Читать книгу A Secret of the Sea (Vol. 1-3) - T. W. Speight - Страница 9

Table of Contents

The mention of Matthew Kelvin's name by Miss Bellamy touched a chord of recollection in the mind of Gerald Warburton, but some time elapsed before he could trace back in his memory to the particular occasion on which he had heard it last. He had been groping about for some time, when suddenly a single flash revealed to him everything that he was looking for. It showed him a country inn in the Lake district, and two men, weather-bound by the unceasing rain, perforce dependent on each other for companionship and the practice of those minor social virtues which such an occasion should undoubtedly call forth. They meet as strangers meet under such circumstances, but by the end of the third day they seem to have known each other for years. Glad as they are on the fourth morning to find that the clouds have dispersed and that the hill-tops can be seen again, they do not part without a certain feeling of regret, or without a cordial grip of the hand and a hope that, unlikely as such a thing seems, they may one day meet again. One of those men is Matthew Kelvin, the other is Gerald Warburton. Kelvin, at parting, had given Gerald his address, and had begged of him that, should he ever find himself in the neighbourhood of Pembridge, he would not fail to look him up. Gerald, at the time, had no address to give. In fact, it was not as Gerald Warburton, but under the name of "Jack Pomeroy," that he had made Kelvin's acquaintance.

A year or two previously, in the course of one of his rare interviews with his father, the latter had said to Gerald: "You are a disgrace to the name of Warburton!"

"If that is the case, sir," said Gerald, bitterly, "it shall be disgraced no longer."

When he next went out into the world, it was as John Pomeroy. His full name was Gerald John Warburton. So he took the John and tacked it to a name that had been common in his mother's family for generations; and it was as Jack Pomeroy, a vagabondising young artist, rather out at elbows, as clever young men often are, but a decidedly amusing companion for a wet day, that he had made Kelvin's acquaintance.

"I wonder whether he will know me again," muttered Gerald to himself, as he walked down the main street of Pembridge on his way to Mr. Kelvin's office. "There was a little about him that I liked, and a great deal that I didn't like. His joviality was merely on the surface; it had no foundation in his disposition. It was a mere will-o'-the-wisp, flickering fitfully over the darker depths of his character. Me he tolerated as one tolerates a droll when tired of one's own company, and with nothing more serious to do. For the time being he even made believe to be a Bohemian himself. It was a phase of character that he had rarely encountered before, and for forty-eight hours it fascinated him; forty-eight hours later he would have turned his back on it and me with a sneer.

"It is indeed a strange chance that has brought us together again after so long a time! I will tell him neither my name nor my errand for a little while. I will go to him as the Jack Pomeroy in whose society he once spent three days of bad weather. I will even pretend to be hard up, and to stand in need of a helping-hand. Probably he will order me out of the office; perchance he will ask me to dinner and put a sovereign into my hand at parting. It will be time enough to tell him my real business after I have put him to the test. Besides which, by concealing my identity for a little while, I may perhaps be able to glean some information as to his reason for keeping back for so long a time the contents of the sealed packet from Eleanor." It was in pursuance of this idea that Gerald had put on for the nonce an older suit of clothes than common, and had locked up in his portmanteau at the hotel his watch and chain and scarf-pin. He found Kelvin's office in due course, and made his way into the entrance-hall, and was there received by Mr. Piper.

