The Touch of a Vanished Hand. A tale

Prologue

. Till lately Berkeley was a charming country village, just outside the pall of soot that hangs so drearily over London ; but since the date of which we are writing it has been overrun by a host of stucco boxes, dignified with the noble name of villas. Then it was quite rustic, sur rounded by pleasant, shady lanes, and only joined to the world by that great propagator of civiliza tion and of ugliness — the railway; now it is a London suburb. Matthew Brandon's tiny cottage — house it could hardly be called — stood on the edge of the broad B common, at the other end of which the sun set — sometimes with cheery, red face, bidding the world good-night, sometimes darting rays of fiery scorn on man and all his puny pomps and vanities ; to-day it had sunk in angry mood. Henry Vincent hovered outside the humble dwelling, in doubt whether or not to enter imme diately.

The wind rustled through the gorse and bracken, singing mournfully among the clumps of pine ; ragged clouds fled weirdly across the sky, and the storm, long threatened, now seemed inevitable. Vincent, enveloped in a long ulster, walked slowly on to the common. When just at the bottom of a slight rising he saw, outlined against the sky, the form of a man. Something in the gait and figure — tall, but spare — was familiar to him, and, as the two men met, Vincent held out his hand, and exclaimed — " Well, Brandon, don't cut an old friend ! Aren't you glad to see me ? " Brandon looked at him for a moment somewhat surlily, then took the proffered hand.

PROLOGUE.

. 3 " Why should I be ? What have you come down here for ? Isn't it enough to — ? " "Shall we say," put in Vincent, "that I came down to get a little fresh air, and also to see an old friend ? " " You may say so, but I shall not believe you, especially as it is so easy to know your real motive. I may at once settle the matter by saying you had better have saved 3-our railway fare. That's all." " That's all ! Come, let us talk over things pleasantly, always do things pleasantly. If only people would remember that maxim the world would be a much nicer place than it is now." Matthew Brandon could lay no claim to being a happy man, having none of the possessions that go to make happiness — in this world, at any rate. His father had left him badly off, having given him little else than a moderate education.

He had taken to himself a wife, and had added to his household two children, without much regard to ways and means, and he found it difficult to gloss over the miseries of that wretched state of life — genteel poverty. He went up every morning to his business in town, coming back each night wearily despondent; everything seemed to go wrong. Though generally looked upon by his fellow-clerks in the large city house as a poor, plodding fellow, with little or no spirit, Brandon had his private speculations, and boundless avarice — a characteristic too often exalted into ambition. Hitherto, however, his ventures had been disastrous, and but for Vincent's timely aid he would long since have been ruined. And now, just as he was on the point of embark ing on a venture by which he hoped to recoup all his previous losses, and to lay the foundation of the fortune for which he was ever ready to risk all — now, when he was scraping together every penny he could touch, here was Vincent pressing, harder than ever, for the forty pounds which Brandon owed him. Vincent put his arm through Brandon's, secretly

PROLOGUE.

. 5 amused at his reluctance to turn and walk with him. " Here's another of my maxims," he continued, as they went slowly along. "In business, always come to the point. As you have rightly divined, I am here on business, and I'm coming straight to the point. You owe me forty pounds. I want the money to-night, and have come here to get it. I've had enough of this country. With the excep tion of the money you are going to give me I have all my worldly goods about me, and am off, man, to tempt fortune — elsewhere ! Three weeks ago you appealed to my friendship, and asked me to wait. I told you it would be absolutely necessary that I should have the money to-day, but that my friendship should have free play meanwhile. To day came, but no money ; so friendship must now go to the devil, and business occupy its place."

