speak. I was only going to finish and say Claire Denville hastwo true friends here in this house; and as for me, here I am, ready tohelp you in any way, for I believe in you, my dear, in spite ofeverything that has been said, as being as good a girl as everbreathed."
"Heaven bless you!" exclaimed Claire, nestling to her; "you are a truefriend, and I will tell you all my trouble."
"That's right, my dear, so you shall, and two heads are better than one.Shall I help you?"
"Oh, yes, yes, Mrs Barclay, if you can. I am so helpless, so weak withthis new trouble, I don't know what to do."
"No; and you'll be driving yourself half crazy, my dear," whispered MrsBarclay. "Why, I know as well as can be what it is."
"You know, Mrs Barclay?"
"To be sure I do, my dear. Now, why not let me ask him here some day,and just talk the matter quietly over with him?"
"Yes, yes," cried Claire; "but he is so impetuous, and the situation isso horrible."
"Not a bit of it, my dear. Of course, he is impetuous. Enough, to makehim, hearing such things as he does; but just you let me get him heresome day and have a chat with him, and then you see him, and try andunderstand each other. Never mind about the money, my dear: be poor andhappy. Love's better than riches; and the happiness enjoyed by two goodpeople who really care for each other is--well, I don't want to besingle."
"Mrs Barclay! What do you mean?"
"Why, that with all his doubts and distances, Richard Linnell worshipsyou as much as you love him."
"Oh, hush, hush, hush!" cried Claire piteously. "Don't talk about that,Mrs Barclay. It is impossible."
"It isn't, my dear, and that's flat. You're being cruel to him, andmore cruel to your own dear self. Come, now, try and be advised."
"Mrs Barclay," cried Claire wildly, "you don't know. My trouble now isfar greater than anything about self;" and, clinging to the only friendshe seemed to have, she told her all.
Mrs Barclay sat with wide-open eyes to the very end, and then, in themidst of the terrible silence, she took out a violently-scentedpocket-handkerchief, and wiped the dew from her brow, as she saidsoftly:
"Oh, my gracious me!"
"It has driven me nearly mad," cried Claire, wringing her hands, "andwhile I stay here something terrible may have happened. I must go--Imust go."
"No, no; sit still, my dear," cried Mrs Barclay, drawing her back toher side, and speaking in a quick, businesslike way. "I was quiteknocked over by what you said. My poor, dear child! Is there to be noend to your troubles? But there, we mustn't talk nonsense, but actsensibly. This is like a smash--a sort of bankruptcy, only it's whatJo-si-ah would call social and not monetary. There, there, it's aterrible business, but I'm glad you've had the courage to tell me. Oh,my dear, I've always said to Jo-si-ah that she was a wicked little thingwho was getting you into trouble. But let that go. Now, then, what todo first? Your poor father don't know a word?"
"I have not dared to tell him."
"No, and you've been screening her, and taking care of that little one,and--dear--dear--what a world this is! Tut--tut--tut! I am doingnothing but talk. Now, look here, Claire; the first thing that strikesme is that she must be got away--right away--for the present."
"Yes, yes; but how?" cried Claire.
"Jo-si-ah shall settle that."
"Mr Barclay!" cried Claire in terror.
"To be sure, my dear. We want a strong man to act in a case like this.Your sister must be got away somewhere, and you must go with her. Youhad both better go to-night. No one shall know where you are butJo-si-ah and me, and you can take care of her until Jo-si-ah has toldyour father all about it."
"Yes," sighed Claire, as her companion's calm, businesslike mannerimpressed her.
"If we tell him first he will do no good, poor man, only be horriblyupset, and there'll be no end of scenes, and no business done."
Claire acquiesced with a look.
"Then Jo-si-ah can settle it all with your father and Mr Burnett, andthis Mr Gravani, what is to be done in a businesslike way. There,there, let me finish. The weak little thing has got herself into thisdreadful tangle, and what we have to do is to get her out the best waywe can. It's of no use to be sentimental and sit down and cry; we mustact like women."
