At the Sign of the Silver Flagon

"Nay, it is you that must unriddle it," said Margaret.

He counted the notes; they amounted to a large sum, four hundred pounds. Margaret saw, by a sudden flash in Gerald's eyes, that he could explain the mystery. After much persuasion he told her briefly that when he and Philip were at college together he had signed bills for Philip for four hundred pounds, which he had to pay.

"My Philip repays you now," said Margaret, in a grateful tone. "And yet when I spoke of him you used no word of reproach towards him; others to whom he might have owed the money would not have been so forbearing."

"He was my friend," said Gerald, "and I loved him. Poor dear Philip!"

She took his hand and kissed it; then she thought of Lucy.

"And now I want to speak to you about Lucy," she said. "If your father knew that it was the daughter of his oldest friend you loved, would he give his consent to your engagement?"

The words in which he answered her were a sufficient confirmation of her fears.

"I can marry without my father's consent."

The voice of Mr. Weston himself, who had approached them unseen, suddenly broke up their conference.

"Ah! you have made the acquaintance of this big boy of mine," said the old gentleman to Margaret; "don't lose your heart to him; he is the most desperate deceiver in the world. See how the rascal blushes!"

"I was making love to him," said Margaret archly; "but as you tell me it is of no use, I had better employ my time more profitably."

And she took the old gentleman's arm, and straightway commenced to flirt with him in the most outrageous manner.

CHAPTER XI

A PEEP INTO BLUEBEARD'S ROOM

Thanks to Margaret's tact, everything went on smoothly for a little while. No person but herself knew how hard she worked during this time. She was for ever on the alert, and she managed so skilfully that Mr. Weston did not even suspect that Gerald and Lucy were lovers. These young persons would have betrayed themselves a dozen times a day to Gerald's father had it not been for Margaret's vigilance: she took the old gentleman in hand, as she termed it, and entertained him so admirably that he found real pleasure in her society. She afterwards declared that she had never played so difficult a part, and had never played any part half so well. But Margaret, as we know, had a great idea of her own capabilities.

With womanly cunning, she sounded Mr. Weston to the very bottom of his nature, and she was compelled to admit to herself that there was not the slightest probability of his ever, with his eyes open, giving his consent to Gerald's union with a girl who had neither wealth nor position. He had set his mind upon a certain worldly position for his son, and he was not to be diverted from it by sentimental feelings. Gerald was to marry money, was to enter Parliament, and to make a name in society. The old gentleman respected nothing but position; he felt a glow of pride when people touched their hats to him in the streets, and without a suspicion that this mark of outward respect was paid to his wealth and not to himself, he was convinced that it was worth living for and worth working for. But notwithstanding that he was emphatically a purse-proud man, and that when he sat upon the bench as a magistrate his bosom swelled with false pride, he had one estimable quality, which better men than he often do not possess. He was a man of his word, and had never been known to depart from it. What he pledged himself to, he performed. His promise was better than any other man's bond. Now this would cut both ways, as Margaret knew, and it was with dismay she thought that if the old gentleman once refused in plain words to sanction an engagement between Gerald and Lucy, it would take a greater power than she imagined she could ever possess to induce him to revoke his decision. If, on the other hand, she could manage, insidiously or by straightforward dealing, to induce him to sanction such an engagement, she believed she could compel him to stand by his word. But she saw no way to arrive at so desirable a consummation.

Every day she confessed to herself that her task was becoming more difficult. The fortnight during which she had extracted a promise from Lucy's father to keep his lips sealed was fast drawing to a close, and no one but herself knew that a storm was approaching which would bring a deathless grief to those she loved. She knew that she could obtain no assistance, even in the shape of advice, from any of the friends around her. Mr. Hart was too trustful of his friend; he would listen to nothing against him. Lucy was too simple! Gerald was too rash and sanguine. These reflections were perplexing her as she stood before the glass one morning, and when she came to the end of them she frowned and stamped her foot.

"My dear," she said, nodding her head violently to herself in the glass, "all these people are too guileless and innocent to be of the slightest use to you. You are the only wicked one among them."

