Chapter Seventy.

Conclusion.

My associate and myself advanced stealthily and noiselessly up the staircase. We met no one. The profoundest security seemed to reign everywhere. Favoured by the dark shadows that hung around us, we advanced to the door that was nearly wide open, and we then had a full view of everything within. The picture was solemn. Seated in a very high-backed, elaborately-carved, and Gothic chair, supported on all sides by pillows, sat the attenuated figure of my father. I gazed upon him with an eager curiosity, mingled with awe. His countenance was long and ghastly—there was no beauty in it. Its principal expression was terror. It was evident that his days were numbered. I looked upon him intently. I challenged my heart for affection, and it made no answer.

Directly before my father was placed a table, covered with a rich and gold-embroidered cloth, bordered with heavy gold fringe, upon which stood four tall wax candles, surrounding a mimic altar surmounted by an ebony crucifix. His chaplain, dressed in Popish canonicals, was mumbling forth some form of prayer, and a splendidly-illuminated missal lay open before him. There was also on the table a small marble basin of water, and a curiously inlaid box filled with bones—relics, no doubt—imbued with the spirit of miracle-working. The priest was perhaps performing a private midnight mass.

The fitful attention that Sir Reginald gave to this office was painful to contemplate. His mind was evidently wandering, and he could bring himself to attend only at intervals. At another table, a little removed from the one I have described, sat the person of the London attorney; he had also two lights, and he was most busily employed in turning over and indexing various folios of parchment. But I have yet to describe the other figure—the, to me, loathsome person of my illegitimate half-brother. He was on his knees, mumbling forth the responses and joining in the prayers of the priest. He was paler and thinner than usual; he looked, however, perfectly gentlemanly, and was scrupulously well-dressed.

As yet, I had not heard the voice of Sir Reginald; his lips moved at some of the responses that the two made audibly, but sound there was none. At length, when there was a total cessation of the voices of the other, and a silence so great in that vast apartment that the rustling of the lawyer’s parchments was distinctly heard, even where I stood—even this hardened wretch seemed to feel the general awe of the moment, and ceased to disturb the tomb-like silence.

In the midst of this, the prematurely-old Sir Reginald suddenly lifted up his voice and exclaimed, loudly, in a tone of the most bitter anguish, “Lord Jesu, have mercy upon me!”

The vast and ancient room echoed dolorously with the heart-broken supplication. It was the first time that my father’s voice fell upon my ear: it was so plaintive, so imbued with wretchedness, that the feeling of resentment which, I take shame to myself, I had long suffered in my bosom, melted away at once, and a strange tenderness came over me. I could have flung myself upon his bosom, and wept. I felt that my mother’s wrongs had been avenged. Even as it was, with all the secrecy that I had then thought it my interest to preserve, I could not refrain, in a subdued, yet earnest tone, from responding to his broken ejaculation, from the very bottom of my heart, “Amen.”

A start of surprise and terror, as my hollow response reached the ears of all then and there assembled, followed my filial indiscretion. Each looked at the other with a glance that plainly asked, “Was the voice thine?” and each in reply shook his head.

“A miracle!” exclaimed the priest. “The sinner’s supplication has been heard. Let us pray.”

During this solemn scene, events of a very different description were taking place at the inn which we had just clandestinely left. Our exit had been noticed. The landlord was called up; he became seriously alarmed, the more especially when the direction that we had taken had been ascertained. He immediately concluded that we had gone to Rathelin Hall to commit a burglary, or perhaps a murder. He summoned to his aid the constables of the village; called up the magistrate, and the lawyer, Mr Seabright; and, with a whole posse of attendants, proceeded to the rescue. We will conduct them to the door that Pigtop and myself had secured when we barred out Daunton’s accomplice, and, there leaving them, return to the sick-chamber.

After the reverend gentleman had concluded his extempore prayer, but few of the sentences of which reached our place of concealment, Sir Reginald said, “My friends, the little business that we have to do to-night had better be done speedily. I feel unusually depressed. I hope that it is not the hand of death that is pressing so heavily upon me. I would live a little while longer—but the will of God, the Redeemer of our sins, be done! Bring the papers here—I will sign them. My friend Brown, and you, my poor and too long neglected Ralph (addressing Joshua), I trust to your integrity in all this matter; for not only am I averse to, but just now incapable of, business. But, my dear Ralph, before we do this irrevocable deed, kneel down and receive a repentant father’s blessing, and hear that father ask, with a contrite heart, pardon of his son and of his God.”

