Part 19 (1/2)

”Alive and well,” continued Andrews. ”Listen! when the cholera began to spread so rapidly, I bethought me of insuring the boy's life in case of the worst befalling, but not, as I hope for mercy, with the slightest thought of harming a hair of his head. This was done. Very soon the terrific disease approached our neighborhood, and my wife took Archy to a country lodging, returning herself the same evening. The next day our only servant was attacked and died. A few hours after that our first-floor lodger, a widow of the name of Mason, who had been with us but a very short time, was attacked. She suffered dreadfully; and her son, a boy about the age of Archy, and with just his hair and complexion, took ill also. The woman was delirious with pain; and before effective medical aid could be obtained--she was seized in the middle of the night--she expired. Her son who had been removed into another room, became rapidly worse, and we sent for Dr. Parkinson; the poor fellow was partially delirious with pain, and clung piteously round my wife's neck, calling her mother, and imploring her to relieve him. Dr. Parkinson arrived, and at first sight of the boy, said, 'Your son is very ill, Mrs. Andrews--I fear, past recovery; but we will see what can be done.' I swear to you, Mr. Sharp, that it was not till this moment the device which has ruined us, flashed across my brain. I cautioned my wife in a whisper not to undeceive the doctor, who prescribed the most active remedies, and was in the room, when the lad died. You know the rest. And now, sir, tell me, can anything be done--any device suggested to retrieve this miserable blunder, this terrible mistake?”

”This infamous crime, you should say, Mr. Andrews,” I replied; ”for the commission of which you are liable to be transported for life.”

”Yes, crime; no doubt that is the true word! But must the innocent child suffer for his father's offence?”

”That is the only consideration that could induce me to wag a finger in the business. Like many other clever rogues, you are caught in the trap you limed for others. Come to me tomorrow; I will think over the matter between this and then; but at present I can say nothing. Stay,” I added, as his hand was on the door; ”the ident.i.ty of your son can be proved, I suppose, by better evidence than your own?”

”Certainly, certainly.”

”That, will do, then; I will see you in the morning.”

If it should cross the mind of any reader that I ought to have given this self-confessed felon into custody, I beg to remind him that, for the reasons previously stated, such a course on my part was out of the question--impossible; and that, had it not been impossible I should do so, Mr. Jesse Andrews would not have intrusted me with his criminal secret. The only question now therefore was, how, without compromising this guilty client, the G.o.dfather's legacy could be secured for the innocent son.

A conference the next morning with Mr. Flint resulted in our sending for Mr. Jesse Andrews, and advising him, for fear of accidents or miscarriage in our plans, to betake himself to the kingdom of France for a short time. We had then no treaty of extradition with that country. As soon as I knew he was safely out of the realm, I waited upon the insurance people.

”The money ought not to have been received by Jesse Andrews, you say, Mr.

Sharp?” observed the managing-gentleman, looking keenly in my face.

”Precisely. It ought not to have been received by him.”

”And _why_ not, Mr. Sharp?”

”That is quite an unnecessary question, and one that, you know, I should not answer, if I could. That which chiefly concerns you is, that I am ready to return the four thousand pounds at once, here on the spot, and that delays are dangerous. If you refuse, why, of course--and I rose from my chair--I must take back the money.”

”Stay--stay! I will just consult with one or two gentlemen, and be with you again almost immediately.”

In about five minutes he returned. ”Well, Mr. Sharp,” he said, ”we had, I suppose; better take the money--obtained, as you say, by mistake.”

”Not at all; I said nothing about mistake. I told you it ought not to have been received by Andrews!”

”Well--well. I understand. I must, I suppose, give you a receipt?”

”Undoubtedly; and, if you please, precisely in this form.”

I handed him a copy on a slip of paper. He ran it over, smiled, transcribed it on a stamp, signed it, and, as I handed him a check for the amount, placed it in my hands. We mutually bowed, and I went my way.

Notwithstanding Mr. Newton's opposition, who was naturally furious at the unexpected turn the affair had taken, the ident.i.ty of the boy--whom that gentleman persisted in a.s.serting to be dead and buried--was clearly established; and Mr. Archibald Andrews, on the day he became of age, received possession of his fortune. The four thousand pounds had of course been repaid out of Jesse Andrews's legacy. That person has, so to speak, since skulked through life, a mark for the covert scorn of every person acquainted with the very black transaction here recorded. This was doubtless a much better fate than he deserved; and in strict, or poetical justice, his punishment ought unquestionably to have been much greater--more apparent also, than it was, for example's sake. But I am a man not of fiction, but of fact, and consequently relate events, not as they precisely ought, but as they do, occasionally occur in lawyers'

offices, and other unpoetical nooks and corners of this prosaic, matter-of-fact, working-day world.

BIGAMY OR NO BIGAMY?

The firm of Flint and Sharp enjoyed, whether deservedly or not, when I was connected with it, as it still does, a high reputation for keen practice and shrewd business-management. This kind of professional fame is usually far more profitable than the drum-and-trumpet variety of the same article; or at least we found it so; and often, from blush of morn to far later than dewy eve--which natural phenomena, by the way, were only emblematically observed by me during thirty busy years in the extinguishment of the street lamps at dawn, and their re-illumination at dusk--did I and my partner incessantly pursue our golden avocations; deferring what are usually esteemed the pleasures of life--its banquets, music, flowers, and lettered ease--till the toil, and heat, and hurry of the day were past, and a calm, luminous evening, unclouded by care or anxiety, had arrived. This conduct may or may not have been wise; but at all events it daily increased the connection and transactions of the firm, and ultimately anch.o.r.ed us both very comfortably in the three per cents; and this too, I am bold to say, not without our having effected some good in our generation. This boast of mine the following pa.s.sage in the life of a distinguished client--known, I am quite sure, by reputation to most of the readers of these papers, whom our character for practical sagacity and professional shrewdness brought us--will, I think, be admitted in some degree to substantiate.

Our connection was a mercantile rather than an aristocratic one, and my surprise was therefore considerable, when, on looking through the office-blinds to ascertain what vehicle it was that had driven so rapidly up to the door, I observed a handsomely-appointed carriage with a coronet emblazoned on the panels, out of which a tall footman was handing a lady attired in deep but elegant mourning, and closely veiled. I instantly withdrew to my private room, and desired that the lady should be immediately admitted. Greatly was my surprise increased when the graceful and still youthful visitor withdrew her veil, and disclosed the features of the Countess of Seyton, upon whose mild, luminous beauty, as rendered by the engraving from Sir Thomas Lawrence's picture, I had so frequently gazed with admiration. That rare and touching beauty was clouded now; and an intense expression of anxiety, fear--almost terror--gleamed from out the troubled depths of her fine dark eyes.

”The Countess of Seyton!” I half-involuntarily exclaimed, as with my very best bow I handed her ladys.h.i.+p a chair.

”Yes; and you are a partner of this celebrated firm, are you not?”

I bowed again still more profoundly to this compliment, and modestly admitted that I was the Sharp of the firm her ladys.h.i.+p was pleased to ent.i.tle ”celebrated.”