“Yea, this man’s brow, like to a title-leaf,
Foretels the nature of a tragic volume.”
SHAKSPEARE.
It is not to be supposed that Oliver should keep the secret which he
had heard without the assistance of some of his fellow-servants; and if
the servants of the house had kept the secret from the servants of the
visitors, they would have been guilty of a gross breach of hospitality;
and when a gentleman is in a stable, or a lady in a dressing-room, the
distance between them and their respective servants is not so great but
that the parties are within hearing of each other.
When, therefore, the party assembled at dinner, Mr. Philip found
himself under no necessity of tasking either his own or Oliver’s
inventive powers to account for the absence of Mr. John Martindale.
Not one made any inquiry. This universal silence was very ominous to
Philip; he very naturally supposed that the secret, whatever it was,
had been divulged. He laboured hard to seem at ease; but that was no
easy task. The party at table felt themselves also under some kind
of restraint, so that their talk was very abrupt and unconnected.
Could any one think it possible? but it really is a fact, that the
guests were almost dying for an opportunity of talking one to another
concerning the strange news which they had heard; and they were
prepared with some notable aphorism on pride and extravagance ready to
be shot forth as soon as the person should by his absence give them
leave to speak.
As for the Hon. Philip Martindale himself, a variety of thoughts,
hopes, fears, and conjectures, were passing through his mind; but
none of them remained long enough there to be soberly and seriously
considered, or to produce any composure or settled plan. There was,
indeed, one thought which was most frequently springing up amidst
the general agitation, and that was the thought of Miss Sampson; and
so little command had he over the movements of his own mind, that
he found himself paying a more than ordinary degree of attention to
that young lady. Lord and Lady Martindale could not fail to notice
this; and to the former it was not quite so unpleasant as might have
been supposed, from the well-known high and lofty notions which his
lordship entertained on the subject of the dignity of high rank. For
though Lord Martindale venerated nobility and high birth, he knew
that there also needed some other appurtenances to render greatness
really and permanently imposing. He also knew that the estate which
was destined to keep up the honour of the title was scarcely competent
to that great task. He also knew that there was not quite so much
destined for his successor as his successor imagined; and he was well
aware of the sad necessity which had frequently compelled persons of
higher rank than himself to condescend to ennoble plebeian blood “for a
consideration.” As to the present posture of affairs, his lordship was
not much surprised at the rumors which he had heard; he knew that the
property in question had descended rather unexpectedly on its present
possessor, and he was also prepared for any disappointment which his
own son might experience from the caprice of his relative. His fears,
indeed, of disappointment to his son arose from an expectation that
Mr. John Martindale might marry, and thus find a new set of connexions
that would have a powerful influence on his decisions and arrangements
concerning his property. Having then heard that another claimant had
started for that property, and observing that the old gentleman had
been more than usually attentive to Lady Woodstock, he thought it was
time that his son should make some provision for himself. With as good
a grace as might be, he therefore resigned himself to the thought that
Miss Sampson might be allowed the honor of becoming the Hon. Mrs. P.
Martindale.
We are not, indeed, prepared to say that all this was effected in
his lordship’s mind without a considerable effort and a powerful
conflict. Necessity, it is said, has no law. It would be more correct
to say, that necessity is the most arbitrary and powerful lawgiver.
Lord Martindale was very much to be pitied, and so was Mr. Philip.
But calamities of this kind will sometimes overtake nobility: by a
variety of circumstances, which need not be enumerated, there will be
often occurring a painful necessity of repairing dilapidated fortunes
by intermarriages with plebeians. It does not occur to us at present
how this dreadful calamity can be avoided. There are certainly public
stations with high salaries and easy duties; these help a little, but
comparatively very little; and there are some of those offices which
really require men of understanding and application to fill them; and
we fear that such is the seditious and discontented spirit of the
times, that the people would grumble at any very great multiplication
of places of no use but to those who fill them. Yet, upon second
thoughts, there are certain laws, such for instance as the game-laws,
which are made expressly and obviously for the amusement of the higher
classes; might not some legislative arrangement be contrived, which
should, on the same exclusive principle, prevent the nobility from
intermarrying with plebeians in order to repair the broken fortunes?
Seeing that the nobility, and its peculiar privileges, and its high
and mighty purity, is one of the great blessings of our constitution,
forming a grand reservoir of political wisdom, surely the people would
not be very reluctant to contribute liberally towards an arrangement
which should be the means of preventing the said nobility from
receiving contamination from intermarriages with plebeians. We only
suggest that some contrivance might be made; but what contrivance we
must leave to the sagacity of wiser heads than our own, and to those
who are more interested in it than we are.
