A Whim, and Its Consequences / Collection of British Authors Vol. CXIV

by G. P. R. James

CHAPTER XVIII.

"Patience, and shuffle the cards," said the sleeper in the cave of Montesinos; and an excellent good rule it was. Our cards want shuffling; for the trumps have got packed.

A little more than a fortnight after Chandos Winslow had left Northferry for London, the party assembled at the house of Mr. Tracy on the evening of a cold January day, consisted of two or three persons besides his own family. There was the clergyman, Horace Fleming. There was an old lady, who lived at about twenty miles' distance, and spent the night there, when she dined--very rich, and somewhat egotistical. There was her niece, an exceedingly pretty little girl, without a penny, and totally dependent upon her bounty, who sang beautifully, and was kept under strict rule by her aunt--a sort of human singing bird, which old ladies will keep in cages now and then; and "last, but not least," was Sir William Winslow, who had come for two days, and had stayed seventeen. Not that he had entirely passed his time at Northferry; for he had ridden over more than once to Winslow Abbey, had met lawyers, and agents, and surveyors, and had received a proposal and nearly concluded an agreement, for selling the estate, land, park, and house to the law-agent of Viscount Overton, acting on his lord's behoof. Some little matters remained to be settled, but nothing of any great importance. The title was to be taken as it stood; the money was ready to be paid; and the only question was, whether the timber should be given at a round sum, or be regularly surveyed and valued. It was altogether an excellent arrangement; for, although perhaps the price offered was about five thousand pounds less than the real worth of the property, yet it saved Sir William the barbarism of pulling down the Abbey; and that was well worth the money.

These periods of his absence from Northferry, however, were very short. Sir William brought them to a close as speedily as possible; agreed to proposals, which nobody thought he would agree to, with a facility most extraordinary; gave short answers and few words to every one who applied to him on business, and rode back to Northferry as soon as by any means he had scrambled through what he had got to do.

Sir William seemed a changed man; and nobody could tell by what means the alteration had been effected. Most people indeed seemed to like him, and to wonder at the bad reports which had got about concerning him; but the cause of this marvellous change must be explained.

It was a change external, not internal. The man was the same; the demeanour was altered. The same vehement passions were upon him which had always moved him; but their operation had taken a different direction. The first day he had passed at Mr. Tracy's, he had given his arm to Emily, to take her in to dinner, and he had thought her exceedingly beautiful. The high, pensive character of her countenance, the voluptuous beauty of her form, the grace of all her movements, even the coldness of her manner towards himself, had all excited--however opposite in their apparent tendency--first admiration, and then passion. He saw her every day; and, with the uncontrollable impetuosity of his nature, he hurried on, pressing his suit upon her, only restrained from declaring it openly by the extreme brevity of their acquaintance. Every time he beheld her, his heart seemed on fire; every time she spoke to him, her words were enchantment that he could not resist; every time he touched her hand, it sent the blood thrilling through his veins; and day by day, and night by night he drank in draughts of love from her eyes, which seemed to intoxicate and leave him no command over himself. It was, in short, more like the passion of some warm eastern land than of our cold climate; and there was no folly, hardly any impropriety, that he would not have committed to call her his with as short a delay as possible.

Emily, indeed, shrank from his fierce and fiery advances, but as he had yet said nothing, it was impossible to check them as far as she could have wished. Still she retired from his pursuit; but her very hesitation and withdrawal seemed to inspire him with fresh vehemence and ardour; and the strong passion that he felt, all animal as it was, seemed to grow more and more upon him hour after hour. Mr. Tracy saw the whole with some uneasiness; for he saw no sign of his daughter returning the feelings which she had evidently inspired in Sir William Winslow. He was not at all a man inclined to sacrifice his daughter; nor was he indeed one, in any ordinary circumstances, to thwart her inclinations; nor did he feel at all sure, in the abstract, that Sir William was the man he would himself have chosen for her. Not that the latter made himself by any means disagreeable; far from it. The bird plumes his feathers in the eyes of his mate; the tabby cat washes her face, and smooths her fur for the eyes of her companion, according to Pope; and the intensity of his feelings, by the unaffected course of nature, caused Sir William Winslow to display all that was good or bright in his character, all that might captivate or attract. He was witty, he was brilliant, he was gay; and the depth of his passion gave a vigour and profoundness to his thoughts, a figurative splendour to his expressions, which might well have carried away any heart not armed and prepared against him. He was certainly very handsome, too; not that in features or in form he could compare with his brother; but still, when Chandos was absent, one would hardly be found to say, that they had seen a finer looking man.

