CHAPTER XLIII.
MR. HOLDFAST'S DIARY.
Thursday, _3rd July_.--No news of my son. I see by this morning's papersthat another vessel has arrived at Liverpool from New York. It left fourdays after the "Germanic," so that, up to that time, Frederick could nothave called at the hotel for the letter and money waiting there forhim. I am growing seriously uneasy. He could not have mistaken my desirefor a reconciliation. What can have become of him? He was in poorcircumstances. Was he absolutely in want? If he is dead, his death liesat my door. A heavy lot is mine. I shall never again know peace of minduntil I and Frederick clasp hands once more in love and friendship.
Perhaps the secret enemy in New York who worked against me--watching mymovements and in some mysterious way becoming acquainted with every stepI took--was working also against my son, watching him and misdirectinghim, as I was misdirected. It is not an unlikely supposition. As I wassent in one direction in search of him, he may have been sent in anotherin search of me. Thus have we been kept apart from each other. It iscertain that, shortly after he called at my hotel, he must have left NewYork. My hope is, that nothing worse than poverty has befallen him. I amappalled at the thought that he may have been made to disappear, and maynever more be heard of. It has been the fate of many a poor fellow inthat fevered city. I pray to God that my fears may not prove true.
The people in this house are very quiet. They do not appear to entertainthe slightest curiosity concerning me. I walk in and out as few timesas possible, and I have not met one of the lodgers face to face. A manmight live here for years in perfect obscurity, and die and be buriedwithout being recognised, if he pleased. There is no lonelier city inthe world than London.
What is my wife doing? Taking counsel of her accomplice, Pelham, anddebating with him whether she shall accept the terms I have offered her.She _must_ accept them; she has no alternative but the alternative ofpoverty and exposure. A life of pleasure is before her; it is all shelives for, and the income she will receive from me will secure it.But should she refuse? No, she will not refuse. With such a cool,calculating villain as Pelham to counsel her, the risk of a publicexposure is small.
* * * * *
_Friday, 4th July._--The quietest of days. Since Wednesday I have notexchanged a word with a human being. No one takes the slightest noticeof me as I walk in and out. Still no news of my son. To-morrow my wifewill be here, and there will be an end to my state of inaction.
* * * * *
_Saturday, 5th July._--The second interview with my wife hasterminated. She could have had no intention of putting me on my guard,but she has done so, and on Monday I shall take a step which willprevent injustice being done to my son, in case he is alive.
My wife came into my room, as on the last occasion, closely veiled, andwith spirits as animated.
"My love," she said, removing her hat and cloak, and throwing them onthe bed, "not a soul saw me. The servant girl, with her face as black ascoal, opened the door, and asked what I wanted. 'The gentleman on thefirst floor,' I said, and pushed past her. And do you know I took theprecaution to disguise my voice. She wouldn't recognise me if she heardme speak in my natural voice. I did this for your sake, my dear--you areso anxious for secrecy. Am I not considerate? I don't mind being seenand known, for I have nothing to conceal, but I must obey you. And howhave you been all this time? Well, I hope. How foolish you are to remaincooped up in this miserable house when you have a comfortable homewaiting for you! I have expected you--upon my word I have; and your roomis ready for you, with a nice fire always burning, and your slippers,placed right and left, just by your arm-chair. O, I know what a wife'sduty is. Let me prevail upon you. Come home with me now. I will notreproach you--indeed I will not. I will be just as faithful and lovingas I have ever been."
She paused for my answer.
"You are wasting time," I said. "You know well that I shall never againenter my house while you are there!"
"My dear," she said, tapping my arm lightly with a pearl fan I had givenher, "you cannot entirely deceive me. I have been thinking a great deal.It is my belief you are a Don Juan. I had my suspicions when you firstmade love to me--an old gentleman like you falling in love with a girllike me, because I have a pretty face, and bright eyes, and a lovelymouth. You were fond of kissing it once--O, you men, you men! Willartless women ever be a match for you? I am afraid never, you speak sosoftly, and promise so much. Yes, I have been thinking a great deal, andI know all about it now. I know why you have been absent so long; I knowwhy you come unexpectedly to London, and hide yourself as you are doing;I know why you will not enter your house while I am there."
