Henry Dunbar by M. E. Braddon

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Produced by Jonathan Ingram and Distributed Proofreaders

HENRY DUNBAR

A Novel

By

M.E. Braddon

DEDICATION

THIS STORY IS INSCRIBED TO

JOHN BALDWIN BUCKSTONE, ESQ.

IN SINCERE ADMIRATION OF

HIS GENIUS AS A DRAMATIC AUTHOR

AND POPULAR ACTOR.

CONTENTS

CHAPTER

I. AFTER OFFICE HOURS IN THE HOUSE OF DUNBAR, DUNBAR, AND
BALDERBY

II. MARGARET'S FATHER

III. THE MEETING AT THE RAILWAY STATION

IV. THE STROKE OF DEATH

V. SINKING THE PAST

VI. CLEMENT AUSTIN'S DIARY

VII. AFTER FIVE-AND-THIRTY YEARS

VIII. THE FIRST STAGE ON THE JOURNEY HOME

IX. HOW HENRY DUNBAR WAITED DINNER

X. LAURA DUNBAR

XI. THE INQUEST

XII. ARRESTED

XIII. THE PRISONER IS REMANDED

XIV. MARGARET'S JOURNEY

XV. BAFFLED

XVI. IS IT LOVE OR FEAR?

XVII. THE BROKEN PICTURE

XVIII. THREE WHO SUSPECT

XIX. LAURA DUNBAR'S DISAPPOINTMENT

XX. NEW HOPES MAY BLOOM

XXI. A NEW LIFE

XXII. THE STEEPLE-CHASE

XXIII. THE BRIDE THAT THE RAIN RAINS ON

XXIV. THE UNBIDDEN GUEST WHO CAME TO LAURA DUNBAR'S WEDDING

XXV. AFTER THE WEDDING

XXVI. WHAT HAPPENED IN THE BACK PARLOUR, OF THE BANKING-HOUSE

XXVII. CLEMENT AUSTIN'S WOOING

XXVIII. BUYING DIAMONDS

XXIX. GOING AWAY

XXX. STOPPED UPON THE WAY

XXXI. CLEMENT AUSTIN MAKES A SACRIFICE

XXXII. WHAT HAPPENED AT MAUDESLEY ABBEY

XXXIII. MARGARET'S RETURN

XXXIV. FAREWELL

XXXV. A DISCOVERY AT THE LUXEMBOURG

XXXVI. LOOKING FOR THE PORTRAIT

XXXVII. MARGARET'S LETTER

XXXVIII. NOTES FROM A JOURNAL KEPT BY CLEMENT AUSTIN DURING HIS
JOURNEY TO WINCHESTER

XXXIX. CLEMENT AUSTIN'S JOURNAL, CONTINUED

XL. FLIGHT

XLI. AT MAUDESLEY ABBEY

XLII. THE HOUSEMAID AT WOODBINE COTTAGE

XLIII. ON THE TRACK

XLIV. CHASING THE "CROW"

XLV. GIVING IT UP

XLVI. CLEMENT'S STORY,--BEFORE THE DAWN

XLVII. THE DAWN

THE EPILOGUE: ADDED BY CLEMENT AUSTIN SEVEN YEARS AFTERWARDS

CHAPTER I.

AFTER OFFICE HOURS IN THE HOUSE OF DUNBAR, DUNBAR, AND BALDERBY.

The house of Dunbar, Dunbar, and Balderby, East India bankers, was one
of the richest firms in the city of London--so rich that it would be
quite in vain to endeavour to describe the amount of its wealth. It was
something fabulous, people said. The offices were situated in a dingy
and narrow thoroughfare leading out of King William Street, and were
certainly no great things to look at; but the cellars below their
offices--wonderful cellars, that stretched far away underneath the
church of St. Gundolph, and were only separated by party-walls from the
vaults in which the dead lay buried--were popularly supposed to be
filled with hogsheads of sovereigns, bars of bullion built up in stacks
like so much firewood, and impregnable iron safes crammed to overflowing
with bank bills and railway shares, government securities, family
jewels, and a hundred other trifles of that kind, every one of which was
worth a poor man's fortune.