Claire looked at her in admiration, astounded by her friend's calm,businesslike manner.
"Now, perhaps, my dear, my Jo-si-ah may upset all my plans by proposingsomething better; but, as far as I see it now, you had better gostraight off to your sister May--it will soon be dusk--and bring herhere. I'll be ready and waiting, and I'll go with you both to thecoach. You had better put on veils, and we'll go right away to London.It's the best place to hide, as my Jo-si-ah knows with the people whodon't pay him. Yes, that's best. I'll go with you."
"You will go with us, Mrs Barclay?"
"Of course, I shall, my dear, and stay with you till you're out of yourtrouble, and Jo-si-ah has finished the business. Did you think I was afine-weather friend?"
Claire could not speak; her kisses and clinging arms spoke her thanks.
"Yes, that's as far as I can see it, and we must be quick."
She rose to go to the bell.
"What are you going to do?" cried Claire, in alarm.
"Ring for Jo-si-ah, and to send our Joseph to book three seats for thecoach."
"But Mr Barclay? Must you tell him--now?" faltered Claire.
"Why, of course, my dear, or we may be too late. Do you know that someone else is evidently making plans?"
"What do you mean?" cried Claire excitedly.
"We know a great deal here, my dear. My husband has to keep an eye uponthe slippery people who borrow money of him; and there was a hintbrought here to-day that a certain gentleman was going to elope to-nightwith a certain lady, and the idea was that you were the lady. We knowit was Sir Harry Payne."
Claire caught at her friend's arm as she went on.
"But I said `No;' it is only a miserable scandal, based upon thatwretched business at your house. `It's Mrs Burnett,' I said, `if it'sanyone.' Claire, my dear, she is in this dreadful fix, and she is goingoff to-night with that fop to escape from it."
Claire's lips parted as she looked at the speaker in horror, realisingit all now, and reading May's excuse to gain time.
For a moment the deceit and cruelty of the act seemed too horrible; butshe was now thoroughly realising the nature of her sister, and was soagitated that she felt almost paralysed as she stood gazing straightbefore her.
"I cannot believe it, Mrs Barclay," she said at last. "It is tooterrible. My poor sister would never be so base."
"Go at once, my dear. Stand no nonsense with the little thing. I'llsettle it all with my Jo-si-ah. You bring her here."
Claire was white as ashes now, as she caught Mrs Barclay's hands andkissed them.
"No, no, my dear; not my hands. There, go, and heaven bless you. We'llhelp you through it, never fear."
She folded Claire in her arms for a moment, and then hurried with herdownstairs, and let her out.
"One moment, my dear," she whispered, detaining her, to thrust her pursein her hand. "Stop for nothing. Bring her here; drag her if she saysshe will not come. Say anything, but bring her here."
"Ah!" sighed Mrs Barclay, as she watched Claire disappear down thestreet, and then closed the door. "Now for Jo-si-ah."
Volume Three, Chapter V.
THE MASTER OF THE CEREMONIES IS STUNG.
Josiah Barclay was in his business room when his wife returned, pantingand wiping her eyes, and he gave her one of his grim looks.
"Well, old woman, I was right, wasn't I?"
"No, Jo-si-ah."
"Then you didn't get it all out of her?"
"Oh, yes, everything, dear. She told me all, and it is that wicked--wicked little woman, May."
She told him all that had passed, and he stood and stared at her,blowing out his cheeks, and then looking his hardest.
"Let me see," he said,
when she had done speaking. "May Burnett is, ofcourse, my own child by my first wife."
"Jo-si-ah! Why, you never had no first wife."
"Nonsense, woman."
"Nonsense, Jo-si-ah! Do you mean to tell me--now, how can you? Why,we've been married over thirty years, and that wicked little hussy isn'tabove twenty. How can you talk such stuff?"
