Mr. Aubrey and Kate, some day or two after the strange occurrence
narrated in the last chapter, were sitting together playing at chess,
about eight o'clock in the evening; Dr. Tatham and Mrs. Aubrey, junior,
looking on with much interest; old Mrs. Aubrey being engaged in writing.
Mr. Aubrey was sadly an overmatch for poor Kate--he being in fact a
first-rate player; and her soft white hand had been hovering over the
three or four chessmen she had left, uncertain which of them to move,
for nearly two minutes, her chin resting on the other hand, and her face
wearing a very puzzled expression. "Come, Kate," said every now and then
her brother, with that calm victorious smile which at such a moment
would have tried any but so sweet a temper as his sister's. "If _I_ were
you, Miss Aubrey," was perpetually exclaiming Dr. Tatham, knowing as
much about the game the while as the little Blenheim spaniel lying
asleep at Miss Aubrey's feet. "Oh dear!" said Kate, at length, with a
sigh, "I really don't see how to escape"----
"Who can that be?" exclaimed Mrs. Aubrey, looking up and listening to
the sound of carriage wheels.
"Never mind," said her husband, who was interested in the game--"come,
come, Kate." A few minutes afterwards a servant made his appearance, and
coming up to Mr. Aubrey, told him that Mr. Parkinson and another
gentleman had called, and were waiting in the library to speak to him on
business.
"What can they want at this hour?" exclaimed Mr. Aubrey, absently,
intently watching an anticipated move of his sister's, which would have
decided the game in his favor. At length she made her long-meditated
descent--but in quite an unexpected quarter.
"Checkmate!" she exclaimed with infinite glee.
"Ah!" cried he, rising with a slightly surprised and chagrined air, "I'm
ruined! Now, try your hand on Dr. Tatham, while I go and speak to these
people. I wonder what can possibly have brought them here. Oh, I see--I
see; 'tis probably about Miss Evelyn's marriage-settlement--I'm to be
one of her trustees." With this he left the room, and presently entered
the library, where were two gentlemen, one of whom, a stranger, was in
the act of pulling off his great-coat. It was Mr. Runnington; a tall,
thin, elderly man, with short gray hair--of gentlemanly appearance--his
countenance bespeaking the calm, acute, clear-headed man of business.
The other was Mr. Parkinson; a thoroughly respectable,
substantial-looking, hard-headed family solicitor and country attorney.
"Mr. Runnington, my London agent, sir," said he to Mr. Aubrey, as the
latter entered. Mr. Aubrey bowed.
"Pray, gentlemen, be seated," he replied with his usual urbanity of
manner, taking a chair beside them.
"Why, Mr. Parkinson, you look very serious--both of you. What is the
matter?" he inquired surprisedly.
"Mr. Runnington, sir, has arrived, most unexpectedly to me," replied Mr.
Parkinson, "only an hour or two ago, from London, on business of the
last importance to you."
"_To me!_--well, what is it? Pray, say at once what it is--I am all
attention," said Mr. Aubrey, anxiously.
"Do you happen," commenced Mr. Parkinson, very nervously, "to remember
sending Waters to me on Monday or Tuesday last, with a paper which had
been served by some one on old Jolter?"
"Certainly," replied Mr. Aubrey, after a moment's consideration.
"Mr. Runnington's errand is connected with that document," said Mr.
Parkinson, and paused.
"Indeed!" exclaimed Mr. Aubrey, apparently a little relieved. "I assure
you, gentlemen, you very greatly over-estimate the importance I attach
to anything that such a troublesome person as Mr. Tomkins can do, if I
am right in supposing that it is he who--Well, then, what _is_ the
matter?" he inquired quickly, observing Mr. Parkinson shake his head,
and interchange a grave look with Mr. Runnington; "you cannot think, Mr.
Parkinson, how you will oblige me by being explicit."
"This paper," said Mr. Runnington, holding up that which Mr. Aubrey at
once identified as the one on which he had cast his eye upon its being
handed to him by Waters, "is a Declaration in Ejectment, with which Mr.
Tomkins has nothing whatever to do. It is served virtually on _you_, and
YOU are the real defendant."
"So I apprehend that I was in the former trumpery action!" replied Mr.
Aubrey, smiling.
"Do you recollect, sir," said Mr. Parkinson, with a trepidation which he
could not conceal, "several years ago, some serious conversation which
you and I had together on the state of your title--when I was preparing
your marriage-settlements?"
Mr. Aubrey started, and his face was suddenly blanched.
"The matters which we then discussed have suddenly acquired fearful
importance. This paper occasions us, on your account, the profoundest
anxiety." Mr. Aubrey continued silent, gazing on Mr. Parkinson with
intensity.
"Supposing, from a hasty glance at it, and from the message accompanying
it, that it was merely another action of Tomkins's about the slip of
waste land attached to Jolter's cottage, I sent up to London to my
agents, Messrs. Runnington, requesting them to call on the plaintiff's
attorneys, and settle the action. He did so; and--perhaps you will
explain the rest," said Mr. Parkinson, with visible trepidation, to Mr.
Runnington.
"Certainly," said that gentleman, with a serious air, but much more
calmly and firmly than Mr. Parkinson had spoken. "I called accordingly,
early yesterday morning, on Messrs. Quirk, Gammon, and Snap--they are a
very well--but not enviably--known firm in the profession; and in a few
minutes my misconception of the nature of the business which I had
called to arrange, was set right. In short"---- he paused, as if
distressed at the intelligence which he was about to communicate.
"Oh, pray, pray go on, sir!" said Mr. Aubrey, in a low tone.
"I am no stranger, sir, to your firmness of character; but I shall have
to tax it, I fear, to its uttermost. To come at once to the point--they
told me that I might undoubtedly _settle_ the matter, if you would
consent to give up immediate possession of _the whole Yatton estate_,
and account for the mesne profits to their client, the right heir--as
they contend--a Mr. Tittlebat Titmouse." Mr. Aubrey leaned back in his
chair, overcome, for an instant, by this astounding intelligence; and
all three of them preserved silence for more than a minute. Mr.
Runnington was a man of a very feeling heart. In the course of his great
practice he had had to encounter many distressing scenes; but probably
none of them had equalled that in which, at the earnest entreaty of Mr.
Parkinson, who distrusted his own self-possession, he now bore a leading
part. The two attorneys interchanged frequent looks of deep sympathy for
their unfortunate client, who seemed as if stunned by the intelligence
they had brought him.
"I felt it my duty to lose not an instant in coming down to Yatton,"
resumed Mr. Runnington, observing Mr. Aubrey's eye again directed
inquiringly towards him; "for Messrs. Quirk, Gammon, and Snap are very
dangerous people to deal with, and must be encountered promptly, and
with the greatest possible caution. The moment that I had left them, I
hastened to the Temple, to retain for you Mr. Subtle, the leader of the
Northern Circuit; but they had been beforehand with me, and retained him
nearly three months ago, together with another eminent king's counsel on
the circuit. Under these circumstances, I lost no time in giving a
special retainer to the Attorney-General, in which I trust I have done
right, and in retaining as junior a gentleman whom I consider to be
incomparably the ablest and most experienced lawyer on the circuit."
"Did they say anything concerning the nature of their client's title?"
inquired Mr. Aubrey, after some expressions of amazement and dismay.
"Very little--I might say, nothing. If they had been _never_ so precise,
of course I should have distrusted every word they said. They certainly
mentioned that they had had the first conveyancing opinions in the
kingdom, which concurred in favor of their client; that they had been
for months prepared at all points, and accident only had delayed their
commencing proceedings till now."
"Did you make any inquiries as to who the claimant was?" inquired Mr.
Aubrey.
"Yes; but all I could learn was, that they had discovered him by mere
accident; and that he was at present in very obscure and distressed
circumstances. I tried to discover by what means they proposed to
commence and carry on so expensive a contest; but they smiled
significantly, and were silent." Another long pause ensued, during which
Mr. Aubrey was evidently silently struggling with very agitating
emotions.
