Force and Fraud (9 page)

Sometimes, to vary her advertisements, Mrs Garlick began them with a preamble about, ‘a lady possessing Christian principles'. On reading which, a wag once said, “Methinks the lady doth possess too much!”

The remark was not inappropriate, as Mrs Garlick
did
possess a great deal; although her
practice
was much more limited for, theoretically speaking, her Christianity comprehended all the severer virtues, and ignored pardon for injuries or indulgence for any weakness whatever. She was bitter against her own husband, although he was dead, because he had left her in difficulties; and more bitter still against her sons, because they, as soon as possible, had shaken off her control. She was most bitter of all against people of any creed but her own.

Her three daughters had been trained to follow in her footsteps. The eldest had already made considerable progress in the school of acrimonious philosophy having, at the age of twenty-eight, discovered that the world was bad; that women were nearly all idle, vain, or depraved; and, that
men
– well thank goodness she was not married!

And hard indeed to find one of those perfect beings who abjure earthly vanities for the sake of a wife! For the sake of Miss Garlick, few men could forego their inclinations; and she had not hitherto met with such a self-sacrificing individual.

The second sister was rather less ambitious in her ideas of a husband, and it was rumoured she was about to espouse a gentleman, who filled the duties of a lay-preacher and school-master in a country district.

The third was a gushing young creature and, though her exuberant spirits sometimes met with the reproving exclamation of
Oh Bessie!
a little wildness was tolerated in consideration of her youth.

Although Mrs Garlick and her three daughters passed for being pious
,
her sons were unquestionably dissipated, as the sons of such mothers frequently are. One of these ‘black sheep' had obtained a situation in the gay little township where we left Herbert Lindsey, and spent a great portion of his time amongst a rollicking set of young fellows, who frequented
The Southern Cross
. The other held a minor appointment in the Civil Service, was a frequenter of theatres, cafes, and music saloons, and being also an inveterate smoker – and proportionately ‘fast' in every other respect – he did not think fit to reside in his mother's quiet home.

Mrs Garlick's
‘
practical' Christianity consisted in giving away small sections of very dry loaves, tainted meat, and useless boots; in having cold dinners on Sundays, and making all the members of her household, over whom she had any control, attend divine service three times a day. Her three daughters obeyed her injunctions, and also possessed a peculiar Christianity of their own, which mainly consisted in promoting bazaars by means of other people's purses. Although these young ladies did not violate all the Ten Commandments, they had some vague ideas respecting the one that sayeth,
Thou shall not steal
; for they did not regard the pilfering of little ornaments, of beads, or other trifles, as ‘theft' when the objects, thus procured, were to be converted to this fund of charity.

Miss Bessie, in the frolicsome abandon for which she was remarkable, had purloined a little article from Mr Silverton's dressing table. Our friend Pierce, when in town, resided in Mrs Garlick's establishment. He had known the family a long time, and the choice of such an irreproachable home (in the opinion of some people) added materially to his own respectability. He was the ‘pet' lodger and during his stay,
his
comfort was the main object of the mother, as well as of her daughters.

His return from The Heads was now expected, and tea kept waiting on his account. Perhaps the tediousness of expectancy had rendered Miss Garlick more cross than usual, as in a tone of reproof, she exclaimed, “I desire you to put that snuff-box back again, Bessie, before Mr Silverton returns”.

“No, I won't,” answered the younger sister. “It will just do for our stall. We want something of that sort for the gentlemen to buy.”

“Gentlemen, indeed! I should like to know who'd buy that old-fashioned Scotch snuff-box; it's only fit for a figure at a tobacconist's door.”

“It'll bring more money than that cigar-case of yours.”

“No, it won't.”

“Yes, it will.”

In the midst of this dispute, the legitimate owner of the snuff-box entered. Miss Bessie put the relic in her pocket, and the four ladies rose to welcome their favourite boarder. They hoped his trip had done him good, thought he looked better, and were
so
glad he had come ‘just in time' for tea.

