Great Porter Square: A Mystery. v. 2

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  GREAT PORTER SQUARE: A MYSTERY.

  BY B. L. FARJEON, _Author of "Grif," "London's Heart," "The House of White Shadows," etc._

  _IN THREE VOLUMES._ VOLUME II.

  LONDON: WARD AND DOWNEY, 12, YORK STREET, COVENT GARDEN. 1885. [ALL RIGHTS RESERVED.]

  PRINTED BY KELLY AND CO., GATE STREET, LINCOLN'S INN FIELDS: AND KINGSTON-ON-THAMES.

  CONTENTS.

  CHAP. PAGE XX.--The "Evening Moon" concludes its narrative, and affords a further insight into the child-like and volatile character of Lydia Holdfast 1

  XXI.--Richard Manx makes love to "sweet Becky" 31

  XXII.--In which Becky gives way to her feelings, and renews an old acquaintance 42

  XXIII.--"Justice" sends a letter to the Editor of the "Evening Moon" 62

  XXIV.--Frederick Holdfast's Statement 88

  XXV.--Frederick Holdfast's Statement (continued) 96

  XXVI.--Frederick Holdfast's Statement (continued) 125

  XXVII.--Frederick Holdfast's Statement (continued) 158

  XXVIII.--Frederick Holdfast's Statement (continued) 189

  XXIX.--Frederick Holdfast's Statement (concluded) 219

  XXX.--Becky's reply to her Lover's Statement 245

  GREAT PORTER SQUARE:

  A MYSTERY.

  CHAPTER XX.

  THE "EVENING MOON" CONCLUDES ITS NARRATIVE, AND AFFORDS A FURTHER INSIGHT INTO THE CHILD-LIKE AND VOLATILE CHARACTER OF LYDIA HOLDFAST.

  In the hope of her husband's return, and looking forward with sweetmysterious delight to the moment when she would hold her baby to herbreast, Mrs. Holdfast was a perfectly happy woman--a being to be envied.She had some cause for anxiety in the circumstance that she did not hearfrom her husband, but she consoled herself with the reflection that hislast letter to her afforded a sufficient explanation of his silence.She mentally followed his movements as the days passed by. Some littletime would be occupied in settling his son's affairs; the young man mostlikely died in debt. Mr. Holdfast would not rest satisfied until hehad ascertained the exact extent of his unhappy son's liabilities, andhad discharged them. With Frederick's death must be cleared away thedishonour of his life.

  "Now that he was dead," said the widow, "I was ready to pity and forgivehim."

  Her baby was born, and her husband had not returned. Day after dayshe looked for news of him, until she worked herself into a fever ofanxiety. The result was that she became ill, and was ordered into thecountry for fresher air. But she could not rest. Her husband's returnappeared to be delayed beyond reasonable limits. Could anything havehappened to him in the wild part of the world in which Frederick hadmet his death? She did not dream that in the tragedy which had occurredin the very heart of London, the murder in Great Porter Square, withwhich all the country was ringing, lay the answer to her fears. In herdelicate state of health she avoided the excitement of the newspapers,and for weeks did not look at one. Thus, when her health was to someextent established, and she had returned to her house in London, she hadno knowledge of the murder, and was in ignorance of the few particularsrelating to it which the police had been enabled to bring to light.She knew nothing of the arrest of Antony Cowlrick, of the frequentadjournments at the police-court, and of the subsequent release of thisman whose movements have been enveloped in so much mystery.

  It happened during her illness that a friend, who witnessed the anxietyof her mind and sympathised with her, wrote to America for informationconcerning Mr. Holdfast, anticipating that the reply to his letter wouldenable him to communicate good news to her; and it also happened, mostsingularly, after a lapse of time, that it was to this very friend Mrs.Holdfast appealed for advice as to how she should act.

  "I felt as if I was going mad," are the widow's words. "I could endurethe terrible suspense no longer."

  She called upon her friend, not being aware that he had written toAmerica on her behalf. On the table was a letter with the Americanpost-mark on the envelope, and as her friend, in a hurried manner, roseto receive her, she observed that he placed his hand upon this letter,as though wishing to conceal it from her sight. But her quick eyes hadalready detected it.

  "I did not know," she said, after she had explained the motive of hervisit, "that you had correspondence with America."

