Great Porter Square: A Mystery. v. 2

by B. L. Farjeon

  CHAPTER XXV.

  FREDERICK HOLDFAST'S STATEMENT (CONTINUED).

  I do not propose in this statement to refer to any incidents in SydneyCampbell's career which are not in some way connected with my own story.At a future time I will tell you more concerning him, and you will thenbe better able to do him justice. What I am about to narrate may tend tolower him in your eyes, and what follows may tend to lower me; but I ambound to speak the truth, without fear or favour. It is well, my dear,that to minds as pure as yours the veil is not removed from the liveseven of the men to whom is given a full measure of respect and love.They are scarcely ever worthy of the feelings they have inspired. Theyshow you only the fairer part of themselves; the grosser is hidden.The excuse that can be offered for them is that they are surrounded bydangerous temptations, and are not strong enough to set down pleasure'scup untasted, though shame and dishonour are mixed in it.

  A great social event was to take place. A ball was to be given in aidof a charity inaugurated by a Princess, and the intention being to makethis ball thoroughly exclusive and fashionable, a committee of ladieswas appointed to attend to the distribution of tickets. Although thetickets were set at a high price, they were sent out in the form ofinvitations, and each ticket bore the name of the lady or gentleman whowas considered worthy of admission. Extraordinary care was taken toprevent the introduction of any person upon whose reputation there wasthe slightest stain. Some few ladies and gentlemen of high standingapplied for privilege tickets for friends, and obtained them uponthe guarantee that they would only be used in favour of persons ofirreproachable character. Among those who succeeded in obtaining aprivilege ticket from the Committee was Sydney Campbell.

  I, with others of our set, was present at the ball. The Princess,assisted by a bevy of ladies of title, received the guests, who werepresented with much ceremony. A royal Prince honoured the assembly,which was one of the most brilliant I have attended. In the midst of thegaiety Sydney Campbell, accompanied by a lady, made his appearance. Theywere presented to the Princess, and passed into the ball room. I was notnear enough to hear the announcement of the names, and I was first madeaware of Sydney's presence by the remarks of persons standing aroundme. The beauty of the lady who accompanied Sydney had already excitedattention, and the men were speaking of her in terms of admiration.

  "Who is she?" was asked.

  "Miss Campbell," was the answer; "Sydney's sister."

  The reply came upon me as a surprise. Sydney and I were confidentialfriends, and were in the habit of speaking freely to each other. Notonly was I ignorant of his intention to attend the ball, but on theprevious day he had informed me that his family were on their way toNice. He had but one sister, whose portrait I had seen in his rooms.With some misgivings, I hastened after him to obtain a view of hiscompanion. She was young, beautiful, and most exquisitely dressed, andalthough she had been in the ball room but a very few minutes, hadalready become a centre of attraction. She bore not the slightestresemblance to Sydney's sister.

  I was oppressed by a feeling of uneasiness. With Sydney's daringand erratic moods I was well acquainted, but I felt that if in thisinstance he was playing a trick, it would go hard with him should it bediscovered. My desire was to speak to Sydney upon the subject, and if mysuspicions were correct, to give him a word of friendly advice. But thematter was a delicate one, and Sydney was quick to take offence and toresent an affront. I determined, therefore, to wait awhile, and observewhat was going on. I had upon my programme two or three engagements todance, and so much interested was I in Sydney's proceedings that I didnot add to them.

  Fully two hours elapsed before I obtained my opportunity to conversewith Sydney. Our eyes had met in the course of a dance in which we wereboth engaged, and we had exchanged smiles. In the meantime matters hadprogressed. Sydney's fair companion was the rage. The men begged for anintroduction, and surrounded her; on every side I heard them speaking ofher beauty and fascinating ways, and one said, in my hearing:

  "By gad! she is the most delightful creature I ever danced with."

