MR. GREENWOOD AND MR. VERNON.
It was in the middle of April, and about two o'clock in the afternoon,
when the Honourable Gilbert Vernon knocked at the door of Mr.
Greenwood's mansion in Spring Gardens.
He was immediately admitted by a footman in livery; and Filippo, the
Italian valet, who was lounging in the hall at the moment, conducted him
to the elegant drawing-room where the Member for Rottenborough was
seated.
As soon as Filippo had retired, Mr. Vernon said in a somewhat impatient
tone, as he fixed his large grey eyes in a scrutinising manner upon
Greenwood's countenance, "May I request to know, with as little delay as
possible, the reason that has induced you to demand this interview?"
"Sit down, Mr. Vernon," was the reply; "and listen to me calmly. In
January last I met you accidentally in London; and you implored me not
to breathe to a soul the fact that you were in this country."
"And if I had private—urgent motives for so acting, Mr. Greenwood,"
exclaimed Vernon, "I cannot suppose that it cost you any effort to
maintain my secret."
"I set out by requesting you to listen to me attentively," returned the
Member of Parliament, with the coolness of a man who knows he is
dictating to one completely in his power.
"Proceed," said Vernon, biting his lip. "I will not again interrupt you:
that is—unless——"
"I need scarcely state that I _did_ keep your secret," continued
Greenwood, without appearing to notice the hesitation with which his
visitor gave the promise of attention. "You shortly afterwards called
upon me to request a loan, which it was not convenient for me to advance
at the moment. On that occasion you reiterated your request of secrecy
relative to your presence in London. I renewed my pledge of silence—and
I kept it; but I felt convinced that there were some cogent reasons
which prompted that anxiety for concealment. Knowing much of your
circumstances, I instituted inquiries in a certain quarter; and I learnt
that Lord Ravensworth was dying—dying gradually—in a most mysterious
manner—and of a disease that baffled all the skill of his physicians. I
also ascertained that he was a slave to the use of a particular tobacco
which you—his brother—had _kindly_ sent him from the East!"
"Mr. Greenwood!" ejaculated Vernon, his face assuming so dark—so
foreboding—so ferocious an expression that the Member of Parliament saw
his dart had been levelled with the most accurate aim.
"Pray, listen, Mr. Vernon!" said Greenwood, playing with his watch-chain
in a calm and quiet manner, as if he were discoursing upon the most
indifferent topics. "Having made those discoveries,—which, indeed, were
so generally known in the fashionable world, that the most simple
inquiry induced any West-End gossip or newsmonger of the Clubs to
descant upon them,—I began to view them in a particular light——"
"Mr. Greenwood," cried Vernon, starting from his seat, his countenance
red with indignation, "do you pretend for one moment to insinuate that
I—I, the brother of the late Lord Ravensworth——"
"I insinuate nothing," interrupted the Member, with the most provoking
calmness: "but I will presently explain to you in broad terms, if you
choose, the _facts_ of which I am _convinced_. I promise you that you
will do well to hear me patiently."
"But is my character to suffer by the scandal of superannuated dowagers
and the tattle of Club _quid nuncs_?" demanded Vernon, rage imparting a
terrible emphasis to his deep-toned voice.
"Your character has in no way suffered with those parties," answered
Greenwood. "All that they relate is mere idle gossip, without an object
or an aim. _They_ have no suspicion: circumstances have aroused none in
_their_ minds. But when I heard all that they state as mere matter of
conversation, _I_ viewed it in a different light, because my suspicions
_were_ aroused by the knowledge of your presence in England, and your
anxiety to conceal that fact. And, if any thing were wanting to confirm
those suspicions, the company in which I saw you the evening before
last——"
"Ah! you saw me—with some one?" cried Vernon, hastily, and for the
moment thrown off his guard.
"Yes: I saw you in conversation with a man of the most desperate
character—a man who only last month escaped from the Middlesex House of
Correction——"
"Then, in a word, Mr. Greenwood," interrupted Vernon, subduing his
vexation and rage with a desperate mental effort, and resuming his seat,
"how came you to discover my address in Stamford Street? and wherefore
did you yesterday write to me to call on you to-day?"
"I overheard you say to Anthony Tidkins, '_The day after to-morrow I
shall proceed to Ravensworth Hall, as if I had only just returned to
England in consequence of letters sent to Beyrout to announce to me my
brother's death; and you will join me in the capacity agreed upon_.'
This I overheard you say, Mr. Vernon," continued Greenwood, fixing upon
his visitor a glance of triumphant assurance; "and I then felt convinced
that all my previous suspicions were well founded! I accordingly
followed you when you separated from that individual who bears the
odious name of _the Resurrection Man_; and I traced you to your lodgings
in Stamford Street."
"But for what purpose? with what view?" demanded Vernon, who saw that he
was completely in Greenwood's power.
"I will come to that presently," was the calm reply. "You do not even
give me credit for the delicacy with which I acted in bringing about
this interview?"
"Delicacy!" repeated Vernon, his lip curling haughtily.
"Yes—delicacy," added Greenwood. "I knew not whether you passed at your
lodging by your proper name; and therefore I would not call in person to
inquire for you—fearful of betraying you."
"But I _do_ pass there in my proper name," said Vernon; "for the old
widow who keeps the house nursed me in my infancy, and I can rely upon
her."