" You seem to forget that you helped, or rather led me on, to lose the money ; that it was by acting upon your advice that my difficulties began." " And I seem to recollect that for your accommodation I paid the money for you, and so saved you, as you said, from beggary. Yes ! memory plays us funny tricks ; once a man has got his memory under control he is independent of a great many of the hardships that inflict them selves on ordinary mortals. However, this is no time for philosophizing ; to business ! As I said before, I want, and must have, the money to-night. I wrote and told you I would come for it if you did not send it, and you made no reply, which was impolite and foolish ; but to pass that over, where's the money ? " Brandon shook himself free, and struck savagely at the ground with his stick.

"I have not got it," he replied, after a pause. " Ten pounds is all I can let you have ; that will leave me destitute, but I know you too well to appeal to your pity. Surely that will satisfy your immediate need, and I will repay you the rest as soon as ever I can get it." Vincent sneered. " Ingratitude," he said ; " what's that the poet

PROLOGUE.

. 7 has about ingratitude and the winter wind ? Appropriate to the surroundings, eh ? However, I have a hard heart and a thick coat, so that I feel neither the ingratitude of man, nor the winter wind. Ten pounds ? No, it won't do. I must have the whole sum, and noiv." " Haven't I told you that I have not got it ? " answered Brandon, shifting his ground. " Certainly ; but haven't I told you that I must have it ? " " You don't believe me? " " Stick to the point, my friend, stick to the point. We are not discussing my beliefs — what ever they may be — but business. Pay me you must ; I gave you notice, and here I am ! " They were standing now face to face beneath a small group of pines that bordered the path ; Brandon, nervous and dogged, chopping viciously at the yellow bracken, Vincent quietly refilling his pipe.

" Where are the ten pounds ? " he said at length, a fresh idea occurring to him. Brandon hastily pulled out a pocket-book, eager to embrace any chance of escape. " Here," he said, taking out a couple of bank notes ; then, suddenly, " Leave go, Vincent ! I tell you there's no more ! " for Vincent, in stretching out his hand to receive the notes, had firmly seized the bulky pocket-book. " Let me see then ; there is something sus piciously crisp and white ; let me look." "No! " Vincent still held on. "Damn you, then, take that ! " Brandon had dropped his stick, and struck Vin cent full in the face. Surprised, and half stunned by the blow, Vincent staggered back, and then with an oath rushed forward, careless of the notes, which fluttered away on the wind. But Brandon was too quick for him. Knowing that in a struggle of strength he had no chance, he snatched up his heavy stick, and met the onslaught with a fierce blow ; Vincent dropped. Stupefied, dazed with fear, Brandon knelt over the huddled form, seeking some signs of life.

PROLOGUE.

. 9 The wind whistled through the trees a mad melody, growing shriller every moment, a fitting accompaniment to the tumult surging in Brandon's frenzied brain. He lifted the heavy hand, which fell from his grasp, leaden and limp. His face paled, and a clutching seized his heart, which seemed almost to stop in a paroxysm of terror; then again it seemed to beat with a fury as though it would break. Trembling, he placed his fingers on the dead man's breast; no light in the eyes, no breath between the purple lips, all so still ! What was that ? Only a falling branch behind him, broken by the wind, which rushed fiercely through the creaking boughs. But he is on his feet, glancing fearfully up and down the path. What if someone should come and find him there, a red-handed murderer ? Quick, quick, drag the body among the trees, scoop out of the soft ground a shallow grave, cover it over with dead leaves and fern.

Quick, quick, don't spare your hands, let them bleed, your blood, not his; pull that root away, so, now push it in. Listen ! Brandon was standing up white as the corpse beneath. Hush ! whose heavy footsteps are those ? He crouches behind a bush and watches, faint with fear. A labourer comes along, filling his black clay pipe, slacken ing his pace at every step. Brandon tries to hold his breath that it may not be heard as it hisses through his parched lips. Now the man is pass ing; then he stops scarcely a foot away, and facing the trees draws out a match ; an involun tary sigh of relief escapes from Brandon, as a sudden gust instantly extinguishes the tiny flame. The man instinctively turns round, and strikes another; this time he succeeds, and with a puff of satisfaction resumes his slouching tread, leaving the murderer alone once more with his work.

