CHAPTER XXV.
We will go back, if it pleases the reader; for fortunately, it happens, that, in a work of this character, one can go back. Oh, how often in human life is it to be wished, that we could do the same! What deeds, done amiss, would then be rectified! What mistakes in thought, in conduct, in language, would then be corrected! What evils for the future avoided! What false steps would be turned back! What moral bonds shackling our whole being, would not then be broken! I do believe, that, if any man would take any hour out of any period of his life, and look at it with a calm, impartial, unprejudiced eye, he would feel a longing to turn back and change something therein: he would wish to say more, than he had said--or less--to say it in a different tone--with a different look--or he would have acted differently--he would have yielded--or resisted--or listened--or refused to listen--he would wish to have exerted himself energetically--or to have remained passive--or to have meditated ere he acted--or considered something he had forgotten--or attended to the small, still voice in his heart, when he had shut his ears. Something, something, he ever would have altered in the past! But, alas! the past is the only reality of life, unchangeable, irretrievable, indestructible; we can neither mould it, nor recall it, nor wipe it out. There it stands for ever: the rock of adamant, up whose steep side we can hew no backward path.
We will turn back to where we left Doctor Miles and Beauchamp. Issuing forth from the church, and, passing round Stephen Gimlet's cottage, they found the worthy clergyman's little phaeton standing by the two horses which Beauchamp had brought from Tarningham Park. Orders were given for the four-wheeled and four-footed things to follow slowly; and the two gentlemen walked forward on foot, the younger putting his hand lightly through the arm of the elder, as a man does, when he wishes to bespeak attention to what he is going to say.
"I have been looking at those monuments with some interest, my dear doctor," said Beauchamp, after they had taken about twenty steps in advance; "and now I am going to make you, in some degree, what, I dare say, as a good Protestant divine, you never expected to become--my father-confessor. There are several things, upon which I much wish to consult you, as I have great need of a good and fair opinion and advice."
"The best that it is in my power to give, you shall have, my young friend," answered Doctor Miles; "not that I expect you to take my advice, either; for I never yet, in the course of a long life, knew above two men, who did take advice, when it was given. But that is not always the fault of the giver; and, therefore, mine is ever ready, when it is asked. What is it you have to say?"
"More, I fear, than can be well said in one conversation," answered Beauchamp; "but I had better begin and tell a part, premising, that it is under the seal of confession, and therefore----"
"Shall be as much your own secret, as if it had not been given to me," said Doctor Miles; "go on."
"Well, then, for one part of the story," said Beauchamp, with a smile at his old companion's abruptness; "in the first place, my dear doctor, I am, in some sort, an impostor; and our mutual friend, Stanhope, has aided the cheat."
Doctor Miles turned round sharply, and looked in his face for a moment; then nodded his head, as he saw there was no appearance of shame in the expression, and gazed straightforward again, without saying a word.
"To make the matter short, my good friend," continued his companion, "my name is not Beauchamp at all, nor any thing the least like it."
"Nom de guerre," said Doctor Miles; "pray, what may the war be about?"
"Of that hereafter," said Beauchamp--"for I shall still continue to call him by the name which he repudiated. You have seen, that I have been somewhat anxious to purchase this Moreton Hall property, and am still anxious to do so, though I have received a little bit of news on that subject to-day, which may make me very cautious about the examination of titles, &c. This intelligence is, that the ostensible proprietor is not the real one; your acquaintance, Mr. Wharton, having become virtually possessed of the property, perhaps, by not the fairest means."
"Humph!" said Doctor Miles; but he added nothing further, and Beauchamp went on.
"Poor Mr. St. Leger Moreton," he said, "was by no means a man of business, an easy, kind-hearted, somewhat too sensitive person."
"I know, I know," answered Doctor Miles, "I was well acquainted with him; and if ever man died of a broken heart, which is by no means so unusual an occurrence as people suppose, he did so."
"I believe it," answered Beauchamp; "but, at all events, he was not a man, as you must know, to ascertain, that he was dealt fairly by. His son, I am sorry to say, was willing to do any thing for ready money--I say any thing, for I do not know that act to which he would not have recourse for any object that he sought to gain."
"You seem to know them all thoroughly," said Doctor Miles, drily; and he then added in a warmer tone, "I will tell you what, my dear Sir, this Captain Moreton is one of those men who make us ashamed of human nature. Born to a fine estate, the son of an excellent woman and amiable man, though a weak one, he went on corrupting himself and every one else, from boyhood to youth, and from youth to manhood. He is the only man I have ever known without one principle of any kind, or one redeeming point. There is but one thing to be said in his excuse, namely, that his great aunt, old Miss Moreton, who went to Scotland, and left him a small property there of about a thousand a year, which he dissipated totally in eleven weeks after he got it, spoiled him from his infancy, pampered, indulged, encouraged him in the most frightful manner. Even his vices became virtues in her eyes; so that there is not much marvel that he became a gambler, a débauchée, a duellist, and a scoundrel. People may consider that his courage and his talents were redeeming qualities, but I look upon them as none. They were only energies, which carried him on to deeper wickedness and infamy. He is now, I believe, a common sharper and swindler."
