THE FIRST AND THE SECOND CONFEDERATE
We were now, indeed, although we knew it not, very near the end of
these troubles.
I returned with the satisfaction of bringing with me the confession of
the conspiracy which we had long known. Still, it is one thing to know
of a conspiracy, and quite another thing to have a plain confession by
one of the chief conspirators. You may imagine that the poet was not
long in writing out a full and complete confession, and in claiming
the five guineas of my cousin, who took the liberty of reading the
document, and of witnessing his signature before he gave up the money.
"Take it, sir," he said, "if to be a villain is to earn a reward of
five guineas, you have earned that reward. Take it, Judas Iscariot.
Take it, and make a poem on the Wages of Sin if you can."
"You trample on the weak. I am a worm who cannot turn. Still, sir, if
you can find honest employment for a pen which adorns all it
touches----"
"Go, sir. For such as you I have no employment. My poets and authors
may be poor, but they are honest. Get thee out of my sight."
I showed the document first to my father and the vicar.
"So far, well," said the latter. "If proof were needed of a more
wicked conspiracy here it is. But in the main thing we are no more
forward than before, Jack. We are not helped by this writing to the
mystery of the strange woman and her intervention. A strange woman,
indeed; she must be--one such as described by the wise king."
"We shall find her yet. What hold can this spendthrift gamester have
upon the woman--his partner in the crime? Some time or other she will
be tempted to reveal the truth."
"We know not. Women are not as men. They love the most worthless as
well as the most noble." Lady Anastasia had said the same thing.
"Love is like the sunshine, my son. It falls upon good and evil alike,
and, like the sunshine, it may be wasted, or it may be turned to help.
We must not expect to find this woman; we must not count upon her
revenge or her repentance."
"We shall find her, sir, I am certain that we shall find her. The
spendthrift wastes and scatters with a kind of madness. He will soon
finish all, and will have nothing left for his confederates. You see
what one confederate has confessed, having been betrayed by his
master."
Said the vicar: "The sweet singer of Israel ceases not to proclaim the
lesson that all the generations must learn and lay to heart--'I have
seen,' he says, 'the wicked in great power, and spreading himself like
a green bay-tree. Yet he passed away, and, lo! he was not. Yea, I
sought him, and he could not be found.' Patience, therefore, let us
have patience."
He fell into a meditation in which I disturbed him not. After a while
he returned to the business of Sam's written confession, which he held
in his hands.
"It is remarkable," he said, "how this young man, who from his boyhood
was a self-deceiver, imagining himself to be somebody, endeavours to
place his conduct in a light flattering to his self-deception. It is
evident, abundantly, that he has been guided throughout by two
motives, the one as base as the other. The first is revenge for the
wholesome cudgelling which the captain bestowed upon him. It was
administered, I doubt not, with judicial liberality--even erring on
the side of liberality--and he left in the man's mind that longing for
revenge which belongs to the weaker and the baser sort. See, he
writes, 'Since Captain Crowle was resolved to marry his ward above her
station, I was quite sure that he would be grateful to me for the
signal service which he could in no way effect by his own efforts of
raising her from her humble condition to the rank of countess.' He
thus betrays himself. And as to the second motive, he says, 'A poor
man has the right to better himself if he can. It is his duty. I saw a
way, an unexpected and an honourable way.' Listen to the creature. 'I
made the discovery that my patron, by gambling and raking, had become,
as regards his affairs, nothing less than what in a merchant would be
called a bankrupt. That is to say, he had spent all he had, sold all
he could, raised all the money possible on his entailed estates, and
but for his privilege as a peer would now be in a debtor's prison. Yet
he contrived to keep his head above water--I found out how, as
well--and still maintained a brave show, though, by reason of his bad
character, he was not countenanced except by profligates like himself.
I therefore laid open to him a way of restoring his affairs. I offered
to introduce him to a great heiress. At first he did not believe that
there was in any country town an heiress with the fortune that I
described to him. But I gave him some proofs and I promised him more.
Whereupon I made known my condition. As soon as he was married to this
heiress he was to procure for me, by purchase or by influence, a post
under government worth at least £200 a year, with perquisites, or
perhaps a benefice, if I could procure ordination, of which I had no
doubt in thinking of my learning and my character for piety.'"
