Davenport Dunn, a Man of Our Day. Volume 2

“We shall meet at Glengariff, Mr. Hankes,” said Sybella, rising, and replacing the papers in the box. “I mean to return by the coast road, and will not ask you to accompany me.”

“It is precisely what I was about to beg as a favor. I was poorly yesterday, – a nervous headache, an affection I am subject to; in short, I felt unequal to any exertion, or even excitement.”

“Pray let me counsel you to spare yourself a journey of much fatigue with little to reward it. Frequency and long habit have deprived the mountain tract of all terror for me, but I own that to a stranger it is not without peril. The spot where we parted yesterday is the least dangerous of the difficulties, and so I would say be advised, and keep to the high-road.”

Now, there was not the slightest trace of sarcasm in what she said; it was uttered in all sincerity and good faith, and yet Mr. Hankes could not help suspecting a covert mockery throughout.

“I ‘m determined she shall see I am a man of courage,” muttered he to himself; and then added, aloud, “You must permit me to disobey you, Miss Kellett. I am resolved to bear you company.”

There was a dash of decision in his tone that made Sybella turn to look at him, and, to her astonishment, she saw a degree of purpose and determination in his face very unlike its former expression. If she did not possess the craft and subtlety which long years had polished to a high perfection in him, she had that far finer and more delicate tact by which a woman’s nature reads man’s coarser temperament. She watched his eye, too, and saw how it rested on the oaken box, and, even while awaiting her answer, never turned from that object.

“Yes,” said she to herself, “there is a game to be played out between us, and yonder is the stake.”

Did Mr. Hankes divine what was passing in her mind? I know not. All he said was, —

“May I order the horses, Miss Kellett?”

“Yes, I am ready.”

“And this box, what is to be done with it? Best to leave it here in the possession of the innkeeper. I suppose it will be safe?” asked he, half timidly.

“Perfectly safe; it would be inconvenient to carry with us. Will you kindly tell the landlord to come here?”

No sooner had Mr. Hankes left the room on his errand, than Sybella unlocked the box, and taking out the three papers in which the name of Conway appeared, relocked it. The papers she as quickly consigned to a small bag, which, as a sort of sabretasche, formed part of her riding-costume.

Mr. Hankes was somewhat longer on his mission than appeared necessary, and when he did return there was an air of some bustle and confusion about him, while between him and the landlord an amount of intimacy had grown up – a sort of confidence was established – that Bella’s keen glance rapidly read.

“An old-fashioned lock, and doubtless worth nothing, Miss Kellett,” said Hankes, as with a contemptuous smile he regarded the curiously carved ornament of the keyhole. “You have the key, I think?”

“Yes; it required some ingenuity to withdraw it from where, I suppose, it has been rusting many a year.”

“It strikes me I might as well put a band over the lock and affix my seal. It will convey the notion of something very precious inside,” added he, laughing, “and our friend here, Mr. Rorke, will feel an increased importance in the guardianship of such a treasure.”

“I ‘ll guard it like goold, sir; that you may depend on,” chimed in the landlord.

Why was it that, as Bella’s quick glance was bent upon him, he turned so hastily away, as if to avoid the scrutiny?

Do not imagine, valued reader, that while this young girl scanned the two faces before her, and tried to discover what secret understanding subsisted between these two men, – strangers but an hour ago, – that she herself was calm and self-possessed. Far from it; as little was she self-acquitted. It was under the influence of a sudden suspicion flashing across her mind – whence or how she knew not – that some treachery was being planned, that she withdrew these documents from the box. The expression of Hankes’s look, as it rested on the casket, was full of significance. It meant much, but of what nature she could not read. The sudden way he had questioned her about Driscoll imparted a link of connection between that man and the contents of the box, or part of them; and what part could that be except what concerned the name of Conway? If these were her impulses, they were more easily carried out than forgiven, and in her secret heart she was ashamed of her own distrust, and of what it led her to do.

“It would be a curious question at law,” said Hankes, as he affixed the third and last seal, – “a very curious question, who owns that box. Not that its contents would pay for the litigation,” added he, with a mocking laugh; “but the property being sold this morning, with an unsettled claim of Driscoll’s over it, and the purchaser being still undeclared, – for I suppose you bought it in for the Earl, or for Mr. Dunn, perhaps – ”

“No, sir, in my own name, and for myself, waiting Mr. Dunn’s good pleasure to confirm the sale in the way I have told you.”

