[All Rights Reserved.] The Woman Within.

New Zealand Graphic, Volume XXXI, Issue XVI, 17 October 1903, Page 5

[All Rights Reserved.] The Woman Within.

By

ATHOL FORBES.

Author of “ Cassock and Comedy,” “ A Son of Rinimon,” Etc.

SYNOPSIS of INSTALMENTS I. to VI — Captain Chetwynd of the 2nd Royal Scots Fusiliers, after visiting Edith Langthorne, to whom he is greatly attached, calls at her father's office in Lombard-st. to ask his consent to their engagement. He is told to wait six months for a definite answer, but invited to dine with them thp following night so that matters can be gone into further. Chetwynd had hard ly left the office when a woman is shown in, who turns out to be Langthorne’s first wife. She had left him 20 years before, and was, he supposed, dead, so that he had felt free to marry again. The woman refuses to be pacified with money, and demands her rights as Langthorne’s lawful wife. He declines to take her to his home, whereupon she speaks unutterable things about *iis wife and daughter, He seizes her by the throat and she falls motionless to the floor. Thinking her dead, he hides the body in a cupboard and goes home, intending to leave London on the r'.orrow. Barking, Langthorne’s clerk, has overheard all that went on in his master's room, and determines when alone to fathom the m’stery. He builds castles ! u the air, in which a partnership and Edith Langthorne figure. Bu'. suddenly the woman emerges from the cupboard. He supplies her with brandy, and under its influence she give? him the information he desires. Langthorne tells bis daughter that he intends wintering in Italy. He arrives at his office and is told by Barking that the body of the supposed murdered woman has been safely removed. Barking receives £25 as his reward, and a prom’se of a similar sum every quarter. He invites a friend to dine with him at an expensive restaurant; tells him about his increased salary, and also of his intention to marry Edith Langthorne. He calls twice at Mr Langthorne’s house, the second time under the influence of drink, when he tells his master that he has been shadowed by a policeman. Mr Langthorne’s mental agony, induced by fear of discovery, is increased by each interview with his clerk, and his •laughter (although radiantly happy in Captain Chetwynd’s society) is filled with anxious forebodings. CHAPTER XX. The day h'a-d not been <a happy one for Barking. The woman lie lhad taken under his charge for his own ends required more management than he had reckoned *m. So far, his experience of the other sex had been confined 'to ‘his own miother, a few waitresses, and -casual acquaintances of the streeits. Mrs Barking was a kind motherly soul, who lavished an unbounded aftieatio'n upon Douglas and gave in to him in everything. Shie Wais a widow, and ewrned 'a nuodeist income by cleaning and attending to the offices of 'a few solicitors and barristers. To be near 'to her work, hiad a room in a narrow’ street off Chancery Lane. -She had worked hard to provide for her son, Who represented ho her another world. He had told her so often itlhiait he was ‘a gentleman, that she ‘hiad come to believe that he was of a different nature from herself. And when he proposed /to find lodgings for himself, slhe acquiesced without, a word buit with -a steady, quiet courage.

Her 'life had been a very hard one dnce her husband’s death. For a dong time tlheire was a stiff fight to live through, and often sihe went hungry that Dougd'ais might be well fed. In (the midst of hard work, she Iliad not been wiilflhiou't hope. She pinched /herself .to give the boy an education. an 1 dreamed of the day when he would be able to keep her—wflien she need not rise at five every morning and go to those dark depressing offices.

It was a proud day in lher life when the lad went into Mr Langthorne’s office at the age of sixteen. When the brought home his fir sit week’s wages of seven shillings, she treated it as the first instillment of a realised hope that her burden might be made lighter. Then she took him out and spent the whole of the seven shillings simply and solely on aim. Io dress him niwnp.nl v tanp-nit nmro

than sihe could afford. Her work, though ihaird, was regular, and a ’little Jew 'tailor was willing to be paiiid so

much per week for clothing Douglas “as a jenltileman,” as he put it, and She began, far tlhe first time in her life, bo get inito debit. It wais lounam'ous, bulb itlhie seven shillings a week were to do wonders.

A year passed away; itlhe weekly wage was fourteen slh'iHlings. Douglas had got through his probationary period, 'and had given saitisflaidtion. so his wages were raised, but the imoibher's burden was not lightened. Then the lawyer, who had interested ihini'self in the lad in order to get him inito the office, spoke to Mr Langthorne. and his Wages were immediaitelly adviaineeid ito a guinea.. That was a piece of glad news. His mother arranged to give up part of her employment. Tlie many flights of stairs were very trying to lher; there were younger women who would be glad of the dhance. so she told bhe firms on the fourth and fifth floor 'bhlalt when it was convenient to them, she would delegate this work to another, and <x>ntent herself with the lower offices.

