High and Low; or, Life's chances and changes

Chapter I

In one of the Cathedral towns of England, as you enter from , the road graduaUy becomes a street. The town begins with a huge red brick eyesore, which you at once know to be the Union. Then comes a pubHc-house with tea-gardens attached to the premises ; the resort of viUage swains and of stout labouring men, who play at skittles, drink beer and smoke short pipes ; and of sallow-faced townsmen, who drink brandy-and-water and smoke long VOL. I. B pipes, and have secret cock-fightings in an outhouse, which iUegal pursuits the landlord winks at because these sort of men sing capital songs, and bring custom on week days as weU as Sundays. Then comes a row of almshouses, quite new, and hardly finished. They make one wonder, when one reflects that almshouses always are either new or unfinished, whether there be more almsgivers in these days ; or whether, which is not so pleasing a reflection, there be more almstakers and almswanters than there used to be in the " good old times."

Further on is a ricketty line of tumble-down tenements, whose upper story is a garret with gable windows, and dangerously cracked and rain-stained ceUings. On the threshold are little gates, which little children are often seen struggling to get over, or where perhaps an ancient hag is leaning, who looks like the undying contemporary of her tottering abode. Joining these is, perhaps, a fat and greasy butcher's shop, with a dead pig hanging up, whose very white skin and very red nose make him look cold in the hottest weather. Then a harness-maker's, a baker's, and so on. But opposite this line of buildings, all on one side of the road, is a patch of green, raUed in by a double row of pollard lime trees, now in fuU blossom. From one corner of it, the path under the lime trees leads into the churchyard ; from the other, if you enter by a small white gate and walk through a neat little garden and shrubbery, you come to a square house of evident respectabUity.

It has no pre tensions to more than mediocrity in house rank ; but would decidedly occupy a distinguished position amongst those members of the brick and mortar family weU known as the white front, green door, and brass knocker, class. Inside, it is the perfection of comfort ; and in truth the drawing-room wears a decided pretension to luxury, with its Brussels' carpets, embroidered chairs, and general amiability of furniture. The windows are wide open, and the gentle breeze blows in a gale of fragrance, over a magnificent crop of mignionette, boxed up outside the sill. No man, the least versed in domestic idio syncracies, could contemplate the aggregate physiognomy of that room — bearing in mind its component parts, particularly one of them, namely, a writing-table bestrewed with what the French graphicaUy term charmantes inutilites, no one — we say, could make use of his eyes and other senses Hi this apartment without feeling a positive and very pleasing conviction, that woman dwelt in its vicinity.

If, gentle visitor, you carry your admiring glance round the room, and peep into the recess of the end window, you wiU receive a stiU more positive proof that your surmises are correct. There she sits. If you admire a dark beauty, with raven tresses, we are sorry to disappoint you. If you are inconsolable, because your heroine has not golden locks and eyes like firmaments, we are equaUy sorry not to accommodate you. One thing we wUl answer for, if you only take her aU in all as you find her, the fault must be in your own taste or imagination, if you do not faU in love with her at first sight. Of course, no disparaging insinuations are here meant to others equally charming; and we take it for granted that we are not suspected of encouraging infidelity in the breast of any man. There she sits.

Were we scribbling to sweU the pages of fiction, we might fill book cases with portraits, painted in all the rain bow hues contained in the vast recesses of Imagination's colour-box. Were she a mere " airy nothing" of the brain, we could describe her with perfectly circumstantial accuracy, from the bump of veneration on one extremity, to the remarkably dandy bow on her shoe at the other. But alas, she is an every-day reaHty, a girl of nineteen; so interesting, so pretty, that any attempt to describe her must at once annihUate both Truth and Romance. She is sitting at the window. A water colour drawing half finished is lying on the table before her. She has just put down her pencil, and has taken up a letter, which she reads aloud. " Dear Sir, "I am anxious to see you on business of a pressing and important nature, and hope to find you at home when I come to-morrow or the next day.

Pray give my kindest and most affectionate remembrances to Mary, and believe me to be " Yours truly, " Gerard Winter." " P.S. — It is possible I may leave town to-morrow by the two o'clock train, and shall reach Mossbank Cottage in time for dinner." The girl leaned back into the room, till she could, by so doing, command a sight of the clock. " Why, it's only four. I wonder if that stupid clock has stopped ?" And, in order to satisfy her doubt she jumped up and ran towards the suspected time-piece. On it went, tick, tick, to the most provokingly monotonous tune, unconscious of its stu pidity, and apparently quite unaware that there could be such a thing as impatience in the world. " I should think he would like the green room best ; he used to say it was the snuggest room in the house. I wonder the room his father died in, should not recaU — but per haps, that is the reason he likes it.

