Chapter 6

Charles Reade made his first appearance as an author comparatively late in life. He was the son of an English squire, born at Ipsden on June 8, 1814, and was educated for the Bar, being entered at Lincoln's Inn in 1843. His literary career began as dramatist, and it is significant that it was his own wish that the word "dramatist" should stand first in the description of his works on his tombstone. His maiden effort in stage literature, "The Ladies' Battle," was produced in 1851; but it was not until November, 1852, with the appearance of "Masks and Faces"--the story which he afterwards adapted into prose under the title of "Peg Woffington"--that Reade became famous as a playwright. From 1852 until his death, which occurred on April 11, 1884, Reade's life is mainly a catalogue of novels and dramas. Like many of Charles Reade's works, "Hard Cash, a Matter-of-Fact Romance," is a novel with a purpose, and was written with the object of exposing abuses connected with the lunacy laws and the management of private lunatic asylums. Entitled "Very Hard Cash," it first appeared serially in the pages of "All the Year Round," then under the editorship of Charles Dickens, and although its success in that form was by no means extraordinary, its popularity on its publication in book form in 1863 was well deserved and emphatic. The appearance of "Hard Cash," which is a sequel to a comparatively trivial tale, "Love me Little, Love me Long," provoked much hostile criticism from certain medical quarters--criticism to which Reade replied with vehemence and characteristic vigour. His activity in the campaign against the abuses of lunacy law did not end with the publication of this story, since he conducted personal investigations in many individual cases of false imprisonment under pretence of lunacy.

_I.--The Dodd and Hardie Families_

In a snowy-villa, just outside the great commercial seaport, Barkington, there lived, a few years ago, a happy family. A lady, middle-aged, but still charming; two young friends of hers, and an occasional visitor.

The lady was Mrs. Dodd; her periodical visitor her husband, the captain of an East Indiaman; her friends were her son Edward, aged twenty, and her daughter, Julia, nineteen.

Mrs. Dodd was the favourite companion and bosom friend of both her children. They were remarkably dissimilar. Edward was comely and manly, no more; could walk up to a five-barred gate and clear it; could row all day, and then dance all night; and could not learn his lessons to save his life.

In his sister Julia modesty, intelligence, and, above all, enthusiasm shone, and made her an incarnate sunbeam.

This one could learn her lessons with unreasonable rapidity, and Mrs. Dodd educated her herself, from first to last; but Edward she sent to Eton, where he made good progress--in aquatics and cricket.

In spite of his solemn advice--"you know, mamma, I've got no headpiece"--he was also sent to Oxford, and soon found he could not have carried his wares to a better market. Advancing steadily in that line of study towards which his genius lay, he was soon as much talked about in the university as any man in his college, except one. Singularly enough, that one was his townsman--much Edward's senior in standing, though not in age. Young Alfred Hardie was doge of a studious clique, and careful to make it understood that he was a reading man who boated and cricketed to avoid the fatigue of lounging.

To this young Apollo, crowned with variegated laurel, Edward looked up from a distance, praised him and recorded his triumphs in all his letters; but he, thinking nothing human worthy of reverence but intellect, was not attracted by Edward, till at Henley he saw Julia, and lo! true life had dawned. He passed the rest of the term in a soft ecstasy, called often on Edward, and took a prodigious interest in him, and counted the days till he should be for four months in the same town as his enchantress. Within a month of his arrival in Barkington he obtained Mrs. Dodd's permission to ask his father's consent to propose an engagement to Julia, which was promptly refused; and inquiry, petulance, tenderness, and logic were alike wasted on Mr. Hardie by his son in vain. He would give no reason. But Mrs. Dodd, knowing him of old, had little doubt, and watched her daughter day and night to find whether love or pride was the stronger, all the mother in arms to secure her daughter's happiness. Finding this really at stake, she explained that she knew the nature of Mr. Hardie's objections, and they were objections that her husband, on his return, would remove. "My darling," she said, "pray for your father's safe return, for on him, and on him alone, your happiness depends, as mine does."

