Birds of Prey by M.E. Braddon

M >> M.E. Braddon >> Birds of Prey

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It was during the Christmas-morning sermon that Mr. Hawkehurst
permitted his mind to be disturbed by these reflections. He was sitting
next his betrothed, and had the pleasure of contemplating her fair
girlish face, with the rosy lips half parted in reverent attention as
she looked upward to her pastor. After church there was the walk home
to the Lawn: and during this rapturous promenade Valentine put away
from him all shadow of doubt and fear, in order to bask in the full
sunshine of his Charlotte's presence. Her pretty gloved hand rested
confidingly on his arm, and the supreme privilege of carrying a dainty
blue-silk umbrella and an ivory-bound church-service was awarded him.
With what pride he accepted the duty of convoying his promised wife
over the muddy crossings! Those brief journeys seemed to him in a
manner typical of their future lives. She was to travel dry-shod over
the miry ways of this world, supported by his strong arm. How fondly he
surveyed her toilet! and what a sudden interest he felt in the
fashions, that had until lately seemed so vulgar and frivolous!

"I will never denounce the absurdity of those little bonnets again,
Lotta," he cried; "that conglomeration of black velvet and
maiden's-hair fern is divine. Do you know that in some places they call
that fern Maria's hair, and hold it sacred to the mother of Him who was
born to-day? so you see there is an artistic fitness in your head-dress.
Yes, your bonnet is delicious, darling; and though the diminutive size
of that velvet jacket would lead me to suppose you had borrowed it from
some juvenile sister, it seems the very garment of all garments best
calculated to render you just one hair's-breadth nearer perfection than
you were made by Nature."

"Valentine, don't be ridiculous!" giggled the young lady.

"How can I help being ridiculous? Your presence acts upon my nerves
like laughing-gas. Ah, you do not know what cares and perplexities I
have to make me serious. Charlotte," exclaimed the young man, with
sudden energy, "do you think you could ever come to distrust me?"

"Valentine! Do I think I shall ever be Queen of England? One thing is
quite as likely as the other."

"My dear angel, if you will only believe in me always, there is no
power upon earth that can make us unhappy. Suppose you found yourself
suddenly possessed of a great fortune, Charlotte; what would you do
with it?"

"I would buy you a library as good as that in the British Museum; and
then you would not want to spend the whole of your existence in Great
Russell-street."

"But if you had a great fortune, Lotta, don't you think you would be
very much disposed to leave me to plod on at my desk in Great
Russell-street? Possessed of wealth, you would begin to languish for
position; and you would allow Mr. Sheldon to bring you some suitor who
could give you a name and a rank in society worthy of an angelic
creature with a hundred thousand pounds or so."

"I should do nothing of the kind. I do not care for money. Indeed, I
should be almost sorry to be very rich."

"Why, dearest?"

"Because, if I were very rich, we could not live in the cottage at
Wimbledon, and I could not make lemon cheese-cakes for your dinner."

"My own true-hearted darling!" cried Valentine; "the taint of
worldliness can never touch your pure spirit."

They were at the gates of Mr. Sheldon's domain by this time. Diana and
Georgy had walked behind the lovers, and had talked a little about the
sermon, and a good deal about the bonnets; poor Diana doing her very
uttermost to feign an interest in the finery that had attracted Mrs.
Sheldon's wandering gaze.

"Well, I should have thought you couldn't fail to see it," said the
elder lady, as they approached the gate; "a leghorn, very small, with
holly-berries and black ribbon--quite French, you know, and _so_
stylish. I was thinking, if I had my Tuscan cleaned and altered, it
might----" And here the conversation became general, as the family
party entered the drawing-room, where Mr. Sheldon was reading his paper
by a roaring fire.

"Talking about the bonnets, as per usual," said the stockbroker. "What
an enormous amount of spiritual benefit you women must derive from
church-going!--Consols have fallen another eighth since Tuesday
afternoon, George," added Mr. Sheldon, addressing himself to his
brother, who was standing on the hearth-rug, with his elbow on the
chimney-piece.

"Consols are your 'bonnets,' papa," cried Charlotte, gaily; "I don't
think there is a day upon which you do not talk about their having gone
up, or gone down, or gone somewhere."

After luncheon the lovers went for a walk in Kensington-gardens, with
Diana Paget to play propriety. "You will come with us, won't you, dear
Di?" pleaded Charlotte. "You have been looking pale and ill lately,
and I am sure a walk will do you good."

