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

by William Pitt Scargill

Signora Rivolta, in her present circumstances, felt it absolutely necessary to send for Markham, in order to avail herself of his advice as to what steps were now to be taken: for even if the Colonel had been a man of business and decision, he was almost, if not entirely, a stranger to the laws and manners of England.

Markham immediately obeyed the summons, and accompanied the family to Brigland. At his suggestion they first called upon the clergyman, Mr. Denver. From him Markham supposed that they should be able to gather the particulars of Mr. Martindale’s death better than from talkative and ignorant domestics, and less frigidly narrated than by a calculating scrivener. The young barrister also supposed that Mr. Denver’s thirst for knowledge might have put him into possession of all the particulars; and he knew that nothing so tended to the abatement of sorrow as a little ingenious circumstantiality. In these expectations Markham was not disappointed.

Mr. Denver received the party with great ceremony and formality; and though exceedingly sorry for the death of his good friend Mr. Martindale, he could not help being very much gratified by this mark of respect and consideration, nor could he well conceal his sense of the honor that was done him by this call. He addressed himself principally to Mr. Markham, having been previously acquainted with him, and regarding him as the mouth and ear of the party.

“Ah, sir, this is indeed a serious loss to us all. I little thought when poor Mr. Martindale sent for me last Monday morning, what was his object in wishing to see me.”

“Was he taken ill on Monday morning?” interrupted Mr. Markham.

“Oh dear, no sir; on Monday morning he was as well as you are at this moment. But it happened very curiously, that last Sunday Mr. Martindale came to church, and I preached a sermon on the uncertainty of human life. It is a sermon that I generally preach at this time of year. But Mr. Martindale, who was not much in the habit of attending church, had by some strange fatality heard this sermon twice before. Now, you know, sir,” continued Mr. Denver, addressing himself to Mr. Markham, “that our late friend was not much in the habit of taking notice of sermons. He used to say, in his odd manner, that one sermon was as good as another, for they all gave more good advice than any of the hearers followed. Well, sir, he sent for me, as I was saying, and as soon as I entered the room, (he was sitting in the bow-windowed drawing-room that overlooks the park,) he rose from the sofa, on which he usually sat, between the fire-place and window, and he took me by the hand, and without giving me time to speak, he drew a chair with his other hand, and almost pushed me into it, saying, ‘There, sit down, I want to talk to you.’ So I waited a few seconds, and then said, ‘I shall be exceedingly happy to attend to any commands which you may think fit to honor me with.’ Without making any direct answer to what I said, and as if he was not aware that I had spoken at all, he said, ‘How often have you preached that sermon which I heard yesterday?’ I smiled at the singularity of the question—Mr. Martindale used, you know, to ask very singular questions—and I said in answer, ‘I cannot tell exactly how often; but it has not been preached, I believe, oftener than any other.’—‘Perhaps not,’ he replied immediately; ‘but as I have heard it three times, it sounded to me yesterday as a kind of warning, and I have a notion that I am not far from my end.’ I tried all I could to divert his mind from such gloomy thoughts, but nothing that I could say produced any effect whatever. I said to him, ‘I hope, sir, that you do not feel yourself unwell.’—‘Unwell!’ he replied, ‘to be sure I do. I am an old man; and old age is a disease that must end in death.’—‘But, sir,’ said I again, ‘though you may be advanced in years, yet you enjoy a tolerably good state of health; and there are many persons much older than you who enjoy a very great share of health and a good flow of spirits, and why then, sir, should you cherish such gloomy thoughts?’”

Here Mr. Denver paused for a moment, and his countenance changed to a still graver expression, when clasping his hands together, and then spreading them out, and lifting up his eyes, he resumed his narrative, saying,

“If I live to the age of Methuselah I shall never forget the impressive and energetic manner in which Mr. Martindale replied. Before I had well finished speaking, he hastily caught up my words, and said, ‘Many persons older than me! Ay, sir, and there have been persons younger than me or you who on Monday morning have been in apparently perfect health, and on Saturday have been corpses. Now, sir, you preached to me yesterday, give me leave to preach to you to-day. I recommend to you for the future not to contradict on Monday what you have been preaching on the Sunday. Yesterday you exhorted me most solemnly to prepare for death, and to-day you are doing all in your power to divert my thoughts from the contemplation of mortality.’ There was a degree of seriousness in that rebuke which I felt to be irresistible; and I said no more. Our late friend then proceeded to mention several other matters of a worldly nature, and your name, sir, was very frequently mentioned; am I at liberty to go on with that part of my narrative?”

This interrogation was addressed to Markham, who immediately and almost quickly said, “By all means, Mr. Denver, by all means. I beg you would not hesitate about the use of my name.”