SIR ERNEST “SCATTERS HIS ENEMIES.”
Meanwhile the select committee had not been idle; the bridge progressed
apace, the farmers rejoiced as the affair proceeded rapidly towards
completion. Sir Hugh Xifer rode down day after day to note how the
workmen were “getting on;” the owners of land in the vicinity had become
reconciled to the idea of a most moderate toll, as the “roundabout”
seven miles nuisance had really become unbearable. Everybody was
satisfied, everybody, even to Sir Ernest Ivraine, only the baronet did
not tell the select committee so; no, he held his peace, and they saw
their bridge rise quickly to something fit to put a toll on, and were
thankful.
There were many, indeed, who whispered “Sir Ernest meant mischief,” but
the wise men of Lorton laughed the assertion to scorn.
“He would like to do us mischief, we have no doubt,” they said, “but we
defy him legally to carry out his wishes, and if he attempt to carry
them out illegally, we ‘have him;’ but he is too wise by far for that.”
Yes, Sir Ernest Ivraine was too wise for that, particularly as he knew
he “had them.” He neither summoned them for trespass nor served them
with notice not to build on his premises, nor bribed “parties” to
undermine the foundations, nor ordered out a select band to pull down
the toll gate; he did not threaten, or rage, or trouble himself
apparently in the slightest degree about the matter; he expressed,
indeed, perfect indifference on the subject when it was named in his
presence, and was altogether so externally careless, that he contrived
to deceive his old enemy, Sir Hugh, and the remainder of the select
committee most completely; he lulled them into a state of the most
placid contentment and unbounded confidence, induced them to believe he
was vanquished; in fine, he was so clever as to let them build away in
peace and make them think they had triumphed over him so completely,
that he had ceased to talk of opposition or of annoyance.
There was a look, however, in the baronet’s face which Mr. Medill
distrusted, a sort of half-suppressed malicious expression, that puzzled
the worthy attorney; he could not, indeed, tell exactly what plot the
old miser was hatching, but he felt convinced there was something
disagreeable in the wind, else Sir Ernest would never be taking the
matter so quietly and making so little noise about it.
“I fear,” remarked Mr. Medill to Sir Hugh, “the weather is too calm at
Paradise; we shall certainly have a storm before long, blowing due north
from that quarter.”
“Nay; rather,” returned the knight, “remember the inverse of the proverb
you were thinking of, ‘after a storm comes a lull.’ We had high winds
and high words and thunder threats some months since: I am sure it is
not to be marvelled at there should be a little peace now, after the
tempest he raised last winter.”
“But that tempest did no harm; it was fierce, it is true, but it was
also open: this time he is brewing some precious mess in that
impenetrable cauldron of a brain of his; and I know, by the sarcastic
twinkle of his eye and a peculiar curl, or rather twist, of his lip,
that he is not merely bent on crossing your plans, but has found out
some way of effecting his design.”
“I defy him,” said Sir Hugh solemnly.
“Do you defy the devil?” demanded the attorney.
“And all his imps,” answered the other; “he has no law on his side: the
road is ours; we repair the bridge at our private cost, and every
individual who has any influence in the matter, excepting, perhaps,
himself, has agreed that our proposal of a nominal toll is only just and
equitable. He dare not damage the building, he cannot pass over the
bridge without paying; he could only remove the gate by using illegal
force; in short, I defy him to outwit us now in any way which would not
overstep the bounds of law and render him liable to an action. I have
looked at the matter from every point of view, and I see nothing that he
can do to annoy us or benefit himself.”
“Well, you may depend he does,” briefly responded Mr. Medill.
“Do not believe it,” said the knight, shaking his wise head in a
sceptical manner; “I feel sure we have got the better of Sir Ernest
Ivraine for once.”