That young gentleman was what he himself would have called "down in the dumps." The obligations of gentility extend from the highest stratum of society to the lowest, and Mr. Piper felt that this morning he had lost caste in the eyes of Mr. Hammond--his guide, philosopher, and--in a far-off, Olympian kind of way--his friend. Mr. Hammond, walking down a by-street on his way to business, had come suddenly on Pod, who, in company with several other youths, was scraping with a knife the sweet interstices of an empty sugar-cask that was standing on the pavement in front of a grocer's shop. Unseen till he laid his gloved hand on Pod's shoulder, Mr. Hammond had said to him: "Here's a penny for you, Piper, to buy some sweetmeats with, but do, for goodness' sake, leave the sugar-cask alone." And so, with a smile and a sneer, had gone daintily on his way. Pod felt as if he could have bitten his head off, had such an anatomical feat been at all possible. He would not have cared half so much had he been seen by anyone else--even by Kelvin himself. But to have been seen thus ignominiously engaged by the elegant, the scented, the fastidious Mr. Hammond! Besides which, this was not the first occasion on which Mr. Hammond had found him engaged in a pursuit derogatory to that assumption of manhood and gentility which it was the secret ambition of his life to maintain in the eyes of his patron. On his way home, one evening, Pod had been overtaken by a temptation which he found it impossible to resist. The temptation on this occasion took the shape of marbles. Pod had fallen in with three or four of his old schoolmates engaged in a game of knuckle-down, and, fired by the recollection of his prowess in olden days, had for once flung gentility to the winds.

Carefully depositing in a corner his chimney-pot hat, for the next ten minutes he was a boy again. This time, also, it was Mr. Hammond's voice which recalled him to a consideration of how far he had forgotten himself. "Well done, Piper," he said, as he came suddenly round the corner. "With practice and perseverance you will make a tolerable player. By-the-by, I promised to buy you something on your birthday. What shall it be? A hoop, or a kite, or a pretty coloured ball that you and the baby can amuse yourselves with in wet weather?"

This had been very galling to Pod, especially when said before his schoolmates; and now, to-day, he had given Mr. Hammond an opportunity of sneering at him for the second time. This Mr. Hammond was Matthew Kelvin's one articled pupil. Attracted by Pod's shrewdness, and keen common sense, he had "taken him in hand," as he himself phrased it; although whether such taking in hand would ultimately prove beneficial to Pod, seemed somewhat doubtful at present. Mr. Hammond found Pod useful as a go-between in his love-affairs. He was engaged to a young lady against the wishes of her friends. Any letters sent by him through the post were intercepted, and it was only by trusting to Pod's skill and diplomacy as a messenger that he could contrive to communicate with her at all. In such a case as this, Pod might be trusted implicitly, and Hammond knew it. He was rewarded chiefly with cigars, and now and then with an odd half-crown, or a pair of soiled lavender kid gloves; which latter articles, when cleaned, looked almost as good as new, and although somewhat large, created quite a sensation among Pod's friends and acquaintances, when worn by him on his evening stroll along the Ladies' Walk. Then Mr. Hammond had made Pod a present of an old silver-mounted meerschaum, which, although he found it somewhat full-flavoured at present, he would doubtless be able to smoke with comfort when he should have practised on it for five or six months longer.

But far beyond any pecuniary reward was to be counted the happiness of being in Mr. Hammond's confidence, and the inestimable boon of his society. Since Mr. Hammond had taken him by the hand, Pod felt himself to be quite a different sort of person--he had, as it were, emerged from the grub into the butterfly. The world and he were on altogether different terms from what they had been on twelve months ago. A year ago, for instance, he would not have thought of wearing a chimney-pot hat, or of wearing stand-up paper collars of the same shape as Mr. Hammond's, or of carrying a slim silk umbrella to and from business. To be sure, the umbrella, however elegant and even useful it might seem when folded tightly up, was in reality so worn and dilapidated as to be quite incapable of being opened; but as this was a secret known to Pod alone, it did not matter greatly. Then it was surely a brilliant stroke of inventiveness to allow himself to be seldom seen in the town without a Times newspaper under his arm--generally three or four days old; but that was of no consequence. To be so seen seemed to add a foot to his stature, and it is impossible to say how much to his consequence.

But with all his precocious ways, Pod was a good son to his mother--a poor hard-working widow with a large family, of whom Pod was the eldest. He did his best to help her in every way, and would nurse the baby for hours together when he got home of an evening. He was not unmindful that his education had been a poor one, and three evenings a week he attended a night school, where he laid a tolerable foundation both of French and Latin; but of this he said nothing to Mr. Hammond. Neither did he say anything of the numerous books he was in the habit of obtaining from the town library, and over which he would pore of a night long after everyone else in the house was fast asleep.

