All But Lost: A Novel. Vol. 1 of 3

by G. A. Henty

Two or three years later he married again, but his second wife bore him no children. His daughter, Laura, grew up a spoilt child, very loveable in her happy home, but with more than all her father’s fiery temper, and an almost sullen obstinacy, which was certainly no ingredient of his disposition. So she grew up until she was eighteen, and then an event occurred which changed all Harry Bradshaw’s hopes and plans, and embittered his whole future life. Laura followed her aunt Alice’s example. She formed an acquaintance with a lawyer’s clerk, who sometimes came down instead of his principal to transact business with her father. How Laura met him, what opportunities there were for their first casual acquaintance to ripen into intimacy and then into love, Captain Bradshaw never knew and never inquired. Undoubtedly their interviews had taken place almost entirely during the three or four months of each year which the family spent in London, where Laura was in the habit of frequently going out attended only by her maid. However, by some accident he discovered it, a stormy scene followed, Laura’s temper rose as quickly as her father’s, she openly declared she had been for some weeks secretly married, and was not ashamed to own it. This brought matters to a climax, and Laura, half an hour afterwards, left the house never to return.

Captain Bradshaw’s anger was seldom very long-lived, but on this occasion he was far longer than usual before he got over it. However, at the end of some months, he came to the conclusion that it was quite time to forgive her, that is, to forgive her sufficiently to allow her a sufficient income to live upon in comfort. He accordingly wrote to the solicitors—with whom he had quarrelled, taking his business from their hands immediately he had heard of Laura’s marriage—and requested them to send him the address of their clerk. The answer he received was that he had left their service in the same week that the exposure had taken place, and that they had not seen or heard of him since.

Captain Bradshaw advertised, and tried every means to discover them. He at last put the matter into the hands of the Bow Street authorities, but months elapsed before any news whatever was obtained. When he did hear, it was the worst news possible. His daughter was dead; had died in want and misery, after surviving her husband two months. Harry Bradshaw was fairly broken by the blow. He never inquired more. He shrunk from hearing any particulars. She was dead. That was pain and grief sufficient. Any further detail could but add to his remorse. He withdrew from all society, and after a few months went abroad, where he remained some three years, returning once more a widower. Then he again entered the world, but as a changed and saddened man. The world, however, saw nothing of this, it was only when alone that he gave way; with others he was the same lively, amusing man as ever, his laugh gay and infectious as of old,—it was his nature, and he could not be otherwise. He entirely gave up country life now, closed Wyvern Hall, left the Earl of Longdale in undisturbed possession of the borough, and took up his residence permanently in London, spending most of his time at his Club—the Oriental.

The younger and favourite sister lived near him. She had only one child, Frank, to whom Captain Bradshaw took greatly, and came to look upon almost as his own son. Under the influence of his present softened feelings, he after some years made advances to young Frederick Bingham, which, however, he could not bring himself to extend to the father and mother.

The lad responded readily to these overtures, called at the house, and was soon as much at home there as his cousin Frank. He spared no pains to ingratiate himself with his uncle, who, although he still preferred Frank, took a warm liking to him, and when the time came for his going to the University, made him a handsome allowance to pay his expenses there. When Frank was about seventeen he lost his father and mother within a few weeks of each other, and after that, until he left College, his uncle’s house was his home, and he spent his vacations entirely there.

When Frank Maynard and Arthur Prescott arrived at the house in Lowndes Square, they found Captain Bradshaw in the drawing-room. He was still a light active figure, although he walked rather bent; his hair and whiskers were nearly white, and, until he spoke, he looked an old man; but when he did so, his face lit up, his eyes sparkled, and his lip played in a smile, and in the manner of his talk he was as young again as ever. There was a fourth person present, of whom no mention has yet been made. Alice Heathcote was a niece of Captain Bradshaw, the daughter of his second wife’s sister, and to whom he was guardian. The mother had died ten years before, and Alice, except when away at school, had lived with him ever since. A tall girl, with a thoughtful face, and good features; a broad rather than a high forehead, light grey eyes, a profusion of brown hair, and a slight figure, which almost leant back in its lissome grace. Her age was about twenty.

“That is right, Frank,” Captain Bradshaw said, as the young men entered. “I am glad to see that all this wandering about over the continent has not destroyed your habits of punctuality. Mr. Prescott, I am glad to see you.”

“What on earth have you been doing with yourself, Frank?” Alice Heathcote said. “Your hand is all cut, and you have a great scratch on your cheek.”

Frank glanced at his hand. “Really, Alice, I did not know it. I tumbled down, crossing Knightsbridge. It is a mere trifle: only the skin off. I will run up to your room, uncle; I shall not be a minute.”

“Frank has just been doing a very gallant action,” Prescott said, when his friend had left the room; “he saved a man’s life, at the risk of his own, and a very near thing it was, too.” And he then related what had taken place.