  It was not the words, but the tone in which they were spoken, whichjarred upon my ears. It was such as the speaker would not have adoptedto a lady. My observation led me to another unpleasant impression.Sydney's fair companion appeared to be an utter stranger to the ladiespresent at the ball. Not only did they seem not to know her, but theyseemed to avoid her. After patient waiting, my opportunity came, andSydney and I were side by side.

  "At last!" he exclaimed. "I have been waiting to speak to you all theevening."

  "My case exactly," I rejoined. "Anything particular to communicate,Sydney?"

  "I hardly know," he said. "O, yes--there is something. How is it youhave not asked for an introduction to the most beautiful woman in theroom?"

  "To your sister?" I asked, in a meaning tone.

  "Yes," he replied with a light laugh, "to my sister."

  "She did not go to Nice, then," I said.

  "Who said she did not?" he asked, and instantly corrected himself. "Ah,I am forgetful. I remember now I told you my people were going there.Yes--they are in Nice by this time, no doubt."

  His eyes met mine; they sparkled with mischief, but in their light I sawan expression of mingled tenderness and defiance which puzzled me.

  "You have done a daring thing, Sydney," I said.

  "Is that unlike me?"

  "No; but in this case you may have overlooked certain considerations.Where is the young lady at the present moment?"

  He pointed to the head of the room.

  "There--dancing with the Prince. Come, old man, don't look so grave.She is as good as the best of them, and better than most. Do I not knowthem?--these smug matrons and affected damsels, who present themselvesto you as though they had been brought up on virtue and water, and whoare as free from taint of wickedness as Diana was when she popped uponEndymion unaware. Chaste Diana! What a parody! Pretty creatures, Fred,these modern ones--but sly, sir, devilish sly! Do I not know them, withtheir airs and affectations and false assumptions of superior virtue?That is it--assume it if you have it not--which I always thoughtdishonest, unmanly advice on Hamlet's part. But now and then--veryrarely, old man!--comes a nineteenth century Diogenes, in white tie andswallow-tail, who holds a magic mirror to pretended modesty's face, andsees beneath. What is the use of living, if one has not the courage ofhis opinions? And I have mine, and will stand by them--to the death! SoI tell you again, Fred, there is no lady in these rooms of whom she isnot the equal. If you want to understand what life really is, old man,you must get behind the scenes."

  "Can one man set the world right?" I asked.

  "He can do a man's work towards it, and if he shirk it when it presentsitself, let him rot in the gutter."

  I drew him from the room, for he was excited, and was attractingattention. When we were alone, I said,

  "Sydney, what impelled you to introduce a lady into this assembly undera false name?"

  "A woman's curiosity," he replied, "and a man's promise. It had to bedone, the promise being given. Fred, I exact no pledge from you. Wespeak as man to man, and I know you are not likely to fall away fromme. I hate the soft current in which fashion lolls, and simpers, andlies--it palls upon the taste, and I do not intend to become its slave.I choose the more dangerous haven--sweetly dangerous, Fred--in whichhonesty and innocence (allied, of course, with natural human desires andpromptings) find some sort of resting-place. It is a rocky haven, yousay, and timid feet are bleeding there; but the bold can tread the pathwith safety. If you could see what underlies the mask of mock modesty,as from a distance it views its higher nature, you would see a yearningto share in the danger and the pleasure which honest daring ensures."