Next day Mrs. Dodd walked two hours with Alfred, and his hopes revived under her magic, as Julia's had. The wise woman quietly made terms. He was not to come to the house except on her invitation, unless indeed he had news of the Agra to communicate; but he might write once a week, and enclose a few lines to Julia. On this he proceeded to call her his best, dearest, loveliest friend--his mother. That touched her. Hitherto he had been to her but a thing her daughter loved. Her eyes filled.

"My poor, warm-hearted, motherless boy," she said, "pray for my husband's safe return."

So now two more bright eyes looked longingly seaward for the Agra, homeward bound.

_II.--Richard Hardie's Villainy_

Richard Hardie was at that moment the unlikeliest man in Barkington to decline Julia Dodd, with hard cash in five figures, for his daughter-in-law.

The great banker stood, a colossus of wealth and stability to the eye, though ready to crumble at a touch, and, indeed, self-doomed; for bankruptcy was now his game. This was a miserable man, far more so than his son, whose happiness he was thwarting; and of all things that gnawed him, none was more bitter than to have borrowed £5,000 of his children's trust money, and sunk it. His son's marriage would expose him; lawyers would peer into trusts, etc.

When his son announced his attachment to a young lady living in a suburban villa it was a terrible blow, but if Alfred had told him hard cash in five figures could be settled by the bride's family on the young couple, he would have welcomed the wedding with a secret gush of joy, for he could then have thrown himself on Alfred's generosity, and been released from that one corroding debt.

He had for months spent his days poring over the books, fabricating and maturing a false balance-sheet. Suspecting that the cashier was watching him, he one day handed him his dismissal, polite but peremptory, and went on cooking his accounts with surpassing dignity. Rage supplying the place of courage, the cashier let him know that he--poor, despised Noah Skinner--had kept genuine books while he had been preparing false ones.

He was at the mercy of his servant, and bowed his pride to flatter Skinner, and soon saw this was the way to make him a clerk of wax. He became his accomplice, and on this his master told him everything it was impossible to keep from him. At this moment Captain Dodd was announced. Mr. Hardie explained to his new ally the danger that threatened him from Miss Julia Dodd.

"And now," said he, "the women have sent the father to soften me. I shall be told his girl will die if she can't have my boy."

But, instead of the heartbroken father he expected, in came the gallant sailor, with a brown cheek reddened with triumph and excitement, who held out his hand cordially, almost shouting in a jovial voice, "Well, sir, here I am, just come ashore, and visiting you before my very wife; what d'ye think of that?"

Hardie stared, and remained on his guard, puzzled; while David Dodd showed his pocket-book, and in the pride of his heart, and the fever in his blood--for there were two red spots on his cheeks all the time--told the cold pair its adventures in a few glowing words; the Calcutta firm--the two pirates--the hurricane--the wrecks, the land-sharks he had saved it from. "And here it is safe, in spite of them all, and you must be good enough to take care of it for me."

He then opened the pocket-book, and Mr. Hardie ran over the notes and bills, and said the amount was £14,010 12s. 6d.

Dodd asked for a receipt, and while it was written poor Dodd's heart overflowed.

"It's my children's fortune, you see; I don't look on a sixpence of it as mine. It belongs to my little Julia, bless her, she's a rosebud if ever there was one; and my boy Edward, he's the honestest young chap you ever saw; but how could they miss either good looks or good hearts, and her children? Here's a Simple Simon vaunting his own flesh and blood, but you know how it is with us fathers; our hearts are so full of the little darlings, out it must come. You can imagine how joyful I feel at saving their fortune from land-sharks, and landing it safe in an honest man's hands."

Skinner gave him the receipt.

"All right, little gentleman; now my heart is relieved of such a weight. Good-bye, shake hands. God bless you! God bless you both!" And with this he was out and making ardently for Albion Villa.

* * * * *

Ten minutes later the door burst open, and David Dodd stood on the threshold, looking terrible. He seemed black and white with anger and anxiety. Making a great effort to control his agitation, he said, "I have changed my mind, sir; I want my money back."

