Chapter 10

MR. CHECKYNSHAW AND FAMILY.

We left Mr. Checkynshaw entering the house of Mrs. Wittleworth, in Atkinson Street; and, as he was a gentleman of eminent dignity and gravity, we feel compelled to beg his pardon for leaving him so long out in the cold of a winter night. Having made the barber as comfortable as the circumstances would permit, we are entirely willing to let the banker in, though the abode at which he sought admission was hardly worthy of the distinguished honor thus conferred upon it.

Mrs. Wittleworth cautiously opened the door, for those who have the least to steal are often the most afraid of robbers; but, recognizing the lofty personage at the door, she invited him to enter, much wondering what had driven him from his comfortable abode in Pemberton Square to seek out her obscure residence at that hour in the evening. Mr. Checkynshaw was conducted to an apartment which served as kitchen, parlor, and bed-room for the poor woman, her son having a chamber up stairs. A seat was handed to the great man, and he sat down by the cooking-stove, after bestowing a glance of apparent disgust at the room and its furnishings.

The banker rubbed his hands, and looked as though he meant business; and Mrs. Wittleworth actually trembled with fear lest some new calamity was about to be heaped upon the pile of misfortunes that already weighed her down. Mr. Checkynshaw had never before darkened her doors. Though she had once been a welcome guest within his drawing-rooms, she had long since been discarded, and cast out, and forgotten. When the poor woman, worse than a widow, pleaded before him for the means of living, he had given her son a place in his office, at a salary of five dollars a week. If she had gone to him again, doubtless he would have done more for her; but, as long as she could keep soul and body together by her ill-paid drudgery, she could not endure the humiliation of displaying her poverty to him.

Mrs. Wittleworth had once lived in affluence. She had been brought up in ease and luxury, and her present lot was all the harder for the contrast. Her father, James Osborne, was an enterprising merchant, who had accumulated a fortune of a hundred thousand dollars, on which he had the good sense to retire from active business. Of his four children, the two sons died, leaving the two daughters to inherit his wealth.

John Wittleworth, the father of Fitz, was a clerk in the counting-room of Mr. Osborne, and finally became the partner of his employer, whose confidence he obtained to such a degree that the merchant was willing to trust him with all he had. He married Ellen Osborne; and when her father retired from business, his son-in-law carried it on alone. At this time, doubtless, John Wittleworth was worthy of all the confidence reposed in him, for the terrible habit, which eventually beggared him, had not developed itself to an extent which seemed perilous even to the eye of affection.

A few years after the marriage of Ellen, Mr. Checkynshaw, then aspiring to no higher title than that of a simple broker, presented himself as the suitor of Mary, the younger daughter of the retired merchant. Mr. Osborne did not like him very well; but Mary did, and their affair was permitted to take its course. Only a few months after this alliance of the Checkynshaw and the Osborne, the merchant was taken sick. When it was evident that his days were drawing to a close, he made his will.

His property consisted of about one hundred thousand dollars. One half of it was invested in a block of stores, which paid a heavy rental, and the other half was in money, stocks, and debts. In settling the affairs of the firm he had taken John Wittleworth's notes for thirty thousand dollars, secured by a mortgage on the stock. In making his will, Mr. Osborne gave to Ellen or--what was the same thing in those days, when a woman did not own her own property--to her husband, all the money, stocks, and debts due from Wittleworth. He did this because his late partner wanted more capital to increase his business.

To Mary, the wife of Mr. Checkynshaw, he gave the block of stores; but, not having so much confidence in Mary's husband as in Ellen's, he gave her the property with certain restrictions. The income of the estate was to be hers--or her husband's--during her life. At her death the estate was to pass to her children. If she died without children, the property was to be her sister's, or her sister's children's. But Mr. Osborne did not wish to exhibit any want of confidence in Mary's husband; so he made Mr. Checkynshaw the trustee, to hold the block of stores for his wife and for her children. He had the power to collect the rents, and as long as his wife lived, or as long as her children lived, the money was practically his own.

Mary, the first Mrs. Checkynshaw, was in rather feeble health, and the doctors advised her to spend the winter in the south of France. Her husband complied with this advice; and her child, Marguerite, was born in Perpignan, and had a French name because she was born in France. The family returned home in the following spring; but Mrs. Checkynshaw died during the succeeding winter. Marguerite was a fine, healthy child; and to her now belonged the block of stores bequeathed by her grandfather, her father holding it in trust for her.

In another year Mr. Checkynshaw married his second wife, who treated little Marguerite well enough, though she felt no deep and motherly interest in her, especially after Elinora, her own daughter, was born. Mr. Checkynshaw called himself a banker now. He had taken Mr. Hart and another gentleman into the concern as partners, and the banking-house of Checkynshaw, Hart, & Co. was a rising establishment.

The second Mrs. Checkynshaw was an ambitious woman, vain and pretentious. Her friends had been to London, Paris, Naples, and Rome. She had never been in Europe, and it galled her to be out of the fashion. When Elinora was only two years old, she insisted upon going abroad. Her husband did not like the idea of travelling with two children, one five and the other two years old. But he was over-persuaded, and finally consented to go. They arrived in Paris in July, and intended to remain there two months; but, before this period elapsed, the banker received a letter from Mr. Hart informing him of the sudden death of the third partner in their house. This event compelled him to return immediately; but Mrs. Checkynshaw was so well pleased with Parisian life, that she was unwilling to leave the city so soon. The voyage to her was terrible, and she had seen little or nothing of Europe. The family had taken apartments, and she was loath to leave them.

