At this particular time, no man's presence was more desired in that
county than Griffith Gaunt's.
And this I need not now be telling the reader, if I had related this
story on the plan of a miscellaneous chronicle. But the affairs of the
heart are so absorbing, that, even in a narrative, they thrust aside
important circumstances of a less moving kind.
I must therefore go back a step, before I advance further. You must know
that forty years before our Griffith Gaunt saw the light, another
Griffith Gaunt was born in Cumberland: a younger son, and the family
estate entailed; but a shrewd lad, who chose rather to hunt fortune
elsewhere than to live in miserable dependence on his elder brother. His
godfather, a city merchant, encouraged him, and he left Cumberland. He
went into commerce, and in twenty years became a wealthy man,--so
wealthy that he lived to look down on his brother's estate, which he had
once thought opulence. His life was all prosperity, with a single
exception; but that a bitter one. He laid out some of his funds in a
fashionable and beautiful wife. He loved her before marriage; and, as
she was always cold to him, he loved her more and more.
In the second year of their marriage she ran away from him; and no
beggar in the streets of London was so miserable as the wealthy
merchant.
It blighted the man, and left him a sore heart all his days. He never
married again; and railed on all womankind for this one. He led a
solitary life in London till he was sixty-nine; and then, all of a
sudden, Nature, or accident, or both, changed his whole habits. Word
came to him that the family estate, already deeply mortgaged, was for
sale, and a farmer who had rented a principal farm on it, and held a
heavy mortgage, had made the highest offer.
Old Griffith sent down Mr. Atkins, his solicitor, post haste, and
snapped the estate out of that purchaser's hands.
When the lands and house had been duly conveyed to him, he came down,
and his heart seemed to bud again, in the scenes of his childhood.
Finding the house small, and built in a valley instead of on rising
ground, he got an army of bricklayers, and began to build a mansion with
a rapidity unheard of in those parts; and he looked about for some one
to inherit it.
The name of Gaunt had dwindled down to three, since he left Cumberland;
but a rich man never lacks relations. Featherstonhaughs, and Underhills,
and even Smiths, poured in, with parish registers in their laps, and
proved themselves Gauntesses, and flattered and carneyed the new head of
the family.
Then the perverse old gentleman felt inclined to look elsewhere. He knew
he had a namesake at the other side of the county, but this namesake did
not come near him.
This independent Gaunt excited his curiosity and interest. He made
inquiries, and heard that young Griffith had just quarrelled with his
wife, and gone away in despair.
Griffith senior took for granted that the fault lay with Mrs. Gaunt, and
wasted some good sympathy on Griffith junior.
On further inquiry he learned that the truant was dependent on his wife.
Then, argued the moneyed man, he would not run away from her but that
his wound was deep.
The consequence of all this was, that he made a will very favorable to
his absent and injured (?) namesake. He left numerous bequests; but made
Griffith his residuary legatee; and, having settled this matter, urged
on, and superintended his workmen.
Alas! just as the roof was going on, a narrower house claimed him, and
he made good the saying of the wise bard,--
"Tu secanda marmora
Locas sub ipsum funus et sepulchri
Immemor struis domos."
The heir of his own choosing could not be found to attend his funeral;
and Mr. Atkins, his solicitor, a very worthy man, was really hurt at
this. With the quiet bitterness of a displeased attorney, he merely sent
Mrs. Gaunt word her husband inherited something under the will, and she
would do well to produce him, or else furnish him (Atkins) with proof of
his decease.
Mrs. Gaunt was offended by this cavalier note, and replied very like a
woman, and very unlike Business.
"I do not know where he is," said she, "nor whether he is alive or dead.
Nor do I feel disposed to raise the hue and cry after him. But favor me
with your address, and I shall let you know should I hear anything about
him."
Mr. Atkins was half annoyed, half amused, at this piece of indifference.
It never occurred to him that it might be all put on.
He wrote back to say that the estate was large, and, owing to the terms
of the will, could not be administered without Mr. Griffith Gaunt; and,
in the interest of the said Griffith Gaunt, and also of the other
legatees, he really must advertise for him.
La Gaunt replied, that he was very welcome to advertise for whomsoever
he pleased.
Mr. Atkins was a very worthy man; but human. To tell the truth, he was
himself one of the other legatees. He inherited (and, to be just, had
well deserved) four thousand guineas, under the will, and could not
legally touch it without Griffith Gaunt. This little circumstance
spurred his professional zeal.
Mr. Atkins advertised for Griffith Gaunt, in the London and Cumberland
papers, and in the usual enticing form. He was to apply to Mr. Atkins,
Solicitor, of Gray's Inn, and he would hear of something greatly to his
advantage.
These advertisements had not been out a fortnight, when Griffith Gaunt
came home, as I have related.
But Mr. Atkins had punished Mrs. Gaunt for her _insouciance_, by not
informing her of the extent of her good fortune; so she merely told
Griffith, casually, that old Griffith Gaunt had left him some money, and
the solicitor, Mr. Atkins, could not get on without him. Even this
information she did not vouchsafe until she had given him her L500, for
she grudged Atkins the pleasure of supplying her husband with money.
However, as soon as Griffith left her, she wrote to Mr. Atkins to say
that her husband had come home in perfect health, thank God; had only
stayed two days, but was to return in a week.
When ten days had elapsed, Atkins wrote to inquire.
She replied he had not yet returned; and this went on till Mr. Atkins
showed considerable impatience.
As for Mrs. Gaunt, she made light of the matter to Mr. Atkins; but, in
truth, this new mystery irritated her and pained her deeply.
