Works of Ellen Wood, page 540
“Who was that at the door, Mark? Did you think it was any one in particular?”
“I don’t know who it was.”
“You seemed alarmed. Or annoyed.”
“Well,” returned Mark, speaking rather fast, “and it is annoying to have business fellows coming after me to my house. Why can’t they go to the offices?”
“To be sure,” said Caroline, reassured. “I’d not see a soul here, if I were you.”
He had been walking on towards the hall-door while he spoke.
But ere he had well reached it, he turned, and drew his wife into one of the rooms.
“Look here, Caroline: I’m not sure but I shall have to go down to the mines to-night If so, it is just possible I may not be able to come here first So you won’t be alarmed if you don’t see me home.”
“What a hurry you must be in!” exclaimed Caroline. “Not come home first!”
“But if I do go, mind, it will be on a little private matter that I don’t want known,” he continued, taking no notice of the remark. “So, if anybody should ask where I am, just answer that you can’t tell, but that I shall be back in a day or two. Do you understand, Carine?”
“Quite well. But, Mark, you will come home first, won’t you?”
“I only tell you this in case I don’t come,” he answered evasively. “I have a good deal to do to-day. Good-bye, Carine.”
“But about Hendon?” she interrupted.
“Hendon? Oh, I am quite sure I shan’t have time for Hendon to-day. If you don’t like to go without me, we must put it off for a day or two.”
He stooped to kiss her. Opening the hall-door, he stood on the steps, looking right and left; carelessly, as it seemed; in reality, cautiously. Very timorous was Mark Cray in that hour; he did not like that people should have hunted him to his very home. Then he turned to the Victoria Station, perhaps as the nearest point of refuge. He would make his way to Wales, to the mine, as straightly and speedily as he could, consistent with precaution.
Mark had been gone the best part of an hour, and it was hard upon mid-day. His wife was just deliberating whether to go shopping in the afternoon, or make calls, or pay a visit to the empty park, or take a drive out of town; which way, in short, would be the least tedious of killing the precious time that God had given her, when she was aroused by a formidable summons at the door, and a noise as of many steps and voices besieging the hall.
What next took place Caroline never clearly remembered. Confused recollections remained to her afterwards of angry demands for Mr. Cray, of indignant denials to the servant’s assertion that his master was in the City; the hubbub was great, the voices were threatening. Caroline’s first surprise was superseded by indignation; and that in its turn gave place to alarm.
You all know what it is to pour oil upon a spark of fire previously ready to burst forth into a flame. When the Great Wheal Bang’s shareholders had flocked to the Great Wheal Bang’s offices that morning they were on the balance, as may be said, between war and peace; somewhat uncertain in their own minds whether to treat Mark Cray and Mr. Barker as unfortunate fellow-sufferers with themselves, or to expend upon them their wrongs and their wrath. That mistake of the Great Wheal Bang’s secretary — as alluded to in the last chapter — turned the scale. In his dismay and confusion he inadvertently referred to the former irruption of water, and the unlucky disclosure maddened the throng. They forthwith looked upon themselves as dreadfully injured people; in fact they jumped to the conclusion that the Great Wheal Bang itself was little better than a swindle; so apt are we all to rush into extremes. Barker did what he could to stem the torrent; but the crowd vociferously demanded to see Mark Cray. It was he they had known mostly in the affair, for Barker was usually at the mine. And, not finding Mark answer to their demands, some of them tore off on the spur of the moment in Hansom cabs to his residence.
Caroline stood the very image of dismay. She did not show herself; she was too much alarmed; she peeped from the half-closed dining-room door and listened, just as Mark had done a short while before. Confused words of “water” and “mine” and “swindle” and “ruin” saluted her ears; and the demands for Mr. Cray became more threateningly imperative. Some movement of the door occurred; she staggered against it; and it was observed from the hall. Perhaps it was only natural to the belligerents to conclude that Mark Cray was there. They pressed forward to the room; but upon seeing that the lady was its only occupant, the young and lovely lady in her gala morning dress and the roses chased from her cheeks by fear, they drew back and clustered outside it “What is it you want?” gasped Caroline from her trembling lips.