"You set me going," he said grimly. "You talked as if May Burnett mustbe my own flesh and blood."
"I didn't, Jo-si-ah. What do you mean?"
"Why you want me to mix myself up in this miserable scandal over awretched, frivolous, heartless wench, spend my hard-earned money, andlet you go off on a sort of wild goose chase with her and ClaireDenville. I thought you had found out that she really was my own fleshand blood."
Mrs Barclay wiped her eyes, and indulged in one of her laughs--ablancmange sort of laugh--as she sat back in the chair vibrating andundulating all over, while her husband watched her with the mostuncompromising of aspects till she rose.
"What a man you are," she said at last. "But there, don't let's wastetime. You will help us, dear, won't you?"
"Us?"
"Yes; _us_, Josiah. Don't you think what I have proposed is the best?"
"Well, yes," he said slowly. "I do not think I could suggest anythingbetter."
"I _am_ glad," she said. "Then send Joseph at once, and take threeseats for London."
"You mean to go, then?"
"Yes, dear, of course."
"And what's to become of me?"
"You will stop and see Mr Burnett, and this Mr Gravani, and poor MrDenville, and settle the matter the best way you can."
"For May Burnett's sake?"
"No, dear: for mine and poor Claire Denville's; and look here, Jo-si-ah,you just beg her pardon, sir."
"If I do I'll be--"
"Hush! Stop, sir. I don't mean to her. Now, just you own that youhave misjudged her."
"Humph! Well, perhaps I have."
"That's right, dear; and you will do your best now, won't you?"
"I tell you what, woman; I've read about men being fooled by their wivesand turned round the thumb; but the way you turn me round beatseverything I ever did read."
"Yes," she said, nestling to his side. "I like turning you round mythumb, dear; and let's always go on to the end just the same, Jo-si-ah;and you'll let me try to do some good."
"Humph!" ejaculated Barclay, in his grimmest manner. "But, don't yousee, old lady, that this May Burnett is a worthless sort of baggage?"
"I can't see anything, dear, only that poor Claire Denville, whom I lovevery much, is in great trouble, and that we are wasting time."
"Wasting love, you mean," cried Barclay. "If you've got so much love tospare, why don't you pour it on my devoted head, to wash away some ofthe hate which people bestow upon me?"
"Jo-si-ah dear! Please."
"All right," he said grimly. "I'll do it, old lady. Let's see; thecoach goes at half-past eleven. You've plenty of time. I'll sendJoseph. But tell me, where are you going?"
"To the Bell, in Holborn, dear, for the first day. Then I shall takeapartments somewhere till it is all settled."
"But the expense, woman?"
"I've plenty of jewels, dear. Shall I sell something?"
"Yes, you'd better!" he said grimly. "There, I suppose you must do asyou like."
She nodded and kissed him affectionately, while he seemed to look lessfirm in the pleasant light shed by her eyes as he handed her the keys ofhis cash-box.
"Now then, dear," she said, "business. Bless us! Who's that?"
There was a sharp rolling knock at the door, and they stood listening.
"I hope we're not too late, dear," whispered Mrs Barclay excitedly.
"Denville's voice for a guinea," cried Barclay.
"Then you can tell him all, and you two can go and stop any attempt thesilly little woman may make to run away."
"Mr Denville, sir," said Joseph, ushering in the Master of theCeremonies, very pale and careworn under his smiling guise, as he mincedinto the room, hat in one hand, snuff-box in the other, and his canehanging by its silken cord and tassels from his wrist.
"My dear Mrs Barclay, your very humble servant. My dear Barclay,yours. It seems an age since we met."
"Oh, poor dear man!" sighed Mrs Barclay to herself. "He can't know aword."
She exchanged glances with Barclay, who gave her a nod.
"You will excuse me, Mr Denville," she said. "A little business toattend to. I'll come back and see you before you go."