He has so much good feeling. I wonder if he wiU know who did the drawing over his chimney-piece. I wish this had been finished. It is far prettier and better done too, than that ; but then he must remember the abbey where we picnicked. He told me it was the pleasantest picnic he ever was at. I should like to know why it was so pleasant to him." Here the young lady resumed her brush, and washed in a very bold foreground of raw sienna and brown madder, making the drawing look as if it had been sitting with its feet in a mud bath. " Poor Gerard !" she mused, half aloud, turning her pretty Httle head from side to side, as she questioned with half closed eyes the result of the mud bath. " Poor Gerard ! what an age it is since he was here. I can't help thinking he has forgotten aU about us amongst his gay London friends.

What with baUs and — I wonder what a London ball is Hke ; it must be very different to the race baUs at . There must be so many pretty people. Much prettier than — heigho ! What a very stupid brush this is ! How very odd it is Gerard does not marry; no sensible girl would ever refuse him, I should think. But then it must be something very captivating, or he would not faU in love. He is so tremendously particular, poor boy ! I cannot think what his im portant business can be with papa; it must be something to do with marriage settle ments. I should so like to see him happUy married. It would be very shocking never to see him any more, though. How funny it would be to have him living here with his wife. Mrs. Winter ! Mrs. Winter ! how strange the name sounds ! Mrs. Winter and I, would have to be immense friends.

I should go out walking with her, and drive her about to see the poor people, and take it by turns to read to them. Then we should draw together, and sing duets, and talk together about Gerard — we should never get tired of talking of Gerard. Then he would hunt and shoot — and what else would he do ? I am afraid he would find poor papa very dull. Dear papa ! he is so fond of business — I am sure he is making himself quite ill with that horrid business. He never leaves the office now, and when he does, he looks so tired and worn, it is quite painful to see him. He promised to take a walk with me before dinner. I must go and put my bonnet on or we shan't be back before Gerard comes." IaOV7.

Chapter II

Behind the house, detached from the main buflding, and separated by the stable yard, was a smaUer one, containing two rooms on the ground floor. In the first of these rooms, at a high desk hidden from the entrance by a Venetian screen, sat two attorney's clerks. One of them had just finished applying splinters and band ages to the stem of a black meerschaum pipe, and was now busUy engaged in cutting deep cHcles in the mahogany, with a pair of big iron compasses. The other had his head buried in his crossed arms, and appeared to be asleep. Every one, who has read Dickens, must be perfectly famUiar with both the live and dead furniture of an attorney's office. With such exquisitely finished pictures sus pended round the waUs of his memory, it would be presumption to offend the reader's taste, by offering to his notice an ordinary sketch ; did we not feel con fident that, were the reader Hi this office, he would pause to consider the strange outward appearance of the first named of these two clerks, before he paid the slightest attention to the conversation which presently ensued between them.

Mr. Posthumus Mobbs — such is the singular name of this singular little man — considered in an indefinite point of view, that is, without reference to this or any other history, would justly merit not only inspec tion, but an accurate and detaUed description. In this particular history, however, the part he is destined to play, though of the utmost importance, is so very short, that we feel compeUed to dismiss him with a mere out line of his peculiarities. Taken from the stool on which he was now perched, he measured little more in height than that piece of furniture : possibly in his stockings he might be a quarter of an inch below it. He was thin — unpleasantly thin ; but with his activity of mind and body it could not be otherwise. At first sight the point about him, which at once caught the eye, was his wig.

In fact it was a very characteristic wig ; and formed no small item in the general remarkableness of the wearer. It might easUy have been mistaken for a piece of door-mat. Its fiery and perverse stubbles were parted down the centre by a neutral ground of brown net. In the very front, a wet brush kept the bristles in a tolerably subdued state; but behind, the dust of many ages had accumulated in such masses, that nothing short of a carpet beating could have dislodged it. The wig always had a pecuHar cock ; thus leaving a vast expanse of baldness on the back of his head : and while its consequent protrusion in rront gave him a marked resemblance to a monkey, the complex lines of wrinkles about the corners of his eyes and mouth, entitling him to as much affinity with the corresponding features of a cockatoo or mackaw.

