A RELATIVE.
Claim'd kindred there, and had his claims allow'd.
_Deserted Village._
Starting at the unexpected and undesired apparition which presented
itself, in the manner described at the end of the last chapter, Mowbray
yet felt, at the same time, a kind of relief, that his meeting with Lord
Etherington, painfully decisive as that meeting must be, was for a time
suspended. So it was with a mixture of peevishness and internal
satisfaction, that he demanded what had procured him the honour of a
visit from Mr. Touchwood at this late hour.
"Necessity, that makes the old wife trot," replied Touchwood; "no choice
of mine, I assure you--Gad, Mr. Mowbray, I would rather have crossed
Saint Gothard, than run the risk I have done to-night, rumbling through
your breakneck roads in that d----d old wheelbarrow.--On my word, I
believe I must be troublesome to your butler for a draught of
something--I am as thirsty as a coal-heaver that is working by the
piece. You have porter, I suppose, or good old Scotch two-penny?"
With a secret execration on his visitor's effrontery, Mr. Mowbray
ordered the servant to put down wine and water, of which Touchwood
mixed a gobletful, and drank it off.
"We are a small family," said his entertainer; "and I am seldom at
home--still more seldom receive guests, when I chance to be here--I am
sorry I have no malt liquor, if you prefer it."
"Prefer it?" said Touchwood, compounding, however, another glass of
sherry and water, and adding a large piece of sugar, to correct the
hoarseness which, he observed, his night journey might bring on,--"to be
sure I prefer it, and so does every body, except Frenchmen and
dandies.--No offence, Mr. Mowbray, but you should order a hogshead from
Meux--the brown-stout, wired down for exportation to the colonies, keeps
for any length of time, and in every climate--I have drank it where it
must have cost a guinea a quart, if interest had been counted."
"When I _expect_ the honour of a visit from you, Mr. Touchwood, I will
endeavour to be better provided," answered Mowbray; "at present your
arrival has been without notice, and I would be glad to know if it has
any particular object."
"This is what I call coming to the point," said Mr. Touchwood, thrusting
out his stout legs, accoutred as they were with the ancient defences,
called boot-hose, so as to rest his heels upon the fender. "Upon my
life, the fire turns the best flower in the garden at this season of the
year--I'll take the freedom to throw on a log.--Is it not a strange
thing, by the by, that one never sees a fagot in Scotland? You have much
small wood, Mr. Mowbray, I wonder you do not get some fellow from the
midland counties, to teach your people how to make a fagot."
"Did you come all the way to Shaws-Castle," asked Mowbray, rather
testily, "to instruct me in the mystery of fagot-making?"
"Not exactly--not exactly," answered the undaunted Touchwood; "but there
is a right and a wrong way in every thing--a word by the way, on any
useful subject, can never fall amiss.--As for my immediate and more
pressing business, I can assure you, that it is of a nature sufficiently
urgent, since it brings me to a house in which I am much surprised to
find myself."
"The surprise is mutual, sir," said Mowbray, gravely, observing that his
guest made a pause; "it is full time you should explain it."
"Well, then," replied Touchwood; "I must first ask you whether you have
never heard of a certain old gentleman, called Scrogie, who took it into
what he called his head, poor man, to be ashamed of the name he bore,
though owned by many honest and respectable men, and chose to join it to
your surname of Mowbray, as having a more chivalrous Norman sounding,
and, in a word, a gentlemanlike twang with it?"
"I have heard of such a person, though only lately," said Mowbray.
"Reginald Scrogie Mowbray was his name. I have reason to consider his
alliance with my family as undoubted, though you seem to mention it with
a sneer, sir. I believe Mr. S. Mowbray regulated his family settlements
very much upon the idea that his heir was to intermarry with our house."
"True, true, Mr. Mowbray," answered Touchwood; "and certainly it is not
your business to lay the axe to the root of the genealogical tree, that
is like to bear golden apples for you--Ha!"
"Well, well, sir--proceed--proceed," answered Mowbray.
"You may also have heard that this old gentleman had a son, who would
willingly have cut up the said family-tree into fagots; who thought
Scrogie sounded as well as Mowbray, and had no fancy for an imaginary
gentility, which was to be attained by the change of one's natural name,
and the disowning, as it were, of one's actual relations."
