Читать книгу Ralph Sinclair's Atonement - Antony Sargent - Страница 3

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LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS

"I THINK YOU HAVE COME TO A VERY SENSIBLE CONCLUSION" . . . . . . Frontispiece

AT CARDS HE HAD LOST HEAVILY

THE ALARM WAS GIVEN, AND THE ENGINES WERE AT ONCE SLOWED DOWN

"WE ARE ALREADY IN FULL POSSESSION OF ALL WHICH THAT LETTER REVEALS"

MARY WAS NOWHERE TO BE SEEN, BUT MRS. RANGER CHANCED TO BE STANDING AT THE DOOR

RALPH SINCLAIR'S ATONEMENT

CHAPTER I.

A BOLT FROM THE BLUE.

"Better men fared thus before thee."—MATTHEW ARNOLD.

"Is Mr. Houghton in?"

"Yes, sir. Who shall I say has called?"

"Please say that Mr. Johnson, with a letter of introduction from your works at Broadstone, would like to see him."

The clerk addressed hastened away to an inner office to convey the message to his principal, returning shortly with a request, "Will you please to walk this way."

The office into which he was conducted was a portion of a large and very handsome showroom in the West End of London, screened from general observation by a wood-and-glass erection, which formed a separate room, in which was seated the manager of the firm of H. & E. Quinion, so well known for their famous Metal Works in the Midlands, but whose chief transactions were carried on by means of their London and Sydney houses.

Mr. Houghton, who rose on the entry of his visitor, was a tall portly specimen of the English gentleman. The kindly expression of his countenance, and general affable manners, were in marked contrast to the little man who proceeded to introduce himself by presenting the letter already referred to. Apparently about thirty-five years of age; dark complexion; with deep-set ferret-like eyes, partially concealed by a pair of pince-nez; dark-brown short-cropped hair, thin on the top; clean shaven cheeks, but a heavy cavalry moustache; and a stooping gait,—he had all the appearance of one who had lived "fast," and missed his mark in life's struggle for existence.

After a second perusal of the letter presented,—which, to judge by the expression of his countenance, had come upon him as a surprise, and did not seem to please him,—he turned to his interviewer and remarked, somewhat absently, as if he scarcely knew what to say, "I think the best thing I can do is to introduce you to the clerks and staff generally, for which purpose, if you will excuse me for a few moments, I will go and prepare them."

"Very well," was all the reply the other made, as Mr. Houghton, without another word, left the office.

Calling a clerk named Kenway, who happened to be passing, and who was distantly related to him, he hastily directed him to summon the other clerks to meet him at once in his office. Full of curiosity, and a-tiptoe with expectation as to what was impending, there was soon assembled an anxious and eager group of men, quietly canvassing the possibilities and probabilities of the situation.

On the entrance of Mr. Houghton it was at once seen that something unusual had occurred, as he appeared to be very much agitated, and to have lost command of that calmness and ease which it was his general habit to assume. With manifest anxiety to get through an unpleasant task with the least possible delay he advanced, and, leaning heavily upon his desk, said—

"Gentlemen, I have had you called together thus hurriedly, because I thought it only right that you should hear the fact from my own lips that I am intending shortly to resign my position here as manager."

A half-suppressed murmur of regret went round the assembled clerks, which was, however, allowed to pass unnoticed, as, scarcely able to restrain the tears which filled his eyes, and in an all but inaudible voice, he continued—

"Yes; after serving the firm for upwards of fifty years, it is with their approval that I shall in six months retire, and endeavour to take life a little easier. I have to thank you all for the assistance you have always rendered me; and, in bidding you farewell, I propose to introduce you to my successor, who is now here with a letter of introduction from Broadstone."

Only half realising what they had just heard, one or two managed to give expression to their sincere regret at the intelligence so abruptly conveyed, together with the earnest hope that he would long live to enjoy the rest and ease he was looking forward to, and had so well earned, when they were again left alone to separate, and speculate upon what had been so suddenly communicated.

