Of High Descent

Volume Two – Chapter One.

In the Black Shadow

Mrs Van Heldre let her work fall in her lap and gazed across at her husband.

“I suppose Harry Vine will walk home with Madelaine?” she said.

“Eh? Maddy? I’d forgotten her,” said Van Heldre, laying down his pipe. “No; I’ll go up and fetch her myself.”

“Do, dear, but don’t stay.”

“Not I,” was the reply; and going out of the dining-room, where he always sat when he had his evening pipe, the merchant went into the study, where by the dim light he saw that his writing-table drawer was open,

“How’s that?” he thought. “Did I – No.”

He ran out into the passage, saw that his office door was open, and entered to receive the blow which laid him senseless before the safe.

Van Heldre did not lie there long.

Crampton came away from the old inn, stick in hand, conscious of having done a good evening’s work over the business of the Fishermen’s Benefit Club, the men having paid up with unusual regularity; but all the same, he did not feel satisfied. Those pedlar sailor men troubled him. They had been hanging about the town for some time, and though he knew nothing against them, he had, as a respectable householder, a confirmed dislike to all nomadic trading gentry. To him they were, whether Jew or Gentile, French or German, all gipsies, and belonging to a class who, to use his words, never took anything out of their reach.

He felt sure that the man he had seen in the darkness was one of these, and warning himself now for not having taken further notice of the matter, he determined to call at his employer’s on his way home to mention the fact.

“Better late than never,” he said, and he stumped steadily down the main street as a man walks who is possessed of a firm determination to do his duty.

As he went on he peered down every one of the dark, narrow alleys which led to the waterside places, all reeking of tar and old cordage, and creosoted nets, and with more than a suspicion of the celebrated ancient and fish-like smell so often quoted.

“If I had my way,” said Crampton, “I’d have a lamp at each end of those places. They’re too dark – too dark.”

But though he scanned each place carefully, he did not see any lurking figure, and he went on till he reached his employer’s house, where, through the well-lit window, he could see Mrs Van Heldre looking plump, rosy, and smiling, as she busied herself in putting away her work.

Crampton stopped at the opposite side, took off his hat and scratched his head.

“Now if I go and tell him what I think, he’ll call me a nervous old fool, and abuse me for frightening his wife.”

He hesitated, and instead of going to the front door, feeling that perhaps, after all, he had taken an exaggerated view of things, he went on to the corner of the house and lane, with the intention of having a look round and then going on home.

He had just gone about half-way, when there was a loud rap given by the gate leading down into Van Heldre’s yard. Some one had thrown it violently back against the wooden stop, and that somebody had sprung out and run down the lane in the opposite direction to that by which the old clerk had come.

“Hah!” he ejaculated, and hurrying on he hastily descended the steps, entered the passage, and trembling now in every limb, made his way into the office, where, with all the regular method of the man of business, he quickly took a box of matches from the chimney-piece, and turned on and lit one of the gas-burners.

The soft light from the ground-glass globe showed nothing wrong as he glanced round.

Yes: something was missing – the heavy ebony ruler which always reposed on the two brass hooks like a weapon of war at the end of his desk. That was gone.

Crampton’s brow knitted, and his hands shook so that he could hardly strike a second match, as he pushed open the door and entered the inner office, where, forcing himself not to look round, he lit another gas-jet before taking in the scene at a glance.

There lay Van Heldre, bleeding profusely from a terrible cut on the forehead, the safe was open, and in a very few minutes the old clerk knew that the packet of bank-notes was gone.

“But I’ve got all their numbers entered,” he said to himself, as he went down on his knee by his master’s side, and now, knowing the worst, growing moment by moment more calm and self-contained.

His first act was to take his voluminous white cravat from his neck, and bind it tightly round Van Heldre’s temples to staunch the bleeding.

“I knew no good would come of it,” he muttered. “I felt it from the first. Are you much hurt, sir?” he said aloud, with his lips close to the injured man’s ear.

There was no reply: just a spasm and a twitching of the hands.

“What shall I do?” thought Crampton. “Give the alarm? No: only frighten those poor women into fits. Fetch the doctor.”

