Mrs. Halliburton's Troubles Part 131

She turned to William. "Will you return with me? I have a claim on you,"

she reiterated eagerly.

He shook his head. "I accompany Mr. Ashley to the meeting."

She was obliged to be satisfied, turned abruptly, and left the room, William attending her to the door.

"What d'you call that?" asked Henry, lifting his voice for the first time.

"Call it?" repeated his sister.

"Yes, Mrs. Mary; call it. Cheek, I should say."

"Hush, Henry," said Mr. Ashley.

"Very well, sir. It's cheek all the same, though."

As Mr. Ashley surmised, the misfortune had already got wind, and the unhappy Dares were besieged that day by clamorous creditors. When Mr.

Ashley and William arrived there, for they walked up at the conclusion of the public meeting, they found Mr. Dare seated alone in the dining-room; that sad dining-room which had witnessed the tragical end of Anthony. He cowered over the fire, his thin hands stretched out to the blaze. He was not altogether childish; but his memory failed, and he was apt to fall into fits of wandering. Mr. Ashley drew forward a chair and sat down by him.

"I fear things do not look very bright," he observed. "We called in at your office as we came by, and found a seizure was also put in there."

"There's nothing much for 'em to take but the desks," returned old Anthony.

"Mrs. Dare wished me to come and talk matters over with you, to see whether anything could be done. She does not understand them, she said."

"What _can_ be done, when things come to such a pa.s.s as this?" returned Anthony Dare, lifting his head sharply. "That's just like women--'seeing what's to be done!' I am beset on all sides. If the bank sent me a present of three or four thousand pounds, we might go on again. But it won't, you know. The things must go, and we must go. I suppose they'll not put me in prison; they'd get nothing by doing it."

He leaned forward and rested his chin on his stick, which was stretched out before him as usual. Presently he resumed, his eyes and words alike wandering:

"He said the money would not bring us good if we kept it. And it has not: it has brought a curse. I have told Julia so twenty times since Anthony went. Only the half of it was ours, you know, and we took the whole."

"What money?" asked Mr. Ashley, wondering what he was saying.

"Old Cooper's. We were at Birmingham when he died, I and Julia. The will left it all to her, but he charged us----"

Mr. Dare suddenly stopped. His eye had fallen on William. In these fits of wandering he partially lost his memory, and mixed things and people together in the most inextricable confusion.

"Are you Edgar Halliburton?" he went on.

"I am his son. Do you not remember me, Mr. Dare?"

"Ay, ay. Your son-in-law," nodding to Mr. Ashley. "But Cyril was to have had that place, you know. He was to have been your partner."

Mr. Ashley made no reply. It might not have been understood. And Mr.

Dare resumed, confounding William with his father.

"It was hers in the will, you know, Edgar, and that's some excuse, for we had to prove it. There was not time to alter the will, but he said it was an unjust one, and charged us to divide the money; half for us, half for you; to divide it to the last halfpenny. And we took it all. We did not mean to take it, or to cheat you, but somehow the money went; our expenses were great, and we had heavy debts, and when you came afterwards to Helstonleigh and died, your share was already broken into, and it was too late. Ill-gotten money brings nothing but a curse, and that money brought it to us. Will you shake hands and forgive?"

"Heartily," replied William, taking his wasted hand.

"But you had to struggle, and the money would have kept struggle from you. It was many thousands."

"Who knows whether it would or not?" cheerily answered William. "Had we possessed money to fall back upon, we might not have struggled with a will; we might not have put out all the exertion that was in us, and then we should never have got on as we have done."

"Ay; got on. You are looked up to now; you have become gentlemen. And what are my boys? The money was yours."

"Dismiss it entirely from your memory, Mr. Dare," was William's answer, given in true compa.s.sion. "I believe that our not having had it may have been good for us in the long-run, rather than a drawback. The utter want of money may have been the secret of our success."

"Ay," nodded old Dare. "My boys should have been taught to work, and they were only taught to spend. We must have our luxuries indoors, forsooth, and our show without; our servants, and our carriages, and our confounded pride. What has it ended in?"

What had it! They made no answer. Mr. Dare remained still for a while, and then lifted his haggard face, and spoke in a whisper, a shrinking dread in his face and tone.

"They have been nothing but my curses. It was through Herbert that she, that wicked foreign woman, murdered Anthony."

Did he know of _that_? How had the knowledge come to him! William had not betrayed it, except to Mr. Ashley and Henry. And they had buried the dreadful secret down deep in the archives of their b.r.e.a.s.t.s. Mr. Dare's next words disclosed the puzzle.

"She died, that woman. And she wrote to Herbert on her death-bed and made a confession. He sent a part of it on here, lest, I suppose, we might doubt him still. But his conduct led to it. It is dreadful to have such sons as mine!"

His stick fell to the ground. Mr. Ashley held him, while William picked it up. He was gasping for breath.

"You are not well," cried Mr. Ashley.

"No; I think I am going. One can't stand these repeated shocks. Did I see Edgar Halliburton here? I thought he was dead. Is he come for his money?" he continued in a s.h.i.+vering whisper. "We acted according to the will, sir: according to the will, tell him. He can see it in Doctors'

Commons. He can't proceed against us; he has no proof. Let him go and look at the will."

"We had better leave him, William," murmured Mr. Ashley. "Our presence only excites him."

In the opposite room sat Mrs. Dare. Adelaide pa.s.sed out of it as they entered. Never before had they remarked how sadly worn and faded she looked. Her later life had been spent in pining after the chance of greatness she had lost, in missing Viscount Hawkesley. Irrevocably lost to her; for the daughter of a neighbouring earl now called him husband.

They sat down by Mrs. Dare, but could only condole with her: nothing but the most irretrievable ruin was around.

"We shall be turned from here," she wailed. "How are we to find a home--to earn a living?"

"Your daughters must do something to a.s.sist you," replied Mr. Ashley.

"Teaching, or----"

"Teaching! in this overdone place!" she interrupted.

"It has been somewhat overdone in that way, certainly of late years," he answered. "If they cannot get teaching, they may find some other employment. Work of some sort."

"Work!" shrieked Mrs. Dare. "My daughters _work_!"

"Indeed, I don't know what else is to be done," he answered. "Their education has been good, and I should think they may obtain daily teaching: perhaps sufficient to enable you to live quietly. I will pay for a lodging for you, and give you a trifle towards housekeeping, until you can turn yourselves round."

"I wish we were all dead!" was the response of Mrs. Dare.

Mr. Ashley went a little nearer to her. "What is this story that your husband has been telling about the misappropriation of the money that Mr. Cooper desired should be handed to Edgar Halliburton?"

She threw her hands before her face with a low cry. "Has he been betraying _that_? What will become of us?--what shall we do with him? If ever a family was beaten down by fate, it is ours."