The Mysteries of London, Vol. II [Unabridged & Illustrated] (Valancourt Classics)

by George W. M. Reynolds

  “The Colonel did not make his appearance all day—nor for several days afterwards; and the answer to all inquiries was that he was indisposed. On the evening of the sixth day after the night of his losses, I received a message requesting me to visit him at his room. Thither I immediately repaired, taking his note of hand with me under the pleasing supposition that I was about to be paid the amount. When I entered his sitting-apartment, I was shocked to find him ghastly pale—the cadaverous expression of his countenance being enhanced by the six days’ beard which no razor had touched. He was sitting near the fire—for it was still early in Spring—wrapped in a dressing-gown. Pointing to a chair, he said in a mournful voice, ‘Anderson, you must think it strange that I have not yet settled the little memorandum which you hold; but the fact is I am totally dependant upon my father, and I wrote to him confessing my loss, and soliciting the means to defray it. There is his answer:’—and he tossed me a letter which, by the date, he had received that morning. I perused it, and found that his father gave a stern refusal to the colonel’s request. Mr. Beaumont stated that he had already paid his son’s debts too often, and had so many drains made upon him by his other children, that he was resolved not to encourage the colonel’s extravagances any farther. The letter was so positively worded that an appeal against its decision was evidently hopeless. ‘You see in what a position I am placed,’ continued the colonel, when I had returned the letter to him, ‘and the only alternative remaining for me is to sell my commission. This I will do as speedily as possible; and until that object can be accomplished, I must request your forbearance.’ Not for one moment did I hesitate how to act. ‘No,’ I exclaimed; ‘never shall it be said that I was the cause of your ruin;’ and I threw the note of hand into the fire.—He watched the paper until it was completely burnt, with the surprise of a man who could scarcely believe his own eyes; and at length, starting up, he embraced me as fervently as if I had just saved his life. He called me his saviour—his benefactor, and swore eternal friendship. We parted; and next day he appeared on parade, a little pale, but in better spirits than ever. I could not, however, avoid noticing that he encountered me with some degree of coolness and reserve, and that his manner at the mess table in the evening was distant and constrained towards me only. But the circumstance made little impression on me at the time.

  “A few days after this event the colonel obtained three months’ leave of absence; and during that period the major remained in command. He was a severe, but honourable and upright man, and he intimated his desire that the wine-parties should be discontinued. Myself and the other officers who were accustomed to play, took the hint, and no longer assembled for gaming purposes in our rooms; but we had supper-parties at one of the principal-taverns in the town, and the cards and dice were in as much request amongst us as ever.

  “At the expiration of the three months the colonel returned; and he took the first opportunity of signifying his approval of the major’s conduct in suppressing the wine-parties. This was, however, mere hypocrisy on his part, and because he did not dare encourage what an officer so near his own rank had disapproved of. His manner towards myself was more cold and distant than it was previously to his departure,—yet not so pointed in its frigidity as to authorise me to request an explanation. Besides, he was my commanding officer, and could treat me as he chose, short of proffering a direct insult.

  Time passed very rapidly away, and my father purchased me a lieutenancy in the same regiment, a vacancy occurring. I would gladly have exchanged into another corps, the coldness of the colonel towards me being a source of much mortification and annoyance—the more especially as it was so little deserved on my part. I however rejoiced at my promotion, and submitted so resignedly to Beaumont’s behaviour that he never had an opportunity of addressing me in the language of reprimand.