It was on the seventeenth evening of his stay there, that, with the party I have mentioned, he was seated in the drawing-room, after dinner. He had placed himself as near Emily as he could, but that was not exactly at her side; for she had contrived, by an intuitive skill in the science of defence, to get the old lady on one side of her, and her uncle on the other. Mr. Tracy was talking to the pretty girl who sang, and Horace Fleming--very wretched--was speaking in a low voice to Rose. Rose was charity itself; and somehow, within the last two months, her eyes had become wonderfully sharpened to what was going on in people's hearts. What beautiful eyes they were, when she looked kindly upon one; shining soft and yet bright, like the light of a planet!

What Mr. Fleming had said I did not hear; but Rose replied, "It will be of no avail. He can never induce her to like him."

They were the sweetest words Horace Fleming had ever heard; and with courage renewed he went over, and standing before Miss Tracy, joined in the conversation with quiet grace, which woke a world of fiends in Sir William Winslow's bosom.

Now, there was one curse upon Northferry, proceeding directly from the original sin--the love of the fruit of the tree of knowledge. There was a post from London twice a-day--excellent for commercial men; sometimes good for solicitors; always agreeable to gossiping ladies, young or old; but the greatest annoyance possible in a calm, quiet little society, where all the business or agitation of the day is as well got over at once. The second post at Northferry House arrived about half-past nine; and the moment after Horace Fleming had left Rose's side, the butler entered with a salver, upon which appeared an enormous collection of letters, and a newspaper. Mr. Tracy took the letters, and the General the newspaper. The former apologized for looking at his correspondence, and the latter was besought by Rose to see if any one was dead or married.

Poor girl, she did not know what she asked. She was like one of those who seek to look into fate, and find condemnation in the voice of the oracle.

General Tracy opened the paper, and turned to seek the important part which gives so much satisfaction to all ladies; but as he ran his eye down the columns, it was caught by the words "DUEL AT WIMBLEDON." He was a soldier, be it remembered; so that he might be excused for pausing.

"Why, what is the matter, my dear uncle?" asked Emily. "Are you appointed to the command of the forces in India?"

"No, saucy flower," answered the old officer; "but here is something in which we shall all take an interest, though a somewhat painful one--a duel, Sir William, in which one of our acquaintances has been engaged, with a relation of your own;" and he proceeded to read,--"This morning, at an early hour, a hostile meeting took place, near the old mill at Wimbledon, between Viscount Overton and Chandos Winslow, Esq., younger brother of Sir William Winslow, Bart., of Elmsly and Winslow Abbey, the consequences of which, we are sorry to say, are likely to prove fatal"--Rose turned as pale as death; but her uncle went on--"to the noble Viscount. The cause of quarrel, it appears, would not admit of any apology on either side; and after having in vain endeavoured to effect an accommodation on the field, the seconds, Lord George Lumley and Colonel Sir Henry d'Estragon, measured the ground; and at the first fire, Lord Overton fell, severely wounded. The ball penetrated the right side, about six inches below the clavicle, and is supposed to have lodged under the blade bone, after having traversed the lungs. The noble Viscount was promptly attended to by Mr. G--e, who was on the ground; but after having staunched the effusion of blood, the eminent surgeon advised the immediate removal of the patient to his house in ---- street, for further treatment. After having ascertained that his opponent was not actually dead, Mr. Winslow set out for the continent in a post-chaise and four, which was in waiting, accompanied by Sir Henry d'Estragon; and Lord George Lumley has also judged it expedient to absent himself from London, till the fate of Lord Overton is ascertained. We regret to say that the report in ---- street, is very unfavourable."