He hurried out by the back way as quietly as he could, and caught the principal medical man just as he was going up to bed for a quiet night.

“Eh? Van Heldre?” he said. “Bless my soul! On directly. Back way?”

“Yes.”

Crampton hurried out, displaying wonderful activity for so old a man, and took the police station on his way back.

The force in Hakemouth was represented by a sergeant and two men, the former residing at the cottage which bore the words “Police Station” over the door.

“Where is your husband?” said Crampton to a brisk-looking woman.

“On his rounds, sir.”

“I want him at our office. Can I find him? Can you?”

“I know where he’ll be in about ten minutes, sir,” said the woman promptly, as if she were a doctor’s helpmate.

“Very well,” said Crampton. “Get him and send him on.”

The divergence had taken so long that he had hardly reached the office and poured out some water from a table filter, to bathe the injured man’s face, when he heard the doctor’s step.

“Hah!” said the latter, after a brief examination, “we must get him to bed, Mr Crampton.”

“Is he much hurt, sir?”

“Badly. There is a fracture of the skull. It must have been a terrible blow. Thieves, of course?”

“Or thief, sir,” said the old clerk, with his lip quivering. “My dear master! what would his poor father have said?”

“Hush! Be firm, man,” said the doctor, who was busy readjusting the bandage. “Does Mrs Van Heldre know?” Crampton shook his head. “I found him like this, sir, and came over to fetch you at once.”

“But she must be told.”

“John, John dear, are you there? I thought you had gone on to fetch Madelaine.”

Crampton rose hastily to try and bar the way; but he was too late. Mrs Van Heldre was at the door, and had caught a glimpse of the prostrate man.

“Doctor Knatchbull! what is the matter – a fit?”

The trouble was culminating, for another voice was heard in the glass corridor.

“Papa! papa! here is Mr Vine. He walked home with me. I made him come in. Oh, what a shame to be at work so late!”

“Keep her – keep her back,” gasped Mrs Van Heldre, and then with a piteous sob she sank down by Van Heldre’s side.

“John, my husband! speak to me, oh, speak,” she moaned as she raised his head to her lap.

“Ah, you want Brother Luke to you, John Van,” cried Vine, as with Madelaine on his arm he came to the door of the inner room.

There was a moment’s silence, and then Madelaine uttered a wild cry, and ran to her father’s side.

“Good heavens! Crampton, what is it?” cried Vine excitedly, – “a fit?”

“No, sir, struck down by a villain – a thief – and that thief – ”

Crampton stopped short in the midst of his excitement, for there was a heavy step now in the passage, and the sergeant of police and one of his men came in.

“Yes. I’ve had my eye on a couple of strangers lately,” he said, as he took out a book and gave a sharp look round. “P’r’aps Mr Crampton, sir, you’ll give me the information I want.”

“Mr Crampton will give you no information at all,” said the keen-looking doctor angrily. “The first thing is to save the man’s life. Here, sergeant, and you, my man, help me to carry him up to his bed – or no – well, yes, he’ll be better in his own room. Pray, ladies, pray stand aside.”

“Yes, yes,” cried Madelaine excitedly, as she rose. “Mother, dear, we must be calm and helpful.”

“Yes; but – but – ” moaned the poor woman.

“Yes, dearest,” cried Madelaine, “afterwards. Dr Knatchbull wants our help.”

“Good girl,” said the doctor, nodding. “Get the scissors, some old linen, and basin, sponge and water, in the bedroom.”

“Yes, doctor,” said Madelaine, perfectly calm and self-contained now. “Mother, dear, I want your help.”

She knelt down and pressed her lips for a moment to her father’s cheek, and then placed her arm round her mother, and led her away.

An hour later, when everything possible had been done, and Mrs Van Heldre was seated by her husband’s pillow, Vine being on the other side holding his friend’s hand, Madelaine showed the doctor into the next room.

“Tell me,” she said firmly. “I want to know the truth.”

“My dear child,” said the doctor, “you know all that I know. Some scoundrel must have been surprised by your father, and – ”

“Doctor,” said Madelaine quietly, and with her clear matter-of-fact eyes gazing into his, “I have been praying for strength to help my mother and my poor father in this terrible affliction. I feel as if the strength had been given to me, so speak now as if I were a woman whom you could trust. Tell me the whole truth.”