"I think I have heard from Lord Etherington," answered Mowbray, "to
whose communications I owe most of my knowledge about these Scrogie
people, that old Mr. Scrogie Mowbray was unfortunate in a son, who
thwarted his father on every occasion,--would embrace no opportunity
which fortunate chances held out, of raising and distinguishing the
family,--had imbibed low tastes, wandering habits, and singular objects
of pursuit,--on account of which his father disinherited him."
"It is very true, Mr. Mowbray," proceeded Touchwood, "that this person
did happen to fall under his father's displeasure, because he scorned
forms and flummery,--loved better to make money as an honest merchant,
than to throw it away as an idle gentleman,--never called a coach when
walking on foot would serve the turn,--and liked the Royal Exchange
better than St. James's Park. In short, his father disinherited him,
because he had the qualities for doubling the estate, rather than those
for squandering it."
"All this may be quite correct, Mr. Touchwood," replied Mowbray; "but
pray, what has this Mr. Scrogie, junior, to do with you or me?"
"Do with you or me!" said Touchwood, as if surprised at the question;
"he has a great deal to do with me at least, since I am the very man
myself."
"The devil you are!" said Mowbray, opening wide his eyes in turn; "Why,
Mr. A--a--your name is Touchwood--P. Touchwood--Paul, I suppose, or
Peter--I read it so in the subscription book at the Well."
"Peregrine, sir, Peregrine--my mother would have me so christened,
because Peregrine Pickle came out during her confinement; and my poor
foolish father acquiesced, because he thought it genteel, and derived
from the Willoughbies. I don't like it, and I always write P. short, and
you might have remarked an S. also before the surname--I use at present
P. S. Touchwood. I had an old acquaintance in the city, who loved his
jest--He always called me Postscript Touchwood."
"Then, sir," said Mowbray, "if you are really Mr. Scrogie, _tout court_,
I must suppose the name of Touchwood is assumed?"
"What the devil!" replied Mr. P. S. Touchwood, "do you suppose there is
no name in the English nation will couple up legitimately with my
paternal name of Scrogie, except your own, Mr. Mowbray?--I assure you I
got the name of Touchwood, and a pretty spell of money along with it,
from an old godfather, who admired my spirit in sticking by commerce."
"Well, sir, every one has his taste--Many would have thought it better
to enjoy a hereditary estate, by keeping your father's name of Mowbray,
than to have gained another by assuming a stranger's name of Touchwood."
"Who told you Mr. Touchwood was a stranger to me?" said the traveller;
"for aught I know, he had a better title to the duties of a son from
me, than the poor old man who made such a fool of himself, by trying to
turn gentleman in his old age. He was my grandfather's partner in the
great firm of Touchwood, Scrogie, and Co.--Let me tell you, there is as
good inheritance in house as in field--a man's partners are his fathers
and brothers, and a head clerk may be likened to a kind of first
cousin."
"I meant no offence whatever, Mr. Touchwood Scrogie."
"Scrogie Touchwood, if you please," said the senior; "the scrog branch
first, for it must become rotten ere it become touchwood--ha, ha,
ha!--you take me."
"A singular old fellow this," said Mowbray to himself, "and speaks in
all the dignity of dollars; but I will be civil to him, till I can see
what he is driving at.--You are facetious, Mr. Touchwood," he proceeded
aloud. "I was only going to say, that although you set no value upon
your connexion with my family, yet I cannot forget that such a
circumstance exists; and therefore I bid you heartily welcome to
Shaws-Castle."
"Thank ye, thank ye, Mr. Mowbray--I knew you would see the thing right.
To tell you the truth, I should not have cared much to come a-begging
for your acquaintance and cousinship, and so forth; but that I thought
you would be more tractable in your adversity, than was your father in
his prosperity."
"Did you know my father, sir?" said Mowbray.
"Ay, ay--I came once down here, and was introduced to him--saw your
sister and you when you were children--had thoughts of making my will
then, and should have clapped you both in before I set out to double
Cape Horn. But, gad, I wish my poor father had seen the reception I got!
I did not let the old gentleman, Mr. Mowbray of St. Ronan's that was
then, smoke my money-bags--that might have made him more tractable--not
but that we went on indifferent well for a day or two, till I got a hint
that my room was wanted, for that the Duke of Devil-knows-what was
expected, and my bed was to serve his valet-de-chambre.--'Oh, damn all
gentle cousins!' said I, and off I set on the pad round the world again,
and thought no more of the Mowbrays till a year or so ago."
