MR. FURNIVAL AGAIN AT HIS CHAMBERS.
The Christmas doings at The Cleeve were not very gay. There was no
visitor there, except Lady Mason, and it was known that she was
in trouble. It must not, however, be supposed that she constantly
bewailed herself while there, or made her friends miserable by a
succession of hysterical tears. By no means. She made an effort to be
serene, and the effort was successful--as such efforts usually are.
On the morning of Christmas-day they duly attended church, and Lady
Mason was seen by all Hamworth sitting in The Cleeve pew. In no way
could the baronet's friendship have been shown more plainly than
in this, nor could a more significant mark of intimacy have been
given;--all which Sir Peregrine well understood. The people of
Hamworth had chosen to talk scandal about Lady Mason, but he at any
rate would show how little attention he paid to the falsehoods that
there were circulated. So he stood by her at the pew door as she
entered, with as much deference as though she had been a duchess; and
the people of Hamworth, looking on, wondered which would be right,
Mr. Dockwrath or Sir Peregrine.
After dinner Sir Peregrine gave a toast. "Lady Mason, we will drink
the health of the absent boys. God bless them! I hope they are
enjoying themselves."
"God bless them!" said Mrs. Orme, putting her handkerchief to her
eyes.
"God bless them both!" said Lady Mason, also putting her handkerchief
to her eyes. Then the ladies left the room, and that was the extent
of their special festivity. "Robert," said Sir Peregrine immediately
afterwards to his butler, "let them have what port wine they want in
the servants' hall--within measure."
"Yes, Sir Peregrine."
"And Robert, I shall not want you again."
"Thank you, Sir Peregrine."
From all which it may be imagined that the Christmas doings at The
Cleeve were chiefly maintained below stairs.
"I do hope they are happy," said Mrs. Orme, when the two ladies
were together in the drawing-room. "They have a very nice party at
Noningsby."
"Your boy will be happy, I'm sure," said Lady Mason.
"And why not Lucius also?"
It was sweet in Lady Mason's ear to hear her son called by his
Christian name. All these increasing signs of interest and intimacy
were sweet, but especially any which signified some favour shown to
her son. "This trouble weighs heavy on him," she replied. "It is only
natural that he should feel it."
"Papa does not seem to think much of it," said Mrs. Orme. "If I were
you, I would strive to forget it."
"I do strive," said the other; and then she took the hand which Mrs.
Orme had stretched out to her, and that lady got up and kissed her.
"Dearest friend," said Mrs. Orme, "if we can comfort you we will."
And then they sobbed in each other's arms.
In the mean time Sir Peregrine was sitting alone, thinking. He sat
thinking, with his glass of claret untouched by his side, and with
the biscuit which he had taken lying untouched upon the table. As he
sat he had raised one leg upon the other, placing his foot on his
knee, and he held it there with his hand upon his instep. And so he
sat without moving for some quarter of an hour, trying to use all
his mind on the subject which occupied it. At last he roused himself,
almost with a start, and leaving his chair, walked three or four
times the length of the room. "Why should I not?" at last he said to
himself, stopping suddenly and placing his hand upon the table. "Why
should I not, if it pleases me? It shall not injure him--nor her."
And then he walked again. "But I will ask Edith," he said, still
speaking to himself. "If she says that she disapproves of it, I will
not do it." And then he left the room, while the wine still remained
untasted on the table.
[Illustration: "Why should I not?"]
On the day following Christmas Mr. Furnival went up to town, and Mr.
Round junior,--Mat Round, as he was called in the profession,--came
to him at his chambers. A promise had been made to the barrister by
Round and Crook that no active steps should be taken against Lady
Mason on the part of Joseph Mason of Groby, without notice being
given to Mr. Furnival. And this visit by appointment was made in
consequence of that promise.
"You see," said Matthew Round, when that visit was nearly brought to
a close, "that we are pressed very hard to go on with this, and if we
do not, somebody else will."
"Nevertheless, if I were you, I should decline," said Mr. Furnival.
"You're looking to your client, not to ours, sir," said the attorney.
"The fact is that the whole case is very queer. It was proved on the
last trial that Bolster and Kenneby were witnesses to a deed on the
14th of July, and that was all that was proved. Now we can prove that
they were on that day witnesses to another deed. Were they witnesses
to two?"
"Why should they not be?"
"That is for us to see. We have written to them both to come up to
us, and in order that we might be quite on the square I thought it
right to tell you."
"Thank you; yes; I cannot complain of you. And what form do you think
that your proceedings will take?"
