It was not “Flattery,” he sold, but “Hope.”
Bell.
We left Mr. Linton and Mr. Hammond seated opposite each other, the
former lost in seeming reflection, the latter awaiting with eager
expectancy for something which might explain the few strange words he
had just listened to.
“May I venture on a bit of confidence, Mr. Hammond?” said Linton,
clearing his brow as he spoke; “you'll never betray me?”
“Never--on my honor.”
“Never, willingly, I well know; but I mean, will you strictly keep
what I shall tell you--for yourself alone--because, as I am the only
depositary of the fact, it would be inevitable ruin to me if it got
about?”
“I give you my solemn pledge--I promise.”
“Quite enough--well--” Here he leaned on the other's shoulder, and
putting his lips close to his ear, said: “Malone will retire--Repton
will be chief--and”--here he prodded the listener with his
finger--“Attorney-General.”
“You mean me, sir--do you mean that I am to be Attor--”
“Hush!” said Linton, in a long low note; “do not breathe it, even
in your sleep! If I know these things, it is because I am trusted in
quarters where men of far more influence are hoodwinked. Were I once to
be suspected of even this much, it would be 'up' with me forever.”
“My dear friend--will you pardon me for calling you so?--I 'd suffer
the torture of the rack before I 'd divulge one syllable of it. I own
to you, my family and my friends in general have not been patient under
what they deemed the Government neglect of me.”
“And with too good reason, sir,” said Linton, assuming the look and
air of a moralizer. “And do you know why you have been passed over, Mr.
Hammond? I'll tell you, sir; because your talents were too brilliant,
and your integrity too spotless, for promotion, in times when inferior
capacities and more convenient consciences were easier tools to
handle!--Because you are not a man who, once placed in a conspicuous
position, can be consigned to darkness and neglect when his capabilities
have been proved to the world!--Because your knowledge, sir, your deep
insight into the political condition of this country, would soon have
placed you above the heads of the very men who appointed you. But times
are changed; capable men, zealous men--ay, sir, and I will say, great
men--are in request now. The public _will_ have them, and ministers can
no longer either overlook their claim or ignore their merit. You may
rely upon it; I see something of what goes on behind the scenes of the
great State drama, and be assured that a new era is about to dawn on the
really able men of this country.”
“Your words have given me a degree of encouragement, Mr. Linton, that I
was very far from ever expecting to receive. I have often deplored--not
on my own account, I pledge my honor--but I have grieved for others,
whom I have seen here, unnoticed and undistinguished by successive
Governments.”
“Well, there is an end of the system now, and it was time!” said Linton,
solemnly. “But to come back. Is there no chance of stealing you away,
even for a couple of days?”
“Impossible, my dear Mr. Linton. The voluminous mass of evidence yonder
relates to an appeal case, in which I am to appear before 'the Lords.'
It is a most important suit; and I am at this very moment on my way to
London, to attend a consultation with the Solicitor-General.”
“How unfortunate!--for _us_, I mean--for, indeed, your client cannot
join in the plaint. By the way, your mention of 'the Lords' reminds me
of a very curious circumstance. You are aware of the manner in which my
friend Cashel succeeded to this great estate here?”
“Yes. I was consulted on a point of law in it, and was present at the
two trials.”
“Well, a most singular discovery has been made within the last few days.
I suppose you remember that the property had been part of a confiscated
estate, belonging to an old Irish family, named Corrigan?”
“I remember perfectly,--a very fine old man, that used to be well known
at Daly's Club, long ago.”
“The same. Well, this old gentleman has been always under the impression
that shortly after the accession of George III. the Act of Confiscation
was repealed, and a full pardon granted to his ancestors for the part
they had taken in the events of the time.”
“I never knew the descendants of one of those 'confiscated' families who
had not some such hallucination,” said Hammond, laughing; “they cling to
the straw, like the drowning man.”
“Exactly,” said Linton. “I quite agree with you. In the present case,
however, the support is better than a straw; for there is an actual
_bona fide_ document extant, purporting to be the very pardon in
question, signed by the king, and bearing the royal seal.”
“Where is this? In whose possession?” said Hammond, eagerly.
Linton did not heed the question, but continued,--
“By a very singular coincidence, the discovery is not of so much moment
as it might be; because, as Cashel is about to marry the old man's
granddaughter--his sole heiress--no change in the destination of the
estate would ensue, even supposing Corrigan's title to be all that he
ever conceived it. However, Cashel is really anxious on the point:
he feels scruples about making settlements and so forth, with the
consciousness that he may be actually disposing of what he has no real
claim to. He is a sensitive fellow; and yet he dreads, on the other
side, the kind of exposure that would ensue in the event of this
discovery becoming known. The fact is, his own ancestors were little
better than bailiffs on the estate; and the inference from this
new-found paper would lead one to say, not over-honest stewards
besides.”