“Indeed!” exclaimed he, looking with an unfeigned admiration at a young girl capable of such rapid and decisive action, “so that you really may consider yourself its owner.”

“I do consider myself its owner,” was her calm reply.

“Then pray excuse my officiousness in this sealing up. I hope you will pardon my indiscreet zeal.”

She smiled without answering, and the blood mounted to Mr. Hankes’s face and forehead till they were crimson. He, too, felt that there was a game between them, and was beginning to distrust his “hand.”

“Are we to be travelling-companions, Mr. Hankes?” asked she. And though nothing was said in actual words, there was that in the voice and manner of the speaker that made the question run thus: “Are we, after what we have just seen of each other, to journey together?”

“Well, if you really wish me to confess the truth, Miss Kellett, I must own I am rather afraid of my head along these mountain paths, – a sort of faintness, a rushing of blood to the brain, and a confusion; in short, Nature never meant me for a chamois-hunter, and I should bring no credit on your training of me.”

“Your resolve is all the wiser, sir, and so to our next meeting.” She waved him a half-familiar, half-cold farewell, and left the room.

Mr. Hankes saw her leave the town, and he loitered about the street till he could mark two mounted figures ascending the mountain. He then ordered a chaise to the door with all speed.

“Will you take it now, sir, or send for it, as you said at first?” asked the innkeeper, as he stood with the oak box in his hands.

“Keep it till I write, – keep it till you hear from me; or, no, put it in the chaise, – that’s better.”

CHAPTER XVII. THE DOUBLE BLUNDER

Short as had been Sybella’s absence from the Hermitage, a vast number of letters had arrived for her in the mean while. The prospect of a peace, so confidently entertained at one moment, was now rudely destroyed by the abrupt termination of the Vienna conferences, and the result was a panic in the money-market.

The panic of an army rushing madly on to victory; the panic on shipboard when the great vessel has struck, and after three or four convulsive throes the mighty masts have snapped, and the blue water, surging and bounding, has riven the hatchways and flooded the deck; the panic of a mob as the charge of cavalry is sounded, and the flash of a thousand sabres is seen through the long vista of a street; the panic of a city stricken by plague or cholera, – are all dreadful and appalling things, and have their scenes of horror full of the most picturesque terror; still are there incidents of an almost equal power when that dread moment has arrived which is called a “Panic on ‘Change.”

It was but yesterday, and the world went well and flourishingly, mills were at work, foundries thundered with their thousand hammers, vessels sailed forth from every port, and white-sailed argosies were freighted with wealth from distant colonies. None had to ask twice for means to carry out his speculations, for every enterprise there was capital; and now scarcely twenty-four hours have passed, and all is changed. A despatch has been received in the night; a messenger has arrived at Downing Street; the Minister has been aroused from his sleep to hear that we have met some great reverse; a terrible disaster has befallen us; two line-of-battle ships, whose draught of water was too great, have grounded under an enemy’s fire; in despite of the most heroic resistance, they have been captured; the union-jacks are on their way to Moscow. Mayhap the discomfiture, less afflicting to national pride, is the blunder of a cavalry officer or the obstinacy of an envoy. Little matter for the cause, we have met a check. Down goes credit, and up go the discounts; the mighty men of millions have drawn their purse-strings, and not a guinea is to be had; the city is full of sad-visaged men in black, presaging every manner of misfortune. More troops are wanted; more ships; we are going to have an increase of the income-tax, – a loan, – a renewal of war burdens in fifty shapes! Each fancies some luxury of which he must deprive himself, some expense to be curtailed; and all are taking the dreariest view of a future whose chief feature is to be privation.

So was it now. Amidst a mass of letters was one from Davenport Dunn, written with brevity and in haste. By a mistake, easily made In the hurry and confusion of such correspondence, it was, though intended for Mr. Hankes, addressed to Miss Kellett; the words “Strictly private and confidential” occupying a conspicuous place across the envelope, while lower down was written “Immediate.”