"Joseph Mason talks of indicting her for--forgery," said the
attorney, pausing a moment before he dared to pronounce the dread
word.
"Indict her for forgery!" said Furnival, with a start. And yet the
idea was one which had been for some days present to his mind's eye.
"I do not say so," said Round. "I have as yet seen none of the
witnesses myself. If they are prepared to prove that they did sign
two separate documents on that day, the thing must pass off." It was
clear to Mr. Furnival that even Mr. Round junior would be glad that
it should pass off. And then he also sat thinking. Might it not be
probable that, with a little judicious exercise of their memory,
those two witnesses would remember that they had signed two
documents; or at any rate, looking to the lapse of the time, that
they might be induced to forget altogether whether they had signed
one, two, or three? Or even if they could be mystified so that
nothing could be proved, it would still be well with his client.
Indeed no magistrate would commit such a person as Lady Mason,
especially after so long an interval, and no grand jury would find a
bill against her, except upon evidence that was clear, well defined,
and almost indubitable. If any point of doubt could be shown, she
might be brought off without a trial, if only she would be true
to herself. At the former trial there was the existing codicil,
and the fact also that the two surviving reputed witnesses would
not deny their signatures. These signatures--if they were genuine
signatures--had been attached with all proper formality, and the form
used went to state that the testator had signed the instrument in the
presence of them all, they all being present together at the same
time. The survivors had both asserted that when they did affix their
names the three were then present, as was also Sir Joseph; but
there had been a terrible doubt even then as to the identity of the
document; and a doubt also as to there having been any signature made
by one of the reputed witnesses--by that one, namely, who at the
time of that trial was dead. Now another document was forthcoming,
purporting to have been witnessed, on the same day, by these two
surviving witnesses! If that document were genuine, and if these
two survivors should be clear that they had written their names but
once on that 14th of July, in such case could it be possible to
quash further public inquiry? The criminal prosecution might not be
possible as a first proceeding, but if the estate were recovered at
common law, would not the criminal prosecution follow as a matter of
course? And then Mr. Furnival thought it all over again and again.
If this document were genuine,--this new document which the man
Dockwrath stated that he had found,--this deed of separation of
partnership which purported to have been executed on that 14th of
July! That was now the one important question. If it were genuine!
And why should there not be as strong a question of the honesty
of that document as of the other? Mr. Furnival well knew that no
fraudulent deed would be forged and produced without a motive; and
that if he impugned this deed he must show the motive. Motive enough
there was, no doubt. Mason might have had it forged in order to get
the property, or Dockwrath to gratify his revenge. But in such case
it would be a forgery of the present day. There could have been no
motive for such a forgery twenty years ago. The paper, the writing,
the attested signature of Martock, the other party to it, would prove
that it had not been got up and manufactured now. Dockwrath would not
dare to bring forward such a forgery as that. There was no hope of
any such result.
But might not he, Furnival, if the matter were pushed before a jury,
make them think that the two documents stood balanced against each
other? and that Lady Mason's respectability, her long possession,
together with the vile malignity of her antagonists, gave the greater
probability of honesty to the disputed codicil? Mr. Furnival did
think that he might induce a jury to acquit her; but he terribly
feared that he might not be able to induce the world to acquit her
also. As he thought of all the case, he seemed to put himself apart
from the world at large. He did not question himself as to his own
belief, but seemed to feel that it would suffice for him if he could
so bring it about that her other friends should think her innocent.
It would by no means suffice for him to secure for her son the
property, and for her a simple acquittal. It was not that he dreaded
the idea of thinking her guilty himself; perhaps he did so think her
now--he half thought her so, at any rate; but he greatly dreaded the
idea of others thinking so. It might be well to buy up Dockwrath, if
it were possible. If it were possible! But then it was not possible
that he himself could have a hand in such a matter. Could Crabwitz do
it? No; he thought not. And then, at this moment, he was not certain
that he could depend on Crabwitz.
And why should he trouble himself in this way? Mr. Furnival was a
man loyal to his friends at heart. Had Lady Mason been a man, and had
he pulled that man through great difficulties in early life, he
would have been loyally desirous of carrying him through the same or
similar difficulties at any after period. In that cause which he had
once battled he was always ready to do battle, without reference to
any professional consideration of triumph or profit. It was to this
feeling of loyalty that he had owed much of his success in life. And
in such a case as this it may be supposed that that feeling would be
strong. But then such a feeling presumed a case in which he could
sympathise--in which he could believe. Would it be well that he
should allow himself to feel the same interest in this case, to
maintain respecting it the same personal anxiety, if he ceased to
believe in it? He did ask himself the question, and he finally
answered it in the affirmative. He had beaten Joseph Mason once in a
good stand-up fight; and having done so, having thus made the matter
his own, it was necessary to his comfort that he should beat him
again, if another fight were to be fought. Lady Mason was his client,
and all the associations of his life taught him to be true to her as
such.
