Life in London

by Edwin Hodder

Making Discoveries.

"Will you grant me leave of absence for to-day?" Charles Hardy asked Mr. Sanders, a few minutes after George had left the office, on the gloomy and eventful morning when he disclosed the secret of his guilt.

"I hardly know what to say—what to do," answered Mr. Sanders, puffing and blowing; "business will come to a stand-still—the shutters had better go up at once. But if you want particularly to be off to-day, I suppose I must manage to spare you."

"I may want several days, sir; but if that should be the case, I will return to the office to-morrow in time to see Mr. Compton immediately he comes back"

It was but the work of five minutes for Charles to write a short note, change his office coat, and prepare to start The note was addressed to Mr. Brunton, care of Mr. Sanders till called for, and ran as follows:—

"MY DEAR SIR,

"Do not be more uneasy than necessary about George. I think I have a clue by which his address may be ascertained. If so, I will report progress to you to-night; but I leave this note for you, in order to allay the distress you will feel in learning he is not here. Rest assured of my earnest desire to serve my dear friend, and to relieve him if possible. My time and services you may command in this cause. In haste,

"Yours very faithfully,
"CHARLES HARDY."

Hardy had a clue, it is true; but it was a very faint one. He had noticed, upon the table of Mr. Compton's room, a "Bradshaw's Railway Guide;" and as he had not seen one there previously, he imagined it must have been brought in by George, with his carpet-bag and other things, and there left. One page of the book was turned down; Hardy had eagerly opened it, and found it referred to the departures from the Great Western Station.

"I'll go on at once to that station," he thought. "He told me he might be leaving England; perhaps he has gone to Liverpool, Plymouth, or Cork, or some shipping place that can be reached by this line. At all events, I have no other chance but this."

With all speed Charles drove off to Paddington. Diligently he conned over the intricate mysteries of "Bradshaw" as he journeyed along, endeavouring to ascertain when trains would be leaving for any of the places to which he had imagined his friend might be going. It is hardly necessary to say he could not find what he wanted; but his anxiety and suspense were relieved by the search.

Before alighting at the station, Hardy carefully glanced all around to ascertain that George was not in sight; for it was not his intention to speak to him or endeavour to turn him from his purpose, knowing that, in his present excited state he would stand no chance whatever of frustrating his friend's plans, but would rather be adopting the most certain means of destroying his own. Hardy's present object was only to try and find out to what part George would travel, and then communicate with Mr. Brunton and get his advice how to proceed.

Cautiously he walked along the platform, looking into every waiting-room, and making inquiries of the porters it they had seen any one answering to the description he gave of George. This course proving futile, he went to the ticket-office, and consulted a time-table, to find whether any train had recently left for any of the places which, he felt convinced, were the most probable for George to choose. An hour or two had elapsed since the last train left, and George had not had more than twenty minutes' start ahead of him. He took down in his pocket-book the time for the departure of the next train; and then choosing a secluded spot in the office, where he would be out of observation, and yet able to see all who came up for tickets, he waited patiently until the slow, dawdling hand of the clock neared the hour.

Hardy felt the chances were fifty to one that while he was waiting there George might be at some other station, leaving London without a trace to his whereabouts; he thought whether, after all, George might not have purposely, instead of accidentally, left the "Bradshaw" with that particular page turned down, in order that, should he be sought, a wrong scent might be given; and even if he intended to travel by this line and to one of these particular places, might he not choose nighttime as the most desirable for his object? But Hardy had purpose in him; he would not throw away the strongest clue he had, although that was faint, and he resolved to stay there until midnight, it need be, rather than abandon his design,

His patience was not put to such a test as this. While he was standing, with palpitating heart, behind that door in the booking office, George was in the porters' room, not a hundred yards off, waiting with deeper anxiety for the clock to point to the hour when the train should start. Presently, the first bell rang. A number of people, with bags and packages in hand, came crowding up to the ticket office, but George was not there. Hardy could scarcely refrain from rushing out to look around. What if he should get into a train without a ticket, or send a guard to procure one for him? A hundred doubts and fears were pressing upon him, and—the second bell rang. Two or three minutes more, and the train would be off. At the moment he was consulting his pocket-book to see how long a time must elapse before the next train would leave, he started with joyful surprise to see George walk hurriedly up to the office and obtain a ticket. As hurriedly he disappeared. "Now is my chance," thought Hardy.