She paused again, and half sullenly, half gaily, gave me to understandthat she expected me to challenge her knowledge.
"It is of no interest to me," I said, "but it may bring us nearer to ourreal business if I ask you for information on these points."
"Why," she said, with an impudent laugh, "there is another lady in thecase, of course, who is to step into my shoes. It is useless denying it.Old men are not to be trusted. Come, my dear, make a clean breast of it.I won't scold you more than I can help. It is quite natural, though. Ihave my feelings as a woman, and I warn your new fancy to keep out of mypath. You must have been a sad rake when you were young--almost as badas your son, who made love to me in the most shameful manner; to me, hissecond mother."
I scorned to pursue the subject. Wilful, wicked, sinful and cunning, asshe was, I felt that to a certain extent it would be as well to let herhave her way with her tongue.
"When you have fully relieved your mind," I said coldly, "I am ready toenter into the business matter which brings us together."
But she had not yet done.
"Fie!" she exclaimed. "Business--business--business! How often are yougoing to use that word? Is love a business, then? You can tell me, foryou must have had hundreds of sad adventures. I have had very few asyet, but there is time for plenty more. My dear, I positively refuse toenter into our special little affair until you assure me there is noother lady in the case."
Compelled to reply, I said, "There is none."
She mocked me with a deep sigh, saying, "You have taken a weight off myheart," and then in a brisk tone, "And now, my dear, we will go intomatters." She drew her chair close to the table, and produced a daintylittle pocket-book, in which she consulted some slips of paper, a fewof them covered with figures. "You offer me," she said, "twelve hundredpounds a year, upon conditions which will cover me with disgrace, andmake people point at me. Is that correct?"
"Not quite," I replied. "You have omitted that you are to live out ofEngland in any name you choose except the name of Holdfast. Your newacquaintances will know nothing of your past life."
"It will be a miracle if it is hidden from them," she said, betraying amethod in her speech which proved that she had carefully rehearsed whatshe came prepared to say. "I do not intend to live in a desert. If I amdriven by your cruelty from the country I love, and where, with money, alady may enjoy all the pleasures of life, I shall live on the Continent,in France, Italy, Germany, where I please, but certainly where I canbest enjoy myself. English people travel everywhere, and I shall be sureto drop across old acquaintances, or, at least, people who know me atsight. My face is too pretty to be forgotten. Perhaps you will admitthat I cannot lose myself entirely, and that Lydia Holdfast, by whatevername she goes, will always be Lydia Holdfast in the eyes of casual orclose acquaintances."
"I shall not relate my troubles to any one," I observed, as yet ignorantof her intention in adopting this line of argument, "nor need you, ifyou choose to preserve silence."
"Have you not already spoken of what has occurred?" she asked, with akeen glance at me. "Have you not already selected confidants to whom youhave poured out false stories of your wrongs?"
"No man or woman in the world possesses my confidence. My griefs aresacred."
"How poetical! But although we shall not talk, oth
er people will. Menand women are so charitable! They don't like scandal, and it hurts themso much to rob even the most innocent woman of her character! No, no, mylove; I know the world better than to believe that. Not that I have evertaken away a character, man or woman's, but then everybody is not likeme, artless, and simple, and inexperienced!" (No words of mine canconvey an idea of the impudent manner in which she thus lauded herself,knowing the while and knowing that I knew, that she was speaking inmockery. If she desired to irritate me by this exhibition of effrontery,she failed. I preserved my composure throughout the entire scene. Shecontinued:) "So, my character would be completely taken away, and ladieswith whom I should wish to be on friendly terms would turn their backsupon me. I should be thrown into the company of women who would not beadmitted into a decent house, and of men whose only aim would be topass their time agreeably and play upon my feelings. My dear, I am fondof good society; I doat upon it; and it breaks my heart to think thatrespectability would shrug its respectable shoulders at me. It is rightthat I should put it plainly to you, is it not?"