Valentine seconded his liege lady's request; and the three spent a
couple of hours pacing briskly to and fro in the lonelier parts of the
gardens, leaving the broad walks for the cockneys, who mustered strong
upon this seasonable Christmas afternoon.

For two out of those three that wintry walk was rapture only too
fleeting. For the third it was passive endurance. The agonies that had
but lately rent Diana's breast when she had seen those two together no
longer tortured her. The scorpion sting was beginning to lose its
venomous power. She suffered still, but her suffering was softened by
resignation. There is a limit to the capacity for pain in every mind.
Diana had borne her share of grief; she had, in Homeric phrase,
satiated herself with anguish and tears; and to those sharp throes and
bitter torments there had succeeded a passive sense of sorrow that was
almost peace.

"I have lost him," she said to herself. "Life can never bring me much
joy; but I should be worse than weak if I spent my existence in the
indulgence of my sorrow. I should be one of the vilest wretches upon
this earth if I could not teach myself to witness the happiness of my
friend without repining."

Miss Paget had not arrived at this frame of mind without severe
struggles. Many times, in the long wakeful nights, in the slow, joyless
days, she had said to herself, "Peace, peace, when there was no peace."
But at last the real peace, the true balm of Gilead, was given in
answer to her prayers, and the weary soul tasted the sweetness of
repose. She had wrestled with, and had vanquished, the demon.

To-day, as she walked beside the lovers, and listened to their happy
frivolous talk, she felt like a mother who had seen the man she loved
won from her by her own daughter, and who had resigned herself to the
ruin of all her hopes for love of her child.

There was more genial laughter and pleasant converse at Mr. Sheldon's
dinner-table that evening than was usual at that hospitable board;
but the stockbroker himself contributed little to the merriment of the
party. He was quiet, and even thoughtful, and let the talk and laughter
go by him without any attempt to take part in it. After dinner he went
to his own room; while Valentine and the ladies sat round the fire in
the orthodox Christmas manner, and after a good deal of discursive
conversation, subsided into the telling of ghost-stories.

George Sheldon sat apart from the circle, turning over the books upon
the table, or peering into a stereoscope with an evident sense of
weariness. This kind of domestic evening was a manner of life which Mr.
Sheldon of Gray's Inn denounced as "slow;" and he submitted himself to
the endurance of it this evening only because he did not know where
else to bestow his presence.

"I don't think papa cares much about ghost-stories, does he, uncle
George?" Charlotte asked, by way of saying something to the gentleman,
who seemed so very dreary as he sat yawning over the books and
stereoscopes.

"I don't suppose he does, my dear."

"And do you think he believes in ghosts?" the young lady demanded,
laughingly.

"No, I am sure he doesn't," replied George, very seriously.

"Why, how seriously you say that!" cried Charlotte, a little startled
by George Sheldon's manner, in which there had been an earnestness not
quite warranted by the occasion.

"I was thinking of your father--not my brother Phil. He died in
Philip's house, you know; and if Phil believed in ghosts, he would
scarcely have liked living in that house afterwards, you see, and so
on. But he went on living there for a twelvemonth longer. It seemed
just as good as any other house to him, I suppose."

Hereupon Georgy dissolved into tears, and told the company how she had
fled, heartbroken, from the house in which her first husband had died,
immediately after the funeral.

"And I'm sure the gentlemanly manner in which your step-papa behaved
during all that dreadful time, Charlotte, is beyond all praise,"
continued the lady, turning to her daughter; "so thoughtful, so kind,
so patient. What I should have done if poor Tom's illness had happened
in a strange house, I don't know. And I have no doubt that the new
doctor, Mr. Burkham, did his duty, though his manner was not as decided
as I should have wished."

"Mr. Burkham!" cried Valentine. "What Burkham is that? We've a member
of the Ragamuffins called Burkham, a surgeon, who does a little in the
literary line."

"The Mr. Burkham who attended my poor dear husband was a very young
man," answered Georgy; "a fair man, with a fresh colour and a
hesitating manner. I should have been so much better satisfied if he
had been older."

"That is the man," said Valentine. "The Burkham I know is
fresh-coloured and fair, and cannot be much over thirty."

"Are you and he particularly intimate?" asked George Sheldon,
carelessly.