On returning to the office in which he had left his visitor, all traces of the emotion so recently evinced had disappeared from Mr. Houghton's face, and he proceeded to discuss the situation, and to unfold the working of the business with his usual calmness and clearness.

But the contemplated interview with the employés of the establishment was for the present declined by his visitor, under the pretence that, being so new to everything and everybody, he was not quite prepared for such an ordeal as that would seem to involve. On taking his leave, soon after, it was with the promise that he would pay a further visit very shortly.

The news, which spread throughout the "house," created no little consternation; whilst everywhere and by everyone it was received with the most unqualified expressions of regret, Mr. Houghton being a man held in universal esteem by all who knew him.

As opportunity offered, throughout the remainder of the day, little groups were to be observed in the various departments, discussing the pros and cons of an event which might mean so much to all in the employ of the firm.

Roberts, who had been a servant for a long series of years, and occupied a position second only to that held by Mr. Houghton, was very decided in the expression of his views in a conversation subsequently held with Arnold, who regarded himself as an expert in his own particular department.

"I don't believe," said Roberts, "that this so-called retirement is the voluntary act of Mr. Houghton."

"How then," said Arnold, "do you consider it has come about?"

"It appears to me to have been forced upon him."

"Don't you think he knew that Mr. Johnson was coming?"

"No, I do not; that, I think, was as much a surprise to himself as it was to us."

"Well," added Arnold, "if the emotion he manifested may be taken as evidence, he seemed to be quite unmanned, and very ill-prepared for what he wished to say."

"Yes; and to my thinking," said Roberts, "no clearer proof is needed than the fact of his resignation being only made known to us when his successor was in the house. Had he been aware of what was impending, I have no hesitation in saying he would have prepared himself for the issue, and informed us of it in a more leisurely and self-possessed manner."

"Rather rough treatment of a man who has been a trusted and respected servant for over fifty years!"

"No doubt of it," continued Roberts. "Of course, I do not say but what it is quite possible that the heads of the firm at Broadstone may have suggested to him the desirability of thinking of retiring, after such a lengthy innings, in order that some younger man should be introduced, who might be expected to impart a little fresh life and infuse more energy into the business; but, as he did not readily take the hint, I presume they have 'taken the bull by the horns,' which causes their act to have the appearance of somewhat unceremonious treatment."

In the warehouse, where the matter was very keenly discussed, similar views prevailed; and it was generally considered that Mr. Houghton was not retiring willingly, that the so-called retirement was too patent a sham to deceive anyone; and the verdict was that it was a very shabby way of treating an old and faithful servant; and that if the firm could behave in such an inconsiderate way to one who had devoted his life to the best interests of his employers' business, the prospect was not a very encouraging one for those who remained.

"The end justified the means" is much too frequently, and too generally, the rule of conduct with many large and wealthy firms, as it is with public companies, who have not a soul to be cursed (another word is more often used) or a body to be kicked.

CHAPTER II.

BROADSTONE.

"Preferment goes by letter and affection,

Not by the old gradation, when each second

Stood heir to the first."—Othello, Act I. sc. i.

Politically, as well as commercially, the town of Broadstone is "no mean city," and for light and leading has long been running our metropolitan capital very close. Its members loom large on the political horizon; whilst its industries are not only marketable commodities in the remotest regions of the world, but by their quality give the name of the place to the trade it does, although not often is it in most complimentary terms.

Its leading thoroughfares are broad and spacious, while its streets appear to have been laid out on no well-defined or pre-arranged plan, but to have developed as circumstances seemed to render desirable.

The buildings have a twofold character; those which are modern are handsome, and in many cases have an imposing appearance. This is especially the case with its public buildings. The more ancient, as well as the poorer quarters of the city, are, for the most part, plain brick-and-tile compounds, without ornament or anything to recommend them save their utility, and not even this always.