“But if this document be authentic, Mr. Linton, Cashel's title is not
worth sixpence.”
“That is exactly what I 'm coming to,” said Linton, who, the reader
may have already perceived, was merely inventing a case regarding a
marriage, the better to learn from the counsel the precise position
the estate would stand in towards Mary Leicester's husband. “If this
document be authentic, Cashel's title is invalid. Now, what would
constitute its authenticity?”
“Several circumstances: the registry of the pardon in the State Paper
Office--the document itself, bearing the unmistakable evidences of its
origin--the signature and seal--in fact, it could not admit of much
doubt when submitted to examination.”
“I told Cashel so,” said Linton. “I said to him, 'My opinion
unquestionably is that the pardon is genuine; but,' said I, 'when we
have Hammond here, he shall see it, and decide the question.'”
“Ah! that is impossible--”
“So I perceive,” broke in Linton; “we then hoped otherwise.”
“Why did n't you bring it over with you?”
“So I did,” said Linton; “here it is.” And opening a carefully folded
envelope, he placed the important document in the lawyer's bands.
Hammond spread it out upon the table, and sat down to read it over
carefully, while Linton, to afford the more time to the scrutiny, took
the opportunity of descending to his breakfast.
He stopped as he passed the bar to say a few words to the landlord,--one
of those easy speeches he knew so well how to make about the “state of
trade,” “what travellers were passing,” and “how the prospect looked
for the coming season,”--and then, when turning away, as if suddenly
recollecting himself, said:--
“By the way, Swindon, you are a cautious fellow, that a man may trust
with a secret--you know who the gentleman is that came with me?”
“No, sir; never saw him before. Indeed, I did not remark him closely.”
“All the better, Swindon. He does not fancy anything like scrutiny. He
is Mr. Roland Cashel.”
“Of Tubbermore, sir?”
“The same. Hush, man,--be cautious! He has come up here about a little
law business on which he desired to consult Mr. Hammond, and now we
have a document for signature, if you could only find us another person
equally discreet with yourself to be the witness, for these kind of
things, when they get about in the world, are misrepresented in a
thousand ways. Do you happen to have any confidential man here would
suit us?”
“If my head waiter, sir, Mr. Nipkin, would do; he writes an excellent
hand, and is a most reserved, cautious young man.”
“Perfectly, Swindon; he'll do perfectly. Will you join us upstairs,
where my friend is in waiting? Pray, also, give Nipkin a hint not to
bestow any undue attention on Mr. Cashel, who wants to be _incog._ so
far as may be; as for yourself, Swindon, no hint is necessary.”
A graceful bow from the landlord acknowledged the compliment, and he
hastened to give the necessary orders, while Linton continued his way to
the apartment where the Italian awaited him.
“Impatient for breakfast, I suppose, Giovanni?” said Linton, gayly, as
he entered. “Well? sit down, and let us begin. Already I have done more
than half the business which brought me here, and we may be on our way
back within an hour.”
Giovanni seated himself at the table without any of that constraint a
sense of inferiority enforces, and began his breakfast in silence.
“You understand,” said Linton, “that when you have written the name
'Roland Cashel,' and are asked if that be your act and deed, you have
simply to say 'Yes;' a bow--a mere nod, indeed--is sufficient.”
“I understand,” said he, thoughtfully, as if reflecting over the matter
with himself. “I conclude, then,” added he, after a pause, “that the
sooner I leave the country afterwards, the better--I mean the safer--for
me.”
“As to any positive danger,” said Linton, affecting an easy
carelessness, “there is none. The document is merely a copy of one
already signed by Mr. Cashel, but which I have mislaid, and I am so
ashamed of my negligence I cannot bring myself to confess it.”
This tame explanation Linton was unable to finish without faltering, for
the Italian's keen and piercing dark eyes seemed to penetrate into him
as he was speaking.
“With this I have nothing to do,” said he, abruptly. “It is quite clear,
however, that Giovanni Santini is not Roland Cashel; nor, if there be a
penalty on what I have done, am I so certain that he whose name I shall
have forged will undergo it in my place.”
“You talk of forgery and penalties as if we were about to commit a
felony,” said Linton, laughing. “Pray give me the cream. There is really
no such peril in the case, and if there were, it would be all mine.”
“I know nothing of your laws here--I desire to know nothing of
them,” said the Italian, haughtily; “but if it should be my lot to be
arraigned, let it be for something more worthy of manhood. I 'll sign
the paper, but I shall leave the country at once.”
No words could have been more grateful to Linton's ears than these; he
was, even at that very moment, considering in his own mind in what way
to disembarrass himself of his “friend” when this service should have
been effected.
“As you please, Giovanni,” said be, gravely. “I regret to part company
so soon with one whose frankness so well accords with my own humor.”
The Italian's lips parted slightly, and a smile of cold and dubious
meaning flitted across his dark features.