There it lies in the shallow trench, pale and horrid, the eyes fascinating to Brandon's dis torted imagination. For some moments he listens intently. All is quiet. He feels softly in the pocket of the coat, and draws out a leather case ; notes — he puts them back, shud dering piteously ; here it is, now he is safe ;

PROLOGUE.

. ■ 11 that paper with his name to it might have brought him to the gallows ; the money may stay. Quick, quick, gather up the leaves and bracken ; cover the dead face — dust on dust, earth on earth ; quick, quick, away home, wash out those stains of blood and dirt, and then — wait, wait till all is for gotten, or all found out ! The wind sings on its dismal dirge, the leaves dance over the dead man's grave, heavy drops fall like tears from Heaven, and the clouds cover up the face of the sky.

Chapter I

To neither God nor man has Matthew Brandon paid penalty for his deed. More than twelve years have passed away since that night on Berkeley Common, and no man knows the secret hidden amid the lonely pines, where the flowers bloom brightly and the birds pour out their song, as though all nature were innocent and pure as themselves. Henry Vincent's sudden and strange disappear ance naturally created some stir; his movements had been traced as far as Berkeley, but beyond that point all was ignorance and conjecture; he had vanished into the darkness of that stormy night, leaving no trace behind that could be followed by his numerous friends, to whom he owed money in sums of varying largeness. Con jecture, with its usual acuteness, opined that he had thought it advisable to make away with him self, to betake him " to fresh woods and pastures new," but even conjecture could come to no con clusion as to the motive of his visit to Berkeley, and Matthew Brandon's name was never even mentioned in connection with the affair.

Brandon's mind was quite out of tune for some time after the murder ; he could not banish from his thoughts, night or day, the haunting memory of the white face in the coppice ; again and again in his dreams he covered the corpse with the yellow leaves, again and again he crouched behind the bushes, waiting for the labourer to pass, and again and again the relentless wind blew off the leaves from the dead man's face. Many times he thought that madness would come, but the idea of confession never occurred to him. Then came a reaction, he plunged eagerly into speculation, finding in hard work of body and brain the needed stimulant, and the forgetfulness which he could not otherwise obtain. The latent energy of his character responded to the call, and he astounded those who thought they knew him, by his ceaseless activity and tireless industry.

Success crowned all his efforts in a marvellous degree. It seemed as though he had found the chimera for which so many had vainly sought, the magic wand that turns to gold all that it touches ; wealth, honour, influence poured in upon him, and with them a great portion of happiness. Failure and remorse are very near akin. As his affairs began to flourish, the dreary little home at Berkeley was deserted, the associations of the place were naturally distasteful to Brandon, and he felt, moreover, the irresistible attraction possessed by that great vortex London, which sucks in good and bad alike. To town accord ingly he had gone, and after one or two changes, the Brandons and their two children had settled down luxuriously and comfortably in Belgrave Square, in what the advertisements describe with cheerful vagueness as a desirable family residence, and more recently Brandon had bought a delight ful country house in the little Devon fishing village of Wylmouth.

The children, boy and girl, remembered little of the old life on the Common. " Just as well, perhaps," thought Matthew Brandon, for one reason, and his wife for another. They had, indeed, some pleasant memories of the breezy heath and the tall trees, of the sweet-smelling gorse, and the deep bracken ; memories of the little white-washed school to which they used to walk together in the early morning, and of the dim, old church, with its antique pews and dusty books ; but to them the present was so much more enjoyable that they rarely "troubled themselves about the past. No awkward questions were asked as to their earlier days, and the shabby genteel period of the Brandons' life was rapidly forgotten. Mrs. Brandon never looked back on the past without a shudder. With her rich dresses, her servants and carriages, her unlimited "pin money," and the total absence of the slightest necessity to pinch, as in the miserable days at Berkeley, with all these, her cup of happiness seemed full almost to the brim— almost !