"I have let you go on, doctor," said Beauchamp, "because you have not said one word that is not just; but yet I must tell you, that this gentleman is my first cousin, and, unfortunately, heir to my estates and name."
Doctor Miles halted suddenly, and looked at his companion with some surprise.
"This takes me unprepared," he said; "I never heard of his having more than one cousin, namely, the present Lord Lenham; and he, I understood, was travelling in India for pleasure--a curious place to go for pleasure--but all men have their whims."
"It was not exactly a whim that led me thither, my dear doctor," said Beauchamp; "from the time I was twenty-one years of age up to the present hour, I have been a wanderer over the face of the earth, expiating in bitterness of heart one early error. I have not time now, and, I may say also, I have not spirits at the present moment to enter into the long detail of my past history. Let it suffice for the present to say, that a species of persecution, very difficult to avoid or bear, made me for many years a stranger to my native country. I visited every part of Europe and America, and then thought I would travel in the East, visiting scenes full of interest both from their novelty, in some respects, and from the vast antiquity to which their history and many of their monuments go back. As I found that all my movements were watched for the purpose of subjecting me to annoyance, I thought my residence in India a favourable opportunity for dropping my title and assuming another name, and have ever since gone by that of Beauchamp. During these wanderings my income has far exceeded my expenditure; a large sum of money has accumulated, and, on my return to England, I was advised to invest it in land. My attention was first directed to this estate, which I am desirous of purchasing, by finding a letter at my agents from my cousin Captain Moreton, expressing great penitence for all that has passed, professing a desire to retrieve his errors, lamenting the loss of the family property, and asking for a loan of five thousand pounds.
"I hope you did not give it him," cried Doctor Miles. "His penitence is all feigned; his reformation false; the money would go at the gambling-table in a week. I am not uncharitable in saying so, for I have had the opportunity of ascertaining within this month, that the man is the same as ever."
"So I found on making inquiries," rejoined Beauchamp, "and consequently I refused decidedly. This refusal brought a most insolent and abusive letter, of which I took no notice; but having received intimation that the man is married, I made up my mind to the following course: to purchase this property, and, if he have any children, to make it the condition of my giving him pecuniary assistance, that he shall give up one of them to be educated entirely by myself. Having insured that all shall be done to make that child a worthy member of society, I would settle the Moreton estate upon it, and thus, at all events, leave one of my name in a situation to do honour to it."
"A kind plan, and a good one," said Doctor Miles; "but yet people will call it a whimsical one, and wonder that you do not marry yourself and transmit your property and name to children of your own."
A bright and cheerful smile came upon Beauchamp's face.
"Hitherto, my dear doctor," he said, "that has been impossible. The obstacles, however, are now removed--at least, I believe so; and, perhaps, some day I may follow the course you suggest, but that will make no difference in regard to my intention. If I have children of my own, they will have more than enough for happiness, and having conceived a scheme of this kind, I never like to abandon it. I will therefore purchase this property, if it can be ascertained that Mr. Wharton's title is perfectly clear; but perhaps you, as the clergyman of two parishes here, can obtain proofs for me, that all the collateral heirs to the estate, under the entail made by Sir Charles Moreton, are extinct beyond all doubt. Under those circumstances, the sale by my uncle and his son would be valid."
"Wharton would not have bought it without he was sure," said Doctor Miles.
"The sum actually paid was very small," replied Beauchamp, in a peculiar tone, "all the rest went to cover a debt, real or pretended, of Mr. Wharton's own, but here we are at the gates of the park, and so I must bring our conference to an end. To-morrow or the next day I will tell you more of my personal history, for there are other subjects on which I must consult you. Do you know who this is riding up so fast?"
"A fool," said Doctor Miles; and almost as he spoke, a young, fresh-coloured man, dressed in a green coat and leather breeches, and mounted on a splendid horse, with a servant behind him, cantered up, and sprang to the ground.
"I don't know--ah--whether I have the honour of speaking to Mr. Beauchamp--ah," he said, in a self-sufficient tone.
Beauchamp bowed his head, saying, "The same, Sir."
"Then, Sir--ah--my name is Granty--ah--and you see--ah--I have been referred to you--ah--as the friend of a certain Captain Hayward--ah--in reference to a little affair--ah--between him and my friend Harry Wittingham--ah--whom he threatened to horsewhip--ah."
