In passing through life we must have remarked, not only that the
satirical maxim of La Rochefoucauld is true, with a great number of
people, in regard to the pleasures that they derive from the
misfortunes of their friends, but that the general world contrives to
extract an infinite quantity of amusement, delight, and satisfaction
from all the evils that are going on throughout the universe. What a
fund of pleasant excitement is there to the minds of many, in that
column of a newspaper, headed "Accidents and Offences." What
gratification to multitudes in a child being scalded to death, a house
being burnt down, a retired tradesman, in a solitary cottage,
undergoing the process of murder! And such is the joy and delight the
great mass of mankind in crime and sorrow, that I do really
believe, if any person could invent an unheard-of iniquity, or
contrive to die some unknown kind of death, not only would rags of his
clothes be kept as relics, locks of his hair preserved in lockets, or
the rope that hanged him be sold at a guinea an inch, but a very
handsome subscription might be gathered, to raise a statue to him, as
the man who furnished the public with a new kind of excitement.
Fie upon it! The morbid taste for stimulating things, that habitual
drunkenness of the mind, which is increasing day by day more and more
throughout the whole world, excluding the sane, the simple, and the
just, must end in moral death--the sad, worn-out, apathetic death of
the spirit drinker. On my life, I have a great inclination to shake
hands with Father Mathew, and preach a mental teetotalism!
The prevailing spirit, the love of excitement, which is in every human
being, was not wanting even amongst the quiet fields and villages
around Yelverly; and the news of that famous burglary having spread
far and wide, the retired house of Mr. Carr became an object of
attention and visitation, for all the places in the neighbourhood.
Magistrates flocked in, farmers and yeomen made their appearance,
constables, from every place in the vicinity, travelled thither
without loss of time; and though many a one winked the eye and laughed
at Old Carr's misfortune, the general pleasure derived by the
multitude from an extensive robbery in that part of the country was of
the higher and more interesting kind called excitement.
The retired lawyer, himself, as his first step, shut up his house, and
would let no one in but those whom he knew; and, after he had
collected his thoughts in some degree, he visited various parts of the
building, opened different drawers and secret cupboards, and found, to
his great relief, that the robbers, from their ignorance of his
habits, had missed many of the stores which he had fancied carried
off. He then gathered together his papers, which were scattered about
his room, examined the marks and memorandums upon them, and, to his
great joy, perceived that they were all correct. Another thing tended
to relieve him from a still greater portion of the load of care, which
was, that the plunderers, with a fine apprehension of detection, had
displayed a goodly contempt for bank-notes, so that two packets,
amounting each to five hundred pounds, were found cast down upon the
floor without the slightest sign of veneration.
In the midst of these operations, several magistrates poured in upon
him, and all the local wisdom of the neighbourhood was expended during
the next three hours, in consulting and considering what was to be
done. As will ever be the case where there are manifold persons, each
of whom has as much right to speak as another, a great deal of
nonsense was talked, and a great deal of time was expended to very
little purpose.
The abduction of poor Helen Barham formed one of the principal topics
with the magistrates; and Mr. Carr himself expressed much greaser
anxiety upon the subject than he had ever been known to evince in
regard to anybody, except his daughter. By the time that the premises
had been thoroughly examined, the means by which the robbers had
obtained an entrance clearly ascertained, and the route that they had
taken in their escape rendered as confused and puzzled as possible, by
conflicting testimonies and innumerable conjectures. Count Lieberg's
servant had returned from Doncaster, bringing information from some of
the magistrates of that place, that three persons of very suspicious
look, and one of whom was known to be an infamous character, had
appeared in that town on the preceding day, and had suddenly
disappeared towards night. All attention was now turned towards
Doncaster, every man who thought himself an active magistrate, or who
wished to establish for himself such a reputation, set off instantly
for that town, while the rest retired to their own houses, satisfied
with having talked much and done nothing at all, as is too much the
case with county justices and with members of parliament.
When they were all gone beyond recall, and Mr. Carr was left alone,
the real track of the plunderers, as so generally happens, was
discovered at once by no other event than the passing of the Sheffield
coach, and the arrival of Helen Barham. Mr. Carr was really delighted
to see her, both because she had proved a pleasant companion to him,
and because in the prospect of managing her own and her brother's
affairs, he foresaw, or thought he foresaw, the means of recovering,
and more than recovering, the riches which the housebreakers had
carried away.