There is an " almost " in every person's joy. Mrs. Brandon's was a very simple alloy, merely an anxiety for good society. Painters and poets, dramatists and actors, thought-readers and æsthetes, were all well enough in their way, and her husband and daughter enjoyed their society. Their chief distinction, however, was eccentricity, and Mrs. Brandon's aim was to gather round her not an eccentric, but a titled clique. Vainly she knocked at the closed gates with her golden keys, ad mittance was refused, and she used to groan in body and spirit over the Morning Post, with its tantalizing list of parties and notables, among which her name never found a place ; sometimes it was to be seen in the theatrical column, but that was an honour Mrs. Brandon would fain have rejected. Occasional offshoots of nobility now and again crossed her path, were mercilessly pounced upon, and unutterably victimized.

She would not for worlds have let them know her secret hopes ; she even pretended to a satiation of that which she never possessed. "Really one gets so tired of a continual round of gaieties," she once said to the Hon. Boredom de Boots, " this incessant succession of parties. I often long for a quiet evening at home with my husband." " Ah ! yes, yes, it does grow tiresome — very. Ah, good-bye ; hope to see you to-night at the Duchess's. Good-bye." But no duchesses threw open their mansions to Mrs. Brandon, who sat so disconsolately outside. She hardly knew quite what it was she sought so eagerly — a great deal of her discontent was con stitutional — but, nevertheless, she was sternly resolved to win her way in through front door or back. She had little sympathy from her children. Mary was interested in people, not in c clothes and titles, "the bird-lime of fools;" Jack chiefly in himself.

After he had left school, with more renown than honour, he had gone to Oxford, where he was still enjoying the freedom and congenial companionships of 'Varsity life. Even the most enthusiastic lover of dear, dirty London would wreck his reputation for veracity were he to declare that city a pleasant dwelling place in early March, with its biting winds and bitter rains. Mrs. Brandon declared that they ouo-ht not to be in town at all at so unfashionable a period, especially as her husband had never attained to the dignity of M.P., though he had with his fortune acquired, as is frequently the case, a strong form of Conservatism, and it was well known that at the next general election he had determined to oppose the Liberal Member for the Wylmouth division. What brought the Brandons to town was, of course, Matthew's business — a stern mistress, who will not allow her devotees to be off and on at their own sweet will.

So Matthew Brandon kept resolutely to the mill, with the ex ception of a short holiday in dusty August. Dreary as town appears when swept by the east wind on a week-day, how unutterably lone some it looks on a Sunday. People shiver to church in the morning from a variety of motives ; most to be in the fashion, some to listen to the music, some to hear a popular preacher, a few to pray. In the afternoon they read, or sleep round the drawing-room fire, except those enthusiasts who again find their way to church, or acquire a sense of superiority by showing off their Scriptural ignorance to the still more ignorant " poor " children wbo are caught in the meshes of the Sunday-school net. The omnibuses clatter along the empty streets, past a cheerless, interminable array of shop-shutters, policemen, and unemployed crossing-sweepers ; the monotony occasionally being broken by the brazen bands and voices of frenzied savers of souls, who try to bring heaven to earth by continual hallelujahs and whacking of drums.

But even the British Sunday is gradually losing its sting, in spite of opposition by prelate and priest, and a few venturesome spirits openly declare that they are " at home " on Sunday afternoons ; that they hope to see their friends, and entertain them with conversation, bread-and butter, and very thin tea ; even with stimulating sherry and biscuits. Matthew Brandon worked hard, and looked on Sunday as a day of recreation, of renovation of the weary frame and mind after the toil of the week ; and so he took his pleasure, breakfasted late, and on two Sundays in the month enjoyed the varied society he was able to welcome to his house, amusing himself else where on the other two or three Sabbaths. Jack irreverently termed his mother a " one-and threepenny," as she was " at home " on the first and third Sunday of each month, which after noons were popular in the upper circles of Bohemia and the outer edge of society.