The parchments were brought and placed before the baronet by the assiduous lawyer, and the son—for son to Sir Reginald he really was—with looks of the most devout humility, and his eyes streaming with hypocritical tears, knelt reverently down at the feet of the trembling and disease-stricken parent. His feeble hands are outstretched over the inclined head of the impostor, his lips part—this—this—I cannot bear—so, before a single word falls from our common father, I rush forward, and, kneeling down beside my assassin-brother, exclaim, in all the agony of wretchedness and the spirit of a newly-born affection, “Bless me, even me also, O my father!—he has taken away my birthright, and, behold, he would take away my blessing also. Bless even me!”

“Ralph Rattlin, by all that’s damnable!” screamed forth the self-convicted impostor.

Thus, this apparently imprudent and rash step was productive to me of more service than could have been hoped from the deepest-laid plan. In a moment we were on our feet, and our hands on each other’s throats. This sudden act seemed miraculously to invigorate our father; he rose from his seat, and, standing to the full height of his tall and gaunt figure, placing his bony hand heavily on my shoulder, and looking me fixedly in the face, said, “If thou art Ralph Rathelin, who then is this?”

“The base-born of your paramour!” and with a sudden energy I hurled him from me; and he lay bruised and crouching beneath the large oriel window, at the extremity of the room.

“It was unseemly said, and cruelly done,” said the baronet, sorrowfully. “Oh, but now my sins are remembered upon me! I cast my sons loose upon the face of the earth, and, in my dying hour, they come and struggle together for their lives before my eyes! Verily am I punished; my crime is visited heavily upon me.”

The other parties in the room were little less affected with various emotions. The London attorney was making rapidly for the door, when he was met by the advancing Pigtop, who thrust him again into the apartment, and then boldly faced the priest—the latter still in his canonicals, the former dressed as a sectarian preacher.

Their antipathy was mutual and instantaneous. But, ere the really reverend gentleman could begin some pious objurgation at this apparent interference with his communicant, Pigtop indulged in one of the heaviest oaths that vulgarity and anger together ever concocted, and straightway went and seized the crouching Joshua, and lugged him before the agonised father, exclaiming, “Warrants out against him, Sir Reginald, for burglary, forgery, and assassination—he is my prisoner.”

The craven had not a word to say—his knees knocked together—he was a pitiable object of a terror-stricken wretch. Sir Reginald already began to look down upon him with contempt: and my heart bounded within me, when I already found him leaning parentally on my shoulder. “Speak, trembler!—is this person the veritable Ralph Rathelin?”

“Pity me, pardon me, and I will confess all.”

“Splits!” said the attorney, and vanished through the now unguarded door.

“Speak!”

“This gentleman is your lawful son—but I also—”

“No more—escape—there is gold—escape—hide yourself from the eye of man for ever!”

“No,” said Pigtop, giving him a remorseless shake. “Do you see this scar?”

“Let him go instantly, Pigtop!—obey me—I have promised his mother—it is sacred.”

“For my sake!” said Sir Reginald.

At this instant, the steward rushed in, partly dressed, crying out, “Sir Reginald, Sir Reginald, the constables and the magistrates have broken down the hall-door, and are now coming upstairs, to arrest the housebreakers—they have packed up all the plate, and it lies in the hall, ready to be carried off?”

“My God! It is too late,” said Sir Reginald, wringing his hands.

“No,” said I; “let him escape by the window. Be so good, sir,” said I to the priest, “to secure the door—we shall gain time. Hold it as long as you can against all intruders. The scaffolding will enable the culprit to reach the ground with comparatively little danger.”

The priest obeyed; and not only fastened the door, but also barricaded it with furniture.

“Now, Pigtop,” said I, “if you wish to preserve my friendship, assist this poor wretch to escape—he is paralysed with his abject fears. Come, sir,” addressing Joshua, “you will certainly be hung if you don’t exert yourself.”

“He’ll be hung yet,” said Pigtop sulkily. “But I am an old sailor, and will obey orders—nevertheless, I know that I shall live to see him hung. Come along, sirrah!”

Between us, we led him to the window. We then thrust him out, and he stood shivering upon the cross-boarding of the scaffolding level with the window-sills.

“Slide down the poles, and run,” said I—and Pigtop together.