In the centre of one of its leading thoroughfares stands the factory of H. & E. Quinion, a lofty and rectangular pile of buildings of comparatively modern construction, with little to attract the eye from an architectural point of view; but, within, the fittings and appointments are handsome, and, in some instances, of a costly nature, yet strictly in keeping with the character of the work to be seen.

On the day succeeding the events narrated in the previous chapter, soon after the dinner-bell had been rung,—which was the signal for all work to cease, as well as for those who lived near enough to hasten home to the midday meal, whilst others who elected to do so could assemble in a common room set apart for their special use,—a note was handed to the senior partner, Mr. H. Quinion, as he was seated in a small office in the centre of the works, informing him that Arnold from the London office was below, and would like to see him.

Surprised, and just a little annoyed at so unexpected a visit, he gave orders for him to be shown upstairs.

Arnold was a man of a quiet and reserved disposition, not regarded with much favour by his fellow-clerks, nor made a confidant of by any one in particular. It was generally felt—perhaps without sufficient reason—that he had long had his eyes upon the manager's position in London as a post he might one day be called upon to occupy. But whenever the subject was canvassed by the rest of the staff, it was invariably with a considerable amount of scoffing and ridicule at the idea of so unsuitable a man, in everyone's estimation but that of himself, aspiring to so responsible an appointment; and it was agreed the firm would never be so blind to their own interest as to cherish such an idea. He had, however, schemed for years to keep himself a prominent figure before the heads of the firm. He had "toadied" to little weaknesses, and, in some few smaller and minor matters, had succeeded in placing himself in front of others who had been his seniors. It may be imagined, therefore, with what keen and bitter feelings of chagrin and disappointment he regarded the events of the previous day. To find, from the appointment which had been made, that all his plans and designs had miscarried, was a collapse to his castle-building which he little expected, and was scarcely prepared to sit down quietly under; yet how to change the apparent current of events was not so clear. In this perplexity, as a last resort, he resolved to interview the members of the firm at Broadstone; and a brief note to Mr. Houghton in London, informing him of his visit to the works on a matter of importance, was the only intimation given to account for his absence from business.

"Good-morning, Arnold,—an unexpected visit. Anything wrong in London?" asked Mr. Quinion, a little nervously, readjusting his spectacles, which really needed no attention.

"No, sir; nothing," replied Arnold, who was slightly flushed, probably on account of the nature of his errand as much as the walk from the railway-station.

Taking a chair indicated to him, he at once plunged into the subject of his visit by saying, "No doubt, sir, you are surprised to see me down here, and I feel it would have been more becoming had I written first to inform you of my intention; but the circumstances of yesterday came upon all of us so sudden and unexpectedly, that it was not until late last evening I formed the decision to make this hasty and impromptu visit."

"Well, now that you have come, let me hear what it is you have to say."

"I must confess, sir," said Arnold, "that the fact of Mr. Houghton being allowed to retire is not to me so much a matter of surprise as the person who has been appointed to succeed him. If I am rightly informed, he is a man of no experience in your business, and with no record to distinguish him as one entitled to such a position. Several of us in London have been so many years in your employ, that hopes were freely entertained that, whenever the course of events should render a change necessary, an opportunity would be afforded to one of us to supply the vacancy. I, for one, cherished the hope that the experience and knowledge gained during my period of service with you might have induced you to offer me the position conferred upon Mr. Johnson."

"I am rather sorry to hear what you tell me," said Mr. Quinion; "as I may candidly inform you that the firm never had any intention of putting a member of the present staff into the position you refer to; and in asking you to regard this matter as now closed, we shall be glad if you will take any opportunity which may present itself to disabuse the minds of your colleagues, as well as that of your own, that a slight was intended to anyone by this appointment. On the other hand, it was feared that to promote any member of the London staff would probably give rise to more dissatisfaction, and create a greater amount of friction, than the installation of a perfect stranger is likely to do. It is not intended as a reflection upon anyone, but simply a matter of expediency, and which, in the interest of all concerned, we thought it wisest to adopt."

"I much regret to learn that that is your decision, sir, as I did hope it might not yet be too late to induce you to make some other arrangement."