And as we are thus searching into his innermost heart we must say
more than this. Mrs. Furnival perhaps had no sufficient grounds for
those terrible fears of hers; but nevertheless the mistress of Orley
Farm was very comely in the eyes of the lawyer. Her eyes, when full
of tears, were very bright, and her hand, as it lay in his, was very
soft. He laid out for himself no scheme of wickedness with reference
to her; he purposely entertained no thoughts which he knew to be
wrong; but, nevertheless, he did feel that he liked to have her by
him, that he liked to be her adviser and friend, that he liked to
wipe the tears from those eyes--not by a material handkerchief from
his pocket, but by immaterial manly sympathy from his bosom; and that
he liked also to feel the pressure of that hand. Mrs. Furnival had
become solid, and heavy, and red; and though he himself was solid,
and heavy, and red also--more so, indeed, in proportion than his poor
wife, for his redness, as I have said before, had almost reached a
purple hue; nevertheless his eye loved to look upon the beauty of a
lovely woman, his ear loved to hear the tone of her voice, and his
hand loved to meet the soft ripeness of her touch. It was very wrong
that it should have been so, but the case is not without a parallel.
And therefore he made up his mind that he would not desert Lady
Mason. He would not desert her; but how would he set about the
fighting that would be necessary in her behalf? He was well aware of
this, that if he fought at all, he must fight now. It would not do to
let the matter go on till she should be summoned to defend herself.
Steps which might now be available would be altogether unavailable in
two or three months' time--would be so, perhaps, if he allowed two or
three weeks to pass idly by him. Mr. Round, luckily, was not disposed
to hurry his proceedings; nor, as far as he was concerned, was there
any bitterness of antagonism. But with both Mason and Dockwrath there
would be hot haste, and hotter malice. From those who were really her
enemies she could expect no quarter.
He was to return on that evening to Noningsby, and on the following
day he would go over to The Cleeve. He knew that Lady Mason was
staying there; but his object in making that visit would not be
merely that he might see her, but also that he might speak to Sir
Peregrine, and learn how far the baronet was inclined to support
his neighbour in her coming tribulation. He would soon be able to
ascertain what Sir Peregrine really thought--whether he suspected the
possibility of any guilt; and he would ascertain also what was the
general feeling in the neighbourhood of Hamworth. It would be a great
thing if he could spread abroad a conviction that she was an injured
woman. It would be a great thing even if he could make it known that
the great people of the neighbourhood so thought. The jurymen of
Alston would be mortal men; and it might be possible that they should
be imbued with a favourable bias on the subject before they assembled
in their box for its consideration.
He wished that he knew the truth in the matter; or rather he wished
he could know whether or no she were innocent, without knowing
whether or no she were guilty. The fight in his hands would be
conducted on terms so much more glorious if he could feel sure of her
innocence. But then if he attempted that, and she were not innocent,
all might be sacrificed by the audacity of his proceedings. He could
not venture that, unless he were sure of his ground. For a moment or
two he thought that he would ask her the question. He said to himself
that he could forgive the fault. That it had been repented ere this
he did not doubt, and it would be sweet to say to her that it was
very grievous, but that yet it might be forgiven. It would be sweet
to feel that she was in his hands, and that he would treat her with
mercy and kindness. But then a hundred other thoughts forbade him to
think more of this. If she had been, guilty,--if she declared her
guilt to him,--would not restitution be necessary? In that case her
son must know it, and all the world must know it. Such a confession
would be incompatible with that innocence before the world which it
was necessary that she should maintain. Moreover, he must be able to
proclaim aloud his belief in her innocence; and how could he do that,
knowing her to be guilty--knowing that she also knew that he had such
knowledge? It was impossible that he should ask any such question, or
admit of any such confidence.
It would be necessary, if the case did come to a trial, that
she should employ some attorney. The matter must come into the
barrister's hands in the usual way, through a solicitor's house, and
it would be well that the person employed should have a firm faith in
his client. What could he say--he, as a barrister--if the attorney
suggested to him that the lady might possibly be guilty? As he
thought of all these things he almost dreaded the difficulties before
him.
