CHAPTER XXV MRS. MORRICE’S CONFESSION

And this was the story told by Mrs. Morrice, as she sat facing Lane in the small but elegantly-furnished room of her friend Alma Buckley’s flat. She told it throughout in a low voice which now and then broke down, indicating that she was on the verge of tears. For the most part it flowed forth in a continuous narrative, but now and then she paused to answer some question, to give fuller details of some incident, at the detective’s request. She informed him at the beginning that although Miss Buckley knew much—she did not know everything—that she was ignorant of the robberies.

Lane thought better of the music-hall artist after that. From the readiness to tell a lie, he had judged her to be a fairly unscrupulous woman, with full knowledge of her friend’s criminal acts, probably drawing a handsome share of the proceeds. It was evident that she drew the line at actual lawbreaking.

Lettice Larchester and her father had gone straight to London after leaving Brinkstone, and established themselves in some cheap lodgings in the Fulham district. Larchester had left the quiet little village for more than one reason. For one thing he had grown tired of it, had become weary of the ignorant people who frequented the bar of the Brinkstone Arms, his visits to which constituted his sole social recreation. Then the inspiration which he first derived from the charming scenery around had waned in its intensity, and stimulated him no longer. He was also rather weary of working continually at the one theme of landscape, and trusted that by moving to London he might break fresh ground amongst dealers and infuse variety into his rather monotonous art.

This hope was not realized to any considerable extent. For the first three months he displayed a certain feverish activity both in the business and the artistic side of his calling, with decidedly beneficial results to his exchequer. He was fairly moderate in his use of alcohol; out of every payment he received for a picture he put a small proportion in the Savings Bank for “a rainy day” as he announced with importance to his hopeful daughter, who really began to believe he had made up his mind to turn over a new leaf.

Alas, at the end of those three comparatively bright months, the old deterioration set in, the old dissolute habits once again assumed mastery of his relaxed will power. He had long bouts of intemperance, during which he could not do a stroke of work. By degrees the small savings were withdrawn from the bank to pay rent and purchase the bare necessities of life.

Then came the sudden death of old Mr. Buckley, and the arrival in London of his daughter Alma. The girls had corresponded occasionally, and the first thing Alma did when she reached London was to visit her old friend. The acquaintance which had been so close in the country soon ripened again, and this time into a life-long friendship. With her father now beyond hope of salvation drifting rapidly downward, this companionship was a great consolation to Miss Larchester. Old Buckley had left more money behind him than people would have expected, and every penny had gone to the daughter. It was, of course, only a very modest competence, but it removed the girl for ever from any fear of poverty so long as she did not touch the capital, which being a very level-headed young woman she was never tempted to do. She was a very kind friend to the Larchesters—helping them often in their hours of need, which grew more and more frequent, as the artist’s powers of self-control waxed weaker and his capacity for work declined in consequence.

She did not, however, propose to live on a small income all her life. Her great ambition was to go on the stage, but as her several attempts in this direction met with no result, she grew less ambitious, and in time blossomed into a music-hall artist who could generally rely upon engagements at moderate fees which made a very pleasant addition to her private income.

She was fairly launched in this career when Larchester died after a lingering illness, the cause of death being an internal malady which had been greatly aggravated by his dissolute habits, the doctor declaring that his organs were those of a man ten years his senior.

One would have predicted that a man of his type would have left his daughter absolutely penniless. Fortunately, this was not the case. At a very early age he had taken out a life-policy for fifteen hundred pounds, the premium being very low. To his credit, be it said, he had strained every nerve to keep it up, even knocking off his drink when the time approached for payment.

Under the guidance of her friend, who was a very shrewd young woman of business, Miss Larchester invested this capital sum judiciously; the interest would keep her from absolute starvation.

With the exception of Alma Buckley she had nobody to whom she could turn for advice or assistance. Her father had been a member of a highly respectable family, with members in the professions of the Church, the Army, and the Law, but they had early parted company with the dissolute artist, and had never seen either his wife or child. Her mother had been a country girl, the daughter of a small village shopkeeper whom Larchester had met in his wanderings in search of the picturesque, and fallen in love with. Of that mother’s kith and kin she knew nothing.