"Thank you for this admission, Mr. Vernon," rejoined Greenwood,
complacently: "wherever reliance is to be placed, it is clear that there
is something which might be betrayed. You have confirmed the strength of
my previous convictions."
"Do not think that I made that admission unguardedly," said Vernon,
nettled by Greenwood's manner. "No: I see that I am in your power—I
admit it; and therefore I no longer attempted to mislead you."
"And you acted wisely," returned Greenwood. "It were far better for you
to have me as a friend, than as an enemy. But, as I was ere now
observing, it was to avoid the chance of betraying you that I sent my
faithful valet, Filippo, to loiter about Stamford Street last evening,
and slip my note into your hands. I described your person to him—and he
executed my commission well."
"Then you have no inimical motive in seeking me out—in telling me all
that you suspect?" said Vernon, looking suspiciously at Greenwood from
beneath his dark brows.
"Not the slightest! How can I have such a motive?" exclaimed Greenwood.
"A secret falls in my way—and I endeavour to profit by it. That is all."
"I scarcely comprehend you," observed the guilty man, his countenance
again becoming overcast.
"In one word, Mr. Vernon," continued Greenwood, emphatically, "you come
to England privately—upon some secret and mysterious errand. Still you
pass by your own name at your lodging. That circumstance to superficial
observers might seem to involve a strange want of precaution. To me it
appears a portion of your plan, and the result of a judicious
calculation. You return privately to England, I say—but you retain your
own name at a place where you know it will not be betrayed unless
circumstances should peremptorily demand its revelation; and then,
should certain suspicions attach themselves to you, you would say boldly
and feasibly also—'_It is true that I came to England to live quietly;
but I attempted no disguise—I assumed no fictitious name_.' Ah! I can
penetrate further into the human heart than most people: my experience
of the world is of no common order."
"It would seem not," said Vernon: "especially as _you_ also appear to
know Anthony Tidkins, since you recognised him in my society the other
night."
"There are few men at all notorious for their good or evil deeds, in
this great city, who are unknown to me," observed Greenwood, calmly.
"But permit me to continue. You are here—in this country, while really
deemed to be abroad—under circumstances of no ordinary mystery; your
brother smokes the tobacco you so kindly sent him—_and dies_; your
associate the Resurrection Man and you are now about to proceed to
Ravensworth Hall—doubtless convinced that you have allowed a sufficient
interval to elapse since your brother's death in the middle of February,
to maintain the belief—where such belief suits your purposes—that you
have only just had time to receive that intelligence in the East, and
thence return to England. Can you deny one tittle of my most reasonable
conjectures?"
"Greenwood, you are an extraordinary man," cried Vernon, affecting an
ease which he did not feel and a sudden familiarity which he did not
like. "Did I not before say that I would no longer attempt to mislead
you? And I am willing to secure you as my friend."
"You now speak to the point. I candidly confess that I have told you all
I suspect or know concerning yourself and your affairs," proceeded
Greenwood; "and I am perfectly indifferent as to whether you choose to
enlighten me farther, or not. Doubtless you have some defined course to
pursue; or else the aid of the Resurrection Man would be unnecessary.
But whether you hope to inherit largely under your deceased brother's
will; or whether you can establish claims that may benefit you, in spite
of the existence of the infant heir of Ravensworth, who was born a month
ago——"
"Ah! the birth of that heir has well-nigh destroyed all my hopes!"
interrupted Vernon, again rising from his seat. "But, tell me—what do
you require at my hands? how am I to secure you as my friend? how am I
to purchase your continued silence concerning all you have divined or
now know?"
"With money," replied Greenwood: "with that article which buys every
thing in this world!"
"Money!—I have none!" exclaimed Vernon. "But ere long——"
"Stay!" cried Greenwood: "tell me nothing of your schemes—nothing of
your projects! I would rather remain in ignorance of the designs you may
have in view; for, look you, Mr. Vernon,—though, between ourselves, I am
not over nice in some matters, as you may probably suppose from the fact
that Anthony Tidkins is known to me, as well as from my readiness to
receive a bribe to ensure my secrecy in respect to your proceedings,—yet
I do not care if I tell you that I shudder when I think of the lengths
to which you have already gone—to which, perhaps, you are still prepared
to go!"
"Was it to read me a moral lecture that you sought this interview?"
demanded the Honourable Gilbert Vernon, with a contemptuous curl of the
lip.
"No—far from that!" responded Greenwood. "And therefore enough of this
style of discourse on my part. Still the observations were not
unnecessary; for they serve to explain the relative positions in which
we stand. _You_ have already committed _one_ fearful crime—and I know
it: perhaps you meditate _another_—and I suspect it. But it is not for
me to betray you—nor to reason with you:—I am not inclined to do
either—provided you are grateful."
"Mr. Greenwood," said Vernon, speaking thickly between his set teeth,
"you shall have a noble reward, if you religiously keep my secret."
"Such is the understanding at which I was desirous to arrive," observed
Greenwood.
Gilbert Vernon then took his leave, in no very enviable state of mind
under the conviction that his crimes had placed him so entirely in the
power of such an extortioner as the Member for Rottenborough.
We must observe, ere we conclude the chapter, that Filippo, the Italian
valet, had listened at the door of the drawing-room where this interview
took place; and that not a syllable of the whole conversation was lost
upon him.
In the evening Filippo obtained leave of absence for a few hours; and he
availed himself of this license to repair to the villa in which Eliza
Sydney dwelt.