It was a very rare event, latterly, for Mr. Dunn to write to Miss Kellett, nor had she, in all their intercourse, once received from him a letter announced thus “confidential.”

It was, then, in some surprise, and not without a certain anxiety, that she broke the seal. It was dated “Wednesday, Irish Office,” and began thus: “Dear S.” – she started, – he had never called her Sybella in his life; he had been most punctiliously careful ever to address her as Miss Kellett. She turned at once to the envelope, and read the address, “Miss Kellett, the Hermitage, Glengariff.” And yet there could be no mistake. It opened, “Dear S.” “He has forgotten a word,” thought she; “he meant in his mood of confidence to call me Miss Sybella, and has omitted the title.” The letter ran thus: “We have failed at Vienna, as we do everywhere and in everything. The war is to continue; consequently, we are in a terrible mess. Glumthal telegraphs this morning that he will not go on; the Frankfort people will, of course, follow his lead, so that Mount Cenis will be ‘nowhere’ by the end of the week. I am, however, more anxious about Glengariff, which must be upheld, for the moment, at any cost To-day I can manage to keep up the shares; perhaps, also, to-morrow.. The old Earl is more infatuated about the scheme than ever, though the accounts he receives from that girl” – “That girl,” muttered she; “who can he mean?” – “from that girl occasionally alarm him. She evidently has her own suspicions, though I don’t clearly see by what they have been suggested. The sooner, therefore, you can possess yourself of the correspondence, the better. I have written to her by this post with a proposition she will most probably accept; advise it, by all means.” – “This is scarcely intelligible,” said she, once more reverting to the direction of the letter. – “Should the Ministry be beaten on Monday, they mean to dissolve Parliament. Now, they cannot go to the country, in Ireland, without me, and my terms I have already fixed. They must give us aid, – material, substantial aid; I will not be put off with office or honors, – it is no time for either. Meanwhile, I want all the dividend warrants, and a brief sketch of our next statement; for we meet on Saturday. Come what will, the Allotment must be sustained till the new election be announced. I hope Lackington’s check was duly presented, for I find that his death was known here on the 4th. Where the new Viscount is, no one seems even to guess. Get rid of the girl, and believe me, yours ever, – D. D.”

“Surely, there is some strange mystification here,” said she, as she sat pondering over this letter. “There are allusions which, had they not been addressed to me, I might have fancied were intended for myself. This girl, whose accounts have terrified Lord Glengariff, and who herself suspects that all is not right, may mean me; but yet it is to me he writes, confidentially and secretly. I cannot complain that the letter lacks candor; it is frank enough; every word forebodes coming disaster, the great scheme is threatened with ruin, nothing can save it but Government assistance, – an infamous compact, if I read it aright. And if all this be so, in what a game have I played a part! This great venture is a swindling enterprise! All these poor people whose hard-earned gains have been invested in it will be ruined; my own small pittance, too, is gone. Good heavens! to what a terrible network of intrigue and deception have I lent myself! How have I come to betray those whose confidence I strove so hard to gain! This girl, – this girl, – who is she, and of whom does he speak?” exclaimed she, as, in an outburst of emotion, she walked the room, her whole frame trembling, and her eyes glaring in all the wildness of high excitement.

“May I come in?” whispered a soft voice, as a low tap was heard at the door; and without waiting for leave, Mr. Hankes entered. Nothing could be silkier nor softer than his courteous approach; his smile was the blandest, his step the smoothest, his bow the nicest blending of homage and regard; and, as he took Miss Kellett’s hand, it was with the air of a courtier dashed with the devotion of an admirer. Cruel is the confession that she noticed none – not one – of these traits. Her mind was so engrossed by the letter, that, had Mr. Hankes made his entry in a suit of chain armor, and with a mace in his hand, she would not have minded it.

“I am come to entreat forgiveness, – to sue your pardon, Miss Kellett, for a very great offence, of which, however, I am the guiltless offender. The letter which I hold here, and which, as you see, is addressed S. Hankes, Esq.,’ was certainty intended for you, and not me.”

“What – how – misdirected – a mistake in the address?” cried she, eagerly.

“Just so; placed in a wrong enclosure,” resumed he, in a tone of well-graduated calm. “A blunder which occurs over and over in life, but I am fain to hope has never happened with less serious results.”