  He glanced at his hand, which still covered the letter, and his facebecame troubled.

  "This," he said, "is in answer to a special letter I sent to the Statesconcerning Mr. Holdfast."

  "Ah," she cried, "then I am interested in it!"

  "Yes," he replied, "you are interested in it."

  Her suspicions were aroused. "Is that the reason," she asked, "why youseek to hide it from me?"

  "I would not," he replied, "increase your anxiety. Can you bear a greatshock?"

  "Anything--anything," she cried, "rather than this terrible torture ofsilence and mystery!"

  "I wrote to America," then said her friend, "to an agent, requesting himto ascertain how and where your husband was. An hour before you enteredthe room I received his answer. It is here. It will be best to hidenothing from you. I will read what my correspondent says." He openedthe letter, and read: "I have made inquiries after Mr. Holdfast, and aminformed, upon undoubted authority, that he left America for Englandsome weeks ago."

  Mrs. Holdfast's friend read this extract without comment, but Mrs.Holdfast did not appear to realize the true import of the information.

  "Do you not understand?" asked her friend. "Mr. Holdfast, some weeksago, left America for England."

  "Impossible," said the bewildered woman; "if he were here--in England--Ishould not be with you at this moment, asking you to assist me to findhim."

  Her friend was silent.

  "Help me!" she implored. "Do you think he is here?"

  "I am certain that he has left America," was the reply.

  A new fear assailed her. "Perhaps," she whispered, "the ship he sailedin was wrecked."

  "That is not probable," said her friend. "Mr. Holdfast, as a man ofthe world and a gentleman of means, undoubtedly took passage in a faststeamer. In all human probability your husband landed at Liverpoolwithin nine or ten days of his departure from New York."

  "And then?" asked Mrs. Holdfast.

  "Who can say what happened to him them? It is, of course, certain thathis desire was to come to you without delay."

  "He would not have lingered an hour," said Mrs. Holdfast. "An hour!He would not have lingered a moment. He would be only too eager,too anxious, to rejoin me. And there was another motive for hisimpatience--his child, whose face he has never seen, whose lips he hasnever kissed! Unhappy woman that I am!"

  Her friend waited until she had somewhat mastered her grief, and then heasked her a question which opened up another channel for fear.

  "Was your husband in the habit of carrying much money about with him?"

  "A large sum; always a large sum. He often had as much as a thousandpounds in notes in his pocket-book."

  "It was injudicious."

  "He was most careless in money matters," said Mrs. Holdfast; "he wouldopen his pocket-book in the presence of strangers, recklessly andwithout thought. More than once I have said
to him that I should notwonder if he was robbed of it one day. But even in that case--supposehe _had_ incited some wretch's cupidity; suppose he _was_ robbed--itwould not have prevented him from hastening to me and his child."

  "Do not imagine," said her friend, "that in what I am about to say Idesire to add to your difficulties and distress of mind. The lengthof time since you have heard from your husband--the fact that he leftAmerica and landed in England--make the case alarming. Your husband isnot a man who would calmly submit to an outrage. Were an attempt made torob him he would resist."

  "Indeed he would--at the hazard of his life."

  "You have put into words the fear which assails me."

  "But," said Mrs. Holdfast, clinging to every argument against thehorrible suspicion now engendered, "had anything of the kind happened,it would have been in the newspapers, and would have been brought to myears."

  "There are such things," said her friend, impressively, "as mysteriousdisappearances. Men have been robbed and murdered, and never more heardof. Men have left their homes, in the midst of crowded cities, intendingto return within an hour, and have disappeared for ever."

  It is easier to imagine than to describe the state of Mrs. Holdfast'smind at these words. They seemed, as she expressed it, "to drain herheart of hope."

  "What would you advise me to do?" she asked, faintly.

  "To go at once to a lawyer," was the sensible answer, "and place thematter in his hands. Not an hour is to be lost; and the lawyer youconsult should be one who is familiar with criminal cases. I have theaddress of such a gentleman, and I should recommend you to drive to hisoffice immediately, and lay the whole case before him."

  Mrs. Holdfast took the advice given to her, and drove at once to thelawyer who was recommended to her. He listened to her story, and allowedher to tell it in her own way without interruption; and when she hadfinished, he put a variety of questions to her, many of which appearedto her trivial and unnecessary. Before she left the office the lawyersaid,

  "If your husband is in England, we will find him for you."