The meal was hastened, and every delicacy the house afforded produced. Mr John Speedy (the young gentleman whose guardian had placed him in that immaculate abode) condescended to rise from the sofa and ask a few questions respecting the
Robespierre
– her passengers and crew, her cargo and sailing capabilities. He wished himself at sea, and announced his intention to
“
hook it one of these days”.

Mr Silverton answered the various queries of the precocious youth, and mildly advised a longer course of study; to which counsel Mr Speedy replied that “study was tarnation slow” and then invited Mr Silverton to go with him to see the new burlesque.

Mrs Garlick turned up her eyes at the profane idea and might probably have otherwise expressed her horror, had not Mr Silverton accepted the invitation, and Mr Silverton was too good a boarder to offend.

Miss Bessie wished she was going too, and consequently the reproaches that could not be poured forth on Mr Silverton were heaped on
her
devoted head; a proceeding which provoked her to exhibit the snuff-box. On the removal of the tea equipage – whilst her sisters were arranging their bugles, their Berlin wool, their gold thread, and other preparations for the approaching bazaar – she held the stolen article close before Mr Silverton's eyes, calling out, “There's a fine thing, and a very fine thing, what shall he be done to who owns this fine thing?”

“Give him a swing in the air. There's a new forfeit for you. Miss Bessie,” cried young Speedy.

Pierce Silverton turned pale, and seating himself on the sofa, exclaimed, “Good heavens!”

The youth laughed heartily as well he might, for the emotion of Mr Silverton seemed greatly to exceed the cause.

“Bessie, you are setting a very bad example!” said Mrs Garlick, glancing at the two day boarders, who had come to help in working for the bazaar. But Miss Bessie, proud of playing a more conspicuous part than her sisters, maintained possession of the snuffbox – dancing about the room, and holding it up at a distance. Then, as Mr Silverton approached, she grasped it tightly, laughing all the while.

“Give it up, Bessie, and be quiet,” said her eldest sister.

“No, I won't, it's sure to fetch a good price at the bazaar.”

“I'll give you one pound for it now,” said Mr Silverton. “It belonged to that poor fellow who has just started for England, and I promised to keep it for his sake.”

“One pound indeed! It will fetch two and perhaps five, at the Bazaar; besides making fun,” exclaimed Bessie, as she held the snuff-box within Silverton's reach. When he was about to snatch it, she darted off to the other end of the room.

He followed.

She leapt over the chairs, mounted on the end of the sofa, and dodged behind her mother and sisters – to their great disgust – pulling off the table-cloth, and scattering bugles and spangles upon the floor. Downstairs she ran, Pierce Silverton after her, and young Speedy applauding.

“If you don't give up that snuff-box, I'll kiss you, Bessie, that I will,” said Pierce.

“You'd better not, Mr Impudence,” she replied, holding the box still tighter in her grasp.

Perhaps the threat was not regarded in the light of a punishment, for Bessie, though she allowed herself to be kissed, did not give up the stolen property. She was a great strong girl, more than a match for Pierce Silverton, who at length sat down, exhausted by the unequal strife; and, though vexed, and half ashamed of the whole affair, yet unable to refrain from laughing.

“You may come to the bazaar and
buy
it, but you shan't have it now,” cried the triumphant Bessie.

“If he can't come, I'll buy it for him,” said Speedy, adding, “and, now, let us be off, Silverton, or we shall be too late for the burlesque.”

Mr Silverton, being obliged to give up hope of recovering his snuff-box, followed the young man into the hall. Miss Bessie rejoined her mother and sisters in the drawing room, where a very good lecture was awaiting her as a reward of her frolic.

“Never had such a lark in this house before,” said Speedy, as he closed the door.

“What strength that girl has! I am quite done up!” exclaimed Pierce.

“Why didn't you give in sooner? You can't care about that old snuff- box, Silverton.”

“No. But there's no harm in a romp sometimes.”

“I should think not. We don't do much in that line at Mother Garlick's. I mean to skedaddle as soon as you go.”

