CHAPTER XIV—THE BEGINNING OF THE END.
Col. Lamb. Hold, sir! not so fast; you can’t pass.
Dr. Cant. Who, sir, shall dare to stop me?
Col. Lamb. Within there! [Enter Tipstaff.
Tipstaff. Is your name Cantwell, sir?
Dr. Cant. What if it be, sir?
Tipstaff. Then, sir, I have my lord chief justice’s warrant against you.
Dr. Cant. Against me?
Tipstaff. Yes, sir, for a cheat and impostor.
—Bickekstaff.
To-morrow brought with it to Lester Vane a long tête-à-tête with Mr. Wilton. Neither Flora nor Mark were visible to him, and Mr. Charlock had gone to London.
During this interview he learned, to his dismay, the whole of Colonel Mires’ proceedings, as Mark had that morning at his request detailed to his father all that had occurred in reference to the abduction of Flora. He learned the particulars of Chewkle’s murderous attempt, and that, in both cases, Harry Vivian had been the hero who had saved father and daughter.
It was information of a startling and a grave kind to him. He was quite enough master of woman’s character to comprehend how securely such acts would establish Vivian in Flora’s heart, and of human nature to know that if Wilton’s stumbling-block—pride—could be removed, he would, in all other respects, delight in Vivian as a son-in-law.
For, although angry and irritated with him for what he considered the presumption of aspiring to his daughter’s hand, yet Wilton never failed to speak of him in all respects as in a high degree worthy his regard and esteem. Lester Vane, therefore, saw that Vivian was his great obstruction, and that he must be cleared from his path before he could himself make the least advance.
He determined, upon reflection, to speak in high terms of him to Wilton, especially to Mark or Flora if he had the chance, and to congratulate Hal himself if he happened to meet with him, though it cost him an apology for his former insolence. He resolved, and wisely, to be governed in all he did by the form circumstances might take, and, without attempting to control them, to guide them into the direction he wished them to pursue. Above all, with grating teeth, he resolved to be effectually rid of his rival; not by the vulgar means of knife or poison—there were other ways of destroying him than that. He hoped to slay his moral character, and that he decided should be his first move when the right moment came to set it in motion.
Old Wilton had to attend at the Town Hall of a neighbouring borough to appear against Mr. Chewkle, and to give his evidence before the magistrates respecting the murderous attack he had made upon him.
He was aware that he should have to meet there Mr. Henry Vivian. To expatiate upon his timely interposition in his favour, to laud him for his pursuit of Colonel Mires, and the rescue of his daughter. He felt as he meditated on this that he ought to be grateful to him, and to display it; but then the exhibition of a generous warmth on his part might raise hopes he was most anxious to repress. So he was bewildered as to the part he ought to play.
Then, too, he was feverish and petulant; he missed Lotte’s gentle attentions.
Ah! in truth he sorely missed her.
From the moment she had quitted him nothing seemed to have gone right. He missed her every-ready offices, always performed so exactly as he wished them to be; he missed her soft voice, which had such power to soothe and allay his peevish fretfulness; and he missed her gentle smile, which had never failed to gladden his heart, and dispose it to a generous sympathy with the world and all whom it contained.
Never since her absence had he missed her so much as on the morning he had to face the fatigue of giving his evidence on the examination of Chewkle. He was so sure he should have been prepared to undergo the exertion by her admirable arrangements, and he was so convinced that she would, by her presence, have sustained him throughout his meeting with Vivian. But he had to do it all without her; for very obvious reasons he declined Flora’s offer to accompany him. He felt assured there was no advantage to be derived from giving her the opportunity of seeing young Vivian, if she did not speak to him—she had, in fact, seen him too often as it was.
So, accompanied by his son Mark and Lester Vane, he went to the Town Hall.
But ere he departed from his library he formed a design respecting Lotte—one he purposed keeping to himself until he could put it into execution.
He made a firm resolve to be no more placed in the predicament in which he felt himself to be that morning.
And so he reached the Town Hall, which was thronged with curious spectators. The attempt on Wilton’s life had been noised all over the county, and the gentry and farmers for miles round came to hear the examination.
They came to see, too, Mr. Wilton. His history was well known, as well as his understood successful claim to the Eglinton estates. Great curiosity was evinced to see the rich landed proprietor who had lived for years little better than a beggar in London.