"Ho!" said my father, "his learning and his piety!"
"'My patron is now master of that fortune and is wasting it as fast as
he can in the old courses. He refuses to keep his promise. Nay, he
hath sold the last preferment in his gift to the highest bidder. It
was a rectory of £350 a year.'"
"This fellow," said the vicar, "knows that his patron is at his last
guinea. He knows him to be a loose liver and a gamester, and he has no
hesitation in conspiring to place this innocent girl, by means of her
simple guardian, in the hands of such a man. Yet he whines and thinks
himself ill-used, and a football of fate. Formerly, he thought himself
the favourite of the Muses. The man is a cur, Jack; he has the cunning
and the cowardice and the treachery of a mongrel cur. Take back his
confession. It may, however, be useful."
"What about the great discovery concerning the spa?"
"Why, Jack, it seems as if he drew his bow and shot an arrow at a
venture, yet hit the bull's eye. The doctor has a book, in which he
inscribes cases of cures effected by the waters of the spa. The book
is well-nigh filled. It is true that this Prince of Liars invented and
pretended the discovery of a spa; it is also true, as we cannot but
believe, that the waters have actually done all that he pretended. He,
therefore, unconsciously, seems to have proclaimed the truth. Let the
thing remain as it is, then. Time will show. The next season's cases
and cures will perhaps establish the reputation of the spa on a more
solid basis even than at present."
Time, as I have already told you, did show, for no one came at all.
The spa was neglected in its second season; in the third it was
forgotten; even the pump room was removed, and only the well remained.
But the doctor, who was bitterly disappointed with the failure, was
never informed concerning the true history of the grand discovery.
It was the perfidy of the chief conspirator to every one who assisted
him which brought about the full exposure of the truth. I have been
careful to let you know at every step the whole truth as we discovered
it afterwards. You have understood the conspiracy from the outset, and
the villainy of all concerned. The woman in the pink silk cloak has
been no mystery to you. Perhaps you admire our simplicity in not
guessing the truth. Reader, you are young, perhaps; or you have been
young. In either case, I am sure that you have experienced the ease
with which a woman, lovely, sympathetic, winning, will, with the
combined aid of her beauty, her voice, her witchcraft, so surround
herself with an imaginary air of truth, sincerity and purity, as to
exclude all possibility of treachery and falsehood. Lady Anastasia had
allowed me to discover, whether by inadvertence or not, that she was
jealous; but what did I know of feminine jealousy and its powers? I
might have known, perhaps, that jealousy implies love, or, at least,
the claim to exclusive possession; but what did I know of the strength
and passion of woman's love? I was young; I was inexperienced; I was a
sailor, ignorant of many common wiles; I was easily moved by a woman,
and I had that universal respect for rank which makes us slow to
believe that a lady of quality can be treated as if it were possible
to suspect her. By the same rule I should, you will say, be equally
unable to regard Lord Fylingdale with suspicion. But we are not always
consistent with ourselves. Besides, his lordship was a man and not a
woman. Rank or no rank, we know that a man is always a man. And, in
addition, he stood between Molly and me.
I have said that we were near the end of our troubles. One after the
other the victims of Lord Fylingdale's perfidy and of their own
wickedness come over, so to speak, to the other side, impelled by rage
and the desire for revenge, and made confession. There were five--I
take them in order. The first was our old friend Sam, whose confession
you have heard; the second was Colonel Lanyon. Like the poet, he also
fell upon evil days; but, less lucky than Sam, he lost his liberty,
and became a prisoner for debt in the King's Bench Prison. When such
an one is arrested and thrown into prison he is in grievous, if not in
hopeless case; for, supposing his brothers or cousins to be in a
responsible position, they are ashamed of one who has led the life of
a gamester and a bully and a decoy. They will not help him to begin
again his old life, and if they are like himself, they want all they
have for their own pleasures--rakes being the most selfish of all
men--and so they will not help him. He wrote, therefore, from his
prison, addressing himself to Captain Crowle as the guardian of the
lady for whose capture their snares were set.
