CHAPTER XVIII.
THE "EVENING MOON" RE-OPENS THE SUBJECT OF THE GREAT PORTER SQUARE MURDER, AND RELATES A ROMANTIC STORY CONCERNING THE MURDERED MAN AND HIS WIDOW.
A few hours before Becky wrote this last letter to the man she loved,the _Evening Moon_ presented its readers with a Supplement entirelydevoted to particulars relating to the murder in No. 119, Great PorterSquare. The Supplement was distinguished by a number of sensationalheadings which the street news-vendors industriously circulated withthe full force of their lungs:--
THE MURDER IN GREAT PORTER SQUARE.
A ROMANCE IN REAL LIFE.
A HUNDRED THOUSAND POUNDS.
WEALTH, BEAUTY, AND LOVE AT FIRST SIGHT.
After a lapse of several weeks, we re-open the subject of the murder inGreat Porter Square. Although the murderer is still at large, the affairhas advanced another and most important stage, and one element ofmystery in connection with it is satisfactorily cleared up. We are aboutto disclose the name of the murdered man, and at the same time to laybefore our readers certain interesting information relating to him whichwithout doubt will be eagerly read. For this information we are againindebted to the Special Reporter, whose graphic account of the trial andof his subsequent adventures in relation to Antony Cowlrick, the personaccused of the murder, has been circulated far and wide.
Until now, the murder in Great Porter Square has been distinguished bytwo unsatisfactory features. The first and most important is that themurderer was undiscovered. Unhappily no light has been thrown upon thispart of the affair. The second, and most interesting feature, was thatthe man who was murdered was unknown. We do not remember a parallelcase. But the murdered man is now identified, and his widow is lamentinghis cruel and untimely death. Before our readers reach the end of ourarticle, which, for the purpose of better description, we throw intonarrative form, they will indeed admit that truth is stranger thanfiction.
There lived in the West of London, near to one of our most fashionableparks, a gentleman of the name of Holdfast. He was a widower, havinglost his wife a year before the commencement of our narrative. He hadbut one child, a son named Frederick, who was at Oxford, with a liberalallowance. The son is described as a young gentleman with engagingmanners, and of a lively disposition; it was whispered also, that he wasgiven to dissipation, and had made his father's purse suffer to a woefulextent. There is nothing extraordinary in this. What are rich fathersgood for in this world if they send their sons to college and keep theirpockets buttoned? Money lenders _must_ live, and they take especialgood care to thrive and grow fat. Young gentlemen _must_ see life, andthey take especial good care to drink deep of the intoxicating cup,and to sow a plentiful crop of wild oats. It is an old story, and ourreaders will have no difficulty in supplying certain accessories inthe shape of pretty women, late suppers, horse racing, gambling, kiteflying, post obits, and the thousand and one other commonplace butimportant elements in the younger days of manhood in the life of anonly son.
The death of Mr. Holdfast's wife was a severe blow to him; his son wasleft to him, truly; but what comfort to the bereaved father could ason have been who was endowed with vicious tastes, and whose careerof dissipation was capped by a depraved association with degradedwomen--especially with one with whom he formed a close connection, whichwould have broken his father's heart, had that father himself not beenof a self-sustaining, proud, and high-minded disposition. The newsof his son's disgraceful connection, although it did not break thefather's heart, was the means of effecting a breach between the fatherand son which was destined never to be healed. Before, however, thisseverance took place, an important change occurred in Mr. Holdfast'shousehold. Mr. Holdfast married again, a very lovely woman, whose name,before she became Mrs. Holdfast, was Lydia Wilson.