Three was a somewhat anxious desire on the part of the fair sex, too, to have a peep at the young gentleman who had saved Mr. Wilton’s life. Report had declared him to be the very handsomest of fine young fellows; that Miss Wilton had fallen passionately in love with him, and was to be married to him in a month; that she had selected her trousseau, and was looking up her bridesmaids.
There was a very general morbid curiosity also to gaze on Mr. Chewkle.
Mr. Chewkle, whose race was run—Mr. Chewkle, who had possessed such faith in having the luck which was “all.” He possessed it no more: it had deserted him now. He knew it, and looked into the future with a vacant stare and blank despair.
When first made prisoner and incarcerated, he forwarded a letter to Mr. Grahame, in which he briefly stated that events had proved untoward, and called upon him to hasten to release him by some means from his dilemma.
No answer was returned to his epistle.
He wrote again, intimating that, unless his employer made his appearance, revelations would be made.
Still no answer. Chewkle was devoured with sickening anxiety, and dropped a line to his passionately attached friend Jukes, asking him to call upon Mr. Grahame, and wake him up. He gave him a few hints to use which would be likely to terrify the proud man, as coming from a stranger, and he signed himself “Old Chewk.” But Jukes was a rat who skulked from a sinking ship, so he burned the letter, and swore to himself that he had never received it.
Chewkle grew desperate at being thus deserted, and he gave Mr. Grahame, as he said, “one more chance;” in another and last epistle, he spoke out very plainly. He alluded to incitement to murder, of the forgery they had together committed, and he ended by informing Mr. Grahame that if he did not proceed instanter to “do the thing that was right,” he should make a clean breast of all. “And if I am lagged for life,” he said, “you shall go with me, even if we should be in the same gang, and chained together up to our buzzums in water, until one of us turns up his toes.” This more expressive than elegant epistle met with no better fate than the others.
Mr. Grahame was then where no missive or threat of Mr. Chewkle could reach him. Mr. Chewkle hoped against hope until the last moment; then he determined to give up Mr. Grahame’s name, and request of the authorities that that gentleman might be taken into custody. He did so on the morning of the examination, and was then informed that Mr. Grahame was dead, and also that the contents of his notes had been carefully perused before they had quitted the prison-doors.
Chewkle listened to this announcement with a spasm of agony. His future was before him—penal servitude for life, without a hope of escape.
So, when he appeared at the dock with haggard face, bloodshot eyes, shaggy brows, and stubbly beard, people in court shrunk back, and believed him quite capable of the crime with which he was charged.
The examination extended to no great length. Mr. Wilton, who acted the patrician with consummate art, gave his evidence in a somewhat stately and rambling manner; but Vivian, whose looks realised all the expectations of the fair owners of the many bright eyes turned upon him, recounted his share in the transaction with a clear conciseness and a modesty which elicited encomium from the counsel for the prosecution, and a compliment from the magistrates. Other evidence was produced; and Mr. Chewkle—who, under the advice of his solicitor, said nothing, and nothing exculpatory had he to say—was fully committed for trial at the next assizes, which, however, were not due for some two or three months to come. Mr. Chewkle was, therefore, consigned to gaol to await that period; and Mr. Wilton, attended by his son and Lester Vane, returned back to Harleydale Hall.
They did not encounter Mr. Vivian. He was nowhere to be seen—though Mark had looked for him, and Lester Vane too—until he was called upon to give his evidence, then he suddenly rose up in the vicinity of the witness-box, as if by magic, performed the duty required of him, and retired, to be no more visible to the eyes which searched for him that day.
All the way from Harleydale to the Town Hall, Mr. Wilton had been mentally occupied by him. He considered himself slighted—he, so wealthy, holding now such a position—he should be at least deputy-lieutenant for his county before long—and for this Vivian, this boy, not to appear before him and express—-well, Mr. Wilton could not define what sentiments Hal ought to have delivered himself of; he rested with feelings irritated and annoyed at his absence.
He let his feelings at last betray themselves. Mark looked at him with surprise.
“What, sir!” he said, curtly, “did you expect Mr. Vivian to hunt you out to present himself to you, hat in hand, and thank you for the honour of having been permitted to save your life, and Flora from worse than death.”’
