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

by G. P. R. James

CHAPTER XXII.

The three following days were days of terrible activity; but that was what was requisite to every one at Northferry--even for peace. There was only one who took no part in all that occupied the rest--Emily Tracy. She was totally inactive. She did nothing, spoke little, hardly seemed to think.

Sir William Winslow was all fire and haste. When the news was first communicated to him, that his agent, Mr. Roberts, had been murdered in the grounds of Northferry-house, his manner denoted a severe shock; and when it was added, that the head-gardener, one Acton, between whom and Mr. Roberts there was some unexplained connexion, had been committed for the murder, he seemed to rejoice almost with a fiendish sort of triumph. He declared he would spare no means to bring the fellow to justice--that he would pursue the rascal who had killed good old Roberts, as if he had slain a relation of his own. Then, however, he recollected what embarrassment and annoyance might take place, in regard to all the affairs that his steward had been conducting, just upon the eve of his marriage too; and he rode over to Winslow Abbey, drove to Elmsly, paying the post-boys enormously to go quick. He went hither and thither like lightning; never stayed in any place more than an hour or two; was quick and hurried in his conversation, though sometimes lapsing into fits of intense thought. He drank a great deal of wine, too, at dinner, at supper, even in the morning; but it did not make him tipsy; and he transacted much business in the most rapid manner. Indeed, it was necessary that he should do so; for the third day after the committal of Chandos was the time appointed for the payment of the sums owed by Mr. Tracy, and for the signature of the marriage settlements. The morning of the fourth the marriage was to take place; and Sir William had a-thousand things to do before that event. However, all was done. The agreement for the sale of the Winslow Abbey estate finally signed, part of the purchase-money paid, and received; Mr. Tracy's pressing debt discharged; and the marriage settlements of Emily Tracy and Sir William Winslow marked with the signature of both. Emily's name was written in a fine, clear, distinct hand, every letter as straight and as firm as if it had been a specimen of penmanship. Sir William's, on the contrary, was hardly legible; each stroke running into the other, some big, and some small, with a break here and there, as if the pen, or the hand, had refused to perform its office.

Mr. Tracy was occupied all day, and the part of several nights, in the business of different kinds which had lately accumulated upon him. He had many letters to write, many preparations to make; and he made the many more, the unimportant important. He saw little of his children, except at their meals. Emily's eyes reproached him, and perhaps Rose's still more; for she felt deeply--terribly, for her sister. But Mr. Tracy tried hard to steel himself. He recollected all the conventional cant of "romantic girls," and of "love coming after marriage;" and of "those marriages being generally the happiest where reason was consulted rather than passion." But Mr. Tracy could not convince himself. He had lived too long out of the sphere of the great world for its cold sophistries to have much weight with him. He felt that he was destroying his daughter's happiness, if not affecting her health, and endangering her life; and the only tangible consolation he could apply to his own heart, was found in the reflection, that she must herself have shared in the ruin which her marriage with Sir William Winslow averted.

General Tracy was not at Northferry. Mr. Tracy had, with a cowardice not altogether singular, concealed from his brother the compact between Sir William and himself, till the old officer was in London; and had then written to tell him that Emily was engaged to the young baronet, and to be married immediately. Sheets of paper do not blush, which is a great relief to many who are doing weak, wicked, or foolish things. General Tracy had replied in a letter which Mr. Tracy had only read half through, and then burned, with a shaking hand; but as the day of the marriage approached, and he knew his brother would arrive before it, he became uneasy, irritable, listening for carriage-wheels, and evidently working his courage up for an encounter that he dreaded.

It was not till the day before that appointed for the marriage, however, that General Tracy arrived; and his carriage passed the gate about an hour before dinner. He found his brother, Sir William Winslow, and Rose, in the drawing-room; shook hands with the former and the latter, and bowed stiffly to the baronet. For five minutes he talked of ordinary subjects, mentioned the world of fashion, and the world of politics, talked of the mutations of stocks, and corn, and men's opinions; and then saying, "I have a good deal of news to give you, Arthur, after dinner; but it will keep till then," he rose, and left the room.

General Tracy proceeded not to his own chamber, however; but walked straight to that of Emily, and knocked at the door. The well-known step was heard by her within, and the voice of Miss Tracy instantly answered, "Come in." The maid, who was dressing her, left the room; and the moment she was gone Emily threw herself into her uncle's arms, and wept. "Oh, I am so glad to see you," she said.