“Never knew any man yet who was so fortunate,” was the reply. “Other
people swear and bluster quite as much, perhaps, but they stop
sometimes: now there is _no end_ to Sir Ernest; he never lets go his
hold; he never lifts his nose from the scent till he has hunted his game
down; he never turned aside from any purpose in his life: if he cannot
do harm one way, he will in another; he never forgets, he never
forgives. Take my advice and have a care; I know there is danger near at
hand, for the owner of Paradise is never so dangerous as when apparently
perfectly tranquil.”
But Sir Hugh laughed the injunction to scorn; and he laughed still more
confidently when the bridge was finished, when carts passed over, and
their drivers paid tolls, and the temporary plank affair was removed
altogether, and the other opened and presented to the public, renewed,
strengthened, beautified, as a route for regular traffic.
Still the lull remained unbroken at Paradise: it is true Sir Ernest had
been heard to remark he would pay toll one day on the bridge, but never
again; it was also noticed that not a single one of his tenants had been
seen to pass over it, and somebody asserted that a fresh “opinion” had
been taken on some mysterious subject connected with the bridge affair;
but the committee pursued the even tenor of their self-sufficient
course, perfectly satisfied that they were so excessively clever, nobody
could, by any stretch of human ingenuity, manage to outwit them.
The structure, however, had not been a “perfect miracle of art” for more
than three days, ere the worn-out old pensioner, whom Sir Hugh and his
brethren—he being fit for nothing else—had hired “cheap” to do their
“dirty work,” as the ungrateful farmers now styled the task of
collecting their pennies, came hobbling up to Lorton Hall, and craved an
interview with its owner, Sir Hugh Xifer.
“I am afraid, sir,” he began, “there is something astir up there,” and
he jerked his head in the direction of Paradise, “so I made free to come
and tell you so, and to say I think it might be well to keep a sentinel
or two about the place for a few nights.”
“Confound your sentinel,” said Sir Hugh, savagely; “we are, and have
been, at sufficient expense already; he _dare_ not do us any injury; he
will never put himself within the clutch of the law; I only wish he
would, hang him, but he won’t, I know he won’t.”
“Well, sir,” recommenced the old man, who had “stood at ease” during the
rapid delivery of the above speech, “when I served under the Duke I
learned two things; the first was to report all I saw to my superiors,
the next, to obey their commands implicitly; so I will, first, if you
please, tell you what happened this afternoon, and then leave you to
order what you think best to be done.”
“Make haste, then,” growled Sir Hugh, who listened only with one ear to
the pensioner’s harangue, the other being amply engaged hearkening for
the sound of the dinner bell; “make haste, then,” and, accordingly, thus
graciously permitted to proceed, the man began:
“About half-past three, sir, I was leaning over the side wall, looking
at the river, and thinking how quiet and sluggish it seemed, and of how
it could brawl at times, when who should I see coming to have a glance
at the work but Sir Ernest Ivraine—he, and a friend with him, and they
did take a precious stare at it to be sure.”
“I hope they admired it,” remarked the knight.
“I don’t know about that, sir; but they walked over and over and round
and round it, and down on to the bank, and stood for more than fifteen
minutes staring at the supports and buttresses, or whatever they call
them; and then they came up again and leant over the parapet, and talked
like pickpockets together for ever so long: and, at last, when they
passed me on their way home, I saw the baronet was laughing in that
strange fashion of his, not out loud, but in to himself—quietly in his
throat; and, when they had got twenty yards or so from the bridge, again
I saw them stop and look back, and I heard the gentleman, whoever he
was, laughing, till the very arches rung, as they walked away to
Paradise.”
“Is that all?” demanded Sir Hugh.
“Yes, sir, that is all,” answered the man, “and plenty too, I think,” he
added, _sotto voce_.
“Sir Ernest Ivraine dare not tamper with that bridge,” remarked the
knight, who really felt more uneasy than he cared to confess; “we won’t
begin with watchmen, or any other useless expense; but it is quite right
for you to notice everything, and let me hear it, quite: however, I am
sure we have nothing to fear in that way; you may rest perfectly easy;
if he could have given us any trouble, he would have done so long ago:”
and, as the dinnerbell rung at this juncture, Sir Hugh summarily
dismissed the pensioner, and repaired to that meal with what appetite
the rather disagreeable intelligence just received had left him.