And then she thought she would go and consult her mother's old lover, Mr. Lewis Nathan, the clothes-seller. But she was frightened to leave the house with Mr. Weston in it, and no watchdog over him. Fortune befriended her, however, for over the breakfast-table Mr. Weston mentioned that business would take him away from them until the evening. Margaret's eyes sparkled.

"We shall be quite dull without you," she said.

She had so ingratiated herself into the old gentleman's good graces that he really believed her. Little did he suspect that he was nursing a serpent in his bosom. Margaret saw him safely off, and then, telling Lucy that she had business in town, put on her bonnet and shawl.

"What business, Maggy?" asked Lucy.

"I am going shopping," replied Margaret, with face of most unblushing innocence.

"Oh! I'll come with you," cried Lucy eagerly.

(I take the opportunity of parenthetically stating my belief that women like "shopping," even better than love-making.)

"I don't want you, my pet," said Margaret demurely; "I am going to meet my beau, and two is company, you know."

Away she posted to Mr. Lewis Nathan, who welcomed her right gladly.

"I was afraid I was going to lose you, my dear," he said; "I thought you had forgotten me."

"I never forget a friend," replied Margaret; "I am like my poor mother, Mr. Nathan. Did she ever forget you?"

She chattered about odd things for a few minutes before she came to the point. She even took a customer out of Mr. Nathan's hands, and sold the man a coat and a Waistcoat for half as much again as Mr.. Nathan would have obtained for them; true, she sweetened the articles with smiles and flattering words, and sent the customer away, dazed and entranced. Mr. Nathan looked on with undisguised admiration.

"What a saleswoman you would have made!" he exclaimed, raising his hands. "You talked to the man as though you had been born in the business, my dear-born in the business."

"The fact is, Mr. Nathan," said Margaret, with brazen audacity, "I am a very clever woman; and, besides, I am an actress, and know how to wheedle the men." She sighed pensively and added, "But I am a fool with it all. I can sell a coat, but I can't serve my dearest friends. Oh, that I were a man and had the brains of a man!"

With a humorous look Mr. Lewis Nathan placed his hands to his head.

"Here is a man's head," said he, "and a man's brains, very much at your service, my dear."

"Come along, then," she cried. "It is hard if you and I can't win when we go into partnership. What do you say, now? Shall we become partners?"

"My dear," said the old rascal, "I should like to take you as a partner for life."

"It is a good job for me," said Margaret archly, "that you are not thirty years younger. As it is I have almost lost my heart to you."

This incorrigible creature could no more help flirting than she could help talking-and she had a woman's tongue to do the latter.

Binding him over to secrecy, she told him the whole story; he listened attentively.

"As I was doing my hair this morning," said Margaret in conclusion, "and looking into the glass-"

"I wish I had been behind you, my dear," interrupted Mr. Nathan.

"Be quiet, Lothario! As I looked into the glass this morning I said to myself, 'Margaret, there is only one person among your acquaintance who is clever enough to assist you; that person is Mr. Nathan.' But before I flew to you, I had a good look at the crow's feet which this trouble is bringing into my eyes. I am growing quite careworn."

"I should like to see those crow's feet."

"Well, look at them;" and she placed her face close to his.

Mr. Nathan gazed into her sparkling eyes, which flashed their brightest glances at him, and then laughed at her outright.

"You're a barbarian," cried Margaret.

"You had better call me an unbelieving Jew at once," said Mr. Nathan rubbing his hands. "You're thrown away as a Christian, my dear, completely thrown away! You ought to have been one of the chosen people."

She rose and made him a mocking curtsey.

"Thank you, I am quite contented as I am. But let us be serious. Say something to the point. You have heard the story."

"It is an old story," he observed; "love against money. Here is money; here is love." He held out his two hands to represent a pair of scales, one hand raised considerably above the other. "See, my dear, how money weighs down love."

"I see. Your hand with love in it is nearest to heaven; your hand with money in it is nearest to the-other place."

"Perhaps so; perhaps so; but the plot of this play is to be played out on earth, my dear, isn't it? I have seen it a hundred times on the stage, and so have you."

"And love always wins," she said vivaciously. "Yes," rejoined Mr. Nathan drily, "on the stage, always. In real life, never."

"I won't have never!" she cried impetuously. "It does sometimes win, even in this sordid world. And if it never has done so before, it must win now. Why, if your cunning and my wit are not a match for a greedy, worldly, hard-hearted old man, I would as lief have been born without brains as with them!"