It is enough for our present purpose that this arrangement is not yet
made; and that in consequence of the want of a suitable supply, poor
Philip Martindale was placed under the disagreeable necessity of paying
great attention to Miss Sampson; and poor Lord Martindale was also
under the same necessity of submitting to see and approve it.
We have already spoken of Miss Sampson, and have said or intimated
that she was not a fool. We have also spoken of Sir Gilbert Sampson,
and we have acknowledged that he was a man of good understanding.
Miss Sampson had been an indulged child; some called her a spoiled
child, but we do not admit that indulgence always spoils children.
There is a great deal depending on the manner in which indulgence is
administered. Indulgence or strictness in the hands of a simpleton
may be made equally injurious. Miss Sampson certainly had not been
snubbed, lectured, scolded at, talked to, and dragged about all her
life in leading-strings; and Miss Sampson was certainly a thoughtless,
good-tempered creature, not overburdened with taste, and not always
so very attentive to minuter observances as many others of her own
station; but whether she would have been any more thoughtful and
reserved by a continued course of sloppy, sleepy, prosy, common-place
lecturing, is very doubtful. Miss Sampson and her father were by no
means proud, resentful, or suspicious. For though they both had heard
the rumor touching the probable evanescence of Mr. John Martindale’s
property; and though they both might have had reason to suppose that
only property could induce Mr. Philip to make advances of a serious
nature, and though he had once before paid, and afterwards discontinued
his attentions, yet Sir Gilbert Sampson, who was a sensible man, and
Miss Sampson, who was not a fool, were pleased with the very particular
notice taken of the latter under present circumstances. The parties
were therefore quits; for if it was manifest to Miss Sampson that
Philip Martindale’s affection for her was only founded on her property,
it was as manifest to Philip Martindale that Miss Sampson’s regard for
him could only be on account of his title.
When the following day dawned upon the Abbey of Brigland, and the
guests there visiting had an opportunity, unconstrained by the presence
of the tenant of the great house, to discuss and discourse upon the
interesting topic of the discovery of the preceding day, various and
wise were the observations which they made; but one of the wisest of
all was, that it would be desirable for them to hasten their departure;
for it occurred to them that Mr. Philip might prefer being alone, now
he had so much to occupy his thoughts. Sir Andrew Featherstone and his
family recollected that it was absolutely necessary that they should be
at home in a day or two, for they were expecting company. The Misses
Woodstock also thought that it was very rude of Mr. John Martindale
to take his departure so suddenly, and leave them without an apology;
and Lady Woodstock thought that, though visiting at the Abbey, her
visit was rather to Mr. John Martindale than to Mr. Philip; and even
Sir Gilbert and Miss Sampson thought that they should be better able
to ascertain Mr. Philip’s intentions by taking their departure than by
prolonging their visit; and as the time was nearly arrived that they
should have taken their leave in the ordinary course of things, the
making a movement a day or two sooner might not be a matter of such
great moment. In fact, there was among the whole party an unpleasant
and awkward kind of restraint, which they could only get rid of by
separation; and they certainly had a right to be offended at Mr. John
Martindale for his rudeness in leaving so abruptly, and not giving any
explanation, or even saying when he should return. Lady Featherstone
was the first of the party who started the subject of departure; and
when it was mentioned, or rather hinted, to Mr. Philip, he did not
receive the intelligence with any affectation of concern; and thus
the matter was easily managed by the rest of the party, who soon took
leave, excepting, of course, Lord and Lady Martindale. The worthy
persons who took their departure rather hastily, made up their minds to
forgive old Mr. Martindale for his rudeness, provided that it should
turn out that he had not lost any very considerable part of his fortune.
Being now left to his own meditations, and the good counsel of
his father and mother, the Hon. Philip Martindale began to employ
himself in deliberating on what steps it would be prudent for him to
take in the present conjuncture of affairs. As yet, he knew nothing
for certainty. It was still possible that the story circulating in
Brigland, and brought to his ears by the trusty and honest Oliver,
might not be altogether correct, and he might yet be able to keep
himself pure from the degradation of marrying below his rank, provided
he took care not to give offence to the old gentleman; and yet when
he thought of the very cool and abrupt manner in which his cousin had
announced his design of going hastily to London, and of his allusion
to the capacity of Oliver for invention, he feared that some of his
own proceedings were not unknown to his relative, and that they
had effected an alienation of his regards. He knew well enough the
eagerness with which all idle reports are received and circulated,
without any regard to their truth or even probability, and therefore he
considered that it would be a fruitless toil to interrogate Mr. Denver,
or any of the people in the town upon the subject; and indeed, he did
not think such proceeding very consistent with his dignity.