The lady was young, and an orphan. Her relatives were far away in thecountry, and she was alone in London. Her entire wealth amounted toabout five hundred pounds in United States bonds. It was while she wason a visit to the City, with the intention of converting these bondsinto English money, that she and Mr. Holdfast first met. The RoyalExchange does not suggest itself as the most likely place in the worldin which a gentleman of Mr. Holdfast's age and character would fall inlove at first sight. It happened, however. He saw the young lady lookingabout her, perplexed and bewildered by the bustling throng of clerks,brokers, and speculators; it was the busiest time of the day, and itcould not escape Mr. Holdfast's notice, his attention having been firstarrested by the loveliness of her face and figure, that she was utterlyunused to the busy scene in which she found herself. The young lady madean attempt to cross the road between the Mansion House and the RoyalExchange; she became confused amid the bewildering tangle of vehicles,and was in danger of being run over, when Mr. Holdfast hastened to herrescue. The road safely crossed, she looked into Mr. Holdfast's faceand thanked him. So there, in the midst of the world's busiest mart,the story of a romance was commenced which might serve novelists with atempting theme. For the particulars of the story we are now relating weare indebted to the lady herself, still young and beautiful, but plungedinto the deepest grief by the murder of her husband. It is difficult forus to appropriately describe her modesty and innocent confidence in theinterview between her and our Reporter. It is not that she is beautiful,and one of England's fairest daughters, but it is that truth dwells inher face and eyes. Her voice is peculiarly soft and sweet, and to doubther when she speaks is an impossibility.
Nothing was more natural than that Mr. Holdfast, having thus farassisted the young lady, should inquire if he could be of any furtheruse to her. Miss Lydia Wilson really was in quest of a broker, to whomshe had been recommended to negotiate the sale of her bonds, but inher confusion and terror she had forgotten both name and address.Ascertaining the nature of her mission, Mr. Holdfast offered tointroduce her to a respectable firm; she accepted his offer, and theywalked together to the broker's office. On the way they conversed, andMr. Holdfast learnt, among other particulars, that the young lady was anorphan, and that these bonds represented all that she had in the worldto depend upon. In the broker's office the young lady produced hersecurities and gave them to the principal of the firm. He sent out atonce to ascertain the exact price of the market; the clerk departed,with the bonds in his possession, and was absent longer than he wasexpected to be. At length he returned, and requested a private interviewwith his employer. The interview took place, and the broker presentlyreturned, and inquired of Miss Wilson how she became possessed of thebonds.
The lady replied haughtily that she was not in a broker's office to becatechised by a stranger about her private affairs; and upon that Mr.Holdfast also spoke warmly in the lady's behalf. The broker rejoinedthat Miss Lydia Wilson was as much a stranger to him as he was to her.Again, Mr. Holdfast, seeing that the lovely woman who had been thrownupon his protection was agitated by the broker's manner, interposed.
"You forget," he said, "that it was I who introduced this lady to yourfirm. Is not my introduction a sufficient guarantee?"
"Amply sufficient," said the broker. "But business is business; suchsecurities as these cannot easily be disposed of."
"Why?" inquired Mr. Holdfast.
"Because," said the broker, "they are forgeries."
"Then I am ruined!" cried the young lady.
"No," said Mr. Holdfast. "If the bonds _are_ forgeries, you shall not bethe loser--that is, if you will confer upon me the honour of acceptingme as your banker."
The young lady could not continue so delicate a conversation in thepresence of a man who seemed to doubt her. She rose to leave thebroker's office, and when she and Mr. Holdfast were again in the openair, he said:
"Allow me to know more of you. I shall undoubtedly be able to assistyou. You cannot conceal from me that the unexpected discovery ofthis forgery is likely to deeply embarrass you. Do not consider meimpertinent when I hazard the guess that you had an immediate use forsome part of the money you expected to receive from the sale of thesesecurities."<
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"You guess rightly," said the young lady; "I wished to discharge a fewtrifling debts." Her lips trembled, and her eyes were filled with tears.
"And--asking you to pardon my presumption--your purse is not too heavilyweighted."
"I have just," said the young lady, producing her purse, and opening it,"three shillings and sixpence to live upon."