Gerald Warburton was duly ushered by Pod into the private office.

"If you can wait a minute or two, Mr. Kelvin won't be long," he said, as he handed Gerald a chair and a newspaper.

Five minutes later, Matthew Kelvin opened the door and walked in. Gerald rose as he entered, smiled, and held out his hand. For a moment or two Kelvin was evidently at a loss.

"I seem to know your face," he said, "and yet you must excuse me if for the moment I fail to recollect where I have seen it before."

"Don't you recollect Jack Pomeroy and the Jolly Anglers' at Grasmere?"

"Of course, of course!" shaking him by the hand. "How one's memory fails as one grows older! But sit down and tell me how you have been getting on all this long time."

"Oh, with the proverbial luck of the rolling stone," said Gerald, as he resumed his seat.

Kelvin by this time had been able to note his visitor's appearance--to note that his clothes, although originally well-made, were now worn and shabby: and Kelvin never liked a man who did not dress well; to note that there was not a single item of jewellery visible, that his scarf was without a pin, and his pocket minus a watch, and that altogether there was a decidedly impecunious look about his unwelcome Bohemian acquaintance. In Kelvin's estimation, a man who could not afford to carry a gold watch was hardly worth knowing. He elevated his eyebrows, and felt sure in his own mind that before ten minutes were over he should be called upon to disburse five guineas.

"That's the worst of making chance travelling acquaintances," he said to himself. "They are sure to turn up at some future date, and want you to do something for them. So many people want you to do something for them!"

"Not quite made your fortune, then?" he said aloud.

Gerald's only answer was an expressive shrug of the shoulders.

"When I saw you last you talked about going to the Antipodes. What has brought you back again?"

"Partly that lack of pence with which all really great men are afflicted, and partly a little private business which required my presence at home."

"You are a born Bohemian, Pomeroy--one of those incorrigibles on whom argument and advice alike are thrown away."

"Utterly thrown away--utterly; and I glory in the confession."

"And what are your prospects for the future?"

"I am happy to say that I have no prospects in particular. Never had such things in my life."

"Nor any present necessities?"

"Ah! now you touch me on a tender point."

"How can I be of service to you? Is there anything I can do for you in a modest way?"

"Well--you may invite me to dinner if you like."

"That I'll do willingly. I suppose if the dinner were supplemented with an offer of a five-pound note you would not feel offended."

"Offended! Not a bit of it," said Gerald, with a laugh. "But remember this, Kelvin, I have not asked you for money."

"Oh, I fully appreciate your delicacy of feeling," answered Kelvin, not without a sneer. "Well, we dine at six sharp. No company, only my mother and my cousin."

Gerald rose and took up his hat.

"I suppose you would find it somewhat difficult," said Kelvin, "after vagabondising about the world for so long a time, to settle down to any quiet steady employment--too monotonous, and that sort of thing--eh?"

"I don't know so much about that," said Gerald. "Certainly liberty is sweet, and it is pleasant to be one's own master. Besides which, as yet I have given no hostages to fortune, and having only my own unworthy self to look after, I dare say that I should find it difficult to settle down into a steady, sober, tax-paying citizen, who sits on a stool from one year's end to another, and who knows the amount of his income to a penny. No, I am afraid that I should find such a life slightly tedious."

Kelvin laughed.

"Why don't you go in for marrying an heiress." he said.

"You talk, mon ami!--talk as if heiresses were as plentiful as blackberries."

"I don't think your heiress is a difficult fish to catch, especially by such a clever angler as I do not doubt that you are. But then you must make up your mind to be indifferent to good looks, and good breeding, and a few other simple et ceteras."

"Ah! there's the rub."

"But do you mean to say that the idea of marrying for money is one that you have never turned over in your mind?"

