in horror, for the door-handle turned. Had they found out so soon? Was he to be arrested now?

“Harry – Harry!”

A quick husky whisper, but he could not speak.

“Harry, why don’t you answer? What are you staring at?”

“What do you want?”

“Look here, old fellow; I’ve been waiting for you to come up – all these hours. What have you found out?”

“That John Van Heldre was robbed to-night of five hundred pounds in notes, and you have that money.”

“I haven’t, I tell you again, not a shilling of it. Look here, what about the police? Have they put it in their hands?”

“The police are trying to trace the money and the man who struck Van Heldre down. Where is that money? It must be restored.”

“Then you must restore it, for I swear I haven’t a single note. Hang it, man, have I ever played you false?”

Harry was silent. His old companion’s persistence staggered him.

“I tell you once more, I went to the office to see if you had got the loan, and was knocked down. Curse it all! is this true or is it not?”

He placed his head close to the light, and Harry shuddered.

“Don’t believe me unless you like. I wish I had never come near the place.”

“I wish so too,” said Harry coldly. “There, don’t talk like that, man. It has turned out a failure, unless you have got the coin – have you?”

“Have I?” said Harry with utter loathing in his voice. “No!”

“You can believe me or not, as you like, but I always was your friend, and always will be, come what may. Now, look here; we are safe to get the credit of this. If you didn’t fell me, some one else did. Van Heldre, I suppose; and now some one must have knocked him down. Of course you’ll say it wasn’t you.”

“No,” said Harry coldly. “I shall not say it. I was by the safe, and he caught hold of me. In my horror I hit at him. I wish he had struck me dead instead.”

“Don’t talk like a fool. Now look here; the game’s up and the world’s wide. We can start at once, and get to St. Dree’s station in time to catch the up train; let’s go and start afresh somewhere. You and I are safe to get on. Come.”

Harry made no reply.

“I’ve packed up my bag, and I’m ready. Get a few things together, and let’s go at once.”

“Go – with you?”

“Yes. Look sharp. Every minute now is worth an hour.”

Go with Pradelle! the man who had been his evil genius ever since they had first met. A feeling of revulsion, such as he had never felt before, came over Harry Vine, and with a voice full of repressed rage he cried: —

“I’d sooner give myself up to the police.”

“Don’t be a fool. I tell you to come at once. It’s now half-past two. Plenty of time.”

“Then in Heaven’s name go!” said Harry; “and never let me see your face again.”

“You’ll talk differently to-morrow. Will you; once more?”

“No.”

“Then I’m off. What do you mean to do?”

“Wait.”

“Wait?”

“Yes. I shall not try to escape. If they suspect me, let them take me. I shall face it all.”

“You’ll soon alter your tune. Look here: I’ve been true to you; now you be true to me. Don’t set the police on to me. No, you will not do that. You’ll come after me; and mind this, you will always hear of me at the old lodgings, Great Ormond Street.”

Harry stood gazing straight at him, believing, in spite of his doubts, that Pradelle had not taken the money.

The idea was strengthened.

“Look here; I’ve only three half-crowns. I can’t go with that. How much have you?”

“Thirty shillings.”

“Then come, and we’ll share.”

“No.”

“Lend me half then. I’ll manage with that.”

For answer Harry thrust his hand into his pocket and took out all he had.

“What, all?” said Pradelle, as he took the money.

There was no reply.

“Once more. Will you come?”

Silence!

“Then I’m off.”

Harry Vine stood gazing at vacancy, and once more tried to see his own path in the future, but all was dark.

One thing he did know, and that was that his path did not run side by side with Victor Pradelle’s. His sister’s words still rang in his ears; her kisses seemed yet to be clinging to his lips.

“No,” he said at last, moodily; “I’ll face what there is to come alone. No,” he groaned, “I could not face it, I dare not.”

He started guiltily and scared, for there was the sound of a door closing softly.

He listened, and there was a step, but it was not inside the house, it was on the shingle path; and as he darted to the old bay window, he could see a shadowy figure hurrying down the path.

“Gone!” he said in a low voice, “gone! Yes, I’ll keep my word – if I can.”

He opened the casement window, and stood there leaning against the heavy stone mullion, listening to the low soft beating of the waves far below. The cool air fanned his fevered cheek, and once more the power to think seemed to be coming back.

He had had no idea of the lapse of time, and a flash of broad sunlight came upon him like a shock, making him start away from the window; now lit up with the old family shield and crest a blaze of brilliant colour.