Mr. Hardie said faintly, "Certainly; may I ask----"

"No matter," cried Dodd. "Come! My money! I must and will have it."

Hardie drew himself up majestically; and Dodd said, "Well, I beg your pardon, but I can't help it!"

The banker's mind went into a whirl. It was death to part with this money and get nothing by it. He made excuses. Dodd eyed him sternly, and said quietly, "So you can't give me my money because your cashier has carried it away. It is not in this room, then?"

"No."

"What, not in that safe there?"

"Certainly not," said Hardie stoutly.

"My money! My money!" cried David fiercely. "No more words. I know you now. I _saw_ you put it in that safe. You want to steal my children's money. My money, ye pirate, or I'll strangle you!"

While Hardie unlocked the safe with trembling hands, Dodd stood like a man petrified; the next moment his teeth gnashed loudly together, and he fell headlong on the floor in a fit. So the £14,000 remained with the banker.

Not many days after this a crowd stood in front of the old bank, looking at the shutters, and a piece of paper announcing a suspension, only for a month or so.

Many things now came to Alfred Hardie's knowledge till he began to shudder at his own father, and was troubled with dark, mysterious surmises, and wandered alone, or sat brooding and dejected. Richard Hardie's anxiety to know whether David Dodd was to live or die increased. He was now resolved to fly to the United States with his booty, and cheat his son with the rest. On his putting a smooth inquiry to Alfred, his face flushed with shame or anger, and he gave a very short, obscure reply. So he invited the doctor to dinner, and elicited the information that David's life indeed was saved, but he was a maniac; and his sister, a sensible, resolute woman, had signed the certificate, and he was now in a private asylum.

Mr. Hardie smiled, and sipped his tea luxuriously; he would not have to go to a foreign land after all. Who would believe a lunatic? He said, "I presume, Alfred, you are not so far gone as to insist on propagating insanity by a marriage with Captain Dodd's daughter now?"

Alfred ground his teeth, and replied that his father should be the last man to congratulate himself on the affliction that had fallen on that family he aspired to enter, all the more now they had calamities for him to share.

"More fool you," put in Mr. Hardie calmly.

"For I much fear you are the cause of that calamity."

"I really don't know what you allude to."

The son fixed his eyes on his father, and said, "The fourteen thousand pounds, sir!"

One unguarded look confirmed Alfred's suspicions; he could not bear to go on exposing his father, and wandered out, sore perplexed and nobly wretched, into the night.

_III.--Alfred in Confinement_

At last Alfred decided that justice _must_ be done, and confided his suspicions to the Dodds. Edward's good commonsense at once settled that, as the man who married Julia would be the greatest sufferer by Hardie senior's fraud, Hardie junior should settle his own £10,000 on her, and marry her as soon as he came of age. Alfred joyfully agreed, privately arranging that the money should be settled on Julia's parents, and preparations went on apace.

But on the wedding-day the bridal party waited in vain for the bridegroom, and Edward ran to his lodgings to fetch him.

He came back alone, white with wrath, hurried the insulted bride and her mother into the carriage, and they went home as if from a funeral. Aye, and a funeral it was; for the sweetest girl in England buried her hopes, her laugh, her May of youth that day.

As soon as possible this heartbroken trio removed to London, where Mrs. Dodd became a dressmaker, and Edward a fireman.

It was true Alfred _had_ received a letter in a female hand, but it was from a discharged servant of his father's, offering information about the £14,000 if he would come to a house about ten miles off the next morning. He calculated he could do so, and still be in the church in time, and drove there with all his luggage, only to find himself shut up in a lunatic asylum.

He made a desperate resistance, but was soon overpowered and left handcuffed, hobbled, and strapped down, more helpless than a swaddled infant. He lay mute as death in his gloomy cell; deeper horror grew and grew, gusts of rage swept over him, gusts of despair. What would his Julia think? He shouted, he screamed, he prayed. He saw her, lovelier than ever, all in white, waiting for him, with sweet concern in her peerless face. Half-past ten struck. He struggled, he writhed, he made the very room shake, and lacerated his flesh, but that was all. No answer, no help, no hope.

