Original Penny Readings: A Series of Short Sketches

Chapter Sixteen.
Told in the Dusk

Of broken hearts, Minnie, though the doctor’s certificates told another tale. But then doctors deal with the body, and I am speaking of the mind. ’Tis twenty years since; and, as you saw this evening, there were the little grey and golden patches of lichen spreading over the grave-stone, while their story is about forgotten.

Twenty years since poor brother Fred was the second clerk in Ranee Brothers’ counting-house, and I a boy of fifteen just promoted to a desk in the same office. And how proud I was of my brother, and how worthy I thought him of cousin Annie’s love, even though after my boyish fashion I loved her myself, and, when Fred took me with him to my aunt’s, I used to sit and gaze upon her sweet, grave countenance till I felt to hate myself for being such a boy, and turned quite miserable and despairing. But directly after I would think of how she watched for every glance of his bright grey eye, and how dependent and trusting she seemed, and then a blush came for my unbrotherly feelings.

All went on as might have been expected: the day was fixed; the cottage taken – a pretty little place just outside the town, with a garden teeming with roses; furniture was bought, and the time slipped imperceptibly away until the wedding morning, when we assembled at my aunt’s house before proceeding to church.

Frank stood well with our employers; and you know something of their generosity. And not only had they made him a handsome present towards housekeeping, but Mr Ranee, senior, came to give Annie away, taking for the time the place of her dead father. Mr French was there, too, the head clerk, a tall, handsome man, but one whom I always instinctively disliked, and spent the sixpences he gave me grudgingly and with a certain want of enjoyment in the proceeds – but I used to spend them.

Well, the wedding went off as most weddings do: the school-children scattered field-flowers in the path of the teacher who had won their hearts on the quiet Sabbath afternoons; and then we returned to my aunt’s and partook of the wedding breakfast. Everything was conducted in the orthodox manner, and Messrs Ranee and French made speeches, to which Fred responded. Then dresses were changed, the fly came to the door; and, after a few adieus in the passage, the happy couple – than whom a handsomer or more loving the sun never shone on – drove off to the station on their way to the Lakes.

I shut the fly-door myself, and then stood alone, not knowing whether to be happy or sorry; but I was soon aroused by the parting of our visitors; and then, entering the house with my aunt and my tiny bridesmaid cousin, I caught the infection from them, and, forgetting my fifteen years’ old manliness, sat down and had a hearty cry.

Time slipped by. The trip was over, and the couple returned; the cottage occupied, and things shaken down into the regular country-town routine. After the first Sunday or two no one turned to gaze at Fred and Annie – much to my annoyance – and the young couple ceased to form the theme of conversation.

I was very proud of my post in the office, having just been emancipated from school, and always felt very manly and important whenever I could feel that Mr French had not his eye upon me – the effect of that eye being to make me turn to a boy in an instant. Fred and he were very intimate, and French often went up to the cottage to have a cigar and game of chess; and, somehow, I always used to feel jealous of his smooth, oily civilities, and could see that they were anything but agreeable to Annie. On more than one occasion I found him lolling upon the sofa when I went in, at times when I had left Fred busy over correspondence which French had asked him to finish for that night’s post. At such times I always found Annie sitting close to the window, and apparently much relieved by my entrance; while French greeted me with a mocking, strained civility, which almost drove me away. But the knowledge that he wanted to be rid of me always determined me to stay, for I felt that I was acting as a protector to my brother’s wife.

After a while Fred would stroll in, and French and he take to the chess-board; Annie to her work; while I in a corner with a book would alternately read and watch the stealthy glances French kept casting towards his friend’s wife.

At the end of six months an unspoken feud had sprung up between French and myself. I could see that Annie was pained at the fellow’s presence, but she evidently forbore to speak to Fred, who held him in high estimation; and in the nobleness of his heart was beyond suspicion. But one autumn evening, when the winter seemed to be sending monitory warnings of his coming in the wailing winds and cutting blasts which began to strip the trees, I saw a figure pass the office window that I made sure was French. It was about six o’clock, and we had been detained later than usual, while even then Fred had several more letters to write. French had left the office about a quarter of an hour before, telling Fred he should look him up in the evening; to which a cheery “all right” was returned.

Upon seeing him hurry past the window, I rose to go; but Fred kept me fully another quarter of an hour; and then, telling me to call on my way to my lodging and tell Annie he would be home in a quarter of an hour, he settled down again quietly to his writing.