This arrangement she communicated to Douglas a week after his advancement. He had also his dreams, but she had no part in them, except to ante in as a cdog upon iris 'annbitlioins. She told him as they sat at tea on the Saturday aftermoion when Ihe had his wages in his pocket —the twenty-one shillings. Sufllenlly he listened ito her proposals and her arrangements. There was very little said.

With an aching heart, the poor woman approached itlhe firms again on Monday and asked to be allowed to continue the work as sihe found she could not then afford to give it up. Before long Douglas went ito live elsewhere, and sit was only very oeeasion'ally she ever saw him. He was ashamed of her; she realised that and did not trouble him.

It Was a great surprise to her when on bhe preceding night he had arrived in a cab. with 'bhe half-drunken woman who bad had suidh a. narrow escape of her life ait tlhe hands of itihe man she had graded into madness. “I have got a good thing for you. mother,” he began, as soon as he had (helped bis charge up .the stairs. deposited hen - in 'tlhe little room he had used since he was a boy. 'and seen 'her asleep in his old bed. And the poor woman was as eager as ever to listen to him. “You can give up those infenmal offices and live at ease. This old girl Mr Dangtihiorne lira's eommiltlted to our charge. She is raifiber dotty.” Ihe went on in explanation. “You .mustn't believe a single word sihe says, for sihe wamdeirs in her imind. The governor will see that you are paid well.” “I suppose it’s all right?” she said, timidly. “A'll right? Of course it’s all right, but you don’t seem very grateful. There are plenty of people wlhlo will jump ait tlhe eh'amee of taking lher if you don't like it. Wlhy. the papers are simply full of advertisement's from peionle wanting paying guests.” The idea of paying guests as am explantation and definiitioin struck Ihlim as being an eminently isialbiisfadtory one. There was an air of respectability about it which gratified him. “How long will the lodger be likely to stay here?” she asked. “The guest, motljer—not lodger—she is to lie treated as one of the family, and she will stay here always. It is a comfortable sitting down for you." She acquiesced quietly, as she always had done. The young man, as he thought it over, came to the conclusion that he had done his mother a good

turn, not deliberately he admitted, but that was no reason why he should not have full credit for it.

“I always told you that 1 would do something good for you,” he said, with a knowing jerk of the head. “Will Mr Langthorne—” she spoke it in a reverent whisper, as if it were a liberty for her lips to pronounce the mime of the head of the great firm—“be quiet satisfied with the arrangement?” “Now look here, mother. No one has to know anything about this. The governor has given me charge of the case, but no living soul must know of her existence. Mr Langthorne will pay me, and I shall hand on the money to you, but even I must ask no questions. Me have got to keep our mouths shut tight. Never let her out of your sight. I shall look in at odd times- You will see me here every day- Now 1 must be off.” “But Douglas, about the money? Tlie poor woman has rather a large appetite —and 1 should like some money.” "What a greedy old woman you are! At your age you ought to be thinking about ether things. Where is all your boasted religion? However, make your mind easy on that point: the money will be a’l right at the end of the week. We don’t pay first—at least I don’t, for what we want. We pay after we get it-”

CHAPTER XXI. Barking knew that his mother could be trusted. She was not an exceptional woman. She was a representative of that thorough English honesty which, thank God. the respectable working class have not thrown overboard. It was not because opportunities of living otherwise than honesuy had not pre sented themselves. During the years she had worked for the various people who had employed her. careless clerks and forgetful principals had often left money and valuables about in their offices; hut they were as safe with her as with the Bank of England. No one knew this better than her own son. The way she had pointed him. she had walked in herself. Barking regarded her scruples as a sign of a weak mind, if not of distinct lunacy. He knew there were plenty of little pickings to be had which, had she taken advantage of them, would have added to her small wage; but he knew she would rather die than put into her pocket what was not rightly her own. This sterling character he had reaped the l>enefit of when he le’ft school and made his first start in life. The man who recommended him to his pre

