CHAPTER XXXVIII.
The next was a busy day with Chandos Winslow. His first occupation was to sell out a sum sufficient to pay the costs of the late trial, as far as he was able to calculate them, from the rough data which he had received. He added thereunto, two hundred and fifty pounds, for his current expenses; and having arranged that affair, and placed the money in his banker's hands, he proceeded to seek the friend who had so ably pleaded his cause. From his house, he was sent to his chambers; from his chambers, to a court of law, where he found him, wigged and gowned, in the midst of a long and laborious argument, which seemed likely never to come to an end. After enduring full two hours, however, the speech was concluded; and Chandos, sending his card, obtained a moment's interview with his friend. Sir---- shook him warmly by the hand, saying rapidly, "Come to me at nine to-night, Winslow: I cannot stay with you now; for I must hear what the gentlemen opposite have to say. Don't eat much dinner; for I shall eat nothing till then."
"At your own house, or at your chambers?" asked Chandos.
"At chambers, at chambers," said the barrister, turning to go back into the court. "I shall not get home till two. Our lives are not easy ones."
It was now about four o'clock; and, with feelings difficult to describe, but to which he was resolved not to yield, Chandos Winslow proceeded to call upon several of his most intimate acquaintances. It required an effort to knock at the first door. The feeling of having stood in the felon's dock, was strong upon him. The uncertainty of the reception he should meet with; the knowledge that, with a mind which: has the slightest tincture of vulgarity--that is to say, with nine hundred and ninety-nine thousand nine hundred and ninety-nine persons out of every million--an accusation, however false, leaves some stain; he felt irritable and impatient beforehand, at the idea of being treated coldly at a moment when he felt that society owed him something, for having inflicted on him undeserved hardships.
Luckily he had chosen well in the person whom he had selected for his first visit. She was the widow of a nobleman who had been distinguished for many virtues himself; and she was mild, kind, and charitable, though not without a certain degree of dignified stateliness, which showed that she felt her high station, without the slightest touch of pride. She received her young visitor almost as if nothing had happened. I say, almost, because there was the least possible difference in the warmth of her reception. It was more cordial, less tranquil, than it might have been under ordinary circumstances. She rose from her seat more quickly, held out her hand, and said, "Oh, Mr. Winslow, is that really you? Well, this is very kind of you, to call upon me so soon. Now sit down, pray, and tell me all about yourself, and what you are going to do; how long you are to be in London, and all."
Chandos was soon at his ease; and he thought, "With some few friends such as this, I can afford to set the general world at nought." About twenty minutes passed very pleasantly; and then he rose to proceed to another house. His reception there was very different: the whole family was cold; and he stayed not ten minutes. Then again, at the next place, he heard the owner of the house, even after he had been admitted to the drawing-room, tell the servant from a neighbouring chamber to say that he had made a mistake, and that his master was out. When the man re-entered to utter the prescribed lie Chandos had his hat on his head, and was walking towards the door: "You may spare yourself, my good man," he said, bowing his head haughtily, "I have heard the whole," and he walked out of the house, never to enter it again.
He made one other call. The lady of the house was at home, and delighted to see him. She talked to him incessantly of his trial, declared that it was the funniest and most delightful thing that had ever happened; and invited him to a ball, where all the great people in London were to be present.
Chandos had no inclination to be exhibited as a felon-lion; and did not promise to go.
At nine o'clock precisely, Chandos was at his friend's chambers, and found him alone, with a table spread for two, in a little dull room. A note-book and some stray papers lay on one side of the table; and the moment after the young gentleman had entered, a servant brought in a tray, with soup and several other dishes upon it, sent from some neighbouring hotel.
"Now, Winslow, sit down," said the barrister, "and we will talk as we eat; for I can afford but one hour for repose and refreshment to-day." The servant uncovered the dishes, and instantly disappeared. The barrister took his place, helped his guest and himself to soup; and between each spoonful, looked at the papers and notes beside him, without apology. As soon as the soup was done, he rang a bell, which was tied by a string to his chair; and while the servant took away the plates, and handed some cutlets to his master's guest, the great lawyer rubbed his temple with one finger, in a profound reverie. The servant then disappeared, without venturing to disturb his master's meditations by presenting the dish; and the next moment the barrister roused himself, saying, "Come, Winslow, a glass of wine, and then I will tell you what you must do. I think you must take a solicitor with you, and go down very quietly into the neighbourhood of Winslow Abbey. The first person you had better see is your good friend, Lockwood. Let him dictate to the solicitor everything he knows regarding certain papers found by Mr. Roberts, at the Abbey. He will do it willingly enough, I am sure. Then you must get hold of a young gentleman, whose relationship to yourself, or connexion with your family, I do not know; but his name is--let me see--Faber."
"Oh! poor Faber," said Chandos; "he is a good young man, but weak; and as to his relationship with me, I believe it is very much the same as Lockwood's."
He spoke with a faint smile, and his friend laughed, saying, "Well then, you must exercise your brotherly influence over him, for the purpose of inducing him to give a full, true, and particular account of all he knows concerning these papers, and of a will, made five years posterior to the one proved, but which has not yet appeared."
Chandos mused for a moment, and the barrister took another glass of wine. "I am afraid," said the former, at length, "that Faber will not be easily induced to speak. He certainly loves me better than he does my brother. He has been with me more, is kind and well disposed; but still his is one of those characters on which the stern and determined work easily, and which may be led to wrong those whom they love best, for the sake of those whom they fear. I have seen him actually shake in my brother's presence; and I do not think he dare utter a word which would offend Sir William Winslow, even if he were at a thousand miles' distance."
