Now Mr. Wilkinson, though a very pleasant, gentlemanly man--slightly
inclined to be facetious, but never yielding to that vein farther than
a subdued--one might almost say, internal--smile, at the odd things,
and the absurd things, and the wicked things of this world--was quite
in the wrong in taking it into his head that Maria Beauchamp was in
love with Captain William Delaware. In truth, she was not; though
certainly never were there circumstances more likely to make her
become so. She had only got as far at present as being interested in
the young sailor's fate in the highest degree; perfectly convinced
that he was innocent and injured--thinking him certainly a very
handsome youth--and granting that he was, with all his simplicity, one
of the most agreeable men she had ever seen. The reader may ask if all
this, then, was not love? No, no, no! It was not! There were bricks,
and mortar, and trowels, and hods; but it was not the tower of
Babel--What I mean is, that there were all the materials for love, but
they wanted putting together.
In Lord Ashborough's house, however, with all these prepossessions in
William Delaware's favor, she heard nothing coupled with his name but
pompous censure, or flat and pointless sneers, and she dared not say a
word in his favor. Now this, as it furnished her with a motive for not
only thinking of him from morning till night, but furnished her also
with a legitimate cause for connecting, in the sweet, unanswering
privacy of her own bosom, all those manifold arguments in his favor
which she could have put forth in society, had she not been afraid of
their being controverted, caused imagination, and zeal, and generous
enthusiasm, to labor hard to build up the said bricks and mortar into
the firm and regular structure which Mr. Wilkinson, in his over-hasty
conclusions, imagined to be already built.
However all that may be, it is certain that few people had been more
completely wretched--and she was not a person to be so, without
seeming so too--than Maria Beauchamp, since the business at Ryebury
had taken place, and she yielded to a degree of gloom and despondency
which Lord Ashborough had never before seen her display under any
circumstances. As she never mingled in the conversation regarding
William Delaware, the earl imagined that anxiety and suspense in
regard to the fate of her brother were the causes of her gloom;
and--with the very natural consideration which people generally
display, who, however much grieved they may feel for a time, love to
get over the memory of their dead relations as fast as may be--the
noble earl took every means of removing her state of doubt as fast as
possible, by assuring her, on all occasions, that unquestionably her
brother was dead.
Suddenly a change came over Miss Beauchamp's whole demeanor. Though
she admitted that it was very possible her brother might be dead, yet
she resumed her usual tone of spirits; and instead of being silent in
regard to Captain Delaware, she repelled with contempt the idea of his
guilt whenever it was mentioned, declaring that she felt as much
confidence in his innocence of the murder as she did in her own. All
this surprised Lord Ashborough. The first, indeed, he accounted for
pleasantly enough to himself, declaring that Maria's mind had now
recovered its elasticity, having been relieved from suspense by the
firm conviction which he had taken care to impress upon it that her
brother was dead. He lauded at the same time, be it remarked, his own
wisdom in the course he had pursued, blaming severely those
ill-judging friends who, in such cases, suffer hope to linger on till
it wears itself out. He even ventured on a simile, saying, that it was
like torturing a drowning man by holding out straws to him.
In regard to Miss Beauchamp's extraordinary perversity in defending
the murderer, he declared that he was more puzzled; and one day, after
having remonstrated severely, he related the fact to the worthy Mr.
Tims. That excellent person, however, only decided that it was a
lady's caprice; and with this solution of the enigma his lordship was
forced to rest satisfied.
In the meanwhile, Henry Beauchamp did the most uninteresting thing in
the whole world--namely, he traveled from Calais to Paris; for, with
the exception of Sterne, who carried his own world about with him in
his post-chaise--and a strange mixed world of beauty and deformity it
was--I know no one who has been able to make any thing of the journey
between those two towns, either one way or the other--except, indeed,
the Duke of Guise, in 1558, who made Calais a French town of it.
Henry Beauchamp's journey was somewhat Quixotic, certainly; but the
whole details of his sally serve lamentably to show how the science of
knight-errantry has declined since the occultation of the star of La
Mancha. For a squire he had a Bow-street officer, backed by letters
missive from the Foreign Secretary, and seated upon the rumble of a
dark-green armless chariot, beside a fierce-looking mastiff of a
courier, whom Beauchamp had engaged upon somewhat surer grounds than
those on which Master Harding had been received into his service.
Dapple and Rozinante were converted into four French stallions, of all
sorts and sizes; and instead of mistaking inns for castles, one might
have concluded that the young Englishman mistook them for prisons, so
strenuously did he avoid them by traveling night and day.
As Mr. Wilkinson had stated, an officer had been previously sent to
Paris in pursuit of Captain Delaware; and although it had not been
judged expedient, notwithstanding the information given by Mr.