“In short,” said she, hastily, “my letter, or the letter meant for me, came directed to you?”

“Precisely. I have only to plead, as regards myself, that immediately on discovery – and I very soon discovered that it could not have been destined for my perusal – I refolded the epistle and hastened to deliver it to your own hands.”

“More discreet and more fortunate than I,” said she, with a very peculiar smile, “since this letter which I hold here, and which bore my address, I now perceive was for you, and this I have not read merely once or twice, but fully a dozen times; in truth, I believe I could repeat it, word for word, if the task were required of me.”

What has become of Mr. Hankes’s soft and gentle manner? Where are his bland looks, his air of courtesy and kindness, his voice so full of sweetness and deference? Why, the man seems transfixed, his eyeballs are staring wildly, and he actually clutches, not takes, the letter from her hands.

“Why, the first words might have undeceived you,” cried he, rudely. “Your name is not Simpson Hankes.”

“No, sir; but it is Sybella, and the writer begins ‘Dear S.,’ – a liberty, I own, I felt it, but one which I fancied my position was supposed to permit. Pray read on, sir, and you will see that there was matter enough to puzzle finer faculties than mine.”

Perhaps the tone in which she spoke these words was intentionally triumphant; perhaps Mr. Hankes attributed this significance to them causelessly; at all events, he started and stared at her for above a minute steadfastly, he then addressed himself suddenly to the letter.

“Gracious heavens! what a terrible blunder!” exclaimed he, when he had finished the reading.

“A great mistake, certainly, sir,” said she, calmly.

“But still one of which you are incapable to take advantage, Miss Kellett,” said he, with eagerness.

“Is it to the girl who is to be got rid of, sir, you address this speech? Is it to her whose trustfulness has been made the instrument to deceive others and lure them to their ruin? Nay, Mr. Hankes, your estimate of my forbearance is, indeed, too high.”

“But what would you do, young lady?”

“Do, sir! I scarcely know what I would not do,” burst she in, passionately. “This letter was addressed to me. I know nothing of the mistake of its direction; here is the envelope with my name upon it. It is, consequently, mine, – mine, therefore, to publish, to declare to the world, through its words, that the whole of this grand enterprise is a cheat; that its great designer is a man of nothing, living the precarious life of a gambling speculator, trading on the rich man’s horde and the poor man’s pittance, making market of all, even to his patriotism. I would print this worthy document with no other comment than the words, ‘Received by me, Sybella Kellett, this day of September, and sworn to as the handwriting of him whose initials it bears, Davenport Dunn.’ I would publish it in such type that men might read it as they went, that all should take warning and put no faith in these unprincipled tricksters. Ay, sir, and I would cling, as my hope of safety from the world’s scorn, to that insulting mention of myself, and claim as my vindication that I am the girl to be ‘got rid of.’ None shall dare to call me complice, since the little I once called my own is lost. But I would do more, sir. The world I have unwittingly aided to deceive has a full right to an expiation at my hands. I would make public the entire correspondence I have for months back been engaged in. You seem to say ‘No’ to this. Is it my right you dispute, or my courage to assert the right?”

“You must be aware, Miss Kellett,” said he, deprecatingly, “that you became possessed of this letter by a mistake; that you had no right to the intelligence it contains, and, consequently, have none to avail yourself of that knowledge. It may be perfectly true that you can employ it to our detriment. It would, I have little doubt, serve to shake our credit for a day or two; but do you know what misery, what utter ruin, your rashness will have caused meanwhile? By the fall of our securities you will beggar hundreds. All whose necessities may require them to sell out on the day of your disclosures will be irretrievably ruined. You meditate a vengeance upon Mr. Dunn, and your blow falls on some poor struggling creatures that you never so much as heard of. I do not speak,” continued he, more boldly, as he saw the deep effect his words produced, – “I do not speak of the destitution and misery you will spread here, – all works stopped, all enterprise suspended, thousands thrown out of employment. These are the certain, the inevitable evils of what you propose to do. And now, let me ask, What are to be the benefits? You would depose from his station of power and influence the only man in the kingdom who has a brain to conceive, or a courage to carry out these gigantic enterprises, – the only man of influence sufficient to treat with the Government, and make his own terms. You would dethrone him, to install in his place some inferior intelligence, – some mere creature of profit and loss, without genius or patriotism; and all for what? – for a mere phrase, and that, too, in a letter which was never intended for your eyes.”

