False Gods

Front matter

BY MRS ALBERT S. BRADSHAW Author of ' Wife or Slave ?' ' The Gate of Temptation? 'A Debt of Honour? etc., etc. LONDON H. HENRY & CO. LTD. 93 SAINT MARTIN'S LANE, W.C. MDCCCXCVII This novel has been dramatised, and the rights in the play are the joint property of Mr Mark Melford and my self. I had originally intended to call this story A HotJSE OF Cards, and the reader will see that many of the allu sions — and some of the titles of chapters — point to this intention. My publishers, however, inform me that that title has already been used for a novel ; and I have there fore called my story by the nearest appropriate name, False Gods. Annie S. Bradshaw. 13 Cheyne Gardens, Chelsea, S.W. February CONTENTS

Part I Chap

PAGE I. THE UNLUCKIEST DAY I II. ON mammon's ALTAR 10 III THE LADDER OF FAME . . . . 1 6 IV. THE UNBURIED HAND 26 V. THE PRINCE, THE HUT AND THE PALACE . 30

Part II Chap

PAGE I. SEVERED LIVES 41 II. FLAVIA ENTERS UPON HER KINGDOM . . 50 III. A PENNY FOR YOUR THOUGHTS . . . 58 IV. PEARLS FOR A MAIDEN . . . .67 V. OPEN SESAME 75 VI. A MODERN TITANDV 85 VII. PROFESSIONAL ACUMEN . . . . 96 VIII. DENZIL'S DIAGNOSIS 105 IX. WEAVING A WEB . . . . . 1 14 X. A DANGEROUS POSITION . . . .120 XI. SAY THAT MRS THORNTON IS HERE . . 1 Contents VI CHAP. PAGI XII. THE MARCH OF EVENTS . . . . 140 XIII. DENZIL COMMENCES TO BUILD . . -1+4 XIV. THE SQUIRE'S CASTLE . . . -IS0 XV. SHATTERED HOPES 159 XVI. A MAN IN LOVE 1 69 XVII. HONORIA'S SUBSTITUTE . . . . 176 XVIII. HUMANITY'S WEAPONS . . . . 189

Part III Chap

PAGE I. THORNTON CLYDE 195 II. THE SILVER SHIP 2O4 III. THE SWORD OF DAMOCLES . . . .210 IV. BITTER FRUITS ...... 223 V. A DANCING DOLL 23I VI. HE MUST FORGIVE 24I VII. THAT NIGHT YOU MURDERED A SOUL . . 247 VIII. A LONG FAREWELL 259

Part IV Chap

PACE I. YES ! OR NO ! 269 II. AND AFTERWARDS; WHAT OF IT ? . -2 77 III. IN THE COTTAGE : IN THE LIBRARY : IN THE GRAVE 286 IV. QUIT THE ROOF THAT SHELTERS HONESTY . 297 V. IT IS CRUEL FOR BOTH OF YOU ! . . 304 VI, DETHRONED 3I4 VII. WITH ALL HER FAULTS AND SHORTCOMINGS

Chapter I The Unluckiest Day

Wanted. — The child or children of Flavius Temple, who is supposed to have died in Australia, to apply (if unmarried) to Messrs Waller & Green, Ivy Court, where they will hear of something to their advantage. By the open door of a low white-walled, but somewhat superior looking cottage sit uated on the slope of one. of the Cumberland hills, stood a girl in all the picturesque freshness of youth and health. She was of a medium height neither slim nor stout, just plump enough to be charming. Her skin was fair and smooth, with a colour that betokened mountain air, and healthy exercise, while a pair of sparkling blue eyes A gave credence to the powers of unbroken beauty sleep. Had the face been possessed of much less charm, the little head with its crown of golden hair, would have gone far to wards atoning for it.