  “I was now nineteen, and had been in the army three years. During that period I had gambled incessantly, but with such success that I more than doubled my income by means of cards and dice. I was completely infatuated with play, and looked upon it alike as a source of profit and recreation. About this time I formed the acquaintance of a young lady, whose name was Julia Vandeleur. She resided with her mother, who was a widow, in a neat little dwelling about two miles from Portsmouth, on the verge of South-sea common. Her deceased husband had belonged to a family of French extraction, and after passing the greater portion of his life in a government office, had died suddenly, leaving his widow, however, in comfortable though by no means affluent circumstances. Julia, at the time when I was first introduced to her at a small party given by the principal banker of Portsmouth, was a charming girl of sixteen. Not absolutely beautiful, she was endowed with an amiability and cheerfulness of disposition which, combined with the most perfect artlessness and with a rare purity of soul, rendered her a being whom it was impossible to see without admiring. Well educated, accomplished, and intelligent, she was the pride of an excellent mother, whose own good conduct through life was recompensed by the irreproachable behaviour and tender affection of her interesting daughter. Need I say that I was almost immediately struck by the appearance and manners of the charming Julia Vandeleur?

  “I paid her a great deal of attention that evening, and called next day at her abode. To be brief, I soon became a constant visitor; and Mrs. Vandeleur did not discountenance my presence. Nor did her daughter manifest any repugnance towards me. The influence of that dear creature was then most salutary:—would that it had always continued so! For one year I never touched a card nor die, all my leisure time being passed at the cottage. To add to my happiness my father came down to Portsmouth to see me: he took apartments for a few weeks at the George Hotel; and I introduced him to Mrs. and Miss Vandeleur. Although Julia was no heiress, my father was too much attached to me to throw any obstacle in the way of my suit, and I was accepted as Miss Vandeleur’s intended husband. Oh! what joyous days were those—days of the most pure and unadulterated happiness!

  “It was settled that my father should purchase me a captaincy, and that the marriage should then take place. He accordingly returned to town to make the necessary exertions and arrangements for my promotion; and it was during his absence that my contemplated union reached the ears of Colonel Beaumont. I had kept my attachment and my engagement an entire secret from my brother officers, because I did not wish to introduce a set of profligate and dissipated men to the innocent girl who loved me, nor to her parent whom I respected. But that secret did transpire somehow or another; and Beaumont then found an opportunity of venting his spite upon me. He called upon Mrs. Vandeleur, sought a private interview with her, and declared that his conscience would not permit him to allow her to bestow her daughter, without due warning, upon a confirmed gamester. He then took his leave, having produced a most painful impression upon the mind of Mrs. Vandeleur. She did not, however, immediately speak to her daughter upon the subject; but when I called as usual in the evening, she took an opportunity to confer with me alone. She then calmly and sorrowfully stated the particulars of the colonel’s visit. I was confounded; and my manner confirmed the truth of his accusation. Mrs. Vandeleur implored me to urge my suit with her daughter no farther—to break off the engagement where it stood—and urged me, as a gentleman, to release Julia from her promise. I threw myself at her feet—confessed that I had been addicted to play—but swore in the most solemn manner that for a year past I had renounced the abominable vice, into which my affection for her daughter would never permit me to relapse. She was moved by my sincerity—and at length she yielded to my earnest prayers. Oh! never shall I forget that excellent lady’s words on this occasion. ‘William,’ she said, ‘I will give you my daughter. But remember that the poor widow is thereby bestowing upon you the only treasure which she possesses—her only solace—her only consolation; and if you deceive her by rendering that dear child unhappy, you will break the heart of her who now addresses you!’—‘Oh! my dear madam,’ I exclaimed, ‘the ex
ample of your virtues and the consciousness of possessing Julia’s love will make me all that you can desire. And by yon pale moon I swear that never—never more will I deserve the name of a gambler. No: may this right hand wither—may the lightning of heaven strike it—if it ever touch cards or dice again!’—Mrs. Vandeleur rebuked me for the words I used; but the sincerity of my manner completely reassured her. Julia remained in ignorance of the object of the Colonel’s visit and of this explanation between her mother and myself.