"If he threatened," answered Beauchamp, in a calm tone, "he is a very likely man to fulfil his words--but I think, Sir, we had better speak upon this subject alone, as Captain Hayward has put me in possession of his views. This is my friend, Doctor Miles, a clergyman."
"Oh, yes, I know Doctor Miles--ah," said Mr. Granty, "a very good fellow, aren't you, Miles--ah?"
"No, Sir, I am not," answered Doctor Miles; "but now, Mr. Beauchamp, I will leave you, as you seem to have some pleasant conversation before you;" and shaking Mr. Beauchamp by the hand without any further apparent notice of what he had heard, Doctor Miles walked to the side of his carriage and got in, honouring Mr. Granty with the sort of cold, stiff bow that a poker might be supposed to make if it were taught to dance a minuet. But Doctor Miles had noticed all that had passed, and did not forget it.
And now, dear reader, we will put our horses into a quicker pace, leap over all the further conversation between Mr. Beauchamp and Mr. Granty, and also an intervening space of two days, merely premising that, during that period, from a great number of knots on the tangled string of events, neither Mary Clifford nor Isabella Slingsby had any opportunity of speaking to Mr. Beauchamp for more than two minutes in private. Those two minutes were employed by Miss Clifford, to whose lot they fell, in telling him, with a hesitating and varying colour, that she very much wished for a short conversation with him. Beauchamp was surprised, but he answered with courtesy and kindness, and wished her to proceed at once. Sir John Slingsby was upon them the next moment, however, and the matter was deferred.
Thus went the two days I have mentioned, but on the morning of the third, just about half-past five, when every body but skylarks are supposed to be asleep, Mr. Beauchamp and our friend Ned Hayward entered the small meadow just under the trees by the palings of Tarningham Park, on the side next to Tarningham, near the spot where the river issued forth into the fields on its onward progress. They were followed by a man, carrying a mahogany case, bound with brass, and a gentleman in a black coat, with a surgical air about him; for strange human nature seldom goes out to make a hole in another piece of human nature, without taking precautions for mending it as soon as made.
Beauchamp took out his watch and satisfied himself that they were to their time, spoke a few words to the surgeon, unlocked the mahogany box, looked at some of the things it contained, and then walked up and down the field with Ned Hayward for a quarter of an hour.
"This is too bad, Hayward," he said, at length; "I think we might very well now retire."
"No, no," said Hayward, "give him law enough, one can never tell what may stop a man. He shall have another quarter of an hour. Then if he does not come, he shall have the horsewhipping."
Ten minutes more passed, and then two other gentlemen entered the field, with a follower, coming up at a quick pace, and with heated brows.
"Beg pardon, gentlemen--ah," said Mr. Granty, advancing; "but we have had the devil's own work--ah--to get the tools--ah. My friend Wittingham was knocked down by a fellow--ah--that he was sending for cash, so that I had to furnish--ah--"
"Never mind all this," said Beauchamp, "you are now here, though you have kept my friend waiting. We had better proceed to business at once, as I have had a hint that from a slight indiscretion on your part, Sir, in mentioning this matter before a clergyman, inquiries have been made which may produce inconvenient results."
Mr. Granty was somewhat nettled; but neither Beauchamp nor Hayward attended to any of his 'ahs;' the ground was measured, the pistols loaded, the two gentlemen placed on their ground, and then came the unpleasant "one--two--three." Both fired instantly, and the next moment Harry Wittingham reeled and dropped. Beauchamp thought he saw Ned Hayward waver slightly, more as if the pistol had recoiled violently in his hand than any thing else; but, as soon as his antagonist fell, the young officer ran up to him, stooped and raised his head.
The surgeon came up directly and opened the wounded man's coat and waistcoat as he lay with his face as pale as ashes. At the same moment, however, there was a cry of "Hie, hie," and turning round, Beauchamp saw the poor little pot-boy, Billy Lamb, scampering across the field as hard as he could go.
"Run, run," cried the boy; "there are the magistrates and the constables all coming up--run over by the style there; I brought the chaise to the end of the lane.
"I can't go," said Ned Hayward, "till I hear what is to come of this."
"You had better go," said the surgeon, looking up; "it does not seem to me to be dangerous, but you may get into prison if you stay. No, it has shattered the rib, but passed round. He will do well, I think. Run, run; I can see the people coming."
Beauchamp took Ned Hayward's arm and drew him away. In two minutes they had reached the chaise and were rolling on; but then Ned Hayward leaned back somewhat languidly, and said,
"I wish, Beauchamp, you would just tie your handkerchief tight round my shoulder here, for it is bleeding more than I thought, and I feel sickish."
"Good Heavens! are you hurt?" exclaimed Beauchamp, and opening his waistcoat, he saw that the whole right side of his shirt was steeped in blood.