Charles Tyrrell; or, The Bitter Blood. Volumes I and II

by G. P. R. James

Mr. Driesen stared, as well he might; for Sir Francis had been, as usual when his son was absent, particularly affectionate in his mention of him since Charles had gone to Oxford; and not one single word had been said up to that moment which could afford, even to his penetrating sagacity, just cause to imagine that Sir Francis Tyrrell had discovered any new cause for offence in his son. Rapid was Mr. Driesen in all his calculations, and one of his modes of proceeding was instantly to suffer a vivid imagination to produce every possible and probable cause for any mysterious circumstance which presented itself, and then to apply to his judgment, seldom found wanting in accuracy, to select the most probable from all the causes thus produced.

Thus, in the present instance, he thought, "Charles has been kicking this young Hargrave at Oxford; he has refused to fight him, according to my advice; he has written to Lucy Effingham to tell her he is in love with her, or he has written to his father to tell him the same thing; or else he has got himself into some devilish scrape by his fiery temper, which his father, of course, will never forgive, being so lamblike himself. Well, if the old gentleman do but keep his word and adhere to his resolution, which he is very likely to do, it will deliver me from many a difficulty, out of which I don't see my way. However, I must do my best at present to endeavour to persuade him not to do the very thing that would be the most beneficial to me; in the first place, because I really do not want to injure the boy; and in the next place, because that's the very way to make Sir Francis adhere to his resolution, if the youth is really in the wrong."

Acting accordingly upon this determination, Mr. Driesen applied himself, in the first place, to learn from Sir Francis Tyrrell what was the cause of this sudden fit of indignation with his son. For a time the baronet was uncommunicative; but, by one means or another, Driesen wormed out of him the fact that Charles Tyrrell had been engaged in a duel with young Hargrave, and that the whole business between him and their fair neighbour at the manor-house was known. Mr. Driesen, however, could arrive at nothing more; for Sir Francis did not and would not specify from whom he had received his information. Nor did he himself feel quite sure of the facts, or to know the particulars.

His friend, then, in pursuance of his resolution, set hard to work to convince him that, even taking it for granted that the whole was true which he had heard, he ought to overlook his son's fault, promote his marriage, and applaud the duel. In the first place, however, he found Sir Francis Tyrrell's whole opinions in regard to duelling suddenly, but not the less completely, changed. He had on former occasions declared a thousand times that fighting duels was one of the greatest modern improvements; that it was very true the bravest men of antiquity knew nothing of such a practice; but he added, it was simply because such a thing as a gentleman was then uninvented; that the discovery of that biped required duelling as a natural consequence; and that it was absolutely necessary, as society was constituted at present, to have the means of holding more than the mere law over the heads of personages who might be inclined to forget civility.

Now, however, he was as eager on the contrary side of the question, and advocated boldly all the adverse arguments. Duelling was the most stupid and absurd practice that it was possible to conceive. The man who called another out, as well as the man who received such a call, was nine times out of ten an arrant coward. The very principle of the matter was cowardly, as well as absurd; and he had hoped, he said, that his son would not have shown himself to be so great and lamentable a fool.

As Sir Francis had never been famous for his consistency, Mr. Driesen did not attempt to throw in his teeth, otherwise than by a slight sneer, his former opinions upon the same subject; but in regard to Lucy Effingham, he pointed out to Sir Francis that he had really no right to complain of his son falling in love with so beautiful a person, when he himself had brought them together for the very purpose.

In answer to this, Sir Francis Tyrrell said, grinning at him all the time with a degree of spiteful scorn,

"Now you think that a very excellent argument, Driesen, don't you; and you call yourself a philosopher and a logician. What right have you to suppose that I am angry with him for falling in love with Lucy Effingham? I am not angry with him for that, in the least. I think it quite natural, and what I expected and wished; but what I expected and wished also was, that my son should make me, in the first instance, acquainted with his intentions and purpose, and not clandestinely seek the hand of a person whom he might have obtained openly and straightforwardly; but openness and straightforwardness are not a part of his character, sir, to his father at least; and his father will teach him that he is not to be contemned and made a fool of with impunity. He shall learn better, whether he likes it or not; and though the lesson may be a painful one to inflict or to receive, I shall not hesitate to give it. And now, Driesen, I will tell you something more," he continued. "Do not let me hear any more of these arguments, for I know you are reasoning against your own conviction, by doing which you will nor serve my son at all, and may make an unpleasant difference towards yourself."

"I wasn't reasoning against my conviction, Tyrrell," said Mr. Driesen, grinning at him in return; "But I was certainly reasoning against my own interest, which is what a man seldom does in the world, let me tell you. However, henceforth I shall hold my tongue upon the subject. If you choose to leave your money away from your son, I don't see why I shouldn't have it as well as another; and, to tell you the truth, if you thought fit to do so, and could manage to die within a rational time, thirty or forty thousand pounds would be very convenient, as indeed a less sum would, for that rascal, Swearum, has called in his mortgage, and threatens to foreclose. He tells me, too, he could arrest me for interest if he liked, and I rather suspect that he tells me true."

"He sha'n't do that, Driesen. He sha'n't do that!" replied Sir Francis, who was, as we have said, a really generous man in regard to pecuniary matters. "But I will go down directly to the manor," he continued "and ascertain what truth there is in the news I have heard. I have sent for the young scoundrel home already, though I dare say he is by this time expelled from the University for this glorious beginning of life which he chooses to make."