Now, although this was a serious declaration, the young lady, when shemade it, spoke almost merrily. Her lips no longer trembled, her eyeswere bright again. These sudden changes of humour, from sorrow togaiety, from pensiveness to light-heartedness, are not her leastcharming attributes. Small wonder that Mr. Holdfast was captivated bythem and by her beauty!
"What a child you are!" he exclaimed. "Three shillings and sixpence isnot sufficient to keep you for half a day."
"Is it not?" asked the young lady, with delightful simplicity. "What apity it is that we cannot live like fairies."
"My dear young lady," remarked Mr. Holdfast, taking her hand in his,"you sadly need a protector. Have you really any objection to lettingme hear the story of these bonds?"
She related it to him without hesitation. It was simple enough. Someyears ago, being already motherless, her father died, and left her inthe care of his sister, a married woman with a family. The orphan girlhad a guardian who, singular to say, she never saw. He lived in London,she in the country. The guardian, she understood from her father's lastwords, held in trust for her a sum of money, represented by bonds,which she would receive when she became twenty-one years of age. Inthe meantime she was to live with her aunt, who was to be paid fromthe money due from time to time for interest on the bonds. The paymentfor her board and lodging was forwarded regularly by the young lady'sguardian, and she looked forward impatiently to the time when she wouldbecome her own mistress. She was unhappy in the house of her aunt, whotreated her more like a dependent than a relative and a lady.
"I think," said Mrs. Holdfast to our Reporter, "that she wasdisappointed the money had not been left to her instead of me, andthat she would have been glad if I had died, so that she might obtainpossession of it as next of kin. It would not have benefited her, thebonds being of no value, for it was hardly likely she would have metwith such a friend as Mr. Holdfast proved to me--the best, the mostgenerous of men! And I have lost him! I have lost him!"
Bursts of grief such as this were frequent during the interview, whichwe are throwing into the form of a narrative, with no more licence, wehope, than we are entitled to use.
The story went on to its natural end. The young lady's position in thehouse to which her father confided her became almost unendurable, butshe was compelled to suffer in silence. A small allowance for pocketmoney was sent to her by her guardian, and the best part of this shesaved to defray the expenses to London and to enable her to live fora while; for she was resolved to leave her aunt on the very day shereached the age of twenty-one.
"Do I look older?" she asked of our Reporter.
He replied, with truth and gallantry, that he would have scarcely takenher for that.
"You flatter me," she said, with a sad smile; "I feel as if I werefifty. This dreadful blow has made an old woman of me!"
To conclude the story she related to Mr. Holdfast, the day before shewas twenty-one she received a packet from her guardian in London, and aletter saying that he was going abroad, to America she believed, perhapsnever to return, and that he completed the trust imposed upon him byher father by sending her her little fortune. It was contained in thepacket, and consisted of the United States bonds which had that day beendeclared to be forgeries. The departure of her guardian did not causeher to waver in her determination to leave her aunt's home the momentshe was entitled to do so. Her life had been completely wretched andunhappy, and her only desire was to place a long distance betweenherself and her cruel relative, so that the woman could not harass her.The day arrived, and with a light heart, with her fortune in her pocket,Lydia Wilson, without even wishing her aunt good-bye or giving theslightest clue as to the direction of her flight, left her home, andtook a railway ticket to London. "Not all the way to London first,"said the young lady; "I broke the journey half-way, so that if my auntfollowed me, she would have the greater difficulty in discovering me."The young lady arrived in London, and took a modest lodging in whatshe believed to be a respectable part of the City. When she met Mr.Holdfast, she had been in London five weeks, and the little money shehad saved was gone, with the exception of three shillings and sixpence.Then she fell back upon the bonds, and considered herself as rich as aprincess.
"But even this money," said Mr. Holdfast to her, "would not last forever."
"O, yes, it would," insisted the young lady; "I would have made it lastfor ever!"
What was to be done with so impracticable and charming a creature, witha young lady, utterly alone and without resources, and whose tastes, asshe herself admits, were always of an expensive kind?