“I can’t,” said he, shuddering; “the chasm is awfully deep.”

“You must, or die the death of the felon.”

“Oh, what shall I do!”

“Cast off the lashing just above you,” said Pigtop; “pass it over the crosspiece over your head, make a running noose, put it under your arms, and keep the other end of the rope in your hand. You may either cling to the pole with your legs as you like, or not—for then you can lower yourself down at your ease, as comfortably as if you were taking a nap.”

“Come away, Pigtop—shut the window, close the shutters—the constables are upon us!” I exclaimed. This was done immediately, and thus was the immaculate Joshua shut out from all view. As the attacks on the door of the apartment became more energetic, and we concluded that Joshua was now safe, we were going to give the authorities entrance, when we heard a dreadful crash on the outside of the window.

“The lubber’s gone by the run, by God!” said Pigtop; “he’ll escape hanging, after all!”

“Let us hope in mercy not,” said Sir Reginald, shuddering. “I trust it is not so. I hear no scream, no shriek. I am sure, by the sound, that it was the toppling down of the boards; he has most likely displaced some of them in his descent.”

“Shall we admit, Sir Reginald, the people who are thundering at the door?”

“Not yet: let there be no appearance of disorder—remove these”—pointing to the small altar and crucifix—“and would it not be as well, my friend, to divest yourself of those holy vestments? they are irritating to heretical eyes. Assist me, sir, to my chair.”

I placed him respectfully nearly in the position in which I first discovered him. All vestiges of the Catholic religion were carefully removed, and the door, at last, thrown open. The crowd entered.

Hurried explanations ensued; but we could not conceal from the magistrate that a robbery had been planned and nearly effected, and that the real culprits, for whom, at first, Pigtop and I had been mistaken, had escaped.

At length, the master of the inn suggested that perhaps they had passed out of the window, and might be still upon the boarding or the scaffolding. The shutters were hastily thrown open—and, sight of horrors! Joshua Daunton was discovered hanging by the neck—dead! Sir Reginald gazed for some moments in speechless terror on the horrible spectacle, and then fell back in a death-like swoon.

The body was brought in, and every attempt at resuscitation was useless. He had died, and was judged; may he have found pardon! Some thought that he had hung himself intentionally, so completely had the noose clasped his neck; others, among whom were Pigtop, thought differently. The old sailor was of opinion, from the broken boards that had given way beneath his feet, that, when he had got the noose below his chin, and no lower, his footing or the scaffolding had failed him; and that, letting go the other end of the rope, it had taken a half hitch, and thus jammed upon the cross-pole. However the operation was brought about, he was exceeding well hung, and the drop represented to perfection. As Pigtop had prophesied, the post-chaise in the shrubbery was turned into a hearse, in order to convey his body to the inn for the coroner’s inquest.

“I knew I should live to see him hung,” said Pigtop, doggedly, as he bade me good-night, when we both turned into our respective rooms for the night, in the house of my father.

Contrary to all expectations, the shock, instead of destroying, seemed to have the effect of causing Sir Reginald to rally. He lived for six months after, became fully satisfied of my identity; and just as he was beginning to taste of happiness in the duty and affection of his son, he died, having first taken every legal precaution to secure me the quiet possession of my large inheritance.

My grief at his decease was neither violent nor prolonged. After his burial, I was on the point of repairing the old mansion, when I found myself involved in three lawsuits, which challenged my right to it all. I soon came to a determination as to my plan of action. I paid off all the establishment; and, having got hold again of my foster-father and mother, Mr and Mrs Brandon, I rebuilt the lodge for them comfortably, and there I located them. I shut up the whole of the Hall, except a small sitting-room, and two bedrooms, for Pigtop and myself; and thus we led the lives of recluses, having no other attendants than the Brandons.

By these means I was enabled to reserve all my rents for carrying on my lawsuits, without at all impairing the estate. In eighteen years, I thank God, I ruined my three opponents, and they all died in beggary. The year after I came into undisputed possession of my estates, the next heir got a writ issued against me of “de inquirendo lunatico,” on the ground of the strange and unworthy manner that I, as a baronet with an immense estate, had lived for those last eighteen years. I told my reasons most candidly to the jury, and they found me to be the most sensible man that they had ever heard of, placed in a similar position.

After having thus speedily settled these little matters, as I was fast approaching my fortieth year, I began to alter my style, and live in a manner more befitting my rank and revenues; yet I still held much aloof from all intimacy with my neighbours.