“Medill was right,” he muttered, “there is mischief brewing; I wonder
when death will try a tussle with the old fellow. I am sure it could not
be too soon for the peace of the shire.” And Sir Hugh spent the
remainder of that evening in grumbling about his neighbour, wishing
savage and unchristian things concerning him, and hoping all sorts of
evil might shortly happen to him: for the society about Lorton was none
of the most select; manners were of rather a common standard, and
refinement at the lowest ebb: the knight was much coarser in demeanour
and rougher in speech than the baronet; but still he was rich enough to
head and lead on a band of insurgents, whose pride Sir Ernest had
wounded by his taunts, his contemptuous sneers, and his unanswerable
sarcasms; and thus war for ever raged betwixt the owners of Paradise and
Lorton Hall, thus it was that Sir Hugh defied Sir Ernest, and that the
baronet declared, with a diabolical grin, he “had” the knight at last.
For there were times and circumstances in and under which the miser
never scrupled to expend money to effect a purpose; and, having once
vowed that the Lincolnshire sages should have, as he styled it, “to
knock under,” he rested neither by day nor night till he discovered a
plan likely to meet his views, and disconcert theirs: and, that he might
be enabled to carry it completely into action, and know exactly on what
ground he was standing, he first got an “opinion” as to whether the
committee, having opened the bridge as a public thoroughfare for general
traffic, had the power to refuse any toll; and, finding such was not the
case, he got a friend of his, an engineer, to come and inspect the
masonry, and give an idea of how many tons weight it would require to
injure it: then he had a vehicle purposely constructed, tested, and
found suitable, procured horses _ad libitum_, and at length announced
himself ready.
“Come, Ernest,” he said, “and see the fellows settled;” so Ernest walked
down by his side to the scene of action, and witnessed the final result
of his parent’s long concerted experiment.
The men in charge of the enormous load soon came in sight, and the old
pensioner, who had closed the gate, in anticipation of a passage being
forced, was agreeably surprised to find the toll instantly paid without
a word of remonstrance or irritation.
As the horses dragged countless tons over the bridge, a slight cracking,
however, was heard, which filled the soul of the old pensioner with
dreadful alarm.
“The general in black uniform must have dealings with you,” he thought,
scowling at the baronet; “but, thank heaven! it is safe over at last.”
“Turn,” called out Sir Ernest, as he had just muttered the last words;
and, with some difficulty, the horses’ heads were turned, and again the
bridge was passed, but this time it bent perceptibly.
“Turn,” was again the baronet’s order; “here, fellow, take your toll,”
he added, holding out the proper amount. “What, in the name of all the
fiends, are you doing, closing the gate in the face of my servants! Open
it at once, sirrah, or I’ll make an example of you.”
“You are set to break down the bridge,” answered the man, assuming a
defiant attitude—a stiff military position.
“And what business is it of yours what I do?” returned Sir Ernest; “you
are here to receive tolls, not to obstruct traffic: open the gate, I
say, and let the horses pass.”
“I won’t,” responded the man, doggedly. “I understand perfectly what you
are up to, but I know something too——and——”
“You absolutely refuse to open that gate?” said the baronet.
“I do,” was the reply.
“Though the proper toll be offered to you?”
“Though fifty tolls be offered to me.”
“And you persist in obstructing the passage of my carts and horses?”
“Yes.”
“Well, then, the consequences be on your own head,” finished off the
baronet; “you are only making trouble for yourself and your employers.
Put rests under the shafts and keep the horses quiet,” he added,
addressing the men, “till I can obtain legal assistance to enable me to
cross a bridge on a public road.”