Many and eager were his questions, to all of which Helen gave a
sincere answer, telling exactly what had occurred, with the exception
of those points which referred to her brother William. She related how
she had seen the man's face in her bed-room; how she had been forced
to rise and accompany the robbers; how she had pledged herself most
solemnly never to give evidence against the man at whose intercession
her life was spared; and how she had taken refuge at the Tontine Inn,
and come thence by the stage to Yelverly. She would willingly have
ended her history there, but Mr. Carr asked, as soon as she paused, if
Colonel Lieberg, then, had not found her?
"I regret to say he did, my dear sir," replied Helen, with much
agitation; "he found me alone and unprotected, and took that
opportunity, when I most needed comfort and help, to insult and grieve
me. Had it not been for the kindness of the people of the inn, I do
not know what I should have done. I trust," she added, with the tears
in her eyes, "that he will not return here while I remain. If he have
any feeling of honour or shame left he certainly will not."
"But the manors! my dear Miss Barham--the manors!" cried Mr. Carr;
"what can be done about the manors? Oh, he certainly must return here,
for he has left his carriage and his servant."
"Then if he does," said Helen, "by your permission, my dear sir, I
will remain in my own room till he is gone, and will not see him on
any account whatsoever."
"Oh, quite right--quite right, my dear Miss Helen," replied Mr. Carr;
"the foolish fellow doubtless thought you poor and friendless; but he
will find himself mistaken; and when he sees you with seventy or
eighty thousand pounds, or, may be, with a hundred--for I have not
calculated what the arrears will be, and, indeed, cannot, till we
enter into the accounts fully--he will change his tone, I am sure."
Helen smiled sadly, for, notwithstanding the belief, which had gained
a strong hold of her, that there might be some truth in what Mr. Carr
said regarding the claims of her family to greater fortune than they
possessed, she could not help looking upon his expectation of
recovering it as a mere dream.
"If he were to alter his tone," she replied, "I should certainly never
alter mine. But I will go now, Mr. Carr, and write at once to my
brother. I have many important things to tell him."
"Bid him come down here, with all speed," exclaimed Mr. Carr--"bid him
come down here, with all speed. He will soon recover his health here,
and if he do not, you will do quite as well; the entail was in the
female line, as well as the male, and, indeed--"
"But I thought you proposed, Mr. Carr," said Helen, "to accompany me
to London. I know that it is too late to-day, and, indeed, I feel too
faint and weak to undertake such a journey without repose; but I did
hope that you might be able to go to-morrow, for I only intended to
write to my brother to comfort him in the meantime. You heard what
that miserable man said about his state of health."
"Oh, he exaggerated--he exaggerated!" answered Mr. Carr. "Don't you
see, he had an object to gain? But, however, I will go up, if you like
it; and, indeed, perhaps it would be the best way. Then we could
settle all things with your brother speedily, and I could set the
Bow-street fellows upon the track of these villains who have carried
off so much of my property. You say very right, my dear, it will be
the best way, and we will go to-morrow--that is, if you be well
enough, for we must not risk your life too. You must take care of
yourself--you must take care of yourself, my little lady, for you will
be a rich dame some of these days, and life becomes well worth
preserving, when people have plenty of money."
Helen gazed down upon the ground, and her eyes filled with tears, but
she merely replied--"A little repose is all that I require--I shall
be quite able to set out to-morrow; but now I will go and write to my
brother, and pay the young man from the inn at Sheffield, who is
waiting in the kitchen, I fancy."
"Ay, do, my dear Miss Barham--do," said Mr. Carr. "I would offer to
pay him, but, really, these men have taken all the money I have got."
"That would be quite unnecessary," replied Helen; "I do not think they
took anything from my room, and I have, luckily, plenty of money in my
desk."
"Plenty?" said Mr. Carr, with a smile. "Never think you have plenty,
my dear Miss Barham; you will always find more than enough to do with
it, if you had twenty times as much."
Helen made no reply, but retired to her chamber as she had said, and
after having paid the boy from Sheffield, wrote a long letter to her
brother, and another to Juliet Carr. To the first she told all that
had taken place between herself and Mr. Carr, regarding the fortune
which he said was unjustly withheld from them. She entered into the
whole of her own recollections, and the facts which induced her to
believe that there was some ground for the statements of the old
lawyer, and at the same time she informed her brother of her
approaching return to London. The most important intelligence of the
whole, however, was conveyed in a postscript of a few words, to the
following effect:--"You need no longer be under any apprehension
regarding the consequences of an act that you lately committed, which
you once told me of. Both the papers were destroyed before my own
eyes, by a man who seemed to know something of you, and who had
obtained possession of them in the commission of another crime."