He rang the bell for Crabwitz,--the peculiar bell which Crabwitz was
bound to answer,--having first of all gone through a little ceremony
with his cheque-book. Crabwitz entered, still sulky in his demeanour,
for as yet the old anger had not been appeased, and it was still a
doubtful matter in the clerk's mind whether or no it might not be
better for him to seek a master who would better appreciate his
services. A more lucrative position it might be difficult for him to
find; but money is not everything, as Crabwitz said to himself more
than once.
"Crabwitz," said Mr. Furnival, looking with a pleasant face at his
clerk, "I am leaving town this evening, and I shall be absent for the
next ten days. If you like you can go away for a holiday."
"It's rather late in the season now, sir," said Crabwitz, gloomily,
as though he were determined not to be pleased.
"It is a little late, as you say; but I really could not manage it
earlier. Come, Crabwitz, you and I should not quarrel. Your work has
been a little hard, but then so has mine also."
"I fancy you like it, sir."
"Ha! ha! Like it, indeed! But so do you like it--in its way. Come,
Crabwitz, you have been an excellent servant to me; and I don't think
that, on the whole, I have been a bad master to you."
"I am making no complaint, sir."
"But you're cross because I've kept you in town a little too long.
Come, Crabwitz, you must forget all that. You have worked very hard
this year past. Here is a cheque for fifty pounds. Get out of town
for a fortnight or so, and amuse yourself."
"I'm sure I'm very much obliged, sir," said Crabwitz, putting out
his hand and taking the cheque. He felt that his master had got the
better of him, and he was still a little melancholy on that account.
He would have valued his grievance at that moment almost more
than the fifty pounds, especially as by the acceptance of it he
surrendered all right to complain for some considerable time to come.
"By-the-by, Crabwitz," said Mr. Furnival, as the clerk was about to
leave the room.
"Yes, sir," said Crabwitz.
"You have never chanced to hear of an attorney named Dockwrath, I
suppose?"
"What! in London, Mr. Furnival?"
"No; I fancy he has no place of business in town. He lives I know at
Hamworth."
"It's he you mean, sir, that is meddling in this affair of Lady
Mason's."
"What! you have heard of that; have you?"
"Oh! yes, sir. It's being a good deal talked about in the profession.
Messrs. Round and Crook's leading young man was up here with me the
other day, and he did say a good deal about it. He's a very decent
young man, considering his position, is Smart."
"And he knows Dockwrath, does he?"
"Well, sir, I can't say that he knows much of the man; but Dockwrath
has been at their place of business pretty constant of late, and he
and Mr. Matthew seem thick enough together."
"Oh! they do; do they?"
"So Smart tells me. I don't know how it is myself, sir. I don't
suppose this Dockwrath is a very--"
"No, no; exactly. I dare say not. You've never seen him yourself,
Crabwitz?"
"Who, sir? I, sir? No, sir, I've never set eyes on the man, sir. From
all I hear it's not very likely he should come here; and I'm sure it
is not at all likely that I should go to him."
Mr. Furnival sat thinking awhile, and the clerk stood waiting
opposite to him, leaning with both his hands upon the table. "You
don't know any one in the neighbourhood of Hamworth, I suppose?" Mr.
Furnival said at last.
"Who, sir? I, sir? Not a soul, sir. I never was there in my life."
"I'll tell you why I ask. I strongly suspect that that man Dockwrath
is at some very foul play." And then he told to his clerk so much of
the whole story of Lady Mason and her affairs as he chose that he
should know. "It is plain enough that he may give Lady Mason a great
deal of annoyance," he ended by saying.
"There's no doubting that, sir," said Crabwitz. "And, to tell the
truth, I believe his mind is made up to do it."
"You don't think that anything could be done by seeing him? Of course
Lady Mason has got nothing to compromise. Her son's estate is as safe
as my hat; but--"
"The people at Round's think it isn't quite so safe, sir."
"Then the people at Round's know nothing about it. But Lady Mason is
so averse to legal proceedings that it would be worth her while to
have matters settled. You understand?"
"Yes, sir; I understand. Would not an attorney be the best person,
sir?"
"Not just at present, Crabwitz. Lady Mason is a very dear friend of
mine--"
"Yes, sir; we know that," said Crabwitz.
"If you could make any pretence for running down to Hamworth--change
of air, you know, for a week or so. It's a beautiful country; just
the place you like. And you might find out whether anything could be
done, eh?"
Mr. Crabwitz was well aware, from the first, that he did not get
fifty pounds for nothing.