" Mr. Taylor," said this comical com pound to his drowsy companion on the other side of the desk, " I say, Mr. Taylor, what a very silent young man you are. Now if I was in your cHcumstances I shouldn't take it to heart so. You ought to cheer up, now you're going away for a change of air." " Take it to heart !" said Mr. Taylor, looking at the speaker with a paH of heavy, sunken eyes, " take it to heart ! — take what to heart, Posthumus ?" " It? you know. Come, why don't you disgorge it, and have done with it ; instead of cherishing the boa-constrictor in your own vitals, and poisoning the peace and harmony, the happiness and prosperity of our scholastic occupations ! True happiness — the secret of true happiness — depend upon it, Mr. Taylor — the secret— I say, are you listening ? the secret of true happiness depends upon getting rid of misery as quick as you can."

Whether Mr. Taylor was roused by the startHng truth just propounded by Posthumus, or whether he dreaded the continuous attacks of the fidgetty Httle phUosopher, it is difficult to say. He raised his head ; and as if with the view of changing the subject from himself, inquired of Posthumus if he knew the reason of his master's close application to business within the last few weeks. " He gives us little or nothing to do," he said, " but works all day long himself." " You see," said knowing wink, "it's Mr. Taylor, there is where. There's a Posthumus, with a my private opinion, a screw loose some sleeping partner in this firm. We needn't mention names, Mr. Taylor, but my private opinion of that sleeping partner is, that he is a remarkably wide awake young gentleman." " Mr. Winter, you mean ?" said Taylor, " I have heard some awkward reports of him before.

Didn't you say the other day he was expected to marry Miss Bellerby ?" "There was a rumour of that nature, Mr. Taylor. Of course we do not pretend to say how true. But between ourselves, I am of opinion Mr. Winter has an eye to that investment ; and a very snug business might be made of it too." "Do you think her father would give his consent ?" Posthumus closed his eyes and shook his head, tiU the dust flew out of his wig. " That putty won't prove adhesive, Mr. Taylor. Mr. BeUerby has a sharp eye, and knows the shape of a hoof when he sees it, as well as most men." " But the lady ?" " I fear, Sir, she listens to the voice of the charmer too wUHngly. To be sure, I know nothing of these matters ; but I have seen 'em together, and — but that's a long time since. Mr. Winter is to be here this evening ; we shall then see how the wind blows."

" How do you know he is coming, Posthumus ?" " Happened to see his note quite acci dentally ; but it caught my eye." " You seem to pick up a good deal of accidental information," observed the little man's companion. " If it really is the case that Mr. Winter is to be here this evening, I only hope he wiU arrive before I go. I have a singular desire to see that man : I once knew a person of the same vol. I. c N name. It can't be him though — no, no, that's not possible. I wonder, Mobbs, if Mr. Bellerby would send you down to Yorkshire instead of me, to look after the Weyton estate. It would just suit you now to be away for a week or ten days ; it would be as good as a holiday for you." " Gracious heavens ! Mr. Taylor, what are you talking of, Sir ? I go to York shire, and leave Mrs. Mobbs and famUy here !

Bless you, if I am away for one day, she is afraid I have been assassinated, and is preparing, by the time I get back, to put the whole famUy into mourning. Besides it's just time for you to be off; you've got aU your instructions from the master and the sooner you're out of the house the better." " WeU, I suppose I must go. It doesn't much matter to me where I am. You put aU the Weyton papers into my bag, did you?" "Yes; they're aU there. I hope you'U have a pleasant time of it, Mr. Taylor, and come back without having your throat cut — and look a little more cheerful when I see you again. I dare say you won't be away more than a fortnight. If you do see anybody that asks after me, you may as weU give 'em a sixpence. It won't ruin you, Mr. Taylor ; I dare say no body in Yorkshire ever heard of me."

Not long after the melancholy-looking clerk had taken his leave of the attorney's office, and while Posthumus was, for the hundredth time, canvassing in his mind aU the possible causes of his feUow scrivener's sadness, and was reducing this investigation to the form of a mathematical problem, with the aid of the compasses, on the mahogany desk, there came a tap at the door, which opened and admitted a tall man of gentlemanlike appearance. " Is Mr. Bellerby within ?" inquired the stranger. " He is, Sir," answered Posthumus ; and without more ado the gentleman knocked at the inner door of the office, entered the inner apartment, and closed the door behind him.

