CHAPTER XXXIX.
Those who have remained any time in Dorchester or its neighborhood will know that within a circle of not many miles' diameter around that town, there are many spots to be found as wild and solitary as in any part of the island of Great Britain; on the side of Weymouth especially, there are some scenes in the midst of which one might fancy one's self very far removed, indeed, from the high cultivation which closely surrounds them. In the days of James the Second, when agriculture, as a science, had made very little advance upon the knowledge possessed by the Anglo-Saxons, and when cultivation had spread but slowly under the influence of a great many deterring causes, these solitary spots were, of course, more numerous in all counties of England; and it was upon one of these in Dorsetshire, not very many miles distant from the capital of the county, that was built an ancient, fortified house, dating probably from two centuries before. It was placed upon an eminence overhanging a river, brief in its course, and utterly unimportant till it reached a point about five miles from its mouth, where it widened out into a creek or narrow bay of salt water, which afforded a convenient refuge for fishing-boats. Near a spot where the first considerable extension of the banks of the stream took place, a sort of sandy bar had formed itself, marking the navigable from the unnavigable water, and it was just at this point that the house, or castle as it was called, had been built. I will name the river the Orme; and from it and the sandy bar I have mentioned, the house had derived the name of Orme-bar Castle.
The ground around was covered with smooth, green turf, or short, but rich grass, disposed in easy undulations, and watered by many a clear and beautiful stream, and such a thing as a hedgerow or a wall was not to be seen for some miles round the inclosure of the park. It was a gloomy-looking building too, consisting of tall, wide, irregular masses of masonry, put together any how; and one could easily see from the outside, from the numerous and very much varied windows, and from the irregular distribution of the chimneys about the house, that in searching for any room within, one might have a real journey to go, in order to reach a door hard by.
It was in this curious old building, and amid the solitary scene around, that a little party had met together on the night of Margaret's visit to Hortensia. The kitchen and the hall were well tenanted--better, indeed, than they had been for many a year--for a large household had been transported there from a distant part of the country, and two or three old servants, who had remained for years in the place, were added to those who had freshly arrived. But in a large, curious, old-fashioned hall above, only three persons were seated at the hour of sunset. They were a mother and her two sons, and they grouped themselves together near the window, not to watch the passing away of the western light, but upon business which two of them, at least, considered of no light importance. In the midst, on a tall, high-backed, velvet-covered chair, with a foot-stool under her feet, sat old Lady Coldenham. Her eldest son was on her right hand, looking somewhat listlessly out toward the sea, in a direction where the tower of a little church was just visible over the slope of the ground. His arm was thrown over the back of the chair, his head leaning somewhat on one side, and his whole figure disposed in an attitude of graceful idleness. On the other side appeared his brother Robert, with a very different air. He leaned rather forward than otherwise, with his right hand resting on his knee, and his eyes fixed on his mother, as if watching for some oracular word from her lips.
At length, as the day began to grow dim, Robert inquired, "Shall I call for lights, madam?"
"No," replied Lady Coldenham; "I love this sort of light--ay, and enjoy seeing the stars come out one by one, when darkness resumes her sway over the earth like a powerful monarch triumphing in stern, proud serenity over some weak and glittering pretender who had disputed his sway. Besides, Robert, it is full as well to talk of all we have to notice under the shadow."
She paused, and relapsed into silence again; and then, when the sky was nearly dark, she said, "You have done your part well, Robert; and now we must make sure that the blow goes home. You have lodged him in prison as you promised--but he must die."
"I think you may leave that to the care of the good old lord," replied Robert. "He is as eager for his blood as a hound for the blood of a deer."
"I will leave it to no one with entire trust," replied Lady Coldenham; "too much depends upon him to have any thing risked upon the conduct of a blundering old man, or a heedless, inattentive lawyer."
"I wonder what poor Ralph has done," said Lord Coldenham, breaking silence for the first time during a quarter of an hour, "to make you two so bitterly his enemies. One pursues him like a blood-hound, and the other says he must die."
Lady Coldenham fixed her large dark eyes upon him with a look of angry astonishment; but the young lord had long been growing somewhat restive, and he repeated, "I wonder what he has done, I say--what is his fault, I should like to know?"