Beauchamp, to recall him from that search, yet he was directed
vigorously to co-operate with the person now sent to arrest Harding
and his accomplices. Beauchamp, in his inexperience of such matters,
had thought it might be better to follow the culprits by the ports at
which they had landed in France, and which had been clearly
ascertained from Willy Small, the smuggler, and his eldest son, who
had acted as master of the cutter that took them over. The officer
shook the wise head, however, and said, "No, no! Let us go to Paris
first, sir; for that's a place which is sure to draw all rogues to it,
first or last--as a saucer of honey in a shop window catches the
flies. We get at all the passports there, too; and, beside, the mayors
and folks in the country places wouldn't dare to back us in seizing
the men without a government order, and a _John Darm_, as they call
them. When we have searched Paris, let us set off for Cherbourg, and
meet them in the face."
To this reasoning Beauchamp of course yielded; and although some
difficulties occurred on the part of the French government, they were
speedily removed--the passport-office was examined--some of the most
active agents of the French police were employed--and such information
finally obtained as the Bow-street officer thought likely to lead to
the discovery of the whole party, either at Cherbourg or at Caen.
Thither, then, Beauchamp and his attendants of various kinds, now
increased in number to four, turned their steps, making the most
minute inquiries at every point which offered the least chance of
affording information concerning the culprits. Beauchamp, at the same
time, pursued another search, anticipating, with no small eagerness a
meeting with Miss Delaware and her father, who, he concluded must
journey with slow stages, on account of the baronet's health. Strange,
however, to say, that he, and the Bow-street officer, and the French
agent of police, were all equally disappointed. Beauchamp found nobody
that he sought; and his companions, though they laid hands upon the
three personages whose passports and description had excited
suspicion, were surprised and mortified to find that they bore not the
slightest resemblance to those who had carried Mr. Beauchamp off from
Ryebury.
On minute inquiry among the fishermen of the village where the
culprits were said to have landed, the house was at length discovered
in which they had first lodged; and the _aubergiste_ at once declared,
that, understanding the English, language, he had heard them announce
their intention of proceeding to Havre, in order to embark on board
some American trader.
No time was to be lost under such circumstances, as ships were sailing
every day for some transatlantic port or another; and the horses
having been again put to the two carriages which now formed the
cortege, away went Beauchamp and his train for Havre. From Cherbourg
to Havre, running through one-half of the peninsula of Cotentin, is a
long, though not uninteresting journey, to one who has nothing else to
think of. But Beauchamp was in haste to get on. French postillions are
notoriously slow, and Norman postillions notoriously slower. The
steamboat was gone when the party arrived at Honfleur; and, in short,
every thing that nature and art could do to stop them on their way was
done to perfection. At length when they did reach Havre, they found
that one vessel had sailed for America the preceding day, full of
emigrants of all descriptions, and that two others had departed about
four days earlier, each of which, to believe the accounts given of
them, must have been a perfect Noah's Ark.
Beauchamp and the officers lost heart, and even the courier, whose
trade being to run, could not be supposed to object to _battre la
campagne_ in this manner, began to look rueful, under the apprehension
that, if no farther clew could be gained, his occupation would soon be
gone. After every inn had been inspected, every consul consulted,
every shipping-office examined, Beauchamp determined once more to
return to Paris, and thither he accordingly came by way of Rouen,
followed by the posse, who found it not at all disagreeable to eat,
and drink, and sleep at his expense, and be paid for the trouble
thereof over and above.
New researches were immediately commenced; and never did fat-faced
Gibbon bend his rotund cheeks over the pages of infidelity, ancient or
modern, from Arius to Hobbes, with more eagerness to filch or find an
objection or a fault in the blessed faith, whose beginning and end is
glory to God in the highest, and peace and good will toward men, than
did all parties pursue their object of discovering the guilty, in
order, principally, it must be confessed, to exculpate the innocent.
But the search seemed perfectly in vain; and the only conclusion which
to any one could come was, that the murderers had really effected
their escape to America. After nibbling at various surmises and
reports for some time, the officer who had accompanied Beauchamp
declared himself foiled, and took his leave. He who had been sent in
quest of Captain Delaware had abandoned the pursuit for some time; and
Beauchamp was thus left alone to proceed with such inquiries as he
might still have sufficient perseverance to make.
These inquiries, it must be confessed, related principally to Sir
Sidney and Miss Delaware, but here as many difficulties awaited him as
he had met with in the other search; and he was just on the point of
giving up the matter in despair, and returning to London to surprise
his mourning friends, when a circumstance occurred, which, without
throwing the slightest ray of light upon the course which Blanche and
her father had taken, served, at all events, to induce Beauchamp to
remain in Paris for several days longer than he had intended.