Chapter III

At an escritoire in the corner of the room, between the two windows, sat the attorney. He was a spare man, dressed in black. His long grey locks were parted in the centre of a low, receding forehead. His features were careworn and anxious. His eye was bright and piercing. As the door opened, he started and turned to look at the intruder. Hastily shutting down the lid of the escritoire, he rose and held out his hand. " I am glad to see you looking so well, Winter. Here, take the arm-chaH. Charm ing weather, isn't it? Country looking beautiful?" " Very much so. I came to see you on business, Mr. BeUerby." Mr. BeUerby winced. " So you informed me by letter. Any thing that I can do for you, I am sure I shall be very happy ;" Mr. Bellerby fidgetted in his chair. " I dare say, Mr. BeUerby, you can guess the object of this visit."

" Not I, my dear SH ; I am no conjurer. Nothing gone wrong with you — I mean — I hope — that is — no unpleasant communication to meke ?" " Rather so. I want money.' Mr. BeUerby's fingers nervously grasped a handful of shUlings in His pockets. " Unfortunate — very unfortunate. I fear you wiU be obliged to borrow at an ex orbitant rate of interest just now. The price of money has risen very much lately. But with good securities — good securities I I dare say you might — " " I might do much, I don't doubt ; but you know as weU as I do that all my securities are in your hands. You must advance more money on the same securities. If I don't repay you, you wUl stUl be a gainer. You know you bought my father's business for a mere trifle ; and cheated me of half my fortune when he was on his death-bed."

" Mr. Winter ! what do you mean to- " Pish ! We understand each other now. I want money, and you must lend it." " On my honour, Winter, I cannot lend you money. You have nearly ruined me, as it is. The last remittance I made you, was borrowed on my daughter's for tune." " It is a lie." " Winter, I swear it !" "Then what am I to do? I am not going to starve, while you have your miserly coffers fuU to the brim. What am I to do, I say?" The attorney thought for a moment, and covered his face with his hands as if to keep off the keen looks of the other. " Have you no rich friend ?" he presently asked, screwing his sharp features into a look of deep cunning. " Only one that I could bleed, and he has no ready money ; d — n him !" " Hem !" said the attorney, apparently at a loss to suggest any other scheme.

" What's to be done !" "What's to be done! I'U teU you what's to be done :" said Winter. " He can give you good securities; lend him the money !" " What securities ?" inquired the attorney. " Land:" said the other. " But how do you know he is wfll ing to embarrass his estate by mort gage ?" " He must, if he has no money." " Is he extravagant ?" " Yes, he gambles, and will soon be ruined ; and you — " " Foreclose and get possession of the estate at half its value," whispered the attorney. "Exactly so." said Winter, as he watched the twinkling eyes in the cunning face before him. " Is the property a valuable one ?" asked Mr. Bellerby. " One of the most valuable of its size in England !" was the answer. " Do you think this can be managed ?" whispered the attorney in a confidential tone of voice.

" How much money wUl he want ?" " That depends. Perhaps five or six thousand pounds." " And if I raise that sum, wfll you secure me the mortgage ?" " On one condition," said Winter. " Name it." "That you advance me a thousand without any more securities." " Winter, it can't be done." " Well then, you lose the estate. Remem ber, his ruin depends on me !" "But how wUl you ruin him? and how do I know, if I lend you the money without securities, that you wiU keep your word ; or that you have any such friend to ruin ?" " I teU you I have such a friend. You know the estate ; it is in the adjoining county ; his name is More of Moreton : and, I swear to you, if you lend me this sum, I will ruin him and place his property in your hands." This was said in rather a loud tone : but had it been much less loud, there was an ear at the keyhole that still might have heard it plain enough.

Mr. Bellerby shuddered. " I cannot consent to such — such — " " VUlainy. Come, out with it !" " Never !" said the old man, jumping from his chair. " I wiU not do it." A fiendish expression of contempt and malevolence passed over Winter's features. He glanced cautiously round the room : then bending forward towards the attorney, he slowly whispered ; " If not, your daughter — " " Ah," exclaimed the old man, starting from his seat, " what would you with her ?" "Nothing, nothing. But you know how she loves me. You know the power I have over her. Hesitate, and she is ruined." " Villain !" gasped the attorney with a voice of agony. " It's a lie ! She does not love you ! Let me pass, I wiU teU her aU !" " Ay, do so ; tell her all : and let her know her father is a greater vUlain than her lover. And tell her, for if you will not I must, that forgery — that forgery, mind — is punished with trans portation."