“Run and tell Sir Hugh Xifer that Sir Ernest Ivraine is going to break
down the bridge by law,” whispered the pensioner to a boy who stood near
him; “run like the wind, and say I want to know what I’m to do; make
haste and I will give you a penny,” which remarkable piece of liberality
produced such rapidity of movement in the youth, that before five
minutes had elapsed he was standing in the presence of the worthy
knight, gasping forth the frightful legal intention which had taken
unexpected possession of his neighbour and enemy, the miser baronet.
“Hang him!” exclaimed Sir Hugh, who could have adjusted the rope himself
and swung the adversary with pleasure; “hang him! Here, boy, run off to
the other gentlemen and tell them, and if you can find Mr. Medill, bring
him down to the place too, and there’s a shilling for you,” and the
owner of Lorton Hall absolutely flung the lad the coin he had mentioned,
and then hurried off to the point of action, the much-canvassed,
greatly-endangered, long-menaced bridge.
“Good morning, Sir Hugh,” said the baronet, nodding superciliously to
him, whilst Ernest, who wished himself at the antipodes rather than
where he was, vouchsafed a more gracious inclination.
“You are come, I presume, to make straight a matter your servant has
chosen to put crooked,” continued the miser, with a diabolical grin; “he
declines to receive toll or to permit my horses to pass; may I inquire
whether or not he is acting under your orders?”
“How the deuce could he be acting under my orders, when I was not here
to give him any?” vociferated the knight, whose flushed face and excited
manner afforded a striking contrast to the cool sardonic self-possession
of his opponent, who, long and pale and thin, and apparently
unconcerned, stood leaning against one of the pillars of the bridge,
listening carelessly to Sir Hugh’s answer.
“Then am I to understand,” he said, “that this person has no
instructions to close the gate?”
“I never instructed him anything about the matter,” growled forth Sir
Hugh, who, in a face-toface encounter with the baronet, found himself no
match for the owner of Paradise.
“If he have acted without orders and without instructions, I conclude
you disapprove of his conduct and have come to make reparation for it,”
said Sir Ernest.
No verbal answer was vouchsafed to this speech; but a puzzled scowl and
an eager straining look along the road leading to Lorton, implied, as
the baronet knew, volumes.
“This delay has been and is a serious inconvenience to me,” he resumed;
“if you wish me to believe your servant is really the party in fault,
and not merely an instrument in your hands, please express your desire
that no further annoyance be given to me or my people.”
The Knight of Lorton Hall looked wistfully at the load, then at the
bridge, then at Sir Ernest Ivraine, finally along the road.
“If you let them ’ere blocks of granite over one time more all will go
down together,” ventured the pensioner, who thought he read indecision
in his employer’s face.
“Silence, fellow!” bellowed Sir Hugh, as he noted the sneer which curled
his opponent’s lip; and thus “put down,” the gate-keeper—by far the
honestest man of the trio—relapsed into silence, still, however,
sticking as resolutely to his post as if it had been the key to some
strong position in the Peninsula, unexpectedly menaced by the French.
“Do you know, Sir Hugh, you are acting very foolishly?” recommenced the
miser; “it is nothing to me, or at least merely involves a few minutes’
delay till I procure legal assistance, but it may be much to you: as a
friend, therefore, I counsel you not to lend your countenance to such a
business.”
Sir Hugh merely bit his lip, by way of rejoinder, and glanced back, for
the twentieth time, to see whether help and counsel were coming; as he
beheld, however, a solitary figure advancing, he inwardly muttered a
fervent “Thank Heaven!” and fresh spirit and fresh hope revived within
him, when Mr. Medill, the very man he most desired at that moment to
see, drew near to the spot, and inquired, in a cool, quiet tone, what
was the matter.
“He wants to break down the bridge,” spluttered forth Sir Hugh.
“Good morning, Medill,” said the baronet in quite a friendly manner,
extending one long finger to the attorney; “rather a stand still here,
you perceive: I have offered this fellow the proper toll, and it has
been refused. Your client won’t cross his servant’s whim, so I am just
waiting till proper authority arrives to enable me to get a load of
stone along a public thoroughfare. Then I can insist on the gate being
opened: meanwhile it is rather idle work standing here; fine morning,
though, is not it?”
