A GLOOMY VISITOR.
As soon as the two young ladies had reached the farm-house, Ellen
addressed Katherine with alarming seriousness of manner.
"My dear friend," she said, "some plot is in existence against your
peace. That fearful-looking man and that horrible old woman are perfect
fiends in mortal shape."
"But what cause of enmity can they entertain against me?" asked
Katharine, drawing her chair close to Ellen's seat with that sweet
confidence which a younger sister would have been expected to show
towards an elder one. "I never saw them before in my life, to my
knowledge; and I certainly never can have injured them."
"You are rich—and that is a sufficient motive to inspire the man with
designs against you: you are pretty—and that is a sufficient reason for
inducing the woman to spread her nets in your path. The man," continued
Ellen, "has more than once attempted the life of our generous benefactor
Richard; and that old hag, Katherine, is a wretch who lives upon the
ruin of young females."
At this moment Mrs. Bennet entered the room; and, observing the
disturbed countenances of Ellen and Katherine, she felt alarmed.
Ellen immediately communicated to her the particulars of the adventure
just related, and concluded with these observations:—"The person of the
man was previously unknown to me; but Mr. Markham had made me familiar
with his name. Thus, when I heard that name breathed by his infamous
companion, I recognised in him the monster of whose crimes my benefactor
has related so dread a history. As for the woman," added Ellen, after a
moment's hesitation, "she has been pointed out to me as one of those
vile wretches who render cities and great towns dangerous to young
females. Indeed, she once practised her arts upon me:—hence I am well
aware of her true character."
Mrs. Bennet was dreadfully frightened at the incident which had
occurred; but, like Katherine, she was somewhat at a loss to conceive
what possible object the two bad characters whom Ellen so bitterly
denounced, could have in view with respect to her young charge.
The trio were still conversing upon the mysterious occurrence, when
Farmer Bennet entered the room.
Of course the narrative had to be repeated to him; and he was much
troubled by what he heard.
The dinner was served up; but none of those who sate down to it ate with
any appetite. A vague and uncertain consciousness of impending danger or
of serious annoyance oppressed them all.
The table was cleared; and Mrs. Bennet had just produced a bottle of
excellent home-made wine, "to cheer their spirits," as she said, when
the servant entered to announce that a person desired to speak to Mr.
Bennet. The farmer ordered the individual in question to be admitted;
and the servant, having disappeared for a few moments, returned,
ushering in an elderly man dressed in shabby black, and wearing a dingy
white cravat with very limp ends.
"Your servant, ma'am—your most obedient, young ladies," said he: then,
starting with well-affected surprise, he ejaculated, "Ah! if my eyes
doesn't deceive me in my old age, that's Miss Kate Wilmot, werily and
truly!"
"Mr. Banks!" said Katherine, in a tone expressive of both surprise and
aversion; for she remembered that the undertaker used to call upon
Smithers to purchase the rope by means of which criminals had been
executed.
"Yes, my dear—my name is, as you say, Banks—Edward Banks, of Globe Lane,
London—Furnisher of Funerals on New and Economic Principles—Good Deal
Coffin, Eight Shillings and Sixpence—Stout Oak, Thirty-five
Shillings—Patent Funeral Carriage, One Pound Eleven—First Rate
Carriage-Funeral, Mutes and Feathers, Four Pound Four—Catholic
Fittings——"
"Really, sir," exclaimed Mr. Bennet, impatiently, "this is not a very
pleasant subject for conversation; and if you have come upon no other
business than to recite your Prospectus——"
"A thousand apologies, sir—a thousand apologies," interrupted Mr. Banks,
calmly sinking into a seat. "But whenever I see a few or a many mortal
wessels gathered together, I always think that the day must come when
they'll be nothink more than blessed carkisses and then, Mr. Bennet,"
added the undertaker, shaking his head solemnly, and applying a dirty
white handkerchief to his eyes, "how pleasant to the wirtuous feelings
must it be to know where to get the funeral done on the newest and most
economic principles."
"Katherine, do you know this person?" inquired the farmer, irritated by
the intruder's pertinacity in his gloomy topic.
"I have seen him three or four times at Mr. Smithers' house in London,"
was the answer; "but Mr. Banks well knows that I never exchanged ten
words with him in my life."
"Then you do not come to see Miss Wilmot?" demanded Mr. Bennet, turning
towards the undertaker.
"No, sir—no," answered Banks, heaving a deep sigh. "Did you not
perceive, sir, that I was quite took at a non-plush when I set my
wenerable eyes on the blessed countenance of that charming gal? But
pardon me, sir—pardon me, if I am someot long in coming to the pint:—it
is, however, my natur' to ramble when I reflects on the pomps and
wanities of this wicked world; and natur' is natur,' sir, after all—is
it _not_, ma'am?"
Here he turned with a most dolorous expression of countenance towards
Mrs. Bennet.
"I really do not understand you, sir," was her laconic reply:—nor more
she did, good woman! for it was not even probable that Mr. Banks quite
understood himself.