"And, pray, what recalled us to your recollection?"
"Why," said Touchwood, "I was settled for some time at Smyrna, (for I
turn the penny go where I will--I have done a little business even since
I came here;)--but being at Smyrna as I said, I became acquainted with
Francis Tyrrel."
"The natural brother of Lord Etherington," said Mowbray.
"Ay, so called," answered Touchwood; "but by and by he is more likely to
prove the Earl of Etherington himself, and t'other fine fellow the
bastard."
"The devil he is!--You surprise me, Mr. Touchwood."
"I thought I should--I thought I should--Faith, I am sometimes surprised
myself at the turn things take in this world. But the thing is not the
less certain--the proofs are lying in the strong chest of our house at
London, deposited there by the old Earl, who repented of his roguery to
Miss Martigny long before he died, but had not courage enough to do his
legitimate son justice till the sexton had housed him."
"Good Heaven, sir!" said Mowbray; "and did you know all this while, that
I was about to bestow the only sister of my house upon an impostor?"
"What was my business with that, Mr. Mowbray?" replied Touchwood; "you
would have been very angry had any one suspected you of not being sharp
enough to look out for yourself and your sister both. Besides, Lord
Etherington, bad enough as he may be in other respects, was, till very
lately, no impostor, or an innocent one, for he only occupied the
situation in which his father had placed him. And, indeed, when I
understood, upon coming to England, that he was gone down here, and, as
I conjectured, to pay his addresses to your sister, to say truth, I did
not see he could do better. Here was a poor fellow that was about to
cease to be a lord and a wealthy man; was it not very reasonable that he
should make the most of his dignity while he had it? and if, by marrying
a pretty girl while in possession of his title, he could get possession
of the good estate of Nettlewood, why, I could see nothing in it but a
very pretty way of breaking his fall."
"Very pretty for him, indeed, and very convenient too," said Mowbray;
"but pray, sir, what was to become of the honour of my family?"
"Why, what was the honour of your family to me?" said Touchwood; "unless
it was to recommend your family to my care, that I was disinherited on
account of it. And if this Etherington, or Bulmer, had been a good
fellow, I would have seen all the Mowbrays that ever wore broad cloth at
Jericho, before I had interfered."
"I am really much indebted to your kindness," said Mowbray angrily.
"More than you are aware of," answered Touchwood; "for, though I thought
this Bulmer, even when declared illegitimate, might be a reasonable good
match for your sister, considering the estate which was to accompany the
union of their hands; yet, now I have discovered him to be a
scoundrel--every way a scoundrel--I would not wish any decent girl to
marry him, were they to get all Yorkshire, instead of Nettlewood. So I
have come to put you right."
The strangeness of the news which Touchwood so bluntly communicated,
made Mowbray's head turn round like that of a man who grows dizzy at
finding himself on the verge of a precipice. Touchwood observed his
consternation, which he willingly construed into an acknowledgment of
his own brilliant genius.
"Take a glass of wine, Mr. Mowbray," he said, complacently; "take a
glass of old sherry--nothing like it for clearing the ideas--and do not
be afraid of me, though I come thus suddenly upon you with such
surprising tidings--you will find me a plain, simple, ordinary man, that
have my faults and my blunders like other people. I acknowledge that
much travel and experience have made me sometimes play the busybody,
because I find I can do things better than other people, and I love to
see folk stare--it's a way I have got. But, after all, I am _un bon
diable_, as the Frenchman says; and here I have come four or five
hundred miles to lie quiet among you all, and put all your little
matters to rights, just when you think they are most desperate."
"I thank you for your good intentions," said Mowbray; "but I must needs
say, that they would have been more effectual had you been less cunning
in my behalf, and frankly told me what you knew of Lord Etherington; as
it is, the matter has gone fearfully far. I have promised him my
sister--I have laid myself under personal obligations to him--and there
are other reasons why I fear I must keep my word to this man, earl or no
earl."
"What!" exclaimed Touchwood, "would you give up your sister to a
worthless rascal, who is capable of robbing the post-office, and of
murdering his brother, because you have lost a trifle of money to him?