"Where did that young man take his ticket for?" he asked the clerk, as soon as he had elbowed his way past the few remaining persons who were before the window.

"Which one?" said he; "two or three young men have just taken tickets."

"I mean the last ticket but one you issued?"

"Plymouth."

"Hurrah!" cried Hardy, to the astonishment of the clerk, who probably would not have given the information, had he not thought the inquirer wanted a ticket for the same place.

Hardy was too cautious, even in the moment of his surprise, to let his object be lost by over-haste; he knew it would not be wise to let himself be seen, and though he longed to rush after George and say, "Good-bye, cheer up, old chap!" he only allowed himself the painful pleasure of looking through the window of a waiting-room, and seeing his old friend and chum, sad and solitary, get into the carriage. Shriek went the whistle, and away went the train. Whether it whizzed along so rapidly, or the smoke and steam enveloped it, or from whatever cause it was, Charles Hardy found his sight growing dimmer, until a mist shut out the scene.

From the station Hardy went home. He wanted to tell his parents some of the occurrences of the day, and let them know of his expected absence. He knew that he had difficulties to meet. George had always been kindly received by Mr. and Mrs. Hardy; they both liked him, and were glad when he came to spend an evening at their house. But latterly they had been rather anxious about the growing intimacy between him and their son, and often had a word of caution been given that Charles should be very careful how far he allowed his friend to influence him.

Now Hardy could only tell his parents that George had got into worse trouble than ever—such trouble that he was obliged to leave his situation, and had decamped, no one except himself knew where. Of course Mr. and Mrs. Hardy would not put a good construction upon the affair. He anticipated they would say, "Well, I always feared he would come to this;" and would try to dissuade Charles from having anything more to do with him. It was not to be expected they would look with such leniency upon the matter as he would. Therefore, it was with no small difficulty he proceeded, immediately upon reaching home, to tell them of what had occurred. It was a short story, and soon told.

"Now, father," said Hardy, before allowing him time to bring objections to the part he had performed that day, "I have promised Mr. Brunton to assist in finding George, and I have told Mr. Sanders I may be away some days from the office. I know Mr. Compton will not object to this; if that is all, I can have this leave of absence instead of the holiday he promised me next mouth. George must be found; if I can help it, he shall not leave England—at all events, not in this way. I know it will kill Mrs. Weston, if he does."

"Well, Charles, I know your kindheartedness, and I appreciate it; but I cannot give my consent to the plan. Recollect, by associating yourself with your former friend now, you do injury to yourself; he has got himself into disgrace—he must bear the burden of it. What will Mr. Compton think, when he hears that you—you who have always maintained such strict integrity—have gone off after a dishonest, runaway clerk?"

"I never wish to run counter to your opinions, father, if I can help it; but I must do so now, George Weston is my friend—not was my friend, as you said just now—and I would not act such a cowardly part as to desert him. Don't be vexed at what I say; I know you advise for my good; but you do not know how I feel in this matter. Suppose our positions were changed, and I had done as George has done—there is no impossibility in such a case—I am too weak against temptation to doubt that had I been placed in the circumstances similar to his, I might have done the same, Suppose I had, what would you have thought of me? Should I have been your dishonest, runaway son, to whom all friendship must be denied, and who might be left to bear any burden alone, because I had brought it upon myself? No, father; you would be the first to seek and comfort me, and the first to cry 'Shame!' upon any of my friends who turned and kicked me the moment I had fallen."

Mr. Hardy could not resist the force of his son's argument, nor could he refrain from admiring the genuineness of his friendship for George, and the manly determination he had formed to assist him.

"Well, Charles," he said, "I do not blame you for taking this course. I hope it may be serviceable to your friend, and without any injury to yourself."

"Do not fear, father. And now I must pack up a few necessaries in my bag, and be off to Mr. Brunton's. If I do not return home to-morrow, do not be uneasy about me, and I will write to you every day to say how things are going on."

When Hardy arrived at the house of Mr. Brunton, he found him, as he anticipated, in a high state of nervous anxiety.