"What is the meaning of their affecting to seek the recovery of only
one insignificant portion of the property?" he inquired.
"It is their own choice--it may be from considerations of mere
convenience. The title, however, by which they may succeed in obtaining
what they at present go for, will avail to recover every acre of the
estate, and the present action will consequently decide everything!"
"And suppose the worst--that they are successful," said Mr. Aubrey,
after they had conversed a good deal, and very anxiously, on the subject
of a presumed infirmity in Mr. Aubrey's title, which had been pointed
out to him in general terms by Mr. Parkinson, on the occasion already
adverted to--"what is to be said about the rental which I have been
receiving all this time--ten thousand a-year?" inquired Mr. Aubrey,
looking as if he dreaded to hear his question answered.
"Oh! that's quite an after consideration--let us first fight the
battle," said Mr. Runnington.
"I beg, sir, that you will withhold nothing from me," said Mr. Aubrey.
"To what extent shall I be liable?"
Mr. Runnington paused.
"I am afraid that _all_ the mesne profits, as they are called, which you
have received"--commenced Mr. Parkinson----
"No, no," interrupted Mr. Runnington; "I have been turning that matter
over in my mind, and I think that the statute of limitations will bar
all but the last six years"----
"Why, _that_ will be sixty thousand pounds!" interrupted Mr. Aubrey,
with a look of sudden despair. "Gracious Heavens, that is perfectly
frightful!--frightful! If I lose Yatton, I shall not have a place to put
my head in--not one farthing to support myself with! And yet to have to
make up _sixty thousand pounds_!" The perspiration bedewed his forehead,
and his eye was laden with alarm and agony. He slowly rose from his
chair and bolted the door, that they might not, at such an agitating
moment, be surprised or disturbed by any of the servants or the family.
"I suppose," said he, in a faint and tremulous tone, "that if this claim
succeed, my mother also will share my fate"----
They shook their heads in silence.
"Permit me to suggest," said Mr. Runnington, in a tone of the most
respectful sympathy, "that sufficient for the day is the evil thereof."
"But the NIGHT follows!" said Mr. Aubrey, with a visible tremor; and his
voice made the hearts of his companions thrill within them. "I have a
fearful misgiving as to the issue of these proceedings! I ought not to
have neglected the matter pointed out to me by Mr. Parkinson on my
marriage! I feel as if I had been culpably lying by ever since!--But I
really did not attach to it the importance it deserved: I never, indeed,
distinctly appreciated the nature of what was then mentioned to me!"
"A thousand pities that a _fine_ was not _levied_, is it not?" said Mr.
Runnington, turning with a sigh to Mr. Parkinson.
"Ay, indeed it is!" replied that gentleman--and they spoke together for
some time, and very earnestly, concerning the nature and efficacy of
such a measure, which they explained to Mr. Aubrey.
"It comes to this," said he, "that in all probability, I and my family
are at this moment"--he shuddered--"trespassers at Yatton!"
"That, Mr. Aubrey," said Mr. Parkinson, earnestly, "remains to be
proved! We really are getting on far too fast. A person who heard us
might suppose that the jury had already returned a verdict against
us--that judgment had been signed--and that the sheriff was coming in
the morning to execute the writ of possession in favor of our opponent."
This was well meant by the speaker; but surely it was like talking of
the machinery of the ghastly guillotine to the wretch in shivering
expectation of suffering by it on the morrow. An involuntary shudder ran
through Mr. Aubrey. "Sixty thousand pounds!" he exclaimed, rising and
walking to and fro. "Why, I am ruined beyond all redemption! How can I
ever satisfy it?" Again he paced the room several times, in silent
agony. Presently he resumed his seat. "I have, for these several days
past, had a strange sense of impending calamity," said he, more
calmly--"I have been equally unable to account for, or get rid of it. It
may be an intimation from Heaven; I bow to its will!"
"We must remember," said Mr. Runnington, "that '_possession is
nine-tenths of the law_;' which means, that your mere possession will
entitle you to retain it against all the world, till a stronger title
than yours to the right of possession be made out. You stand on a
mountain; and it is for your adversary to displace you, not by showing
merely that you have no real title, but that _he has_. If he could prove
all your title-deeds to be merely waste paper--that in fact you have no
more title to Yatton than I have--he would not, if he were to stop
there, have advanced his own case an inch; he must _first_ establish in
himself a clear and independent title; so that you are entirely on the
defensive; and rely upon it, that though never so many screws may be
loose, so acute and profound a lawyer as the Attorney-General will
impose every difficulty on our opponents"----
"Nay, but God forbid that any unconscientious advantage should be taken
on my behalf!" said Mr. Aubrey. Mr. Runnington and Mr. Parkinson both
opened their eyes pretty wide at this sally; the latter could not at
first understand why _everything_ should not be fair in war; the former
saw and appreciated the nobility of soul which had dictated the
exclamation.
"I suppose the affair will soon become public," said Mr. Aubrey, with an
air of profound depression, after much further conversation.
"Your position in the county, your eminence in public life, the
singularity of the case, and the magnitude of the stake--all are
circumstances undoubtedly calculated soon to urge the affair before the
notice of the public," said Mr. Runnington.
"What disastrous intelligence to break to my family!" exclaimed Mr.
Aubrey, tremulously. "With what fearful suddenness it has burst upon us!
But something, I suppose," he presently added with forced calmness,
"must be done immediately?"
"Undoubtedly," replied Mr. Runnington. "Mr. Parkinson and I will
immediately proceed to examine your title-deeds, the greater portion of
which are, I understand, here in the Hall, and the rest at Mr.
Parkinson's; and prepare, without delay, a case for the opinion of the
Attorney-General, and also of the most eminent conveyancers of the
kingdom. Who, by the way," said Mr. Runnington, addressing Mr.
Parkinson--"who was the conveyancer that had the abstracts before him,
on preparing Mr. Aubrey's marriage-settlement?"
"Oh, you are alluding to the '_Opinion_' I mentioned to you this
evening?" inquired Mr. Parkinson. "I have it at my house, and will show
it you in the morning. The doubt he expressed on one or two points gave
me, I recollect, no little uneasiness--as _you_ may remember, Mr.
Aubrey."
"I certainly do," he replied with a profound sigh; "but though what you
said reminded me of something or other that I had heard when a mere boy,
I thought no more of it. I think you also told me that the gentleman
who wrote the opinion was a nervous, fidgety man, always raising
difficulties in his clients' titles--and one way or another, the thing
never gave me any concern--scarcely ever even occurred to my thoughts,
till to-day! What infatuation has been mine!--But you will take a little
refreshment, gentlemen, after your journey?" said Mr. Aubrey, suddenly,
glad of the opportunity it would afford him of reviving his own
exhausted spirits by a little wine, before returning to the
drawing-room. He swallowed several glasses of wine without their
producing any immediately perceptible effect; and the bearers of the
direful intelligence just communicated to the reader, after a promise by
Mr. Aubrey to drive over to Grilston early in the morning, and bring
with him such of his title-deeds as were then at the Hall, took their
departure; leaving him outwardly calmer, but with a fearful oppression
at his heart. He made a powerful effort to control his feelings, so as
to conceal, for a while at least, the dreadful occurrence of the
evening. His countenance and constrained manner, however; on re-entering
the drawing-room, which his mother, attended by Kate, had quitted for
her bedroom--somewhat alarmed Mrs. Aubrey; but he easily quieted
her--poor soul!--by saying that he certainly _had_ been
annoyed--"excessively annoyed"--at a communication just made to him;
"and which might, in fact, prevent his sitting again for Yatton." "Oh,
_that's_ the cause of your long stay? There, Doctor, am I not right?"
said Mrs. Aubrey, appealing to Dr. Tatham. "Did I not tell you that this
was something connected with politics? Oh, dearest Charles--I do _hate_
politics! Give _me_ a quiet home!" A pang shot through Mr. Aubrey's
heart; but he felt that he had, for the present, succeeded in his
object.