Are you to let him go off triumphantly, because he is a gamester as well
as a cheat?--You are a pretty fellow, Mr. Mowbray of St. Ronan's--you
are one of the happy sheep that go out for wool, and come home shorn.
Egad, you think yourself a millstone, and turn out a sack of grain--You
flew abroad a hawk, and have come home a pigeon--You snarled at the
Philistines, and they have drawn your eye-teeth with a vengeance!"
"This is all very witty, Mr. Touchwood," replied Mowbray; "but wit will
not pay this man Etherington, or whatever he is, so many hundreds as I
have lost to him."
"Why, then, wealth must do what wit cannot," said old Touchwood; "I must
advance for you, that is all. Look ye, sir, I do not go afoot for
nothing--if I have laboured, I have reaped--and, like the fellow in the
old play, 'I have enough, and can maintain my humour'--it is not a few
hundreds, or thousands either, can stand betwixt old P. S. Touchwood and
his purpose; and my present purpose is to make you, Mr. Mowbray of St.
Ronan's, a free man of the forest.--You still look grave on it, young
man?--Why, I trust you are not such an ass as to think your dignity
offended, because the plebeian Scrogie comes to the assistance of the
terribly great and old house of Mowbray?"
"I am indeed not such a fool," answered Mowbray, with his eyes still
bent on the ground, "to reject assistance that comes to me like a rope
to a drowning man--but there is a circumstance"----he stopped short and
drank a glass of wine--"a circumstance to which it is most painful to me
to allude--but you seem my friend--and I cannot intimate to you more
strongly my belief in your professions of regard than by saying, that
the language held by Lady Penelope Penfeather on my sister's account,
renders it highly proper that she were settled in life; and I cannot but
fear, that the breaking off the affair with this man might be of great
prejudice to her at this moment. They will have Nettlewood, and they may
live separate--he has offered to make settlements to that effect, even
on the very day of marriage. Her condition as a married woman will put
her above scandal, and above necessity, from which, I am sorry to say, I
cannot hope long to preserve her."
"For shame!--for shame!--for shame!" said Touchwood, accumulating his
words thicker than usual on each other; "would you sell your own flesh
and blood to a man like this Bulmer, whose character is now laid before
you, merely because a disappointed old maid speaks scandal of her? A
fine veneration you pay to the honoured name of Mowbray! If my poor,
old, simple father had known what the owners of these two grand
syllables could have stooped to do for merely ensuring subsistence, he
would have thought as little of the noble Mowbrays as of the humble
Scrogies. And, I dare say, the young lady is just such another--eager
to get married--no matter to whom."
"Excuse me, Mr. Touchwood," answered Mowbray; "my sister entertains
sentiments so very different from what you ascribe to her, that she and
I parted on the most unpleasant terms, in consequence of my pressing
this man's suit upon her. God knows, that I only did so, because I saw
no other outlet from this most unpleasant dilemma. But, since you are
willing to interfere, sir, and aid me to disentangle these complicated
matters, which have, I own, been made worse by my own rashness, I am
ready to throw the matter completely into your hands, just as if you
were my father arisen from the dead. Nevertheless, I must needs express
my surprise at the extent of your intelligence in these affairs."
"You speak very sensibly, young man," said the traveller; "and as for my
intelligence, I have for some time known the finesses of this Master
Bulmer as perfectly as if I had been at his elbow when he was playing
all his dog's tricks with this family. You would hardly suspect now," he
continued, in a confidential tone, "that what you were so desirous a
while ago should take place, has in some sense actually happened, and
that the marriage ceremony has really passed betwixt your sister and
this pretended Lord Etherington?"
"Have a care, sir!" said Mowbray, fiercely; "do not abuse my
candour--this is no place, time, or subject, for impertinent jesting."
"As I live by bread, I am serious," said Touchwood; "Mr. Cargill
performed the ceremony; and there are two living witnesses who heard
them say the words, 'I, Clara, take you, Francis,' or whatever the
Scottish church puts in place of that mystical formula."
"It is impossible," said Mowbray; "Cargill dared not have done such a
thing--a clandestine proceeding, such as you speak of, would have cost
him his living. I'll bet my soul against a horse-shoe, it is all an
imposition; and you come to disturb me, sir, amid my family distress,
with legends that have no more truth in them than the Alkoran."