"I am so thankful you have arrived, Mr. Hardy," he said, shaking him warmly by the hand: "and I need not tell you Mrs. Weston has been waiting with great impatience to see you."

"Mrs. Weston! is she here?"

"Yes; not many minutes after you had left the office I called there, and received the sad news about—about George. I at once telegraphed to Mrs. Weston to come up to town, and it needed no urging to hasten her, for she had only a short time before received a letter from him, which had filled her with alarm. But let us go to her at once," said Mr. Brunton, leading the way to the drawing-room; "she entreated I would bring you to her the moment you arrived."

As Hardy entered, Mrs. Weston sprang to meet him.

"Have you found George?—where is he?" she asked, and the look of struggling hope and despair was touching to witness.

"I have not found him, Mrs. Weston, but I know the place of his present destination. He has gone to Plymouth;" and then Hardy briefly explained the incidents of the morning.

"I cannot tell you how thankful I am to you, Mr. Hardy," said Mrs. Weston, as he concluded. "May God bless you for your kindness to my pool George!"

"George would have done more for me, Mrs. Weston," Hardy replied; "but, at present, little or nothing has been done. Have you any plans, and can I help you in them?"

"We must go on as soon as possible to Plymouth, and find out where he is. He may perhaps be on the eve of starting away by some of the vessels in the port. Not a minute should be lost."

"Then, sir, I will go down to Plymouth by the mail train which leaves in about a couple of hours, if you will let me; and I promise you that I will do my best to find him," said Hardy.

This unexpected proposition removed an infinite burden from Mr. Brunton's mind. He felt that it was his duty to see Mr. Compton at once, and he had other engagements which made it impossible for him to leave that night. He did not like Mrs. Weston travelling alone, in her present anxious and desponding state, and had been at his wit's end all day to know how to manage.

"But, Mr. Hardy, can you go? Have you consulted your friends at home? Can you manage to get leave of absence from the office?—remember they will be short of hands there," asked Mr. Brunton.

"I have made all arrangements at home, sir and my only difficulty is about Mr. Compton. But if you will please see him as soon as he returns, and explain why I have left, I am sure he will not be displeased. He was so fond of George, I know he would have said 'Go, by all means,' had he been at home."

"I will undertake to set the matter right with him about you," said Mr. Brunton; "but I doubt whether he will ever allow me to mention poor George's name. Oh! Hardy, this is a sad, sad business!"

"It is, sir; but it is sadder for George than for his friends," replied Hardy. "I cannot bear to think of the trouble he is passing through at this moment. It has cost him much to take the step he has taken, and everything must be done to get him back from his voluntary banishment"

"And everything shall be done that can," said Mr. Brunton. "God grant he is still in England! I feel sure the sight of his mother and his friends sorrowing for him, instead of turning against him as he supposes, will alter his determination."

"Mr. Hardy, may I place myself under your protection until my brother joins us at Plymouth?" said Mrs. Weston, abruptly. "I will go down by the mail train to-night; I cannot rest until he is found."

Arrangements were speedily made, and that night the train bore off Mrs. Western and Charles Hardy to Plymouth.

On the following morning Mr. Brunton called at Falcon-court. Mr. Compton had not yet arrived, but was expected hourly. Not wishing to lose time, which that morning was particularly precious to him, he asked for some writing materials, and seating himself in Mr. Compton's room, intended to occupy himself until his arrival. After he had been there about half-an-hour, his attention was arrested by hearing the door of the clerk's office open, and an inquiry made.

"Is Mr. George Weston here?"

"Mr. Weston has left the office," answered Williams, who came forward to answer the inquiry. "Left yesterday morning."

"Indeed! Where has he gone to? why did he leave?"

"I don't think anyone knows where he has gone to," answered Williams; "and I am not disposed to say why he left."

Williams did not know why he had left, nor were the circumstances of the case known to any of the clerks; but many surmises had been made which were unfavourable to him, and it was with the exultant pleasure a mean spirit feels in a mean triumph, that Williams had at last an opportunity of speaking lightly of the once good name of George Weston, to whom he had ever cherished feelings of animosity.

"Is Mr. Compton in, or the manager?" asked the visitor. "I am exceedingly anxious to know what has become of my friend."

"Between ourselves," said Williams, "the less you say about your friend the better. It strikes me—mind, I merely give you this confidentially as my impression—that, when Weston turns up again, his friends will not be over-anxious to renew their acquaintance."