"That is quite out of the question," replied Mr. Quinion; "and I hope you will not only give Mr. Johnson a hearty welcome, but at the same time render him all the assistance which he will, of course, very much need."

"So far as I am concerned you may certainly reckon upon that, although I should like to have seen a different state of things prevailing."

"I regret," added Mr. Quinion, "you should have felt it needful to come down here on such an errand, as it was scarcely likely we should have taken so important a step without first giving it very careful consideration."

"I trust you will forgive me if you think I have acted indiscreetly," rejoined Arnold.

"Oh, say no more about it," was Mr. Quinion's reply. "When do you return to town?"

"By the next train, sir; at three-ten p.m."

"In that case you have no time to lose, so I will not detain you any longer. Good day."

And in less than half an hour Arnold was speeding back to London, with no very comfortable feelings. He had failed to produce the impression expected, or to change the situation of affairs; and his future course did not yet clearly shape itself to his mind.

Of course, the fact of his visit to Broadstone was known in London, but every attempt to extract from him the object of his journey failed. To all and sundry of his inquirers the uniform answer was—"Only a little private business."

CHAPTER III.

THE QUAY AT ANTWERP.

"Blow, wind; swell, billow; and swim bark!

The storm is up, and all is on the hazard."

Julius Cæsar, Act V. sc. i.

A midsummer sun was already shining upon the lazily flowing waters of the Scheldt, as the Cathedral clock rang out the hour of six; and the sweet-toned carillons, for which its tower is almost world renowned, had not yet ceased their chimes as the good ship Kestrel, which lay moored at the quay-side, began to sound her most unmusical whistle, preparatory to moving into midstream, outward bound for the English coast.

The quaint old market-place,—close to the river, and lying beneath the shadow of the Cathedral walls,—surrounded with lofty houses of a style peculiar to Flemish architecture, was at this hour a scene of busy life. From early dawn the peasants and small farmers from the neighbouring villages continued to flow in, bringing such marketable commodities as were likely to find a ready sale. Butter and cheese, with pails of cream and masses of cheap vegetables, rapidly changed hands, and were carried home in baskets, or in small carts to which dogs were harnessed, and which latter seemed in no way to dislike the task they were put to, judging from the apparent cheerful and eager way in which they went at the work.

On the quay-side nearly as much life and activity prevailed as in the market-place. Porters were hurrying to and fro across the gangways; final additions were being hastily made to the cargo; the passengers were crowding in; and, as the Kestrel's warning bell rang, those who had come to see the last of departing friends or relatives were hurried ashore.

It is not a little peculiar that no matter what may be the hour fixed for the departure of a train or vessel, someone is sure to arrive at the last moment, when the time is up for starting; and, on the occasion we are describing, the proverbial late-comer was not wanting, in the person of a man about thirty, who just succeeded in reaching the last of the gangways, which crew and landsmen had already commenced to cast off, and made his way on board.

Freed from her moorings, with steam up, the Kestrel gradually proceeded into midstream, where, with tide and current in her favour, she soon began to run rapidly down the broad brown Scheldt, giving opportunity for but a passing glimpse of the magnificent lines of quays which once engrossed most of the commerce of the earth.

On leaving the city itself, the river scenery for miles is dull and uninteresting to a degree. Most of the land on either shore, lying below high-water mark, presents few features to attract the attention of the observer. Beyond an occasional house-top or a church-steeple, there is nothing to relieve the miles of flat lowlands which stretch away to the horizon line, if we except the never-ending windmills perched on the highest point of the banks to catch the breeze. When the broad lagoon-like piece of water was reached, which marks the entry to the river, and is carefully buoyed to indicate the course of vessels entering or leaving port, the welcome sound was heard of the steward's bell, announcing that breakfast was ready; and in a few minutes no one was to be seen upon deck save such of the crew as were required for the working and safety of the vessel.