"Hush, hush, my dear. Let me think a bit."

He pondered for a little while.

"There was a mathematician-what was his name? – ah! Archimedes-who said he would move the world if he could find a crevice for his lever. My dear, we have neither lever nor crevice. We must get the lever first, and find the crevice. Now where does this old gentleman keep his skeleton?"

She stared at him in amazement. "His skeleton!" she exclaimed.

"His skeleton, my dear; that's what we want. He keeps it somewhere. I've got mine, and I keep it where no eye but my own can see it. We've all got one. If we could get hold of this old gentleman's we might do something. It is in his house, depend upon it."

"If it is, I've not heard of it. Oh! yes," she cried excitedly, contradicting herself; "Bluebeard's room! He has a Bluebeard's room in the house. Mr. Hart told me of it."

Mr. Nathan chuckled. "What is in that room, Margaret?"

"How should I know? I have never been in it."

He gave her a reproachful look.

"If you hadn't told me so yourself I should not have believed it. A Bluebeard's room in the house and you've never seen it A clever woman like you! You'll tell me next, I shouldn't wonder, that you have never peeped through the keyhole."

"I do tell you so; I never have peeped through the keyhole."

It was evident from Mr. Nathan's tone that Margaret had fallen several degrees in his estimation.

"My dear," he said, "that room may contain the very thing we want-the lever."

"But suppose he keeps it locked up?"

"Then locks, bolts, and bars must fly asunder." Mr. Nathan sang these words in a fine bass voice, and rising with a brisk air said, "You must get me into that room, Margaret."

"I must first get you into the house."

"I am coming with you now. The old gentleman is away, you say; no time like the present. We'll strike the iron while it's hot, my dear. I constitute myself your friend Gerald's tailor, and I am going to take his measure. As you have never peeped through the keyhole, I suppose you have never tried the handle of the door?"

"Never."

"I will take long odds it is unlocked. Come along, my dear."

At another time Margaret might have had scruples, but her interest in the stake she was playing for was so great that she was determined to leave no stone unturned to win the day. So she accompanied Mr. Nathan to Mr. Weston's house, where they found only Lucy-Gerald, for a wonder, being absent from her. Acting under Mr. Nathan's instruction, Margaret got rid of Lucy, so that the two conspirators might be said to have had the house to themselves.

"Now, my dear," said Mr. Nathan, "take me to the room. Of course you know where it is."

"Not for a certainty," replied Margaret, "but I suspect."

She led Mr. Nathan to a door at the end of a passage, the last room but one in which was Mr. Weston's study. She tried the handle of the door, and it turned within her hand; the door was unlocked.

"I told you so," said Mr. Nathan, with a quiet chuckle. "Sister Ann, Sister Ann, do you see any one coming?"

"I am frightened to go in," said Margaret, shrinking back.

"Nonsense, my dear, nonsense; we shan't have our heads cut off."

She followed him into the room, but saw nothing to alarm her. There was but little furniture; two chairs, a. table, and a desk, all in a very dusty condition. The windows had not been cleaned for some time, and it was evident that no use was made of the room. Mr. Nathan opened a cupboard-it was empty; tried a desk-it was locked. If it was a Bluebeard's room, the secret was well hidden; the only thing to excite comment was that a number of pictures were hanging with their faces turned to the wall.

"To preserve them from the dust, I should say," observed Mr. Nathan; "one-two-three-thirteen of 'em, my dear. We'll have a peep at them at all events."

They were all portraits, and were all painted by the same hand. Mr. Nathan seemed to find some cause for curiosity in this circumstance. One of the portraits, Margaret said, was like Mr. Weston when he was a young man.

"Taken a good many years ago," said Mr. Nathan, placing the pictures in their original position. "There is something in it, my dear. If the old gentleman has a secret, it lies in those pictures."

"What is to be done now?" asked Margaret in despair.

"Well, my dear, it's a puzzle. But we'll try and work it out. We must put our heads together, and use stratagem. Don't be downcast; nothing is done without courage. We won't be beaten if we can help it. Come and see me to-morrow, and in the meantime get at the story of these pictures if you can. I dare say the old gentleman has told Mr. Hart something about them."