“Roy et Foy,” he read silently; and the words seemed to mock him.

Henri Comte des Vignes, the plotter in a robbery of the man who had been his benefactor. Perhaps his murderer.

“Comte des Vignes!” he said, with a curious laugh. “Boy! vain, weak, empty-headed boy! What have I done – what have I done?”

“Harry!”

He started round with a cry to face his sister.

“Not been to bed?”

“No,” he said wearily. “I could not sleep.”

She laid her hands upon his shoulders and kissed him.

“Neither could I,” she said, “for thinking of it all. Harry, if he should die!”

He looked down into the eyes gazing so questioningly into his, but his lips framed no answer.

He was listening to the echoing of his sister’s words, which seemed to go and on thrilling through the mazes of his brain, an infinitesimally keen and piercing sound at last, but still so plain and clear —

“If he should die!”

Volume Two – Chapter Four.

Uncle Luke Grows Harder

“I would not stop over these, my dears,” said Vine, as they sat at breakfast, which was hardly tasted, “but if I neglect them they will die.”

He had a glass globe on the table, and from time to time he went on feeding with scraps of mussel the beautiful specimens of actiniae attached to a fragment of rock.

“We’ll all go directly and see if we can be of any use. I’m glad Knatchbull called as he went by.”

“But what news!” said Louise sadly. “It seems so terrible. Only yesterday evening so well, and now – ”

She finished her remark with a sob.

“It is very terrible,” said her father; “but I hope we shall soon hear that the villains are caught.”

Harry sat holding the handle of his teacup firmly, and gazing straight before him.

“You’ll go up to the office, of course, my boy?” said Vine.

“Eh? Go up to the office?” cried Harry, starting.

“Yes, as if nothing had happened. Do all you can to assist Crampton.”

“Yes, father.”

“He was very quiet and reserved when I went in at seven; quite snappish, I might say. But he was too much occupied and troubled, I suppose, to be very courteous to such an old idler as I am. Ah!” he continued, as a figure passed the window, “here’s Uncle Luke.”

A cold chill had run through Harry at the mention of Crampton – a chill of horror lest he should suspect anything; and now, at the announcement of his uncle’s approach, he felt a flush run up to his temples, and as if the room had suddenly become hot.

“Morning,” said Uncle Luke, entering without ceremony, a rush basket in one hand, his strapped-together rod in the other. “Breakfast? Late for breakfast, isn’t it?”

“No, Luke, no; our usual time,” said his brother mildly.

“You will sit down and have some, uncle?”

“No, Louie, no,” he replied, nodding his head and looking a little less hard at her. “I’ve had some bread and skim milk, and I’m just off to catch my dinner. The idiot know?”

“My dear Luke!” said his brother mildly, as Uncle Luke made a gesture upward towards Aunt Marguerite’s room; “why will you strive to increase the breach between you and our sister?”

“Well, she tells every one that I’m mad. Why shouldn’t I call her an idiot? But nice goings on, these. Wonder you’re all alive.”

“Then you have heard?”

“Heard? Of course. If I hadn’t I could have read it in your faces. Look here, sir,” he cried, turning sharply on his nephew, “where were you last night?”

Harry clutched the table-cloth that hung into his lap.

“I? Last night?” he faltered. “Yes; didn’t I speak plainly? Where were you last night? Why weren’t you down at Van Heldre’s, behaving like a man, and fighting for your master along with your henchman?”

“Uncle, dear, don’t be so unreasonable,” said Louise, leaning back and looking up in the old man’s face – for he had thrown his basket and rod on a chair, and gone behind her to stand stroking her cheek – “Harry was at home with Mr Pradelle.”

“Pradelle, eh?” said the old man sharply. “Not up?”

“Mr Pradelle has gone,” said Louise.

“Gone, eh?” said Uncle Luke sharply.

“Yes,” said his brother. “Mr Pradelle behaved very nicely. He left this note for me.”

“Note, eh? Bank-note – ”

Harry winced and set his teeth.

“No, no, Luke. Nonsense!”

“Nonsense? I mean to pay for his board and lodging: all the time he has been here.”

“Absurd, Luke!” said his brother, taking up a liberal meal for a sea-anemone on the end of a thin glass rod. “He said that under the circumstances he felt that he should be an encumbrance to us, and therefore he had gone by the earliest train.”

“Like the sneak he is, eh, Harry?”