  With this small modicum of comfort she was fain to be satisfied; but asshe rode home she shuddered to think that she had seen on the lawyer'slips the unspoken words, "dead or alive." That is what the lawyer meantto express: "If your husband is in England, we will find him for you,dead or alive." Another of his actions haunted her. At a certain pointof the conversation, the lawyer had paused, and upon a separate sheet ofpaper had made the following memorandum--"Look up the murders. How aboutthe murder in Great Porter Square?" She was curious to see what itwas he had written with so serious an air, and she rose and looked atthe paper, and read the words. How dreadful they were! "Look up themurders. How about the murder in Great Porter Square?" The appallingsignificance of the memorandum filled her with terrible forbodings.

  But what were the particulars of the murder in Great Porter Square, ofwhich till now she had never heard, and what possible relation couldthey bear to her? She could not wait for the lawyer; she had placed thematter in his hands, but the issue at stake was too grave for her to sitidly down and make no effort herself to reach the heart of the mystery.That very evening she ascertained that in a certain house, No. 119 GreatPorter Square, a cruel murder had been committed, and that the murderedman had not been identified. On the date of this murder she was in thecountry, endeavouring by quietude to regain her health and peace ofmind; her baby at that time was nearly two months old, and for weeksbefore the date and for weeks afterwards she had not read a newspaper.Now that she learned that the murder might, even by the barestpossibility, afford a clue to the mystery in which she was involved,she felt as if it would be criminal in her to sleep until she had madeherself fully acquainted with all the details of the dreadful deed. Shewent from shop to shop, and purchased a number of newspapers containingaccounts of the discovery of the murder, and of the accusation broughtagainst Antony Cowlrick. When the lawyer called upon her the followingmorning he found her deeply engaged in the study of these papers. Hemade no remark, divining the motive for this painful duty.

  "I have not closed my eyes all night," she said to him plaintively."Where is Great Porter Square?"

  "My dear lady," he replied, "it is not necessary for you to know thelocality of this terrible crime. It will not help you to go there.Remain quiet, and leave the matter with me. I have already donesomething towards the clearing-up of the mystery. Do not agitateyourself needlessly; you will require all your strength."

  He then asked her if she had a portrait of her husband. She had aphotograph, taken at her request the day before their marriage.

  "Mr. Holdfast was above these small vanities," she said, and suddenlychecked herself, crying, "Good God! What did I say? _Was_ above them!_Is_ above them, I mean. He cannot be dead--he cannot, he cannot bedead! I had to persuade him to have the picture taken. It is here--inthis locket."

  She gave her lawyer the locket, and he departed with it. When he calledupon her again in the evening, his manner was very grave and sad.

  "Did your husband make a will?" he asked.

  "Yes," she replied, "and gave it me in a sealed envelope. I have itupstairs, in a safe, in which I keep my jewels. It is dated on the dayon which he forbade his son Frederick ever again to enter his house.Would you like to see it?"

  "It will be as well," said the lawyer, "for you to place it in my care.I shall not break the seal until the present inquiry is terminated. Itwill be very soon--very soon. Are you strong enough to hear some badnews, or will you wait till to-morrow? Yes, yes--it will be better towait till to-morrow. A good night's rest----"

  She interrupted him impetuously. It would be death to her to wait, shedeclared, and she implored him to tell her the worst at once. Reluctantas he was, he saw that it would be the wisest course, and he told her,as tenderly and considerately as he could, that the portrait she hadgiven him exactly resembled the description of the man who was foundmurdered in Great Porter Square.

  "To-morrow morning," he said, "we shall obtain the order to exhume thebody. A most harrowing and painful task awaits you. It will be necessaryfor you to attend and state, to the best of your belief, whether thebody is that of your lost husband?"

  Our readers will guess how this painful inquiry terminated. Mr. Holdfastbore upon his person certain marks which rendered identification an easytask; a scar on his left wrist, which in his youth had been cut to thebone; a broken tooth, and other signs, have placed beyond the shadow ofa doubt the fact that he is the man who took a room on the first floorof No. 119 Great Porter Square, and was there ruthlessly and strangelymurdered on the night of the 10th of July. So far, therefore, themystery is cleared up.