By-and-by his good wit told him his only chance was calmness; they could not long confine him as a madman, being sane. But all his efforts to convince his keepers that he was sane were useless; his letters seemed to go, but he got no answers; his appeals to visiting justices were in vain. The responsibility rested with the people who signed the certificates, and he could not even find out who they were. After months of softening hearts and buying consciences, he was on the point of escape, when he was moved to another asylum. Here there was no brutality, but constant watchfulness; and he had almost prevailed on the doctor to declare him cured when he was again moved to a still more brutal place, if possible, than the first.

One day he found himself locked in his room. This was unusual, for though they called him a lunatic in words, they called him sane by all their acts. He thought the commissioners must be in the house; had he known who really was in the house he would have beaten himself to pieces against the door.

At dinner there was a new patient, very mild and silent, with a beautiful mild brown eye like some gentle animal's. Alfred contrived to say some kind word to him; and the newcomer handled his forelock, and announced himself as William Thompson, adding, with simple pride, "Able seaman, just come aboard, your honour."

At night Alfred dreamed he heard Julia's sweet, mellow voice speaking to him; and lo, it was the able seaman. He slept no more, but lay sighing.

The matron told him this was David Dodd, Alfred redoubled his efforts to escape, and at last one of the keepers consented to help him off. He was sitting on his bed full dressed, full of hope, his money in his pocket, waiting for his liberator. Every moment he expected to hear the key in the door.

Then came a smell of burning, and feet ran up and down. "Fire!" rang from men's voices. Fire cracked above his head; he sprang up at the window, and dashed his hand through it, and fell back. He sprang again, and caught the woodwork; it gave way, and he fell back, nearly stunning himself. The flames roared fearfully now, and David, thinking it was a tempest, shouted appropriate orders. Alfred implored him, and got him to kneel down with him, and prayed. He gave up all hope, and prepared to die.

Crash! As if discharged from a cannon, came bursting through the window a helmeted figure, rope in hand, and alighted erect and commanding on the floor. All three faces came together, and Edward recognised his father and Alfred Hardie. Edward clawed his rope to the bed, and hauled up a rope ladder, crying, "Now, men, quick for your lives!" But poor David called that deserting the ship, and demurred, till Alfred assured him the captain had ordered it. He then touched his forelock to Edward, and went down the ladder. Alfred followed.

They were at once overpowered with curiosity and sympathy, and had to shake a hundred hands.

"Gently, good friends; don't part us," said Alfred.

"He's the keeper," said one of the crowd, and all helped them to the back door.

Alfred ran off across country for bare life. To his horror, David followed him, shouting cheerily, "Go ahead, messmate, I smell blue water."

"Come on, then!" cried Alfred, half mad himself; and the pair ran furiously the livelong night. Free!

_IV.--Into Smooth Waters_

Exhilarated by freedom, Alfred began to nurse aspiring projects; he would indict his own father and the doctor, and wipe off the stigma they had cast on him. Meantime, he would cure David and restore him to his family. They bowled along towards blue water with a perfect sense of security. But at Folkestone, David disappeared, and Alfred, hearing as he ran wildly all over the place that there was "another party on the same lay"--the mad gentleman's wife--took the first train to London, dispirited and mortified. David was in good hands, however, and Alfred had glorious work on hand--love and justice.

He at once put his affairs into a lawyer's hands, and thought of love alone. After a violent encounter with his late keepers and a narrow escape from capture, in the midst of Elysium with Julia, her mother returned in despair. David had completely disappeared. Again these lovers were separated, and again Edward's commonsense came to the rescue. Alfred went back to Oxford to read for his first class, and Julia to her district visiting, while the terrible delays of the law went on. Alfred had begun to believe trial by jury would never be allowed him, and when at last, after many postponements, the trial did come on, he was being examined in the schools, and refused to come till his counsel had actually opened the case. Mr. Thomas Hardie, Alfred's uncle, was the defendant, for it was proved he had authorised Alfred's arrest.