They left Bluebeard's room in not a very hopeful frame of mind.

CHAPTER XII

MR. HART DECLARES THAT HONESTY HAS DIED OUT OF THE WORLD

Events, however, were brought to a climax somewhat suddenly, without Margaret's intervention. On the day following the peep into Bluebeard's room Mr. Weston announced that he intended giving an evening party, and that he had already invited his friends. The party would take the form of an early dance.

"Really early," said Mr. Weston, "for I don't like late hours. They have all promised to be here by half-past eight o'clock."

He told Gerald privately that Miss Forester and her family would be among the guests. Miss Forester was the young lady whom he wished his son to marry, and he requested Gerald to pay her particular attention. The young fellow listened in silence.

"You will not leave us this evening," said Mr. Weston to Mr. Hart.

But Mr. Hart was compelled to go to the theatre. It happened, however, that he had but a small part to play, and that he could attend the party by ten o'clock. Mr. Weston had been very curious to know the nature of the business that took his friend away every evening, and Mr. Hart had found it difficult to parry the questions.

Margaret knew beforehand that some great magnates of the county would be present, with their wives and daughters, and she determined that Lucy should not be eclipsed by any she in Devonshire. She dressed Lucy with exquisite taste, and no fairer flower was ever seen. Lucy had improved wonderfully during the past fortnight; love had brought the roses to her cheeks. It was strange that the affectionate bearing of the young lovers towards each other should have hitherto escaped Mr. Weston's notice; but this was partly owing to the fact of the old gentleman being exceedingly short-sighted. On many occasions, when Lucy and Gerald were together in the grounds, he perhaps with his arm around her waist, Mr. Weston seeing them from a distance, had said, "That must be Lucy and Gerald;" and when he fussed about for his glasses, and prepared to fix them on his nose, Margaret, who was invariably by his side, turned his attention adroitly, blessing the circumstance that he could not see a dozen yards before him. I am afraid that she had been guilty more than once of secreting his glasses, to the old gentleman's infinite annoyance; she did not mind his pettishness; as you know, she was thoroughly unscrupulous. Once, when Lucy and Gerald were within twenty yards of them in the garden, suspiciously close together, Margaret unblushingly took Mr. Weston's glasses-which he was rubbing with his bandana preparatory to putting them to use-from his hand, and the ribbon from his neck, and saying, "Really, now, can one see with these things!" fixed them on her own nose, and looked about like an old grandmother, making so pretty a picture that the old gentleman was absorbed in admiration; during which little piece of comedy Lucy and Gerald escaped. At other times, Margaret twitted him with wearing his glasses constantly.

"They make you look so old," she expostulated.

"I am old, my dear," he replied.

"You old! Nonsense! You're a young man yet."

And although Mr. Weston deprecated the assertion, he was not displeased with it, and suffered much by frequently depriving himself of the artificial aids to sight. What he was ignorant of was clear to the eyes of every other person in the house. All the servants talked of the love-making that was going on between Gerald and Lucy, and, as the old gentleman seemed to sanction it, the servants decided that it would be a match. They thoroughly sympathised with their young master and their mistress that was to be, for Cupid was as busy in the kitchen as in the drawing-room. A most impartial young god. I have seen him busily at work, in rooms high and low, with fine ladies and common kitchen wenches, bestowing his attentions equally upon silk and cotton; I have seen him where silk and cotton are not appreciated, at the other end of the world, walking saucily by the side of dusky savages in grand old woods. If I had the time I would write a chapter on this theme; it is a temptation, because the subject is so new and novel; but space will not permit of it.