An unpleasant feeling that all was not right made me quicken my steps; and, going round by the back, I entered the cottage, and had reached the parlour door when the sound of a voice somewhat raised in pitch arrested me. Then followed the low muttering of a deep masculine voice saying something with great earnestness; and, thinking nothing of honour or being unmanly, I quietly turned the handle of the back parlour door, and entered. A pair of folding doors separated it from the front room; and, as I had hoped, they were ajar, so that, unobserved, I could see and hear all that passed.

French had his back to me, and was standing with Annie in the centre of the room; he holding her hand with both his, and she gazing with a scared, half-angry, half-frightened look in his face.

As I stood trembling there, he drew her towards him, and tried to pass one of his arms round her waist, but with a sharp cry, with eyes sparkling, and rage in every feature, she struck him sharply across the cheek with her disengaged hand, and I believe in his rage he would have returned the blow had I not sprung into the room and caught his arm.

Not a word was spoken; but, shaking me off, he looked at Annie with a malevolent glance in his eye; and then, holding up his finger in a threatening way, which seemed to say, “Speak of it if you dare!” he strode out of the house as Annie sank sobbing and hysterical into a chair.

I stayed until Fred came in, and then left them together, and I believe that my brother afterwards sought French at his lodgings, where he had a stormy interview; but I never knew for certain, as Fred silenced me the moment I entered upon the subject, and told me to forget it.

French never entered the cottage again, while a marked coolness ever after existed between him and my brother – just sufficient passing between them for the transaction of business routine, and that was all. For my part, I was immensely pleased with the change, and cared but little for any display of rancour upon the part of French. However, instead of showing enmity he always after seemed disposed to be civil; but I always avoided him as much as possible.

Fred had been married ten months, and appeared to idolise his wife. Poor fellow! his few months of wedded life seemed to pass away like a dream: he lived his day unsuspectingly, seeing not the canker that was slowly eating its way and so soon to blight his existence.

One morning, upon going down to the office, I found that something unusual had taken place. French was there in close conversation with our employers, and a policeman was in waiting in the outer office. In reply to a query, I said that my brother would be there in a few minutes – in fact, before the words were well spoken Fred walked in.

Mr Ranee, senior, motioned to him to walk into the private office; and, seeing that something was wrong, and oppressed by an undefined dread, I followed him, for no attempt was made to exclude me.

“Mr Gordon,” said our employer, “I wish to be frank and straightforward with you, and if in any way I hurt your feelings this morning, prove your innocence, and I will ask your forgiveness. We find that two hundred and fifty pounds are missing from the safe, all in notes.”

I started, and looked at Fred, who seemed confounded; for, like myself, he was aware of there being a heavy sum deposited in the safe ready for banking that morning, the greater part having been received on the previous evening after banking hours.

“I know nothing of it, Mr Ranee,” said Fred, recovering himself, and speaking in a haughty tone.

“You see, Mr Gordon,” said our employer, “my brother and I are compelled to make diligent search for the culprit, whoever he may be, and I sincerely trust that it may not be one who has enjoyed our confidence.”

“I trust not, sir,” said Fred, shortly, and in the glance which he directed at French I saw he suspected that a trap had been laid for him; but the senior clerk would not meet his gaze, for he kept his eyes fixed upon Mr Ranee.

“Did you exchange a five-pound note last night?” said Mr Ranee.

“I did,” said Fred, “in a payment I made to Mr Wilson.”

“Ask Mr Wilson to step in,” said our employer.

It was evident that the matter had been gone into before; for Mr Wilson, a draper in the town, was in the partners’ room, and made his appearance directly.

“You received a five-pound note of Mr Frederick Gordon last night?” said Mr Ranee.

Mr Wilson nodded acquiescence, and then stood wiping his hands upon his pocket-handkerchief.

“Certain? – are you certain? and have you the note, Mr Wilson?”

That gentleman nodded again, and tapped his breast pocket, as much as to say, “here it is.”

“Pray where did you obtain that note, Mr Gordon?” said our employer.

“It was a part of my salary paid to me a fortnight since.”

Mr Ranee turned and asked the draper to produce the note.

“Is that the note, Mr Gordon?”

“Yes, that’s it,” said Fred, “there’s my name upon the back.”

Mr Ranee then fetched his private cash-book, and showed him that it was one of the notes received the day before; for there was the number, in company with that of all the other notes, duly entered.