"There are some true things in the Alkoran, (or rather, the Koran, for
the Al is merely the article prefixed,) but let that pass--I will raise
your wonder higher before I am done. It is very true, that your sister
was indeed joined in marriage with this same Bulmer, that calls himself
by the title of Etherington; but it is just as true, that the marriage
is not worth a maravedi, for she believed him at the time to be another
person--to be, in a word, Francis Tyrrel, who is actually what the other
pretends to be, a nobleman of fortune."
"I cannot understand one word of all this," said Mowbray. "I must to my
sister instantly, and demand of her if there be any real foundation for
these wonderful averments."
"Do not go," said Touchwood, detaining him, "you shall have a full
explanation from me; and to comfort you under your perplexity, I can
assure you that Cargill's consent to celebrate the nuptials, was only
obtained by an aspersion thrown on your sister's character, which
induced him to believe that speedy marriage would be the sole means of
saving her reputation; and I am convinced in my own mind it is only the
revival of this report which has furnished the foundation of Lady
Penelope's chattering."
"If I could think so"--said Mowbray, "if I could but think this is
truth--and it seems to explain, in some degree, my sister's mysterious
conduct--if I could but think it true, I should fall down and worship
you as an angel from heaven!"
"A proper sort of angel," said Touchwood, looking modestly down on his
short, sturdy supporters--"Did you ever hear of an angel in boot-hose?
Or, do you suppose angels are sent to wait on broken-down
horse-jockeys?"
"Call me what you will, Mr. Touchwood," said the young man, "only make
out your story true, and my sister innocent!"
"Very well spoken, sir," answered the senior, "very well spoken! But
then I understand, you are to be guided by my prudence and experience?
None of your G-- damme doings, sir--your duels or your drubbings. Let
_me_ manage the affair for you, and I will bring you through with a
flowing sail."
"Sir, I must feel as a gentleman,"--said Mowbray.
"Feel as a fool," said Touchwood, "for that is the true case. Nothing
would please this Bulmer better than to fight through his rogueries--he
knows very well, that he who can slit a pistol-ball on the edge of a
penknife, will always preserve some sort of reputation amidst his
scoundrelism--but I shall take care to stop that hole. Sit down--be a
man of sense, and listen to the whole of this strange story."
Mowbray sat down accordingly; and Touchwood, in his own way, and with
many characteristic interjectional remarks, gave him an account of the
early loves of Clara and Tyrrel--of the reasons which induced Bulmer at
first to encourage their correspondence, in hopes that his brother
would, by a clandestine marriage, altogether ruin himself with his
father--of the change which took place in his views when he perceived
the importance annexed by the old Earl to the union of Miss Mowbray with
his apparent heir--of the desperate stratagem which he endeavoured to
play off, by substituting himself in the room of his brother--and all
the consequences, which it is unnecessary to resume here, as they are
detailed at length by the perpetrator himself, in his correspondence
with Captain Jekyl.
When the whole communication was ended, Mowbray, almost stupified by the
wonders he had heard, remained for some time in a sort of reverie, from
which he only started to ask what evidence could be produced of a story
so strange.
"The evidence," answered Touchwood, "of one who was a deep agent in all
these matters, from first to last--as complete a rogue, I believe, as
the devil himself, with this difference, that our mortal fiend does not,
I believe, do evil for the sake of evil, but for the sake of the profit
which attends it. How far this plea will avail him in a court of
conscience, I cannot tell; but his disposition was so far akin to
humanity, that I have always found my old acquaintance as ready to do
good as harm, providing he had the same _agio_ upon the transaction."
"On my soul," said Mowbray, "you must mean Solmes! whom I have long
suspected to be a deep villain--and now he proves traitor to boot. How
the devil could you get into his intimacy, Mr. Touchwood?"