"O dear no, not at all. We speak to each other when we happen to meet--
that's all. He seems a nice fellow enough; and he evidently hasn't much
practice, or he couldn't afford to be a Ragamuffin, and to write
farces. He looks to me exactly the kind of modest deserving man who
ought to succeed, and who so seldom does."

This was all that was said about Mr. Burkham; but there was no more
talk of ghost-stories, and a temporary depression fell upon the little
assembly. The memory of her father had always a saddening influence on
Charlotte; and it needed many tender _sotto-voce_ speeches from
Valentine to bring back the smiles to her fair young face.

The big electro-plated tea-tray and massive silver teapot made their
appearance presently, and immediately after came Mr. Sheldon.

"I want to have a little talk with you after tea, Hawkehurst," he said,
as he took his own cup from Georgy's hand, and proceeded to imbibe the
beverage standing. "If you will come out into the garden and have a
cigar, I can say all I have to say in a very few minutes; and then we
can come in here for a rubber. Georgy is a very decent player; and my
brother George plays as good a hand at whist as any man at the
Conservative or the Reform."

Valentine's heart sank within him. What could Mr. Sheldon want with a
few minutes' talk, if not to revoke his gracious permission of some
days before--the permission that had been accorded in ignorance of
Charlotte's pecuniary advantages? The young man looked very pale as he
went to smoke his cigar in Mr. Sheldon's garden. Charlotte followed him
with anxious eyes, and wondered at the sudden gravity of his manner.
George Sheldon also was puzzled by his brother's desire for a
tete-a-tete.

"What new move is Phil going to make?" he asked himself. The two men
lit their cigars, and got them well under weigh before Mr. Sheldon
began to talk.

"When I gave my consent to receive you as Miss Halliday's suitor, my
dear Hawkehurst," he said, at last, "I told you that I was acting as
very few men of the world would act, and I only told you the truth.
Since giving you that consent I have made a very startling discovery,
and one that places me in quite a new position in regard to this
matter."

"Indeed!"

"Yes, Mr. Hawkehurst, I have become aware of the fact that Miss
Halliday, the girl whom I thought entirely dependent upon my
generosity, is heir-at-law to a large fortune. You will, of course,
perceive how entirely this alters the position of affairs."

"I do perceive," Valentine answered earnestly; "but I trust you will
believe that I had not the faintest idea of Miss Halliday's position
when I asked her to be my wife. As to my love for her, I can scarcely
tell you when that began; but I think it must have dated from the first
hour in which I saw her, for I can remember no period at which I did
_not_ love her."

"If I did not believe you superior to any mercenary motives, you would
not have been under my roof to-day, Mr. Hawkehurst," said the
stockbroker, with extreme gravity. "The discovery of my stepdaughter's
position gives me no pleasure. Her claim to this wealth only increases
my responsibility with regard to her, and responsibility is what I
would willingly avoid. After all due deliberation, therefore, I have
decided that this discovery need make no alteration in your position as
Charlotte's future husband. If you were worthy of her when she was
without a fortune, you are not less worthy now."

"Mr. Sheldon," cried Valentine, with considerable emotion, "I did not
expect so much generosity at your hands!"

"No," replied the stockbroker, "the popular idea of a business man is
not particularly agreeable. I do not, however, pretend to anything like
generosity; I wish to take a common-sense view of the affair, but not
an illiberal one."

"You have shown so much generosity of feeling, that I can no longer
sail under false colours," said Valentine, after a brief pause. "Until
a day or two ago I was bound to secrecy by a promise made to your
brother. But his communication of Miss Halliday's rights to you sets me
at liberty, and I must tell you that which may possibly cause you to
withdraw your confidence."

Hereupon Mr. Hawkehurst revealed his share in the researches that had
resulted in the discovery of Miss Halliday's claim to a large fortune.
He entered into no details. He told Mr. Sheldon only that he had been
the chief instrument in the bringing about of this important discovery.

"I can only repeat what I said just now," he added, in conclusion. "I
have loved Charlotte Halliday from the beginning of our acquaintance,
and I declared myself some days before I discovered her position. I
trust this confession will in nowise alter your estimate of me."