“Ahem! Mark, you presume!” rejoined his father, fiercely.
Mark made no reply; and the rest of the journey home was made in silence.
Flora, sure that she should hear all that had transpired from Mark, kept her room on the plea of indisposition—a just one; for she, too, was feverish, excited, and certainly indisposed to meet Lester Vane, and to bevexed by his incessant stare and his unpleasing attention.
Old Wilton, on reaching Harleydale, again missed the face of his little pet-nurse. His house seemed a desert without her. His room seemed gloomy without the sunshine of her eyes or the music of her voice. He said nothing, but he speculated upon her condition.
“She is a young lady in reduced circumstances,” he thought. “I will make this a home for her. Flora will be married and away from me. Mark, among the splendid beauties of an elevated circle, will soon forget the artful sempstress who inveigled herself into his affections—he does not speak of her now, a good sign. He will marry, and have an establishment of his own. Then, then, I will place my little pet to preside over my household; I shall have all my wishes consulted, and all my requirements attended to. I will make an excuse to go to London. Flora knows her address, and I will go to her, and make short work of it. I am weary of this loneliness.”
He, however, wanted not an excuse to go to London. He was electrified by receiving a letter from his solicitor, who informed him that he had been served with a notice from a new claimant to the estates of the late Eglinton, and who was at once about to prosecute his claim, He advanced his title as a lineal descendant from an elder branch of the family, and, upon referring to the genealogical tree, the solicitor said he feared his claim was only too well founded. He, however, begged Mr. Wilton to come to London at once, and confer with him upon the course to be adopted in this singular and unexpected turn of affairs.
Wilton read and re-read this letter a dozen times. What! was the cup of grandeur to be dashed from his mouth while yet sparkling and bubbling on his lips. New claimant of an elder branch of the family! the very notion made him perspire; for he had at once a dim remembrance that Nathan Gomer had mentioned that fact, but had suggested that the descent was broken, or had disappeared, he could not now recollect, beyond that his singular little friend had assured him there was no occasion to fear any interposition from that quarter.
Yet here it was.
Upon an impulse, he swallowed humble pie, and wrote off to Nathan Gomer, asking him to come down at once to Harleydale, for he much needed the services of his well-tried and proved friend once more.
His letter was returned to him unopened.
What did this mean?
Who, after all, could Nathan Gomer be?
Another letter arrived from his solicitor, more urgent than before, calling for his immediate presence in London, and he had no alternative but to comply with its appeal.
He conferred with Mark, adopting a different manner and language towards him to that which he had lately used, and his son announced his intention to accompany him to London; as Flora could not well be left behind, it was decided that she should go with them too.
Mr. Wilton was, perforce, obliged to inform Lester Vane of the change in their arrangements; but he was warmly requested to make the house in Regent’s Park his own, as it were, while they remained in town.
The change did not suit Vane; he had several private reasons which rendered a return to London especially inconvenient; but he could only submit to the alteration, and offer to journey with them to the great metropolis, which offer Mr. Wilton accepted readily—-it was one which was not a little distasteful to Flora.
Once again their dwelling, adjoining Grahame’s, was tenanted by them, and, with no small pleasure, by two of the family. By Flora, because coming to London was to be where Hal dwelt—to breathe the same atmosphere with him—to be within reach any moment of his presence—to be within sound of his voice, within the beams from his eyes—to feel that she was under the shadow of his protection, and that his glance hovered over her path wheresoever she went—to preserve her from danger, and guard her from insult.
To Mark, the change was delicious, for he was near to Lotte; near to where he might, could, would, should, must see her again, to reason with her, combat her prejudices, and make a lady of her whether she would or no—do her principles a violence that he might, for so long as he should live, prove to her how dearly and devotedly he loved her.
Mr. Wilton’s interviews with his legal adviser, successively taking place day after day, were the reverse of satisfactory to him. He felt the estates he had so much coveted, and the near possession of which had so lifted him out of himself, slipping rapidly out of his fingers.
The new claimant, who seemed to be animated with a vindictive feeling against Wilton, bore the name of Eglinton. He pushed on his claim with all the speed of which the law would admit, and without omitting an opportunity or advantage it gave him. So clear at last did his case appear that Wilton’s own solicitor suggested an arrangement between the parties, by which the enormous expense of going into Court might be avoided.