"Sir," he said, "I am a prisoner for debt, lying in the King's Bench,
and likely to remain a prisoner for the rest of my life. I have
cousins who are prosperous. They refuse to assist me. Yet my detaining
creditors are few and the whole amount is ridiculously small,
considering my position and my reputation. That my own cousins should
refuse to release me is, I own, a matter which surprises me, for I
have conferred lustre upon a name hitherto obscure by my gallantry, my
bravery, and my many adventures. It is a heartless world. There are
many honest gentlemen in this place, besides myself, who have found
the world heartless and ungrateful."
"Humph!" said the vicar, in whose presence the captain began to make
out this surprising letter.
"My misfortunes are due to no less a person than my Lord Fylingdale, a
man whose treachery and ingratitude are not equalled, as far as I
know, by the history of any villain that was ever hanged."
"Why," the captain interrupted, "here's a fellow catched in his own
toils. Do you read it, Jack; your eyes are better than mine."
So I took it. "When I consider not only his conduct towards myself,
but his systematic deception towards you, sir, I am moved by
indignation to write to you and to expose a plot in which I had a
hand, but in ignorance. Sir, I would have you know that for many years
I have been in the employ of his lordship. It is not an uncommon
thing, when an officer is broken and cannot find employment for his
sword, to enter the service of some patron, whom he must oblige by all
means in his power. In return, he is safe from arrest, and must take
what wages are given him. My own services were those of a decoy to a
gaming table, in which his lordship held a secret interest, and of a
duellist when my sword would be of use. In the former capacity I
served his lordship for four years faithfully, bringing young
gamesters to the table, luring them on, playing high for their
example, and winning pretended sums for their encouragement. This kind
of service is perfectly well known and understood, so that those who
knew that Lord Fylingdale was my patron, knew also that he had an
interest in the bank. On three or four occasions, when my lord's
honour was attacked, or his conduct resented, I went out for him, and
in all such cases rendered it impossible for his adversary to continue
the quarrel."
"So," said the vicar, "the fellow confesses that he is a murderer, is
he?"
"In the pursuit of his lordship's service I have cheerfully incurred
odium that was rightly his. But this kind of odium ends, as I found,
by blasting the reputation for honour, even of a most honourable man,
such as myself."
"Ha!" cried the vicar.
"This odium now follows me everywhere--from Bath to Tunbridge, and
from Tunbridge to London, so that there are not many gaming-houses
into which I am now suffered to enter, and my company has of late
declined to the level of the 'prentice and the shopkeeper. I have also
been driven off the Heath at Newmarket, charged with corrupting the
trainers; and even at the cockpit I have incurred suspicion as to
doctoring the birds. All--all was in the service of my patron."
"Villain! Villain!" said the vicar.
"In May last I was ordered by my lord to proceed to Lynn Regis, a town
of which I had no knowledge. There was to be a gaming-table, in which,
as usual, he was interested. My duty was again to act as decoy. I was
also, at the same time, to lose no opportunity of representing his
lordship as a miracle of virtue. The reason of these orders I did not
ask. I obeyed, however, although it certainly seemed to me that any
praise of virtue on the part of a gamester like myself would be
received with suspicion.
"As regards the performance of my duties at Lynn I say nothing. The
play was miserably low, in spite of my own example and encouragement.
The company considered a guinea a monstrous sum to lose. The bank made
nothing to speak of. As regards my own private concerns there was but
one man with whom I transacted business worth naming. This, however,
was highly satisfactory, for, from this one person, without raising
the least suspicion, I won as much as £1,200, which was to be raised
upon his estate in the county. Three-fourths of this would go to my
lord. I had not made so successful a haul for many years.
"Now, one morning, after a debauch, much heavy drinking and more
losses, this gentleman, Tom Rising by name, came to me, and confided
to me under the oath of secrecy, his intention of carrying off that
very night the heiress of Lynn, as she was called. If he succeeded, he
would pay the whole of his losses the very next day. If not, he must
wait until the money could be raised. In order to effect this object
he would have to go to Norwich; the business would take time. But he
was sure of success. He could not fail. He further described to me the
plan he had formed, and the place whither he would carry the girl.
"By this time I had formed a pretty good guess of my patron's
intention in coming to Lynn. Accordingly I laid the matter before
him."
"After an oath of secrecy," said the vicar.
"He considered a great while, then he said, 'Colonel, this affair may
turn out the most lucky thing that could possibly happen. Be in the
card room in readiness. We will let the fellow go off with the girl,
then I shall follow and rescue her. Do you understand?'