The doctor gazed at her with a look full of admiration, and taking her hand, he said kindly:

“I was treating you as if you were a girl, but I will tell you the truth. I am going to telegraph to town for Mr Reston; there is a fracture and pressure on the brain.”

“And great danger, doctor?”

“Yes,” he said, after a pause, “and great danger. But, please God, my child, we will save his life. He is a fine, strong, healthy man. There: I can say no more.”

“Thank you,” said Madelaine calmly, and she quietly left the room.

“Any one might think that she did not feel it,” said the doctor slowly; “but I know better than that. It’s wonderful what a woman will suffer without making a sign. I cannot telegraph till eight o’clock, but I may as well write my message,” he muttered, as he went down-stairs. “Humph! the news is spreading. Somebody come.”

Volume Two – Chapter Two.

Harry Looks the Fact in the Face

Harry Vine checked his headlong pace as soon as he was out of the lane, and walked swiftly along by the harbour till he reached the sea. Here, in the shelter of a rock, he stooped down and lit a cigar, before throwing himself on a patch of shingle, and holding his temples with his hands, as he tried to quell the tumult in his brain and to think calmly.

But it was in vain. He felt half mad, and as if the best way out of his difficulty was to go and leap into the sea.

“Curse Pradelle!” he groaned. “I wish I had never seen him – coward, thief, cheat! Oh, what am I talking about? Why didn’t I face it, and tell Van Heldre the honest truth? I was innocent. No, no: I was as bad as Pradelle, and he shall disgorge. Every penny shall go back. If he says no, come what may, I’ll out with the whole truth.”

“I couldn’t help it,” he groaned after a pause. “I’d give anything to have frankly told the truth.”

He walked quickly home, and assuming a calmness he did not feel, entered the drawing-room, where Louise was seated reading.

“Your company gone?” he said roughly.

“Yes, dear. Papa has walked home with Madelaine.”

Harry turned sharply round, for he mentally pictured in one agonising thought the scene at Van Heldre’s home.

“Is anything the matter?” asked Louise.

“Matter? No. It’s very dark outside, and the light makes one’s eyes ache. Seen Pradelle?”

“No, dear,” said Louise gravely. “I thought he went out with you.”

“Yes, of course, but he likes to go wandering about the town. I wanted a quiet smoke by the waterside. I’m tired. I think I shall go up to bed.”

“Do, dear. I’ll wait till papa comes.”

“Good-night.”

“Good-night, Harry dear,” she said, rising, and, putting her arms round his neck, she laid her cheek to his. “Good-night, dear. Harry darling, don’t worry about the work. Do it like a brave, true man; it will make father so happy.”

There was a sudden catching sob in Harry Vine’s throat, as, like a flash, the memory of old happy boy and girl days came back. He caught his sister to his breast, and held her tightly there as he kissed her passionately again and again.

“My darling brother!” cried Louise as she tightened her grasp about his neck. “And you will try for all our sakes?”

“Yes, yes,” he said in a hoarse whisper.

“Never mind what poor aunt says. Be a man – a frank, honourable man, Harry. It is the order of the true haute noblesse after all. You will try?”

“Please God, yes, Lou – so hard – ah, so hard.”

“That’s like my dear brother once again,” she cried, fondling him. “There, darling, I’m speaking to you like our mother would. Let me be young mother to you as well as sister. You will begin again?”

“Yes, yes, yes,” he whispered hoarsely; “from this moment, Lou, I will.”

“May I say more?” she said gently, as her hand played about his brow.

“Yes, anything, Lou; anything. I’ve been a fool, but that’s all over now.”

“Then about Mr Pradelle?”

“Curse Mr Pradelle,” he cried passionately. “I wish I had never brought him here.”

“Don’t curse, dear,” said Louise, with a sigh of relief. “Yes, there has been an ugly cloud over this house, but it is lifting fast, Harry dear, and we are all going to be very happy once again. Good-night.”

He could not speak; something seemed to choke him; but he strained her to his heart, and ran out of the room.