It shone with a lustre all its own, and glinted in the sunlight like burnished gold, and clustered on the white brow in the most bewitching little rings, and strayed about the neck above her low cut dress, in silken strands which the light breeze seemed to take a delight in sporting with. With a sigh, as of one perplexed or troubled, the girl slowly folded the news paper cutting containing the advertisement quoted above, and replaced it in a little morocco purse, which again with a kind of jealous or secretive care, she placed in the bosom of her dress. At the sound of voices from within the house, a frown corrugated the smooth white forehead, she stepped from the shelter of the door and walked down the narrow garden pathway where the gorgeous summer blos soms revelled beneath the blazing sunlight which had given them birth.

She never seemed to heed that the scorching rays fell upon her uncovered head and almost burned her fair white skin which the muslin of her robe barely shielded. Already that well worn newspaper cutting had cost her hours of thought and anxiety, of doubt and self communing. She leant her rounded arms upon the blistered wood of the little white gate, and looked up and down the sheltered leafy lane, then turned slowly, with her back towards the gate, and her gaze fastened upon the little cottage which was her home; the home of her husband and of her child. The sunlight glistened upon the latticed panes, and shone upon the crimson flower pots upon the window sill. The air was heavy with the scent of trailing roses with which the cottage was embowered, while butterflies of „varied hues flitted from flower to flower, or bush to bush, as if life was one eternal summer.

An observer would have remarked that though the face was round and dimpled, its expression was marred by a look of discontent and that there were hard lines lurking about the corners of the ripe red lips. And while she gazed upon the home of which she had been the mistress for several years, the look of indecision faded from the sparkling eyes and gave place to one of unflinching determination. Whatever was the purpose that she had thus resolved upon, there was but little probability of her deviating from its fulfilment. With a new firmness of step and elasticity in her gait, she re-entered the house and emerged a few minutes afterwards, wearing her hat and gloves, a little satchel slung upon her wrist, and carrying a large crimson sun shade in her right hand. Immediately following her appeared a sturdy little chap of apparently three or four years of age, with big brown eyes and clusters of golden curls, which might have been the self-same crop as those adorning the head of his mother.

He, in his turn, was followed by a rosy cheeked maid, who assisted him to climb the rungs of the garden gate in order that he might wave his adieu, and watch his mother's retreating form so long as it remained in sight. She turned and kissed her hand to him when she reached the bend of the road, and his childish treble pierced shrilly through the heavy air, as the words fell upon her ears, ' Mate haste home, my pyetty ittel muver.' He laughed and crowed in his babyish fashion, all un conscious that the wafted kiss was but the prelude to his orphanage ; a token upon the empty air, a fitting symbol of a selfish nature's comprehension of the divinity of affection. An hour or so later, the clerk at Messrs Waller & Green's, who had grown grey in the service of his employers, was aroused from his hitherto chronic calm stolidity, by the appearance of what at first sight seemed a supernatural vision of loveliness.

It permeated the dingy, musty old office, with its brilliancy, making its faded walls and furniture more gloomy still by contrast. The fair, fresh young face, and graceful figure, set off by the simple, yet dainty muslin frock, seemed to be but a part and parcel of the sweet pure country to which she belonged, there even seemed to be an odour of the roses and the old fashioned flower-garden, enveloping her where she stood. The old clerk passed his hand across his eyes as if the presence dazzled him, and when she spoke, the sweet, low tones had quite a startling effect upon him. 'Will you say that Miss Temple has called ? ' A faint smile crossed her features for she had previously put the question though in a slightly different form. ' Yes, miss, certainly ! ' he answered with a sudden alacrity. ' Mr Waller is disengaged — one moment, miss,' and he disappeared behind a green baize screen, from which he emerged a few minutes later, requesting her to follow him to Mr Waller's private sanctum.

If possible the room was even dingier and gloomier than the outer office ; what little sunlight might have crept in through the begrimed and dusty window - panes, was effectually prevented from doing so by a greenish blind of coarse net. A huge safe was let into the wall in one portion of the room, while various deed boxes were piled upon shelves which reached almost from floor to ceiling. Mr Waller was a gentleman of the old school, both in manner and appearance. As his visitor entered, he rose from his chair and greeted her with a low bow, at the same time motioning for her to be seated, as he, too, resumed his position before the writing table. ' I saw this advertisement,' she commenced, at once dashing into her subject, as she drew the little morocco purse from the satchel upon her arm. ' I think if you will look over these papers you will find sufficient evidence of my identity.