I am now in my forty-first year, and grown corpulent. It is now twenty-one years since I saw my unfortunate parent interred, and I walk about my domains Sir Ralphed to my heart’s content—or, more properly speaking, discontent. Old Pigtop is a fixture, for he has now really become old. I cannot call him my friend, for I must venerate him to whom I give that title, and veneration, or even esteem, Pigtop was never born to inspire. My humble companion he is not, for no person in his deportment towards me can be less humble than he. He is as quarrelsome as a lady’s lapdog, and seems never so happy as when he has effectually thwarted my intentions. Prince Hal said of the jolly wine-bibber, Jack, that “he could have better spared a better man!” Of Pigtop I am compelled to say more—“I could not spare him at all.” He has become necessary to me. He was never very handsome; but now, in his sixty-second year, he is a perfect fright; so, at least, everybody tells me, for I don’t see it myself.

His duties about my person seem to be continually healthily irritant; the most important one of which is, to keep me a bachelor, and scare away all womankind from Rathelin Hall. He controls my servants, and helps me to spoil them. Such a set of heavy, bloated, good-for-nothing, impudent, and happy dogs, never before fed upon a baronet’s substance, contradicted him to his very face, and fought for him behind his back. The females in my establishment bear but a most niggardly proportion to the males—in the ratio of Falstaff, one pennyworth of bread to his many gallons of sack: and these few are the most hideous, pox-marked, blear-eyed damsels that the country could produce—all Pigtop’s doing.

Never shall I forget the consternation, the blank dismay of his countenance, when, one fine, sunshiny morning, I announced to him my intention of installing in the mansion some respectable middle-aged gentlewoman as my housekeeper. It was some time before he could find his speech.

“Blood and thunder! bombs and fury! what have I done, that you should turn me out of your house in my grey hairs—now I’m dismantled, as it were, and laid up in ordinary?”

“Turn you out, Piggy! what could put that in your foolish noddle?”

“If madam comes in, I cut my cable, and pay off Rathelin Hall right abaft—even if I die in a ditch, and am buried by the parish. Take a housekeeper!—oh Lord! oh Lord! oh Lord! I would just as soon see you married, or in your coffin.”

“But some such a person is absolutely necessary in an establishment of this extent; so a housekeeper I’ll have, of some sort.”

“Why the devil need it be a woman, then? why won’t a man do—why won’t I do?”

“You?”

“Yes, me—Andrew Pigtop. I ask the appointment—do, there’s a good Sir Ralph, make it out directly. Clap your signature to it, and let it run as much like a commission as possible. I ask it as a favour. You know the great sacrifices that I have made for you.”

“The first time I ever heard of them, upon my honour. Pray enlighten me.”

“Why, you must be convinced, Sir Ralph, if I had not left the navy to attend you all the world over, as the pilot-fish sticks to the shark, I should, by this time, have been an old post-captain, and very likely C.B. into the bargain.”

“You, who remained one quarter of a century a master’s-mate during an active war, should rush up through the grades of lieutenant and commander to be posted during another quarter of profound peace! But, perhaps, you would have depended upon your great family interest. Well, if I make out your commission as my housekeeper, will you do the duties of the office?”

“On course.”

“And wear the uniform?”

“On course, if so be it be such as a man might wear; I bar petticoats and mob-caps, and female thingamies.”

“Will you carry the keys?”

“On course.”

“And see that the rooms and the passages are well swept, and that the maids are up betimes in the morning?”

“Damn them!—on course—certainly.”

“And, when Lady Aurelia Cosway and her five beautiful daughters drive up to the door, will you go and receive them in the ball; and, making them a profound curtsey, beg to conduct them into a dressing-room?”

“No; because, d’ye see, no ladies ever came further than your door.”

“And whom may I thank for that?”

“Me, assuredly,” said Pigtop, very proudly.

“I do.”

I did not make out his commission, which vexed him; but, on the other hand, I did not get me a housekeeper, which, at first, a little vexed me; but, really, my friend, in an ex officio manner, does most of the duties of the office to which he aspired extremely well.

Without vanity, I still preserve my good looks, though I must confess to a little unbecoming obesity of figure; yet, through my indolence, and the perseverance of Pigtop, and perhaps certain recollections of a green and bright, bay in one of the summer islands, I do fear that I am a confirmed bachelor.