"Calm yourself, dear Lily," said General Tracy, "and speak to me two or three words with your own truth and candour. Answer me first one question."

"Stay, my dear uncle," said Emily; "you first answer me one. I am sure you went to London to seek means of relieving my father. He has told me all; and therefore there need be no concealment. What have you done to assist him?"

"But little, my dear child," answered her uncle. "There is every probability, indeed, of many of these speculations rising in importance ere long; but at the present moment, the sale of all the shares would not produce a sufficient sum to meet even the first pressure. Nevertheless, dear Emily, that must not be the cause of your whole happiness for life being sacrificed. I have seen the principal parties concerned; they seem ready to receive an offer I have made them, after having my estate valued; and if, as I fear, this proposed marriage is repugnant to all your feelings, it must not take place."

"After having your estate valued," repeated Emily, in an abstracted tone; but then raising her head suddenly, she added, "my dear uncle, the marriage is not only proposed, but finally settled. I will not jilt any man. I will not ruin my uncle and my father. I will not retract my promise given. Thank you, thank you, dear uncle. Love your poor Emily ever; and your affection and my father's will be my reward."

Emily again cast herself into his arms to weep there; but General Tracy could make no impression, though he tried to shake her resolution. Her fate was fixed; her mind made up. She was not to be changed.

"What if I were to quarrel with, call him out, and shoot him?" thought General Tracy, as he retired from his niece's room to his own. "Why, it would be murder--that will not do." And, sad, angry, and discontented, he dressed, and went down to dinner. He was a gentleman, however; and he carefully avoided every subject which might lead him to show the irritation he felt. He did not, indeed, court conversation with Sir William Winslow; and his words, when any took place between them, were as brief as possible, but perfectly civil. Indeed, when he looked at him, and saw his pale cheek and haggard eye, he felt inclined to pity him. "That fellow is creating his own wretchedness, as well as that of the poor girl," he thought. "What a fool he must be! He sees she does not love--never will love him; and yet he persists. If he must buy an unwilling wife, why the devil does he not go to Constantinople?"

A moment or two after, however, anxious to turn his thoughts from the most painful subject they could rest upon, he addressed Mr. Tracy, saying--"By the way, Arthur, let me hear something more of this horrible event which you just mentioned in your last letter; but which is filling all the London papers, with tales of blood. Is it true, that Acton has been taken up on suspicion?"

"Not only taken up, but committed upon the verdict of the coroner's jury," replied Mr. Tracy.

Sir William Winslow filled the tumbler that stood next to him with wine, and drank it off.

"The coroner's jury must be a pack of fools," said General Tracy. "Really, juries are becoming worse than a farce: a pest to the country. I have not seen a verdict for twenty years that did not bear the stamp of prejudice, falsehood, or idiotcy upon it. There is a regular hierarchy of fools in England, proceeding from the coroner's jury to the grand jury, assisted by all their officers, from the coroner to the chairman of the magistrates. Rose, my flower, you do not seem well. Take a glass of wine with me."

"I do not wonder she turns pale," said Mr. Tracy, "when you call up such a terrible subject again, Walter."

"Well, let us try something better," said the General. "How is Fleming going on? Has he got his house in order, yet? all the great rooms papered and painted?"

"He has been absent for ten days," said Mr. Tracy, who felt at his heart that his brother had not been more fortunate in his choice of a topic this time than before. "He is not expected back for a month."

"I am sorry for that," said General Tracy; "he is the most agreeable parson I ever met with--a gentleman--a man of sense, of feeling, and of talent. Such a man is a great resource in a neighbourhood like this."

Rose raised her eyes imploringly to her uncle's face, then turned them towards Emily, and the subject dropped.

With such a beginning, how could the evening pass?

The next morning, at the hour of nine, Mr. Tracy's carriage conveyed four people, each enduring their own peculiar sort of wretchedness to the parish-church of Northferry. Emily was--or seemed--the least agitated of the whole party.

Sir William Winslow was there before them; and, in a few minutes, he and his poor bride stood before the altar. She was deadly pale; but she shook not, she wept not. She made no responses; but the clerk did it for her; for he was so much accustomed to marrying, and giving in marriage, that he could not refrain from playing the part of bride or bridegroom, as the case might be, whenever he saw or thought the parties were incompetent to play it for themselves.