"I can't say that exactly; but my ideas on the point have been very hazy ones indeed--quite nebulous, I assure you--nothing solid or tangible about them."

"Nebulosity of ideas is a very bad thing in anybody. The sooner you bring them down from the clouds and condense them into a practical shape the better. First catch--not your hare, but your heiress; then bring all your powers of fascination to bear upon her, and then----"

"My powers of fascination, indeed! You talk of me as if I were a rattlesnake."

Again Kelvin laughed, then recollecting an appointment, he looked at his watch.

"Well, don't forget to be here at six sharp," he said.

And with that Gerald went.

"A dinner, a five-pound note, and exit Jack Pomeroy; that is what Kelvin means," said Gerald to himself. "Well, he might have treated me worse than that. I'll not tell him who I really am till the last minute. I wonder what his motive can be for keeping back the information from Eleanor. But I suppose I shall know all about it by to-morrow at this time."

Gerald passed a by no means unpleasant evening. Neither Mrs. Kelvin nor Olive had ever been further from home than Paris. They were eager in their questions about the different strange places which Gerald had visited on his travels, and he was by no means loth to gratify their curiosity. What pleased Kelvin most was to see his mother so lively and full of spirits.

"Give me a look in at the office about eleven to-morrow," he said to Gerald, as they parted at the door.

Half an hour later, Kelvin received a telegram which necessitated his starting for Scotland by the 7 a.m. train next morning.. He was down betimes to breakfast; but early as it was, Olive was there before him, waiting to pour out his tea and attend to all his little wants.

"I shall not be able to see Pomeroy," he said. "You can explain to him bow I have been called away, and tell him that if he will leave his address I will write to him on my return."

"Have you any idea of doing something for him?" asked Olive.

"My idea is to send him a five-pound note and have done with him."

"You were mentioning, the other day, that Sir Thomas Dudgeon was in want of an amanuensis and secretary. It seems to me that Mr. Pomeroy would be just the man for such a position."

"Oh, he's got ability enough for such a berth, I daresay. But, in the first place, I believe the fellow is too much of a Bohemian ever to settle down steadily to anything; and, in the second place, I know nothing about either himself or his antecedents. How would it be possible for me to recommend a man to Sir Thomas respecting whom I know nothing?"

"However much of a Bohemian, as you call it, Mr. Pomeroy may have been, he has both the manners and education of a gentleman; and I daresay that he would be able to satisfy you as to his respectability. Aunt was quite taken with him last evening, and when I went into her room this morning she desired me to tell you that she would take it as a kindness to herself if you would interest yourself for Mr. Pomeroy in whatever way you might think would benefit him most."

"Of course, if I thought it would please my mother, I might stretch a point in his favour, though really----"

"It would please my aunt greatly if you would do so. It struck me that this situation at Sir Thomas Dudgeon's would be just the thing for Mr. Pomeroy."

"But, really, I don't at all see how I can recommend a man about whom I know nothing."

"You are going away; Mr. Pomeroy is to call here at eleven; let me see him in your place, and if he can satisfy me as to the respectability of himself and his connections, may I promise him the situation in your name?"

"Really, Olive, you seem very much interested in this man."

"I am interested in him, Matthew."

"Take care that your interest in him does not deepen into something far more dangerous; take care that you don't lose your heart to him."

Olive's colourless cheek flushed for a moment, but she answered quite calmly:--

"Your warning on that point is quite unnecessary, Matthew. But you have not answered my question."

Kelvin looked at his watch, and then rose hurriedly. It was later than he had thought. He had barely time to catch his train.

"Do as you like about it," he said, not without a touch of irritation in his voice. "When my mother and you lay your heads together and conspire against me, I know that I may as well give in at once. Mind you, I don't think this fellow is worth half the trouble that you two women are taking about him."

"Blind--blind as ever!" muttered Olive to herself as she stood at the window and watched Kelvin hurrying down the street in the direction of the station. "A woman of my own age and any brains at all would detect ray motive at once, but a man can rarely see beyond his nose."