But Charles Hatfield is not satisfied with what he has already devoured—for we can scarcely use the word read:—his curiosity to know more has become insatiable;—and guided by the hints and the observations occurring in the narrative of the murder, he refers to an earlier page in that volume, in order to obtain a full and complete insight into the trial and condemnation of Rainford—that Rainford whom he had loved so well!
The whole particulars were given in detail and with accuracy,—the robbery of Sir Christopher Blunt—the capture of Rainford by Dykes and his myrmidons in Lock’s Fields—the trial—the condemnation—and the execution!
Charles read—read on with horrified feelings which often threatened to get the better of him;—but there was one point in the evidence which rivetted his attention. Dykes, the officer, in explaining the mode in which the highwayman had been taken into custody, used these words:—“When I and my people gained admittance into the house in Brandon Street, the prisoner was in bed with his mistress, a Jewess.”
“Then,” thought Charles Hatfield immediately, “Tamar was not his wife! Ah! that is clear enough—although the narrative of the murder would imply otherwise. But the only inference that can be drawn from this discrepancy, is that the reporter of the assassination was delicately and judiciously sparing of the feelings of the Medina family—whereas, in the former case, it was absolutely necessary to record the evidence just as it was given. Poor Tamar!—no wonder that thy name is never mentioned now by those who once knew thee—no wonder that even thy very sister, the Countess of Ellingham, seems to have forgotten thee!”
Thus, Charles Hatfield suddenly adopted the belief that Tamar was not Rainford’s wife. Neither, indeed, was she at the time when Rainford was arrested by Mr. Dykes; and it never struck the young man that the matrimonial ceremony might have been performed between the period of Rainford’s resuscitation and the murder of the Jewish lady. For when the nuptial blessing was performed in Paris, Charles—being then a mere boy—was not present at the proceedings which took place as privately as possible in the British Ambassador’s Chapel. As for his suspicion that the Countess of Ellingham was ashamed to breathe the name of Tamar,—Oh! the reader may judge how erroneous was that belief! In her heart of hearts did the generous Esther treasure the image of that dearly-beloved sister;—and if neither herself nor her noble husband ever breathed her name, it was through kind feelings towards Mr. Hatfield and motives of delicacy in respect to Georgiana. But Charles, being as yet ignorant that his father and Rainford were one and the same person, could not possibly suspect the necessity for the exercise of such kind feelings on the one hand or such delicacy on the other.
“And thus,” murmured Charles to himself, as he closed the book which had made such marvellous and horrifying revelations,—“and thus Thomas Rainford was a highwayman! The good—kind-hearted—generous man who loved me, was a felon—a criminal: he passed through the hands of the public executioner! Oh! my God—what dreadful things have I this night learnt!” he exclaimed aloud, pressing his hand to his forehead. “But how came this Thomas Rainford to have the care of me?—how was it that my parents could have left me so long in his hands—or at his disposal? Oh! no wonder—no wonder that Mr. de Medina and Esther should have charged me, when first they left me at school, never to mention the name of Rainford! And now how many gaps in the earliest portion of my reminiscences are filled up,—that absence of Mr. Rainford for several weeks, during which period I pined after him—that constant weeping of Tamar—then the removal to Mr. de Medina’s house, and the sudden revival of joy which Tamar experienced there. But—a highwayman—a felon—a criminal! Oh! what awful mysteries envelop all this matter still! For the Earl of Ellingham was intimate with Rainford—and it was said, I remember, that at Mr. de Medina’s death he left to this same Rainford a large fortune. A fortune to whom?—to the seducer of his daughter—to one who had passed through the hands of the public executioner! And Lord Ellingham was intimate with the man who seduced the sister of his intended wife;—and Esther was friendly likewise with him who ruined that sister. Gracious God! all this is most unaccountable—so unaccountable, that I am lost and bewildered! But most mysterious—ten thousand times the most mysterious of all these incidents, is that one grand fact to which I cannot but recur,—how could my parents have left me in the care of a highwayman! ’Tis true that he received the royal pardon: but that pardon——Ah! the Register says that it was procured through the interest of Lady Hatfield—that Dykes, an officer of justice, was present at the time when that lady announced——Just heavens! a light breaks in upon my soul——Oh! no—no——and yet that resemblance——May God have mercy upon me!”
And the young man, groaning bitterly—bitterly, in the anguish of his spirit, fell back in his chair—covering his face with his hands.
Yes—a light had indeed broken in upon him, elucidating a terrible mystery in a terrible manner! Lady Georgiana Hatfield had procured the royal pardon:—Lady Georgiana Hatfield must therefore have had strong reasons thus to exert herself in behalf of a convicted felon, who had passed through the hands of the hangman, but had been recalled to life and restored to the world in some wondrous manner. But of what nature were those potent reasons? Naturally did it strike Charles Hatfield that love must have been the cause;—and when he recollected the resemblance which existed between his own father and that Thomas Rainford who had once been his friend and protector, it flashed to his mind that he in whom Lady Hatfield had shown such tender interest—even to the compromising of her fair fame in the eyes of the world,—he for whom she had so far stepped aside from the precise course of female delicacy as to implore the royal pardon,—he it must be who was her husband!
Yes—yes: it was now as clear as the sun at noon-day:—Mr. Hatfield and Thomas Rainford were one and the same individual,—and he—Charles Hatfield—was the son of a highwayman who had been tried—convicted—and ushered through all the ignominious ordeal of the scaffold!
For several minutes the young man sat motionless—crushed, stupefied, astounded by the appalling truth which he had elicited from his fatal investigations into the past:—for several minutes it must have been a mere balancing of chances whether he should awake from that dreadful reverie to the light of reason once more, or suddenly start up a howling, hopeless maniac!