“Oh!” ejaculated Louise; and throwing herself into a chair, she burst into a passion of weeping; but her tears were those of joy, and a relief to her overburdened heart.

“Is it too late?” said Harry to himself, as a cold chilly hand seemed to grasp his heart. “No; I can keep my own secret, and I will turn over a new leaf now, and old Crampton shall rule it for me. What an idiot I have been!”

He shuddered as he recalled the scene in Van Heldre’s office, and involuntarily held his hands close to the landing-lamp.

“Poor old fellow!” he said, as his hand involuntarily went towards his vest; “but he’ll soon get over that. He couldn’t have known me in the dark. I – My locket!”

He turned like ice as he gazed down to see that the gold locket he wore at his watch-chain had been torn off.

“No, no; I lost it when I threw myself down on the shingle,” he muttered, as he fingered the broken link. “I could not have lost it there.”

Just then he started, for there was a faint cough on his left.

“Then he has come back,” he cried hastily; and going a few steps along the passage he tapped sharply, and entered Pradelle’s room.

Volume Two – Chapter Three.

The Punishment Begins

Pradelle was seated in a low chair with his head resting on his hand. He looked up curiously at Harry as the young man hastily closed and locked the door.

“You’ve come at last, then,” said Pradelle sourly, as he winced from the pain he was in.

“Yes, I’ve come at last,” replied Harry. “Now, Pradelle, no nonsense! There has been enough of this. Where is the money?”

“Where’s what?”

“The money – those notes.”

“I don’t know what you mean.”

“Then I’ll tell you plainly. I want five hundred pounds in Bank of England notes, stolen by you from Mr Van Heldre’s safe.”

Pradelle sank back in his chair.

“I like that,” he said, with a low, sneering laugh.

“No nonsense. Give me those notes.”

“You mean you want to give me the notes.”

“I mean what I say,” cried Harry, in a low, angry voice.

“Why, you went and got them, as we agreed.”

“I did not go and get them as we agreed.”

“Yes, you did, for I saw you.”

“How dare you, you lying cur!” cried Harry, seizing him by the throat and holding him back against the chair. “Give me the notes.”

“Don’t! don’t! You’ve hurt me enough once to-night. Look! my head’s bleeding now.”

Harry loosened his grasp, for the fact was patent.

“I – I hurt you?”

“Yes, with that ruler. What made you hit me like that? Take me for old Van Heldre?”

Harry’s jaw dropped, and he stared wildly at his companion.

“I – I hit you!” he faltered, as he struggled with his memory and asked himself whether he had stricken Pradelle down and not the old merchant.

“Well, I’ve got a cut two inches long and my head all swollen up. What made you do it?”

“I – do it! Here, what do you mean?”

“Mean? Why, that you were so long getting the loan – ”

“Say stealing the notes. It would be more like the truth,” said Harry shortly.

“I won’t. I say you were so long getting the loan that I came to see what you were about, and you flew at me and knocked me down with the big ruler. Took me for a watchman, I suppose.”

“But when? – where?” cried Harry excitedly.

“Where? By the safe; inner office. What a fool you were!”

“Impossible!” thought Harry, as his confusion wore off. “Look here,” he cried aloud, “this is a mean, contemptible lie. You have the money; give it me, I say.”

“Supposing I had it,” snarled Pradelle, “what for?”

“To restore it to its owner.”

“Well, seeing that I haven’t got the money, I say you shall not give it back. If I had got it I’d say the same.”

“You have got it. Come, no excuses.”

“I tell you I haven’t got a penny. You struck me down after you had taken it from the safe.”

“It’s a lie!” cried Harry fiercely. “I was not going to do the accursed work, and I did not strike you down.”

“Then look here,” cried Pradelle, pointing to his injured head.

“I know nothing about that. You have the money, and I’ll have it before I leave this room.”

“You’ll be clever, then,” sneered Pradelle.

“Will you give it me?”

“No. How can I?”

“Don’t make me wild, Pradelle, for I’m desperate enough without that. Give me those notes, or, by all that’s holy, I’ll go straight to the police and charge you with the theft.”

“Do,” said Pradelle, “if you dare.”