The firm of Dunbar had been established very soon after the English
first grew powerful in India. It was one of the oldest firms in the
City; and the names of Dunbar and Dunbar, painted upon the door-posts,
and engraved upon shining brass plates on the mahogany doors, had never
been expunged or altered: though time and death had done their work of
change amongst the owners of that name.

The last heads of the firm had been two brothers, Hugh and Percival
Dunbar; and Percival, the younger of these brothers, had lately died at
eighty years of age, leaving his only son, Henry Dunbar, sole inheritor
of his enormous wealth.

That wealth consisted of a splendid estate in Warwickshire; another
estate, scarcely less splendid, in Yorkshire; a noble mansion in
Portland Place; and three-fourths of the bank. The junior partner, Mr.
Balderby, a good-tempered, middle-aged man, with a large family of
daughters, and a handsome red-brick mansion on Clapham Common, had never
possessed more than a fourth share in the business. The three other
shares had been divided between the two brothers, and had lapsed
entirely into the hands of Percival upon the death of Hugh.

On the evening of the 15th of August, 1850, three men sat together in
one of the shady offices at the back of the banking-house in St.
Gundolph Lane.

These three men were Mr. Balderby, a confidential cashier called Clement
Austin, and an old clerk, a man of about sixty-five years of age, who
had been a faithful servant of the firm ever since his boyhood.

This man's name was Sampson Wilmot.

He was old, but he looked much older than he was. His hair was white,
and hung in long thin locks upon the collar of his shabby bottle-green
great coat. He wore a great coat, although it was the height of summer,
and most people found the weather insupportably hot. His face was wizen
and wrinkled, his faded blue eyes dim and weak-looking. He was feeble,
and his hands were tremulous with a perpetual nervous motion. Already he
had been stricken twice with paralysis, and he knew that whenever the
third stroke came it must be fatal.

He was not very much afraid of death, however; for his life had been a
joyless one, a monotonous existence of perpetual toil, unrelieved by any
home joys or social pleasures. He was not a bad man, for he was honest,
conscientious, industrious, and persevering.

He lived in a humble lodging, in a narrow court near the bank, and went
twice every Sunday to the church of St. Gundolph.

When he died he hoped to be buried beneath the flagstones of that City
church, and to lie cheek by jowl with the gold in the cellars of the
bank.

The three men were assembled in this gloomy private room after office
hours, on a sultry August evening, in order to consult together upon
rather an important subject, namely, the reception of Henry Dunbar, the
new head of the firm.

This Henry Dunbar had been absent from England for five-and-thirty
years, and no living creature now employed in the bank, except Sampson
Wilmot, had ever set eyes upon him.

He had sailed for Calcutta five-and-thirty years before, and had ever
since been employed in the offices of the Indian branch of the bank;
first as clerk, afterwards as chief and manager. He had been sent to
India because of a great error which he had committed in his early
youth.

He had been guilty of forgery. He, or rather an accomplice employed by
him, had forged the acceptance of a young nobleman, a brother officer of
Henry Dunbar's, and had circulated forged bills of accommodation to the
amount of three thousand pounds.

These bills were taken up and duly honoured by the heads of the firm.
Percival Dunbar gladly paid three thousand pounds as the price of his
son's honour. That which would have been called a crime in a poorer man
was only considered an error in the dashing young cornet of dragoons,
who had lost money upon the turf, and was fain to forge his friend's
signature rather than become a defaulter.

His accomplice, the man who had actually manufactured the fictitious
signatures, was the younger brother of Sampson Wilmot, who had been a
few months prior to that time engaged as messenger in the
banking-house--a young fellow of nineteen, little better than a lad; a
reckless boy, easily influenced by the dashing soldier who had need of
his services.

The bill-broker who discounted the bills speedily discovered their
fraudulent nature; but he knew that the money was safe.