"Go on," I said, "you have more to say, and have come prepared."
"Oh, yes, I am prepared, you see. I am obliged to consult my notes, mypoor little head is so weak. You remember how I used to suffer with it,and how often you bathed it for me. Gold would not have been too goodfor me to eat then, would it? A look would bring you at my feet; youcould not do enough for me; and now, I daresay, you would like to giveme a dose of poison. What courage I must have to shut myself in herewith you alone, where nobody knows either of us, and where you mightmurder me, and run away without fear of discovery! It is the courage ofinnocence, my dear. Where did I leave off just now? O, about my beingdeprived of respectable society, and thrust into the company ofblackguards. And for this, and for giving up my beautiful home andposition and forfeiting my good name, you offer me twelve hundredpounds a year. And you, worth millions!"
"You mistake. My business is broken up, and I am not so rich as yousuppose."
"You are a miser, my dear. You are worth at least ten thousand a year. Ido not forget what you told me when you honoured me with your love andconfidence. At least ten thousand, and I am to accept twelve hundred.My darling husband, it is not enough. Wherever I live I shall requirean establishment. I have your daughter to bring up--the darlingestlittle thing you ever saw! You shall not see her now if I can preventit--casting shame upon her, as you have done, before she has learnt tosay Mama! I will do my duty by her--a mother's duty, and a father'sduty as well, and I will bring her up to hate you. If you live longenough you shall be made to feel it. And now, when she cannot speak forherself, I am to stand like a tame cat, and see her robbed! She is tobe made a beggar. Such a beautiful girl as she will have to go in rags,because the father who disowns her is a mean, stingy monster. I hope Ido not offend you, my dear, but the truth is the truth, and had best bespoken. Yes, she will be beautiful--but beauty and beggary---- Well, weknow what becomes of that partnership. She shall not be compelled tosell herself, as I did, to an old money-bag, with no heart, and youshall not cheat her and me of what is due to us. No, my dear, I stand upfor my child, as every mother should."
"Tell me," I said, "in as few words as possible, what it is you want."
"I shall use," she replied, "as many words as I please. You would liketo rob me of my tongue as well as of my rights. What is it I want? Anestablishment--money to provide a suitable home for your discardedchild."
"How much money."
"Three thousand pounds--not less."
"You shall have it; in addition to the annuity I have offered you."
"How generous you are! What a pity you were not a young man when youmet me first! We might really have got on very well together for a fewyears, until you were tired of me or I was of you. Three thousand poundswill be little enough to furnish with, but I must manage. Then there'sthe house; and living abroad is so expensive. It is like going intoexile--the same as those dear French refugees. It will cost at leastthree thousand a year; I can't see how it is to be done for less. Andto wait every quarter for the cheque to pay servants, and butchers, andbakers, and dressmakers. No, my dear, it would be too harassing--itwould be the death of me. So I have consulted a friend--a ladyfriend--you don't believe me? You think it's a gentleman friend. Well,my dear, I shall not quarrel with you on that point. Say a gentlemanfriend, then; I'm not particular. He has advised me not to place anydependence on a man who has treated me as you have done. He is right. Iwill not place dependence on you. I will not take your word, and I willnot be satisfied with a paper drawn up by a lawyer of your choosing.Lawyers are rogues; they will do anything for money, and you are richenough to buy them. No, my darling husband, it must be a sum of moneydown, and then we will say good bye, and agree never to kiss and befriends. It would be as if we had never known each other."
Desirous to ascertain how far her cupidity had led her, or rather theextent of the demand her associate Pelham had instructed her to make,I pressed her to be quite explicit. With some show of timidity--forthe stake she was playing for was enormous--she wrote upon a leaf inher pocket-book the sum for which she would agree to release me. Itwas fifty thousand pounds. I tore the leaf in two and threw it intothe fireplace, with the simple word, "Impossible."