This,' she con tinued, ' is the certificate of my mother's marriage in 18 — and also of my own birth which occurred two years later. The other papers are certificates of her death and also of my father's ! ' The old lawyer perused the papers care fully in their order and laid them aside one by one, the girl watching him somewhat eagerly. When he came to the last one, he scanned her appearance somewhat scrutinis ingly and gave a little preliminary cough before addressing her. ' So far all seems plain sailing, Miss Temple,' he said, without removing his eyes from her face. ' From these documents,' indicating the papers beside him, ' I find that you have been an orphan for almost six years, ever since you were sixteen years of age.' Miss Temple answered ' Yes,' and as he seemed to expect her to supply further in formation, continued, ' From the time that I came over to England, I lived with my mother's sister at Silverdale until her death which occurred four years ago.

All her little savings she bequeathed to me.' Miss Temple hesitated somewhat, and a slight increase of colour mantled in her cheeks. Mr Waller relieved her embarrassment by remarking, ' But you were none the less grateful on account of the meagreness of the bequest.' Miss Temple answered in the negative. ' And you are still residing — ' Mr Waller paused. ' In the same cottage with an old and faithful servant of my aunt's.' Mr Waller wrote out the address dictated by Miss Temple. ' I am sure my client will be charmed with his grand-daughter,' he observed, as the young lady rose. ' It is not more than a week ago that he said to me, " Find me an heir of my own flesh and blood, and provided he or she has no encumbrances in his or her train, neither you nor they shall regret the day that sees him or her installed at Templehurst."

So after all fate has been kind to you in leaving you still Miss Temple, for the unluckiest day of your life could only have been — your wedding-day ! '

Chapter II

on mammon's altar Almost a week had passed since Flavia Thornton had paid that momentous visit to the office of Messrs Waller & Green, and the days which had passed during the interim had seemed to her a short life-time, coupled with suspense as to what the result might be, and the respite which it gave her before finally snapping the thread of her present existence ere embarking upon an untried future. But at last the day had dawned which decided her fate ; with trembling fingers she had torn off the envelope and unfolded the two enclosures which it con tained, while with eager, sparkling eyes she perused the contents of each. The first one was from Mr Waller himself. On Mammon's Altar 11 ' Dear Miss Temple, — I have great pleasure in informing you that our client, Flavius Temple, Esquire, is prepared to receive you at once, being thoroughly satisfied with the information which we had the honour of placing before him.

If you will travel to Cheston the day following the receipt of this letter, and remain the guest of myself and wife for the night, I will proceed with you the next day to Templehurst for the purpose of in troducing you to Mr Temple. Acting upon his instructions we enclose you a bank-note for twenty pounds for travelling expenses.' Flavia never looked at the signature, but turned hastily in search of the note. As she felt its crispness, a warmer, deeper colour suffused her face, and her heart beat almost fiercely. It was a foretaste of the golden future, though it was but a shadow of the realisation for which she was sacrificing her flesh and blood, and perjuring her own soul. The second letter was written by Mr Temple to Mr Waller. The girl examined the neat, though some what cramped handwriting, as if by so doing she might gain an insight into the character of the man upon whom she was henceforth to be dependent ; whose roof was to shelter her, and whose word must be her law.