Mr. Aubrey's distracted mind was indeed, as it were, buffeted about
that night on a dark sea of trouble; while the beloved being beside him
lay sleeping peacefully, all unconscious of the rising storm! Many
times, during that dismal night, would he have risen from his bed to
seek a momentary relief by walking to and fro, but that he feared
disturbing her, and disclosing the extent and depth of his distress. It
was nearly five o'clock in the morning before he at length sank into
sleep; and of one thing I can assure the reader, that however that
excellent man might have shrunk--and shrink he did--from the sufferings
which seemed in store, not for himself only, but for those who were far
dearer to him than life itself, he did not give way to one repining or
rebellious thought. On the contrary, his real frame of mind, on that
trying occasion, may be discovered in one short prayer, which his
agonized soul was more than once on the point of expressing aloud in
words--"Oh, my God! in my prosperity I have endeavored always to
acknowledge thee; forsake not me and mine in our adversity!"
At an early hour in the morning Mr. Aubrey's carriage drew up at Mr.
Parkinson's door; and he brought with him, as he had promised, a great
number of title-deeds and family documents. On these, as well as on many
others which were in Mr. Parkinson's custody, that gentleman and Mr.
Runnington were anxiously engaged during almost every minute of that day
and the ensuing one; at the close of which, they had between them drawn
up the rough draft of a case, with which Mr. Runnington set off for town
by the mail; undertaking to lay it immediately before the
Attorney-General, and also before one or two of the most eminent
conveyancers of the day, effectually commended to their best and
earliest attention. He pledged himself to transmit their opinions, by
the very first mail, to Mr. Parkinson; and both of those gentlemen
immediately set about active preparations for defending the ejectment.
The "eminent conveyancer" fixed upon by Messrs. Runnington and Parkinson
was Mr. Tresayle, whose clerk, however, on looking into the papers,
presently carried them back to Messrs. Runnington, with the startling
information that Mr. Tresayle had, a few months before, "advised on the
other side!" The next person whom Mr. Runnington thought of,
was--singularly enough--Mr. Mortmain, who, on account of his eminence,
was occasionally employed, in heavy matters, by the firm. _His_ clerk,
also, on the ensuing morning returned the papers, assigning a similar
reason to that which had been given by Mr. Tresayle's clerk! All this
formed a direful corroboration, truly, of Messrs. Quirk and Gammon's
assurance to Mr. Runnington, that they had "had the first conveyancing
opinions in the kingdom;" and evidenced the formidable scale on which
their operations were being conducted. There were, however, other
"eminent conveyancers" besides the two above mentioned; and in the hands
of Mr. Mansfield, who, with a less extended reputation, but an equal
practice, was a far abler man, and a much higher style of conveyancer,
than Mr. Mortmain, Mr. Runnington left his client's interests with the
utmost confidence. Not satisfied with this, he laid the case also before
Mr. Crystal, the junior whom he had already retained in the cause--a man
whose lucid understanding was not ill indicated by his name. Though his
manner in court was not particularly forcible or attractive, he was an
invaluable acquisition in an important cause. To law he had for some
twenty years applied himself with unwearying energy; and he consequently
became a ready, accurate, and thorough lawyer, equal to all the
practical exigencies of his profession. He brought his knowledge to bear
on every point presented to him, with beautiful precision. He was
equally quick and cautious--artful to a degree--But I shall have other
opportunities of describing him; since on him, as on every working
junior, will devolve the real conduct of the defendant's case in the
memorable action of _Doe on the demise of Titmouse_ v. _Roe_.
As Mr. Aubrey was driving home from the visit to Mr. Parkinson, which I
have just above mentioned, he stopped his carriage and alighted, on
entering the village, because he saw Dr. Tatham coming out of Williams's
cottage, where he had been paying a visit to poor dying Phoebe.
The little doctor was plunthering on, ankle-deep in snow, towards the
vicarage, when Mr. Aubrey (who had sent home his carriage with word that
he should presently follow) came up with him, and greeting him with
unusual fervor, said that he would accompany him to the vicarage.
"You are in very great trouble, my dear friend," said the doctor,
seriously--"I saw it plainly last night; but of course I said nothing.
Come in with me! Let us talk freely with one another; for, _as iron
sharpeneth iron, so doth the countenance of a man his friend_. Is it not
so?"
"It is indeed, my dear doctor," replied Mr. Aubrey, suddenly softened by
the affectionate simplicity of the doctor's manner. How much the good
doctor was shocked by the communication which Mr. Aubrey presently made
to him, the reader may easily imagine. He even shed tears, on beholding
the forced calmness with which Mr. Aubrey depicted the gloomy prospect
that was before him. The venerable pastor led the subdued mind of his
companion to those sources of consolation and support which a true
Christian cannot approach in vain. Upon his bruised and bleeding
feelings were poured the balm of true religious consolation; and Mr.
Aubrey quitted his revered companion with a far firmer tone of mind than
that with which he had entered the vicarage. But as soon as he had
passed through the park gates, the sudden reflection that he was
probably no longer the proprietor of the dear old familiar objects that
met his eye at every step, almost overpowered him, and he walked several
times up and down the avenue, before he had recovered a due degree of
self-possession.
On entering the Hall, he was informed that one of the tenants, Peter
Johnson, had been sitting in the servants' hall for nearly two hours,
waiting to see him. Mr. Aubrey repaired at once to the library, and
desired the man to be shown in. This Johnson had been for some
twenty-five years a tenant of a considerable farm on the estate; had
scarcely ever been behind-hand with his rent; and had always been
considered one of the most exemplary persons in the whole neighborhood.
He had now, poor fellow, got into trouble indeed: for he had, a year or
two before, been persuaded to become security for his brother-in-law, a
tax-collector; and had, alas! the day before, been called upon to pay
the three hundred pounds in which he stood bound--his worthless
brother-in-law having absconded with nearly £1,000 of the public money.
Poor Johnson, who had a large family to support, was in deep
tribulation, bowed down with grief and shame; and after a sleepless
night, had at length ventured down to Yatton, with a desperate boldness,
to ask its benevolent owner to advance him £200 towards the money, to
save himself from being cast into prison. Mr. Aubrey heard this sad
story to the end, without one single interruption; though to a more
practised observer than the troubled old farmer, the workings of Mr.
Aubrey's countenance, from time to time, must have told his inward
agitation. "I lend this poor soul £200!" thought he, "who am penniless
myself! Shall I not be really acting as _his_ dishonest relative has
been acting, and making free with money which belongs to another?"
"I assure you, my worthy friend," said he at length, with a little
agitation of manner, "that I have just now a very serious call upon
me--or you know how gladly I would have complied with your request."
"Oh, sir, have mercy on me! I've an ailing wife and seven children to
support," said poor Johnson, wringing his hands.
"Can't I do anything with the Government?"----
"No, sir; I'm told they're so mighty angry with my rascally brother,
they'll listen to nobody! It's a hard matter for me to keep things
straight at home without this, sir, I've so many mouths to fill; and if
they take me off to prison, Lord! Lord! what's to become of us all?"
Mr. Aubrey's lip quivered. Johnson fell on his knees, and the tears ran
down his cheeks. "I've never asked a living man for money before, sir;
and if you'll only lend it me, God Almighty will bless you and yours;
you'll save us all from ruin; I'll work day and night to pay it back
again!"
"Rise--rise, Johnson," said Mr. Aubrey, with emotion. "You shall have
the money, my friend, if you will call to-morrow," he added with a deep
sigh, after a moment's hesitation.
He was as good as his word.[19]
Had Mr. Aubrey been naturally of a cheerful and vivacious turn, the
contrast now afforded by his gloomy manner must have alarmed his family.