One of the foremost answered her. He was a gentleman, and he raised his hat, and made his tone as courteous as his sense of injury allowed. They were very sorry to disturb her, but they must see Mr. Cray. They had come to see him and they would see him.
“I assure you that he is not here,” said Caroline, her earnest voice carrying truth with it. “He has been gone some time.”
“He was at the offices this morning, madam, and disappeared. We were told he had no doubt come home.”
“It is true,” she answered. “He went to the offices very early, and came home again about eleven o’clock for something he had forgotten, papers I think he said. He did not stay two minutes; he got them and went back again. What is it that is the matter?”
“Back to the offices?” they asked, disregarding the question.
“Yes, back to the offices. He said he must make haste, for he had a great deal to do to-day. I am sure you will find him there.”
She had no suspicion that she was asserting what was not true. Whether they believed it or not — though most of them did believe it — they had no resource but to act upon it Filing out again, they jumped into the cabs, and rattled back at the rate of nine-and-twenty miles an hour.
Leaving Mrs. Cray in a grievous state of perplexity and of distress: for they had spoken of “ruin” as connected with the mine. She was one of those who cannot bear suspense: she had no patience; no endurance, not even for an hour. In a tumult of hurry and emotion, she had her carriage brought round, called for Sara Davenal, to whom, however, she did not tell what had taken place, and drove on to the City almost as fast as those cabs had driven, to get an explanation of Mark.
The cabs had arrived previously, and their occupants found they had been deceived. No Mark Cray was at the offices, or had been there since his first departure from them. They burst bounds, in tongue at any rate, and talked of warrants and prosecutions and various inconvenient things. Other shareholders joined in the general fury, and it may perhaps be excused to them that when the carriage of Mark Cray suddenly appeared in the general melée, they turned their rage upon it.
That is, they pressed round it and saluted it with reproaches not at all soft or complimentary. Possibly in the moment’s blind anger they did not see that Mark himself was not its occupant. They were, on the whole, men who knew how to behave themselves, and would have desisted, perhaps apologised, when they had had time and calmness to see that only ladies were there: but that time w as not allowed them.
One came, with his tall strong form, his pale, resolute, haughty face, and pushed them right and left, as he laid his hand on the carriage door.
“Are you men?” he asked. “Don’t you see that you are terrifying these ladies? Stand back. I had thought—”
“Oh, Oswald, save us! save us!” came the interrupting cry, as Caroline Cray caught his-hand. “What is it all? what has happened?”
He got her out of the carriage and into some adjacent offices, whose friendly doors were opened to them. Sara followed, unmolested, and Oswald went back to rescue, if might be, the carriage. But the gentlemen had been a little recalled to common-sense by the incident: and the carriage was no longer in danger. Smashing Mark Cray’s carriage would not make good their losses, or bring forth him who was missing. Oswald returned to Mrs. Cray.
“It is all right again now,” he said. “The carriage is waiting for you a little further off. Shall I take you to it?”
“But I want to go into the offices, Oswald,” she feverishly rejoined. “I want to see Mark. I must see him.”
“Mark is not at the offices. Neither would it be well that you should go there just now.”
“Not at the offices! where is he then?”
“I don’t know where he is. I should like to find him.”
He spoke in a cold, proud, bitter tone, and it struck dismay to the heart of Mrs. Cray. Indeed Oswald’s frame of mind was one of the most intense bitterness. He had been plausibly defrauded out of his money: his pride, his sensitive honour, his innate justice, had been wounded to the core. All this disgrace Mark Cray had been earning for himself; Mark, his half-brother!
“But I must see Mark,” she reiterated in a helpless manner. “Don’t you know where I can go to find him, Oswald?”
“I do not indeed.”
“I want to know what has happened. I heard them speak of ruin; of water in the mine. Can you tell me?”