Mr. Weston, however, was not short-sighted on the evening of his party. The guests arrived, and the rooms were very brilliant. Lucy was the loveliest girl among them. Margaret ranked second, although she was dressed very simply in black. But she had the art of "putting on things" becomingly, an art which not all the members of her sex possess. Miss Forester was present, with her mamma, beautifully dressed, and very stately. Miss Forester's mamma was aware of Mr. Weston's wish, and approved of it. Gerald was in every way a suitable match for her daughter, and she was prepared to be exceedingly gracious to the young gentleman. Not so Miss Forester; she had an attachment elsewhere of which her mamma was ignorant, and being a young lady of spirit and determination, she had quite made up her mind that she would not mate with Gerald Weston; but she kept her sentiments to herself. So, when the music struck up for the first dance, these little wheels were in full motion, and gradually produced an unexpected result. In the opening dance, Mr. Weston saw Gerald walking to the set with Lucy on his arm. Now Mr. Weston had particularly wished Gerald to dance this first set with Miss Forester; it would have looked significant. Mrs. Forester was also a close observer, and was disappointed by Gerald's conduct. Miss Forester was perfectly satisfied with it. Gerald and Lucy, quite unconscious of the working of these small wheels, enjoyed the dance to its full; they were in a heaven of delight, and the persons around them might have been so many dummies, they were so lost in their feelings for each other. Mr. Weston consoled himself by the reflection that Gerald might have deemed it proper to pay his first attentions to this lady-guest in his father's house and the daughter of an old friend. He waited for the second dance. Gerald danced with Margaret. Mrs. Forester bit her lips, and calm agitation stirred her breast. This lady was never violent in her emotions.

"Your father is watching us," said Margaret to Gerald.

Gerald made no reply; he was dancing with Margaret, but his thoughts were with Lucy, and his eyes were upon her. Margaret repeated her observation.

"Ah! yes," he then said, detecting no meaning in it.

"I think," said our shrewd conspirator, "that he would have preferred you to dance with Miss Forester."

"I prefer to dance with Lucy-and you." The last two words were added as an afterthought.

Margaret was not offended; she was alarmed; she did not like Mr. Weston's looks.

"You must ask Miss Forester to dance immediately," she said to Gerald.

Gerald obeyed her. He asked Miss Forester to dance. Miss Forester was engaged. Very contented, Gerald strolled away to Lucy, and the next moment the lovers were again in sentimental labyrinths. Margaret understood the task of soothing and amusing Mr. Weston, and she succeeded for a time. Then she devoted herself, for a certain purpose, to Miss Forester; she wished to discover the state of that young lady's affections. But she met her match; after a quarter of an hour's confidential small-talk conversation, Margaret was no wiser then before. At ten o' clock Mr. Hart came, and for a little while Mr. Weston lost sight of his disturbance. But he planted a thorn in the breast of his friend. He introduced him to Miss Forester, and said privately to Mr. Hart, a few minutes afterwards:

"That is the young lady Gerald will marry."

Every trace of colour left Mr. Hart's face. He turned to see how Lucy and Gerald were engaged. They were not together. Gerald was now dancing with Miss Forester; their faces were very bright and animated; indeed, to tell you a secret known only at this time to those two, they had come to a little private understanding, arrived at without direct words, I assure you, which had given satisfaction to both. If words had been spoken, they would have run something in this way:

Miss Forester. "I love another person, and notwithstanding my mamma's wishes, I shall not marry you."

Gerald. "I love another person, and, notwithstanding my father's wishes, I shall not make love to you."

Not one word of this dialogue was spoken, but nothing could have been more plainly expressed. Thereupon Gerald and Miss Forester immediately became greater friends than they had ever been, and were absolutely-in the judgment of outsiders-flirting together most conspicuously. In Mr. Hart's eyes it was not flirtation, it was love-making. But Lucy's face was bright also; there was not a cloud on it. He turned to Margaret; their eyes met, but he could not read the expression in her face. Truth to tell, she was anxious and nervous, and was beginning to lose confidence in herself.

All this while we have left Mr. Weston, with the words hanging on his lips:

"That is the young lady Gerald will marry."

"Is it settled, then?" inquired Mr. Hart, striving, and striving in vain, to master his agitation.

"Quite settled," replied Mr. Weston, without a twinge.

Mr. Hart was bewildered. Could Gerald have been playing his girl false? It looked like it. There was only one thing that would give the lie to this-the possibility that Margaret was mistaken when she declared Gerald and Lucy to be lovers. He groaned involuntarily as he thought that all evidence was against this possibility. He was awakening from a bitterly beautiful dream, a dream which had clothed his daughter's life with happiness; again was the future dark before him. Mr. Weston told the lie intentionally; he had heard remarks during the evening upon the open attentions which Gerald was bestowing upon Lucy, and he did not choose that his old friend should remain in doubt of his opinion upon such proceedings.