What response the attorney would have made to this explanatory speech
can never now be known, for just as he opened his lips to reply, Sir
Hugh, who—feeling himself re-inforced, so to speak—could keep silence no
longer, burst forth with the question,
“Pray, Sir Ernest Ivraine, is it your desire to break down that bridge?”
“It is my desire that my men and my horses and my property should cross
that bridge,” replied the other.
“That you may demolish the work of months in a few minutes.”
“That is your idea of the matter,” said the baronet.
“And a correct idea, is it not?” retorted Sir Hugh.
“That you can discover for yourself,” replied the miser; “Sir Hugh
Xifer’s remarkable powers of mind and rapidity of conception are so well
known, it would be worse than superfluous for me to attempt enlightening
him.”
The person to whom this polite speech was addressed absolutely gnashed
his teeth with rage; he longed to strike his opponent with the riding
whip he carried, but a wholesome fear of the consequences restrained
him: there was no use getting into an outrageous passion with a man who
only became more cool as he became more excited. Sir Ernest would not
quarrel—he knew that by experience; and therefore, after a moment’s
hesitation, he turned to Mr. Medill and demanded,
“Has he a right to demand leave for that pyramid to cross?”
“Clear,” was the brief response.
“And if we persist in keeping the gate shut——”
“He can force you to open it.”
“Quite correct, my dear sir, else I had never been here,” remarked the
baronet.
“Stand aside, then,” roared out the knight to his _employé_, “let them
pass and be——”
The holy finale to this brief sentence was lost in the noise which had
ensued on a sign from Sir Ernest to his men, who commenced forthwith
shouting to their horses and striving to get the animals to start.
“They’ll all go in together,” groaned out the pensioner.
“Let them,” said Sir Ernest with the utmost _sang froid_, and he crossed
his arms on his chest and watched—triumph gleaming from his eyes—the
countenance of Sir Hugh, who heard the bridge crack and bend under the
enormous weight it required almost a regiment of horses to drag over it.
“I have a right to come back now without paying any toll,” remarked the
baronet drily, and once again the horses’ heads were turned.
“That will be the fourth time,” said the gate-keeper.
“Will you hold your peace, sirrah!” exclaimed Sir Hugh, who vented his
spleen on him in default of being able to expend it on the original
cause of irritation.
“May I beg that you will order your drivers to stop for a moment?”
interposed Mr. Medill, addressing the baronet; “I see the remaining
proprietors coming, and it would be a pity for more damage to be done
before they arrive: perhaps you and they could settle the matter
amicably.”
“Amicably with him!” said Sir Hugh Xifer, who was fairly distracted;
“amicably with——”
“Oh! you might have finished your speech aloud,” laughed Sir Ernest;
“the devil, you know, listens to terms occasionally.”
“You know that,” retorted the knight; “for, if all we have heard be
true, there is a sort of compact between you and——”
“Don’t excite yourself unnecessarily,” interposed the other; “here come
your friends, they will relieve you from the trouble of conversing with
me.”
And, as he spoke, the three other individuals, who, with the owner of
Lorton Hall, composed the select committee, arrived, filled with vague
alarms, in consequence of assurances they had received from the lips of
the boy who had been despatched to summon them, that “Sir Ernest Ivraine
had sent for a body of police, and was breaking down the bridge by law.”
Mr. Medill, being the only disinterested party present, explained the
state of the case to them, during which explanation the baronet stood
with his hands buried in the pockets of his threadbare trousers,
listening with the most perfect unconcern to the recital. When Mr.
Medill concluded, however, he added, by way of a “settler,”
“To condense all into one brief sentence, gentlemen, I have the power,
if I pay the proper toll, to cross and recross that bridge till
eternity, or rather, as there is little hope of the structure lasting so
long, till it break down.”
Here was a “fix;” the proprietors looked at one another, then the
stupidest of them inquired,
“How often Sir Ernest wanted to draw the load over?”
