The Simpkins Plot

The Simpkins Plot, by George A.
Birmingham

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Birmingham
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Title: The Simpkins Plot
Author: George A. Birmingham

Release Date: October 19, 2006 [eBook #19586]
Language: English
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THE SIMPKINS PLOT
by
G. A. Birmingham

[Frontispiece: "No thanks. No tea for me."]

T. Nelson & Sons London and Edinburgh Paris: 189, rue Saint-Jacques
Leipzig: 35-37 Köningstrasse

TO
R. H.
IN MEMORY OF MANY SUMMER EVENINGS WHEN WE
DRIFTED HOME, UNTROUBLED BY THE LOVE AFFAIRS OF
SIMPKINS.

THE SIMPKINS PLOT.
CHAPTER I.
The platform at Euston was crowded, and the porters' barrows piled
high with luggage. During the last week in July the Irish mail carries a
heavy load of passengers, and for the twenty minutes before its
departure people are busy endeavouring to secure their own comfort

and the safety of their belongings. There are schoolboys, with
portmanteaux, play-boxes, and hand-bags, escaping home for the
summer holidays. There are sportsmen, eager members of the Stock
Exchange or keen lawyers, on their way to Donegal or Clare for fishing.
There are tourists, the holders of tickets which promise them a round of
visits to famous beauty spots. There are members of the House of
Lords, who have accomplished their labours as legislators--and their
wives, peeresses, who have done their duty by the London season--on
their way back to stately mansions in the land from which they draw
their incomes. Great people these in drawing-rooms or clubs; greater
still in the remote Irish villages which their names still dominate; but
not particularly great on the Euston platform, for there is little respect
of persons there as the time of the train's departure draws near. A porter
pushed his barrow, heavy with trunks and crowned with gun-cases,
against the legs of an earl, who swore. A burly man, red faced and
broad shouldered, elbowed a marchioness who, not knowing how to
swear effectively, tried to wither him with a glance. She failed. The
man who had jostled her had small reverence for rank or title. He was,
besides, in a hurry, and had no time to spend in apologising to great
ladies.
Sir Gilbert Hawkesby was one of his Majesty's judges. He had won his
position by sheer hard work and commanding ability. He had not
stopped in his career to soothe the outraged dignity of those whom he
pushed aside; and he had no intention now of delaying his progress
along the railway platform to explain to a marchioness why he had
jostled her. It was only by a vigorous use of his elbows that he could
make his way; and it ought to have been evident, even to a peeress, that
he meant to go from one end of the train to the other. His eyes glanced
sharply right and left as he pushed on. He peered through the windows
of the carriages. He scanned each figure in the crowd. At last he caught
sight of a lady standing beside the bookstall. She wore a long grey
cloak and a dark travelling-hat. She stooped over the books and papers
on the stall before her; and her face, in profile as Sir Gilbert saw it, was
lit by the flaring gas above her head. Having caught sight of her, the
judge pushed on even more vigorously than before.

"Here I am, Milly," he said. "I said I'd be in time to see you off, and I
am; but owing to--"
The lady at the bookstall turned and looked at him. She flushed
suddenly, and then as suddenly grew pale. She raised her hand
hurriedly and pulled her veil over her face. Sir Gilbert stared at her in
amazement. Then his face, too, changed colour.
"I--I beg your pardon," he said; "I mistook you for my niece. It's quite
inconceivable to me how I--a most remarkable likeness. I'm astonished
that I didn't notice it before. The fact is--under the circumstances--"
Sir Gilbert was acutely uncomfortable. Never in the course of a long
career at the bar had he felt so hopelessly embarrassed. On no occasion
in his life, so far as he could remember, had he been reduced to
stammering incoherences. It had not occurred to him to apologise to the
jostled marchioness a few