As it was, however, the contrast was not so strong and marked as to be
attended with that effect, especially as he exerted himself to the
utmost to conceal his distress. That _something_ had gone wrong, he
freely acknowledged; and as he spoke of it always in connection with
political topics, he succeeded in parrying their questions, and checking
suspicion. But, whenever they were all collected together, could he not
justly compare them to a happy group, unconscious that they stood on a
mine which was on the eve of being fired?
About a week afterwards, namely, on the 12th of January, arrived little
Charles's birthday, when he became five years old; and Kate had for some
days been moving heaven and earth to get up a juvenile ball in honor of
the occasion. After divers urgent despatches, and considerable riding
and driving about, she succeeded in persuading the parents of some eight
or ten children--two little daughters, for instance, of the Earl of
Oldacre (beautiful creatures they were, to be sure)--little Master and
the two Miss Bertons, the children of one of the county members--Sir
Harry Oldfield, an orphan of about five years of age, the infant owner
of a magnificent estate--and two or three little girls beside--to send
them all--cold as was the weather--to Yatton, for a day and a night,
with their governesses and attendants.
'Twas a charming little affair! It went off brilliantly, as the phrase
is, and repaid all Kate's exertions. She, her mother, and brother, and
sister, all dined at the same table, at a very early hour, with the
merry little guests, who, (with a laughable crowd of attendants behind
them, to be sure) behaved remarkably well on the occasion. Sir Harry (a
little thing about Charles's age--the black ribbon round his waist, and
also the half-mourning dress worn by his maid, who stood behind him,
showed how recent was the event which had made him an orphan) proposed
little Aubrey's health, in (I must own) a somewhat stiff speech,
demurely dictated to him by Kate, who sat between him and her beautiful
little nephew. She then performed the same office for Charles, who stood
on a chair while delivering his eloquent acknowledgment of the toast.
[Oh! that anguished brow of thine, Aubrey, (thank God it is
unobserved!) but it tells _me_ that the iron is entering thy soul!]
And the moment that he had done--Kate folding her arms around him and
kissing him--down they all jumped, and, a merry throng, scampered off to
the drawing-room, (followed by Kate,) where blind-man's buff, husbands
and wives, and divers other little games, kept them in constant
enjoyment. After tea, they were to have dancing--Kate mistress of the
ceremonies--and it was quite laughable to see how perpetually she was
foiled in her efforts to form the little sets. The girls were orderly
enough--but their wild little partners were quite uncontrollable! The
instant they were placed, and Kate had gone to the instrument and struck
off a bar or two--ah!--what a scrambling little crowd was to be seen
wildly jumping and laughing, and chattering and singing! Over and over
again she formed them into sets, with the like results. But at length a
young lady, one of their governesses, took Miss Aubrey's place at the
piano, leaving the latter to superintend the performances in person. She
at length succeeded in getting up something like a country-dance, led
off by Charles and little Lady Anne Cherville, the eldest daughter of
the Earl of Oldacre, a beautiful child of about five years old, and who,
judging from appearances, bade fair in due time to become another Lady
Caroline Caversham. You would have laughed outright to watch the
coquettish airs which this little creature gave herself with Charles,
whom yet she evidently could not bear to see dancing with another.
"Now _I_ shall dance with somebody else!" he exclaimed, suddenly
quitting Lady Anne, and snatching hold of a sweet little thing, Miss
Berton, standing modestly beside him. The discarded beauty walked with a
stately air, and a swelling heart, towards Mrs. Aubrey, who sat beside
her husband on the sofa; and on reaching her, stood for a few moments
silently watching her fickle partner busily and gayly engaged with her
successor--Then she burst into tears.
"Charles!" called out Mrs. Aubrey; who had watched the whole affair, and
could hardly keep her countenance--"come hither directly, Charles!"
"Yes, mamma!" he exclaimed--quite unaware of the serious aspect which
things were assuming--and without quitting the dance, where he was (as
his jealous mistress too plainly saw, for, despite her grief, her eye
seemed to follow all his motions) skipping about with infinite glee with
a _third_ partner--a laughing sister of her for whom he had quitted Lady
Anne.
"Do you hear your mamma, Charles!" said Mr. Aubrey, somewhat
peremptorily; and in an instant his little son, all flushed and
breathless, was at his side.
"Well, dear papa!" said he, keeping his eye fixed on the merry throng he
had just quitted, and where his deserted partner was skipping about
alone.
"What have you been doing to Lady Anne, Charles?" said his father.
"Nothing, dear papa!" he replied, still wistfully eying the dancers.
"You know you left me, and went to dance with Miss Berton; you did,
Charles!" said the offended beauty, sobbing.
"That is not behaving like a little gentleman, Charles," said his
father. The tears came to the child's eyes.
"I'm _very_ sorry, dear papa, I _will_ dance with her."
"No, not now," said Lady Anne, haughtily.
"Oh, pooh! pooh!--kiss and be friends," said Mrs. Aubrey, laughing, "and
go and dance as prettily as you were doing before." Little Aubrey put
his arms around Lady Anne, kissed her, and away they both started to the
dance again. While the latter part of this scene was going on, Mr.
Aubrey's eye caught the figure of a servant who simply made his
appearance at the door and then retired, (for such had been Mr. Aubrey's
orders, in the event of any messenger arriving from Grilston.) Hastily
whispering that he should speedily return, he left the room. In the hall
stood a clerk from Mr. Parkinson; and on seeing Mr. Aubrey, he took out
a packet and retired--Mr. Aubrey, with evident trepidation, repairing to
his library. With a nervous hand he broke the seal, and found the
following letter from Mr. Parkinson, with three other enclosures:--
"_Grilston, 12th Jan. 18--._
"MY DEAR SIR,
"I have only just received, and at once forward to you, copies of
the three opinions given by the Attorney-General, Mr. Mansfield,
and Mr. Crystal. I lament to find that they are all of a
discouraging character. They were given by their respective writers
without any of them having had any opportunity of conferring
together--all the three cases having been laid before them at the
same time: yet you will observe that each of them has hit upon
precisely the same point, viz. that the descendants of Geoffrey
Dreddlington had no right to succeed to the inheritance till there
was a failure of the heirs of Stephen Dreddlington. If, therefore,
our discreditable opponents should have unhappily contrived to
ferret out some person satisfying that designation, (I cannot
conjecture how they can ever have got upon the scent,) I really
fear (it is no use disguising matters) we must prepare for a very
serious struggle. I have been quietly pushing my inquiries in all
directions, with a view to obtaining a clew to the case intended to
be set up against us, and which you will find very shrewdly guessed
at by the Attorney-General. _Nor am I the only party_, I find, in
the field, who has been making pointed inquiries in your
neighborhood; but of this more when we meet to-morrow.
"I remain,
"Yours most respectfully,
"J. PARKINSON.
"CHARLES AUBREY, ESQ., M. P. &c. &c. &c."
Having read this letter, Mr. Aubrey sank back in his chair, and remained
motionless for more than a quarter of an hour. At length he roused
himself, and read over the opinions; the effect of which--as far as he
could comprehend their technicalities--he found had been but too
correctly given by Mr. Parkinson. Some suggestions and inquiries put by
the acute and experienced Mr. Crystal, suddenly revived recollections of
one or two incidents even of his boyish days, long forgotten, but which,
as he reflected upon them, began to reappear to his mind's eye with
sickening distinctness. Wave after wave of apprehension and agony passed
over him, chilling and benumbing his heart within him; so that, when his
little son came some time afterwards running up to him, with a message
from his mamma, that she hoped he could come back to see them all play
at snap-dragon before they went to bed, he replied mechanically, hardly
seeming sensible even of the presence of the laughing and breathless
boy, who quickly scampered back again. At length, with a groan that came
from the depths of his heart, Mr. Aubrey rose and walked to and fro,
sensible of the necessity of exertion, and preparing himself, in some
degree, for encountering his mother, his wife, and his sister. Taking up
his candle, he hastened to his dressing-room, where he hoped, by the aid
of refreshing ablutions, to succeed in effacing at least the stronger of
those traces of suffering which his glass displayed to him, as it
reflected the image of his agitated countenance. A sudden recollection
of the critical and delicate situation of his idolized wife, glanced
through his heart like a keen arrow. He sank upon the sofa, and,
clasping his hands, looked indeed forlorn. Presently the door was pushed
hastily but gently open; and, first looking in to see that it was really
he of whom she was in search, in rushed Mrs. Aubrey, pale and agitated,
having been alarmed by his long-continued absence from the
drawing-room, and the look of the servant, from whom she had learned
that his master had been for some time gone up-stairs.
