Rupert Godwin

AN IMPORTUNATE CREDITOR.

While Harley Westford was making his way to Hertford by express-train, Mr. Godwin sat over his wine in one of the splendid apartments of Wilmingdon Hall.

Wilmingdon Hall was no modern villa erected by a wealthy speculator, one of the merchant princes of the commercial age. It was a noble relic of the past; one of those stately habitations which we find here and there embosomed in woods whose growth is of a thousand years. For centuries the Hall had been the residence of a grand old race; but reckless extravagance had driven the lords of the mansion away from its ponderous gates, to give place to the rich commoner whose wealth made him master of the old domain.

The Hall was built in the form of a quadrangle, and was large enough to have accommodated a regiment of soldiers. One side of the quadrangle had been built in the early Tudor period, and had been disused for many years. The stone mullions of the windows darkened the rooms, and the tapestry hung rotting on the walls of the gloomy bedchambers and the low-roofed saloons of a bygone age.

There were few of the banker’s household who would have been bold enough to enter this northern wing of the mansion, which was, of course, reported to be haunted; but Mr. Godwin himself had been often known to visit the silent chambers, where the dust lay thick upon the mouldering oaken floors. The banker had indeed caused an iron safe to be placed in one of the lower rooms; and it was said that he kept a great deal of old-fashioned plate and jewellery, intrusted to him by his customers, in the cellarage below this northern wing.

Very few persons living in this present day had ever descended to these cellars; but it was reported that they extended the whole length and breadth of the northern side of the quadrangle, and even penetrated into the adjoining wings. It was also said that in the time of the civil wars these cellars had been used as prisons for the enemy, and as hiding-places for the faithful adherents of the good cause.

The servants of Mr. Godwin’s numerous household often talked of those gloomy underground chambers, but not one among them would have been courageous enough to descend into the dark and unknown vaults. Nor were the cellars ever left open to any hazardous intruder, as the ponderous old keys belonging to them, and to all the rooms in the deserted northern wing, were lodged in the safe keeping of Mr. Godwin himself, and no doubt stowed away in one of the numerous iron safes which lined the walls of his study. There was some legend of a subterranean passage leading from some part of the grounds to the cellarage; but no one now in the household had ever ventured to test the truth of this legend. Was there not also the legend of a White Lady, whose shadowy form might be met at any hour in those darksome chambers,—a harmless lady enough while in the flesh, a poor gentle creature, who had broken her heart and gone distraught for love of an inconstant gentleman in the military line; but a very troublesome lady in the spirit, since she appeared to devote her leisure to sighing and wailing in passages and cupboards, and to the performance of every variety of scratching, and knocking, and scraping, and tapping known to the most ingenious of ghosts.

In the neighbourhood of Wilmingdon Hall Mr. Godwin was looked upon as the possessor of almost fabulous wealth. He was regarded as a kind of modern magician, who could have coined gold out of the dead leaves which strewed Wilmingdon woods in the autumn, if he had chosen to do so.

The June evening was as beautiful as the June morning had been. The western sky was one grand blaze of crimson and orange, as Rupert Godwin sat over his wine in his spacious oak-panelled dining-room. He was not alone. On the opposite side of the table appeared the wizen face of the clerk, Jacob Danielson.

Crystal decanters, diamond cut, and sparkling as if studded with jewels, glittered in the crimson sunset, and fragrant hot-house fruits were piled amongst their dewy leaves in dishes of rare old Sèvres china. Luxury and elegance surrounded the banker on every side; but he had by no means the air of a man who enjoys the delights of the Sybarite’s dolce far niente. A dark frown of discontent obscured his handsome face, and the violet-perfumed Burgundy, which his clerk was sniffing with the true epicurean gusto, had no charm for the master.

Rupert Godwin had felt himself compelled to conciliate his clerk. Did not Jacob know of the twenty thousand pounds—that twenty thousand pounds respecting which dark plots were now being woven in the banker’s mind?

That sum might have restored Mr. Godwin’s shaken credit for a time; but what would he be able to do when the Captain returned from his Chinese voyage, and demanded the restoration of his money?

Rupert Godwin hated Harley Westford with a deeply-rooted hatred, though he had never looked upon the sailor’s face until that day. The hatred which had long smouldered in the banker’s breast arose out of a dark mystery of the past—a mystery in which Clara, the Captain’s wife, had been concerned.

Under these circumstances, Rupert Godwin, ever selfish, false, and unscrupulous, resolved on appropriating the sailor’s fortune. Ruin stared him in the face. He had speculated wildly, and had lost heavily. He resolved on leaving Europe for ever, and carrying with him the twenty thousand pounds intrusted to him by Harley Westford.

He had spent some of the pleasantest years of his youth in South America, where a member of his family occupied a position of some importance as a merchant.