Fred immediately pulled out his pocket-book from the breast of his coat, which he had not yet had time to change, though his custom was to wear an old coat in the office, and leave the other hanging upon a peg against the wall.

“I have here another of the notes you paid me, sir,” he said, passing it over to his employer, who took it, examined it, and then compared the number with one of those in his book. He then shook his head ominously.

“This is not one of the notes that I paid you, Mr Gordon; this is one of those missing from the safe. I am grieved, deeply grieved, Mr French, to find that your suspicions are so far verified; and therefore a search must be made.”

“Search! what? where?” exclaimed Fred, turning pale. “Not my home – my place – think, Mr Ranee – my wife – the shock – ”

Fred stopped short, for just then he caught the eye of French, and, setting his teeth, he remained silent.

I went up to him and took his hand, but he did not speak, for I could see that he was trying to concentrate his thoughts upon the matter, and endeavouring to solve the mystery. We both felt that we knew the hand that was dealing the blow, but the question was how to parry the assault.

Just then French and the policeman left the office together, and Fred would have followed, but was told that he must not leave the house.

“But you will at least follow and see that the feelings of my wife are not outraged, Mr Ranee,” cried Fred.

Mr Ranee made a sign to his brother, who followed the policeman and French, and then we sat together in silence for quite two hours, listening to the ticking of the great office clock.

But the party returned at length with the policeman, carrying Annie’s rosewood desk beneath his arm; while close behind came Annie herself, looking dreadfully agitated; and Mr Ranee, junior, with a pitying expression of countenance, supported her upon his arm.

Fred started as he saw the desk, which was a present he had made to Annie before their marriage. It was placed upon the table amidst an ominous silence, and then the policeman turned the key, the lock flying open with a sharp, loud snap, which made all present start; and then with his clumsy fingers the man opened one compartment, fumbled at a spring for a while, but could make nothing of it till French leaned over and pressed it with his hand, when one of those so-called concealed drawers flew out, and there lay a bundle of clean, white-looking bank notes, which, upon being compared with the numbers in the ledger, proved to be those stolen, minus the two already produced.

For a few moments there was silence, for Fred sat perfectly astounded; but he was recalled to himself by the nod Mr Ranee gave to the constable, who motioned to my brother to follow him.

Fred turned towards French, and in that one brief glance there was combined such contempt, scorn, and penetration of the device, that the senior clerk’s look of gratified malice sank before it, and he turned pale.

But I had no time to observe more; for, stretching out her hands towards her husband, Annie uttered a wild cry of despair, and would have fallen if I had not caught her in my arms.

As poor Annie tottered towards her husband, French darted forward to catch her; but all the calm disdain seemed to leave my brother in an instant, as with one bound he leaped across the office, and had his enemy by the throat, and before the constable or the astonished partners could interpose, French was lying stunned and bleeding upon the floor, with a gash upon his forehead caused by its striking against the heavy iron fender.

“Take her home, Harry,” Fred whispered to me in a hoarse voice. “I’d have his life sooner than he should lay a finger upon her.” Then giving one fond look at the inanimate form I held, he walked to the office door, and accompanied the constable to the station.

While efforts were being made to revive French, I obtained the assistance of one of the porters, who fetched a fly, and I soon had the poor distracted girl at home, and then darted off to the station, where, after conferring with my poor brother, I made arrangements with a couple of relatives to be bail for him. This done, I found that one of the magistrates was coming down to hear the case and remand it till the petty sessions on the following Wednesday; but upon fully understanding the magnitude of the charge, he declined to accept bail upon his own responsibility, and poor Fred had to remain in one of the station cells.

“Cheer up, Harry,” he cried, on parting from me; “be a man. The truth will out, my boy. Don’t let my poor girl despair.”

Poor Annie! It was a sad shock for her; and in spite of my determination to support her in her trouble, I felt helpless as a child. The platitudes I whispered fell upon heedless ears, and for hours she would lie with her head upon my aunt’s shoulder, often sobbing hysterically, while her work lay neglected upon the table, and I, with boyish curiosity, gazed upon the preparations she had been making.

But it was a time for action with me, and my brain felt almost in a whirl of excitement. Fred now took me fully into his confidence, and kind as he had always been, yet now he treated me as though I were a man and his peer; and in spite of the trouble we were in, there was a certain charm in all this, and I could not but feel pleased with the importance that now attached to me. First there was conferring with our friends, then visiting poor Annie, then taking notes or messages from Fred to his solicitor; so that for me – and I fear for me only – the time passed rapidly.