  It is not in my power to recall the exact words spoken by SydneyCampbell at this and subsequent conversations; all I can do is toendeavour to convey to you an idea of the kind of man he was, so thatyou may the better comprehend what kind of a woman she was who held himin her toils. Sydney continued: />
  "She wished so much to be here to-night! She has no parents and nofamily; she is absolutely alone in the world--or would be, but for me.Wait, old man; you shall know more of her, and you will be satisfied.It happened in this way. I was gasconading, I suppose--talking inheroics--flinging my words to the winds, and making a fool of myselfgenerally. Then came up the subject of the ball. You know that the wholecity has been ringing with it for a month past, and that a thousandwomen are in despair because they could not obtain an introduction. Idilated upon it, scornfully perhaps. A Prince was to be here--a Princesstoo. 'And you are as good,' said I to her, 'as any Princess in thekingdom.' 'I hope I am,' she answered softly--she has a voice of music,Fred--'I hope I am, but I could not gain admission to the ball.' Ifired up. 'Do you wish to go?' 'Do I wish to go?' she echoed. 'To dancewith a Prince, perhaps! Am I a woman?' A field of adventure was openedup to me. 'You shall go,' I said. 'Is that a promise?' she askedeagerly. 'It is a promise,' I replied. After that there was but onething left for me to do--to fulfil my promise, at any risk, at anyhazard. I _have_ fulfilled it, and I am content. It is like stolenfruit, old man--that is what she said to me. A very human creature,Fred, and a child at heart. And Grace is dancing with a Prince, andeverybody is happy."

  "Child as she is," I remarked, "she must be possessed of great courageto venture thus into a den of lionesses."

  "You mistake her," said Sydney. "It is I who sustain her. She told meas much a few minutes since, and whispered that if I were not here shewould run away. A certain kind of courage she must possess, however;liken it to the courage of a modest and beautiful wild flower whichdares to hold up its head in the midst of its bolder and more showysisters."

  I saw that he was in love with her, and I hinted it to him. He repliedfrankly,

  "If I do not love her, love itself is a delusion."

  I asked him who she was, and he replied,

  "A daughter of Eve, and therefore the equal of a queen."

  This was the substance of our conversation, which lasted for abouthalf an hour, and at the end of it we entered the ballroom. During ourabsence a change had taken place in the aspect of affairs. I was not theonly person who had seen the portrait of Sydney's sister, and who failedto recognise its living presentment in the lady he had introduced. Gracewas dancing, and certain dowagers were watching her with suspiciouseyes. Sydney observed this, and laughingly ascribed it to jealousy.

  "If Grace were an ugly woman," he said, "they would not be up in armsagainst her. Grace is no match for these experienced tacticians; I willsoon change their frowns into smiles."

  It was no vain boast; the charm of his manner was very great, and fewpersons could resist it. Perhaps he recognised, with all his daring,the danger of an open scandal, and saw, further, that the lady whosechampion he was would be made to suffer in the unequal contest. To avertsuch a catastrophe he brought to bear all his tact and all his graceof manner with the leaders of fashion. He flattered and fooled them;he parried their artful questions; he danced and flirted with theirdaughters; and the consequence was that at four o'clock in the morninghe escorted his beautiful companion in triumph from the ball.

  The following evening Sydney came uninvited to my rooms, and asked me toaccompany him to Grace's house.

  "She intends to be angry with you," he said, "because you did not askher to dance last night."

  "She was well supplied with partners," I replied; "she could have hadthree for every dance, it appeared to me."

  I was curious to ascertain the real position of affairs, and Sydney andI rode to a pretty little cottage in the suburbs, which Grace occupied,with a duenna in the place of a mother.

  Now let me describe, as well as I can, in what relation Grace and myfriend, Sydney Campbell, stood to each other. And before doing so itis necessary, for the proper understanding of what will be presentlynarrated, that I should inform you that, as I knew this woman by noother name than Grace, she knew me by no other name than Frederick.

  I never understood exactly how their acquaintanceship commenced. Grace,Sydney told me, was companion to a lady in moderate circumstances, whotreated the girl more like an animal than a human being. Some quixoticadventure took Sydney to the house of this lady, and shortly afterwardsGrace left her situation, and found herself, friendless, upon theworld. Sydney stepped in, and out of the chivalry of his nature proposedthat he should take a house for her in the suburbs, where, with anelderly lady for a companion, she could live in comfort. She acceptedhis offer, and at the time of the ball they had known each other forbetween three and four months. In the eyes of the world, therefore,Grace was living under Sydney Campbell's protection. But, as surely asI am now writing plain truths in plain words, so surely am I convincedthat the intimacy between the two was perfectly innocent, and thatSydney treated and regarded Grace with such love and respect as he wouldhave bestowed on a beloved sister. It was not as a sister he loved her,but there was no guilt in their association. To believe this of most menwould have been difficult--to believe it of Sydney Campbell was easyenough to one who knew him as I knew him. None the less, however, wouldthe verdict of the world have been condemnatory of them. I pointed thisout to Sydney.

