[CHAPTER XXXIV.]
ET TU BRUTE!
On the morning succeeding the day on which Mr. Schröder died, Mr. Simnel sat in his room in the Tin-Tax Office, deep in a reverie. The newspaper lay on the floor at his feet; he was slowly rubbing the knee from which it had just fallen, and his other hand supported his chin. The news had come upon him suddenly; and he was calmly thinking to what results the occurrence might tend. Had he been at his club the night before, he would have heard the whisper which, thanks to Dr. Prater, was then permeating the West End; but on his return from Kate Mellon's, Mr. Simnel had quietly dined in his own rooms, and there remained for the rest of the evening, arranging his plans. Thus the first intimation which he had received of the event was from the columns of the newspaper then lying at his feet; in which a paragraph headed "Sudden death of a City-merchant" had speedily claimed his attention. Matters of weighty importance had Mr. Simnel to filter through his mind in the course of that reverie. He was a worldly-minded man, but by no means a bad man at heart; and the fact of the rich man's death at that particular time struck him as specially touching and softening. The newspaper described the anguish of the dead man's widow as "inexpressible;" and though Simnel, from his experience, was not inclined to lay much stress on the exactness of that statement, yet he felt that in all probability the little woman of whom he had heard so much, would probably be very much distressed. From all he had learned, he believed that of late the relations between her and her husband had been very much deepened and strengthened. He guessed somewhat of this from the fact that Beresford had been more than infrequent and shy in his allusions to that ménage, and to the pursuit he was engaged in in that quarter. Beresford? By Jove! then his chance was come much sooner than either of them had anticipated! the great obstacle was removed, and he had the course clear before him. No, not exactly clear; the manner of her husband's death, the suddenness of it, would create a great revulsion in Mrs. Schröder's mind, and greatly imperil Mr. Beresford's chances, however strong they might be. Whether they were strong or not was a matter of doubt in Mr. Simnel's mind; he had a great contempt for Beresford's word, knowing him to be possessed of a happy inability to speak truth; and sometimes he doubted whether his colleague had really made any play worth mentioning at the house in Saxe-Coburg Square. Then Mr. Simnel began rubbing his knee more violently than ever, as he thought that the whole affair from first to last was very disreputable, and one which redounded to the credit of no one engaged in it. Would it not be better to drop Mr. Beresford altogether, and leave him to fight his own way in the matter? It certainly would be more honourable and satisfactory in every way; but then--why then, if Mr. Beresford did not marry some rich woman (and Mrs. Schröder was his best chance), he would go to the dogs; and then what would become of his, Simnel's, eight hundred and twenty five pounds? Worse still, if Beresford did not succeed with Mrs. Schröder, he might suddenly veer round, and on the impulse of the moment, and under the pressure of creditors, go up and declare for Kate Mellon's hand. And Simnel was by no means certain that that young woman would decline such an offer, even after all that had occurred; on the contrary, being naturally suspicious, and on the present occasion jealous and in love, the thought sent such a twinge through him, that he shrugged his shoulders, and made up his mind that things must take their course.
As he sat there, rubbing his leg much more calmly after arriving at this determination, the door opened, and Mr. Beresford entered the room. He nodded airily, and, pointing to the newspaper on the floor, said, "You've seen it, of course? That chattering doctor-fellow was right, you see. What do you think of it?"
"Of it? of what? of Mr. Schröder's death, do you mean? I think it a very sad thing."
"The devil you do!" said Mr. Beresford with a sneering laugh; "the door's shut, Simnel; don't you think you'd better drop that innocence when you and I tire alone together?"
He was a cur, this man, and instinctively a cad; he had been as miserable as possible for weeks; but he thought he saw the breaking-up of the dark clouds now, and immediately began to swagger and hector on the strength of it.
"Be good enough to understand, Mr. Beresford, that that is language which I don't permit any body to use to me!" said Simnel, through his shut teeth, and with a very white face; "I repeat that I think Mr. Schröder's death a very sad thing. Why do you choose to sneer when I say so?"
"No, no, not sneer: hang it, old fellow! you take one up so infernally sharp. Bad thing, of course it is, for him, poor devil; but good thing for me; and as you know rather more of me than you did of him, I fancied I should have had your congratulations."
"Oh, I see," said Simnel; "you fancy you ought to have received my congratulations: on what, may I ask?"