sent situation knew nothing of him, but he knew the mother, and he credited him with the same character, which outwardly he had preserved because there had been no temptation to go wrong. The only chance that came in his way was in helping himself to stamps occasionally, which he did without any pricking of conscience. But he had carefully waited for his c-nance, and he told himself now that it had come. lie did not visit his mother again u<. til the following night- A surprise awaited him. In his absence the woman had demanded brandy. Mrs Barking was a strict teetotaller, not so much in the matter of conviction, but of necessity. “I can find something better to do with my money,” she said to herself. So nothing of an intoxicating character ever found its way into her house. She did not understand the mad craving for drink that possessed the creature committed to her charge, and she steadily refused to comply with her requests to be supplied with brandy. Iler pleadings were followed by curses and then by violence, so the scene which greeted Barking on his arrival was one calculated to upset even him. He heard the strident voice of the woman as soon as he put his foot on the stair. His mother was in the bedroom with the infuriated woman, whom she endeavoured bravely to keep down upon a bed. That she had at times got the worst of the battle was evident from the picture the room presented. The crockery was smashed, the furniture scattered in various positions about the floor, and two panes of glass were shivered. “Thank God you have come. Do-’glas,” she gasped, as soon as she saw her son. “This woman is mad.” Thoroughly exhausted, she sank down on the bed. He kicked a broken teacup out of the way and seized the demented woman by the wrists. “Brandy! give me some brandy, you lift)— pauper!” she shouted, as soon as she caught sight of him. “Not till you are quiet.” “Let me get up.” and she struggled desperately. “No you don’t.” he said. The woman screamed and tried to bite his hands. “Don’t hurt her, Douglas,” cried his mother. “Brandy! you miserable paupers! Give me some brandy!” “Will you be quiet?” shouted the perspiring man. “Be quiet, then I will get you some.” “Let me get up. Let me go to John Langthorne; he will give me money. He said he would.” He whispered in her ear. The threat had its effect. She lay still, panting with the exertion, her eyes starring from their sockets, while Mrs Barking sat gazing in astonished alarm. “Here, go out and get a flask of brandy,” he said, putting some money into her hands. “Quick!” as she hesitated. “But do you think it right to give her brandy?” she asked. “I know what 1 am about; do as I tell you,” he said, savagely. “Yes, yes, brandy!” moaned the woman.

As Barking watched her, he saw the chances of his ambition being realised get less and less. It did not require

much thought to sum up the situation. “If I’m going to pull off anything, 1 must do it quickly, or this old lunaticwill blow the whole show,” he muttered. “I must go back and see the governor to-night.”

His mother returned with the spirit. The woman . drank it greedily. “Why didn’t you get it for me sooner?” she spluttered. “Now, will you keep quiet?” said Barking. “If you create any more disturbance,” and be bent down and whispered in her ear, “you will find 1 can and will finish the work Mr Langthorne failed to do last night.” The woman cowered. The horror of that scene in the office was still upon her, and his threat was no-t without its effect. “Get this place cleared up,” he said to his mother. “1 must go and see the governor.” With one parting, threatening glance at the woman on -the bed, he seized his cap, swung out of the house and made his way in the direction of the Temple station. When he got into the Strand he thought a brandy and soda might help to steady his nerves for the ordeal of facing the master again. After he had had one, he ordered another, just to think over what he ought to say, and to formulate a scheme for bringing off something good at once. When he caught the train at the Temple it was plain to everyone that he had been indulging in something stronger than tea. How he fared in the interview is already known. CHAPTER XXII. The door was opened softly and a hand was laid gently upon Mr Langt home’s shoulder. “John, dear, what is it?” Air Langthorne started up like a man who had received a sudden shock in his sleep. He looked at his wife in a way that caused her to start backwards, but only for an instant. •■John, dear,” she whispered, “what is it? What is this trouble?” “Don’t worry me, dear.” In a moment her arms were about him in warm pressure. “1 am ill,’ and he sank down into a chair. She was a sensible woman. She saw this was not the time to press questions upon her husband, but. woman like, she wished for the explanation. “We must get away from town,” she said. “That is just what 1 have to make up my mind not to do,” he said. “Darling, I cannot put you off with my stupid explanations. 1 have a trouble—a very great trouble.” “You will let me share it, surely. He shook his head. “I may have no choice, but for the present I must bear it alone.” “It would be lighter if the two of us—” He put his arm about her and checked further words by kissing her. "Oh, John,” she cried, “if it be money —if you have lost everything, do not hesitate to tell me. What does it matter? So long as I have you I don’t mind facing poverty. There is nothing wrong, nothing disgraceful, in that. Your own dear self—your own good name—our darling child—these are my

soul’s possessions—my most cherished idols. And after all it may only be a temporary depression in trade. Never mind, if you lose everything; the little 1 have is not much, but it will get us a cottage and provide us with something more than bread and butter.” “Yes, yes.” he said, anxious to reassure her. “Perhaps It is only temporary.”