  But the identification of the body of the murdered man as that of agentleman of great wealth, with a charming wife, and shortly afterthe strange death of his son Frederick, who was the only person whoselife was likely to mar his happiness--the facts that this gentlemanarrived in London, and did not return immediately to his home; that heproceeded, instead, to a common Square in a poor neighbourhood, andengaged a room without giving his name; that during the few days helived there he received only one visitor, a lady who came and wentclosely veiled--these facts have added new and interesting elements ofmystery to the shocking affair. Whether they will assist in bringing themurderer to justice remains to be seen.

  Mrs. Holdfast has been and is most frank and open in her communicationsto our Reporter, who, it will be presently seen, has not confined hisinquiries to this lady alone. In other circumstances it would have beennatural, on the part of Mrs. Holdfast, that she should have been lesscommunicative on the subject of the domestic trouble between herself andMr. Holdfast and his son; but as she justly observed,

  "Perhaps by and bye something may occur which will render it necessarythat I shall be examined. The murderer may be discovered--I shall pray,day and night, that he or she may be arrested! In that case, I shouldhave to appear as a witness, and should have to tell all I know. ThenI might be asked why I concealed all these unha
ppy differences betweenfather and son. I should not know how to answer. No; I will concealnothing; then they can't blame me. And if it will only help, in thesmallest way, to discover the wretch who has killed the noblestgentleman that ever lived, I shall be more than ever satisfied that Ihave done what is right."

  We yield to this lady our fullest admiration for the courageous courseshe has pursued. She has not studied her own feelings; she has laidbare a story of domestic trouble and treachery as strange as the mostingenious drama on the French stage could present--such a story asSardou or Octave Feulliet would revel in; and, without hesitation, shehas thrown aside all reserve, in the light of the great duty whichis before her, the duty of doing everything in her power to hunt themurderer down, and avenge her husband's death. It is not many who wouldhave the moral courage thus to expose their wounds to public gaze, andwe are satisfied that our narrative will have the effect of causing awide and general sympathy to be expressed for this most unfortunatelady.

  We now come to other considerations of the affair. The gentleman who wasmurdered was a gentleman of wealth and position in society. He loved hiswife; between them there had never been the slightest difference; theywere in complete accord in their views of the conduct of the unhappyyoung man at whose door, indirectly, the primary guilt of the tragedymay be laid. The reason why Mr. Holdfast did not write to his wife forso long a period is partly explained by the account he gives, in hislast letter to her, of the injury he received in his right hand. Wesay partly, because, a little further on, our readers will perceivethat this reason will not hold good up to the day of his death. Mostpositively it may be accepted that the deepest and strongest motivesexisted for his endeavour to keep the circumstance of his beingin London from the knowledge of his wife. Could these motives bediscovered--could any light be thrown upon them--a distinct point wouldbe established from which the murderer might be tracked. Our Reporterput several questions to Mrs. Holdfast.

  "Is it an absolute certainty that Frederick Holdfast is dead?" he asked.

  She gazed at him in wonderment. "Who can doubt it?" she exclaimed."There is my husband's letter, saying he had traced his son toMinnesota, and was journeying after him. There is the account in thenewspaper of the death of the misguided young man in a small town inMinnesota. The editor of the newspaper, knowing nothing whatever ofany of us, could scarcely have invented such a paragraph--though weknow they _do_ put strange things in the American papers; but this,unhappily, is too near the truth."

  "Certainly," said our Reporter, "the presumption would be a wildone--but it is possible; and I seldom shut my mind to a possibility."

  Mrs. Holdfast was very agitated. "It is _not_ possible--it is _not_possible!" she cried, repeating the asseveration with vehemence. "Itwould be too horrible to contemplate!"

  "What would be too horrible to contemplate?"

  "That he followed his father to London"----

  She paused, overcome by emotion. Our Reporter took up the cue. "Andmurdered him?" he asked.

  "Yes," answered the lovely widow, in a low tone, "and murdered him! Iwould not believe it--no, I would not believe it! Bad and wicked as heis, he _could_ not be guilty of a crime so horrible. And, after all, itwas partly my fault. Why did I not grow up into the likeness of an uglyold witch----?"