Early on the following morning I received a note from the office, requesting that I would abstain from attending during the examinations then in progress, – a congé I was only too glad to receive, for the time, though I felt convinced that before long we should both return in triumph.

Upon comparing notes with my brother, I found that we were both of the same way of thinking, that it was a plot hatched by French; but the difficulty was to prove this to our employers, who knew nothing of the coldness previously existing between their clerks.

At last the petty sessions were held. The evidence given was of a most conclusive character, and in spite of his previous life, and the enmity proved to have existed between French and my brother, he was committed for trial – heavy bail being taken.

I walked home with Fred that afternoon, but soon left him, for Annie was in sore need of consolation. She blamed herself as the sole cause of all the trouble, through perhaps inadvertently giving some pretext for the advances of French. But, poor girl! she was as pure in thought as her blest spirit; and yet she could not be made to think herself blameless. I can almost see her now, pale, weeping, and anxious, with every nerve unstrung; and it was only by a great effort of mind that Fred was able at such a time to speak cheeringly.

The interval between the day of committal and the assize was but short, and I could see how anxiously Fred looked forward to a termination of the suspense. I could not get him to look upon the bright side of the question, but he talked long and earnestly as to my duties and prospects if he should be found guilty – telling me that he left to me the sacred charge of caring for his wife.

“And, Harry,” he whispered, “beware of that villain.”

We talked over again and again the circumstances of the case; the notes in his pocket could easily have been changed; but we could detect no means by which access had been obtained to the desk, which always stood locked, upon the drawers in their bedroom. Once only a shade seemed to cross Fred’s mind – a horrible suspicion – but a glance at his wife dispelled it, and I left him directly after kneeling at her feet.

He told me of it the next day that for a moment he had suspected Annie, “But it must have been a demon that prompted the thought, Harry, for she is as pure as the angels in heaven. It is a base plot – a diabolical plot – to ruin me and my happiness at the same time; to send me to the hulks with a vile jealousy gnawing at my heart, or he would never have chosen her desk to hide them there.”

Wearied out with conjecturing, we always arrived at the same conclusion – that it was a mystery; and one that time alone would reveal. Every preparation was made for the defence, and a barrister, well-known for his ability, was retained.

But it was all in vain. The trial came on with many others – sheep-stealing, poaching, assaults, and petty thefts; and at last, in spite of a most able defence by our counsel, the jury almost immediately returned a verdict of guilty. Then came a long homily from the judge respecting breach of confidence, advantages of education, ingratitude to indulgent masters, concluding with the sentence to fourteen years transportation.

Fred did not move a muscle, but stood as he had stood throughout the trial, erect, and with the proud consciousness of innocence written upon his brow. He beckoned to his solicitor, and begged of him to thank the barrister for his able defence; and then turned to leave the dock, returning the malicious look of French with one of calm scorn.

Just then I saw a piece of paper handed to Fred, who read it, smiled contemptuously, and crushed it in his hand; but directly after he smoothed it out, and it was passed to me.

The words upon the paper were in a disguised hand —

“Perhaps Annie will be kinder now.”

I read it by the fast fading light, and knew well enough whose hand had dealt the dastardly stab; but when I looked up, both Fred and French were gone.

Mine was to be a bitter task that night, and I stayed for quite an hour before I could summon resolution for my journey home. I had some miles to go, for our place lay at a distance from the county town; and I started at length, having quite given up the idea of breaking the news to Annie. I felt that I dared not; and on reaching my lodgings I sent a note; but a message came back that I must go on directly.

I went on to the cottage, and then found that the news had been less tardy than myself, for the servant girl had heard it in the town an hour before, and told them upon her return.

Upon hearing the fatal tidings poor Annie had gently slipped from her chair, and remained insensible for some time, but the doctor was then with her.

One, two, three sad days passed, and on the fourth I stood on one side of her bed with my knees trembling beneath me; for young and inexperienced as I then was, I knew that an awful change was taking place. It was evening, and the setting sun sent a glow of unearthly brightness to her sweet calm face as I stood there half blind with tears, while my poor aunt sobbed audibly.