“Under a feigned name, and in that distant land, no one will be able to discover the whereabouts of Rupert Godwin, the runaway banker,” he thought; “and with twenty thousand pounds for my starting-point, I may make a second fortune, larger than my first. Julia shall accompany me. My son may remain in England and shift for himself; there has never been much love between us, and I do not want to be hindered at every turn by some Quixotic scruple of his. Chivalry and commerce won’t go in harness together. Bayard would have made a bad thing of it on the Stock Exchange.”

Thus ran the banker’s thoughts as he sat brooding over his wine; but every now and then his restless eyes glanced furtively towards the face of his clerk.

He feared Jacob Danielson. The fear as yet was shadowy and unreasoning; but he felt that the clerk knew too many of his secrets, and might become a hindrance to his schemes. He felt this, and in the meantime he was anxious to conciliate, and if possible hoodwink, Jacob Danielson.

“Yes, Jacob,” he said presently, taking up the thread of a former conversation, “this twenty thousand may enable us to weather the storm. If the first calls made upon us are promptly paid, confidence must be restored, and the rumour against us will die away.”

“Very likely,” answered the clerk, in that cool dry tone of voice which was peculiarly unpleasant to Rupert Godwin; “but when the sea captain comes home and wants his money—what then?”

“By that time we may be again in a strong position.”

“Yes, we may! But how?”

“Some of the speculations in which my money has been risked may improve. My eggs are not all in one basket. Some of the baskets may prove to be sounder than they appear just now,” answered the banker, who tried in vain to appear at his ease under the piercing scrutiny of Jacob’s sharp grey eyes.

“Do you believe that, Mr. Godwin?” asked the clerk, in a tone that was strangely significant.

“Most decidedly.”

“Humph!” responded Jacob, rubbing the iron-grey stubble upon his chin with his horny palm, until the harsh rasping noise produced by that action set his employer’s teeth on edge. “I am glad you have so much confidence in the future.”

Rupert Godwin winced as he felt the sting contained in these simple words. He felt that to throw dust in the eyes of Mr. Danielson was by no means an easy operation. But he was no coward. He was a bold bad man, whose heart was not likely to fail him in any desperate venture.

“Bah!” he thought, as his strongly-marked brows contracted over his dark eyes, “what have I to fear from this man? True, that he knows of the twenty thousand pounds; but what harm can his knowledge do me when I am far away from England and my creditors? In that money lies the means of new wealth.”

His head drooped forward upon his breast, as he abandoned himself to a reverie that was not altogether unpleasant, when suddenly a voice, solemnly impressive in its tone, sounded in the quiet of the June twilight.

“Mr. Godwin,” said the voice, “I come to demand from you the twenty thousand pounds which I lodged in your keeping to-day.”

A thunderbolt descending from heaven to shatter the roof above him could scarcely have affected the banker more terribly than did the sound of that unceremonious demand.

He looked up, and saw Harley Westford standing in one of the long French windows which opened upon the lawn. The Captain stood on the threshold of the central window, exactly opposite Rupert Godwin; and in the dim declining light the banker could see that Harley Westford’s face was deadly pale. It was the fixed and resolute countenance of a desperate man.

For the first few moments after those words had been spoken Rupert Godwin was completely unnerved; but, with an effort, he shook off that feeling of mental paralysis which had taken possession of him, and assumed his usual ease of manner.

“My dear Captain Westford,” he said, “your sudden appearance actually alarmed me; and yet I am not generally subject to any nervous fancies. But this place is supposed to be haunted; and I give you my word you looked exactly like a ghost just now in the June gloaming. Pray be seated, and try some of that Chambertin, which I can recommend. Danielson, will you be good enough to ring for lamps? The darkness has crept upon us unawares.”

“Yes,” answered the clerk, “we have been so deeply interested in our own thoughts.”

There was something like a sneer in Jacob Danielson’s tone as he said this; and the banker felt as if his inmost thoughts had been read by his clerk.

“Well, Captain Westford,” said Mr. Godwin in his most careless tone, “to what do I owe the pleasure of this visit? You wish to make some new arrangement about the investment of your money; perhaps you are not satisfied with the rate of interest allowed by our house. You want to dabble in some speculative investment.”

“Mr. Godwin,” exclaimed the sailor, “I am a plain-spoken man, and I don’t know how to beat about the bush. In a very few words, then, I want my money back.”

“You are afraid to trust it in my hands?”

“I am.”

“You have heard some false rumour, no doubt; some story got up by notorious City scoundrels. Some anonymous circular has reached you, perhaps, intended to undermine the credit of one of the best considered banking-firms in the City of London. I have heard of such stabs in the dark; and if I had my will the anonymous slanderer who destroys his neighbour’s credit should be hung as high as the assassin who takes his neighbour’s life.”