Mr. Holdfast saw the danger which beset her, and determined to shieldher from harm. To have warned her of the pitfalls and traps with whichsuch a city as London is dotted would have been next to useless. To suchan innocent mind as hers, the warning itself would have seemed like atrap to snare the woman it was intended to save.
"Have you any objection," said Mr. Holdfast, when the young lady's storywas finished, "to my endeavouring to find the guardian who has wrongedyou? America is now a near land, and I could enlist the services of menwho would not fail to track the scoundrel."
But to this proposition the young lady would not consent. The bondsmight have been given to her guardian by her dead father. In that case,the honour of a beloved parent might be called into question. Anythingin preference to that; poverty, privation, perhaps an early death! Mr.Holdfast was touched to his inmost soul by the pathos of this situation.
"I will keep the bonds," he said, "and shall insist upon your acceptingthe offer of my friendship."
"Promise me, then," said the young lady, conquered by his earnestnessand undoubted honesty of intention, "that you will take no steps tocompromise the honoured name of my dear father. Promise me that you willnot show the bonds to strangers."
"No eye but mine shall see them," said Mr. Holdfast, opening his safeand depositing the prized securities in a secret drawer. "And now,"he continued, "you bank with me, and you draw from me fifty pounds,represented by eight five-pound notes and ten sovereigns in gold. Herethey are. Count them. No? Very well. Count them when you get home, andtake great care of them. You little know the roguery of human nature.There's not a day that you cannot read in the London papers accounts ofladies having their pockets picked and their purses stolen. Let me seeyour purse. Why, it is a fairy purse! You cannot get half of this moneyinto it. My dear young lady, we _cannot_ live like the fairies. Humancreatures are bound to be, to some small extent, practical. Take mypurse--it is utterly unfit for your delicate hands, but it will answerits present purpose. See. I pack the money safely in it; take it homeand put it in a place of safety."
"How can I repay you?" asked the young lady, impressed no less by thisgentleman's generosity than by his wonderful kindness of manner.
"By saying we are friends," he replied, "and by promising to come to seeme soon again."
"Of course, I must do that," she said, gaily, "to see that my bankerdoes not run away."
The next thing he asked for was her address, but she was not inclined,at first, to give it to him; he appreciated the reason for herdisinclination, and said that he had no intention of calling upon her,and that he wanted the address to use only in the event of its beingnecessary to write to her.
"I can trust you," she said, and complied with his wish.
To his surprise and gratification the young lady, of her own accord,paid him a visit on the following day. She entered his office with asmiling face, causing, no doubt, quite a flutter in the hearts of Mr.Holdfast's clerks and bookkeepers. It is not often so fair a vision isseen in a London's merchant's place of business.
From th
e young lady's appearance Mr. Holdfast was led to believe thatshe had news of a joyful nature to communicate, and he was thereforevery much astonished when she said, in the pleasantest manner:
"I have lost your purse."
"With the money in it?" he inquired, his tone expressing hisastonishment.
"Yes, I am sorry to say," she replied, laughing at his consternation,"with the money in it. I did not like to come back yesterday, for fearyou would scold me."
"You lost it yesterday, then?"
"Yes, within an hour of my leaving your office."
"How on earth did it happen?"
"In the simplest manner possible. You were quite right, Mr. Holdfast, insaying that I did not know the roguery of human nature. I was standingat a cake shop, looking in at the window--I am so fond of cakes!--andtwo little girls and a woman were standing by my side. The children weretalking--they would like this cake, they would like that--and such amany round O's fell from their lips that I could not help being amused.Poor little things! They looked very hungry, and I quite pitied them.Some one tapped my left shoulder, and I turned round to see who itwas--when, would you believe it?--your purse, which was in my righthand, was snatched from me like lightning. And the extraordinary part ofthe affair is, that I saw no one behind me, nor any person except thewoman and two children within yards of me!"
She related the particulars of the robbery as though it had not happenedto her and did not affect her, but some stranger who had plenty ofmoney, and would not feel the loss.
"What did you do?" asked Mr. Holdfast.