“News has come up that an irruption of water has taken place. I find it is not the first: but the other, they say, was not serious.”
“And this is?”
“I fear so.”
“But what right have those men to be so angry, so excited against Mark? He did not let the water in.”
Oswald made no answer. If Mark had treated those shareholders with the duplicity that he had treated him, they had certainly a very good right to be angry and excited.
Mrs. Cray turned towards the door in her restlessness to take a reconnoitring glimpse of the state of affairs outside. Mark might have come up! might be in the midst of the mob! Sara, who had waited for the opportunity, drew near to Oswald Cray, and spoke in a whisper.
“Is it ruin?”
“Irretrievable — as I believe,” he answered, his voice unconsciously assuming a strange tenderness as he looked at her pale, sad face. “Ruin for Mark Cray, perhaps for many others.”
And the words fell like a shock of ice on her heart. What would become of the engagement that she had made to repay the two hundred pounds to Mr. Wheatley from the money owing her by Mark?
CHAPTER XLIX.
THE EVENING OF THE BLOW.
IT was the peculiarity of Miss Bettina Davenal to be more especially deaf when suddenly surprised or annoyed. Possibly it is the same with other deaf people. Sara Davenal stood before her in her drawing-room striving to make her comprehend the state of affairs relative to the Great Wheal Bang; and not at first successfully. Miss Bettina had not understood why Mrs Cray had driven round in hurried agitation that morning and carried off Sara by storm: Caroline would not explain why, and Sara could not Sara had returned home now, willing to afford every explanation; indeed believing it to be her duty so to do; but Miss Bettina, offended at the morning’s slight, was keeping her heart closed; and when that was shut, the ears would not open.
“What d’you say? You went up to the offices? I should like to know what took you and Caroline to the offices? Young ladies don’t require to go to such places.”
“She went to try to see Mark, aunt.”
“Ugh!” growled Miss Bettina. “Mark told her, indeed! If Mark Cray told her to go down the mine amidst the lead, she’d do it Doesn’t he see enough of her at home?”
“She went to try to see Mark, Aunt Bettina,” repeated Sara, more slowly. “I — I am afraid they are ruined.”
“Serve them right,” returned Miss Bettina, catching the last word, but attaching no importance to it.
“Some disastrous news has been received from Wales, from the mine. Caroline says a Mr. Brackenbury called in Grosvenor Place last night—”
“Mr who?”
“Mr. Brackenbury. She did not know then why he called, but Mr. Oswald Cray has now told her that he brought the first news of it to Mark. It had come up to him by telegram.”
Miss Bettina Davenal bent her ear. “He came up by telegram! What do you mean by that? Have they got a new invention that brings up people, pray? Why are you not more careful how you speak, Miss Sara Davenal?”
“I said the news came up by telegram, aunt It came to Mr. Brackenbury; and that’s why he called on Mark last night. At least so Mr. Oswald Cray told Caroline. Caroline had been surprised or annoyed at his visit; she did not understand it; and she mentioned it to Mr. Oswald Cray.”
Miss Bettina lifted her hands helplessly. “What’s any Mr. Brackenbury to me? — or Oswald Cray either? I want to know why Caroline took you to those offices to-day?”
“I am trying to tell you, aunt,” said poor Sara. “Mark went up to the offices early this morning before Caroline was awake; he came home again about eleven, saying he had forgotten something, but Caroline thought his manner absent and strange. He left again; and soon after the house was invaded by quite a crowd of men, gentlemen, demanding to see him—”
“Had they got an organ with them?”
Miss Bettina’s interruption took Sara rather aback. “An organ, aunt? I don’t know what you mean.”
“Not know what I mean!” was the wrathful answer. “Crowds don’t collect round houses unless there’s a cause; organs or monkeys, or some such nonsense. What did they collect there for?”