  “Colonel Beaumont speedily found that his malignant officiousness had failed to produce the desired aim; and he called again, with some plausible pretext, upon the widow. By hypocritically affecting a merely conscientious motive in having acted as he had done, he gleaned from her the pledges I had made and the satisfaction with which she had received them. That same afternoon, at the mess-table, his manner became as kind and courteous towards me as it was wont to be when I first joined the regiment; I could not however respond with any congeniality. Still he did not seem abashed, but appeared not to notice my disinclination to accept his advances. When I was about to leave the table, for the purpose of repairing to the abode of my beloved, the Colonel said, ‘Anderson, I wish to speak to you in my room.’—I bowed and accompanied him thither.—‘Let us forget the past,’ he said, extending his hand towards me, ‘and be friendly as we were wont.’—‘I am not aware, sir,’ was my reply, ‘that I ever offended you.’—‘No; but you humiliated me,’ he answered, with a singular expression of countenance; ‘and that, to a military man and a superior officer, was most galling. Circumstances have lately changed with me. A distant relative has died and left me a considerable property; and my first duty is to pay you the four thousand pounds I owe you.’—‘That debt, sir,’ said I, ‘has been cancelled long ago.’—‘You generously destroyed the proof,’ he hastily rejoined; ‘but the obligation never could be annihilated, save in this manner:’ and he handed me the sum which he had formerly owed.—I of course received the amount, and my opinion of him grew far more favourable, in spite of his attempt to ruin me with Mrs. Vandeleur.

  “When this transaction was completed, the Colonel said, ‘Anderson, we are now quits, but not exactly on equal terms. You have won a large sum from me; and though a settlement has been delayed, still that sum is now paid. As a gentleman you will give me my revenge.—I started and turned pale.—‘Of course you cannot refuse to allow me the chance of recovering myself,’ he continued, calmly producing a dice-box.—‘I dare not play, sir,’ I exclaimed, my breath coming thickly.—‘Oh! as a gentleman,’ he repeated, ‘you are bound to do so.’—‘I have sworn a solemn oath never to touch cards nor dice again.’—‘And if you had also sworn never to fight a duel, would that plea justify you in receiving an insult unresented, in the eyes of honourable men?’ he demanded.—‘Colonel Beaumont,’ I said, ‘in the name of heaven do not urge me to break that solemn vow!’—‘Will you compel me to declare that oaths are sometimes mere matters of convenience?’ cried the colonel: ‘will you force me to express my conviction that Lieutenant Anderson will enrich himself by play, and will not afford the loser that opportunity of revenge which all honourable men concede?’—‘Take back your money, sir,’ I cried, dreadfully agitated; ‘and permit me to retire.’—‘Would you insult me by restoring money that I owed?’ demanded the Colonel.—‘Not for worlds would I insult you, sir,’ was my answer: ‘but do not force me to violate my promise to Mrs. Vandeleur.’—‘Oh! a promise made to a lady, eh?’ he exclaimed. ‘I thought you more of a man than to refuse honourable satisfaction in consequence of a vow pledged under the influence of love. Come, Anderson, act fairly; and do not compel me to explain the transaction to your brother-officers.’

  “Oh! what will your Highness think of me when I declare that I was alarmed by this threat, and that I yielded to the colonel’s urgent solicitation! He produced wine; and I drank deeply to drown my remorse. At first I trembled as I touched the dice-box—for I remembered the solemn oath pledged only a few days previously. But in a short time the influence of the liquor and the excitement of play stifled all compunction; and I once more devoted myself to the game with all the intense interest which is experienced by the confirmed gamester. Beaumont was cool and collected: I was nervous and irritable. Fortune seemed to be bent upon giving him the revenge which he had solicited. I lost—we doubled our stakes: I continued to lose—and I steeped my vexation in frequent draughts of wine. In three hours I lost back again the whole amount he had paid me. The colonel then threw down the box, and said, ‘I am satisfied.’—‘But I am not,’ I exclaimed furiously: ‘let us go on.’—‘As you please,’ he observed calmly; and, maddened with drink—hurried on, too, by the terrible excitement which gamblers alone can know, I played—and played until I owed the colonel two thousand three hundred pounds. Then a revulsion of feeling took place; and I cursed my folly. I loathed myself: intoxicated as I was, I felt as a perjurer should feel. The colonel claimed my note of hand; and I gave it. This done, I rushed wildly from his room, and hastened to my own.