"It would be a poor return for your candour if I were to doubt your
voluntary statement, Hawkehurst," answered the stockbroker. "No; I
shall not withdraw my confidence. And if your researches should
ultimately lead to the advancement of my stepdaughter, there will be
only poetical justice in your profiting more or less by that
advancement. In the mean tune we cannot take matters too quietly. I am
not a sanguine person, and I know how many hearts have been broken by
the High Court of Chancery. This grand discovery of yours may result in
nothing but disappointment and waste of money, or it may end as
pleasantly as my brother and you seem to expect. All I ask is, that
poor Charlotte's innocent heart may not be tortured by a small lifetime
of suspense. Let her be told nothing that can create hope in the
present or disappointment in the future. She appears to be perfectly
happy in her present position, and it would be worse than folly to
disturb her by vague expectations that may never be realised. She will
have to make affidavits, and so on, by-and-by, I daresay; and when that
time comes she must be told there is some kind of suit pending in which
she is concerned. But she need not be told how nearly that suit
concerns her, or the extent of her alleged claim. You see, my dear sir,
I have seen so much of this sort of thing, and the misery involved in
it, that I may be forgiven if I am cautious."

This was putting the whole affair in a new light. Until this moment
Valentine had fancied that, the chain of evidence once established,
Charlotte's claim had only to be asserted in order to place her in
immediate possession of the Haygarth estate. But Mr. Sheldon's cool and
matter-of-fact discussion of the subject implied all manner of doubt
and difficulty, and the Haygarthian thousands seemed carried away to
the most remote and shadowy regions of Chanceryland, as by the waves of
some legal ocean.

"And you really think it would be better not to tell Charlotte?"

"I am sure of it. If you wish to preserve her from all manner of worry
and annoyance, you will take care to keep her in the dark until the
affair is settled--supposing it ever should be settled. I have known
such an affair to outlast the person interested."

"You take a very despondent view of the matter."

"I take a practical view of it. My brother George is a monomaniac on
the next-of-kin subject."

"I cannot quite reconcile myself to the idea of concealing the truth
from Charlotte."

"That is because you do not know the world as well as I do," answered
Mr. Sheldon, coolly.

"I cannot imagine that the idea of this claim would have any disturbing
influence upon her," Valentine argued, thoughtfully. "She is the last
person in the world to care about money."

"Perhaps so. But there is a kind of intoxication in the idea of a large
fortune--an intoxication that no woman of Charlotte's age could stand
against. Tell her that she has a claim to considerable wealth, and from
that moment she will count upon the possession of that wealth, and
shape all her plans for the future upon that basis. 'When I get my
fortune, I will do this, that, and the other.' _That_ is what she will
be continually saying to herself; and by-and-by, when the affair
results in failure, as it very likely will, there will remain a sense
of disappointment which will last for a lifetime, and go far to
embitter all the ordinary pleasures of her existence."

"I am inclined to think you are right," said Valentine, after some
little deliberation. "My darling girl is perfectly happy as it is. It
may be wisest to tell her nothing."

"I am quite sure of that," replied Mr. Sheldon. "Of course her being
enlightened or not can be in no way material to me. It is a subject
upon which I can afford to be entirely disinterested."

"I will take your advice, Mr. Sheldon."

"So be it. In that case matters will remain _in statu quo_. You will be
received in this house as my stepdaughter's future husband, and it is
an understood thing that your marriage is not to take place without due
consultation, with me. I am to have a voice in the business."

"Most decidedly. It is only right that you should be deferred to."

This brought the interview to a close very pleasantly. The gentlemen
went back to the house, and Valentine found himself presently seated at
a whist-table with the brothers Sheldon, and Georgy, who played very
well, in a feeble kind of way, holding religiously by all the precepts
of Hoyle, and in evident fear of her husband and brother-in-law.
Charlotte and Diana played duets while the whist progressed, with
orthodox silence and solemnity on the part of the four players.
Valentine's eyes wandered very often to the piano, and he was in nowise
sorry when the termination of a conquering rubber set him at liberty.
He contrived to secure a brief _tete-a-tete_ with Charlotte while he
helped her in the arrangement of the books on the music-stand, and then
the shrill chime of the clock on the mantelpiece, and an audible yawn
from Philip Sheldon, told him that he must go.

"Providence has been very good to us," he said, in an undertone, as he
bade Miss Halliday good night. "Your stepfather's conduct is all that
is kind and thoughtful, and there is not a cloud upon our future. Good
night, and God bless you, my dearest! I think I shall always consider
this my first Christmas-day. I never knew till to-day how sweet and
holy this anniversary can be."

He walked to Cumberland-gate in company with George Sheldon, who
preserved a sulky gravity, which was by no means agreeable.