Miss Buckley, just beginning to feel her feet upon the music-hall stage about this period, had taken a cosy little flat in the neighbourhood of Southampton Row; it was handy for the halls, her connection being in London, only entailing a moderate cab fare to and from her home.

She insisted that, as there was plenty of room for two, Miss Larchester should take up her abode with her, saying that it was a bit lonesome in the day time, and she would be glad of a companion. Although pretty keen in business matters, in private life she was very generous, and she would not allow Lettice to contribute a farthing towards the rent, and herself bore the greater share of the housekeeping, being very fond of good living and not averse from occasional stimulant of an expensive kind such as champagne and old brandy.

Mrs. Morrice dwelt fully, but not unkindly, on this weakness of her generous friend, for to this unfortunate propensity was due the beginning of her own tragedy.

For some time before the death of the dissolute artist, his daughter had taken up painting under his tuition and attained some little proficiency in it, enough to enable her to supplement her tiny income with here and there a commission from one of Larchester’s old patrons, and occasional work in the lower branches of art.

Needless to say that, although this was better than nothing and relieved her from the intolerable ennui of idleness, it did not satisfy a girl who was fond of pleasure and all the amenities that money could bring, and at heart of an ambitious nature.

Like many other girls of poor position and no particular talent, she looked forward to a judicious marriage to give her what she wanted, to justify her aspirations. The future was precarious. Alma Buckley was a good enough friend now, but any day she herself might marry, and then Lettice might no longer find herself a welcome inmate in a changed establishment.

But opportunity was a long time coming. Alma was a jolly, genial soul, with a great genius for friendship, and she soon gathered round her a goodly circle of acquaintances, nearly all members of her own profession. Truth to tell, there was not much refinement amongst the men and women who frequented the little flat, and Miss Larchester, due, no doubt, to the good blood on her father’s side, was rather fastidious. She wanted a man who was not only well-off, but also a gentleman in manners and appearance.

Her friend used to rally her upon what she considered her high-flown notions. “No use waiting for the impossible, my dear,” she said to her, with her loud, jolly laugh. “The Prince Charming you are sighing for won’t make his way to our flat. Get hold of the first chap who takes you seriously, after satisfying yourself he’s making plenty of money. Never mind if he doesn’t come up quite to your standard in certain things. You can try the polishing process on him after you’re married, and as likely as not you’ll make a good job of it.”

But these accommodating views did not recommend themselves to a girl of refinement. She thought the profession her friend had adopted was at best a very precarious one, and the type of male artist she came across rather repelled than attracted her. It was different, of course, with Alma Buckley. She came from humble stock and was naturally at home amongst her own class, she discovered nothing to find fault with in the manners or appearance of the men who frequented her flat, sang comic songs, made broad jokes, and often indulged in more stimulant than was good for them.

And then suddenly Prince Charming made his appearance, and Miss Buckley was constrained to admit that he appeared to be “quite the gentleman,” and was distinctly on a higher social plane than the persons at whom Lettice turned up her fastidious nose.

The meeting happened this way. Miss Buckley had been working very hard for some time, doing two halls a night at a considerable distance from each other, and incidentally making a considerable sum of money. When the engagements came to an end she felt fagged and run down, and on consulting a doctor, he prescribed a month’s holiday.

The idea pleased her and she could well afford it. Very soon she made her plans, and with her usual generosity, included her friend in them.

“We’ll go to dear old Paris,” she announced, “and we’ll stop there not a minute less than four weeks; if we’re enjoying ourselves very much, I don’t say we won’t put in an extra week. Better than going to the seaside; what we want is a complete change. ‘Gay Paree’ will give it us.”

On board the boat Alma got into conversation with a very elegant young man whose name she afterwards discovered to be the high-sounding one of Darcy. He was quite good-looking, possessed a pleasant well-bred voice, and was attired in costume appropriate to travel of a most fashionable cut. Miss Buckley did most of the talking, but she could see that this aristocratic young man was greatly attracted by Lettice, and that Lettice appeared equally attracted by him.