"Charles! my love! my sweet love!" she exclaimed, rushing in, sitting
down beside him, and casting her arms round his neck. Overcome by the
suddenness of her appearance and movements, for a moment he spoke not.
"For mercy's sake--as you love me!--tell me, dearest Charles, what has
happened!" she gasped, kissing him fervently.
"Nothing--love--nothing," he replied; but his look belied his speech.
"Oh! am not I your wife, dearest? Charles, I shall really go distracted
if you do not tell me what has happened!--I know that
something--something dreadful"--He put his arm round her waist, and drew
her tenderly towards him. He felt her heart beating violently. He kissed
her cold forehead, but spoke not.
"Come, dearest!--my own Charles!--let me share your sorrows," said she,
in a thrilling voice. "Cannot you trust your Agnes? Has not Heaven
_sent_ me to share your anxieties and griefs?"
"I love you, Agnes! ay, perhaps more than ever man loved woman!" he
faltered, as he felt her arms folding him in closer and closer embrace;
and she gazed at him with wild agitation, expecting presently to hear of
some fearful catastrophe.
"I cannot bear this much longer, dearest--I feel I cannot," said she,
rather faintly. "_What_ has happened? What, that you dare not tell _me_?
I can bear anything, while I have you and my children! You have been
unhappy--you have been wretched, Charles, for many days past. I have
felt that you were!--I will not part with you till I know all!"
"You soon _must_ know all, my sweet love; and I take Heaven to witness,
that it is principally on your account, and that of my children, that
I---- in fact, I did not wish any of you to have known it till"----
"You--are never going--_to fight a duel_?" she gasped, turning white as
death.
"Oh! no, no, Agnes! I solemnly assure you! If I could have brought
myself to engage in such an unhallowed affair, would _this_ scene ever
first have occurred? No, no, my own love! Must I then tell you of the
misfortune that has overtaken us?" His words somewhat restored her, but
she continued to gaze at him in mute and breathless apprehension. "Let
me then conceal nothing, Agnes--they are bringing an action against me,
which, if successful, may cause us all to quit Yatton--and it may be,
forever."
"Oh, Charles!" she murmured, her eyes riveted upon his, while she
unconsciously moved still nearer to him and trembled. Her head drooped
upon his shoulder.
"Why is this?" she whispered, after a pause.
"Let us, dearest, talk of it another time. I have now told you what you
asked me."--He poured her out a glass of water. Having drank a little,
she appeared revived.
"Is all lost?--And--_why_? Do, my own Charles--let me know really the
worst!"
"We are young, my Agnes! and have the world before us! Health and
integrity are better than riches! You and our little loves--_the
children which God has given us_--are _my_ riches," said he, gazing at
her with unspeakable tenderness. "Even should it be the will of Heaven
that this affair should go against us--so long as they cannot separate
us from each other, they cannot _really_ hurt us!" She suddenly kissed
him with frantic energy, and an hysteric smile gleamed over her pallid
excited features.
"Calm yourself, Agnes!--calm yourself, for my sake!--as you love me!"
His voice quivered. "Oh, how very weak and foolish I have been to yield
to"----
"No, no, no!" she gasped, evidently laboring with hysteric oppression.
"Hush!" said she, suddenly starting, and wildly leaning forward towards
the door which opened into the gallery leading to the various bedrooms.
He listened--the MOTHER'S ear had been quick and true. He presently
heard the sound of many children's voices approaching: they were the
little party, accompanied by Kate, and their attendants, on their way to
bed; and little Charles's voice was loudest, and his laugh the merriest,
of them all. A dreadful smile gleamed on Mrs. Aubrey's face; her hand
grasped her husband's with convulsive pressure; and she suddenly sank,
rigid and senseless, upon the sofa. He seemed for a moment stunned at
the sight of her motionless figure. Soon, however, recovering his
presence of mind, he rang the bell, and one or two female attendants
quickly appeared, by whose joint assistance Mrs. Aubrey was carried to
her bed in the adjoining room, where, by the use of the ordinary
remedies, she was, after a brief interval, restored to consciousness.
Her first languid look was towards Mr. Aubrey, whose hand she slowly
raised to her lips. She tried to throw a smile over her wan
features--but 't was in vain; and, after a few heavy and half-choking
sobs, her overcharged feelings found relief in a flood of tears. Full of
the liveliest apprehensions as to the effect of this violent emotion
upon her, in her critical condition, he remained with her for some time,
pouring into her ear every soothing and tender expression he could think
of. He at length succeeded in bringing her into a somewhat more tranquil
state than he could have expected. He strictly enjoined the attendants,
who had not quitted their lady's chamber, and whose alarmed and
inquisitive looks he had noticed for some time with anxiety, to preserve
silence concerning what they had so unexpectedly witnessed, adding,
that something unfortunate had happened, of which they would hear but
too soon.
"Are you going to tell Kate?" whispered Mrs. Aubrey, sorrowfully.
"Surely, love, _you_ have suffered enough through _my_ weakness. Wait
till to-morrow. Let her--poor girl!--have a _few_ more happy hours!"
"No, Agnes--it was my own weakness which caused me to be surprised into
this premature disclosure to you. And now I _must_ meet her again
to-night, and I cannot control either my features, or my feelings. Yes,
poor Kate, she must know all to-night! I shall not be long absent,
Agnes." And directing her maid to remain with her till he returned, he
withdrew, and with slow step and heavy heart descended to the library;
preparing himself for another heart-breaking scene--plunging another
innocent and joyous creature into misery, which he believed to be
inevitable. Having looked into the drawing-room as he passed it, and
seen no one there--his mother having, as usual, retired at a very early
hour--he rang his library bell, and desired Miss Aubrey's maid to
request her mistress to come down to him there, as soon as she should be
at leisure. He was glad that the only light in the room was that given
out by the fire, which was not very bright, and so would in some degree
shield his features from, at all events, immediate scrutiny. His heart
ached as, shortly afterwards, he heard Kate's light step crossing the
hall. When she entered, her eyes sparkled with vivacity, and a smile was
on her beauteous cheek. Her dress was slightly disordered, and her hair
half uncurled--the results of her sport with the little ones whom she
had been seeing to bed.
"What merry little things, to be sure!" she commenced laughingly--"I
could not get them to lie still a moment--popping their little heads in
and out of the clothes. A fine time I shall have of it, by-and-by, with
Sir Harry! for he is to be _my_ tiny little bed-fellow, and I dare say I
shall not sleep a wink all night!--Why, Charles, how very--_very_ grave
you look!" she added, quickly observing his eye fixed moodily upon her.
"'Tis you who are so very gay," he replied, endeavoring to smile. "I
want to speak to you, dear Kate," he commenced affectionately--at the
same time rising and closing the door--"on a serious matter. I have
received some letters to-night"----
Kate colored suddenly and violently, and her heart beat; but, sweet
soul! she was mistaken--very, very far off the mark her troubled brother
was aiming at. "And, relying on your strength of mind, I have resolved
to put you at once in possession of what I myself know. Can you bear bad
news well, Kate?"
She turned very pale, and drawing her chair nearer to her brother, said,
"Do not keep me in suspense, Charles--I can bear anything but
suspense--that _is_ dreadful! What has happened? Oh dear," she added,
with sudden alarm, "where are mamma and Agnes?" She started to her feet.