But why prolong the sad tale? Once the dying girl opened her eyes and smiled upon her mother, and then turned them towards me, when her pale lips formed themselves to kiss me, even as would those of a child. I leant over her, and pressed my lips to hers, and as I did so, there was a faint sigh, and I felt myself drawn away.

Five days after I again stood to take a farewell look of poor Annie as she lay in the dim shadowy room in her narrow coffin, with her crossed arms folding a tiny form to her breast. Cold – cold – cold! Mother and child. The breast that should have warmed the little bud, icy – pulseless; and as I stood there with a strange awe upon me, I could but whisper, for they seemed to sleep.

We laid them where you stood to-night, love; and on returning, sad and broken-hearted, to the little parlour – now so lonely and deserted, we found that Ellen the servant had suddenly left; and that, too, without assigning any reason. But we had too much to think of then to pay attention to a domestic inconvenience, though often afterwards it was recalled.

I dared not trust myself to convey the sad news to my brother, for as yet he was in ignorance of poor Annie’s death. We had kept it back, hesitating whether to tell him at all at such a time, when sorrow had bowed him down; but at length I wrote to him, and with a letter from my aunt, inclosed it to the chaplain of the county gaol, begging of him to try and prepare my poor brother for the dreadful shock.

I felt now that we had all drained the cup of bitterness; and in the incidents of the past month, years upon years seemed to have been added to my life. But the dregs of the cup had yet to be partaken of; for on the second day after sending my letter, I was summoned to see my brother, and I went with foreboding at my heart, and a voice seeming to whisper to me – “Thank God that you are orphans!”

Upon reaching the prison I was shown into the chaplain’s private room, and his looks told me what his first words confirmed. He spoke long and earnestly, and with a tender sympathy I could not have expected. But at last I begged that I might see my poor brother, and he led me to his cell.

Coming from the bright glare of a sunlit room, it was some time before my eyes became accustomed to the half twilight of the bar-windowed cell; and then, half blind with tears, but with my eyes hot and burning, I looked upon the pallid bloodless form of poor Fred, for he was found on the previous night just as he breathed his last sigh in the words, “Annie – pardon!” – having forestalled the will of God by his own hand.

The grass had not had time to send forth its first shoot upon Annie’s grave ere it was disturbed, and again I stood by the sad opening, heard that hollow rattle of the earth, and then, as chief mourner, walked sadly away wondering what new calamity could fall upon me.

I entered the cottage once more, and was not surprised to hear wild and bitter sobs in the little parlour, and for a while I forbore to enter; but a wild cry, almost a shriek of woe, startled me, and I went in.

There at my aunt’s feet – crushed and hopeless – lay a figure, tearing her dishevelled hair, weeping, moaning, and praying for forgiveness; asking whether it were possible that such a wretch could ever obtain pardon.

At first I hardly recognised the wild, bloodshot-eyed face that appealed now to me, now to my aunt, and then called wildly upon the dead to forgive her; and then I saw it was my brother’s servant.

By degrees I learned that the poor wretch had yielded to the persuasions, and bribes, and cajolery of French; and then from the power he had over her, she had obtained for him that fatal desk, and then at his command replaced it. He had made her swear by the most fearful oaths not to betray the secret, and then the poor wretch had been compelled to watch step by step the dreadful progress of the tragedy, till at last half crazed with terror at the misery she had by her weakness caused, she fled from the house. Then came the news of my brother’s death, when she could bear no more, and after once again seeing French and telling him her intention, she had thrown herself at my aunt’s feet and confessed all.

Too late – too late – to bring back life and happiness; but not too late to thrust dishonour from my brother’s grave. I rushed frantically to the office to denounce French; and, boy as I was, I should have taken him by the throat, but he was not there. Breathlessly I told the brothers all; but, for awhile, the narrative seemed so extravagant, that they looked upon me as mad. But upon knowing the truth of my statement, they were prompt in their endeavours to obtain justice upon the base villain who had brought those young hearts to a premature grave.

Too late – too late. French had fled, whither no one knew; but if a man – if a human heart beat within his breast, he must have carried a fearful punishment with him.

Twenty years since then I have served Ranee Brothers; and you can tell a little of the kindness and consideration they have always shown me; while I suppose I begin the new year as a member of the firm.

And do you wonder now that I should have grown into a staid and quiet man – that people should call me reserved – and that grey hairs should already have appeared in my head?

But what are these, Minnie? Tears, love? Come, light the candles; we must have no more tales told in the dusk.