A friend of the banker, who with his wife occupied rooms in the same house, suggested that Mrs. Checkynshaw and her children should remain until her husband could return, two or three months later. An arrangement to this effect was made, and the banker hastened home to settle his business affairs. He had hardly departed before the cholera broke out with fearful violence in Paris. One of its first victims was the gentleman who had charge of Mr. Checkynshaw's family. His wife followed him, only a day later, to the cholera hospital.

Of course the banker's wife was terribly frightened, and instantly made her preparations to leave the infected city. Poor little Marguerite was the first of the family to take the disease, and she was hurried off to the hospital by the landlord of the house, who was very polite, but very heartless. This event would not have delayed the departure of Mrs. Checkynshaw, but she was stricken down herself before she could leave. The fearful malady raged with awful violence; hospitals were crowded with patients, and the dead were hurried to their last resting-place without a prayer or a dirge.

Little Elinora was taken by her nurse to the Sisters of Charity, and escaped the disease. Mrs. Checkynshaw recovered, and as soon as she was able, reclaimed her child, and fled to the interior of Switzerland, to a small town which the plague had not yet visited. When the panic had subsided, she returned to Paris. She bad been informed, before her departure, that little Marguerite had died of the disease; but, on her return, she visited the hospital, and made more careful inquiry in regard to the little patient. She was told that the child answering to her description had died, and been buried with a dozen others. It was then impossible to identify the remains of the child.

Mr. Checkynshaw returned to Paris in September. His wife had written to him and to Mrs. Wittleworth as soon as she was able, and her husband had received her letter before his departure from Boston. Poor little Marguerite! She was his own child, and he was sorely grieved at her death. He was not quite satisfied with his wife's investigations, and he determined to inquire further. With Mrs. Checkynshaw he went to the hospital.

"The child died the day after it was brought here," replied the director. "Here is the name;" and he pointed to the record.

The name indicated certainly was not "Checkynshaw," though it was as near it as a Frenchman could be expected to write it. The letters spelled "Chuckingham."

"Allow me to look at the book," said Mr. Checkynshaw.

"Certainly, sir; but I remember the case well. She was a little English girl," added the director.

"This child was American," interposed the anxious father.

"We cannot tell the difference. She spoke only English."

"What is this?" asked Mr. Checkynshaw, pointing to another name. "Marguerite Poulebah."

"That patient was discharged, cured."

"Do you translate English proper names?"

"Never!"

"What became of this patient?" asked Mr. Checkynshaw, deeply interested.

"I don't know."

The banker was satisfied that "Marguerite Poulebah" was his daughter; that the persons who had brought her to the hospital understood a little English, and had translated his surname literally from "chicken" and "pshaw." He investigated the matter for a week. The concierge of the lodgings where he had resided assured him he had not given the name as "Poulebah." At the end of the week he informed his wife that he had obtained a clew to the child. She had been taken from the hospital by the Sisters of Charity, and sent to Strasburg, that she might not have a relapse. Mr. Checkynshaw went to Strasburg alone.

On his return he assured his wife that he had found Marguerite; that she was happy with the Sisters, and cried when he spoke of taking her away. The devoted ladies were very much attached to her, he said; and he had concluded that it would be best to leave her there, at least until they were ready to embark for home. Mrs. Checkynshaw did not object. She had no love for the child, and though she had treated her well from a sense of duty, was rather glad to get rid of her.

The family remained in Europe till the next spring. Mr. Checkynshaw went to see his daughter again. The Sisters were educating her, and he declared that Marguerite was so very happy with them, and begged so hard not to be taken from them, that he had consented to let her remain at their school. Mrs. Checkynshaw did not care; she thought it was strange; but if the child's father deemed it best for her to remain with the Sisters, it was not for her to say anything. She did not say anything--Marguerite was not her own child.

When they returned to Boston, the friends of the Osbornes wished to know what had become of the child. Mr. Checkynshaw had not informed any one of the death of Marguerite when the intelligence came to him in his wife's letter, though Mrs. Wittleworth had received it direct from the same source. He had grieved deeply at the loss of the child. Yet his sorrow was not alone for poor Marguerite; the block of stores, every year increasing in value, must not pass out of his hands.

"The poor child had the cholera in Paris, and was sent to the hospital," was his reply. "When she recovered, Mrs. Checkynshaw was down with the disease, and the Sisters of Charity took her in charge. They treated her as a mother treats her own child, and Marguerite loves them better than she does my wife. I don't like to say anything about it, and will not, except to most intimate friends; but Marguerite was not Mrs. Checkynshaw's own daughter. They were not very fond of each other, and--well, I think you ought to be able to understand the matter without my saying anything more. The poor child is very happy where she is, and I had not the heart to separate her from such dear friends."

Everybody inferred that Mrs. Checkynshaw did not treat the child well, and no more questions were asked. The banking-house of Checkynshaw, Hart, & Co. increased in wealth and importance, and had extensive foreign connections in England. Every year or two the head of the house crossed the ocean, partly, as he declared, to transact his business in London, and partly to visit his child in France.