He walked across the room once or twice. It could be seen he was making an effort to master his emotion.

"Has Chetwyud gone? Then we will join them. The singing has ceased,” he said, and a faint smile came to his face, and for the moment it looked as if it were touched bv a sunbeam.

“Now. dear, you are happier?” she said.

“They have found something sweeter than music,” and he put his arm across her shoulder. She looked up into his face. “You and I know that music.”

“Ah!” she sighed, “if love were all. whait a different place this world would be. John, you have been the best husband in the world.” She laid her cool cheek against his fevered head. “But. John, I was forgetting my mission. I came as an ambassador from the court of love. These young people want the six months probation released. She, of course, wants to tell her girl friends. It is only natural. and be wishes to tell his parents. Does your trouble, John, in any way mean that you cannot consent to their formal engagement until you are —are free from worry?’

The temptation flashed full upon him. It was an opportunity to make Edith happy, to keep her in the position of life that was hers by birth and fortune. Let them be engaged and married as soon as they wished; she would then be provided for. There would be someone to protect her When he might be in—a felon’s cell, when he might have paid the supreme penalty of the law. Barking had but to speak, and the events of the last two hours would pale before

what could take place before the sun rose and set again.

When the full horror of it was upon him, how hopelessly he felt he was in the hands of his employee. He wondered how he had dared to lay hands upon him in that room but a few hours ago. Even now he might be on his way to lay information.

“Provide for all emergencies, therefore provide for Edith,” someone seemed to whisper to him. He became unconscious of the woman who stood so patiently bv his side. But in the eyes of the law she was not his daughter, if that woman “My God! why has she come out of my past?” he ejaculated. He felt his wife shiver ’jefore he recollected that she was by his side. “What is it, John?” her voice had fallen to a whisper, and she withdrew herself a little. She looked into his eyes, her own full of nameless dread. He passed his hand over his brow, and held tlhe other for her to eonie nearer, hut he stood as if cut out of marble. “No, you have told me so much— you must tell me more.” His lips tightened. •'What did I say?” The blood rushed Into his face as he recollected the awful expression the pain had wrung from him. “My mind is overwrought tc-nighv—• seem to have no command of myself. Don’t look at me like tlhat, Mary. 1 have never deliberately wronged you. Do not let a chance exclamation of mine disturb you. Come,” and he took her hand. "What are you thinking about?”

“I know there are men with hombie secrets in their lives, men who have a closed page which hides some shameful things of the past—but oh, Jack! Jack!” and she sobbed hysterically. “Do not tell me you—that you are like such men—that you are one of them. That there is in your life anything that means dishonour and disgrace. Tell me—tell mo it is not so!”

“Hush! You are excited, my dearest,” and he endeavoured to soothe her. The

stum 1 had burst upon him, and, strange to sat, lie was calmer than he had been ■once he had no tragedy to disturb the even tenor of his life. •Here!” and he placed her in an armchair, "let me go and get rid of Chetw vnd. He must be wondering at our ab sence.”

But she clung to him desperately Tell me, tell me, John, what your trov hie is. What did you mean by your re

ferenee to her?” Before he could reply the door opened, and Edith entered.

CHAPTER XXlll

Never was interruption more ii.oppor tune. To her father, as it relieved him of the pressure of his wife’s question, it was less unwelcome than to her mother, but their child so far had never witnessed a scene between them. Their married life had been as near the ideal as perhaps it possibly could. There had been times when slight differences had taken place, but these minor things had been known to Edith.

Her mother was the first to recover Iter self-possession, and with a woman’s ingenuity she saved the situation by accentuating it in another direction.

"That young man Barking has upset your father,” she said. Edith coloured. She recalled his familiarity of the morning, and his late visit to the house that evening. “I don’t see why father should be annoyed by him,” she remarked, witli the tone of a question in it. “I consider it was very rude on his part to detain papa, when he knew he had a guest. That young man wants a decided snub, and he will get one from me the next time he dares to address me. Father, dear, you are too kind to him. He is a nasty, common person, who is inclined to take liberties at the first opportunity.” Mrs Langthorne sighed- T think 1 will retire now.”

“See to your mother, Edith,” Mr Lang thorne said, as she passed out of the room. “I will say good-night to Chet wynd for you. Is he still in the draw-ing-room?”

"Yes,” and she half hesitated; then without a word, she followed her mother.

