Rank and Talent; A Novel, Vol. 1 (of 3)

by William Pitt Scargill

“He did not conduct himself as your advocate did, Master Philip; he did not attempt to convert a court of justice into a bear-garden, or degrade the dignity of his profession by playing the buffoon to make boobies laugh. Mr. Markham is a man of good sense, and I think his conversation would have been of service to you: though he is a young man, he is very extensively informed.”

“I have not the least doubt of it,” replied Philip; “I am only sorry that I was so unfortunate as to be out of the way when he was here. I shall be more fortunate I hope another time.”

That was a lie; but dependants must lie if they would not lose their places. The Hon. Philip Martindale recollected the time when he was under no necessity of saying the thing which was not, when he was independent but of his profession; but then he was not called the honourable, then he had no rank to support or dignity to keep up. It was really mortifying and distressing to him that those very circumstances to which he had looked with hope and pleasure, and from which he had anticipated an accession to his happiness through the gratification of his pride, should become the means of annoying him so keenly where he was most susceptible. The dilemma in which he was placed was grievously perplexing. Turn which way he would, mortifications awaited him. There was the daughter of a retired soap-boiler on one side; there was the son of a country shopkeeper pestering him on the other. To go back to his profession was quite out of the question. To marry rank and fortune too was not in the compass of probability. Oh, how perplexing and troublesome it is that such perpetual encroachments should be made upon persons of rank; so that notwithstanding all the care and pains which they take to avoid it, they are perpetually brought into contact with the commercial cast. Most deeply did Philip Martindale feel this inconvenience, but he could find no remedy for it. He had however one consolation, in the thought that he was not alone in his sorrows. He was acquainted with others who carried their heads much higher than himself, who yet suffered the convenient degradation of commercial affinities.

“Well, well,” said the old gentleman, “I am sorry that Mr. Markham is gone; and I fear we shall not see him again very soon.”

This was no subject of regret with the Hon. Philip Martindale; he was glad to hear that he was not likely to be soon annoyed by an introduction to a man of such equivocal rank as Horatio Markham. But seeing that his opulent relative was very much pleased with this stranger, he thought it might be agreeable if he made farther inquiries; he therefore asked, how it happened that Mr. Markham had made so short a visit. To his inquiries he received for answer, that an express had arrived calling the young barrister to London, and offering to his acceptance a highly respectable legal situation in one of the colonies. For this information Philip was thankful; and finding that there was no danger of being compelled to realise his profession, he began to speak very highly of the young barrister’s moral and intellectual qualities, and to express in still stronger terms the sorrow he felt at not being able to have the pleasure of his acquaintance. Cunning as old Mr. Martindale in general was, he was so far deceived by these protestations, that he was put by them into high good humour, both with himself and his relative; and then he went on to talk about Richard Smith and his niece. This, however, was a topic not altogether agreeable to Philip; but the young gentleman so far succeeded in explaining that affair, that Mr. Martindale was ready to accept the explanation. He then told Philip that Mr. Markham and he had visited the cottage; and so communicative and good-humoured was the elder Martindale, that he even repeated, as far as he could recollect, what took place at that visit, and how he had cautioned the young barrister not to lose his heart.

While this discourse was going on in the cottage, the town of Brigland was agitated to its very centre by a tragical event which had occurred at old Richard Smith’s cottage. Multitudes of idle people were running from place to place, full of dreadful news of a murder that had been committed in the course of the preceding night. Almost every one had a different story to tell; and the affair lost nothing of its horror and mystery by being transmitted from one to another. Mr. Denver, as in duty or in habit bound, brought the tidings to Mr. Martindale at the cottage. The story, as related by the good-humoured perpetual curate, spoke of poor old Richard Smith as having been murdered by the gipsies, and of his niece being carried away nobody knew where. Upon cross-examination, however, it was elicited that Mr. Denver had acquired his information by a very circuitous route; for he had heard Mrs. Price and Mrs. Flint both at once telling a different version of the same story to Mrs. Denver, who, while those two ladies were speaking narratively, noisily, and contradictorily, was herself also talking exclamatively and interrogatively. The ladies who communicated the event to Mrs. Denver had received their information also from compound sources, but both were satisfied that they had received their intelligence from the best authority; and in order to prove that they were both rightly informed, they both of them talked very loudly and very rapidly.

Mr. Denver must have been a very clever man under such circumstances to have made out any story at all; and he was a very clever man in such matters, and very much experienced in carrying and collecting intelligence: indeed, the mode above stated was that in which he usually acquired his knowledge. Practice gives great facility. But it must be acknowledged, notwithstanding all Mr. Denver’s accuracy and dexterity, that there were in his narrative some errors. It was not true that Richard Smith had been murdered; and it was not true that his niece had been carried away by violence or otherwise. These were the only two errors in the whole account. Much more however was reported, which Mr. Denver did not relate; and that which he did not relate was the part to which was most especially applicable that pathos of look and exclamation with which he introduced his narrative. This part of the story unfortunately was not true; we say unfortunately, because it is really mortifying to the multitude when investigation and inquiry deprive them of the richest part of a most horrible story. It was not likely that Mr. Denver should mention this part of the report when he saw Mr. Philip; for it was to that gentleman that it referred.

The report was, that Richard Smith had been murdered by some ruffians who had been employed by the Hon. Philip Martindale to carry off the niece of the poor old man. There was mention made of a fierce-looking military man, who was to all appearance a foreigner, who had been seen lurking about Brigland Common, and conversing with the gipsies that had but recently made their appearance there; and one person actually saw this foreigner enter the lane where old Smith’s cottage stood. All this part of the tale was very properly and very considerately omitted by Mr. Denver, who was a very candid man; and who thought that if it were true, it would in proper time transpire; and that if Mr. Philip had employed ruffians to carry off the young woman, he might have his own reasons for it.

At the hearing of this very serious story, the two Martindales expressed their horror and astonishment; and Philip immediately asked Mr. Denver why he had not gone to the old man’s cottage, in order to make some inquiry about the matter: to which interrogation Mr. Denver gave no answer. The retailers of intelligence would indeed lose many a choice and delightful story, if they were to take great pains to investigate the matter before they talked about it.