"The case was particular," said Touchwood. "Mr. Solmes, too active a
member of the community to be satisfied with managing the affairs which
his master intrusted to him, adventured in a little business on his own
account; and thinking, I suppose, that the late Earl of Etherington had
forgotten fully to acknowledge his services, as valet to his son, he
supplied that defect by a small check on our house for L.100, in name,
and bearing the apparent signature, of the deceased. This small mistake
being detected, Mr. Solmes, _porteur_ of the little billet, would have
been consigned to the custody of a Bow-street officer, but that I found
means to relieve him, on condition of his making known to me the points
of private history which I have just been communicating to you. What I
had known of Tyrrel at Smyrna, had given me much interest in him, and
you may guess it was not lessened by the distresses which he had
sustained through his brother's treachery. By this fellow's means, I
have counterplotted all his master's fine schemes. For example, as soon
as I learned Bulmer was coming down here, I contrived to give Tyrrel an
anonymous hint, well knowing he would set off like the devil to thwart
him, and so I should have the whole dramatis personæ together, and play
them all off against each other, after my own pleasure."
"In that case," said Mr. Mowbray, "your expedient brought about the
rencontre between the two brothers, when both might have fallen."
"Can't deny it--can't deny it," answered Scrogie, a little
discountenanced--"a mere accident--no one can guard every point.--Egad,
but I had like to have been baffled again, for Bulmer sent the lad
Jekyl, who is not such a black sheep neither but what there are some
white hairs about him, upon a treaty with Tyrrel, that my secret agent
was not admitted to. Gad, but I discovered the whole--you will scarce
guess how."
"Probably not easily, indeed, sir," answered Mowbray; "for your sources
of intelligence are not the most obvious, any more than your mode of
acting the most simple or most comprehensible."
"I would not have it so," said Touchwood; "simple men perish in their
simplicity--I carry my eye-teeth about me.--And for my source of
information--why, I played the eavesdropper, sir--listened--knew my
landlady's cupboard with the double door--got into it as she has done
many a time.--Such a fine gentleman as you would rather cut a man's
throat, I suppose, than listen at a cupboard door, though the object
were to prevent murder?"
"I cannot say I should have thought of the expedient, certainly, sir,"
said Mowbray.
"I did, though," said Scrogie, "and learned enough of what was going on,
to give Jekyl a hint that sickened him of his commission, I believe--so
the game is all in my own hands. Bulmer has no one to trust to but
Solmes, and Solmes tells me every thing."
Here Mowbray could not suppress a movement of impatience.
"I wish to God, sir, that since you were so kind as to interest yourself
in affairs so intimately concerning my family, you had been pleased to
act with a little more openness towards me. Here have I been for weeks
the intimate of a damned scoundrel, whose throat I ought to have cut for
his scandalous conduct to my sister. Here have I been rendering her and
myself miserable, and getting myself cheated every night by a swindler,
whom you, if it had been your pleasure, could have unmasked by a single
word. I do all justice to your intentions, sir; but, upon my soul, I
cannot help wishing you had conducted yourself with more frankness and
less mystery; and I am truly afraid your love of dexterity has been too
much for your ingenuity, and that you have suffered matters to run into
such a skein of confusion, as you yourself will find difficulty in
unravelling."
Touchwood smiled, and shook his head in all the conscious pride of
superior understanding. "Young man," he said, "when you have seen a
little of the world, and especially beyond the bounds of this narrow
island, you will find much more art and dexterity necessary in
conducting these businesses to an issue, than occurs to a blind John
Bull, or a raw Scotchman. You will be then no stranger to the policy of
life, which deals in mining and countermining,--now in making feints,
now in thrusting with forthright passes. I look upon you, Mr. Mowbray,
as a young man spoiled by staying at home, and keeping bad company; and
will make it my business, if you submit yourself to my guidance, to
inform your understanding, so as to retrieve your estate.--Don't--Don't
answer me, sir! because I know too well, by experience, how young men
answer on these subjects--they are conceited, sir, as conceited as if
they had been in all the four quarters of the world. I hate to be
answered, sir, I hate it. And, to tell you the truth, it is because
Tyrrel has a fancy of answering me, that I rather make you my confidant
on this occasion, than him. I would have had him throw himself into my
arms, and under my directions; but he hesitated--he hesitated, Mr.
Mowbray--and I despise hesitation. If he thinks he has wit enough to
manage his own matters, let him try it--let him try it. Not but I will
do all I can for him, in fitting time and place; but I will let him
dwell in his perplexities and uncertainties for a little while longer.
And so, Mr. Mowbray, you see what sort of an odd fellow I am, and you
can satisfy me at once whether you mean to come into my measures--only
speak out at once, sir, for I abhor hesitation."