”1 am very sorry. Chetwynd. My wife came into the library and she has had to go to bed, she is not at all web.’ The young man was ail concern at once. “1 trust it is nothing serious. It is so very sudden. Mrs Langthorne was so well a minute ago.” Then he saw the troubled look upon the other’s fact and refrained from saying more. "Oh. nothing serious, Chetwynd. 1 have sent Edith upstairs with her so she will be well looked alter. You will have a whisky and soda before you go?” He rose at once. “Oh, no thanks. 1 won’t detain you, for I think you will be anxious to see to Mrs Langthorne as well. Can 1 do anything—l mean, can 1 go for a doctor?” “Thanks, no. It is nothing more than a slight faintness.” “Eh—you will say good-night for me?” he ventured. “Certainly, Chetwynd. I don’t think

my daughter will come down again tonight.” He looked disappointed, but his face brightened for it dawned 1 upon him that the mother’s indisposition afforded him an excellent excuse for calling again next day.

“And I will not, under the circumstances, press you for an answer to the quest I put to you in the drawing-room. I mean in reference to our engagement.”

“That is very kind of you. Another time would perhaps be better. You are sure you won’t have something before you go?” He was anxious to cut short this interview. He wanted time to think, to grapple with the suggestion that troubled him there and then to say: “Yes, marry my daughter when von like.”

The two men shoos, nands, and Mr Langthorne walked with him to the front door. He stood on the steps and allowed the cool air to beat upon his hot, flushed temples.

There was no doubt in his mind now that Barking was determined to play the game of blackmail. It seemed to him that his course was to consult a good lawyer and act upon his advice. Then he wondered what the full price might be that his tormentor required. Langthorne was a rich man. Twenty thousand pound, or even fifty thousand would have made no material difference to him. It would not mean a single servant le.-,s, or foregoing one of the many luxuries he enjoyed, but his common sense told him that the demands of the blackmailer, when once conceded, grew rather than diminished. Yet Barking had been brought up in poverty; a sum like £ 10,000 would be a fortune to him. Would he take it and leave the country? It was a possible solution.

He turned into the house, a worn, miserable man- This had been his sanctuary- Xow his wife’s suspicions were aroused, maybe his daughter’s. What lies would he have to tell in order to put them off the painful subject?

He bitterly regretted that a morning of acute agony had wrung from him so unhappy an admission as he had made.

“And all this in less than twenty-four hours,” he repeated to himself, as he sat down in the library. “And God only knows what the next few limns may bring.”

He took up the ‘Times.’ Then he put it down again. There were the evening papers too. He shuddered as he looked at them. Perhaps in those sheets lay the story of his crime. By this time the discovery might have been made. There was no guarantee of the truth of Barkings story, or of his protestations as regards his safetv. “Unless some relief comes, this will drive me mad.” he said.

Every man, however good lie may be. has yet a better man dwelling in him. which is properly himself, but to whom he is often, alas! unfaithful—but -this does not describe Mr Langthorne’s case. His conscience was his one and sole tribunal. He was a man prepared to do right at all costs, so far as he himself was considered, but his very conscience hade him pause where it involved other people. Left to himself he would have surrendered and told the tale of his past

in all its bitterness rather than suffer the indignity of being blackmailed, but the thought of his wife and daughter deterred him. "Why cannot I bear the weight of this alone—why must my crime press on others?” he asked fiercely. “Is there no solution to this? Am I to drag on a miserable existence to a dishonoured grave?" Then another thought came into his head. "Why not end it all? One shot from a revolver—a few drops He rose to his feet with his heart beating quickly. The law could not follow him out into the Great Beyond. His wife and Edith—they would lie rich. His blackmailer would get nothing. "1 am not afraid of death—God, the Judge of all, knows all, and he is just.” There was a medicine cupboard in the library. His affairs were all in perfect order. There would be -the blow of his death and the consequent sorrow. He thought of this as he opened the little oaken cupboard and took out a bottle round which was a flaming red label “Poison.” He smiled grimly, as he handled it. “Yes, yes,” he murmured, thoughtfully. “I must make it as easy for them as I can. Better to say I am suffering from sleeplessness.” He scribbled a note. He wished to convey the idea of an accident, and that death was caused by an overdose. He read -the letter through calmly and nod did his approval. ’That will do." "Yes, it will be a great sorrow to them, but it saves them from a much greater one. did they only know. He was surprised at his own calmness now. “It will be regarded as another ease of severe mental strain, with a verdict to correspond.” he muttered. “Now for it.” he said. “Now for the great secret.” “Father! ” It was a terrified whisper: before he

had time to turn round his daughter had seized the bottle. “Father! Father!” she could only sob. while she clung desperately to him. (To be continued.)