  She paused again, and smiled. There is in this lovely lady so muchanimation and vitality, so much pure love of life, so much sunlight,that they overcome her against her will, and break out in the midstof the gloomiest fits of melancholy and depression. Hers is a happy,joyous, and impulsive nature, and the blow that has fallen upon heris all the more cruel because of her innate brightness and gaiety ofdisposition. But it is merciful, also, that she is thus gifted. Shemight not otherwise have sufficient strength to bear up against heraffliction.

  "We will, then," said our Reporter, "dismiss the possibility--which Iconfess is scarcely to be indulged in even by such a man as myself. Asto your being beautiful, a rose might as reasonably complain that naturehad invested it with grace of form and loveliness of colour." Mrs.Holdfast blushed at this compliment. "You are right in saying thatsuch an idea as Frederick Holdfast being alive is too horrible tocontemplate. The American newspaper says that his body was identified bya gentleman who knew him in Oxford, and who happened to be travellingthrough the State of Minnesota. It is a strange coincidence--nothingmore--that on the precise day on which Frederick Holdfast ended hiscareer, a friend should have been travelling in that distant State, andshould have given a name to the dead stranger who was found near thelaughing waters of Minnie-ha-ha."

  Mrs. Holdfast replied with a sweet smile. "Yes, it is a strangecoincidence; but young gentlemen now-a-days have numbers ofacquaintances, hundreds I should say. And everybody travels now--peoplethink nothing of going to America or Canada. It is just packing up theirGladstone bag, and off they go, as happy as you please. _I_ couldn't doit. I _hate_ the sea; I hate everything that makes me uncomfortable. Ilove pleasure. Strange, isn't it, for me, a country girl, to be so fondof life and gaiety, and dancing and theatres? But we can't help ournatures, can we? I would if I could, for you must think me a dreadful,dreadful creature for talking in this way just after my husband has beenbrutally killed! Don't think ill of me--don't! It is not my fault, and Iam suffering dreadfully, dreadfully, though I _do_ let my light heartrun away with me!"

  "How can I think ill of you?" said our Reporter; "you are child andwoman in one."

  "Really!" she cried, looking up into his face with a beaming smile. "Areyou really, really in earnest?"

  "You may believe me," replied our Reporter, "for my errand here is not apersonal one, but in pursuance of my professional duties; and althoughyou charm me out of myself, I must be faithful."

  "Ah," said Mrs. Holdfast, "that is the way of you men. So stern, andstrict, and proper, that you never forget yourself. It is because youare strong, and wise--but you miss a great deal--yes, indeed, indeed youdo! It would spoil the sunshine if one stopped while one was enjoyingthe light and warmth, to ask why, and what, and wherefore. Don't youthink it would? Such a volatile, impressionable creature as LydiaHoldfast does not stop to do such a wise and foolish thing--we can beboth wise and foolish in a breath, let me tell you. No; I enjoy, and amhappy, without wanting to know why. There! I am showing myself to you,as if you were my oldest friend. _You_ would not do the same by me. Youare steadier, and wiser, and not half so happy--no, not half, not halfso happy! O, I wish I had been born a man!"

  Amused, and, as he had declared to her, charmed out of himself, ourReporter said, somewhat jocosely,

  "Why, what would you have done if you had been born a man instead of awoman?"

  "I am afraid," she said, in a half-whisper, and with her finger on herlips, as though enjoining him not to betray her, "I am afraid I shouldhave been a dreadful rake."

  Our Reporter resisted the beguilement of the current into which theconversation had drifted, although he would have been entitled to muchexcuse had he dallied a little in this vein with the charming andchild-like woman.

  "You forget your child," he said; "had you been born a man----"

  Before he could complete the sentence, Mrs. Holdfast rushed out of theroom, and in a few moments returned with the child in her arms. She satin a rocking chair, and fondled the boy-baby, and kissed him, and sangto him. It was a picture of perfect and beautiful motherhood.

  "Forget my child!" she murmured. "Forget my baby! You must either bemad or insincere to say such a thing. Ask the darling's forgivenessimmediately."

  "I do," said our Reporter, kissing the baby, "and yours. You have provedyourself a true woman. But my time is getting short, and I have alreadytrespassed too long upon yours. Let us continue the conversation aboutMr. Holdfast."

  She instantly became serious, and with the baby in her arms, said, "Yes!Well!"