"I assure you they are both well, Kate. My mother is now doubtless
asleep, and as well as she ever was; Agnes is in her bedroom--certainly
much distressed at the news which I am going"----
"Oh why, Charles, did you tell _anything_ distressing to _her_?"
exclaimed Miss Aubrey, with an alarmed air.
"We came together by surprise, Kate! Perhaps, too, it would have been
worse to have kept her in suspense; but she is recovering!--I shall soon
return to her. And now, my dear Kate--I know your strong sense and
spirit--a very great calamity hangs over us. Let you and me," he grasped
her hands affectionately, "stand it steadily, and support those who
cannot!"
"Let me at once know all, Charles. See if I do not bear it as becomes
your sister," said she, with forced calmness.
"If it should become necessary for all of us to retire into
obscurity--into humble obscurity, dear Kate--how do you think you could
bear it?"
"If it will be an honorable obscurity--nay, 'tis quite impossible it can
be a _dis_honorable obscurity," said Miss Aubrey, with a momentary flash
of energy.
"Never, never, Kate! The Aubreys may lose everything on earth but the
jewel HONOR, and love for one another!"
"Let me know all, Charles: I see that something or other shocking has
happened," said Miss Aubrey, in a low tone, with a look of the deepest
apprehension.
"I will tell you the worst, Kate--- a strange claim is set up--by one I
never heard of--to the whole of the property we now enjoy!"
Miss Aubrey started, and the slight color that remained faded entirely
from her cheek. Both were silent for very nearly a minute.
"But is it a _true_ claim, Charles?" she inquired, faintly.
"That remains to be proved. I will, however, disguise nothing from
you--I have woful apprehensions"----
"Do you mean to say that Yatton _is not ours_?" inquired Miss Aubrey,
catching her breath.
"So, alas! my dearest Kate, it is said!"
Miss Aubrey looked bewildered, and pressed her hand to her forehead.
"How shocking!--shocking!--shocking!" she gasped--"What is to become of
mamma?"
"God Almighty will not desert her in her old age. He will desert none of
us, if we only trust in him," said her brother.
Miss Aubrey remained gazing at him intently, and continued perfectly
motionless.
"Must we then all leave Yatton?" said she, faintly, after a while.
"If this claim succeeds--but we shall leave it _together_, Kate."
She threw her arms around his neck, and wept bitterly.
"Hush, hush, Kate!" said he, perceiving the increasing violence of her
emotions, "restrain your feelings for the sake of my mother--and Agnes."
His words had the desired effect: the poor girl made a desperate effort.
Unclasping her arms from her brother's neck, she sat down in her chair,
breathing hard, and pressing her hand upon her heart. After a few
minutes' pause, she said faintly, "I am better now. Do tell me more,
Charles! Let me have something to _think_ about--only don't say anything
about--about--mamma and Agnes!" In spite of herself a visible shudder
ran through her frame.
"It seems, Kate," said he, with all the calmness he could assume--"at
least they are trying to prove--that our branch of the family has
succeeded to the property prematurely--that there is living an heir of
the elder branch--that his case has been taken up by powerful friends;
and--let me tell you the worst at once--even the lawyers consulted by
Mr. Parkinson on my behalf, take a most alarming view of the
possibilities of the case that may be brought against us"----
"But is mamma provided for?" whispered Miss Aubrey, almost
inarticulately. "When I look at her again, I shall drop at her feet
insensible!"
"No, no, Kate, you won't! Heaven will give you strength," said her
brother, in a tremulous voice. "Remember, my only sister--my dearest
Kate! you must support _me_ in my trouble, as I will support you--we
will try to support each other"----
"We will--we will!" interrupted Miss Aubrey--instantly checking,
however, her rising excitement.
"You bear it bravely, my noble girl!" said Mr. Aubrey, fondly, after a
brief interval of silence.
She turned from him her head, and moved her hand--in deprecation of
expressions which might utterly unnerve her. Then she convulsively
clasped her hands over her forehead; and, after a minute or two, turned
towards him with tears in her eyes, but tranquillized features. The
struggle had been dreadful, though brief--her noble spirit had recovered
itself.
----'T was like some fair bark, in mortal conflict with the black and
boiling waters and howling hurricane; long quivering on the brink of
destruction, but at last outliving the storm, righting itself, and
suddenly gliding into safe and tranquil waters!----
The distressed brother and sister sat conversing for a long time,
frequently in tears, but with infinitely greater calmness and firmness
than could have been expected. They agreed that Dr. Tatham should very
early in the morning be sent for, and implored to take upon himself the
bitter duty of breaking the matter as gradually and safely as possible
to Mrs. Aubrey; its effects upon whom, her children anticipated with the
most vivid apprehension. They both considered that an event of such
publicity and importance could not possibly remain long unknown to her,
and that it was, on the whole, better that the dreaded communication
should be got over as soon as possible. They then retired--Kate to a
sleepless pillow, and her brother to spend a greater portion of the
night in attempts to soothe and console his suffering wife; each of them
having first knelt in humble reverence, and poured forth the breathings
of a stricken and bleeding heart, before Him who hath declared that he
is ever present to HEAR and to ANSWER prayer.
Ah! who can tell what a day or an hour may bring forth?
* * * * *
"It won't kindle--not a bit on't--it's green and full o' sap. Go out,
and get us a log that's dry and old, George--and let's try to have a bit
of a blaze in t'ould chimney, this bitter night," said Isaac Tonson, the
gamekeeper at Yatton, to the good-natured landlord of the Aubrey Arms,
the little--and only--inn of the village. The suggestion was instantly
attended to.
"How Peter's a-feathering of his geese to-night, to be sure!" exclaimed
the landlord on his return, shaking the snow off his coat, and laying on
the fire a great dry old log of wood, which seemed very acceptable to
the hungry flames, for they licked it cordially the moment it was placed
among them, and there was very soon given out a cheerful blaze. 'T was a
snug room. The brick floor was covered with fresh sand; and on a few
stools and benches, with a table in the middle, on which stood a large
can and ale-glasses, with a plate of tobacco, sat some half-dozen men,
enjoying their pipe and glass. In the chimney corner sat Thomas Dickons,
the faithful under-bailiff of Mr. Aubrey, a big broad-shouldered,
middle-aged man, with a hard-featured face and a phlegmatic air. In the
opposite corner sat the little grizzle-headed clerk and sexton, old
Hallelujah--(as he was called, but his real name was Jonas Higgs.)
Beside him sat Pumpkin, the gardener at the Hall, a very frequent guest
at the Aubrey Arms o' nights--always attended by Hector, the large
Newfoundland dog already spoken of, and who was now lying stretched on
the floor at Pumpkin's feet, his nose resting on his fore feet, and his
eyes, with great gravity, watching the motions of a skittish kitten
under the table. Opposite to him sat Tonson the gamekeeper--a thin,
wiry, beetle-browed fellow, with eyes like a ferret; and there were
also, one or two farmers, who lived in the village.
"Let's ha' another can o' ale, afore ye sit down," said Tonson, "we can
do with another half gallon, I'm thinking!" This order also was quickly
attended to; and then the landlord, having seen to the door, fastened
the shutters close, and stirred the crackling fire, took his place on a
vacant stool, and resumed his pipe.
"So she do take a very long grave, Jonas?" inquired Dickons of the
sexton, after some little pause.
"Ay, Mr. Dickons, a' think she do, t'ould girl! I always thought she
would--I used to measure her (as one may say) in my mind, whenever I saw
her! 'Tis a reg'lar _man's_ size, I warrant you; and when parson saw it,
a' said, he thought 'twere too big; but I axed his pardon, and said I
hadn't been sexton for thirty years without knowing my business--he,
he!"
"I suppose, Jonas, you mun ha' seen her walking about i' t' village, in
your time!--_Were_ she such a big-looking woman?" inquired Pumpkin, as
he shook the ashes out of his pipe, and replenished it.