While Touchwood thus spoke, Mowbray was forming his resolution
internally. He was not so inexperienced as the senior supposed; at
least, he could plainly see that he had to do with an obstinate,
capricious old man, who, with the best intentions in the world, chose
to have every thing in his own way; and, like most petty politicians,
was disposed to throw intrigue and mystery over matters which had much
better be prosecuted boldly and openly. But he perceived at the same
time, that Touchwood, as a sort of relation, wealthy, childless, and
disposed to become his friend, was a person to be conciliated, the
rather that the traveller himself had frankly owned that it was Francis
Tyrrel's want of deference towards him, which had forfeited, or at least
abated, his favour. Mowbray recollected, also, that the circumstances
under which he himself stood, did not permit him to trifle with
returning gleams of good fortune. Subduing, therefore, the haughtiness
of temper proper to him as an only son and heir, he answered
respectfully, that, in his condition, the advice and assistance of Mr.
Scrogie Touchwood were too important, not to be purchased at the price
of submitting his own judgment to that of an experienced and sagacious
friend.
"Well said, Mr. Mowbray," replied the senior, "well said. Let me once
have the management of your affairs, and we will brush them up for you
without loss of time.--I must be obliged to you for a bed for the night,
however--it is as dark as a wolf's mouth; and if you will give orders to
keep the poor devil of a postilion, and his horses too, why, I will be
the more obliged to you."
Mowbray applied himself to the bell. Patrick answered the call, and was
much surprised, when the old gentleman, taking the word out of his
entertainer's mouth, desired a bed to be got ready, with a little fire
in the grate; "for I take it, friend," he went on, "you have not guests
here very often.--And see that my sheets be not damp, and bid the
housemaid take care not to make the bed upon an exact level, but let it
slope from the pillow to the footposts, at a declivity of about eighteen
inches.--And hark ye--get me a jug of barley-water, to place by my
bedside, with the squeeze of a lemon--or stay, you will make it as sour
as Beelzebub--bring the lemon on a saucer, and I will mix it myself."
Patrick listened like one of sense forlorn, his head turning like a
mandarin, alternately from the speaker to his master, as if to ask the
latter whether this was all reality. The instant that Touchwood stopped,
Mowbray added his fiat.
"Let every thing be done to make Mr. Touchwood comfortable, in the way
he wishes."
"Aweel, sir," said Patrick, "I shall tell Mally, to be sure, and we maun
do our best, and--but it's unco late"----
"And, therefore," said Touchwood, "the sooner we get to bed the better,
my old friend. I, for one, must be stirring early--I have business of
life and death--it concerns you too, Mr. Mowbray--but no more of that
till to-morrow.--And let the lad put up his horses, and get him a bed
somewhere."
Patrick here thought he had gotten upon firm ground for resistance, for
which, displeased with the dictatorial manner of the stranger, he felt
considerably inclined.
"Ye may catch us at that, if ye can," said Patrick; "there's nae post
cattle come into our stables--What do we ken, but that they may be
glandered, as the groom says?"
"We must take the risk to-night, Patrick," said Mowbray, reluctantly
enough--"unless Mr. Touchwood will permit the horses to come back early
next morning?"
"Not I, indeed," said Touchwood; "safe bind safe find--it may be once
away and aye away, and we shall have enough to do to-morrow morning.
Moreover, the poor carrion are tired, and the merciful man is merciful
to his beast--and, in a word, if the horses go back to St. Ronan's Well
to-night, I go there for company."
It often happens, owing, I suppose, to the perversity of human nature,
that subserviency in trifles is more difficult to a proud mind, than
compliance in matters of more importance. Mowbray, like other young
gentlemen of his class, was finically rigid in his stable discipline,
and even Lord Etherington's horses had not been admitted into that
_sanctum sanctorum_, into which he now saw himself obliged to induct two
wretched post-hacks. But he submitted with the best grace he could; and
Patrick, while he left their presence, with lifted-up hands and eyes to
execute the orders he had received, could scarcely help thinking that
the old man must be the devil in disguise, since he could thus suddenly
control his fiery master, even in the points which he had hitherto
seemed to consider as of most vital importance.
"The Lord in his mercy haud a grip of this puir family! for I, that was
born in it, am like to see the end of it." Thus ejaculated Patrick.