One Sunday afternoon in March the drawing rooms of the Brandon house were full as comfort would permit. The throng was certainly motley; all conditions of literary men and women were there, as well as actors, painters, professors, and clerics. That simple, pretty, golden-haired little lady has written novels full of power and pathos, brimming over with acute criticism and know ledge of the world ; that hard-faced, masculine favoured woman, with short hair and an eye-glass, has caused countless tiny mites to weep over the poor children of the East End, so touching and so sweet in the pretty pages of lady story-tellers, so noisy and so dirty in their native mud. That little man with the clerical coat and unclerical face and manner is a popular West End guide post to heaven, making the way plain and pleasant with soft music, sumptuous garments, and sweet-smelling incense ; standing back-to back to him, both in position and in profession, is Doctor Gotthasser, whose destructive criticism and fearless rebukes have so dismayed fashionable church-goers.

No people are so shoppy, though their shoppiness is often pleasant, as actors. Two or three have gathered together there in a corner, and are at it hard, their voices rising now and then above the clamour around them. Close by, one of their brethren, a dumpy Frenchman, is talking to Mary Brandon, explaining the why and wherefore of the superiority in the art of his countrymen, eking out his little English with plentiful gesticulation. " Aha, zere eet ees ; you Eengleesh are afraid to act, you are alvays too cold, or too varm, you never can hit ze happy medial — nevare ! " Mary defended the " Eengleesh " with great animation, and triumphantly pointed to the fact that four plays of Shakespeare were then being acted simultaneously in London. " And nothing, you know," she added, " requires more real acting than Shakespeare."

" Bah ! eet ees your sceneree zat does eet, and your musique. Vere have you a Bernhardt, or a Coquelin, or a Hading — vere ? " And so they went on. The master of the house was button-holed by a long-haired, red-tied artist, who had several pictures on hand, and would be glad of his host's opinion on them, and possibly also a cheque. Mrs. Brandon was seated on a low sofa beside a heavy-faced, calf-like specimen of the society art critic and poet, who was impressing on the bewildered lady the preciousness of green as a colour for decorative purposes. It has been said that we may judge of the character of a man, or of a woman, for that matter, by his or her companions ; so to a certain extent we can, but not entirely, unless we pre suppose an altogether unattainable acquaintance with the companions' characters.

No, a man's books, occupations, manner of speech, must all be taken into account, and so must also his house be considered. The drawing-rooms in Belgrave Square showed the handiwork of three different spirits ; the dainty scheme of colouring was all attributable to Mary's delicate taste; the curious furniture, price less bits of Chippendale and Sheraton, to the cultivated likings of Matthew Brandon ; and, un consciously, his wife had been truly artistic when she introduced those gorgeous silks and satins, for otherwise the rooms would have looked cold and dull, without any relief. But no such appre ciation of the uses of colour had entered her mind. She liked bright things and gaudy hues, and often hurt Mary's sensitive eye by the robes in which she arrayed herself. Even now Martha Brandon was the one bright spot amid a sea of pale greens, china blues, and washy yellows, and her plump, bourgeois figure looked quite com fortable and cheery beside the limp, willowy forms of some of her guests, who really seemed as if the softest breath of Philistinism would shatter them irretrievably.

Dark-eyed Signor Bronsini, whose family name was Brown, now sat down to the piano, and warbled — no other word so aptly describes the overflowing tenderness of his style — warbled a pathetic little ballad, having a touching refrain concerning rivers that flow down to the sea, as though it were not the custom for well-con ducted rivers so to do. The limp maidens were enchanted, and the long-haired men stood in the background, envious of the singer's attrac tions. While the conversation was thus hushed, a tall, middle-aged man quietly entered, and stood by the door, unannounced ; Signor Bronsini must not be disturbed. Something in the style of dress, and in the sharp, keen face of the new-comer suggested that he came from the " States," and his thin features and bright eyes conveyed the impression that their owner knew a good deal of the world and its ways.