  "It matters little," he said. "I can be sufficiently happy under theban of those whose opinions I despise."

  "But it affects the lady," I said, "more deeply than it affects you."

  "Ignorance is bliss," he replied. "She is not likely to hear thecalumny. If any man or woman insults her, I shall know how to act."

  "You have thought of the future, Sydney," I said.

  "Scarcely," he said; "sufficient for the day is the good thereof. I loveher--she loves me--that is happiness enough for the present. One day weshall marry--that is certain. But there are obstacles in the way."

  "On whose side?" I asked.

  "On both. My obstacle is this: I could not marry, without a certainty ofbeing able to maintain her as a lady. I am dependent upon my father, andhe has his crotchets. I shall overcome them, but it will take time. I donot believe in love in a cottage for a man with tastes and habits suchas mine; and if my father were to turn his back upon me, I should bein a perplexing position. However, I have little doubt as to my beingable to guide our boat into safe waters. But there is an obstacle onGrace's side. I am about to impart a secret to you. Her life has beenmost unfortunate; she has been most cruelly served, and most cruellybetrayed. Would you believe that when she was sixteen years of age, shewas entrapped into a marriage with a scoundrel--entrapped by her ownfather, who is now dead? This husband, whom she hated, deserted her,and having fled to India, in consequence of serious involvements inthis country, died there. News of his death, placing it almost beyonda doubt, reached her, but she did not take the trouble to verify it,having resolved never again to marry and to entrust her life and futureinto another man's keeping. No wonder, poor child! But now that I havewon her love, and that in all honour only one course is open to us, ithas resolved itself into a necessity that an official certificate of hisdeath should be in our hands before we can link our lives together. Ihave but one more remark to make, and then, having confided in you asI have confided in no other man, we need never touch upon these topicsagain. It is that, having given this girl my love, and having won hers,no slander that human being can utter can touch her to her hurt in mymind or in my heart. You know me too well to suppose that I can be madeto swerve where I have placed my faith, and love, and trust--and theseare in her keeping."

  He was right. I knew him, as he said, too well to believe, or to be madeto believe, that human agency outside himself could shake his faith inher. Only the evidence of his own senses (and even of that he would makehimself sure in all its collateral bearings) could ever turn him againstthe woman to whom he gave all that was noblest and brightest in abright and noble nature. But soon after I became acquainted with her Idistrusted her. That which was hidden from him was plain to me. I sawclearly she was playing upon him, and loved him no more than we lovea tool that is useful to us. The knowledge m
ade my position as hisfriend, almost as his brother (for I loved him with a brother's love)very difficult to sustain. A painful and delicate duty was before me,and I resolved to perform it with as much wisdom as I could bring tomy aid. I had a cunning and clever mind to work against in the mindof this woman, and I played a cunning part. It was in the cause offriendship, as sacred to me as love. When the troubles which surroundyour life and mine, my dear, are at an end--when light is thrown uponthe terrible mystery which surrounds my father's death--when I canpresent myself once more to the world in the name which is rightlymine--when my father's murderer is brought to justice, and I am clearfrom suspicion--I shall prove to you that I am not only your lover,and, as I hope to be, your husband, but that I am your friend.Friendship and love combined are as much as we can hope for in thisworld or in the next.