Lord Adolphus Vanlorme was a customer of the house of Dunbar and Dunbar;
the bill-brokers knew that _his_ acceptance was a forgery; but they knew
also that the signature of the drawer, Henry Dunbar, was genuine.

Messrs. Dunbar and Dunbar would not care to see the heir of their house
in a criminal dock.

There had been no hitch, therefore, no scandal, no prosecution. The
bills were duly honoured; but the dashing young officer was compelled to
sell his commission, and begin life afresh as a junior clerk in the
Calcutta banking-house.

This was a terrible mortification to the high-spirited young man.

The three men assembled in the quiet room behind the bank on this
oppressive August evening were talking together of that old story.

"I never saw Henry Dunbar," Mr. Balderby said; "for, as you know,
Wilmot, I didn't come into the firm till ten years after he sailed for
India; but I've heard the story hinted at amongst the clerks in the days
when I was only a clerk myself."

"I don't suppose you ever heard the rights of it, sir," Sampson Wilmot
answered, fumbling nervously with an old horn snuff-box and a red cotton
handkerchief, "and I doubt if any one knows the rights of that story
except me, and I can remember it as well as if it all happened
yesterday--ay, that I can--better than I remember many things that
really did happen yesterday."

"Let's hear the story from you, then, Sampson," Mr. Balderby said. "As
Henry Dunbar is coming home in a few days, we may as well know the real
truth. We shall better understand what sort of a man our new chief is."

"To be sure, sir, to be sure," returned the old clerk. "It's
five-and-thirty years ago,--five-and-thirty years ago this month, since
it all happened. If I hadn't good cause to remember the date because of
my own troubles, I should remember it for another reason, for it was the
Waterloo year, and city people had been losing and making money like
wildfire. It was in the year '15, sir, and our house had done wonders on
'Change. Mr. Henry Dunbar was a very handsome young man in those
days--very handsome, very aristocratic-looking, rather haughty in his
manners to strangers, but affable and free-spoken to those who happened
to take his fancy. He was very extravagant in all his ways; generous and
open-handed with money; but passionate and self-willed. It's scarcely
strange he should have been so, for he was an only child; he had neither
brother nor sister to interfere with him; and his uncle Hugh, who was
then close upon fifty, was a confirmed bachelor,--so Henry considered
himself heir to an enormous fortune."

"And he began his career by squandering every farthing he could get, I
suppose?" said Mr. Balderby.

"He did, sir. His father was very liberal to him; but give him what he
would, Mr. Percival Dunbar could never give his son enough to keep him
free of gambling debts and losses on the turf. Mr. Henry's regiment was
quartered at Knightsbridge, and the young man was very often at this
office, in and out, in and out, sometimes twice and three times a week;
and I expect that every time he came, he came to get money, or to ask
for it. It was in coming here he met my brother, who was a handsome
lad--ay, as handsome and as gentlemanly a lad as the young cornet
himself; for poor Joseph--that's my brother, gentlemen--had been
educated a bit above his station, being my mother's favourite son, and
fifteen years younger than me. Mr. Henry took a great deal of notice of
Joseph, and used to talk to him while he was waiting about to see his
father or his uncle. At last he asked the lad one day if he'd like to
leave the bank, and go and live with him as a sort of confidential
servant and amanuensis, to write his letters, and all that sort of
thing. 'I shan't treat you altogether as a servant, you know, Joseph,'
he said, 'but I shall make quite a companion of you, and you'll go about
with me wherever I go. You'll find my quarters a great deal pleasanter
than this musty old banking-house, I can tell you.' Joseph accepted this
offer, in spite of everything my poor mother and I could say to him. He
went to live with the cornet in the January of the year in which the
fabricated bills were presented at our counter."

"And when were the bills presented?"

