[CHAPTER IX.]
THE SMALL HOURS IN LONDON.
Martin Gurwood and Humphrey Statham dined together that day at a club, of which the latter was a member, and sat together until late in the night, discussing memories of old times and the strange occurrences of recent days. When Martin returned to Great Walpole-street, he was surprised to learn from the servant who let him in, that Mrs. Calverley had not retired to rest, and that she desired to speak with him when he came in. A guilty pang shot through Martin's breast as he listened. What could be the meaning of this? Could his mother have discovered the secret of the Hendon mystery, and was she waiting to objurgate him for the part which he had taken in concealing it from her? Martin knew that, some day or other, such a contingency would arise, but he hoped that when it did he would have Statham by his side. He looked to Statham now for advice and assistance in every phase which the matter could assume, and dreaded being left to his own resources.
He found his mother in her bedroom, attired in a skimpy flannel dressing-gown, and sitting before the fire with her slippered feet upon the fender. She looked round on his opening the door, and uttered a sound which was partly a snort of defiance, and partly a groan of resignation.
'You wish to see me, mother, James tells me,' said Martin. 'I had no idea you would have been up, or I would have returned home sooner.'
'I wish to see somebody, Martin,' returned Mrs. Calverley querulously. 'I thought that my life could not have been more wretched and solitary than it was in Mr. Calverley's time, but even he used to come home occasionally, while now I sit by myself from morning till night. Persons who are engaged and paid to be my companions go away, and even my son gives himself up to his own devices, and does not come home until close upon midnight.'
'My dear mother,' said Martin, 'as I said before, if I had had any idea that you were sitting up, I would have returned sooner. Tell me now,' he said, pulling his chair close to hers, 'what do you want me to do?'
'Nothing,' replied Mrs. Calverley; 'I never want any one to do anything for me. But I wanted to talk to you, if you can spare a few minutes to such an unimportant person as myself, about the future.'
'She knows nothing about Hendon,' thought Martin to himself; 'or she would not have been able to have kept off from the subject for a minute.' And greatly relieved at this idea, he said pleasantly, 'You know, mother, that I should be only too glad to carry out any of your wishes.'
'And you will hate an opportunity of proving what you say, Martin. You know that by Mr. Calverley's will I am now absolute mistress of the business in Mincing-lane. On our marriage, Mr. Calverley, in what I considered then the most ungenerous manner, reserved to himself the power of disposing of that business as he thought best; but I suppose he afterwards came into a better frame of mind, for he has left it entirely to me. The business as it stands at present will, I learn from Mr. Jeffreys, bring me in a very large income. Now I am the
last woman in the world to set an undue value upon riches, and my
only care for them is that they may enable me to do more good to my fellow-creatures. Are you attending to me, Martin?' she said to her son, who was looking vacantly into the fire.