"I laughed. I couldn't help it--it was so clever! Of course I lookedabout me, but that did not bring back your purse. Then I took the poorchildren into the cake shop, and treated them to cakes, and had somemyself, and gave them what money remained of my three shillings andsixpence, and sent them home quite happy."
"And left yourself without a penny?" said Mr. Holdfast, almost overcomewith delight, as he afterwards told her, at her childish innocence,simplicity and kindness.
"Yes," she replied, overjoyed that he did not scold her, "I left myselfwithout a penny."
"You will have to buy me another purse," he said.
The young lady exhibited her own little fairy porte-monnaie, and turnedit out--there was not a sixpence in it. "You must give me some money todo it with," she said.
"You are not fit to be trusted with money," he said; "I really ampuzzled what to do with you."
Upon this she burst into tears; her helpless position, and his goodnessand tenderness, overcame her.
"If you cry like that," he said softly, "I shall never forgive myself."
Her depression vanished; her sunny look returned; and they conversedtogether thereafter as though they had known each other for years--asthough he had been her father's friend, and had nursed her on his kneewhen she was a child. Needless to say, he made matters right with thissimple, innocent, confiding young lady, and that from that time thereexisted between them a bond which was destined to ripen into the closestand most binding tie which man and woman can contract. At first shelooked upon him as her second father, but insensibly there dawned uponher soul a love as sweet and strong as if he had been a twenty yearsyounger man than he was. When he asked her to be his wife, tellingher that he most truly loved her, that he would devote himself to herand make her the happiest woman in the world, she raised a thousandobjections.
"One objection would be sufficient," he said, sadly, "if you cannotforget it. My age."
She declared, indeed, that that was not an obstacle--that she looked upto him as she could to no other man--that he was the noblest being whohad ever crossed her path of life, and that she could never, neverforget him. Mr. Holdfast urged her then to explain to him in plain termsthe precise nature of her objections.
"I can make you happy," he said.
"You could make any woman happy," she replied.
"And I should be the happiest man--you would make me so."
"I would try," she replied, softly.
"Then tell me why you raise cruel obstacles in the way of our happiness.I will marry you by force if you are not candid with me."
"You know nothing of my family," she said; "my parents are dead, and thefew relatives I have I would not allow to darken the threshold of yourdoor."
"Nor shall they. You shall be the mistress and the master of my house,and I will be your slave."
"For shame to talk in that way to a foolish girl like me--to a girl whois almost nameless, and who has not a shilling to her fortune!"
"Have I not more than enough? Do you wish to make me believe that you donot understand my character?"
"No; I do understand it, and if you were poor like me, or I were richlike you-- But even then there would be an obstacle hard to surmount.Your son is but a few years older than myself--he might be my brother.I should be ashamed to look him in the face. He would say I married youfor your money. Before the wedding day, were he to say a word to me,were he to give one look, to touch my pride, I would run away, and youwould never, never find me. Ah! let us say good-bye--let us shake handsand part! It is best so. Then I shall never have anything to reproachmyself with. Then I should not be made to suffer from the remarks ofenvious people that I tricked you into a marriage with a penniless,friendless girl!"
"As God is my judge," he cried, "you shall be my wife, and no otherman's! I will not let you escape me! And to make matters sure, we willgive neither my son--who would bring my name to shame--nor enviouspeople the power to say a word to hurt your feelings. We will be marriedprivately, by the registrar. Leave all to me. I look upon you as my wifefrom this day. Place your hand in mine, and say you will marry me, or Iwill never more believe in woman's truth."
His impetuosity carried the day--he spoke with the fire of a young manof twenty-five. She placed her hand in his, and said,
"I am yours."
Three weeks afterwards, Lydia Wilson became Mr. Holdfast's wife, and hisson Frederick was in ignorance that he had married again. The date ofthe marriage was exactly two years to the day before the fatal nightupon which Mr. Holdfast was found murdered in No. 119 Great PorterSquare.
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