"Why impossible?" she asked, biting her lips, with a wicked look at me.
"It is more than half my fortune," I replied.
"I am entitled to more than half," she retorted. "I shall have yourchild to educate and provide for, and a woman's expenses are largerthan a man's. Dress, amusements, nurses, governesses--there are athousand things to pay for which you would never dream of. What I askfor is really moderate. You are lucky you have not to deal with somewomen; they would not let you off so easily. Let me persuade you, mydear. Put an end to all this worry, give me a cheque, and let us saygood-bye to each other."
"I shall put an end to it, if you compel me," I said, firmly, "in themanner I have determined upon, in the event of your refusal to listen toreason. In right and justice you are not entitled to a shilling; yourshameful life should properly meet its just punishment, and would, atthe hands of a man less weak--I will not say less merciful--than I.The terms I have offered you are foolishly liberal, but I will adhereto them, and am ready to bind myself to them, unless you drive me toanother course. I will give you the three thousand pounds you ask forto set up and furnish a house, and I shall require proof that the moneyis so expended. But as for any other large sum of money down, as youexpress it, in lieu of the annuity I offer you, or any increase of thatannuity, receive from me the distinct assurance that under no possiblecircumstances shall I consent to it. If I could find plainer andstronger words to impress this upon you, I would do so, but I think youunderstand me. The friend who is advising you is advising you to yourinjury, and is mistaken in me. There is a point beyond which it isdangerous to drive me, and if I once turn, you will find yourself abeggar."
"You are growing bold, my love," she said.
"You are mistaken again," I said. "If I were bold, I should order youimmediately from this room. If I were bold, I should set the lawyers atwork without an hour's delay. But recrimination is useless, and can leadto no good result. Why do you conduct yourself like an actress when wetwo are alone, and there are no witnesses to be misled or deceived? Weknow each other. No argument could convince you that I am anything buta weak, old man, who in an unhappy moment entrusted his honour to onewho brought shame and misery to his heart and home, or could convinceme that you are a good and virtuous woman. Why, then, should we prolongthis interview? I made you a most generous offer. You asked me for threedays to consider it, and now you come, and for some purpose--not a wiseone, I judge--introduce propositions to which you can never induce me toagree."
"I am fighting for my rights," she said sullenly, and I knew that I hadmade an impression upon her. "You have ruined my life; I might havemarried a richer man than you. Why did you spoil my chances? It would bea million times better for me if you were dead, for th
en your propertywould all be mine, instead of the miserable allowance you offer me."
She suddenly paused, conscious that she had made a mistake. It is likelythat she was apprised of her error by an expression in my face producedby her words, for it is a fact that up to this moment I had forgottenthat I had made a Will by which everything I possessed was left to her,solely and unconditionally. I had made this Will in haste, after I hadbroken with my son, who at that time was my heir. It was a proof of myconfidence in the woman who betrayed me--one of those foolish acts ofwhich angry men are often guilty, done in haste, to be repented of inleisure unless timefully atoned for. Thank God there is time to repairthis error!
I gave no expression to my thoughts; it was necessary to be carefulin the presence of such a woman as my wife. But so anxious was sheto assure herself of the exact position in which she stood that sheover-reached herself in her cunning.
"Have you made another Will?" she asked.
"No," I replied. "There is time before me; I am not yet quitebroken-down."
She breathed more freely, and said meekly, "Yes, there is time beforeyou in which you can dispossess me and my child. When this dreadfuldispute is over, I shall have no further claim upon you. Are you reallydetermined not to be a little more generous to me? Will you not give mefifteen hundred a year?"
I was not to be deceived by her mock humility; heaven only knows whatwas hidden beneath it.
"I am not to be moved," I said, "and there must be an end at once toprevarication. Your answer must be 'yes,' or 'no,' and it must be givenquickly."
"To-day?" she asked.
"If not to-day, at least within the next three or four days," I replied."I will no longer be kept in a state of suspense."
She looked at me with a sad expression, which might have deceivedanother man.