"I thought my brother would not be a fortnight without quarrelling with somebody," said Sir William Winslow.

"Indeed, Sir William," said General Tracy, who did not love him; "what made you so prejudge your brother? I have heard him very highly spoken of."

"A poet shall answer for me, General," replied Sir William Winslow; who, though the old officer's words did not please him, was unwilling to take offence at anything said by Emily's uncle;--

"There is a history in all men's lives
Figuring the nature of the times deceased,
The which observed, a man may prophesy,
With a near aim, of the main chance of things
As yet to come to life, which in their seeds
And weak beginnings lie intreasured."

"I judge of my brother by the past, my dear Sir. But it is not for brother to speak ill of brother; and, therefore, I can but say I am very sorry for this affair, especially as Lord Overton is a very popular man in London, and by no means quarrelsome."

"He is not a very popular man in the country," said Rose Tracy, warmly; "and what you have said, Sir William, is surely quite condemnatory enough of your brother, without your adding any more."

"We do not yet know the circumstances," said Mr. Fleming, in a mild tone; "perhaps Mr. Winslow may not have been the aggressor."

"Really Sir, I do not see why you should 'perhaps' the matter," answered Sir William Winslow; "I must know my brother best, I imagine. And I was not aware that clergymen advocated duelling."

"Nor do they, Sir William," replied Fleming; "on that point, both were equally in fault. But the question was, I think. Who was the aggressor in the quarrel which led to so sad and criminal a result? You will excuse me, however, for believing that brothers do not always know brothers best. Brotherly love is not found in all families; and where it does not exist, the judgment is apt to be prejudiced."

"Sir, you are a clergyman," answered Sir William Winslow, with marked emphasis, "and can venture to comment on family disagreements in a way which others could not do."

"I was utterly unaware that there were any," answered Horace Fleming; "and sincerely beg your pardon for touching on a subject which, whatever be the circumstances, must be deeply painful to any right-feeling man. My observation was intended to be as wide and open as the day, I assure you."

"It was somewhat pointed for the breadth you give it," was the other's reply; and turning away with a quivering lip, he crossed the room, and spoke to the pretty little girl, who was seated not far from the small table, where Mr. Tracy was reading his letters by a lamp. That gentleman had not heard a word of all that passed regarding the duel between his acquaintance, Lord Overton, and Chandos Winslow. There was something in the very first letter he opened which took the colour from his cheek; and the second and the third but blanched his face still more. As the half light of the shaded lamp fell upon his countenance, the deep line which had indented itself during the last few minutes between his eyebrows looked like a dark gash, and every furrow of the brow seemed doubly deep. General Tracy fixed his eyes upon him with some anxiety; but Mr. Tracy communicated the contents of his letters to no one; and as soon as Sir William Winslow crossed the room, he rose and left it, carrying his papers in his hand.

When he reached his library, where a light was always burning at that time of night, he sunk into a chair, and suffered the letters to drop upon the floor, murmuring, "Heaven and earth! This is destruction--The North line, too! To be made responsible for debts I had no share in contracting, simply because I let them advertise my name as a director. The Junction down at nothing, and to be abandoned! The Western branch rejected! Why two hundred thousand pounds will not cover it!" and he pressed his hand upon his brow, as if to control the turbulence of thought.

Then he rose and paced the room rapidly, gazing wildly round him at all the pomp and circumstance of wealth that surrounded him, and comparing it bitterly with the future beggary which he saw impending. But ere he had taken more than two or three turns, the door opened, and his brother entered.

"What is the matter, Arthur?" he said. "Something has agitated you terribly."

Mr. Tracy stooped, picked up the papers from the floor, and put them in his brother's hands, with the simple word, "Read!"