It only contained a few short sentences. ' I am ready to receive my grand-daughter. Communicate with her at once to that effect, and please accompany her to Templehurst not later than the 19th. Kindly forward to her notes to the value of twenty pounds for travelling expenses — Faithfully yours, Flavius Temple.' For an instant Flavia almost reeled be neath the shock now that it had actually fallen upon her. Hitherto, its vagueness had prevented her from comprehending what it would really signify, and for the first time, a strange chill presentiment possessed her. The colour faded slowly from her rounded cheeks and her starry eyes became dimmed with a sudden fear. In her heart she already felt an aching void, a sensation of blankness as though something had been stolen from her. It was the soreness of the gaping wound where she had plucked out the life of a little child and sacrificed him upon On Mammon's Altar 13 the altar of Mammon, who was her god and her idol.

But she had never dreamed that the wound would be so deep, or that it could bleed and bleed, even though she tried to staunch it with the costly trappings which she had wound about her. It was so soon she told herself. They had left her so little time to make her preparations. She had not even framed in her mind the means of accounting to her husband for her desertion of him. She had thought of long farewell days spent in the woods with little Eric, of how she must teach her hand-maid to fill her place to him and to take up the household duties which she had found so monotonous. Then she told herself that it was perhaps for the best, to be obliged to break with the old life suddenly. There could be no lingering regrets, no parleyings with conscience, no changes of purpose, and Eric would not miss her while the summer lasted, and would have become accustomed to her absence before the long dark days of winter dawned.

Thus she reasoned with herself and set to work to gather together whatever she intended taking away with her, getting rid of the child and the maid in order that her luggage might be conveyed from the cottage to the station without observation. The afternoon of the last day was spent with Eric wandering about the lanes and woods. Hand in hand they had climbed the steep grassy hills, or ran races along the smooth swards, Flavia invariably arriving at the goal, panting and breathless, with her pre tended efforts to outrun him. Never before had they made such daisy chains or such perfect golden balls as on that afternoon. Never, it seemed to them, had they seen such gorgeous butterflies, or heard so many sweet toned birds. ' P'yaps it's the butterflies Sunday,' Eric remarked as they watched a large brightly striped fellow fluttering above their heads explaining in answer to his mother's query, ' that they all seemed to have their pyetty clothes on.' A sudden pain seized upon Flavia's heart.

It seemed to her at that moment that the most beautiful sight in the world was the dimpled rosy cheeked child before her ; with his sparkling eyes and sunny locks, that the On Mammon's Altar 15 most exquisite music ever listened to by human ears, was the rippling laughter that fell from his baby lips. She held his chubby little hand within her own so tightly, as if afraid to let it go. For an instant she resolved to give up all ambition for his sake — the next she felt the crisp bank notes lying upon her bosom, and as Mammon tightened his grasp upon her, she loosed the little fingers — Mammon was conqueror once again ! A couple of hours later, Flavia kissed once more the cherry lips ; the dimpled chin, and the downy cheeks, and even the golden curls. She looked into his trusting eyes with the mother love beaming in her own, or so much of it as her selfishness had not killed.

She had not known that she could suffer so keenly in leaving him, but even then, ambition was stronger than all else, it strangled her better feelings almost in their birth. She was content to give way to her weakness, her shallowness, and her wickedness. With the setting of the sun, Flavia Thornton had deserted her husband and abandoned her child.

Chapter III

the ladder of fame ! The sun had sunk to rest when Geoffrey Thornton, with long, swinging strides, turned into the lane leading to his home. The sky, which a few hours earlier, had been a broad expanse of cloudless blue, had melted into the deeper shadows of a purple arch in which there glittered count less starry gems of twinkling light, while in the centre of that glorious galaxy, a golden moon illumined all the earth below. Be neath its glimmering sheen, the dusty road wound like a liquid pearl, save where the trees cast slanting beams of shade, and on the trees themselves it lay, brightening their leaves with graceful touch, and tipped the woods beyond, until they glowed with quivering shafts of silvery light. And in the distance, Geoffrey saw it glinting upon the white walls of his cottage, and on the latticed panes, and at the sight, some of the warmth and light seemed to steal into his heart and hurry his steps afresh.