"On Wednesday, then," she said, "at two o'clock, I will give you myfinal answer. It must be 'Yes,' of course, for you are strong and I amweak, but I will wait till then. I am bound to consult my friend beforeI commit myself."
All her gaiety appeared to have deserted her. In silence she put on herhat and shawl, and bade me good morning, saying she would come at twoo'clock on Wednesday.
I mistrust her; I will delay no longer. On Monday I will draw outanother Will, making my son my heir, and in case of his not beingalive--which God forbid!--leaving my money to charitable purposes.
It is a relief to reflect that my anxiety regarding my wife will soon beat an end. She cannot but consent to my proposal, and then I shall befree from her for ever. Would to God I had never seen her!
* * * * *
_Sunday, 6th July._--This has been truly a Sabbath Day, a day of prayer,to me, and has been passed in contemplation of my past life, and insupplications for the future. If a man could but see the consequences ofhis errors before he was committed to them, how much misery to himself,how much injustice to others, would be avoided! It is almost incrediblethat, blessed in the memory of a wife with a pure heart and mind, Ishould have been led into a second marriage with such a woman as LydiaWilson. The fault was more mine than hers. She had led a life of shameand duplicity, and it was not to be expected that the simple forming ofan acquaintanceship with me would change her character. I should havebeen wiser, or at least more prudent. I ought certainly to have made aninquiry into the truth or falsehood of the story she told me, or I mighthave considered that the union of a man of my age with a woman of herscould not be a happy one. It is too late now to repent of an act whichhas brought its own just and bitter punishment. The only reparation Ican make is to endeavour to repair the evil consequences which haveensued. The one aim of my life, after the settlement with my wife isaccomplished, will be to find my son. I will advertise for him in theEnglish and American newspapers, and this surely will bring me news ofhim. But it may not be necessary; he may be with me any time this week.If a father's prayers could bring him to my side he would be here atthis moment.
* * * * *
_Monday, 7th July._--I have been employed during a great part of the dayin preparing and writing a new Will. Not wishing to consult a lawyer andso to make known my presence in London, and fearful also of delay, Ipurchased at a stationer's shop, at some distance from Great PorterSquare, printed forms of Wills from which I drew out a testamentarydisposition of my property. This task occupied me until four o'clockin the afternoon, and the next task was to obtain witnesses to mysignature. These could have been obtained in the house, but if I hadattempted it I should have destroyed my incognito. I went to the shopof the stationer of whom I purchased the printed forms, and I returnedthem to him, and made some small purchases, to the amount of a coupleof sovereigns. I then asked the shopkeeper whether he would have anyobjection to witnessing my signature to a Will, and to allowing anassistant who was serving in the shop also to witness it. He consented,and I signed without giving him a clear opportunity of distinguishing myname; the names of the witnesses followed, and the Will was complete. Inpayment of the service rendered to me I left in the man's shop the goodsI had bought and paid for; I had no use for them.
The Will is before me now, and I have read it carefully over. Everythingappears to be stated in proper legal form, and I have no doubt that itsets my last Will completely aside. What I have done myself without theaid of lawyers has been simply a measure of precaution for the next fewdays. Wednesday, I hope, will be the last day of my enforced retirement.
* * * * *
_Wednesday, 8th July._--It is now four o'clock. My wife entered my roomat one o'clock, an hour before that appointed for our meeting. I didnot hear her step on the stairs or in the passage, and not expecting herI was looking over the Will I made yesterday and the pages of the diaryI have kept since I became a lodger in this house. As she entered,suddenly and unexpectedly, I threw a newspaper over my writing, notwishing to excite her suspicions or to arouse her curiosity; but, as Isoon discovered, I was not successful. She was in her usual gay mood,and came in with smiles and bright looks.
"Well, my dear," she said, "here I am, punctual to the minute."
"You are an hour too early," I replied, "our appointment was for twoo'clock."
"One o'clock, my dear," she said, correcting me.