"What do you mean? I do not understand you."

"What I mean is this. When a clerk is dismissed from an office during the absence of the principal, leaves suddenly and has to hide himself—more particularly when accounts at the banker's do not quite balance—one cannot help thinking there is a screw loose somewhere."

Mr. Brunton overheard all this; he who had never before heard an unfavourable sentence spoken against his nephew. He had not fully realised until that moment the painful position in which George's crime had placed him, nor the depth of his nephew's fall in position and character. He longed to have been able to stand up in vindication of George against the terrible insinuations of Williams; he would have been intensely thankful if he could have accosted the stranger, and said, "That man is guilty of falsehood who dares to speak against the good name of my nephew." But there he stood, with blood boiling and lips quivering, unable to contradict one sentence that had been uttered.

"If Weston does turn up," continued Williams, "will you leave any message or letter, or your name, and it shall be forwarded?"

"My name is Ashton," said the stranger; "but it is unnecessary to say that I called. It does not do to be mixed up with matters like these. I half feared something of the sort was brewing, but I had no idea tilings would have taken so sudden a turn."

Mr. Brunton could restrain his impatience no longer.

"Mr. Ashton," he said, coming suddenly upon the speakers, "will you favour me by stepping inside a minute or two? I shall be glad to speak to you."

Ashton was taken by surprise at seeing Mr. Brunton where he least expected to see him.

"I have been placed in the uncomfortable position of a listener to your conversation in the next room," said Mr. Brunton, closing the door; "and I cannot allow those remarks made by the clerk with whom you were talking to pass unqualified."

"They need little explanation, sir," said Ashton. "George Weston has been on the verge of a catastrophe for some months, and I believe I can fill in the outline of information which you heard given me."

"I am in ignorance of the causes which have led to my nephew's disgrace," answered Mr. Brunton; "nor am I desirous to hear them from any lips but his. You were one of his most intimate friends, I believe, Mr. Ashton?"

"Yes; I think I may say his most intimate friend."

"And you knew he was on the 'verge of a catastrophe.' I have no doubt you acted the part of a friend, and sought to turn his steps from the fatal brink?"

"Well, as to that, he was fully competent to manage his own affairs without my interference. I did tell him he would come to grief, if he did not give up playing."

"And did you add to that advice that he should quit those associates who had assisted to bring him to such a pass?"

"Certainly not; why should I meddle with him in his companionships? You speak, Mr. Brunton, as if I were your nephew's keeper. If George Weston liked to live beyond his means, he was at liberty to do it for me. I am sorry he made such a smash at last, but it is all that could be expected. If ever you see George again, sir, you will oblige me by conveying one message. I did not think when he came to me, two nights ago, to try and borrow a hundred pounds, that he intended to mix me up in any disgraceful business like that of this morning. Had I known it, instead of fretting myself about his welfare, he should have—"

"Made the discovery," interrupted Mr. Brunton, "that he never had a friend in you. My idea of a friend is one who seeks the well-being of another; speaks to him as a second conscience in temptation; loves with a strength of attachment which cannot be broken; and, though sorrowing over error, can still hope and pray for and seek to restore the erring. Mr. Ashton, I do not wish to say more upon this matter; it is painful for me to think how my nephew has been led downward, step after step, by those whom he thought friends, and how sinfully he has yielded. When you think of him, recollect him as the boy you knew at school, and try to trace his course down to this day. You know his history, his companionships, his whole life. Think whether you have influenced it, and how; and if your conscience should say, 'I have not been his friend,' may you be led by the remembrance to consider that no man liveth to himself: and that for those talents and attractions with which you are endowed, you will have hereafter to give account, together with the good or evil which has resulted from them."

To Ashton's relief the door opened, and Mr. Compton entered. Hastily taking up his hat, he bade adieu to Mr. Brunton, glad of this opportunity to beat a retreat.

"Confound those Methodists!" he uttered to himself, as he walked up Fleet-street; "speak to them, they talk sermons; strike them, and they defend themselves with sermons; cut them to the quick, and I believe they would bleed sermons. But why should he pounce upon me? What have I done? A pretty life George would have led if it hadn't been for me, and this is all the thanks I get. I wish to goodness he had not made such a fool of himself; I shall have to answer all inquiries about him, and it is no honour to be linked in such associations."