"He is his father's son," said Lady Coldenham, with stern emphasis.
"I did not know that that was any greater crime than being one's mother's son, but rather thought it a virtue," said Lord Coldenham, with a light laugh; "as to the father, I don't see much harm in him any more than in Ralph. He is a very good sort of old gentleman--rather pedantic, it is true, but not much the worse for that. Shrews, pedants, and libertines are, I suppose, necessary evils in our state of society; and as I don't approve of persecuting them, I think I had better leave this somewhat intolerant council, and amuse myself elsewhere."
As he spoke, he rose; but Lady Coldenham exclaimed, in a fierce, stern voice, "Sit down, Lord Coldenham!"
"No, indeed, dear mother," replied the young lord, "I can employ myself better. There is Robert, who is peculiarly fond of either sitting or running--which was it you did at Sedgemoor, Bob! I am too active for the one, and too idle for the other; and so, with your blessing, I will walk."
Lady Coldenham eyed him with an expression of anger, surprise, and contempt, which could hardly be described; but the young lord had chosen his part, and, though idle enough in his habits, he was resolute. His mother's look nettled him a little too, and he said, in a cool but determined tone, "In a word, dear lady and mother, I am of age, I think, and master, at least, of my own actions. I do not desire particularly to be master even of my own house, as long as it has got so much better a master in it; but I will not be here consenting to things that I disapprove and dislike, let it cost what it may."
"Hark, you, Coldenham!" cried his mother, as he moved toward the door; "a word in your ear, if you please."
He bent down his head, listening gravely; and the lady whispered something to him, gradually raising her voice till the last words became distinct and audible enough. They were, "And leave you a beggar and an outcast at a word."
"Do it!" said Lord Coldenham, with the most indifferent tone in the world, and quietly sauntered out of the room. Lady Coldenham shut her teeth tight together, and the violent emotion that was going on within might be seen by the close clinching of her beautiful white hands as they lay upon her knee; but she made no comment, and, perhaps, was sorry for the words she uttered. They had not escaped the ears of Robert Woodhall; and he might build upon them some strange expectations. But he was wisely silent; and, after a very long pause, Lady Coldenham resumed the conversation, saying, "Let us think no more of that foolish boy's caprices. You are a rational being, Robert. Tell me what you think of this case. Are we certain of getting a condemnation?"
"Really, I do not know, dear lady," he answered, and then added, with some emphasis, "that must depend upon the judge and the jury."
"They must both be taken care of," said Lady Coldenham, slowly nodding her head. "I will crave an audience of his lordship when he first arrives. He will not refuse me. You must see to the jury, Robert; and if the youth be really guilty, there surely can be no great difficulty in proving him so. Tell me, upon your honor and soul, do you really think he committed the deed?"
"Upon my honor and soul I do," replied Robert Woodhall; and for once in his life he spoke the truth. Nay, more, he carried his frankness further, adding, "But I do not doubt that it was all done fairly. Ralph, I have heard, was reputed the best fencer in his college, and the best quarter-staff man in all Lincolnshire. Three or four passes would soon settle the matter with Henry, without any foul play. That letter of Henry's, too, written with his absurd generosity, clears away all suspicious circumstance. That is the worst point of the case against us for juries are not fond of condemning men for duels where no unfairness is proved."
"Can not the letter be suppressed?" inquired his mother.
Her son shook his head; and she went on to ask, "Is it in Lord Woodhall's hands?"
"No, in the Duke of Norfolk's," answered her son; "he gave the old lord a copy, but he kept the original."
"This is frightful!" said the old lady, in an under tone. "He will escape us yet: the only chance is with the jury, Robert. There must be two or three sturdy men found among them who will starve the others out and get us a verdict--Hark! there are horses' feet! that must be the old lord himself. He promised to bring a great lawyer with him, who will enter into our views. But mind, be not too rash--speak not too plainly, boy; for these men sometimes take fire when their own image is shown them in too perfect a glass, and they assume a fresh honesty but to show us that our thoughts of them were calumnious."