At length there came something which roused the unhappy girl from the stupor of her misery. The ring touched her ringer, glided up it, making her his with its cold chilling clasp. It was over--the effort was complete--the struggle finished! the die cast! She was the wife of a man she detested! She felt it but for an instant. The next, she was lying like a corpse at her father's and her husband's feet--pale as monumental marble; and, to all appearance, as cold and lifeless, too.

They took her up, and carried her into the vestry; but nought they could do seemed to have any effect in restoring animation. Yet it was evident, that though the swoon was deathlike, it was not death; and Mr. Woodyard was sent for in haste. Sir William Winslow gazed on her with a dark brow and a chilled heart. He felt that she hated him: he knew that he had marred her young dreams of love and joy; that he had made life to her like her own fine frame as it lay there before him--a body without a spirit. A cloud came over him, and snow fell from the cloud upon the fierce animal fire of his breast. As he remained, with eyes intent, and fixed upon her, some one opened the vestry-door, and a voice asked, "Is Sir William Winslow here?"

He turned suddenly round, and after looking at the man who made the inquiry--a man like an ostler or a groom--he replied. "Yes. What do you want with me?"

"Please you, Sir William," said the man, advancing, and tendering a letter, "I was told to bring you this as hard as I could gallop from the town of S----; and I have not been more than two hours from post to post. I was to deliver it wherever you might be."

The baronet took the letter, and as he gazed at the superscription, a contemptuous smile curled his lip. "That will do, my good fellow," he said, without opening it. "I know whom it comes from."

"Ye'd better read, Sir," said the man; "for the lawyer gentleman who gave it me, said it was matter of life and death."

"I don't think so," answered the baronet. But he broke the seal, nevertheless; and the moment his eye had run over the first lines, his countenance changed. He became, if possible, paler than her on whom he had just been gazing. He trembled in every limb. He could not at all restrain it; his whole frame shook.

"Good God! what is the matter now?" cried Mr. Tracy, looking up from his child. "What has happened, Sir William?"

"I must go," said the other wildly. "I must get over at once--I must leave you, Mr. Tracy---leave my bride--my wife. This, Acton--this--this--Heaven and earth, how shall I act?--what shall I do?--He--he whom I--he is my brother--he knows--he is--my brother."

He let the letter drop as he spoke; but instantly picked it up again, and grasped it tightly in his hand. Mr. Tracy and the General, greatly shocked, and feeling for the agitation that they witnessed, though they knew not all its causes, pressed him to go over to his brother at once, leaving Emily to their care.

The young clergyman who officiated for Mr. Fleming, ventured quietly to say--he was of a somewhat strict school--"The marriage cannot yet be considered as complete, Sir; and the ceremony had better be performed entirely again upon another day; for I have not yet joined their hands."

Sir William Winslow gave him a fierce, impatient look, hurried out of the vestry, threw himself into his carriage; and, amidst the wonder and disappointment of the crowd of townsmen, ordered the post-boys to drive to S----.

A moment or two after, Mr. Woodyard came in. The surgeon was an old and dear friend; he was the first person who had held Emily in his arms when she came into the world; his love for her was almost paternal; and the sight of her in such a state, acting on his affection and his peculiar character, induced him in the very first instance to abuse everybody in the room in the most violent and outrageous manner. Her father, her uncle, even the curate and clerk had all some share of vituperation; but the moment the storm had blown over, he applied himself zealously to restore her to consciousness, and succeeded in about half-an-hour. As soon as she seemed capable of comprehending anything that was addressed to her, General Tracy bent down his head, saying, in a low voice, "He is gone, Lily--he is gone, and will not be back for some time."

It was a strange topic of consolation for a bride to hear that her bridegroom had left her; but yet, it afforded to Emily the only comfort she was capable of receiving. She looked round the circle, she saw none but friendly faces, and a faint smile came upon her beautiful lips. Rose pressed her hand tenderly, and in doing so her fingers touched the fatal ring. Without knowing well why--without pausing to consider--acting solely on impulse, Rose drew it gently off, without Emily being conscious of what her sister did. The moment it was done Rose was half frightened at her own act. But she recollected that the clergyman had said, the marriage was not complete, and she internally prayed to Heaven that it might never be rendered so.