The young man met his uncle’s eyes for the moment, and then dropped his own.

“You’ll kill those things with kindness, George. Any one would think you were fattening them for market. So Master Pradelle has gone, eh? Don’t cry, Louie; perhaps we can coax him back.”

He chuckled, and patted her cheek.

“Uncle, dear, don’t talk like that. We are in such trouble.”

“About Van Heldre, that boy’s master. Yes, of course. Very sad for Mrs Van and little Madelaine. Leslie was down there as soon as one of the miners brought up the news, trying to comfort them.”

Harry’s teeth gritted slightly, but he relapsed into his former semi-cataleptic state, as if forced to listen, and unable to move.

“I like Leslie,” said Vine sadly.

“So do I. At least, I don’t dislike him so much as I do some folks. Now if he had been there, he’d have behaved better than you did, Master Harry.”

“Uncle, dear, don’t be so hard on poor Harry.”

“Poor Harry! Good job he is poor. What’s the good of being rich for thieves to break through and steal?”

“Ah! what indeed!” said his brother sadly.

“Look at Van Heldre, knocked on the head and going to die.”

“Uncle!”

“Well, I dare say he will, and be at rest. Knocked on the head, and robbed of five hundred pounds. My money, every penny.”

“Yours, Luke?” said his brother, pointing at him with the glass rod.

“Thanks, no, George; give it to the sea-anemone. I don’t like raw winkle.”

“But you said that money was yours?”

“Yes; a deposit; all in new crisp Bank of England notes, Harry. Taking care of it for me till I got a fresh investment.”

“You surprise me, Luke.”

“Always did. Surprised you more if Margaret had had five hundred pounds to invest, eh?”

“Then the loss will fall upon you, uncle,” said Louise sympathetically, as she took the old man’s hand.

“Yes, my dear. But better have the loss fall upon me than Crampton’s heavy ebony ruler, eh, Harry?”

The young man looked once more in the searching malicious eyes, and nodded.

“Bad job though, Louie. I’d left poor Harry that money in my will.”

“Oh, uncle!” cried Louise, holding his hand to her cheek.

“Yes; but not a penny for you, pussy. There, it don’t matter. I shan’t miss the money. If I run short, George, you’ll give me a crust, same as you do Margaret?”

“My dear Luke, I’ve told you a hundred times, I should be glad if you would give up that – that – ”

“Dog kennel?” sneered the old cynic. “That hut on the cliff, and come and share my home.”

“Yes, two hundred times, I’ll swear,” said Uncle Luke. “You always were weak, George. One idiot’s enough for you to keep, and very little does for me. There’s my larder,” he continued, pointing toward the sea; “and as to Harry here, he won’t miss the money. He’s going to be the Count des Vignes, and take Aunt Marguerite over to Auvergne, to live in his grand château. Five hundred pound’s nothing to him.”

The perspiration stood on Harry’s brow, cold and damp, and he sat enduring all this torture. One moment he felt that his uncle suspected him, the next that it was impossible. At times a fierce sensation of rage bubbled up in his breast, and he felt as if he would have liked to strangle the keen-eyed old man; but directly after he felt that this was his punishment called down by his weakness and folly, and that he must bear it.

“Going, Harry?” said his father, as the young man rose.

“Yes; it is time I went on to the office.”

“Good boy. Punctuality’s the soul of business,” said Uncle Luke. “Pity we have no corporation here. You might rise to be mayor. Here, I don’t think I shall go fishing to-day. I’ll stop, and go with you two, to see old Van. Louie, dear, go and tell your aunt I’m here. She might like to come down and have a snarl.”

“Uncle, dear,” said Louise, rising and kissing him, “you can’t deceive me.”

She went out after Harry.

“Not a pair, George,” said Uncle Luke, grimly. “Louie’s worth five hundred of the boy.”

“He’d drive me mad, Lou, he’d drive me mad,” cried Harry, tearing his hand from his sister’s grasp, and hurrying away; but only to run back repentant and kiss her fondly before going.

Volume Two – Chapter Five.

The Trifle that Tells Tales

As Harry Vine left his father’s house, and hurried down the slope, he gazed wildly out to sea. There were no thoughts of old Huguenot estates, or ancient titles, but France lay yonder over that glistening sea, and as he watched a cinnamon-sailed lugger gliding rapidly south and east, he longed to be aboard.

Why should he not do as Pradelle had done – escape from the dangers which surrounded and hemmed him in? It was the easiest way out of his difficulties.