  "The landlady of the house," continued our Reporter, "in which he lodgedhas declared that he had but one visitor--a lady, closely veiled."

  "So I have read in the papers," sa
id Mrs. Holdfast. "Is nothing knownabout her--where she came from, where she went to, whether she was alady or a common woman?"

  "Nothing is known," he replied.

  "Are you sure?"

  "Quite sure, as far as my information goes. One person says that she wastall, another that she was short; another that she was fair, anotherthat she was dark--though they all agree that she never raised her veil.There is absolutely not a dependable clue upon which a person can work;nothing reliable can be gathered from statements so conflicting. What Iwish to know is, whether you yourself have any suspicion?"

  She flushed with indignation. "You do not mean to ask me whether Mr.Holdfast was enamoured of a woman with whom he made secret assignations?You insult me. I thought better of you; I did not believe you capable ofharbouring such a suspicion against the dead?"

  "You mistake me," said our Reporter; "no such suspicion was in my mind.My thoughts were travelling in a different direction, and I was curiousto ascertain whether what has occurred to my mind has occurred toyours."

  "About this woman?" asked Mrs. Holdfast.

  "Yes, about this woman."

  "I did not wish to speak of it," said Mrs. Holdfast, after a pause, andspeaking with evident reluctance; "it is the one thing in this dreadfulaffair I desired to keep to myself. I had a motive--yes; I did not wantto do anyone an injustice. But, what can a weak woman like myself dowhen she is in the company of such a man as you? Nothing escapes you. Itseems to me as if you had studied every little incident in connectionwith the murder of my poor husband for the purpose of bringing some onein guilty; but you are better acquainted than I am with the wickednessof people. You want to know what reason my husband had in taking acommon lodging in Great Porter Square instead of coming home at once tome and his child. In my weak way I have thought it out. Shall I tell youhow I have worked it out in my mind?"

  "If you please."

  "Above everything else in the world," said Mrs. Holdfast, lookingtenderly at her baby lying in her lap, "even above his love for me, Mr.Holdfast valued the honour of his name. There is nothing he would nothave sacrificed to preserve that unsullied. Well, then, after his son'sdeath he discovered something--who can say what?--which touched hishonour, and which needed skilful management to avoid public disgrace.I can think of nothing else than that the woman, who was connected ina disgraceful way with his son, had some sort of power over my poorhusband, and that he wished to purchase her silence before he presentedhimself to me and our baby. He came home, and took the lodgings in GreatPorter Square. There this woman visited him, and there he met his death.That is all I can think of. If I try to get any further, my mind getsinto a whirl. Now you know all; I have concealed nothing from you. It ismy firm belief that when you discover this woman everything else will bediscovered. But you will never discover her--never, never! And my poorhusband's death will never be avenged."

  "I will ask you but one more question," said our Reporter. "In what waydo you account for the circumstance of your husband not writing to youafter his return to London?"

  "Do you forget," asked Mrs. Holdfast, in return, "that he had injuredhis hand, and that he did not wish to disclose his private affairs to astranger?"

  Here the interview terminated; and here, with the exception of thestatement of three facts, our narrative ends.

  Mrs. Holdfast is mistaken in her belief that her husband did not writeto her because he had injured his hand, and was unwilling to employ anamanuensis. Our Reporter, after he left Mrs. Holdfast, had an interviewwith the former landlady of 119 Great Porter Square, who has left thehouse, and would under no consideration return to it. The landladystates that, on three occasions, she entered Mr. Holdfast's room whenhe was in it, and that on every occasion he was writing, and apparentlywriting freely. It did not appear to her that his hand was injured inthe slightest degree. There was no bandage or plaister upon it, and hedid not complain. We are in a position also to declare that, at the_post-mortem_ examination, no recent injury of the right hand wasperceptible.

  The whole of Mr. Holdfast's property has been left by him, in a properlyattested will, to his widow. When he made this will his son Frederickwas alive. Not a shilling, however, is left to the son.

  Mrs. Holdfast has offered a reward of five hundred pounds for thediscovery of the murderer of her husband.

  We have no doubt our readers will appreciate our enterprise inpresenting them with this circumstantial account of the latest phase ofthe Great Porter Square Mystery.

  The question that now remains to be answered is--Where is Mr. Holdfast'sson?

  [Decoration]