A more than usual orderly company was seated at the tables, which were soon being well served for the apparently eagerly-anticipated morning meal; and whilst conversation flowed freely, there was less of that tendency to boisterous mirth which is often so marked and objectionable a feature during short sea-trips.

"A pleasant journey so far," remarked a lady to the male companion at her side.

"Yes," was his reply; "and let us hope it will continue."

"Have you any reason to doubt it?" was the inquiry which followed.

"No; but the captain will perhaps be able to tell us presently."

At the upper end of the same table, he who had been the last to arrive on board was holding an animated conversation with a fellow-passenger on certain historical reminiscences of the city of Antwerp.

"I must confess that it is with feelings of considerable satisfaction and pride that I learned from Motley, and others, the brave stand which the doughty burghers made, three centuries ago, against the violent persecutions of the Holy Inquisition which had been set up by Charles V."

"Is it a fact that the Prince of Orange led what was, for distinction, called an insurrection?"

"Yes; and I suppose rightly so-called, since, without troubling to inquire into the mode by which its subjugation had been brought about, the Netherlands, which then included both Holland and Belgium, was under the tender rule of Philip II. of Spain."

"The husband of our own Queen Mary, was he not?"

"The same," responded the previous speaker. "And by him the government had been placed in the hands of the Duchess of Parma. The Prince, who had been sent to represent Philip, unable any longer to sustain that role, threw off his allegiance to Spain; and, with what has been described as 'the true spirit of a Christian hero,' declared for the people who had been confided to his care. It would be too long a story to recount all the events which led up to it, but it is well worth your study when you have leisure, as you will find how, by his wisdom and courage, he succeeded in obtaining for them freedom from foreign invasion, and the right of worship according to the dictates of their own conscience, without the loss of a single life."

"I say, skipper," called out a rosy-faced little man, seated close beside the two who had been thus conversing, "what sort of weather do you anticipate we shall have in crossing the German Ocean?"

"I am afraid we shall have what you will, most of you, consider a rough journey. The glass has fallen considerably within the last few hours; there is a stiffish breeze from the north, which is blowing against the tide, so that our course is not likely to be one of the smoothest."

A few exchanged ominous glances; whilst others, as soon as the meal was over, betook themselves to the cabins or bunks, and made preparations for bestowing themselves in such manner as seemed most likely to minimise the sufferings in prospect. Breakfast had not long been finished, when the bar was crossed, and the pitch and roll of the vessel began to make their influence felt.

It was high noon, and eight bells had just struck. Black clouds hid the sun from view. The wind was blowing in gusts from the north, whilst the white-crested waves were dashing and breaking over the vessel as she laboured through the trough of the billows, or mounted the crests of the foaming waves. The deck was continually being swept by the rolling seas, so that, with but few exceptions, all the passengers were closely confined below; but the exceptions seemed to be, like those stormy petrels sailors tell us are to be met with in mid-ocean, enjoying what they pleasantly described as "the fun."

The good ship was just succeeding in again making headway through the troubled waters, after clearing herself of a huge wave which had seemed as if it would engulf her, when a cry was heard from the stern of the vessel, "Man overboard!" The engines were at once stopped, the vessel's head brought round to windward, and, notwithstanding the nature of the sea prevailing, everything got ready for lowering a boat when the order should be given.

"Lower away, men!" came from the captain. And the next moment the ship's lifeboat was tossing on the crest of the waves, but pulled by strong arms, with a skilled hand at the helm. The crew, and those on deck who witnessed this scene, were full of eagerness and anxiety as to the result. It was, however, felt from the first to be an almost hopeless quest; and so in the end it proved, for after half an hour's vain search, during which time it was with difficulty the rowers kept their boat from being swamped, it was hoisted in with its living freight, and the vessel again headed for the English coast.

The intelligence of the disaster had rapidly spread through the ship, and now the question on the lips of everyone capable of attending to anything but their own condition was, "Who is it?" But this no one seemed able at present to give a reliable answer to.