  When Grace first occupied the cottage--I call it so, although really itwas a roomy house, surrounded by a beautiful garden--which Sydney tookfor her, she professed to be contented with the occasional visits of herbenefactor and lover. In speaking of her now I speak of her as I knowher, not as I suspected her to be during our early acquaintanceship. Shewas ignorant of the character of the man who had stepped forward to helpher in her distress, and time was required to gauge him and to developwhat plans she desired to work out. Therefore, for the first twomonths all went along smoothly. Then came the ball, and the excitementattending it. After a storm comes a calm, but Grace was not the kind ofwoman to be contented to pass her days without adventure. She had, asshe believed, probed her lover's nature to its uttermost depth, and withwinning cards in her hands she commenced to play her game. She said shewas dull and wanted company.

  "What kind of company?" said Sydney.

  "Any kind you please," she replied. "I know nobody. Your own friendswill be welcome to me."

  I was the first he introduced, and in a short time a dozen or so of ourset made her cottage a common place of resort. Men must have somethingto amuse themselves with, and she supplied it in the shape of cards.Night after night we assembled in her cottage, and drank, and smoked,and gambled. She was a charming hostess, and some paid her court in alight way. No harm came of it; she knew, or believed she knew, how farshe could go with such a man as Sydney, and none of his friends receivedencouragement of a nature which was likely to disturb him. Others besidemyself did not give their hostess credit for more virtue than shepossessed, but it was no business of theirs, and they did not interferebetween Sydney and his lady. So he was allowed to live for a time in hisfool's paradise. He was an inveterate gambler, and he could not resistcards, or dice, or any game of chance. Playing almost always with theodds against him, you will understand how it was that he lost, ninetimes out of ten.

  Among the frequenters of the cottage was a young man, a mere lad,who really was infatuated with his hostess, and was not sufficientlyexperienced to cut the strings of the net she threw around him. I willcall the young man Adolph; he lives, and I hope has grown wiser. Thetragedy of which he was a witness should have produced upon him animpression sufficiently strong to banish folly from his life, eventhough he lived to a hundred years. Sydney rather encouraged the passionof this lad for Grace. I knew that she told Sydney that he was like abrother who had died young, and that her statement was sufficient tomake him believe that her liking for the lad sprang from this cause.Therefore Adolph was privileged, and treated with the familiarity of abrother, and became the envied of those who, if they dared, would haveentered the lists with Sydney for the favour of their charming hostess.

  In our gambling tournaments we did not stop at cards and dice; roulettewas introduced, and very soon became the favourite game. One night,Adolph asked to be allowed to introduce a friend, a cousin, who happenedto be in the neighbourhood, and found time hang heavily on his hands.

  "A dozen if you like," said Sydney, heartily, tapping the lad'scheek--"if you can gain permission from our Queen."

  It was a habit with Sydney, when he referred to Grace in our company, tospeak of her as "Our Queen," and we often addressed her as "YourMajesty."

  "I am not sure," said Grace, "whether we shall allow strangers to beintroduced."

  She looked at Adolph; he coloured and stammered.

  "This gentleman is not a stranger; he is my cousin."

  "Do you vouch for him?" asked Grace, playfully.

  "Of course I do," replied the lad.

  "Can he afford to pay. If he loses, will you pay his losses, if hecannot?" asked the most experienced gambler in our set--a man whogenerally won.

  This time Adolph looked at Grace; she returned his look with a smile,which seemed to say, "Well? Do you not know your lesson?" But only byme was this smile properly understood.

  "I am answerable for him," cried Adolph.

  "Enough said!" exclaimed Sydney. "Tell your cousin to bring plenty ofmoney with him. I have lost a fortune, and must get it back from someone. Who will take the bank at roulette? I have a system which will winme at least a thou. to-night."

  But Sydney's system failed somehow, and instead of winning a thousand,he lost two.