[Illustration]
"Now, sir, will you have the goodness to explain the nature of your
business with me—since it is with _me_, no doubt, that you have business
to transact?" said the farmer, in a tone which showed how disagreeable
the undertaker's whining nonsense was to him.
"Something tells me that this man's visit bears reference to our
adventure of the morning," whispered Ellen to Katherine. "Do not offer
to leave the room: let us hear all he has to say."
Katherine replied by a meaning look, and then glanced with suspicious
timidity towards Banks, who was again speaking.
"My business isn't to be explained in a moment, sir," said the
undertaker; "and I must beg your patience for a little while."
"Go on," exclaimed the farmer, throwing himself back in his seat, and
folding his arms with the desperate air of a man who knew that he could
only get rid of a troublesome visitor by allowing him to tell his story
in his own way.
"You're in mourning, ma'am, I see," observed Mr. Banks, turning towards
Mrs. Bennet. "Ah! I remember—that wexatious affair of the Rector of
Saint David's. Pray, ma'am, who _undertook_ the funeral of your blessed
defunct sister?"
"Sir!" exclaimed Mrs. Bennet, tears starting into her eyes.
"No offence, ma'am—no offence. Only I should like it to be known in
these here parts that Edward Banks—of Globe Lane, London, undertakes on
new and economic principles, and doesn't mind distances. S'pose, sir,"
continued this most disagreeable visitor, again addressing the farmer,
"s'pose you come to me some fine morning and says, '_Banks_,' says you,
'_my dear wife has just become a blessed defunct_——'"
"This is too much!" ejaculated Mr. Bennet, starting from his seat. "Have
you, or have you not, any business to engage my attention?"
"I'm coming to the pint—I'm coming to the pint this moment," said Banks.
"Pray sit down for a few minutes—I shan't ingross much more of your
wallyable time; for time really _is_ wallyable in this sublunary
speer;"—and the undertaker shook his head so mournfully that worthy Mrs.
Bennet could not help thinking he was a very good and humane, though
somewhat a prosy individual. "When we look around us, and behold how
many benighted creeturs lives in total recklessness for the
futur'—without putting by in an old stocking or any where else a single
penny towards buying 'em a decent coffin—it's enough to make one's hair
stand on end. But I see you are growing impatient, sir:—well—perhaps my
feelings does carry me away. Still I don't mean no harm.
Howsomever—business is business, as coffins is coffins, or carkisses is
carkisses; and so here's to business in a jiffy."
With these words Mr. Banks drew from his capacious coat-pocket a
brown-paper parcel, about a foot long, three inches wide, and as many
deep.
Then he began, with most provoking deliberation of manner, to unroll the
numerous folds of paper in which the precious object of so much care was
wrapped; and, while he thus aroused the curiosity of his spectators to
the utmost, he continued talking in a more lachrymose style than ever.
"There is dooties which we owe to heaven—and there is dooties which we
owe to our fellow-creeturs. To heaven, ma'am, we owes a obligation of
wirtue: to our fellow-creeturs we owes respect and decency when they're
no more. Wirtues, ma'am, is like the white nails on a black-cloth
covered coffin: the more there is of 'em, the stronger is the coffin,
and the better it looks. Wices, ma'am, is like the knots in a common
deal coffin: the more there is of 'em, the veaker is the coffin, and the
wuss it looks. I'm now a-going to show you, ma'am—and you, too, sir—and
you also, young ladies—a object of the deepest interest to us poor
mortal wessels. I've wrapped it up in this wise, 'cause I've paytented
it, and this is the only model I've got. When once it's generally known,
the whole world will thank me for the inwention; and posterity will
remember with gratitude the name of Banks of Globe Lane—Furnisher of
Funerals on New and Economic Principles. You see, the parcel is gettin'
smaller and smaller—'cause the blessed object was as well wrapped up as
a young babby. However—here's the last fold:—off with the paper—and
there's the concentrating focus of all interest!"
As Mr. Banks wound up with this beautiful peroration, he disengaged from
the last fold of paper a miniature model of a coffin, about eight inches
long, and wide and deep in proportion. It was covered with black silk,
and was studded with innumerable white nails.
But as he placed it, with a glance of almost paternal affection, upon
the table, the farmer started up, exclaiming, "I have already put up
with your insolence too long. What does this unwarrantable intrusion
upon my privacy mean? Speak, sir: have you any thing to say to me?"
"I am now coming to the pint at length," answered the undertaker, but
little abashed by this rebuff. "In one word," he continued, producing a
small memorandum-book and preparing to write with a pencil,—"in one
word, I want you and your family to let me put down each of your
names——"
"For what?" demanded Bennet, impatiently.
"For a Paytent Silk-covered Silver-nailed Indestructible Wood-seasoned
Coffin," was the calm reply. "It's warranted to keep as good as new till
you want it."
Mr. Bennet fell back into his seat, completely stupefied by this
extraordinary announcement;—Mrs. Bennet cast horrified glances at the
undertaker, as if she thought he was mad;—Ellen cast a look of deep
indignation on the individual who had produced this excitement;—and
Katherine started on her seat, exclaiming, "What have you done, Mr.