“I really think this is Prince Charming,” she took an opportunity of whispering to her friend. “And, my dear, there’s a look of money about him. Did you notice that lovely emerald pin? It’s worth no end.”

The elegant young man devoted himself to the two girls during the short crossing to Boulogne, his glances ever resting admiringly upon Miss Larchester. He found seats for them in the train to Paris, and travelled with them in the same carriage. He talked pleasantly about his travels; there did not seem to be a city in Europe that he had not visited.

When they were nearing their journey’s end, he inquired where they were going to put up. Miss Buckley, who had promised herself a good time, no matter what it cost, replied that they had selected the Hôtel Terminus; it was convenient for everything.

Mr. Darcy approved their choice. “You couldn’t do better,” he said in his well-bred, slightly languid voice, the cultivated tones of which appealed strongly to Miss Larchester. “’Pon my word, I think I might as well stay there myself. If you don’t want to see too much of me,” he added with his charming smile, “you’ve only got to give me a hint. I shan’t intrude.”

“You won’t intrude,” said Miss Buckley with her usual downrightness. “We shall look upon you as rather a godsend. Neither of us has been to Paris before; it’ll be awfully good of you to show us the ropes.”

Darcy replied cordially that it would afford him the greatest pleasure to show them “the ropes,” as the young lady so elegantly put it. When he was asked where he usually stayed, he named half a dozen of the most select hotels, with each one of which he appeared intimately acquainted.

The music-hall artist, who had picked up more knowledge of things than her friend, recognized one of them as patronized by Royalty. She was much impressed. She was greatly addicted to slang, living in an atmosphere of it, and she expressed her opinions freely to Lettice later on.

“We’ve struck it rich this time, you bet your life,” she said in her picturesque vernacular. “I’ve seen a few ‘toffs’ at the halls, but he beats ’em hollow. He’s ‘the goods,’ and no mistake.”

Miss Larchester had drawn the same conclusions, which she would naturally have expressed in different language.

Things went swimmingly. They had all their meals together at a table reserved for them by an obsequious waiter. Mr. Darcy showed them all the sights, Notre-Dame, the Louvre, the Bois de Boulogne, the Bourse; he took them to Versailles and Fontainebleau; he accompanied them to the music halls and the theatres where they were a bit bored, as they knew very little of the French language.

He spent money like water. Alma, who was no sponger, had begun by offering her share of the expenses, but Darcy would not hear of it. “No lady pays when she is in the company of a man,” he explained with an air of finality.

Very soon he told them all about himself with an air of the most engaging frankness. He was an only son; his father had died some five years ago, leaving him a snug little fortune. “By that I don’t mean that I am what would be called a rich man, just decently well off,” was his comment on this particular announcement, “always sure of comfort, now and then a few luxuries.”

On their side, the two girls were equally communicative. Alma Buckley did not suffer from false shame. She made no attempt to conceal her humble origin, she used no camouflage about the status of the defunct builder, she frankly avowed her profession.

Miss Larchester told the truth about herself and her position, letting her father down as lightly as possible. A man like Darcy could not fail to see the difference between the two women, he said as much to her one day when they were alone.

“Miss Buckley is an awfully good sort, one can see that with half an eye,” he remarked.

“She is a darling,” cried Lettice enthusiastically, “and my only friend in the world.”

Darcy took her hand in his own. “No, you must not say that. We met in a very unconventional manner certainly, but that does not matter as we know all about each other now. I hope you feel you have another friend in me. But what I really wanted to say was this, and, of course, you are as aware of it as I am. You are of quite a different class from her.”

The acquaintance, begun casually on board the boat, ripened with amazing rapidity into friendship, swiftly into love on the part of the young man and also of Lettice Larchester.

Alma Buckley, who had no real experience of the world, although perhaps she was just a little more sophisticated than her friend, looked on approvingly. Darcy was a gentleman, a man of culture and refinement, he had plenty of money. It would be an ideal match for Lettice, and the girl was as much in love with him as he was with her.

The visit prolonged itself to six weeks instead of the four originally contemplated, and at the end of that time Alma Buckley returned to her flat alone. George Darcy and Lettice Larchester were married in Paris, and started on their honeymoon the day before she left for England.