General Tracy did read, and his countenance fell for a moment. He instantly recovered himself. "A heavy loss, Arthur," he said; "and lost in a very foolish manner. I like plain, straight forward gaming better than this; but still the affair might be worse. Do not give way after this fashion. We must meet the matter as it can best be met. There is enough between you and me to cover more than this; and you know, my dear Arthur, I have none but you and the two sweet girls--and that little devil of a boy. A hundred a-year he must have; that I have settled in my own mind. The girls must have their fortunes. That must be done; but still the two estates will bear more weight than all these sums; and if not, there is my pay. Two old men do not need much, Arthur; and we shall have enough for a beefsteak and a bottle of wine, notwithstanding."

Mr. Tracy pressed his brother's hand, murmuring, "Oh, Walter, how can I involve you in my ruin? Besides, large sums will be required immediately, or I shall be disgraced."

"Poo, poo!" said General Tracy; "no man is ruined so long as he has a bed to sleep on, clothes to wear, a house to cover him, and food to eat. We shall want none of these things, Arthur. We shall be as rich as Sandy Woodyard, who is reckoned very well to do; and, as to raising large sums, that will be easily done, without any loss of time. But your thoughts are all in confusion with this unexpected stroke. Cast the whole from your mind for to-night; come back into the drawing-room, and do not let either the baronet or the parson see that you are troubled; sleep quietly over the affair, and we will arrange the whole to-morrow. I can raise seventy or eighty thousand pounds at a day's notice. You can double that; and all I can say, my dear brother, is, that, barring a fair provision for the two girls, I care not a rush what becomes of the rest. Besides, some of the shares are worth something. It is not all lost."

"Heaven forbid!" answered Mr. Tracy; "but the actual loss is immense; more than you know, Walter."

"Oh, no! I see it all," replied the General, glancing again at the letters. "But it is not so bad. It will be easily managed. The first sight of bad tidings is always through a magnifying glass. The spectacles will have fallen off your nose before to-morrow; and in the mean time shut your eyes to the whole concern. Come along; the people will think it strange if we are both absent together any longer; and the dear girls will think it strange, which is worse."

Mr. Tracy suffered himself to be led back to the drawing-room; and there, by a great effort, so far conquered the busy and rebellious thoughts within, that his guests did not discover any difference of manner. His daughters did, indeed; and both Emily and Rose retired to bed that night thoughtful and sad; for they were well aware that their father's friendship for Lord Overton was not strong enough for the intelligence of his being wounded to cause the degree of agitation they beheld. Rose, too, had her own particular share of sorrow and anxiety, and her cheek was pale when she arose the next morning, as if she had known little rest during the night.

With Mr. Tracy, the effect of a night's consideration--for it certainly was not a night's sleep that he obtained--was to plunge him into despair. The first blow had been stunning. As not unfrequently happens with corporeal injuries, it had for a time crushed out the full perception of the wound; but when he thought of the immediate pressure, and the future beggary--when he looked all the difficulties and disgraces which surrounded him in the face, as they stared at him through his bed curtains, in the midst of the night, his heart sunk low, low; and his brain had well nigh given way under the anguish of mind he endured. He was up early the next morning, with the letters in his hand, and pen and ink beside him, calculating the full amount of his disaster. It would be tedious to the reader to enter into details or explanations on the subject--how it happened, or by what means it was brought about. Suffice it, that he found his ultimate loss would probably be so large, as to compel the sale of all his estates. That, if still willing to assist him, his brother must sell, or mortgage deeply, the family property; and--a matter of much more immediate concern--that the sum of one hundred and fifty thousand pounds must be raised within a fortnight, to save him from disgrace. He had taken up money largely, which must be instantly repaid; and when he thought of all the tedious processes of the law--the impossibility of hurrying a transaction of such magnitude--the few persons who were capable, or would be willing to lend such a sum without full investigation of the security--the utter improbability of his obtaining it in time, his brain whirled, and in imagination he saw himself torn away from his luxurious home, a beggar, a bankrupt, and a prisoner.