  “When I awoke in the morning, I could scarcely believe that the scene of the previous night had really occurred. It seemed to me as if I were standing on the brink of a dreadful yawning gulf, which a mist hid from my sight, but which I nevertheless knew to be there. Then that mist gradually rolled away; and the blackness of the abyss was revealed to me with all its horrors. Terrible were my feelings. But I was compelled to reflect upon what was to be done. My mind was soon made up. The debt must be paid; and, that obligation once satisfied, I would never touch the dice again! Having written a hurried letter to Julia, stating that business of importance suddenly called me to London, and having obtained leave of absence from the colonel, I repaired in all possible haste to the metropolis. But my father, to whom it was of course my intention to apply for succour, had left town that very morning for Portsmouth; and we had therefore crossed each other on the way. An idea struck me:—could I not borrow the money I required without being compelled to reveal the truth to my father? The thought pleased me—and I even felt rejoiced that we had so missed each other. Early next morning I obtained the two thousand three hundred pounds of one Mr. Goldshig, a Jew, who received my note of hand for three thousand in return, with the understanding that he would continue to hold it so long as I paid a hundred pounds every quarter for the accommodation—such payments, however, not to be deducted from the principal, but to be regarded simply in the light of interest.

  “Much relieved by this speedy and easily-effected negotiation, I returned to Portsmouth, where I arrived at about nine o’clock in the evening. I repaired straight to the George Hotel, at which, as I expected, my father had put up. But he was not within; and I accordingly hastened to the barracks to pay the money to Beaumont. The Colonel was at home, and received me with a chilling coldness for which, after all that had recently passed between us, I was little prepared. I did not however appear to notice the circumstance; but tendered him the amount due. ‘Oh! Mr. Anderson,’ he replied, ‘the debt is paid.’—‘Paid!’ I exclaimed, greatly surprised at this announcement.—‘Yes,’ he said: ‘it was settled this evening, about two hours since. Your father called on me, and redeemed the note of hand.’—‘My father!’ cried I, a cold chill striking to my heart: ‘how came he to know that you held such a document?—‘Really. Mr. Anderson, I have no time to converse with you now,’ answered the Colonel; and he bowed me out with freezing politeness.

  “Strange misgivings now oppressed me; and I began to read something malignant and systematically vindictive in the conduct of the Colonel; for it was evident that he must have mentioned the fact of possessing my note of hand. Dreadfully agitated, I returned to the George. My father had just come in; and his countenance was mournfully severe, when I entered his presence. ‘William,’ said he, ‘I am deceived in you; and you have acted in a manner which you will have cause to rue as long as you live; that is, if your attachment for Miss Vandeleur be truly
sincere.’—‘My God!’ I exclaimed: ‘what has occurred? Does Mrs. Vandeleur know of this?’—‘She knows all; and she not only sees in you a confirmed gambler, but a wicked perjurer,’ answered my father. ‘Her door is closed against you forever.’—‘Oh! wretch that I am!’ I cried, beating my breast in despair. ‘But who can have done all this mischief?’—‘Colonel Beaumont called this morning on Mrs. Vandeleur, and insultingly exhibited your note of hand, which I have ere now redeemed.’—‘The villain!’ I exclaimed, rushing towards the door: ‘but he shall pay dearly for this!’—‘Stop, sir, I command you,’ cried my father. ‘He is your superior officer; he evidently hates you; and, were you to challenge him, he would ruin you. No: that is not the course to pursue. I have purchased you a Captain’s commission in the —th regiment, which is stationed at Chatham; and you have also three months’ leave of absence. Return with me to London; and endeavour by your future conduct to atone for the misdeeds of the past.’