At first, Mr. Eglinton refused any meeting, and insisted upon prosecuting his full right to the whole of the property; but he deferred the meeting for a fortnight—proceedings being, by mutual agreement, suspended during that period.
In the meanwhile, Lester Vane was a constant guest at Wilton’s residence. He came early in the morning, and seldom left until he could with decency no longer stay.
As Vane was the guest of his father, Mark could not interfere; but he gave that guest very little of his society, notwithstanding, the latter exerted himself with all his cunning to establish himself on a better footing with him. Nor did his well-dissembled conduct to Flora, his quiet hints in favour of Vivian, his deference to her wish, and his careful abstinence from even a show of love-making to her advance him in her good opinion; while, strange enough, old Wilton began to tire of him. He was so enwrapt in the disputed claims to the property he had so fully believed to be his, that it became irksome to him to have to keep up a conversation with Vane on subjects which possessed no kind of interest for him.
One sunny morning, as Vane was seated with Mr Wilton in his library, the servant of the latter brought in two cards upon a silver salver, and handed them to him. He looked at them, and with a sudden flush mounting to his cheeks, said—
“Show them in.”
Two gentlemen immediately afterwards entered the room, and Lester Vane rose to bow to them, as he heard Mr. Wilton say—
“Mr. Riversdale, Mr. Vivian, the Honorable Lester Vane.”
Lester almost fell back in his seat—not that he cared to meet Hal, but he had an instinctive dread of encountering Hugh Riversdale.
The latter had bidden him beware of their third encounter. It had now come to pass; what would be its result?
He clenched his hands firmly, and set his teeth together, but sought to make his face wear a cold, passionless expression.
Mr. Wilton motioned to his visitors to be seated. The eyes of both fell glittering upon Lester Vane; but they made no remark. They took their seats; and Mr. Wilton asked to what he had the honour of attributing the visit of Mr. Riversdale. He added, with a somewhat gracious manner—
“I rather anticipated the pleasure of seeing Mr. Vivian before this. I should have called upon or written to him, but I had not his new address.”
Vivian bowed, but made no reply.
“Mr. Wilton,” said Mr. Riversdale, “you are well acquainted, as a matter of course, with the unhappy circumstances connected with Mr. Grahame’s family; I need not, therefore, allude to them. I have sought you, sir, with a twofold purpose; firstly, to inform you that, as the husband of the late Mr. Grahame’s eldest daughter, I have taken upon myself the task of arranging her father’s affairs. I am aware that all his property is deeply mortgaged, and that he was largely indebted to a gentleman named Gomer, who still holds in possession the next house, and all it contains. Mr. Gomer is, I believe, the mortgagee, and I wish to ask a favour of you”——
At this instant, Lester Vane rose to leave the room, as though the business, being evidently private, it became him not to remain and listen.
Hugh Riversdale rose up too, and, with a stern look and voice, said——
“Be seated, sir. You are one of the objects of my visit here, and I cannot permit you to depart until I have stated it.”
Lester Vane shrugged his shoulders, and reseated himself with an air of nonchalance that he was far from feeling.
What was coming?
Hugh Riversdale continued speaking to Mr. Wilton.
“I am given to understand, sir, that you possess considerable influence with Mr. Gomer!” he said, “and I am here to ask you to bury whatever feeling of animosity you may have entertained for the deceased Mr. Grahame, and to prevail upon Mr. Gomer to meet me, with a view of so arranging his claim that something may be rescued out of the wreck for his son, and for his youngest daughter, Evangeline. In granting me this favour, you will be exhibiting that nobleness of spirit and disposition which distinguishes a Christian gentleman, and which I, on good authority, believe finds a home in your breast.”
Mr. Wilton gave a gulp.
The want of nobleness of spirit had lost him the friendship and countenance of Gomer.
Clearing his throat, he said—
“I sympathise most deeply with the misfortunes of Mr. Grahame’s family. Unhappily between us both a deadly feud existed, and Mr. Grahame fell in the struggle. If I can in any way repair or alleviate the evil which has fallen like a destroying thunderbolt upon his house, command me; but, I grieve to say, I now possess no influence over Mr. Gomer, if I ever did—in truth—I—a—there is a difference between us just now and we do not meet. I am sorry, therefore, I cannot help you in the quarter you wish; in any other I shall only be too happy.”