He gazed wildly at the window; his daughter Emily passed across from one green-house to the other--a vision of loveliness. "Better die," muttered Mr. Tracy, with his thoughts all whirling; "better die at once!" and he reached out his hand to the pistols which lay upon the top of the scrutoire. He looked at them for a moment, laid them down beside him on the table, and pressed his hand upon his brow. Someone knocked, and, without waiting for an answer, came in. General Tracy looked at his brother, advanced to the table, put the pistols in his pocket, and rung the bell sharply. "Arthur," he said, "you are not well. We must have the doctor.--Go down immediately to Mr. Woodyard," he continued, when the servant appeared, "and tell him I should like to see him without a moment's delay."

In half an hour more, Mr. Tracy was bled copiously, and found instant relief.

"Good God!" he said, in a low tone, turning towards his brother, who was the only person in the room besides the surgeon and himself, "what was I going to do."

"Now what the devil is all this, Sir," said the surgeon, who had been perfectly quiet, and even tender with his old friend, till he saw that he was freed from the imminent danger which had menaced him, but then instantly resumed his rude familiarity. "You have been about some cursed folly, Tracy, and burnt your fingers. I know you--I know you! Every man has some point on which he is a fool; and the wiser he is on others, the greater the fool he is on that. I can guess what it is; so there is no use of denying it. That infernal blackguard Scriptolemus Bond, was not with you a whole morning for nothing, about a fortnight ago. He has gone to smash; all his bubbles have burst, and he is off to America with all he could collect. Thank God, he did not get a farthing from me, though he tried hard; but I know he took you in to the tune of many thousand pounds; for he told me so, and showed me some of the drafts."

"That is not the worst of it, my good friend," answered Mr. Tracy, in a low tone; "there is not one line in which I have taken shares--and I am sorry to say I have done so to a large extent--which has not fallen almost to the ground."

"Upon my word, you must be a very unlucky fellow, not to have one folly escape without punishment," answered the surgeon. But General Tracy interfered, saying, "There, there, let him alone, Woodyard. He is not in a fit state of health or mind to be railed at."

"Do you suppose you know better than I do?" asked Sandy Woodyard. "You are a conceited old gentleman, upon my word. Stick to your own tools, General. I am determined I will know all about this business; for I must, and will be informed of what is pressing on my patient's mind."

"It is," replied Mr. Tracy, in a slow, thoughtful tone, "that within one fortnight, my good friend, I have to pay nearly one hundred and fifty thousand pounds; and forty-nine thousand pounds thereof within four days, without time to make the necessary arrangements, almost without time for thought. I wrote up to sell shares, to meet the latter sum, at whatever might be the loss; and the answer was that letter, telling me that the shares I mentioned were a mere drug--worth nothing in the market. Is not that enough to press hard upon any man's mind, Woodyard."

"No," answered the surgeon, bluntly, "not unless he be a fool. You've plenty to meet the demand. You may not be as rich as you have been; but you have chosen to have your dance, and so you must pay the piper. As to the forty-nine thousand pounds, you can get somebody to advance it. If nobody else can be found, I will."

"You!" said Mr. Tracy.

"You, Woodyard!" cried the General.

"Oh, yes--why not?" replied the surgeon; "I'm a poor devil; but I have got something, and I have made a little more by these same speculations which have burnt your fingers, Tracy; only you see I never ventured upon any thing that was not sure--I touched nothing that was not going--I did not sow a field that was not ploughed and harrowed. You have nothing to do, therefore, but to let me know the day, and give me a little bill of sale of your personals and timber to the amount advanced, and the money shall be ready. Come, come!--do not lose heart. You will get somebody to advance the other money wanted; and in the mean time, if I were the General, I would run up to London, and look after these shares and scrip. I do not believe a word of some of them not bringing in money yet."

Mr. Tracy pressed his hand for his only reply; but he felt deeply the worthy man's kindness, the more, perhaps, from the blunt way in which it was offered.