"No fear of my being too rash," replied Robert Woodhall. "Besides, I shall apply myself principally to this business with Margaret. It seemed to me the old lord wavered before her steadiness; but I will not be kept in suspense. I will know at once whether he intends to keep his oath or not."
"There is business on hand," said Lady Coldenham, very gravely, "more serious than any pretty painted puppet in the world."
"Ay; but the estates, mother!" said her son.
"True," she answered, "true--the estates;" and, at the same moment, Lord Woodhall entered the room, followed by a man in dark clothing, whom he presented to Lady Coldenham as Counselor Armitage.
The conversation was led at once to the predominant subject in the thoughts of all; and was discussed for some time, principally by Lord Woodhall, Robert, and Lady Coldenham, who stated briefly but distinctly the new-born fears of failure which her son's previous words had suggested.
The lawyer, who had listened attentively, but had spoken little, now interposed, saying, "Do not be afraid, Lady Coldenham; we will take care that justice shall be done; and if, through the weakness of a jury, it could not be done in one way, it would be done in another. It matters little for the true cause of justice what are the means employed so that the end be favorable to herself. We will reach him, depend upon it. Let him attempt to conceal the facts if he will and if he can. The case of the slaughter once clearly proved against him, we must overcome the scruples of the jury--and, if not, it does not much matter."
"Does not much matter?" said Lady Coldenham, with a stare; "I do not understand you, sir."
"I am instructed for the crown, Lady Coldenham, and that is the reason why a great number do not understand me," replied Mr. Armitage, with a slight smile at what he imagined to be a jest; "all I can say is, you shall be satisfied, and this good lord too. The young man has evidently committed a great crime, and it shall not be the foolish lenity of a jury that shall save him."
"No, I trust there is no chance of that," said old Lord Woodhall. "He killed my son, and I will have justice. Now I have found him, I will never leave him till I have justice. I am an old man to take such a journey as this from London to Dorchester in three days; but the spirit that brought me down here will support me to follow him all over the world till I have justice upon his head."
"There will be plenty to second you, my noble lord," said Robert Woodhall. "I, for one, can not rest satisfied so long as this man is with me on the earth; for it is very clear to me, now, that I never shall have the love of my promised bride so long as he lives."
Lord Woodhall was silent; and Robert Woodhall, finding that his indirect mode of proceeding produced no reply, asked boldly, "If she persists in her refusal, what do you intend to do, my lord?"
"Keep my word, young man," replied the old lord, dryly; and then turning to Lady Coldenham, he inquired, "Where is your eldest son, madam? I thought to find him here."
"Oh, never mind him," replied Lady Coldenham. "He is in the house; but can see, with his idle whims, he is more likely to spoil all than to help in any thing. He is better out of the way. As to Margaret," she continued, "you must let me see her, my good lord. Women can often find means of persuasion when men fail."
"See her if you like, Lady Coldenham," replied the old lord, "but it will make little difference. I have pledged my word, and it shall be kept. She must obey. But as to your son, I am sorry he goes not with us in this business. What is the reason?"
"Oh, none," replied Lady Coldenham; "old affection for this young man, I believe. Depend upon it, he is better out of our councils; and now, sir," she continued, turning to Mr. Armitage, "will you explain to me clearly how the case stands, what are its chances, and what remains to be done to make chances secure? Remember, I am accustomed to deal with lawyers, and will not be put off with ambiguities."
She had hardly uttered these words in a stern, masculine tone, when a loud voice--rich, and deep, and full--was heard, saying, "Beware! Once more I tell you, Catharine, beware!"
The three gentlemen looked round, for the speaker seemed to be in the room but no one was to be seen; and Robert's voice; soon called attention another way, as he exclaimed, "Good God! my mother has fainted."
It was long before Lady Coldenham could be brought to herself; and for a time those who surrounded her thought she was dead, so still and breathless did she lie, and so cold did her hands become. Lord Coldenham was sent for in haste; but he could not be found; and the only intelligence that could be obtained regarding him was, that he had been seen speaking to a tall old gentleman in the gate-way, and that shortly after he had ordered his horse and ridden away.
The attempts to recall Lady Coldenham to life at length proved successful; but she was in no state to continue the conversation, and the party separated, Robert Woodhall promising to visit his noble relation on the following day.