"Forty year ago I did use to see her--she were then an old woman, wi'
white hair, and leaned on a stick--I never thought she'd a' lasted so
long," replied Higgs, emptying his glass.
"She've had a pretty long spell on't," quoth Dickons, after slowly
emptying his mouth of smoke.
"A hundred and two," replied the sexton; "so saith her coffin-plate--a'
see'd it to-day."
"What were her name?" inquired Tonson--"_I_ never knew her by any name
but Blind Bess."
"Her name be _Elizabeth Crabtree_ on the coffin," replied Higgs; "and
she be to be buried to-morrow."
"She were a strange old woman," said Hazel, one of the farmers, as he
took down one of the oatcakes hanging overhead; and breaking off a
piece, held it with the tongs before the fire to toast, and then put it
into his ale.
"Ay, she were," quoth Pumpkin; "I wonder what she thinks o' such things
_now_--maybe--God forgive me!--she's paying dear for her tricks!"
"Tut, Pumpkin," said Tonson, "let t'ould creature rest in her grave,
where she's going to, peaceably!"
"Ay, Master Tonson," quoth the clerk, in his reading-desk twang--"THERE
_be no knowledge_, _nor wisdom_, _nor device_!"
"'Tis very odd," observed Pumpkin, "but this dog that's lying at my feet
never could a' bear going past her cottage late o' nights--hang me if he
could; and the night she died--Lord! you should have heard the howl
Hector gave--and a' didn't then know she were gone--it's as true as the
gospel--it _is_--actually!"
"No! but were't _really_ so?" inquired Dickons--several of the others
taking their pipes out of their mouths, and looking earnestly at
Pumpkin.
"I didn't half like it, I can tell you," quoth Pumpkin.
"Ha, ha, ha!--ha, ha!" laughed the gamekeeper--
"Ay, marry, you may laugh," quoth Pumpkin, "but I'll stake half-a-gallon
o' ale you daren't go by yourself to the cottage where she's
lying--_now_, mind--i' the dark."
"_I'll_ do it," quoth Higgs, eagerly, preparing to lay down his pipe.
"No, no--_thou'rt_ quite used to dead folk--'tis quite in thy line!"
replied Pumpkin--and, after a little faint drollery, silence ensued for
some moments.
"Bess dropped off sudden like, at the last, didn't she?" inquired the
landlord.
"She went out, as, they say, like the snuff of a candle," replied
Jobbins, one of the farmers; "no one were with her but my Missis at the
time. The night afore, she had took to the rattles all of a sudden. My
Sall (that's _done for_ her, this long time, by Madam's orders,) says
old Bess were a good deal shaken by a chap from London, which cam' down
about a week afore Christmas."
"Ay, ay," quoth one, "I've heard o' that--what was it?--what passed
atwixt them?"
"Why, a' don't well know--but he seemed to know summat about t'ould
girl's connections, and he had a book, and wrote down something, and he
axed her, so Sall do tell me, such a many things about old people, and
things that are long gone by!"
"What were the use on't?" inquired Dickons; "for Bess hath been silly
this ten years, to my sartin knowledge."
"Why, a' couldn't tell. He seemed very 'quisitive, too, about t'ould
creature's Bible and prayer-book (she kept them in that ould bag of
hers)--and Sall said she had talked a good deal to the chap in her
mumbling way, and seemed to know some folk he asked her about. And Sall
saith she hath been, in a manner, dismal ever since, and often a-crying
and talking to herself."
"I've heard," said the landlord, "that squire and parson were wi' her on
Christmas-day--and that she talked a deal o' strange things, and that
the squire did seem, as it were, _struck_ a little, you know--struck,
like!"
"Why, so my Sall do say; but it may be all her own head," replied
Jobbins.
Here a pause took place.
"Madam," said the sexton, "hath given orders for an uncommon decent
burying to-morrow."
"Well, a' never thought any wrong of ould Bess, for my part," said
one--and another--and another; and they smoked their pipes for some
short time in silence.
"Talking o' strangers from London," said the sexton, presently--"who do
know anything o' them two chaps that were at church last Sunday? Two
such peacock chaps I never see'd afore in _my_ time--and grinning all
sarvice-time! the heathen!"
"Ay, I'll tell you something of 'em," said Hazel--a big broad-shouldered
farmer, who plucked his pipe out of his mouth with sudden
energy--"They're a brace o' good ones, to be sure, ha, ha! Some week or
ten days ago, as I were a-coming across the field leading into the lane
behind the church, I see'd these same two chaps, and on coming nearer,
(they not seeing me for the hedge,) Lord bless me! would you believe
it?--if they wasn't a-teasing my daughter Jenny, that were coming along
wi' some physic from the doctor for my old woman! One of 'em seemed
a-going to put his arm round her neck and t' other came close to her on
t' other side, a-talking to her and pushing her about." Here a young
farmer, who had but seldom spoken, took his pipe out of his mouth, and
exclaiming, "Lord bless me!" sat listening with his mouth wide open.
"Well," continued the former, "a' came into the road behind 'em, without
their seeing me; and"--(here he stretched out a thick, rigid, muscular
arm, and clinched his teeth)--"a' got hold of each by the collar, and
one of 'em I shook about, and gave him a kick i' the breech that sent
him spinning a yard or two on the road, he clapping his hand behind him,
and crying, to be sure--'You'll smart for this--a good hundred pound
damages!' or summat o' that sort. T' other dropped on his knees, and
begged for mercy; so a' just spit in his face, and flung him under
t' hedge, telling him if he stirred till I were out o' sight, I'd crack
his skull for him; and so I would!" Here the wrathful speaker pushed his
pipe again between his lips, and began puffing away with great energy;
while he who had appeared to take so great an interest in the story, and
who was the very man who had flown to the rescue of Miss Aubrey, when
she seemed on the point of being similarly treated, told that
circumstance exactly as it occurred, amid the silent but excited wonder
of those present--all of whom, at its close, uttered vehement
execrations, and intimated the summary and savage punishment which the
cowardly rascal would have experienced at the hands of each and every
one of them, had they come across him.
"I reckon," said the landlord, as soon as the swell had a little
subsided, "they must be the two chaps that put up here, some time ago,
for an hour or so. You should ha' seen 'em get on and off the
saddle--that's all! Why, a' laughed outright! The chap with the hair
under his chin got on upon the wrong side, and t'other seemed as if he
thought his beast would a' _bit_ him!"
"Ha, ha, ha!" laughed all.
"I thought they'd a' both got a fall before they'd gone a dozen yards!"
"They've taken a strange fancy to my churchyard," said the sexton,
setting down his glass, and then preparing to fill his pipe again;
"they've been looking about among 'em--among t'ould gravestones, up
behind t'ould yew-tree yonder; and one of them writ something, now and
then, in a book; so they're book-writers, in coorse!"
"That's scholars, I reckon," quoth Dickons; "but rot the larning of such
chaps as them!"
"I wonder if they'll put a picture o' the Hall in their book," quoth the
sexton. "They axed a many questions about the people up there,
especially about the squire's father, and some ould folk, whose names I
knew when they spoke of 'em--but I hadn't heard o' them for this forty
year. And one of 'em (he were the shortest, and such a chap, to be
sure!--just like the monkey that were dressed i' man's clothes, last
Grilston fair) talked uncommon fine about young _Miss_"----
"If _I'd_ a' heard him tak' her name into his dirty mouth, his teeth
should a' gone after it!" said Tonson.
"Lord! he didn't say any harm--only silly like--and t' other seemed now
and then not to like his going on so. The little one said Miss were a
lovely gal, or something like that--and hoped they'd become by-and-by
better friends--ah, ha!"
"What! wi' that chap?" said Pumpkin--and he looked as if he were
meditating putting the little sexton up the chimney, for the mere naming
of such a thing.
"I reckon they're fro' London, and brought toon tricks wi' 'em--for I
never heard o' such goings on as theirs down _here_ afore," said Tonson.