The meeting between Mr. Compton and Mr. Brunton was one of mingled feelings of pain and mortification. One had lost a valuable clerk, for whom he cherished more than ordinary feelings of regard, and upon whom he had hoped some day the whole management of the business would devolve; the other had lost almost all that was dear to him on earth, one whom he had watched, and loved, and worked for, and to whose bright future he had looked forward with increasing pleasure, until it had become a dream of life. Both were aggrieved, both were injured; but both felt, in their degree, such strong feelings in favour of George, despite his disgrace and crime, that they could look with more sorrow than anger on the offender, and deal more in kindness than in wrath.

Mr. Compton could not but agree with Mr. Brunton that he must be discovered, if possible; and although he could never receive him under any circumstances into his office again, nor could ever have for him the feelings he once entertained, still he felt free to adhere to his first determination not to prosecute or take any steps in the case, nor allow it to have more publicity than could be helped.

"He is still young," said he; "let him try to redeem the past. But it is right he should feel the consequences of his actions, and no doubt he will, as he has to encounter the difficulties which will meet him in seeking to retrieve the position he has lost. You know me too well, Brunton, to imagine that I do not estimate aright the extent of his guilt; and you will give me credit for possessing a desire to do as I would be done by in this case. I believe many a young man has been ruined through time and eternity, by having been dealt with too harshly—though in a legal sense quite justly; at the same time it has been the only course to check a growing habit of crime in others. I know well that in some instances it would be a duty to prosecute, if only as a protection from suspicion of upright persons. But there are exceptional cases, and I consider this to be one of them, although perhaps many of our leading citizens might think me culpable in my clemency; but I think I know your nephew sufficiently well to be warranted in the belief that he feels his criminality, and will take a lasting warning from this circumstance. And now, what do you intend to do, since you know my determination?"

Mr. Brunton explained the plans he had formed, and the valuable assistance which Hardy had rendered him. He was pleased to hear from his injured friend the heartily expressed wish that the end in view might be accomplished. Mr. Brunton had surmounted one great difficulty, and he could not feel sufficiently thankful at the issue. Although he had known Mr. Compton for many years, and had seen innumerable evidences of his benevolence and good nature, he knew, too, that he was the very personification of honesty and uprightness; and he dreaded lest, incensed against George for his ingratitude, and fearing the influence of his conduct might spread in the office, he would take measures against him which, although perfectly just, would, by their severity, prove deeply injurious in such a case, and reduce George, who was naturally sensitive of shame, to a position from which he might never be restored.

At the very earliest opportunity Mr. Brunton went down to Plymouth. Business of the greatest importance, which he could not set aside, had detained him in London until Friday, and his uneasiness had been increased during that time by two notes he had received—one from Mrs. Weston, and the other from Hardy—telling him of the unsuccessful issue of their search. With an anxious heart he alighted at the station at Plymouth, and walked to the hotel, where his sister and Hardy were staying. The look of despair he read in Mrs. Weston's countenance, as they met, told him that no favourable result had been obtained.

"We have been everywhere, and tried every possible plan to find poor George," she said, when Mr. Brunton sat down beside her and Hardy to hear the recital of their efforts. "I should have broken down long ago, had it not been for our dear friend here, who has been night and day at work, plotting schemes and working them out, and buoying me up with hopes in their result. But I feel sure George cannot be in Plymouth, and our search is vain."

"So Mrs. Weston has said all along," said Hardy; "but I cannot agree with her; at all events, I will not believe it until we find out where he has gone. He has not taken a passage in any of the vessels, as far as we can ascertain; he is not in any of the inns in the town, I think, for we have made the most searching inquiries at all of them; but in this large place it is difficult to find any one without some positive clue."

"Have you been able to find out whether he really arrived here?" asked Mr. Brunton.

"I think I have. One of the porters rather singularly recollected a person, answering to the description, arriving by the train in which George left London. It seems he was hastening away from the station without giving up his ticket No doubt he was nervous and absent in mind; and when the porter called to him, he started and seemed as if he were alarmed: but in a minute he produced his ticket and went out The porter looked suspiciously, I suppose, at the ticket, and evidently so at George, for he was able to give a full description of him."