The man’s coolness staggered Harry for the moment.

“If I’d got the money do you think I should be fool enough to make all this fuss? What do you mean? What game are you playing? Come, honour among – I mean, be square with me. You’ve got the notes.”

“Ah!” ejaculated Harry, with a look of disgust. “I tell you I have not.”

“Harry! Harry!”

It was his sister’s voice, and he heard her knocking sharply at his door.

“Look here, Pradelle, you’ve got those notes, and I tell you once more, you have to give them up or it’s a case of police.”

He had been moving towards the door, which he unfastened and threw open.

“I’m here, Louie,” he said.

“Quick, dear! A message from papa. We are to go to Mr Van Heldre’s at once.”

“Van Heldre’s?” faltered Harry, whose legs seemed to give way beneath him.

“Yes, dear; a policeman brought the message.”

“A policeman?”

“Something is wrong. No, no, don’t turn like that. It is not father, but Mr Van Heldre, so the man said. I think it is a fall.”

Harry Vine’s breath came thick and short. What should he do? Fly at once? No; that meant being taken and brought ignominiously back.

“Don’t hesitate, dear,” said Louise; “pray come quickly.”

“Yes,” said Harry huskily. “Of course, I’ll come on. Will you – you go first?”

“Harry, what are you thinking, dear? Why do you look so shocked? Indeed I am not deceiving you.”

“Deceiving me?”

“No, dear: I am sure it is not papa who is hurt. There, come along, and see – for Madelaine’s sake.”

She said these last words very softly, almost in a whisper; but the only effect they had upon him was to make him shudder.

What should he do – face the danger or go? He must face it; he knew he must. It was his only hope, and already his sister was hurrying him to the door – his sister, perhaps unconsciously to hand him over to the police.

“No,” he said to himself, with an attempt to be firm, “he could not have seen me; but was it after all Pradelle I struck down?”

A chill shot through him.

The locket torn from his watch-chain?

“Why, Harry dear, you seem quite upset.”

“Upset – I – yes, it is so sudden. I am a bit – there, I’m all right now.”

“Poor Madelaine! she must be in sad trouble.”

Greater than the speaker realised.

She was in the dining-room with the elder Vine, and hung for a few moments on Louise’s neck to sob forth her troubles when she entered. Then, without a word or look at Harry, she hurried up-stairs.

“Why did you not speak to her, Harry?” whispered Louise.

He made no reply, but sat listening to his father, his eyes dilated and throat dry.

“And – and do they suspect any one?” whispered the young man in a voice he did not know for his own.

“No: the police have been away since, and they think they have a clue – two pedlars, who have been about the place lately.”

“And Mr Van Heldre – is – is he badly hurt?”

“Very badly. It is doubtful whether he can recover.”

The young man’s breath came and went in a strange labouring way as he sat rigidly upon his seat, while his father went on telling him fact after fact that the son knew only too well.

“Poor Van Heldre! First the ship, then this terrible calamity. Crampton tells me that there was a sum of money deposited in the safe – five hundred pounds in notes, and all gone – every penny – all gone. Poor old Crampton! he almost worshipped Van Heldre. He is nearly wild with grief. One minute he scowled at me savagely; the next minute he was apologetic. It’s a terrible business, children. I thought you had better both come on, for, of course, I could not leave now.”

Just then Mrs Van Heldre came down, looking red-eyed and pale, to take Louise to her breast.

“Thank you, my dear, thank you,” she sobbed; “it was like you to come. And you too, Harry Vine.” She took and pressed the young man’s hand, which was dank and cold. Then, in a quick access of gratitude, she laid her hands upon his shoulders, and kissed him.

“Thank you, my dear,” she said in a voice broken with sobs. “You seem always to have been like Maddy’s brother. I might have known that you would come.”

If ever man suffered agony, that man was Harry Vine as he listened to the poor simple-hearted woman’s thanks. His punishment had commenced, and every time the door opened he gave a guilty start, and turned white as ash.

“Don’t take it like that, Harry,” said Louise tenderly. “There is always hope, dear.”

She looked lovingly in his eyes, and pressed his hand, as their father went on talking in a low voice, and giving utterance to his thoughts.