"Not till the following August, sir. It seems that Mr. Henry had lost
five or six thousand pounds on the Derby. He got what he could out of
his father towards paying his losses, but he could not get more than
three thousand pounds; so then he went to Joseph in an awful state of
mind, declaring that he should be able to get the money in a month or so
from his father, and that if he could do anything just to preserve his
credit for the time, and meet the claims of the vulgar City betting
fellows who were pressing him, he should be able to make all square
afterwards. Then, little by little, it came out that he wanted my
brother, who had a wonderful knack of imitating any body's handwriting,
to forge the acceptance of Lord Vanlorme. 'I shall get the bills back
into my own hands before they fall due, Joe,' he said; 'it's only a
little dodge to keep matters sweet for the time being.' Well, gentlemen,
the poor foolish boy was very fond of his master, and he consented to do
this wicked thing."

"Do you believe this to be the first time your brother ever Committed
forgery?"

"I do, Mr. Balderby. Remember he was only a lad, and I dare say he
thought it a fine thing to oblige his generous-hearted young master.
I've seen him many a time imitate the signature of this firm, and other
signatures, upon a half-sheet of letter-paper, for the mere fun of the
thing: but I don't believe my brother Joseph ever did a dishonest action
in his life until he forged those bills. He hadn't need have done so,
for he was only eighteen at the time."

"Young enough, young enough!" murmured Mr. Balderby, compassionately.

"Ay, sir, very young to be ruined for life. That one error, that one
wicked act, was his ruin; for though no steps were taken against him, he
lost his character, and never held his head up in an honest situation
again. He went from bad to worse, and three years after Mr. Henry sailed
for India, my brother, Joseph Wilmot, was convicted, with two or three
others, upon a charge of manufacturing forged Bank of England notes, and
was transported for life."

"Indeed!" exclaimed Mr. Balderby; "a sad story,--a very sad story. I
have heard something of it before, but never the whole truth. Your
brother is dead, I suppose."

"I have every reason to believe so, sir," answered the old clerk,
producing a red cotton handkerchief and wiping away a couple of tears
that were slowly trickling down his poor faded cheeks. "For the first
few years of his time, he wrote now and then, complaining bitterly of
his fate; but for five-and-twenty years I've never had a line from him.
I can't doubt that he's dead. Poor Joseph!--poor boy!--poor boy! The
misery of all this killed my mother. Mr. Henry Dunbar committed a great
sin when he tempted that lad to wrong; and many a cruel sorrow arose out
of that sin, perhaps to lie heavy at his door some day or other, sooner
or later, sooner or later. I'm an old man, and I've seen a good deal of
the ways of this world, and I've found that retribution seldom fails to
overtake those who do wrong."

Mr. Balderby shrugged his shoulders.

"I should doubt the force of your philosophy in this case, my good
Sampson," he said; "Mr. Dunbar has had a long immunity from his sins. I
should scarcely think it likely he would ever be called upon to atone
for them."

"I don't know, sir," the old clerk answered; "I don't know that. I've
seen retribution come very late, very late; when the man who committed
the sin had well nigh forgotten it. Evil trees bear evil fruit, Mr.
Balderby: the Scriptures tell us that; and take my word for it, evil
consequences are sure to come from evil deeds."

"But to return to the story of the forged bills," said Mr. Austin, the
cashier, looking at his watch as he spoke.

He was evidently growing rather impatient of the old clerk's rambling
talk.

"To be sure, sir, to be sure," answered Sampson Wilmot. "Well, you see,
sir, one of the bills was brought to our counter, and the cashier didn't
much like the look of my lord's signature, and he took the bill to the
inspector, and the inspector said,' Pay the money, but don't debit it
against his lordship.' About an hour afterwards the inspector carried
the bill to Mr. Percival Dunbar, and directly he set eyes upon it, he
knew that Lord Vanlorme's acceptance was a forgery. He sent for me to
his room; and when I went in, he was as white as a sheet, poor
gentleman. He handed me the bill without speaking, and when I had looked
at it, he said--