The hotel in which he lodged, at the corner of the Rue de la Paix,
unlike most hotels in Paris, had but one staircase; and Beauchamp, who
walked up and down this staircase as seldom as possible, had rarely
the misfortune of meeting many people upon it. The last day but one,
however, of his intended stay, he encountered a lady walking leisurely
up; and, as each moved a little on one side, to suffer the other to
pass, by a sort of semi-rotation of each upon the axis, their faces
came opposite to one another, and Beauchamp recognized Mrs.
Darlington, while she paid him the same compliment.
"Good gracious, Mr. Burrel!" she exclaimed, much more surprised than
was at all proper--"or Mr. Beauchamp, am I to call you; for the people
tell me, that the Mr. Burrel I had the pleasure of knowing, was known
to others under the name of Beauchamp. But under whatever name you
choose, I am most happy to see you; for all your good friends in
England told me you were dead."
"They have done me too much honor, in every respect, my dear madam,"
replied Beauchamp. "Those the gods love, you know, die young. But
though I must plead guilty to having deceived you, by calling myself
names far different from my own, yet believe me, when I assure you,
that I had no hand in my own death. That was entirely arranged by my
friends and relations--though I doubt not, when I go back to England,
the public prosecutor will think fit to arraign me for _felo-de-se_,
with as much justice as the coroner's jury returned a verdict of
murder against poor William Delaware."
"Ah, that was a terrible business!" replied Mrs. Darlington. A
terrible business, indeed, poor young man! and I should like to talk
it over with you, Mr. Beauchamp--but I dare say that was your carriage
waiting, and I will not keep you now; but if you will return at
half-past six, and dine with me and the Abbé de ----, who is as deaf
as a pug-dog, I will tell you a curious circumstance which has
occurred to me since I came here--not about the Delawares, indeed,
poor people, but about something that happened just at the same time.
Now every thing that happened at that time was more or less a matter
of interest to Henry Beauchamp; and therefore he willingly agreed to
dine and hear, according to invitation. A few minutes after the
appointed time, he was in the saloon of Madame Darlington's
apartments, where he found that lady, with a worthy ex-émigré
Abbé--the very sort of man who could dine with a widow lady of any age
without scandal.
Beauchamp fully understood the _beinseance_ of never being curious
about any thing, and therefore he listened to all Mrs. Darlington's
reasons for being in Paris--how London was of course out of the
question in October--how the house she had hired near Emberton had
turned out as damp as a fen, and smelled of a wet dog from the garret
to the kitchen--how Paris always afforded variety, &c.--without
showing the slightest inclination to inquire into the occurrence she
had mentioned in the morning. Dinner was announced, and was as
_recherche_ in France as if it had been at Emberton; but not a word
took place concerning the _occurrence_, Mrs. Darlington spending all
the leisure moments in marveling that Mr. Beauchamp and herself could
have remained in the same house for four days without discovering
their proximity. After dinner, Beauchamp's _beinseance_ began to get
tired, and probably would have broken down entirely, had he not
fortunately happened to take up a very beautiful eye-glass set with
emeralds, in the French fashion, which lay upon the table in the
saloon.
"Oh, dear, that puts me in mind, Mr. Beauchamp!" cried Mrs.
Darlington. "It is strange enough; I have twice bought that eye-glass
in this very town. Once two days, and once eighteen months ago. That
is the very thing I wished to tell you about. You remember when you
did me the favor of dining with me at Emberton; my house was burned
down--."
"Var shocken, indeed!" cried the Abbé, who piqued himself on speaking
English. "Terrible shocken great!"
"Well," continued Mrs. Darlington, "that very evening, I left that
eye-glass upon the table in the drawing-room; and you remember, I dare
say, that I lost all my plate and jewels--indeed, the loss of various
things was incalculable--but, however, that glass was among the rest;
and as it was a sort of pet, I went into a shop the other day to see
if I could find any thing like it. Well, the jeweler finding out I was
English--though how he did so, I am sure I do not know, for I believe
I speak French tolerably--"
"Oh, var excellent much!" said the Abbé, who was listening with his
most acute ear bent subserviently to Mrs. Darlington's story. "As one
Frenchwoman."
Mrs. Darlington smiled, nodded, and went on. "Well, the man found out
that I was an Englishwoman--by the carriage, I suppose; and would talk
nothing but English all the time, though he spoke it badly enough. On
my describing what I wanted, he said that he had got the very thing;
fresh arrived from England three days before. I told him that what I
wanted was French; he declared that I must be mistaken, and produced
my own eye-glass, with I. D., Isabella Darlington" ("What pretty
name!" cried the Abbé) "on the medallion. I bought it, as you see, and
the jeweler assured me that he had purchased it three days before from
an English gentleman with black hair and large whiskers."
"Although the description is very exact," answered Beauchamp, smiling,
"I can assure you, my dear madam, that I was not the thief--but as it
has long struck me that there has been something very mysterious
indeed in the whole business of the fire at your house, I should like
much to know the name of the jeweler; and if you will favor me with
it, will delay my departure for a day or two, in order to make farther
inquiries."