Mr. BeUerby grasped the back of his chair for support. At this moment, the attorney's daughter entered the apartment. " Dearest papa ! I have been knocking for five minutes at least. What have you been about? How do you do, Mr. Winter? I want to get papa out for a walk before dinner. He locks himself up in this close room aU day long. See how pale he looks now. Come, papa dear, here's your hat and stick !" She had shaken hands with Mr. Winter, as if she was thinking of nothing but her dear papa ; but whether from the exertion of knocking at the door, or of carrying Mr. Bellerby's hat and stick, there certainly was more colour than usual on her cheeks ; which Mr. Winter possibly attributed to a totally different cause. In the course of their walk before dinner, Winter, who had given his arm to Miss Bel lerby, contrived to make her of the opinion that he had grown more agreeable than ever since their last meeting.

He told her endless anecdotes about his London friends. In aU his stories, he was the hero. She thought she never should get tired of listening to him. He made it very clear to her, that London was the most delightful place in the world, with one exception; and when he refused to name that one place, he heaved a sigh that brought the roses to Mary's cheeks in an instant. Poor Mary would have given anything to have made him name that place ; so as to be quite certain she was not mistaken in believing it to be Mossbank Cottage. Yet when she thought of it afterwards, she was satisfied in her own mind, that there could be no other place, which Gerard liked so weU as Mossbank; not so much, perhaps, for any one particular reason, as for old associations of times when he was a boy, and used to teach her to play at cricket on the green,_ and laugh at her, because she could not run like a boy, or throw a ball like a boy : when he used to come to Mossbank for his happy holidays, and everybody was pleased to see him home again ; and how he used to hide behind the door if she was out of the way when he came back, and jump out and frighten her into a laugh and a scream, and then kiss her, and call her little MoU, as if they had been brother and sister.

Now, it w-as such a long time since she had seen him ; he had been travelling ever since he left College, and had lived so much in Lon don, it was impossible to address him in any way but as Mister Winter : and it would have been absurd to have shown, how excited she was when he came, as, pro bably, he was not the least thinking about her. By degrees, Winter changed the Miss Bel lerby for " Mary," and Miss BeUerby found herself calling Mr. Winter " Gerard" quite as naturally as if they had never been sepa rated. In the evening, after dinner, Winter admired Miss BeUerby's drawing ; but de clared, on his honour, that it was not half so charming as the one up-stairs over the chimney-piece in his room ; which he assured her he recognised as the pic-nic ruin the moment he saw it. He wished he had a copy of it, and was even bold enough to ask permission to carry off the picture itself; but he asked with such a melancholy air, that Mary thought she had never seen him look so handsome before.

The little coquette was half disposed to refuse him for the sake of another melancholy look ; and although she gave the drawing, as if she valued it more than anything belonging to her, she would, if the truth was known, have given him aU the drawings she possessed, and, in deed, have done anything in the world her kind nature could think of to please that fascinating creature. Her father, all the time the young couple were biUing and cooing together, sat in an arm-chair with his head back, as if he was asleep : but he was not likely to sleep, when he knew so weU the character of the man who was stealing from him that priceless treasure — his daughter's heart. Distinctly he heard every syllable that passed between them, as if his life depended on having to repeat their conversation word for word.

He saw the cold grey eyes of Winter reading the tender thoughts which beamed in the sweet expression of his daughter's face. He saw him whisper ; and he saw her blush. He saw Winter's hand as if by accident touching hers. He could have screamed with rage, or seized the large bread-knife from the tea-table and kiUed the viper at a blow ; but Winter's last words, as his daughter came into the office, chained him hand and mouth. He fixed his eyes upon the black chimney : and there he pictured to himself a long sea voyage, and gales and storms hurling him on through thousands of mUes of frothy waves and grey duU space, further and further from all he loved — and worse — further and further from all that loved him. If it was only separation, he might learn to bear it; but beyond, to the place where he was going, were clanking chains, and hideous, short cropped heads which sweUed all over with bumps of villainy.

And these were to be his friends and mates for life ! And in stead of Brussels carpet, and embroidered chairs, and Mossbank Cottage, and above aU — far, far above aU — Mary, an angel who loved, who prayed for him, who knew or dreamt not of any guilt in him; instead of these and her — chains, cropped heads, grinning mur derers' faces, and a shining bayonet to make him work and groan, and groan and work. Poor old man, he reaped as he had sown. Bitter to him was the fruit of dis honesty. MeanwhUe, the two took no heed of Mr. BeUerby. Winter had learnt to sing ; and she too had a voice for song. Their voices grew loud together and soft together ; and the sham warmth of his pretended tenderness kindled sweet emotions in her fond heart. Those songs had never been more than VOL. I. D pretty songs before: from that time forth they were not forgotten by her.