"'Your brother is at the bottom of this business, Sampson. Do you
remember the half-sheet of paper I found on a blotting-pad in the
counting-house one day; half a sheet of paper scrawled over with the
imitation of two or three signatures? I asked who had copied those
signatures, and your brother came forward and owned to having done it,
laughing at his own cleverness. I told him then that it was a fatal
facility, a fatal facility, and now he has proved the truth of my words
by helping my son to turn forger and thief. That signature must be
honoured, though I should have to sacrifice half my fortune to meet the
demands upon us. Heaven knows to what amount such paper as that may be
in circulation. There are some forged bills that are as good as genuine
documents; and the Jew who discounted these knew that. If my son comes
into the bank this morning send him to me.'"

"And did the young man come?" asked the junior partner.

"Yes, Mr. Balderby, sir; in less than half an hour after I left Mr.
Percival Dunbar's room, in comes Mr. Henry, dashing and swaggering into
the place as if it was his own.

"'Will you please step into your father's room, sir?' I said; 'he wants
to see you very particular.'

"The cornet's jaw dropped, and his face turned ghastly white as I said
this; but he tried to carry it off with a swagger, and followed me into
Mr. Percival Dunbar's room.

"'You needn't leave us, Sampson,' said Mr. Hugh, who was sitting
opposite his brother at the writing-table. 'You may as well hear what I
have to say. I wish somebody whom I can rely upon to know the truth of
this business, and I think we may rely upon you.'

"'Yes, gentlemen,' I answered, 'you may trust me.'

"'What's the meaning of all this?' Mr. Henry Dunbar asked, pretending to
look innocent and surprised; but it wouldn't do, for his lips trembled
so, that it was painful to watch him. 'What's the matter?' he asked.

"Mr. Hugh Dunbar handed him the forged bill.

"'This is what's the matter,' he said.

"The young man stammered out something in the endeavour to deny any
knowledge of the bill in his hand; but his uncle checked him. 'Do not
add perjury to the crime you have already committed,' he said. 'How many
of these are in circulation?'

"'How many!' Mr. Henry repeated, in a faltering voice. 'Yes,' his uncle
answered; 'how many--to what amount?' 'Three thousand pounds,' the
cornet replied, hanging his head. 'I meant to take them up before they
fell due, Uncle Hugh,' he said. 'I did, indeed; I stood to win a hatful
of money upon the Liverpool Summer Meeting, and I made sure I should be
able to take up those bills: but I've had the devil's own luck all this
year. I never thought those bills would be presented; indeed, I never
did.'

"'Henry Dunbar,' Mr. Hugh said, very solemnly, 'nine men out of ten, who
do what you have done, think what you say you thought: that they shall
be able to escape the consequences of their deeds. They act under the
pressure of circumstances. They don't mean to do any wrong--they don't
intend to rob any body of a sixpence. But that first false step is the
starting point upon the road that leads to the gallows; and the worst
that can happen to a man is for him to succeed in his first crime.
Happily for you, detection has speedily overtaken you. Why did you do
this?'

"The young man stammered out some rambling excuse about his turf losses,
debts of honour which he was compelled to pay. Then Mr. Hugh asked him
whether the forged signature was his own doing, or the work of any body
else. The cornet hesitated for a little, and then told his uncle the
name of his accomplice. I thought this was cruel and cowardly. He had
tempted my brother to do wrong, and the least he could have done would
have been to try to shield him.

"One of the messengers was sent to fetch poor Joseph. The lad reached
the banking house in an hour's time, and was brought straight into the
private room, where we had all been sitting in silence, waiting for him.

"He was as pale as his master, but he didn't tremble, and he had
altogether a more determined look than Mr. Henry.

"Mr. Hugh Dunbar taxed him with what he had done.

"'Do you deny it, Joseph Wilmot?' he asked.

"'No,' my brother said, looking contemptuously at the cornet. 'If my
master has betrayed me, I have no wish to deny anything. But I dare say
he and I will square accounts some day.'