“We part here, then,” said he, rising from the table. “There is a
vessel leaves this for Bristol at noon to-day; it is already past eleven
o'clock.”
“I'll not delay,” said Linton, rising and ringing the bell; “send
Mr. Swindon here,” said he to the waiter, while he opened a parchment
document upon the table, and after hastily glancing over it, folded
it carefully again, leaving uppermost the margin, where certain
pencil-marks indicated the places of signature. “This is yours,
Giovanni,” said he, placing a weighty purse in the Italian's hand, who
took it with all the easy indifference of one whose feelings of shame
were not too acute. “Remember what I have--”
There was no time to finish, for already a light tap was-heard at the
door, and the landlord, followed by the head waiter, entered.
“We were pressed for time, Swindon,” said Linton, as he examined the
pens, which, like all hotel ones, seemed invented for ruling music
paper, “and have sent for you to witness the signature to this document.
Here, Cashel, you are to sign here,” said he, turning to Giovanni,
who-had just lighted a cigar, and was smoking away with all imaginable
coolness. The Italian took the pen, and with a bold and steady hand
wrote the words “Roland Cashel.”
“Mr. Swindon at this side; Mr. Nipkin's name comes underneath.”
“You acknowledge this for your hand and seal, sir?” said Swindon,
turning towards Giovanni.
“I do,” said the Italian, in an accent which did not betray the
slightest emotion, nor any trace of foreign pronunciation.
“All right; thank you, Swindon--thanks, Mr. Nipkin,” said Linton, as,
with an elation of countenance all his efforts could not suppress, he
folded up the parchment; “and now, will you order my horses at once?”
The landlord and the waiter left the room, and Linton found himself once
more alone with Giovanni; the only consolation he felt being that it was
for the last time. There was a pause, in which each gazed steadily at
the other without a word. At last, with a long-drawn sigh, Giovanni
exclaimed,--
“Perdio! but it is hard to do.” And with this he pressed his hat upon
his brows, and waving a careless farewell with his hand, walked out,
leaving Linton in a state of amazement not altogether unmingled with
fear. Tom watched the tall and stalwart figure of the foreigner as he
moved through the crowd that filled the quay, and it was with a sense of
relief he could not explain to himself that he saw him cross the plank
that led to the steamer, on whose deck numerous passengers were already
assembled.
The bell rang out in warning of her approaching departure, and Linton
kept his eyes intently fixed upon the one figure, which towered above
the others around him. Already the scene of bustle portended the moment
of starting, and some were hastening on board, as others, with not less
eagerness, were endeavoring to get on shore; when, just at that instant,
the landlord's voice was heard.
“Mr. Hammond is just going off, sir; he wants to say one word to you
before he goes.”
Mr. Hammond had just taken his seat in his carriage, and sat with one
hand upon the door, awaiting Linton's coming.
“I am run sharp for time, Mr. Linton,” cried he, “and have not a second
to lose. I wish sincerely I could have given a little more time to that
document--not indeed that any feature of difficulty exists in forming
an opinion, only that I believe I could have put your friend on the safe
road as to his future course.”
“You regard it then as authentic--as a good and valid instrument?” said
Linton, in a low but eager voice.
“So much so,” said Hammond, lowering his tone to a mere whisper, “that
if he does not marry the young lady in question, I would not give him
twenty shillings for his title.”
“By Jove!” exclaimed Linton, leaning his head on the door of the
carriage, as if to conceal his chagrin, but in reality to hide the
exuberance of his joy; “and this is your candid opinion of the case?”
“I am willing to stake my fame as a lawyer on the issue; for, remember,
the whole history of the suit is familiar to me. I recollect well the
flaws in the course of proofs adduced, and I see how this discovery
reconciles each discrepancy, and supplies every missing link of the
chain.”
“Poor fellow!--it will be a sad blow for him,” said Linton, with
admirably feigned emotion.
“But it need not, Mr. Linton; the church can tie a knot not even an
equity suit can open. Let him marry.”
“Ay, if he will.”
“Tell him he must; tell him what I now tell you, that this girl is the
greatest heiress in the land, and that he is a beggar. Plain speaking,
Mr. Linton, but time is short Good-bye.”
“One word more. Is the document of such a nature that leaves him no case
whatever? Is all the ground cut away beneath his feet?”
“Every inch of it. Once more, good-bye. Here is your parchment; keep it
safely. There are few men in this city hold in their hands a paper of
such moment.”
“I'll take good care of it,” said Linton, sententiously; “and so
good-bye, and a safe journey to you. I 'll not forget our conversation
of this morning; Meek shall hear of it before I sleep to-night. Adieu.”
“The richest heiress in the land, and Cashel a beggar,” repeated Linton,
slowly, to himself, as the carriage drove off. “Charley Frobisher would
say, 'Hedge on the double event,' but I 'll keep my book.” And, with
this slang reflection, he sauntered into the inn to wait for his horses.