He was naturally reserved and somewhat taciturn, but he whistled softly to himself as he drew nearer and nearer to his home. He was the bearer of good news. For nearly five years he had been em ployed upon the staff of a daily paper and that day, quite unexpectedly, had been pro moted to the position of sub-editor. How much that appointment meant for him, none but himself could know. Already he felt his step upon the first rung of the ladder of fame, and tasted the sweets of the triumph which the future held in store for him. Involuntarily he bared his head to the light summer breeze, as if the laurel wreath already rested upon his brow. A few minutes later and the little gate swung behind him with a resounding click, the gravel crunched beneath his somewhat heavy tread, and the scent of the roses greeted him fresh with the evening dew.

B He placed his hat upon its accustomed peg, laid his papers upon the little stand within the narrow red - bricked hall, and opened the door of the sitting-room with the question upon his lips. ' Where are you, Flavia ? ' But even as he spoke, the first chill presentiment of something wrong passed over him. There was no sign of the presence which had been wont to welcome him, but at the table in the centre of the room, little Eric was seated, intent upon building pagodas and card houses with his clumsy, chubby little hands. ' Muver's don out,' he said, 'she'll soon turn back.' Without even waiting to reply to the child, Geoffrey again opened the door of the sitting-room and crossed the tiny hall to the kitchen. ' Where is your mistress ? ' he asked the startled little handmaid, who was just in the act of taking something from the oven.

She did not answer his question, but volunteered a statement which sent him with madly beating heart to verify it. ' Mistress has left a letter for you, sir, it's in your study ! ' A moment later he held the letter in his hand. The next, he had crushed it in his big strong palm, while from between his clenched teeth he muttered the one word, ' False ! ' His first impulse was to fling the crushed and crumpled missive into the empty grate, but instead of doing so, he spread it care fully upon his open desk as he seated himself before it, and once more carefully perused it, as if he wished to impress its contents still more firmly upon his mind. It was short and to the point. ' Dear Geoff, — I never guessed until this moment how hard it would be for me to leave you. When I kissed our little child, I felt my heart would break.

But it is for the best. Fortune and position are within my grasp. I cannot refuse either, but I shall always remain faithful to you, remember Geoff, always faithful. ' Forgive me if you can for the sake of the child. Flavia.' For a few moments he remained motion less, one elbow upon the desk, and his head resting upon his hand, then with a long drawn sigh, he tossed the mass of silky hair from off his brow, carefully folded the letter, and locked it in a drawer of the secretaire. He then returned to the sitting-room where the table was laid for the homely supper, little Eric already supping from a bowl of bread and milk. At first Geoffrey attempted to partake of the meal as usual, but it was to no purpose. At length he pushed the plate aside, and contented himself with a cup of coffee, scarcely hearing the ceaseless chatter kept up by his little son.

But his attention was effectually diverted when the maid appeared to carry Master Eric off to bed. ' No, no. Eric want muver. Eric wait for muver,' he repeated, clinging to his father's knees, while the tears streamed down his face. At any other time Geoffrey would have insisted upon obedience, but he felt that there was one common trouble between them, they were both deserted by the one to whom they had given their all. He must assuage the child's grief as best he could, the bleeding wound in his own heart en abled him to sympathise with his orphaned son. ' Will Eric go to bed if father has a game with him ? ' he asked in soothing tones. Eric's tears vanished as if by magic. ' Yes, saver build tafd houses,' he said, as he scrambled away to fetch the cards which had been laid aside. For fully an hour, Geoffrey amused the child by building and rebuilding the houses, which were either demolished in his babyish destructiveness, or which oftener still, fell in ruins just as they were nearing completion.

And while he toiled so patiently, he could not help comparing those houses of cards with his own life and fate. He had been building hopes and castles, and just as they were assuming definite shape, they had tumbled to pieces around him. ' Faver take Eric to bed,' said the child, as the last pile toppled over in confusion, ' Eric don't want to do wiv Mary.' ' Come along then,' said Geoffrey and tak ing him by the hand, father and son passed out together. Once or twice during the progress of un dressing, little Eric sighed wearily, it was so much longer and seemed a much more formidable process than usual. Geoffrey's fingers were so clumsy, the tapes seemed to form into multifarious knots and the buttons and the loops were so intricate as to defy understanding. Even Eric laughed as he watched his father growing heated and con fused, the little nightgown was fixed on with the front to the back, which had to be altered much to Eric's amusement.