"I understand that he desired the good grace of the lady, and that
such a rescue could not fail to procure her favour unless he had
already obtained it. 'But,' I said, 'this man is a bull for strength.
He will fight for the girl, and he will be like a mad bull. It is
dangerous.'
"'I will myself,' he replied, 'undertake to tame this bull. Man, do
you suppose that a master of fence can fear the result of an encounter
with a fellow always half drunk and on this occasion, which makes the
thing more easy, more than half mad with rage and disappointment.'
"Sir, you know the rest. The abduction of the lady was known
beforehand by my lord and myself. He might have stopped it, but that
he wanted the honour and the glory of the rescue."
"There is no end or limit to the villainy of the pair," said the
vicar.
"The next day, Tom Rising having a sword wound in the right shoulder,
I waited upon his lordship. I pointed out that the serious wound
inflicted on Mr. Rising had brought his life in danger; that even if
he recovered, his old friends, who were very angry with him for the
attempted abduction, would have no more to do with him; that, from all
I had heard, he would with difficulty raise so much money as he owed
me upon an estate already dipped; that he had other creditors; and
that one result of the business was that we had possibly lost £1,200
or a good part of it, of which one-fourth, or £300, would have been my
share, and I asked my lord, point blank, if he thought I could afford
to lose £300.
"My lord laughed pleasantly. 'Shall a trifle of £300 part two old
friends, colonel? Not so; not so. When I marry this heiress, not £300,
but a thousand shall be yours. Remember, write it down. It is a
promise. After my marriage I will give you a clear thousand to repay
your losses and expenses.'
"This was a promise on which I relied. And you may imagine my
satisfaction when I heard that my lord had been married privately at
six in the morning. I waited on him at once for the money. 'Patience,
man,' he said, 'I must first touch it myself. I cannot get at the
money without certain forms. There shall be no needless delay.' So I
refrained.
"I had been put to heavy expenses by going to Lynn and living there. I
had to keep up the outward appearance of substance; I threw money
about; I ordered bowls of punch; I lost over a hundred pounds in
establishing my credit on a firm basis; I won nothing to speak of,
except from Tom Rising. In the end I was publicly insulted and exposed
by a vulgar beast called Gizzard, after his low trade. This was in the
presence of Tom Rising himself, who thereupon swore that he would pay
me nothing. The world is full of men always ready to repudiate their
debts of honour."
"It is, indeed," said the vicar, "and of men who do not act in
accordance with the laws of honour."
"Sir, you will hardly believe me. My lord now refuses to pay even my
expenses. He owes me a thousand pounds promised as my share in the
business. I have spent one hundred pounds in establishing my credit
and another hundred for my personal expenses--in all, £1,200.
"Now, sir, I have a proposition to make. I know the dispute about the
alleged marriage. I believe there was a personation and that I know
the woman who personated your deeply-injured ward in the church. Pay
me £1,200 and I will name her."
"Softly," said the vicar. "To name the lady is not to prove the
personation."
"You cannot hesitate," the letter went on. "Already I am sure my lord
has wasted ten times that sum. I hear from all sides that he is like
one who squanders an inexhaustible treasure. Send me this money and I
will put you in the way of exposing him to the world as a conspirator
and of putting a stop to further robbery. You shall at least be
enabled to save what is left.
"As you may require a few days to deliberate over this proposal I beg
you to let me have by the first opportunity a few guineas in advance.
Otherwise I shall have to part with my clothes. In my line of life a
good appearance is essential. Should I be driven to that necessity I
shall indeed be ruined for life, because I shall have to go over to
the common side where my accomplishments and skill will be of no use
whatever to me."
"He means that you cannot get any profit by cheating at play those who
have nothing. Is that all, Jack?"
"That is all." I folded the letter and gave it to the captain.
"To name the lady, I say," the vicar repeated, "is not to prove the
crime. It might, however, suggest an explanation to the mystery. The
letter proves that there is an explanation. Still, captain, my opinion
is that the writer of this letter should receive no answer. There is
no hardship before him which he has not deserved. Let him lie in his
prison and repent. 'Let the wicked be ashamed and let them be silent
in the grave. Let the lying lips be put to silence.' Captain, let us
have no traffic with this ungodly man. Let him henceforth be silent in
his grave."