“As often as I please,” was the response; “and now, as I have delayed a
considerable time to the end that you might have an opportunity of
personally admiring the strength of the pile of masonry that owes its
existence to your enterprising spirit, I must beg that you will stand a
little to one side and let my men pass.”
“For Heaven’s sake, stop!” vociferated the trio with one breath; “what
is it you want us to do? only tell us.”
“To keep out of the way, that you may not be knocked down and trampled
to death,” answered the baronet.
“But will you listen to no terms, agree to no conditions?” they
demanded.
“Ah! now you begin to talk like sensible men,” remarked Sir Ernest;
“offer me reasonable terms, and you won’t find me difficult to deal
with; be stiff, and, if it prove in the power of granite to do it, I’ll
set your bridge swimming.”
“I’d let it swim or sink or stay,” said Sir Hugh Xifer, “before I’d
offer you terms or agree to any you proposed.”
“Yes, but you are only one out of four,” replied the baronet; “a very
important unit, I admit, but still only an unit.”
“I wish——” began his neighbour.
“I know you do; but what is the good of it? Meantime, your friends are
wishing to speak, and you prevent their doing so. Now, gentlemen, if you
please,” and Sir Ernest made a patronizing sign for the crest-fallen
landowners to commence.
“We can’t propose terms, as we don’t know what ground we are going on:
we want to hear what you want.”
“A clear sentence, concisely constructed,” sneered the baronet: “let me
see; you can’t propose terms, you have no idea of what ground you are
upon, and you want to hear what I want. Well, the latter part seems all
I have to do with, and, as I cannot—not having been blessed by nature
with the talents of my friend, your colleague—answer such an important
question in a moment, I propose, first, a sort of truce between us; and,
second, that you send some accredited agent—say Mr. Medill, for
instance—to Paradise any time before twelve o’clock to-morrow morning,
to hear my decision. If he and I come to terms, well and good; if not,
well and good, still: meanwhile, I undertake that my carters do not
cross the bridge during some fixed period, say the next four-and-twenty
hours; and I shall take means to prevent any injury being done to my
property in the interim. Really the air is chilly to-day,” added the
baronet, assuming an erect position: “Shall we settle the matter that
way, then, gentlemen, for the present?” he continued, after an instant’s
pause; and, having received a doleful affirmative from the lips of all
concerned, save Sir Hugh Xifer and his _employé_, he first addressed a
few words to one of the carters, and then walked off towards Paradise,
accompanied by Ernest.
For a full hour the committee remained on the bridge, canvassing,
contradicting, grumbling; but there was no use in it: Sir Ernest Ivraine
had laid his plans well; there was no getting out of his net; no
cheating or deceiving or “putting off” him; and the end of it all was,
that when Mr. Medill was despatched to Paradise, he was empowered to
accede to any terms the baronet might propose “in reason.”
“As if,” growled out Sir Hugh, “anything he expects could be in reason.”
“They have put me to a deal of expense,” said the person thus spoken of,
“a great deal, and given me an incredible amount of annoyance; but I
don’t want to be hard with them or impose any disagreeable conditions,
solely because I am master now: no; these are the terms I propose, from
which I will not abate one iota; and if they do not like them, we need
treat no further, that is all.”
And the end of the business was, that Sir Ernest extorted from the
proprietors a paper, exempting him and every individual who called him
“landlord,” or who should, at any future period, become a tenant of his,
from the payment of any toll or tolls whatsoever, by whomsoever
demanded, on a certain bridge, built across, etc., etc., flowing
through, and so forth.
And, moreover, he made them give him a sum sufficient to repay every
shilling he had laid out since the commencement of the affair; and,
while Sir Hugh Xifer first swore till he was almost black in the face,
and then grew so furious that a doctor had to be sent for to save him
from a fit of apoplexy, his enemy, whose power he had defied, remarked,
with a quiet smile to his son, pointing at the same time to a cheque for
a very respectable amount,
“That settles the cost of your visit to London, Ernest, at any rate.”