  The next night Adolph's cousin was introduced. His name was Pelham. Icannot say what impression he produced upon others; I can only speak ofthe impression he produced upon me. I looked at him and said mentally,"This man is no gentleman;" and then again, "Of all the men I have evermet, this man is the one I would be the least disposed to trust." But hewas cordially welcomed, because he was Adolph's friend and cousin. Ourhostess paid him but slight attention, and this increased my suspicionof him.

  The following incidents occurred on this night. We were assembled roundthe roulette table. Mr. Pelham was the only one among us who was notbacking a colour, or a number, or _paire_ or _impaire_, or _manque_ or_passe_.

  "Do you not play?" I asked. I was sitting next to him.

  "I am trying to understand the game," he replied.

  "Have you never been in Monaco?" I enquired.

  "Never," he said.

  I explained the points in the game to him, but he did not appear to takeany interest in it.

  "What game do you play?" I asked.

  "Cribbage," he replied, "or ecarte, or all fours, or euchre, or poker.I have been in America."

  I proposed ecarte to him, and we sat down to a modest game. I offered toplay for high stakes; he declined; and at the end of an hour I had wonsome fifteen pounds of him. Then we rose from our table, and watchedthe roulette players; but I was more employed in watching him than theturning of the wheel. He threw an occasional sovereign down, almostchancing where it fell, and he lost with a good grace. Others werestaking their tens and fifties. Fifty was the limit; but he neverexceeded his sovereign.

  "It is enough to lose at a time," he said.

  In the course of the night I calculated that he had lost about fiftypounds. He was one of the first to leave, and he scarcely touched 'ourQueen's' hand as he bade her good night, and asked permission to comeagain. A permission graciously given.

  Now, the suspicion I had entertained towards him lessened when Iconsidered how he had conducted himself, and but for a chance remarkmade by Sydney, and the incidents that followed, I should have accusedmyself of injustice.

  "We approve of Mr. Pelham," said Sydney to Adolph; "have you any morecousins?"

  The lad with a doubtful expression in his face looked at Grace, and asit seemed to me, taking his cue from her, replied,

  "No more."

  "Put a little spirit in him," cried Sydney, clapping Adolph on theshoulder. "Tell him we can fill his pockets, or empty them. Faint heartnever won fair lady yet."

  I call this, Incident Number One.

  Again:

  We had all bidden our hostess good night. Sydney and I stood at thestreet door, lighting fresh cigars. Adolph had lingered behind.

  "One moment, Sydney," I said; "I must go and fetch that boy."

  I re-entered the house, softly and suddenly. Adolph and Grace werestanding at the end of the passage, in the dark.

  "Did I do
my lesson well?" I heard Adolph ask in a low tone.

  "Perfectly," said Grace, "and I owe you anything you ask for."

  "A kiss, then!" cried the lad, eagerly.

  The reward was given.

  "Adolph!" I cried; "we are waiting for you."

  Adolph came towards me, and Grace, darting into a room, appeared with alight in her hand. Adolph's face was scarlet; his eyes were moist andbright.

  "The foolish lad," said Grace to me, with perfect self-possession; "Igave him a kiss, and he blushes like a girl. Do you hear, Sydney?"

  "I hear," said Sydney with a gay laugh. "I am not jealous of Adolph.Good night, dear."

  I call this, Incident Number Two.

  Again:

  On our way home I asked Sydney if Grace had obtained the certificate ofthe death of her first husband. He replied that she had not. There wasno doubt that he was dead, but Circumlocution and Red-tapeism stoppedthe way.

  "We shall get it presently," he said, "and then our course will beclear."

  He spoke in an anxious tone. I suspected the cause. He was thinking ofhis losses at the gaming table, which by this time amounted to over tenthousand pounds. Every man among us held his I O U's.

  "Luck must turn, Fred," he said.

  "I hope it will!" I replied, "with all my heart."

  "And if it does not," he murmured, "I shall have Grace!"

  I pitied him, with all my heart; but I dared not undeceive him.

  [Decoration]