In one respect she was more unhappy than she had been before he came
back at all. Then she was alone; her door was closed to commentators.
But now, on the strength of so happy a reconciliation, she had
re-entered the world, and received visits from Sir George Neville, and
others; and, above all, had announced that Griffith would be back for
good in a few days. So now his continued absence exposed her to sly
questions from her own sex, to the interchange of glances between female
visitors, as well as to the internal torture of doubt and suspense.
But what distracted her most was the view Mrs. Ryder took of the matter.
That experienced lady had begun to suspect some other woman was at the
bottom of Griffith's conduct; and her own love for Griffith was now
soured. Repeated disappointments and affronts, _spretaeque injuria
formae_, had not quite extinguished it, but had mixed so much spite with
it that she was equally ready to kiss or to stab him.
So she took every opportunity to instil into her mistress, whose
confidence she had won at last, that Griffith was false to her.
"That is the way with these men that are so ready to suspect others.
Take my word for it, Dame, he has carried your money to his leman. 'Tis
still the honest woman that must bleed for some nasty trollop or other."
She enforced this theory by examples drawn from her own observations in
families, and gave the very names; and drove Mrs. Gaunt almost mad with
fear, anger, jealousy, and cruel suspense. She could not sleep, she
could not eat; she was in a constant fever.
Yet before the world she battled it out bravely, and indeed none but
Ryder knew the anguish of her spirit, and her passionate wrath.
At last there came a most eventful day.
Mrs. Gaunt had summoned all her pride and fortitude, and invited certain
ladies and gentlemen to dine and sup.
She was one of the true Spartan breed, and played the hostess as well as
if her heart had been at ease. It was an age in which the host struggled
fiercely to entertain the guests; and Mrs. Gaunt was taxing all her
powers of pleasing in the dining-room, when an unexpected guest strolled
into the kitchen: the pedler, Thomas Leicester.
Jane welcomed him cordially, and he was soon seated at a table eating
his share of the feast.
Presently Mrs. Ryder came down, dressed in her best, and looking
handsomer than ever.
At sight of her, Tom Leicester's affection revived; and he soon took
occasion to whisper an inquiry whether she was still single.
"Ay," said she, "and like to be."
"Waiting for the master still? Mayhap I could cure you of that
complaint. But least said is soonest mended."
This mysterious hint showed Ryder he had a secret burning his bosom. The
sly hussy said nothing just then, but plied him with ale and flattery;
and, when he whispered a request for a private meeting out of doors, she
cast her eyes down, and assented.
And in that meeting she carried herself so adroitly, that he renewed his
offer of marriage, and told her not to waste her fancy on a man who
cared neither for her nor any other she in Cumberland.
"Prove that to me," said Ryder, cunningly, "and may be I'll take you at
your word."
The bribe was not to be resisted. Tom revealed to her, under a solemn
promise of secrecy, that the Squire had got a wife and child in
Lancashire; and had a farm and an inn, which latter he kept under the
name of--Thomas Leicester.
In short, he told her, in his way, all the particulars I have told in
mine.
Which told it the best will never be known in this world.
She led him on with a voice of very velvet. He did not see how her cheek
paled and her eyes flashed jealous fury.
When she had sucked him dry, she suddenly turned on him, with a cold
voice, and said, "I can't stay any longer with you just now. She will
want me."
"You will meet me here again, lass?" said Tom, ruefully.
"Yes, for a minute, after supper."
She then left him, and went to Mrs. Gaunt's room, and sat crouching
before the fire, all hate and bitterness.
What? he had left the wife he loved, and yet had not turned to her!
She sat there, waiting for Mrs. Gaunt, and nursing her vindictive fury,
two mortal hours.
At last, just before supper, Mrs. Gaunt came up to her room, to cool her
fevered hands and brow, and found this creature crouched by her fire,
all in a heap, with pale cheek, and black eyes that glittered like
basilisk's.
"What is the matter, child?" said Mrs. Gaunt. "Good heavens! what hath
happened?"
"Dame!" said Ryder, sternly, "I have got news of him."
"News of _him_?" faltered Mrs. Gaunt. "Bad news?"
"I don't know whether to tell you or not," said Ryder, sulkily, but with
a touch of human feeling.
"What cannot I bear? What have I not borne? Tell me the truth."
The words were stout, but she trembled all over in uttering them.
"Well, it is as I said, only worse. Dame, he has got a wife and child in
another county; and no doubt been deceiving her, as he has _us_."
"A wife!" gasped Mrs. Gaunt, and one white hand clutched her bosom, and
the other the mantel-piece.
"Ay, Thomas Leicester, that is in the kitchen now, saw her, and saw his
picture hanging aside hers on the wall. And he goes by the name of
Thomas Leicester. That was what made Tom go into the inn, seeing his own
name on the signboard. Nay, Dame, never give way like that. Lean on
me,--so. He is a villain,--a false, jealous, double-faced villain."
Mrs. Gaunt's head fell back on Ryder's shoulder, and she said no word;
but only moaned and moaned, and her white teeth clicked convulsively
together.
Ryder wept over her sad state: the tears were half impulse, half
crocodile.
She applied hartshorn to the sufferer's nostrils, and tried to rouse her
mind by exciting her anger. But all was in vain. There hung the betrayed
wife, pale, crushed, and quivering under the cruel blow.
Ryder asked her if she should go down and excuse her to her guests.
She nodded a feeble assent.
Ryder then laid her down on the bed with her head low, and was just
about to leave her on that errand, when hurried steps were heard outside
the door; and one of the female servants knocked; and, not waiting to be
invited, put her head in, and cried, "O, Dame, the Master is come home.
He is in the kitchen."