Mr. Hankes saw that he was listened to, and he continued. Artfully contriving to take the case out of its real issue, he made it appear to Miss Kellett that she was solely impelled by personal motives, and had no other object in view than a vengeance on the man who had insulted her. “And now just throw your eyes over the letter intended for yourself. I only glanced at it, but it seemed to me written in a tone of sincerest well-wishing.”

It was so. It contained the offer of a most advantageous position. A new Governor-General of India desired a suitable companion for his daughters, who had lost their mother. He was a nobleman of highest rank and influence. The station was one which secured great advantages, and Dunn had obtained the promise of it in her behalf by considerable exertion on his part Nay, more. Knowing that her fortune was engaged in the “Allotment scheme,” he volunteered to take her shares at the highest rate they had ever borne, as she would, probably, require immediate means to procure an Indian outfit. The whole wound up with a deeply expressed regret at the loss Glengariff would sustain by her departure; “but all my selfishness,” added he, “could not blind me to the injustice of detaining in obscurity one whose destiny so certainly points her out for a station lofty and distinguished.”

She smiled at the words, and, showing them to Hankes, said, “It is most unfortunate, sir, that I should have seen the other letter. I could so readily have yielded myself up to all this flattery, which, even in its hollowness, has a certain charm.”

“I am certain Miss Kellett has too much good sense – too much knowledge of life – too much generosity, besides – ”

“Pray, sir, let me stop you, or the catalogue of my perfections may become puzzling, not to say that I need all the good gifts with which you would endow me to aid me to a right judgment here. I wish I knew what to do.”

“Can you doubt it?”

“If the road be so clear, will you not point it out?”

“Write to Mr. Dunn. Well, let me write to him. I will inform him how this mischance occurred. I will tell him that you had read and re-read his letter before discovering the mistake of the address; that, consequently, you are now – so far as this great enterprise is concerned – one of ourselves; that, although you scorn to take advantage of a circumstance thus accidentally revealed, yet that, as chance has put you in possession of certain facts, that – that, in short – ”

“That, in short, I ought to profit by my good fortune,” said she, calmly, finishing the phrase for him.

“Unquestionably,” chimed in Hankes, quickly; “and, what’s more, demand very high terms too. Dunn is a practical man,” added he, in a lower and more confidential tone; “nobody knows better when liberality is the best policy.”

“So that this is a case for a high price?” asked she, in the same calm tone.

“I ‘d make it so if I were in your place. I ‘d certainly say a ‘high figure,’ Miss Keliett.”

“Shall I confess, sir, that, in so far as knowing how to profit by it, I am really unworthy of this piece of fortune? Is Mr. Hankes enough my friend to enlighten me?”

There was a smile that accompanied this speech which went far – very far – to influence Mr. Hankes. Once again did his personal fortunes rise before him; once again did he bethink him that this was an alliance that might lead to much.

“I can give you a case in point, Miss Keliett, – I mean as to the value of a secret. It was when Sir Robert Peel meditated his change in the Corn-laws. One of the council – it does not matter to say his name – accidentally divulged the secret intention, and a great journal gave no less than ten thousand pounds for the intelligence, – ten thousand pounds sterling!”

She seemed to pause over this story, and reflect upon it.

“Now,” resumed Hankes, “it is just as likely he ‘d say, ‘Money is scarce just now; your demand comes at an inconvenient moment’ This would be true, – there’s no gainsaying it; and I’d reply, ‘Let me have it in shares, – some of the new preference scrip just issued.’”

“How it does allay difficulties to deal with persons of great practical intelligence, – men of purpose-like mind!” said Sybella, gravely.

“Ah, Miss Kellett, if I could only believe that this was a favorable moment to appeal to you in their behalf, – at least, in so far as regards one of their number, – one who has long admired your great qualities in silence, and said to himself, ‘What might she not be if allied to one well versed in life, trained to all its chances and changes – ‘”