It occurred to his mind, however, that it might not be very unsuitable
just to look in at the cottage where old Richard Smith used to live;
for Mr. John Martindale had rebuked his relative for neglect in this
matter. He took, therefore, an early opportunity of walking round by
the heath, to avoid passing through the town; and he called at the
cottage. The door was fastened, and he was under the necessity of
making a long loud knocking before he could obtain admittance; at
length, the door was opened from within by a little old woman who was
as deaf as a post, or who affected to be so. Very little information
indeed could he extract from her. He learned, however, that his cousin
had not gone alone, but that there were three persons with him from
the cottage; and that of these three, one was the young woman who was
called the niece of Richard Smith, and the other two were the father
and mother of the young woman. He also ascertained that the cottage was
no longer to be occupied by these persons, and that it was not expected
that any one of them should return to Brigland. Whether in this
party was the claimant to the old gentleman’s property was not to be
ascertained; and indeed that question was not directly asked, and the
old woman did not seem at all inclined to answer any questions which
were not loudly, decidedly, and frequently repeated. Philip amused
himself with looking at the drawings which decorated the cottage-walls,
and he was surprised to see such decorations in such a place; but he
soon found an interpretation of that difficulty when he observed the
scenes which they represented, and when he recollected the Italian
officer whom he had met in London. Now, though he had, as we have
observed above, some faint recollection of having heard something of
old Mr. Martindale’s voyage to Genoa in search of some individual or
other, who, for aught he knew to the contrary, might be a claimant, but
he could not see how property in England should be claimed by a native
Italian, as Colonel Rivolta clearly was. Very little information,
therefore, did he acquire, and no satisfaction could he gain by this
visit to the cottage.
In spite, however, of all his feeling of dignity and propriety, he felt
an irresistible propensity to call on Mr. Denver, who, as a public
intelligencer, was certainly one of the most able men in the town of
Brigland. The very polite and exquisitely courteous manner in which the
reverend perpetual curate received the tenant of the Abbey, was not at
all indicative of falling fortunes or painful change of circumstance.
Low as usual did he bow, graciously as ever did he smile. Courtesy
and politeness, however, were essential and component parts of Mr.
Denver’s constitution. We cannot say quite so much of the Hon. Philip
Martindale; for his style of address was abrupt, and his manners very
unceremonious; and so far was he from endeavouring to correct this
habit, that he was in a measure absolutely proud of it. Receiving Mr.
Denver’s homage as due to his own exalted rank and dignified character,
he began his inquiries by lamenting the death of poor Richard Smith,
and expressing a hope that the poor man had had proper medical
assistance in his illness. To all this a satisfactory answer was given,
accompanied, as was very suitable and regular, with a compliment to
Mr. Philip’s very great kindness and condescension. The inquirer then
proceeded to throw out an intimation, that it would be very agreeable
to him to be informed as to who and what the stranger was, who had
recently taken up his abode at the old man’s cottage. As far as Mr.
Denver knew, he informed Mr. Philip; telling him also the particulars
of the interview at Mr. John Martindale’s residence, as we have already
narrated it. For we will do Mr. Denver the justice to say of him, that
although he was now and then unconsciously guilty of circulating an
incorrect narrative, he was never deliberately and wilfully guilty
of fabricating one. Whatever he himself had seen and heard, he told,
according to the best of his ability, as he saw and heard it. But if,
as it sometimes happened, he heard Mrs. Denver, Mrs. Price, and Mrs.
Flint, all talking together, and telling in one voice him and one
another the same story, but with diversified embellishment and frequent
mutual contradiction, many interruptions, and various repetitions and
emendations; then, poor man, he was certainly to be forgiven, if his
second-hand repetition of such story should not be altogether coherent
in its parts, lucid in its arrangement, or exquisitely veracious in
every particular. Nor should we severely condemn him, if, with a
laudable eagerness to administer early intelligence, he should now and
then run away with an ill-understood tale only heard by halves. Thus
it often happens, that those newspapers which are proud of their early
intelligence, are occasionally exposed to the temptation of inserting
that which needs contradiction.
When Philip Martindale had thus fairly committed himself as an
inquirer, he went into the subject very fully; and from all that he
could learn from Mr. Denver, there did not appear to be any very
powerful evidence of the existence of any claimant of the Martindale
property; but it was at the same time very clear that Mr. John
Martindale was gone to London, and that these three people had gone
with him, and that they had all gone in his own carriage. Now it was
not likely that the old gentleman should carry the oddity of his humor
so far as to accommodate a claimant of his property with the use of
his own carriage. There was a mystery in all this not to be solved.
Philip’s inquiries were fruitless, therefore, at Mr. Denver’s; and all
that he had ascertained was, that nobody knew what was the cause of the
extraordinary movements of his extraordinary relative.