"That is so far satisfactory," said Mr. Brunton; "but have you made any more discoveries to render you tolerably sure he is still in Plymouth."

"Yes, I have been to every shop where they fit out passengers for a sea voyage, and have found out one where he purchased some articles of clothing. But the clearest trace I have of him is from the shipping agents. He was certainly looking over vessels on the morning after his arrival here, for one or two captains have described him to me. I have been a great many times down among the shipping, but have not made more discoveries, and I cannot get any information from the shipping offices; but in this you will probably meet with more success, sir, than I have, for a young man is not of sufficient importance to command attention from business men."

Mr. Brunton was fully conscious of the difficulties which were in the way of finding George, even supposing he was still in Plymouth: but he was not without hope. He could not find words enough to express his strong approbation of all that Hardy had done, and he felt sure that he could have no better assistant in the undertaking than he. A series of plans were soon formed: Hardy was to keep watch upon those vessels which he thought it probable George might choose, and offer rewards to sailors and others for information. Mr. Brunton was to try and discover the names and descriptions of passengers booked at the shipping offices; and Mrs. Weston was to keep a general lookout on outfitters' warehouses, and other places where it might be probable George would visit.

But every plan failed. Saturday night came, and, worn out with fatigue, the anxious trio sat together to discuss the incidents of the day, and propose fresh arrangements for the morrow. Sunday was not a day of rest to them; from early morning they were all engaged in different directions in prosecuting their search, and not until the curtain of night was spread over the town, and the hum of traffic and din of bustle had ceased, did they return to the hotel.

After supper, Mr. Brunton took out his pocket Bible, and read aloud some favourite passages. They seemed to speak with a voice of hope and comfort, and inspired fresh faith in the unerring providence of Him who doeth all things well.

Very earnest were the prayers offered by that little party, as they knelt together and commended the wanderer, wherever he might be, to the care and guidance of the good providence of God. They felt how useless were all plans and purposes unless directed by a higher source than their own; and while they prayed for success upon the efforts put forth, if in accordance with His will, they asked for strength and resignation to bear disappointment Nor were their prayers merely that he whom they were seeking might be found, but that he might find pardon and acceptance with God, and that the evil which they lamented might, in the infinitely wise purposes of Providence, be controlled for good.

With fresh zeal and renewed hope the three set forth on the following morning to prosecute their several plans. Hardy had learned that one or two vessels would sail that day, and he was full of expectation that he might meet with some tidings.

Mr. Brunton felt rather unwell that morning—the press of business which had detained him in London, the excitement of the journey, and the fatigue of the previous days, had told upon his health. As he was passing through a quiet part of the town, he called in at an apothecary's to get a draught, which he hoped might ward off any serious attack of sickness. While the draught was being prepared, Mr. Brunton, who was intent upon his object and never left a stone unturned, interrogated the apothecary, a gentlemanly and agreeable man, upon the neighbourhood, the number of visitors in that locality, and other subjects, ending by saying he was trying to discover the residence of a relative, but without any knowledge of his address.

In the midst of the conversation, a servant-girl, without bonnet or shawl, came hurriedly into the shop, out of breath with running.

"Oh, sir, if you please, sir, missus says, will you come at once to see the young gentleman as stays at our house?—he's taken bad."

"Who is your mistress, my girl?" asked the chemist.

"Oh, sir, it's Mrs. Murdoch, of —— Street; and the young gentleman is a lodger from London, and he's going away to-morrow to the Indies or somewheres; but do come, sir, please—missus'll be frightened to death, all by herself, and him so dreadful bad."

Mr. Brunton had been an anxious listener. Was it possible that the young gentleman from London could be George?

"How long has your lodger been with you?" he asked the girl.

"A week come Wednesday—leastways, come Tuesday night,"—was the accurate answer.

Mr. Brunton, with eyes flashing with excitement, turned to the medical man. "Will you allow me to accompany you on this visit?" he asked; "I have reason to believe that your patient may be the relative for whom I am searching."

"Then come, by all means," answered the doctor; and, preceded by the girl, who was all impatience to get home, and kept up a pace which made Mr. Brunton puff lustily, they reached the house of Mrs. Murdoch.