"There, now, keep yourself quiet, and all will go well," continued Sandy Woodyard, taking up his hat and cane, and bending his steps homeward. But Mr. Tracy could not do what the surgeon directed. What man of lively imagination can ever keep himself quiet when danger is still impending over him? Who but Washington Irving's Dutchman could ever batten down the hatches, and sleep out the storm. Mr. Tracy felt that the storm was not passed yet. The good surgeon had afforded unexpected relief, it is true; but still the enormous sum to be paid within one fortnight, without any preparation for it, rose up to his eyes like the rock of adamant before the ship of Sinbad the sailor; and he asked himself again and again how it was to be raised, where it was to be found. There was no answer. Nevertheless, he assumed a tranquillity which he did not feel; and assuring his brother that he was better, and his mind relieved of its greatest burden, he went in with him to breakfast.

Rose was pale; but Emily seemed to have had bright dreams, for seldom had her beauty been more resplendent. Sir William Winslow sat near and gazed at her from time to time, with eyes full of passion; and as soon as breakfast was over, he requested to speak a few words with Mr. Tracy alone. That gentleman had not yet got his newspapers, and, to say the truth, was anxious in no light degree to look at the share list; but he courteously acceded at once, and led the way to his library. The conference was long; and when the young baronet came out, his eyes were sparkling and his air triumphant. He ordered his horses instantly, to ride over to Winslow Abbey; but while he waited at the door for their coming, he murmured, "She must be mine--she will never hesitate when her father's safety depends upon it!"

At a furious pace, up hill and down dale, rode Sir William Winslow, to his old family property, half-killing the groom behind him; and as soon as he arrived, he asked if Mr. Roberts or Mr. Grubbup, the law-agent of Lord Overton, had been there.

"Mr. Roberts hasn't been since Thursday last, Sir William," replied Mrs. Garbett, who opened the hall doors; "but the other gentleman with the queer name, is in the drawing-room, waiting for you, Sir."

Sir William strode to the drawing-room, horsewhip in hand, as if meditating mischief; but his salutation of the man of law was, on the contrary, quite condescending; "Well, Grubbup," he said, "I have just heard sad news of Lord Overton and my mad brother Chandos."

"Ay, very sad indeed, Sir William," said Lord Overton's agent; "but I suppose, of course, Sir, you do not take up the quarrel of your brother in a matter of business."

"Oh, certainly not, Mr. Grubbup," replied Sir William. "I do not take up his quarrels at all. But what I wished principally to know was this. How will the transaction between us be affected by the state of Lord Overton. He was not expected to live, I understand?"

"He is better, Sir William, he is better," answered the man of law. "There is every hope of his doing well. But even were it not so, I took a little precaution, luckily, after our last conference, with the approval of Mr. Roberts, which would render the arrangement binding upon his heirs, exors, and admors. I drew up this agreement of purchase and sale, which on Saturday last, not ten minutes before he went to the opera, I got him to sign. Nothing is wanting but your own signature, Sir William, and the transaction is complete."

"With the exception of the payment of the money," said Sir William Winslow; "but that is a very important part, Mr. Grubbup, especially at the present moment."

"But, Sir William," said the agent, "you know the timber--and it is only usual--"

"All very well, my good Sir," rejoined the young baronet, whose eyes had been running over the paper, and who assumed a very decided, not to say domineering tone; "but I see the question of the timber is provided for. It is, by this document, to be taken at a valuation, although I fixed my own valuation before. Let that pass, however; I will not contest that point. In regard to the payment, I am decided: I will sign no paper till I am made sure that, by the fifth of next month, at least one half of the purchase-money shall be paid into my hands. If you do not make me perfectly sure of that, I will dispose of the property at once to some one else. You know I have another offer."

Mr. Grubbup looked amazed and confounded; but Sir William Winslow convinced him he was in earnest, by informing him that he had, in fact, need of the sum of one hundred and twenty thousand pounds, on the day named. The man of law was terribly afraid of losing all the various comfortable pickings, which men of law get out of such transactions, if he did not comply; but, after a little bush-fighting, he found means to satisfy Sir William Winslow that all he desired should be done; and the baronet rode away with a feeling of triumphant joy in his heart, at the idea of soon possessing her who had inspired him with a passion which deserved hardly any other epithet than that of fierce.