"'I am not going to prosecute my nephew,' Mr. Hugh said; 'so, of course
I shall not prosecute you. But I believe that you have been an evil
counsellor to this young man, and I give you warning that you will get
no character from me. I respect your brother Sampson, and shall retain
him in my service in spite of what you have done; but I hope never to
see your face again. You are free to go; but have a care how you tamper
with other men's signatures, for the next time you may not get off so
easily.'

"The lad took up his hat and walked slowly towards the door.

"'Gentlemen--gentlemen!' I cried, 'have pity upon him. Remember he is
little more than a boy; and whatever he did, he did out of love for his
master.'

"Mr. Hugh shook his head. 'I have no pity,' he answered, sternly: 'his
master might never have done wrong but for him.'

"Joseph did not say a word in answer to all this; but, when his hand was
on the handle of the door, he turned and looked at Mr. Henry Dunbar.

"'Have you nothing to say in my behalf, sir?' he said, very quietly; 'I
have been very much attached to you, sir, and I don't want to think
badly of you at parting. Haven't you one word to say in my behalf?'

"Mr. Henry made no answer. He sat with his head bent forward upon his
breast, and seemed as if he dare not lift his eyes to his uncle's face.

"'No!' Mr. Hugh answered, as sternly as before, 'he has nothing to say
for you. Go; and consider this a lucky escape.'

"Joseph turned upon the banker, with his face all in a crimson flame,
and his eyes flashing fire. 'Let _him_ consider it a lucky escape,' he
said, pointing to Mr. Henry Dunbar,--'let _him_ consider it a lucky
escape, if when we next meet he gets off scot free.'

"He was gone before any body could answer him.

"Then Mr. Hugh Dunbar turned to his nephew.

"'As for you,' he said, 'you have been a spoilt child of fortune, and
you have not known how to value the good things that Providence has
given you. You have begun life at the top of the tree, and you have
chosen to fling your chances into the gutter. You must begin again, and
begin this time upon the lowest step of the ladder. You will sell your
commission, and sail for Calcutta by the next ship that leaves
Southampton. To-day is the 23rd of August, and I see by the _Shipping
Gazette_ that the _Oronoko_ sails on the 10th of September. This will
give you little better than a fortnight to make all your arrangements."

"The young cornet started from his chair as if he had been shot.

"'Sell my commission!' he cried; 'go to India! You don't mean it, Uncle
Hugh; surely you don't mean it. Father, you will never compel me to do
this.'

"Percival Dunbar had never looked at his son since the young man had
entered the room. He sat with his elbow resting upon the arm of his
easy-chair, and his face shaded by his hand, and had not once spoken.

"He did not speak now, even when his son appealed to him.

"'Your father has given me full authority to act in this business,' Mr.
Hugh Dunbar said. 'I shall never marry, Henry, and you are my only
nephew, and my acknowledged heir. But I will never leave my wealth to a
dishonest or dishonourable man, and it remains for you to prove whether
you are worthy to inherit it. You will have to begin life afresh. You
have played the man of fashion, and your aristocratic associates have
led you to the position in which you find yourself to-day. You must turn
your back upon the past, Henry. Of course you are free to choose for
yourself. Sell your commission, go to India, and enter the
counting-house of our establishment in Calcutta as a junior clerk; or
refuse to do so, and renounce all hope of succeeding to my fortune or to
your father's.'

"The young man was silent for some minutes, then he said, sullenly
enough--

"'I will go. I consider that I have been harshly treated; but I will
go.'"

"And he did go?" said Mr. Balderby.

"He did, sir," answered the clerk, who had displayed considerable
emotion in relating this story of the past. "He did go, sir,--he sold
his commission, and left England by the _Oronoko_. But he never took
leave of a living creature, and I fully believe that he never in his
heart forgave either his father or his uncle. He worked his way up, as
you know, sir, in the Calcutta counting-house, and by slow degrees rose
to be manager of the Indian branch of the business. He married in 1831,
and he has an only child, a daughter, who has been brought up in England
since her infancy, under the care of Mr. Percival."

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