"If he is only to be moved by sternness and determination, you must be stern and determined, too," said his friend; "you can be so when you like, I know, Winslow."
"But Faber will never believe I shall prove so to him," answered Chandos: "I may threaten; but he will trust to my regard for him to render my threats of no avail."
"At all events, you must try every means to make him speak," rejoined Sir ----; "for his testimony might be very important. He was present, it seems, when Mr. Roberts found, in a drawer of the library, a memorandum, in your father's handwriting, of his having given the last will, which he made about five years ago, into the keeping of your brother."
"Indeed!" said Chandos. "This is new to me. But if we have not the will itself, I suppose the memorandum will be of little avail."
"Unsupported, of course, it will be of none at all," replied his friend; "but I find that when the memorandum was discovered, Faber showed so much agitation, that those who witnessed it were led to suspect that he knew more of what had become of the will than he chose to acknowledge. At all events, you must try every means with him; and having got all the information you can from those two sources, I would advise you to cross the country to see Mr. Roberts's executor, and endeavour to obtain an inspection of his papers. If amongst them there should be found a copy of a will of that date, though not signed, or a sketch of one in your father's handwriting, and if you can prove that the other will has been lately destroyed, I think--mind, I speak doubtingly--but I think we might do something, by one means or another."
"A law-suit with a brother," said Chandos, musing, "based on an accusation of his having destroyed his father's will, and wronged his brother! It would be a terrible thing!"
"It would, indeed!" replied Sir ----; "but my hope is, Chandos, that we may not be driven to a law-suit, if we can accumulate sufficient proofs to alarm the opposite party. Take some of that Sillery, and do not let what I am going to say startle you. Mark me well, however. You have your brother's life in your hands. As soon as he has time to think, he will perceive, from the course of defence pursued on your trial, that such is the case--that a foundation is already laid, indeed, for building up a truth that would destroy him--that you have nothing to do but to say in the ear of Justice, 'I would not let my counsel defend me at the expense of a brother's life,' and to prove that Lockwood was mistaken for you, in order to render your evidence conclusive against him. These are terrible weapons, it is true; and I would not have you use them even in menace, unless it be established to your full conviction that your brother has destroyed your father's last will, or has concealed it. Then, I think, you will be justified in demanding that right be done you, in terms which cannot be mistaken. But I do not think he has destroyed the will. Men seldom dare to commit great crimes unless under the influence of hasty passion--when lesser ones will serve their purpose. I think the will is concealed; and if we can prove the clauses distinctly, I doubt not, under all the circumstances, a search will be made for it, and it will be found. Look here at a train of evidence that would not be pleasant for your brother to have brought forward in a court, even though you used no menace in reference to the terrible facts within your own knowledge. I am already prepared to prove that Mr. Roberts came over to Northferry to inform you of his having found the memorandum I have mentioned; that your brother was at Mr. Tracy's house at the time; that some one, hearing the appearance of a gentleman, entered the house by the most private entrance, immediately after the murder; that it was not yourself, Mr. Tracy, or his brother; that the only person who could be injured by the tale Mr. Roberts had to tell was Sir William Winslow. Do you not think, Chandos, that he must have a consciousness that there are a thousand circumstances likely to be brought out in any trial, which would render the train of evidence complete against him, and bring the heavy hand of justice on his head, even if you should remain silent? Depend upon it, if he have not destroyed the will, he will speedily find it, as soon as you have collected all the proofs of its having existed, and been in his possession; and if he have destroyed it, and you can show what were its provisions, that he will concede them all, rather than incur a suit which must entail disclosures tending to consequences more fatal. It is on this account that I advise you to go down at once, while he is still absent, and collect all the information you can get. But, in the very first place, you must enter a protest against the sale of Winslow Abbey."
"I understood that it was already sold, and the money paid," replied Chandos.
"Two-thirds of the money have been paid, I hear," replied the barrister, "upon an undertaking, under Sir William's hand, to complete the transfer within a given time. But still the transfer is incomplete; and you must show, by a caveat, that you are not a consenting party, so as to guard against even the semblance of laches on your side. Get your protest drawn up in due form by a solicitor to-morrow, have it laid before counsel for an opinion, and furnish both vendor and emptor with a copy; then set out again upon your voyage of discovery, and let me know the result. Linger not here, fond youth, by the side of beauty; but away, in search of that which, in the present day alone, can unchain Andromeda from the rock. Depend upon it, my dear Winslow, that pretty fable of the lady upon the sea-shore, and the Gorgon-slaying Perseus, has a very unpoetic interpretation. Andromeda is the representative of a fashionable young lady; the rock, the hard state of single blessedness to which her parents chain her, in default of a suitable match; the sea-monster destined to devour her, old maidenism; and Perseus, a rich East-Indian, very bilious, who, with the sword of wealth, slays the monster, and frees the damsel from her chains, to marry her himself. And now let us empty that bottle of Sillery, and have another; for alas! in the life that I lead, I am forced to combat corporal weakness with that which saps corporal strength; and wine versus weariness is the cause I am trying every day."
Chandos Winslow remained till a few minutes after ten, and then proceeded, not to the inn which he had tenanted the night before, but to his new abode in Cork Street. What a contrast! Damask curtains, gay coloured carpets, polished mahogany, shining fire-irons, clean walls, and a bright fire! But the contrast was not greater than between his own mood that night and the mood of the night preceding. The words of his friend had relighted the lamp of Hope, of which the everlasting fire of Vesta was but a faint image.