Geoffrey held the tiny foot which was warm and rosy within his strong brown hand as he drew off the shoe and sock, and for the first time he began to comprehend the thousand and one requirements which so small a specimen of humanity demands from the hands of a mother. Day by day she had fulfilled such offices, waited upon and tended him and he had never even guessed at them. It was not until he was safely tucked in his own little cot that Geoffrey allowed himself to think over what had be fallen him or what course he should map out for his future. One thing he decided upon, he was no fit companion for a young child, he must send him to his own people, his mother would receive him and bring him up as her own. As for himself he must return to his lonely life and bury his trouble in work; a couple of rooms would suffice for his wants, he had no longer any need of a home.

Home, what a mockery the word sounded to him. He looked around involuntarily at their few household treasures, they had all been purchased for her, the very furniture seemed instinct with her presence and her touch. And this was her gratitude and her love. A sound that was almost like a sob escaped him, but he choked it as he uttered the word that he had used before — false ! But he must crush his grief. He retired to rest but he could not command sleep in spite of his will and resolution, and so the long hours dragged heavily on. The empty pillow beside him reminded him of the golden head which had for so long found rest upon his breast, of the lips that had sought his own and which were false to him, and in the darkness and the silence of night, he discovered how great was the gap in his heart, and for the first time really grasped how dear his treasure had been to him and realised that the best part of himself had been torn away.

A voice from the cot aroused him — ' I want a drink, muver.' In an instant he sprang out of bed re membering that Flavia always placed a glass of water in readiness for his require ment. He placed it to the child's lips, and with a sudden resolution lifted him from his cot, and placed him in his own bed, in his wife's place. The pillow was no longer empty, another little golden head slumbered upon it, a chubby little arm was thrown across his neck — he was no longer alone. Again his resolution was changed; he would not part with his child, he would dedicate his life to him, he would save him, God helping him, from ever meeting such a fate as had overtaken him. He would shield him from woman's influence, and mould him to his own ideas. He breathed more freely, but as the day dawned and he at last fell asleep, he felt as if the ladder of fame had already fallen with a crash beneath him, the sweets of triumph had turned to ashes upon his lips, and the laurel wreath had faded on his brow.

Chapter IV The

unburied hand The night passed, with its fitful fever of unrest, and the first day dawned which was to mark the era of a new life for Geoffrey and his son. His sleep had never been sufficiently profound to admit of him losing cognisance of his trouble, but as the sun streamed through the light window curtains, his reluctance to unclose his eyes and meet its brightness became more and more intense. The hum of life was wafted to him through the half-opened window, birds were twitter ing as they flew from branch to branch, while Flavia's doves cooed in their dovecot above his window. And yet he was alone. We speak of the cruel hand of death, which devastates our homes and robs us of our loved ones, and shudderingly turn our faces The Unburied Hand 27 from the light and the beauty which is still left in the world, because it seems to mock our grief and misery.

But Geoffrey told himself that Flavia was more cruel even than death, for she had deliberately robbed the child whom she had brought into the world of her mother's love and pro tection ; she had not even allowed them to weep over her memory and treasure up her virtues. But in the time to come when the child should question him of his mother, what should he answer him ? How could he say to him, ' Riches were more to her than the love of husband and child, so in her selfishness she deserted them, she is unworthy even of their remem brance.' But duty was urging him to take up the broken thread of existence, the fight must be fought and the unburied dead forgotten. The day dragged on its weary length ; never before had Geoffrey found it so difficult to concentrate his attention upon his work ; in spite of himself he could not force the events of his own life's drama into the background, and it was with a sensation of relief that he, False Gods 28 at length, started upon his evening walk homeward.