Hugh Riversdale thanked him warmly, and said—
“I may yet require your services, and I shall avail myself of them without fear.”
“Or favour,” added Wilton.
Making a suitable acknowledgment, Hugh then fixed upon Lester Vane a fierce glance of hatred, and addressing Mr. Wilton, while he pointed to the former, said—
“I now, sir, come to the second purpose of my visit. It identifies itself with that person seated by your side.”
Wilton turned with surprise, and looked first at Vane and then at Riversdale.
The face of Lester Vane was blanched, otherwise it exhibited no emotion whatever. A slight smile of defiance only curled his upper lip.
“He is a suitor for your daughter’s hand, and under your promise of its bestowal upon him?” commenced Hugh.
Wilton, with elevated eyebrows, assented.
“Sir, he is the son of a lord. Granted. But it is fit you should know that his father has for years lived abroad.”
“I am aware of that,” exclaimed Wilton, sharply.
“Are you also aware that it is because he cannot show his face to his creditors here in England; are you aware that your intended son-in-law is worse than a beggar; that he is far beyond his depth in debt, that he has already raised money upon your daughter’s expected dowry?”
Lester Vane’s face grew whiter, and his lips trembled. Hugh—keeping his bright eye fastened upon him—went on—
“Are you conscious, Mr. Wilton, that the Honorable Lester Vane is a blackleg, a sharper, with cards and false dice—a debauchee—a scoundrel—who, while he was professing the warmest attachment to Miss Wilton, strove, by the most infamous proposals, to ruin the daughter of the man at whose house he had been received with cordial hospitality—that he is a wretch so contemptible that words fail to express his true character? Are you aware, sir, that such is the man you have honoured with a place beneath your roof, and to whom you are eager to entrust the future happiness of your child?”
Mr. Wilton placed his hands to his forehead, bewildered.
He turned to Lester, and in a choking, gasping voice, he said—
“What—what have you to answer to these tremendous charges?”
“That they are, from first to last, false!” answered Vane, striving by a mighty effort to retain a cool self-possession; “wholly, abominably, maliciously false! The truth of the matter is, Mr. Wilton, some time—long before I saw your sweet daughter—the lady, now the wife of that fellow, betrayed a preference for me, which is the secret of”——
“Scoundrel! dare to breathe one word respecting that lady through your foul lips, and, notwithstanding Mr. Wilton’s presence, I will fling you through yon window down to the place beneath.”
“Mere vaunting braggadocio!” returned Vane, with a tremendous effort to appear cool. “Mr. Wilton, I shall commence an action of libel against this infernal slanderer; that will be my best answer to his lying-assertions.”
“There—there should be some proofs adduced to support such terrible charges,” observed Mr. Wilton to Hugh Riversdale, who was labouring under the most painful excitement.
“I am prepared to substantiate many of them by the very clearest evidence!” exclaimed Hal, producing a small packet of papers.
“A disinterested witness, truly!” exclaimed Vane forcing a laugh. “A concocted scheme, as you may perceive, Mr. Wilton; surely you are not prepared to condemn me upon such an infamous machination as this?”
The door at this moment opened, and Nathan Gomer entered, followed by a sturdy looking man.
He pointed to Lester Vane.
“There is your man, officer!” he exclaimed.
Lester Vane uttered an exclamation of fright; he darted from his chair and made for the open window. The height was something, but he paused not to think of it, and leaped out to the ground below.
“Villain! you shall not thus escape my rightful vengeance!” shouted Hugh Riversdale, and dashed after him.
The officer, however, sprang upon him, and seizing him by the collar, detained him.
“Hold, sir!” he cried; “there is a man below to prevent his escape. Besides, he must have broken his limbs, if he has not his head.”
Gomer stood watching excitedly the movements of Vane and Hugh, at the elbow of Wilton. The latter, with a sudden faintness, clutched at Gomer’s arm.
“Support me, or I shall swoon!” he exclaimed.
“No!” said Gomer, brusquely.
He pushed Hal towards him, adding—
“Here is the proper person.”
Mr. Wilton, almost insensible, sank on to the breast of Harry Vivian.