A detective had been employed to find Mr. Barkington, a little man in Julia's district, whom the lawyers suspected might be useful; and when the trial was half over, he led them all in great excitement to the back slums of Westminster. Mr. Barkington, _alias_ Noah Skinner, was wanted by another client of his.

The room was full of an acrid vapour, and a mummified figure sat at the table, dead this many a day of charcoal fumes; in his hand a banker's receipt to David Dodd, Esq., for £14,000. The lawyer was handing it to Julia, having just found a will bequeathing all Skinner had in the world to her, with his blessing, when a solemn voice said: "No; it is mine."

A keen cry from Julia's heart, and in an instant she was clinging round her father's neck. Edward could only get at his hand. Instinct told them Heaven had given them back their father, mind and all.

Alfred Hardie slipped out, and ran like a deer to tell Mrs. Dodd.

Husband and wife met alone in Mrs. Dodd's room. No eyes ventured to witness a scene so strange, so sacred.

They all thought in their innocence that Hardie _v_. Hardie was now at an end, with Captain Dodd ready to prove Alfred's sanity; but the lawyer advised them not to put the captain to the agitation of the witness-box.

Mr. Thomas Hardie, the defendant, won the case for Alfred by admitting in the witness-box that his brother Richard had declared that "if you don't put Alfred in a madhouse, I will put you in one."

The jury found for the plaintiff, Alfred Hardie, and gave the damages at £3,000. The verdict was received with acclamation by the people, and in the midst of this Alfred's lawyer announced that the plaintiff had just gained his first class at Oxford.

Mr. Richard Hardie restored the £14,000, and a few years later died a monomaniac, believing himself penniless when he possessed £60,000.

Alfred married Julia, and, with the consent of his wife, took his father to live with them. Then Alfred determined to pay in full all who had been ruined by the bank failure, and in time the old bank was reopened with Edward Dodd as managing partner. In the end, no creditor of Richard Hardie was left unpaid. Alfred went in for politics and became an M.P. for Barkington; whence to dislodge him I pity anyone who tries.

* * * * *

It Is Never Too Late to Mend

"It is Never Too Late to Mend, a Matter-of-Fact Romance," published in 1856, is, like "Hard Cash," a story with a purpose, the object in this instance being to illustrate the abuses of prison discipline in England and Australia. Many of the passages describing Australian life are exceptionally vivid and imaginative, and exhibit Charles Reade, if not in the front rank of novelists of his day, at least occupying a high position.

_I.--In Berkshire_

George Fielding, assisted by his brother William, tilled The Grove--as nasty a little farm as any in Berkshire. It was four hundred acres, all arable, and most of it poor, sour land. A bad bargain, and the farmer being sober, intelligent, proud, sensitive, and unlucky, is the more to be pitied.

Susanna Merton was beautiful and good; George Fielding and she were acknowledged lovers, but latterly old Merton had seemed cool whenever his daughter mentioned the young man's name.

William Fielding, George's brother, was in love with his brother's sweetheart, but he never looked at her except by stealth; he knew he had no business to love her.

While George Fielding had been going steadily down-hill, till even the bank declined to give him credit, Mr. Meadows, who had been a carter, was, at forty years of age, a rich corn-factor and land surveyor.

This John Meadows was not a common man. He had a cool head, and an iron will; and he had the soul of business--method.

Meadows was generally respected; by none more than by old Merton. In fact, it seemed to Merton that John Meadows would make a better son-in-law than George Fielding.

The day came when a distress was issued against Fielding's farm for the rent, and as it happened on that very day Susan and her father had come to dinner at The Grove. Old Merton, knowing how things stood, spoke his mind to George.

"You are too much of a man, I hope, to eat a woman's bread; and if you are not, I am man enough to keep the girl from it. If Susan marries you she will have to keep you instead of you her."

"Is this from Susanna, as well as you?" said George, with a trembling lip.

"Susan is an obedient daughter. What I say she'll stand to."