Mrs. Darlington thanked Beauchamp warmly for the interest he took in
the matter; and the address being given and put down, the young
Englishman declared he would go that night and take the first steps
toward investigating the business fully. Accordingly taking his leave,
he sauntered out into the Place Vendome, and thence into one of the
principal streets in the neighborhood of the Tuileries, where,
entering the shop of the jeweler, he bought some trifling article, as
a fair excuse for indulging in that sort of gossip which he thought
most likely to elicit some facts.
The Frenchman was exactly the sort of person with whom one would
desire to gossip. He was even more urbane than the editor of the
Gentleman's Magazine, fond of a little conversation on any
subject--love, war, or politics--with those who came to buy his
nick-nacks, and had his small fund of wit, of sentiment, and of
anecdotism--not more of either than would have lain conveniently in a
vinaigrette, yet quite sufficient to give piquancy to his vivacious
nothings. Beauchamp soon led him to the subject of Mrs. Darlington's
eye-glass; but he quitted it in a moment, declaring that it was a
droll occurrence, but nothing to what had happened since.
He always had Galignani's Messenger on his counter, he said, to amuse
the English gentlemen who dealt with him; and the other night, as he
was sitting alone, a _beau jeune homme_ who had been there once
before, came in to offer him some other articles for sale. "While I
was examining what the stranger brought," continued the jeweler, "the
young Englishman took up the newspaper, and then suddenly laid it
down, but after a moment or two, he took it up again; and then I saw
that he had just lighted upon the horrible murder, that has been
lately committed in your country by a captain in the navy. Well, sir,
when I looked in his face, he had turned as pale as a table-cloth, and
was so agitated that I should have thought that he was the assassin
himself, had he not been too young to be a captain in your navy. He
read it out every word, however, though I could clearly see that he
was very much disturbed, and I am sure that he was some relation
either of the man who was killed, or of the murderer."
"How old was he?" demanded Beauchamp, remembering the extreme
youthfulness of Captain Delaware's appearance.
"Oh, he could not be twenty?" answered the jeweler. "He was very fair,
too, with fine light hair, tall, and well made too. Do you think it
could be the assassin, monsieur?"
"Certainly not!" replied Beauchamp; who, though morally convinced that
it was Captain Delaware whom the jeweler had seen, was still more
convinced that he had nothing to do with the murder. "The man who
committed this crime is quite a different person; I know the gentleman
who has been here, as you describe, and I wish much to see him. Have
you any idea of his address?"
"None whatever, sir!" replied the jeweler; "but I dare say he will be
here again soon; for I bought the bijoux he had to sell, and he said
that he had more, and would return."
"Well, it is of no great consequence," replied Beauchamp, assuming as
much indifference as possible; "but in case he does come, be so good
as to tell him that Mr. Henry Burrel is at the Hotel de ----, Rue de
la Paix; and would be very glad to see him. Tell him also that I shall
be at home and _alone_ on every evening during the week, from the hour
of seven till the hour of ten."
The jeweler promised to deliver the message punctually; and, to guard
against all mistakes, Beauchamp put down in writing his assumed name,
and the number of his apartments in the hotel. He then--to do full
justice to Mrs. Darlington's business--tried to bring the jeweler back
to the story of the eye-glass; but it was all in vain. The man was
like one of those birds whose correct ornithological name I do not
know, but which boys call water-wagtails, and which go hopping from
stone to stone, pausing lightly balanced on each for a moment, and
then springing on to another, without ever returning to the same. It
was in vain Beauchamp tried to elicit any farther information; he
skipped on from subject to subject, and nothing farther could be made
of him.
Tired of the endeavor, the young Englishman at length rose and
returned to his hotel, bidding the man send the trinkets he had
bought. He there reported his ill success to Mrs. Darlington; and
taking measures to guard against intrusion at the hour he had promised
to be alone on the following nights, he waited anxiously for Captain
Delaware's coming, with that degree of uncertainty--as to whether the
young officer would ever revisit the jeweler, and whether he would
come even if he did receive the message--which Beauchamp could not
endure with that feeling, or rather assumption, of indifference, with
which he sometimes cheated himself.
From seven till ten on the two following nights, he paced his little
saloon with a degree of anxiety which he had hardly ever felt before.
Every step upon the stairs caught his ear--every voice in the
ante-room, where he had placed his own servant on guard, made him
pause and listen; but it was all in vain; and on both nights he heard
ten, and even eleven, strike before he abandoned the consolatory
reflection that clocks might differ, and that the object of his
expectation might still appear.
As he now felt certain, however, that William Delaware was in the same
city with himself, he resolved to wait on in Paris; and, if the
message he had left proved vain, to endeavor once more to discover his
dwelling by other means.