The letter to Juliet was upon other topics, though she noticed briefly
all that had occurred at Yelverly, and stated that she was about to
return to London, accompanied by Mr. Carr. In the end of the letter
she said--"Count Lieberg has been here, and has justified too sadly
the opinion which Sir Morley Ernstein and Lady Malcolm entertained of
him. He has insulted me cruelly, dear Juliet; and, I do not know why,
but since I have had your friendship, and the support and protection
of one who is, I know, very dear to you, my spirit has risen, even in
spite of much sadness; and those insults which, a few weeks ago, I
looked upon as a part of my fate, a misery that I was born to endure,
I now feel angry and indignant at, and my heart burns within me. It
seems as if being admitted to call myself your friend, has given me,
back a dignity of feeling that misery and friendlessness had before
taken from me. The poor teacher of music and of drawing, who could
hardly gain enough, by her utmost labour, to keep herself and her
brother from absolute want, seemed to consider herself, as well as to
be considered by others, as merely a being to be pursued by the wicked
and licentious, and with no other task before her, than to struggle
and resist, till age came to relieve her from any share of
attractions, without feeling the least anger or surprise at views and
proposals the most degrading. Now, however, it is different, and I
feel the insult that this man has offered me to the very heart.
Nevertheless, my dear Juliet, you must, on no account, mention this to
Sir Morley Ernstein; we both know his noble and his generous nature
too well to doubt that it might, and very probably would, produce a
quarrel between him and the other, which might end fatally. Just in
the proportion as I am unprotected, poor, and without any claim to the
generosity and friendship of any one, would he think himself called
upon to resent an injury and an evil inflicted upon her to whom he has
shewn so much disinterested kindness. I tell it to you, because I will
conceal nothing from you; but you must on no account let him hear one
word of what I have said, as you value your own peace, and as you
value mine."
Before Helen had concluded her letter to Juliet Carr, she received a
message from the old lawyer, informing her that Count Lieberg had sent
somebody from Sheffield with post horses, to bring away his carriage
and servant, as he did not intend to take the manors or return to
Yelverly; and about half-an-hour after she was summoned to the
drawing-room to speak with two of the magistrates, who had been
recalled by Mr. Carr. Their object was, of course, to ascertain in
what direction the house-breakers had fled, and by what signs they
could be recognised. In regard to the first point, Helen made a clear
statement of what had taken place, and repeated what the man, Harry
Martin, had said, respecting their soon being safe in Scotland,
without at all imagining that these words had been spoken for the
express purpose of misleading; but the information that she could or
would give in order to identify the plunderers was very small. She
described the phaeton generally; but as to the colour, or any other
distinctive mark, she could say nothing, having only seen it in the
night, and being too much agitated and frightened to take any great
notice if it then. The forms and features of the men had been so
thoroughly concealed by the smock frocks which they wore, and the
crape which was drawn over their faces, that Helen said truly, she
could tell nothing regarding them in general by which they could be
distinguished from any other men.
"But," exclaimed one of the magistrates, "you saw one of them, Miss
Barham! Let us have an account of him, at least. It very often happens
that one being known, his accomplices are speedily traced."
"But I told you, sir," replied Helen, apparently with some surprise at
the request, "I told you that I had promised most positively never to
say anything by which he could be recognised."
"But of course," cried the magistrate, "you do not intend to regard
such a promise as binding!"
"As much as any other promise I ever made," answered Helen; "he might
have taken my life if he had liked it, and----"
"But listen to me, my dear young lady," said the other magistrate,
"promises made under threats and intimidation are always held to be
invalid. Neither law, religion, nor justice, recognise them for a
moment."
"I really do not know," replied Helen--"I am no great casuist in such
matters. The man did not threaten me in the least degree, but he might
have taken my life if he had thought fit. If he had done so, the law
would have assigned to him no worse punishment than for breaking into
the house; and on no consideration whatsoever will I give the
slightest indication by which he may be discovered."
The magistrates then took another turn, and tried to alarm her,
saying, they had power to compel her to answer their questions, that
she might be treated as an accessory after the fact. Helen, however,
turned to Mr. Carr, asking--"Do you suffer this, sir? You are a
magistrate also, I think, and I must know if you wish me to be treated
in this manner."
"No, no, my dear young lady," said Mr. Carr, moved by very different
feelings from those which either Helen or the magistrates attributed
to him, and, in fact, looking upon her already as the heiress which he
presumed her to be. "No, no, my dear young lady, this shall not be
done. Gentlemen, Miss Barham must either be persuaded by fair means,
or must be silent at her will. I cannot have her bullied."
The two magistrates seemed somewhat offended at the term which Mr.