A burst of bravas greeted the close of the song, and under cover of the applause the stranger advanced into the room. As he passed Matthew Brandon, the yellow-haired novelist was bidding him a gushing farewell. " So sorry to leave you, dear Mr. Brandon ; I have enjoyed myself so much; you always have such delightful people here." Matthew Brandon shook hands and muttered an unintelligible nothing, and turned away. "Mr. Brandon, I believe? Must introduce myself; left letter at your office last Wednesday. Sorry to miss you, anyhow ; kind of you to ask me to-day." There was a strange familiarity in the voice, and something in the face of this abrupt-man nered man that startled Matthew Brandon. He turned pale as a remembrance of the dead Henry Vincent floated across his mind. " Mr. Spartan ? " " The same ; Septimus S. Spartan.

Come to England to study the ways of the old world." " I hope you'll like them. Do you know, you — you remind me curiously of an old friend ; your voice in particular startled me." " Henry Vincent, I suppose ? Am like him— anyhow." " Henry Vincent ? " gasped Matthew Brandon. " Yes— queer chap, cousin of mine. Vanished suddenly; left many disconsolate friends. Strange ■you knew him ? " " Yes, well." " Owe you any money ? " Matthew shuddered mentally, but the American went on without waiting for an answer. " Nothing heard of him since, I believe ? " " No, nothing ; but come, I must not keep you talking on such a dismal topic. Let me introduce you to my wife and daughter. Martha, here is Mr. Spartan, of whom I told you. This is my daughter Mary. My son is at Oxford, we're ex pecting him home this week."

Spartan spoke a few words of curt politeness to Mrs. Brandon, and then devoted himself to Mary. " Have you had some tea, Mr. Spartan ? " "No — thirsty weather, anyhow. May I have — ah — pleasure ? " They went down the broad stairs into the dining-room, with its large fireplace and portrait of " Matthew Brandon, Esquire, Master of the Worshipful Company of Bottlewashers." Mary sat down in the window with a cup of tea, and, as usual, in talking to an American, began by asking him what he thought of England. "Dirty country, anyhow," said Spartan. "Docks dirty, railway carriages dirty, London dirty." "Well," answered Mary, laughing, "I must admit that London is not immaculately white. But it is a dear old place ; what can one do ? If you live in the country you see no one, and that is dull. London is charming, in spite of the dirt."

"A regular Londoner, Miss Brandon, I guess ? " " Yes, Mr. Spartan, and I'm proud of it. We used to live in the country altogether at one time, but I don't remember very much about it. Now we always spend August and September — or more — down in Devonshire, which is very pleasant, as we make a point of having plenty of people to stay with us, and there is a certain amount of society to be obtained within a radius of twenty miles or so." " Well, daresay shall like London better when I know it better." " Yes, I'm sure you will ; at least I hope so. Do you know, I quite envy you, seeing London for the first time ; this is your first visit, is it not ? " "Yes, first visit — there's a good deal to be done, cert'nly," replied Spartan, meditatively. " Ah, but more than mere sight-seeing ; you must grow to like London in order to appreciate it properly, and not rush about trying to see every thing at once.

Most people, I think, are dis appointed with it just at first, but gradually they come round, and find there is no other place like it in the whole world." " You have travelled, then ? " "I? No, not out of England." " Well, when you do trot about a bit I think — if I may say so — you'll find other places better than London ; some in one way, some in another — New York, for instance." " Perhaps so ; but does any one combine all the interests and beauties of London ? " " Can't say, as I don't know. Have some more tea, Miss Brandon ? " " No, thank you; shall we go up again now? I have been neglecting my duties." "To my great advantage, anyhow." Septimus Spartan did not pay a long visit, and went away soon after re-entering the drawing room, promising Mary to set to work and learn to appreciate the advantages and superiority of London.