A few minutes more, and Emily could sit up; but it was nearly an hour before Mr. Woodyard would suffer her to be removed to Northferry house. Once there, she returned immediately to her own room, with Rose; and an eager consultation followed between Mr. Tracy and his brother, in regard to the embarrassed circumstances in which the family were placed. General Tracy had much consideration for his brother--I might almost call it tenderness. He felt that he wanted vigour of character and power of mind; and he had all his life been accustomed to spare him, from motives of affection and a certain sense of dignity, which always prevented him from triumphing over weakness. In the present case he recurred not at all to the past; but, with his usual cutting decision, he expressed his opinion upon the present and the future.

"The marriage is not complete, Arthur," he said; "and I thank God that it is not--hear me out, my good brother. The clergyman himself has pronounced, that the ceremonies required by the church have not been performed, and we are bound, as Emily's relations, to look upon it as no marriage at all."

"Then the whole will have to be performed over again," said Mr. Tracy; "which will be terribly distressing to the poor girl's mind."

"I never yet heard," answered General Tracy, dryly, "that a man who is going to be hanged objected to a respite, though the hanging might come after all. Emily will have time for thought, aye, and time for decision."

"I do not see that there can be any doubt to decide," said Mr. Tracy; "although, as you say, the marriage may not be complete, yet it has proceeded sufficiently far to be a bar to her union with any one else."

"I dare say she would rather never marry at all," replied the General, "than marry a man she hates. But, at all events, my dear brother, we can have lawyers' opinions on that point. For my own part, I thank God for any obstacle."

"But you do not consider, Walter, the whole of this large sum of money which he advanced in my greatest need, must be repaid immediately, even if we hesitate."

"Damn the money!" cried General Tracy, his impatience getting the better of him. "Did I not write you word, Arthur, that the people who hold the most pressing claims were willing to receive my property in pledge for the payment?"

"But it was then too late," replied Mr. Tracy; "the whole matter was arranged; my word given, and Emily's."

"The whole matter is now disarranged," answered General Tracy; "and if Emily's reluctance, which is self-evident, continues unabated, I tell you Arthur, it is your duty as her father to sell your estates at any loss, to do anything, in short, rather than sacrifice your child. However, I am determined that if there be a possibility of rescuing her, I will do it. The point of law shall be ascertained immediately; and I would rather fight Sir William Winslow a dozen times over, than see our poor Lily as I saw this morning. If I shoot him the matter is settled, and if he shoots me, I am sure enough that she will never have anything to say to the man who killed her uncle."

"Nonsense, nonsense," cried Mr. Tracy, "do not talk of such extreme measures."

"Why not?" demanded the General, "I have seen you going to shoot a much honester man than he is, Arthur, merely to deliver yourself from sudden embarrassment. Do you think I would not do the same, or be shot myself, to deliver that sweet girl from the misery of a whole life?"

Mr. Tracy coloured highly, but did not reply. The consultation, however, as so many consultations do in the world, proved perfectly in vain. The day passed over without the return of Sir William Winslow. General Tracy explained to Emily, first, what had so strangely and unpleasantly called away Sir William Winslow, and then that her marriage was not complete, that he and her father had determined that the ceremony, if performed again at all, should not be renewed for some weeks; and that in the meantime he would take the opinion of some eminent lawyers, as to how far the engagement entered into was actually binding. He asked her for no decision on her own part. He hardly even hinted that she might be called upon to decide; and Emily gladly seized the present relief, and cast the burden of thought upon the future. More than once she looked down at her hand, however, and at length said, in a low voice, "Surely the ring was upon my finger, and now it is gone. Could it be a dream?" General Tracy could give her no explanation, and therefore he held his tongue; but he had the satisfaction of seeing that his niece's spirits in some degree returned during the evening, that from time to time she was even cheerful, although she often fell into deep fits of thought; and that on the whole, her mind was relieved by delay.

On the following morning the post from S----, brought a letter for Mr. Tracy, in Sir William Winslow's hand, the contents of which may tend to shorten explanations. It was very brief and to the following effect:--

"My dear Sir,

"I write with a mind terribly agitated. The horrible situation in which my brother is placed, the doubts I entertain of the result of his trial, the disgrace and shame of such a proceeding altogether, quite overwhelm me; and I feel myself unable to face the world.--I hardly know what I write or what I am doing.--I have determined to quit England till the first scandal of this has passed by. My love for Emily is unabated--will never abate; but I dare not--cannot face all this. I will write again when I can calm my mind, and will return as soon as anything is sure regarding my brother's fate--at present I am half-distracted; but nevertheless,

"Yours ever,

"William Winslow."