Carr employed; but the ci-devant lawyer was quite chivalrous in
defence of his young friend, quoted all sorts of law to prove that his
brethren of the bench were perfectly in the wrong, overwhelmed them
with a multitude of obsolete terms, and would hear no argument in
reply whatsoever. The two magistrates took up their hats, mortified
and annoyed, and, with the dogged stalk of two British mastiffs,
marched out of the room and the house, saying, "that Mr. Carr might
manage the affair as he liked best himself."
"I will tell you how I will manage it, my dear Miss Barham," he said.
"I will put two of the Bow-street runners on the track, and promise
them a percentage on every ounce of gold and silver they recover. Much
better is it for me to lose a little and get back the money, than to
pay a great sum and hang them all. These county magistrates, with one
thing or another, would let them go on till all the money was spent,
and all the plate melted; but the Bow-street officers will take care
of that, if they hope to have a share; and so we will set out for
London to-morrow without fail."
The good gentleman's purpose was executed, and he and Helen proceeded
to Doncaster, and thence to London, without pause or delay. Mr. Carr
himself had a strong objection to inns and hotels, and he consequently
drove at once to Lady Malcolm's house, having a sort of claim to the
hospitality of that lady, as his wife's first cousin, which he did not
fail to put forward on all occasions when he visited London. To his
surprise, and that of Helen's, however, a maid-servant opened the
door, and informed Mr. Carr that her lady, Miss Juliet, and Sir Morley
Ernstein, had gone down together to spend a few days at the little
watering-place called Sandgate.
Helen remarked that there was something in this intelligence which
made a scowl, such as she had seldom or ever seen there before, come
upon the face of Mr. Carr.
"Gone down to Sandgate with Sir Morley Ernstein?" he exclaimed,
swearing a desperate oath at the same time. "That is strange enough!"
"Oh, but she will be up in a day or two, sir," replied the maid, who
knew Mr. Carr quite well, and attributed his anger to a wrong cause;
"and I am sure she will be delighted if you will stay here till she
comes; for she always said that a bed was to be ready for you--and
Miss Helen, too, I am sure she will be glad to see. I hope you are
well, ma'am, and have passed a pleasant time in the country, though
you look a little tired like--But I'll go and call the housekeeper."
That functionary accordingly appeared, and confirmed all the maid had
said; and though Helen had some hesitation as to remaining at Lady
Malcolm's house without an invitation from its mistress, yet the
assurances of the housekeeper, who knew her lady well, were so strong,
and Mr. Carr insisted so vehemently, that she yielded, and took up her
abode in the little room which she had tenanted before, close to that
of Juliet Carr.
No sooner was Mr. Carr installed, than he wrote a note of the most
pressing kind to his daughter, telling her that he had come to London
on business of great moment, and begging her to return instantly to
meet him in the capital. He entered into no explanations of his views
whatsoever, but requested Juliet, as probably it would be inconvenient
for Lady Malcolm to come up with her, not to make any delay on that
account, but to set out at once, immediately after receiving this
letter.
This being done, and having taken some refreshment, he proceeded at
once to the house which Helen had formerly inhabited, where her
brother William, who had received her letter in the morning, was
waiting in a state of excitement of joy and astonishment impossible to
describe. Helen, who accompanied Mr. Carr, remarked one thing,
however, which made her fear that her brother had once more fallen
amongst bad associates; he was extremely anxious to go into the
country, vowed that though Lieberg was a liar, as he termed broadly
it, and he had never been seriously ill at all, it would do his health
good to be away from London; and added, that if Helen had only given
him time, he would have come down to her in the country, without
giving her the trouble of coming up to him.
Like all weak persons, William Barham was ever ready to attach himself
to any one who would flatter his hopes or his wishes, hating
unpalatable truth of all kinds, almost as much when it regarded his
own situation, as when it affected his own conduct. With Mr. Carr he
was delighted, vowed that he was a very honest fellow--that he would
put himself entirely in his hands--and that there could be no earthly
doubt that he was quite right in regard to the view he took of the
case. Thus, after a long conversation, they parted, and Mr. Carr
returned with Helen to Lady Malcolm's house, enjoying the idea of
having so soft a person to deal with, almost as much as if he had
still been a solicitor in full practice.
Helen, however, was sad and dispirited, and felt that the tone of her
brother's conversation altogether was painful and distressing. Some
time had now elapsed since she had seen him; the effect of the country
on her mind had been calm and refreshing; and all that was dark and
bad, all that was weak and foolish in the character of her brother,
seemed to stand out the more prominently from the state of her own
mind. When we wish to see an object distinctly through a glass, we
take care to wipe it clean from all specks and dust; and there is
nothing that clears the mental vision so much of all the dark and
dimming things of earthly life, as calm communion with the spirit of
God's works in scenes where man's handy-work has wrought but little.