After a careful inquiry had been instituted amongst the passengers, attention became concentrated upon the last arrival on board. The captain remembered to have seen him in conversation with one of the passengers during breakfast, and to have caught occasional snatches of the topics under discussion; but since then neither captain nor any of the passengers remembered to have seen him, nor could a careful examination of all on board succeed in bringing him to light. No one appeared to have noticed him on deck, and yet his absence seemed undoubtedly to point to the fact that he must be the missing man; but who he was, and whether his death was to be attributed to accident or design, none were able to say.

Later in the day an overcoat was discovered stowed away in one of the bunks, which none of the passengers could identify as belonging to them. On a careful scrutiny of the pockets, papers were found which seemed to point more definitely to the identity of the lost man. When, therefore, the Kestrel at length reached her moorings in the Thames, and made her report to the proper authorities, it was taken charge of by the local police, and the matter was left with them to investigate.

CHAPTER IV.

RAILTON HALL.

"Time shall unfold what plaited cunning hides:

Who cover faults, at last shame them derides."

King Lear, Act I. sc. i.

"Come, Jennie, it's time you began to think about retiring."

"Yes, mother; in a minute," responded the young girl thus addressed.

"But do you know, child, that it is ten o'clock? an hour that is quite too late for more minutes to be allowed."

"I know, mother, but I do so want to finish what I am reading."

"You have been intent on that book for the last two hours," replied the mother,—"so intent, that you have scarcely spoken a word since you commenced; and if you sit at it much longer you will be ill to-morrow, and unable to get up when the time comes. So put it away, and go at once."

Thus fairly admonished, the girl addressed closed her book, not without evident reluctance, and prepared to obey her mother's injunction.

Mrs. Sinclair had been a widow about five years, her husband having died, after a painful and lingering illness, just as he had reached what is generally looked upon as the prime of life. Being well provided for, as soon as affairs could be settled, and her house and belongings disposed of, she left the neighbourhood in which they had for years resided,—and, with her two children, a girl and boy, now her sole charge,—to take up her abode amidst her native hills, a few miles outside the city of Aberdeen.

Her son Ralph had been given a position of some promise in the firm of H. & E. Quinion, Broadstone,—where his father had long held a high and honourable post,—with the prospect of a junior partnership in the course of a few years, in the event of all things going on satisfactorily.

Jennie, who had not yet reached her sixteenth year, was tall for her age, well proportioned, and, although not what would generally be called handsome, was an attractive girl. And the bright, clear grey eyes, beneath a more than usually broad and expansive brow, indicated a degree of intelligence which was not slow in displaying itself.

The house in which they dwelt was one of those old-fashioned ones so often to be met with outside our large towns and cities, possessing no apparent design in its construction, through the numerous additions and alterations from time to time made, to suit the convenience or taste of successive tenants, without any regard for harmony or unity.

Spacious and convenient, it was also rambling and not handsome. Surrounded by extensive grounds, and well wooded, it was hidden from view of the ordinary traveller, but well known to the residents around,—who were frequent visitors at Railton Hall,—as well as to cottars and villagers, with whom Mrs. Sinclair kept up a close acquaintance.

"What time do you expect Ralph in the morning, mother?" asked Jennie, as she prepared to retire for the night.

"The train is due at Aberdeen at nine-forty-five, and if it keeps time we may expect him here about ten-fifteen," said her mother. "I have ordered Donald to have the trap ready to drive me to the station to meet him at that hour; so we breakfast at eight-thirty."

"Very well, mother; then I will tell Alice to call me at eight"; and with a good-night kiss the young girl left the room.

Before following her daughter's example, Mrs. Sinclair drew a letter from her pocket bearing a foreign postmark, to read—not for the first time—the intelligence which was already well impressed upon her memory—

"DEAR MOTHER,—I leave Antwerp to-morrow morning at six o'clock, and hope to return by the night mail, due in Aberdeen at nine-forty-five the next morning. Your loving son, RALPH."

With fond anticipations of the morning, the anxious mother retired to rest.