Ralph Clavering; Or, We Must Try Before We Can Do - William Henry Giles Kingston

The two young men were at the Hall for the early part of the Christmas vacation, just as they had left College. After it they proposed making a tour in the East. Snow covered the ground and a biting north-east wind blew out side, while all within was cheerful and bright. A large party staying in the house were assembled in the dining-room; the cloth had just been removed and the young collegians were receiving the congratulations of their friends at their success at the University, when the butler entering whispered to Mr Clavering that a man desired to see him immediately on important business. Desiring that the man might be shown into his study he apologised to his friends and hurriedly left the room.

On entering the study a tall thin man stepped forward—“It’s a long time since you have seen me, Squire Clavering, but maybe you may remember the gipsy Arnold,” said the stranger. “You and yours acted kindly towards me and mine, and I have ever since been wishing to do you a service in return. I knew that the occasion would some day come. It has arrived. You have long been anxious to find the woman Duffy. She is in the neighbourhood, and I suspect on her death-bed. If you hasten to her you may yet be in time to take her depositions, as she alone is able to settle who is your rightful son and heir.”

Fortunately a brother magistrate and Mr Clavering’s lawyer were staying in the house. Ordering a carriage to be got ready, he sent for them, and, without delay, accompanied by Arnold, they set off to the cottage where Mrs Duffy was to be found.

The old woman was in bed and evidently very ill. At first, when told why they had come, she was greatly alarmed and refused to say anything, but being soothed and assured that no injury would be done her, she expressed her readiness to say all she knew. Mr Clavering, who had hitherto been so calm, now that the painful mystery was about to be cleared up, could scarcely restrain his feelings. As she spoke the lawyer, unobserved by her, wrote down her words. The description of a life of crime is not edifying. Avarice, the eager desire for money, had been the incentive which urged her on from crime to crime. By a bribe she had been induced by the wicked brother of a gentleman of property in the north of England to assist in carrying off his son and heir, and not knowing what to do with the infant, she had committed it to the charge of Dame Hobby, leading her by further falsehood to suppose that it was the heir, lately born, of Clavering Hall. Part of the money she had received from the uncle she had remitted regularly to the Dame for the boy’s support. She asserted most positively that Ralph Clavering was truly the child, born to Mr and Mrs Clavering, and that no change had been effected to her knowledge and belief.

Mr Clavering uttered an ejaculation of thankfulness when he heard this, and his brother magistrate warmly congratulated him. The lawyer rubbed his hands, exclaiming—“This other affair will, however, give the gentlemen of the long robe a nice supply of occupation for the spring months. I know the gentleman, and believe every word; he’ll fight it out to the last. Really if all people were honest, it would be hard work for barristers to find support.”

The trial predicted by the lawyer took place; and, thanks to Mr Clavering’s purse, it was brought to a successful issue for the interests of Ralph’s friend.

As Sir Harry Olcotte, the owner of many broad acres, the latter never forgot that he had once been simple John Hobby, while Ralph Clavering had reason to bless the day which aroused him from his state of self-conceit and self-indulgence, and which made him feel the necessity of self-exertion and self-command.

It may be satisfactory to some readers to know that Lilly Vernon, not many years after the events recorded, became Lady Olcotte; that Arnold the gipsy and all his family settled down near them, and became respectable members of society; and that old John Hobby and his dame were placed on one of the best farms of the estate, and that the Steward, in the most unaccountable way, always forgot to call for their rent.