"You have chosen your own course," he said at parting, "and I only hope
the result may prove your wisdom. But, as I think I may have remarked
before, you don't know my brother Phil as well as I do." "Your brother
has behaved with such extreme candour and good feeling towards me, that
I would really rather not hear any of your unpleasant innuendoes
against him. I hate that 'I could an if I would' style of talk, and
while I occupy my present position in your brother's house I cannot
consent to hear anything to his discredit."

"That's a very tall animal you've taken to riding lately, my friend
Hawkehurst," said George, "and when a man rides the high horse with me
I always let him have the benefit of his _monture_. You have served
yourself without consideration for me, and I shall not trouble myself
in the future with any regard for you or your interests. But if harm
ever comes to you or yours, through my brother Philip, remember that I
warned you. Good night."

* * * * *

In Charlotte's room the cheery little fire burned late upon that frosty
night, while the girl sat in her dressing-gown dreamily brushing her
soft brown hair, and meditating upon the superhuman merits and graces
in her lover.

It was more than an hour after the family had retired, when there came
a cautious tapping at Charlotte's door. "It is only I, dear," said a
low voice; and before Charlotte could answer, the door was opened, and
Diana came in, and went straight to the hearth, by which her friend was
sitting.

"I am so wakeful to-night, Lotta," she said; "and the light under your
door tempted me to come in for a few minutes' chat."

"My dearest Di, you know how glad I always am to see you."

"Yes, dear, I know that you are only too good to me--and I have been so
wayward, so ungracious. O, Charlotte, I know my coldness has wounded
you during the last few months."

"I have been just a little hurt now and then, dear, when you have
seemed not to care for me, or to sympathise with me in all my joys and
sorrows; but then it has been selfish of me to expect so much sympathy,
and I know that, if your manner is cold, your heart is noble."

"No, Lotta, it is not noble. It is a wicked heart."

"Diana!"

"Yes," said Miss Paget, kneeling by her friend's chair, and speaking
with suppressed energy; "it has been a wicked heart--wicked because
your happiness has been torture to it."

"Diana!"

"O, my dearest one, do not look at me with those innocent, wondering
eyes. You will hate me, perhaps, when you know all. O, no, no, no, you
will not hate--you will pity and forgive me. I loved him, dear; he was
my companion, my only friend; and there was a time--long ago--before he
had ever seen your face, when I fancied that he cared for me, and would
get to love me--as I loved him--unasked, uncared for. O, Charlotte, you
can never know what I have suffered. It is not in your nature to
comprehend what such a woman as I can suffer. I loved him so dearly, I
clung so wickedly, so madly to my old hopes, my old dreams, long after
they had become the falsest hopes, the wildest dreams that ever had
power over a distracted mind. But, my darling, it is past, and I come
to you on this Christmas night to tell you that I have conquered my
stubborn heart, and that from this time forward there shall be no cloud
between you and me."

"Diana, my dear friend, my poor girl!" cried Charlotte, quite overcome,
"you loved him, you--as well as I--and I have robbed you of his heart!"

"No, Charlotte, it was never mine."

"You loved him--all the time you spoke so harshly of him!"

"When I seemed most harsh, I loved him most. But do not look at me with
such distress in your sweet face, my dear. I tell you that the worst
pain is past and gone. The rest is very easy to bear, and to outlive.
These things do not last for ever, Charlotte, whatever the poets and
novelists may tell us. If I had not lived through the worst, I should
not be here to-night, with your arm round my neck and his name upon my
lips. I have never wished you joy until to-night, Charlotte, and now
for the first time I can wish you all good things, in honesty and
truth. I have conquered myself. I do not say that to me Valentine
Hawkehurst can ever be quite what other men are. I think that to the
end of my life there will be a look in his face, a tone of his voice,
that will touch me more deeply than any other look or tone upon earth;
but my love for you has overcome my love for him, and there is no
hidden thought in my mind to-night, as I sit here at your feet, and
pray for God's blessing on your choice."

"My darling Diana, I know not how to thank you, how to express my faith
and my love."

"I doubt if I am worthy of your love, dear; but, with God's help, I
will be worthy of your trust; and if ever there should come a day in
which my love can succour or my devotion serve you, there shall be no
lack of either. Listen, dear; there are the waits playing the sweet
Christmas hymn. Do you remember what Shakespeare says about the 'bird
of dawning' singing all night long, and how no evil spirit roams abroad
at this dear season,--

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