"It is immaterial," I said, "and if it bring our business to a speedierconclusion, the mistake of an hour will be agreeable to me."
She nodded pleasantly, and, as in our previous interviews, took off herhat and mantle, and placed them aside.
"You have been busy," she said, pointing to the newspaper which coveredmy papers. "Are you writing a book?" I did not answer her, and shecontinued, still preserving her light tone. "Make me your heroine, mylove, but do not be too hard to me. Say something good of me if you can.You may say that, after all, I showed my good sense, and agreed to yourproposals."
"Am I to accept this as an acquiescence in the arrangement I haveproposed?"
"Yes, my dear; I have grown sensible. I give in to all your terms. Iwill go away from England, and will never, never return. I will give upthe name of Holdfast; I will even forget the name of Lydia, and will goout into the world a new woman. A better one, I hope. There is but onething I insist upon. Now that I have made up my mind, and that nothingcan alter it--nothing, my dear; I would not live with you again if youwere to entreat me on your knees--I want this business matter settled atonce, this very day."
"How can that be done?" I asked.
"Easily," she replied. "Draw up a paper for me to sign, and another foryou to sign. I will take them away with me, and will show them to mylawyer. Yes, my love, I have consulted a lawyer, and he has advised meto agree to all you propose. If he says the papers are properly drawnout, I will come again to-night, at ten o'clock, and will bring mylawyer with me, to see that they are regularly signed. I will keepmy agreement, and you will keep yours, and to-morrow morning I willleave your house, and you can go home and take possession. Nobody butourselves will be the wiser, and you
r secret and mine will never beknown to the world."
"I am no lawyer," I said; "I do not know whether I can draw up theagreement in legal form."
"Try, my love," she said; "you are fond of writing, and have had greatexperience. You can put anything you please in the paper you wish me tosign. You can make it, if you like, a confession from me that I havebeen a faithless wife, and that my child is not yours. I will sign it.That will suit you, will it not? And it will give you such a hold uponme that, if I break my word, you can release yourself from me, withoutever paying me a shilling. That is fair, I am sure, and afterwards,if you are not satisfied with the agreements, your lawyer can draw upothers more binding on both of us. I am so sick of you, my love, thatnothing else will satisfy me but an immediate break between us. Do I notput myself entirely in your power? If you refuse now, I shall leave youto take any steps against me you choose."
I considered a few moments, and then consented. To go to law, to sue fora divorce, was a matter of months. The plan she proposed was all in myfavour, and it would leave me free to recommence immediately the searchfor my son. I would draw up such a paper as would bind her beyond hopeof appeal, and all danger of publicity would be avoided.
"Who is your lawyer?" I asked.
She produced a letter from a lawyer in Buckingham Palace Road replyingto certain points she had submitted to him. I was satisfied, and saidthat I would endeavour to draw up the agreements.
It was a work of time--of quite two hours--and while I was employed overthe papers she sat down before the piano in my room, which I had neveropened, and played the sweetest melodies with which she was familiar.She betrayed no impatience; only once did she rise from the piano,and disarranged the papers on the table, in pretended search of herhandkerchief.
"Quite an author," she remarked as her eyes fell upon the pages of mydiary, among which was my new Will.
Nothing of greater importance occurred. The agreements being ready, sheread them over slowly, and simply said:
"You have protected yourself, my love."
"I have stated the truth," I replied, "and your signature will verifyit."
She remained with me some short time after this, making frivolousremarks, to which I returned but brief answers. Then she left me, on theunderstanding that she would come to the house at ten o'clock to signthe papers, which she took with her.
On reflection, I think it will be wise even now to be on my guardagainst her. She saw the pages of my diary, and might have seen theWill. I will put them out of her reach. The room next to this is empty,and the door is unlocked. I will go and see if I can secrete themthere.... There is in that room, in an old-fashioned table, an emptydrawer which might easily escape observation. There is a small key inthe lock. I will deposit these pages at once in the drawer, where theywill be safe for a few hours.
My long agony is approaching its end. Impatiently I wait for the night.
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