Banks? Mrs. Bennet is fainting!"
This was really the case—such an effect did the sudden display of the
coffin and the cool demand of patronage made by the undertaker, produce
upon one whose mind had not yet quite recovered from the severe shock
occasioned by the murder of her sister.
"Water, Katherine!—quick!" exclaimed the farmer, hastening towards his
wife.
Kate instantly hurried from the room to fetch water; while Ellen, on her
part, proffered the necessary attentions to the fainting woman.
Mr. Banks was thus for a moment forgotten; and this was exactly the
condition of things that suited his purpose. Hastily thrusting the model
coffin into his pocket, he seized his hat and hurried from the parlour,
closing the door behind him.
In the passage he met Kate, who was hastening back to the room, with a
jug of water in her hand.
"One moment—only one moment—_as you value the memory of your deceased
mother_,"—whispered Banks, speaking more rapidly and with less whining
affectation than he had done for many years. "Take this note—read it in
private—its contents deeply concern you and your _blessed defunct
parent_. If you breathe a word concerning it to a soul _you will for
ever lose the opportunity of knowing who was your father_."
Banks thrust a note into the girl's hand, and hastily left the house.
The words which he had uttered, produced—as might naturally be
supposed—so strange an effect upon Katherine,—that sudden allusion to
her mother took her so much by surprise,—and then that mysterious
mention of her father increased her bewilderment to such an extent, that
she mechanically grasped the note with a mixture of awe and gratitude,
and, prompted by the same impulses, thrust it into the bosom of her
dress.
All this was the work of scarcely a quarter of a minute; and the moment
she had thus received and concealed the note, she re-entered the
parlour, where the aid of the fresh water soon brought Mrs. Bennet to
herself.
"Where is that scoundrel?" cried the farmer, now finding leisure to
think of the cause of his wife's sudden indisposition.
"He is gone," returned Katherine.
Then, seating herself near the window, the young girl fell into a
profound reverie.
"Gone!" ejaculated Bennet. "But it is better that he should have gone—or
I might be tempted to do him a mischief."
"That man came hither with some sinister design," said Ellen. "From the
first moment of his appearance, my suspicions associated his visit with
the adventure of the morning."
"But what object could he have?" cried the farmer. "He seemed only
anxious to intrude himself as long as possible."
"Perhaps he was waiting for an opportunity to speak to Katherine alone,"
observed Ellen. "He certainly appeared to be talking against time."
"Yes, dear friends," exclaimed Katherine, rising from her seat, and
advancing towards those whom she thus addressed; "that man _did_ desire
to speak to me alone—and he succeeded in his object. Pardon me if for a
few moments I hesitated whether to obey his solemn injunction of
silence, or to communicate the incident to you who wish me well. But the
words which he spoke, and the earnestness of his manner, bewildered me.
It however only required a short interval of sober reflection to teach
me my duty."
Katherine then repeated the words that Banks had whispered in her ears,
and produced the note which he had thrust into her hand.
"You have acted prudently in revealing these particulars, dear Kate,"
said Ellen. "A man who is compelled to effect his purposes by such low
devices as those employed by him who has just left us, cannot mean
well."
"Let us hear the contents of the letter," cried Farmer Bennet: "we may
then, perhaps, see more clearly into the mystery."
"Read it, Ellen," said Kate. "I must confess to a profound curiosity to
become acquainted with its contents."
Ellen accordingly opened the note, and read as follows:—
"Silence and secrecy,—if you respect the memory of your deceased
mother! Be not deluded by the advice of Miss Monroe, who has her own
reasons for prejudicing you against me. I am well acquainted with
all the particulars of your birth:—I can impart facts that it
behoves you to learn. You will bitterly repent any distrust in this
matter. Have you no inclination to hear more concerning your
mother's history than you can possibly now know? would you not go
far, and sacrifice much, to glean something with regard to _your
father_? This evening—at seven precisely—I shall be at the foot of
the hill where I met you just now. If you come alone, you will learn
much that nearly and deeply concerns you: if you appear accompanied
by a soul, my lips will remain sealed.
"THE FEMALE YOU SAW JUST NOW."
"I have so far my own reasons for counselling you against that wicked
woman," said Ellen, indignantly, "inasmuch as I would save you from
danger. But if you really believe that there can be any thing serious in
this promise of important communications, I should advise you to meet
that female—for precautions can be adopted to protect you from a
distance."
Katherine glanced inquiringly towards the farmer.
"I see that you are anxious to meet this woman, Kate," said he, after a
pause; "and it is natural. She promises communications on subjects that
cannot be otherwise than dear to you. Miss Monroe and I can keep watch
at a distance; and on the slightest elevation of voice on your part, we
will hasten to your assistance."
This project was approved of even by the timid Mrs. Bennet; and
Katherine Wilmot anxiously awaited the coming of the appointed hour.