"I should apologise," said Denville, smiling and bowing as he hastenedto open the door for her to pass out; and as he closed it he groaned ashe said to himself:
"She does not ask after my children."
"Sit down, Denville," said Barclay; "you've come to pay me some money,eh?"
"Well--er--the fact is--no, Barclay, not just at present. I must askyou to give me a little more time. Morton, my son, you see, is onlyjust launched. He is getting on, but at present I must ask a littleforbearance. Interest, of course, but you will wait a little longer?"
"Humph! Well, I suppose I must, and--come, Denville, out with it.What's the matter, man? Some fresh trouble?"
Denville had been playing uneasily with his snuff-box, and taking up andsetting down his hat, glancing nervously about the room. As Barclayspoke in this abrupt way to him, he started and stared wildly at thespeaker.
"Oh! nothing, nothing," he said, smiling. "I was only coming this way.Ha--ha--ha! my dear Barclay, you thought I wanted a littleaccommodation. No, no, not this time. The fact is, I understood thatmy daughter, Miss Denville, had come on here. I expected to find herwith Mrs Barclay--a lady I esteem--a lady of whom my daughter alwaysspeaks most warmly. Has she--er--has she called here this evening?"
"Miss Denville was here a short time since."
"And has gone?" said Denville nervously. "She--she--is coming backhere?"
"I think so. Yes, I believe my wife said she was; but, hang it,Denville, why don't you speak out, man? What's the matter? Perhaps Ican help you."
"Help me?" faltered the miserable man. "No; it is not a case wheremoney could assist me."
"Money, sir! I offered the help of a friend," said Barclay warmly."Come, speak out. You are in trouble."
Denville looked at him hesitatingly, but did not speak.
"I don't ask for your confidence," said Barclay, "but you have done memore than one good turn, Denville, and I want to help you if I can."
Still the old man hesitated; but at last he seemed to master hishesitation, and, catching the other's sleeve, he whispered:
"A scandalous place, my dear Barclay. I used to smile at these things,but of late my troubles have a good deal broken me down. I am changed.I know everybody, but I have no friends, and--there, I confess it, Icame to speak to your wife, to ask her advice and help, for at times Ifeel as if the kindly words and interest of some true woman would makemy load easier to bear."
"Nothing like a good friend," said Barclay gruffly.
"Yes--exactly. You'll pardon me, Barclay; you have been very kind, butyour manner does not invite confidence. I feel that I cannot speak toyou as I could wish."
"Try," said Barclay, taking his hand. "Come, you are in trouble aboutyour daughter."
"Yes," cried Denville quickly. "How did you know?"
"Never mind how I know. Now then, speak out, what do _you_ know?"
"Only that there is some fresh gossip afloat, mixing up my daughter'sname with that of one of the reckless fops of this place."
"Claire Denville's?"
"Yes, my dear sir. It is most cruel. These people do not think of theagony it causes those who love their children. I heard that my childhad come here--ah, here is Mrs Barclay back. My dear madam, I came tobear my daughter company home, to stay with her, and to show thesewretched scandal-mongers that there is no truth in the story that hasbeen put about."
"Have you t
old him, Jo-si-ah?"
"No, madam," cried Denville; "there was no need. Some cruel enemycontrived that I should hear of it--this wretched scandal. But you'llpardon me--the lies, the contemptible falsehoods of the miserable idlerswho find pleasure in such stories. My daughter Claire has been malignedbefore. She can bear it again, and by her sweet truthfulness live downall such falsities."
"But, Mr Denville!" cried Mrs Barclay.
"Hush, ma'am, pray. A father's feelings. You'll pardon me. We canscorn these wretched attacks. My child Claire is above them. I shalltake no notice; I wished, however, to be by her side. She will returnhere, you say?"
"Yes, yes, my dear good man," cried Mrs Barclay; "but you are blindingyourself to the truth."
"No, ma'am, you'll pardon me. My eyes
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