“The rumour which I have heard may be true or false,” replied the Captain quietly. “I trust for your sake, Mr. Godwin, that it is false. I think it very likely that it may be so. But I am dealing with that which is dearer to me than my own heart’s blood. I am dealing with the money which represents the future comfort and safety of my wife and children. There must be no risk, not the shadow of risk, about that money. Ask me to trust you with my life, and I will trust you freely; but I will not leave that money in your hands. At the risk of giving you mortal offence I come to demand its restoration.”

“And you shall have it in due course, my dear Captain Westford,” answered the banker, throwing himself back in his chair and laughing aloud. “Pray, excuse me, but I cannot help being amused by your simplicity. You sailors are as bold as lions on the high seas, but the veriest cowards when you come into the neighbourhood of the Stock Exchange. I really can’t help laughing at your fears.”

“Laugh as much as you please, Mr. Godwin; only, give me back my money.”

“Most decidedly, my dear Captain Westford; but as I don’t happen to carry your fortune about with me in my waistcoat-pocket, you must wait till business hours to-morrow.”

The sailor’s countenance darkened.

“I relied on catching you in Lombard-street before the bank closed,” he said, “and I have given orders for the sailing of my vessel to-morrow at daybreak. If I am not aboard her, she sails without me.”

The banker was silent for some moments. The lamps had not yet been brought into the room, and in the darkness a sinister smile passed over Rupert Godwin’s face.

“Your vessel sails without you,” he said presently; “but of course your officers will await fresh orders from you?”

“No, they have no occasion to wait,” answered the Captain; “they have received all necessary instructions. If I am not on board my vessel before daybreak to-morrow, my first mate will assume the post of Captain, and the Lily Queen will leave the Pool without me.”

Two men-servants entered the room with lamps at this moment. In the brilliant yet subdued light of the moderator-lamps, Rupert Godwin looked like a man who was on good terms with himself and all the world. And yet Heaven alone knew the intensity of the struggle going forward in this man’s mind.

“My dear Danielson,” he exclaimed, after glancing at the clock upon the chimney-piece—“my dear Danielson, have you any notion of the time? It is now past nine, and unless you start at once, you’ll scarcely catch the 10.30 train from Hertford.”

“It is like you, to be so kind and thoughtful, Mr. Godwin!” the clerk said, looking searchingly at his employer. “Yes, my time is up, and I must be thinking of getting off.”

“I’ll order one of my grooms to drive you to the station,” said Mr. Godwin; and before Jacob could remonstrate, he rang the bell and gave his directions to the servant who answered it.

Meanwhile Harley Westford stood a little way from the table, pale and silent, and with a resolute look upon his frank handsome face.

During all this time he had not once seated himself; during all this time he had not once removed his gaze from the countenance of the banker. He wanted to discover whether or not Rupert Godwin was an honest man.

“I am waiting to hear your decision about that money, Mr. Godwin,” he said quietly; “remember, that to me it is a matter of life and death.”

“If you will step into my study. I shall be at your service immediately, Captain Westford,” answered the banker; “I have only a few words to say to my clerk, and then I will join you.”

A servant entered at this moment to announce that the dog-cart was ready to take Mr. Danielson to the station.

“Show this gentleman into my study,” said Rupert Godwin, “and take lights there immediately.”

Harley Westford followed the servant. When he entered the dining-room he had carried his light overcoat upon his arm: this coat he now left hanging loosely upon a chair.

“Now, my dear Jacob,” said the banker, with every appearance of unconcern, “let me see you off, and then I will go and settle with this importunate sea-captain.”

“But how will you settle with him?” asked Danielson in a low suppressed voice.

“Very easily. I will persuade him that the rumour he has heard against our credit is entirely false, and shall by that means prevail upon him to leave his money in my hands until his return from China.”

“But he seems determined upon having the money back immediately. I fancy you’ll find him rather a tough customer.”

“Trust my diplomacy against his determination. Come, Jacob, you will certainly lose your train.”

The banker almost pushed his clerk towards the dog-cart which was waiting before the Gothic porch of Wilmingdon Hall. Jacob mounted the vehicle, and the groom drove off at a smart pace.

Then, for the first time, Rupert Godwin sighed heavily, as he stood alone in the porch, and a dark cloud fell over his face.

“It is difficult work,” he muttered to himself; “awful work, let me plan it which way I will. But let me remember Clara Ponsonby—my love and her disdain. Let me remember the past, and that memory may give me nerve and resolution to-night.”

He stood for some minutes in the porch, looking out into the summer darkness. No star had yet risen in the June heavens, and the lawn and gardens of Wilmingdon Hall were as dark as the deepest recesses of the forest. After those few minutes of silent thought, the banker breathed one more sigh, profound as the first, and turned to re-enter the house.