Sara bent her head lower and strove to speak with even more distinctness. “It was a crowd of gentlemen, aunt; gentlemen from the City; though perhaps I ought not to have said a crowd, but it was what Caroline called it to me. They came down in Hansom cabs, she said, and they were fierce in their demands to see Mark, and they’d hardly go away again, and they said the mine was ruined. Caroline was alarmed, and she went up herself to try to see Mark, but she did not like to go alone, and came round for me.”
The words were as a hopeless jumble in Miss Bettina’s ear; their sense nowhere. “I wish you’d be dear,” she said, tartly. “If you want to tell me a thing, tell it in a straightforward manner. Why do you mix up crowds and organs with it?”
“Dear aunt, I never said a word about an organ. The — mine — is — ruined,” she added, almost out of heart with her task.
“What’s ruined?” shrieked Miss Bettina.
“The mine. The Great Wheal Bang.”
Miss Bettina heard this time. She had lived in expectation of the news ever since the Great Wheal Bang first jumped into existence. Nevertheless it scared her; and an expression of dismay sat on her refined features as she turned them on Sara with a questioning gaze.
“I believe the water has got in. They say it is utter ruin. And Mark Cray can’t be found.”
“What has Mark Cray found?”
“He can’t be found, aunt He was not at the offices when we got there, and the shareholders — as I suppose the people were — attacked the carriage: some of them have sunk a great deal of money in the mine. There was no real danger, of course; but Mr. Oswald Cray got us out of it.”
Miss Bettina stared hopelessly. “Oswald Cray got you out of the mine! What are you talking of?”
“Out of the carriage, aunt; not out of the mine, That’s in Wales.”
“Do you suppose I thought it was in London?” retorted offended Miss Bettina. “You’ll be obligingly informing me where London is next. Where is Mark Cray?”
“No one seems to know. His wife does not; except that he said to her he might have to go down to Wales this evening, and she was not to mention it. She is in great uncertainty and distress.”
“What’s she in?”
“Uncertainty, distress,” repeated Sara. “She is as frightened as a child. I fear she will not be a good one to bear misfortune. I went home with her and remained some time; it was that made me so late. When I came away she was growing very angry with Mark: she says he ought to have told her of it this morning.”
“And so he ought,” said Miss Bettina. “Ah! I never cordially approved that match for Caroline, and the doctor knew it She’ll see what he’s made of now. You say you came in contact with the shareholders: what did they say?”
Sara hesitated, “They were saying very disagreeable things, Aunt Bettina.”
“That’s not telling me what they said.”
“They talked of deceit and — and swindling. They seem dreadfully bitter against Mark Cray.”
“Dreadfully what against him?”
“Bitter.”
“Oh,” said Miss Bettina. “Mark Cray’s a fool in more ways than one; but they should blame themselves, not him. Mark told them the mine was of gold, I daresay; but it was their fault if they believed it A man might come to me and say, If you will give me a ten-pound note I’ll bring it you back to-morrow doubled, and if I fell into the trap I ought not to turn my anger on him. Mark Cray believed in the mine: those schemers are so sanguine.”
Sara bent her head until her lips almost touched her aunt’s ear, and lowered her voice to a cautious tone: but somehow it was terribly distinct to Miss Bettina.
“Aunt, I fear it is not quite so straightforward as you think. There was an irruption of water in the summer — a slight one, I fancy — and Mark and Mr. Barker concealed it. It is this which makes the shareholders so angry, and they say — they say they can prosecute him for it.”
“Who said this?” asked Miss Bettina, after a pause.
“I can hardly tell who. We heard a great deal of talking altogether. One gentleman came up to Mr. Oswald Cray as he was taking us to the carriage again, and asked him if he was not Mark’s brother. Oswald replied that he was Mark’s half-brother; and then the gentleman said harsh things, and Oswald could not stop him, and could not get us by.”
Miss Bettina poured forth question upon question. Incensed as she had been against Mark Cray and his wife for the past months, much as she had blamed their folly, sharp as were her prophecies of the final results, perhaps this was worse than she had bargained for.