Emily was not down, and Mr. Tracy handed the letter to his brother, saying, "Some of our difficulties are removed for a time, Walter."

"A very strange epistle, indeed," replied General Tracy, when he had read it. "I think he is somewhat more than half distracted."

"May I see it?" asked Rose; and her uncle gave her the letter. She read it attentively once--then read it again; and then she thrust it from her, with a shudder.

"What is the matter, Flower?" asked her uncle, as he marked her emotion; but Rose held down her head, with her eyes fixed upon the pattern of the table-cloth, and replied, "Nothing, my dear uncle; but that I do not think that letter is true. It does not seem to me sincere. I think there is something more under it."

"Rose, you are prejudiced," said Mr. Tracy; for weak people are always fond of being very candid. "You do not like Sir William Winslow, and you judge harshly of him. His faults were anything but those of a man wanting in sincerity--he was too vehement, too passionate for that. What makes you think that there is any thing untrue in his letter?"

"Because he never showed the least feeling of any kind for his brother," said Rose. "I do not think all this agitation, all this distraction is natural, unless he is moved by stronger and more personal feelings than either regard for his brother, or fears of disgrace through him. But you must not ask me, my dear father, what I think, what I feel, or why. I have often heard you say, that women have more instinct than reason. God grant that my instinct be wrong in the present instance."

"Rose, Rose," cried her father, "this is really too much, my love. Be more generous; be more candid!"

"Well, papa," she answered, "I may be wrong, very wrong; but it would be a great satisfaction to me to know, if Sir William Winslow ever saw his brother yesterday--if he has taken any measures, or provided any means for his defence."

Rose, to her own horror and dismay, had been suddenly led very near the truth, by the doubts created in her mind by the wild and rambling tone of Sir William Winslow's letter. Two or three facts presented themselves to her memory in an instant, which, if she had not quite forgotten them, had not connected themselves before in her thoughts with the crime which had been committed. She now remembered that while speaking with Chandos by the side of the pond, she had heard the voice of his brother coming towards the very spot where the deed was done; she remembered that there was another voice also speaking in tones not familiar to her; and she also recollected that the sound of both was loud and angry. She dared not express what she thought, without further consideration; she feared to cast an unjust doubt upon a man who might be innocent; but she determined, without the slightest consideration of how it might affect herself, to state all that she knew, if necessary, to Chandos Winslow's justification.

"You shall have your doubts solved this very day, my Flower;" her uncle replied to her last words; "for I will go over to S----, and see our poor prisoner. I like the lad much; I am quite sure he is innocent; and I think with you, that this letter is not written in a natural tone. As soon as I have seen dear Lily, I will have horses, and go."

General Tracy did not fail to execute the intention thus expressed; but it may be as well to state at once, what had been the course of Sir William Winslow, without waiting for the old officer's report. On quitting Northferry, the baronet sunk back in his carriage, and gazed forth from the windows with a straining eye, full of horror and dismay, for nearly a quarter of an hour. Then, with a start, he raised himself, and looked at the letter which he held crumpled up in his hand. He smoothed it out, he tried to read it; but his hand shook so fearfully, that he could with difficulty make out the characters. "You had better quit England as soon as possible!" he repeated. "He is right--he is right!" Then turning to the page, he read--"I will not betray you--but facts may be elicited at the trial of a dangerous kind." "Not betray me," continued the baronet, commenting upon what he read; "to be sure he will to save his own life--I will not trust him--no, no! He is right. I will quit England. Shall I see him first? It might be better, perhaps--No, I cannot, I will not--I must try and be calm, however. People will suspect something. What shall I do with this?" and he looked at the letter. "I wonder how he got them to bring it without breaking the seal?--By the lawyer, I dare say--I must destroy it."

He proceeded to do so, tearing it into very minute pieces. But then he feared that they might be found, and put together again; and some he strewed upon the road from the carriage window, letting piece by piece blow away, each at a great distance from the other.

Some he let fall into the bottom of the carriage, taking care that they should be disunited from the rest, and that they bore nought but the most ordinary words without the context. Some he actually ate. Do not let the reader think it improbable or exaggerated. He actually ate them. When he arrived at the inn at S----, he did not either walk or drive to the prison; but he ordered horses on to the sea-coast, and then entering the hotel, wrote the short note we have already read to Mr. Tracy. In ten hours his feet were no longer upon British ground.