"One of 'em--him that axed me all the questions, and wrote i' t' book,
seemed a sharp enough chap in his way; but I can't say much for the
little one," said Higgs. "Lud, I couldn't hardly look in his face for
laughing, he seemed such a fool!--He had a riding-whip wi' a silver
head, and stood smacking his legs (you should ha' seen how tight his
clothes was on his legs--I warrant you, Tim Timpkins never see'd such a
thing, I'll be sworn) all the while, as if a' liked to hear the sound of
it."
"If I'd a' been beside him," said Hazel, "I'd a' saved him that
trouble--only I'd a' laid it into _another_ part of him!"
"Ha, ha, ha!" they laughed--and presently passed on to other matters.
"Hath the squire been doing much lately in Parliament?" inquired the
sexton, of Dickons.
"Why, yes--he's trying hard to get that new road made from Harkley
bridge to Hilton."
"Ah, that would save a good four mile, if a' could manage it!" said one
of the farmers.
"I hear the Papists are trying to get the upper hand again--which the
Lud forbid!" said the sexton, after another pause.
"The squire hath lately made a speech in that matter, that hath finished
them," said Dickons, in a grave and authoritative tone.
"What would they be after?" inquired the landlord of Dickons, of whom,
in common with all present, he thought great things. "They _say_ they
wants nothing but what's their own, and liberty, and that like"----
"If thou wert a shepherd, Master Higgs," replied Dickons, "and wert to
be asked by ten or a dozen wolves to let them in among thy flock of
sheep, they saying how quiet and kind they would be to 'em--would'st let
'em in, or keep 'em out?--eh?"
"Ay, ay--that be it--'tis as true as gospel!" said the clerk.
"So you a'n't to have that old sycamore down, after all, Master
Dickons?" inquired Tonson, after a pause in the conversation.
"No; Miss hath carried the day against the squire and Mr. Waters; and
there stands the old tree, and it hath to be looked to better than ever
it were afore!"
"Why hath Miss taken such a fancy to it? 'Tis an old crazy thing!"
"If thou hadst been there when she did beg, as I may say, its life,"
replied Dickons, with a little energy--"and hadst seen her, and heard
her voice, that be as smooth as cream, thou would'st never have
forgotten it, I can tell thee!"
"There isn't a more beautiful lady i' t' county, I reckon, than the
squire's sister?" inquired the sexton.
"No, nor in all England: if there be, I'll lay down twenty pounds!"
"And where's to be found a young lady that do go about i' t' village
like she?--She were wi' Phoebe Williams t'other night, all through the
snow, and i' t' dark."
"If I'd only laid hands on that chap!" interrupted the young farmer, her
rescuer.
"I wonder she do not choose some one to be married to, up in London,"
said the landlord.
"She'll be having some delicate high quality chap, I reckon, one o'
these fine days," said Hazel.
"She will be a dainty dish, truly, for whomever God gives her to," quoth
Dickons.
"Ay, she will," said more than one, in an earnest tone.
"Now, to my mind," said Tonson, "saving your presence, Master Dickons, I
know not but young Madam be more to my taste; she be in a manner
somewhat fuller--plumper-like, and her skin be _so_ white, and her hair
as black as a raven's."
"There's not another two such women to be found in the whole world,"
said Dickons, authoritatively. Here Hector suddenly rose up, and went to
the door, where he stood snuffing in an inquisitive manner.
"Now, what do that dog hear, I wonder?" quoth Pumpkin, curiously,
stooping forward.
"Blind Bess," replied Tonson, winking his eye, and laughing. Presently
there was a sharp rapping at the door; which the landlord opened, and
let in one of the servants from the Hall, his clothes white with snow,
his face nearly as white, with manifest agitation.
"Why, man, what's the matter?" inquired Dickons, startled by the man's
appearance. "Art frightened at anything?"
"Oh, Lord! oh, Lord!" he commenced.
"What is it, man? Art drunk?--or mad?--or frightened? Take a drop o'
drink," said Tonson. But the man refused it.
"Oh, Lord!--There's woful work at the Hall!"
"What's the matter?" cried all at once, rising and standing round the
new-comer.
"If thou be'st drunk, John," said Dickons, sternly, "there's a way of
sobering thee--mind that."
"Oh, Master Dickons, I don't know what's come to me, for grief and
fright! The squire, they do say, and all of us, are to be turned out o'
Yatton!"
"_What!_" exclaimed all in a breath.
"There's some one else lays claim to it. We must all go! Oh, Lud! oh,
Lud!" No one spoke for a while; and consternation was written on every
face.
"Sit thee down here, John," said Dickons at length, "and let us hear
what thou hast to say--or thou wilt have us all be going up in a body to
the Hall."
Having forced on him part of a glass of ale, he began,--"There hath been
plainly mischief brewing, _somewhere_, this many days, as I could tell
by the troubled face o' t' squire; but he kept it to himself. Lawyer
Parkinson and another have been latterly coming in chaises from London;
and last night the squire got a letter that seems to have finished all.
Such trouble there were last night wi' t' squire, and young Madam and
Miss! And to-day the parson came, and were a long while alone with old
Madam, who hath since had a stroke, or a fit, or something of that like,
(the doctors have been there all day from Grilston,) and likewise young
Madam hath taken to her bed, and is ill. Oh, Lud! oh, Lud! Such work
there be going on!"
"And what of the squire and Miss?" inquired some one, after all had
maintained a long silence.
"Oh, 't would break your heart to see them," said the man, dolefully:
"they be both pale as death: he so dreadful sorrowful, but quiet, like,
and she now and then wringing her hands, and both of them going from the
bedroom of old Madam to young Madam's. Nay, an' there had been half a
dozen deaths i' t' house, it could not be worse. Neither the squire or
Miss hath touched food the whole day!"
There was, in truth, not a dry eye in the room, nor one whose voice did
not seem somewhat obstructed with his emotions.
"Who _told_ thee all this about the squire's losing the estate?"
inquired Dickons, with mingled trepidation and sternness.
"We heard of it but an hour or so agone. Mr. Parkinson (it seems by the
squire's orders) told Mr. Waters, and he told it to us; saying as how it
was useless to keep such a thing secret, and that we might as well all
know the occasion of so much trouble."
"Who's to ha' it then, instead of the squire?" at length inquired
Tonson, in a voice half choked with rage and grief.
"Lord only knows at present. But whoever 'tis, there isn't one of us
sarvents but will go with the squire and his--if it be even to prison,
_that_ I can tell ye!"
"I'm Squire _Aubrey's_ gamekeeper," quoth Tonson, his eye kindling as
his countenance darkened, "and no one's else! It shall go hard if any
one else here hath a game"--
"But if there's law in the land, sure the justice must be wi'
t' squire--he and his family have had it so long?" said one of the
farmers.
"I'll tell you what, masters," said Pumpkin, mysteriously, "I shall be
somewhat better pleased when Jonas here hath got that old creature Bess
safe underground!"
"Blind Bess?" exclaimed Tonson, with a very serious, not to say
disturbed, countenance. "I wonder--sure! sure! _that_ ould witch can
have had no hand in all this---- eh?"----
"Poor old soul, not she! There be no such things as witches
now-a-days," exclaimed Jonas. "Not she, I warrant me! She hath been ever
befriended by the squire's family. _She_ do it!"
"The sooner we get that old woman underground, for all that, the better,
say I!" quoth Tonson, significantly.
"The parson hath a choice sermon on 'The Flying away of Riches,'" said
Higgs, in a quaint, sad manner; "'tis to be hoped that he'll preach from
it next Sunday!"----
Soon after this, the little party dispersed, each oppressed with greater
grief and amazement than he had ever known before. Bad news flies
swiftly--and that which had just come from the Hall, within a very few
hours of its having been told at the Aubrey Arms, had spread grief and
consternation among high and low for many miles round Yatton.