“Wait a few weeks. I shall be down again very shortly.”

“Do you mean to come to this bazaar?”

“Why, no; I shall not give myself much trouble about that. But the murder has thrown us all into confusion, and will be sure to cause me another journey to town. I don't know how matters will be settled.”

“Faith, if I were you, Silverton, I'd marry the heiress. She's a decent looking girl, isn't she?”

“First-rate; but I wish to act as a disinterested friend.”

And such was the character usually attributed to Pierce Silverton.

Flora McAlpin was not long in recovering from her indisposition; its magnitude had been rather exaggerated by her attendants, several of whom possessed that passion for
the terrible,
which induces the imagination to fly off at a tangent on the intelligence of a tragic event, adding one calamity to another if determined that misfortunes shall not come singly. And thus, Angus McAlpin having been murdered, they prophesied that his daughter would never recover from the shock. But, notwithstanding all these gloomy forebodings, at the end of a fortnight Flora was perfectly restored to health, and quite able to undertake the responsibility of being an heiress.

Since the death of her father, she had remained secluded in her own chamber, but, during the last few days, the motive for doing so rather had been a want of interest in the society of her occasional household. A sentiment of propriety prevented her from summoning Herbert Lindsey to her side; and, as we have stated, he had been recommended by Mr Silverton to absent himself. At length his impatience overcame all bounds, and he wrote to his fiancée, expressing his devoted affection and sympathy in her grief.

Very precious was the reply, though it only said:

DEAR HERBERT

Come at once to

Your own FLORA

The welcome permission was immediately complied with; and Herbert, demanding the swiftest horses in the stable of
The Southern Cross
, galloped at full speed across plain and forest.

The first person he met within the precincts of the station was Harry Saunders, who approached with a hesitating step, his countenance strangely alternating between confidence and dismay, as he exclaimed, “Is that you, Mr Lindsey? Well, I never!”

“To be sure it is; and why not? Take care of my horse, there's a good fellow,” replied Lindsey, dismounting.

Harry led the horse to the stall, and Herbert walked to the open window near which he perceived the dark folds of Flora's mourning dress. That sombre attire, added to her previous indisposition, subdued the natural brilliancy of a complexion which had not hitherto yielded to the effects of climate.

But if, at this moment, Flora's beauty was of a less-dazzling character, it was more touching; and the lover, affected by her unwonted air on languor, exclaimed, as he pressed her to his heart, “My poor, dear girl! Why was I kept from you?”

“I don't know, Herbert,” she replied, in a mournful tone, “but I have been ill, and
so
unhappy. Oh, why must I either continue to disobey my father's wish, or–”

“Forget me, Flora? Do you mean that?”

“Oh! Herbert, I can
never forget
you; but since dear papa's death, I have thought so much of my disobedience.”

“Flora, your mother joined our hands and, before she died, charged me to console you.”

The memory of her mother increased her recent grief, and for some moments Flora wept bitterly. But Herbert, with the sophistry of love, convinced her, that having formerly been instituted her consoler and, for the time, her guardian, he was the fittest person to enact those parts on the present occasion.

Flora smiled, but did not reply, and taking silence for consent, he asked her to become his wife without farther delay.

“No, no, Herbert, I cannot
now,”
she answered, but in such a faltering tone, that he probably thought she hesitated, and therefore urged his requests with greater ardour. But Flora only replied that she could not, she
would not
show so little respect for her father's memory, as
immediately
to act in opposition to the wish he had so often expressed.

“I fear you will let someone persuade you that it would be wrong to marry me at even a future period; and so I shall lose you altogether, Flora.”

“Oh, no, why should you doubt me, Herbert? Have I not always been constant, in spite of opposition?”

“My darling girl, you have, but now your
heart
has admitted one argument against me; and it is the suggestions of the
heart,
not the commands of authority, I fear.”

“Do not fear either, Herbert. I will be thine, but you know it would not look well to marry you just yet.”