There were several reasons.

To go would stamp him with the crime, and so invite pursuit. To do this was to disgrace father and sister, and perhaps be taken and dragged back.

When he reached the harbour, instead of turning down to the left, by the estuary, he made his way at once on to the shore, and after a little hesitation, picked out the spot where on the previous night he had thrown himself down, half mad with the course he had been called upon to take.

The engraved gold locket, with which his nervous fingers had often played, would be lying somewhere among the stones; perhaps caught and wedged in a crevice. It was so easy when lying prone to catch such an ornament and snap it off without knowing. He looked carefully over the heap of stones, and then around in every direction; but the locket was not there.

“It must be somewhere about,” he said angrily, as if he willed that it should; but there was no sign of the glittering piece of well-polished gold, and a suspicion that had for a long time been growing, increased rapidly in force, till he could bear it no longer, and once more something seemed to urge him to fly.

He had clung so to that hope, shutting his eyes to the truth, and going down to the beach to search for the locket. Even when he had not found it, he said that perhaps some child had picked it up; but there was the truth now refusing to be smothered longer, and he walked on hastily to reach Van Heldre’s office, so as to search for the locket there. For it was the truth he had felt that sudden snatch, that tug when the old merchant dashed at him, and then fell. The locket was torn off then. He might not be too late. In the hurry and confusion it might not have been seen.

The ordinary door of entrance to the offices was closed, and at the house the blinds were half drawn down. He felt that he could not go to the front door. So after a little hesitation, he went round into the back lane, and with a strange sensation of dread, passed through the gateway and down the steps into the neatly-kept garden yard.

Everything was very still; and Harry Vine, with an attempt to look as if entirely bent upon his ordinary task, went up to the door, entered the glass corridor, as he had entered it the night before, and by a tremendous effort of will walked quickly into the outer office.

The inner door was open, and after a hasty glance round, he was in the act of crossing to it when he found himself face to face with the old clerk. For some moments neither spoke – the old man gazing straight at Harry with a peculiar, stony glare, and the latter, so thrown off his balance that no words would come.

“Good morning,” he said at last.

The old man continued to stare as if looking him through and through.

“What do you want?” he said at last.

“Want? It is past nine o’clock, and – ”

“Go back. The office is closed.”

“Go back?” said Harry, troubled by the old man’s manner more than by the announcement; for it seemed natural that the office should be closed.

“Yes, young man; you can go back.”

“But – ”

“I said, go back, sir – go back! The office is closed,” said the old man fiercely; and there was something menacing in the manner of his approach, as he backed his junior to the closed door, and unlocked it and pointed to the street.

“Mr Crampton – ” began Harry.

The old man looked at him as if he could have struck him down, waved him aside, and closed and locked the door.

Harry stood for a few moments thinking. What could he do to gain an entrance there, and have a quiet search of the place? The only plan open seemed to be to wait until Crampton had gone away.

He had just come to this conclusion, after walking a short distance along the street and returning, when a fresh shock awaited him. Van Heldre’s front door was open, and Duncan Leslie came out, walking quickly towards him, but not noticing whom he approached till they were face to face.

“Ah, Mr Vine,” he said, holding out his hand; “I had some thought of coming up to you.”

“What for?”

“What for? Surely at a time like this there ought not to be a gap between friends. I am afraid you misunderstood me the other night. I am very sorry. There is my hand.”

But trembling with that other anxiety, Harry Vine had still the old sting of jealousy festering in his breast. Leslie had just come from Van Heldre’s; perhaps he had been talking with Madelaine even there; and, ignoring the proffer, Harry bowed coldly and was passing on, but Leslie laid his hand upon his arm.

“If I have been more in the wrong than I think, pray tell me,” said Leslie. “Come, Vine, you and I ought not to be ill friends.”

For a moment the desire was upon him to grasp the extended hand. It was a time when he was ready to cling to any one for help and support, and the look in his eyes changed.

“Ah, that’s better!” said Leslie frankly. “I want to talk to you.”

Why not go with him? Why not tell Leslie all, and ask his help and advice? He needed both sorely. It was but a moment’s fancy, which he cast aside as mad. What would Leslie say to such a one as he? And how could he take the hand of a man who was taking the place which should be his?

Leslie stood still in the narrow seaport street for a few moments, looking after Harry, who had turned off suddenly and walked away.

Volume Two – Chapter Six.