As soon as Mr. Carr had left the room, Helen Barham turned towards the
place where her brother had been standing the moment before--not,
indeed, to ask his advice as to her future proceedings, for, alas, she
did not respect that brother sufficiently to trust in any of his
counsels!--but with the sort of enquiring look which nature has taught
us to direct towards any one nearly allied to us, in circumstances of
difficulty or danger. To her surprise, however, William Barham was no
longer there; and Juliet informed her that her brother had quitted the
room as soon as Mr. Carr began to speak of the robbery. "Indeed," she
added, with a smile, and little thinking her words would give pain, "I
perceive that he always does so."
Helen Barham looked down, for the knowledge which she possessed of her
brother's former course of life produced some apprehension lest
William himself might be by some means implicated in the terrible
transaction which was about to undergo the investigation of the law.
When she recollected the conduct and the words of Harry Martin, too,
the probability seemed so great, that she actually trembled at the
thought of what might be the consequence; and the difficulties of her
own situation became aggravated a thousand fold by fears for her
brother.
Juliet remarked her agitation, perhaps with some surprise, but she
made no observation, and Helen, as soon as she had recovered herself,
left the room, saying, that she wished to speak with William for a few
moments. She found him in the room to which she was directed by one of
the servants of the house, busily engaged in packing up a portmanteau.
He was looking extremely pale, and in answer to Helen's enquiries,
said that he intended to go back to London the next day. He made some
excuse for this sudden determination, which Helen did not clearly
understand, alleging that it was necessary he should see "the lawyer;"
but his sister could draw no farther information from him, and,
indeed, he appeared anxious to free himself from her presence. She
remained for some time, however, trying to soothe him, and
endeavouring to call up some better feelings in his heart; but she
found that her efforts were spent in vain, and with sorrow of various
kinds in her bosom, she returned to the room where she had left
Juliet.
As she laid her hand upon the lock of the drawing-room door, she heard
her friend's voice calling loudly from a little room at the end of the
corridor,--"Helen! Helen!" cried Juliet; "pray send some of the maids.
Come to me, dear Helen--my father has fainted!"
Helen ran into the room in which Mr. Carr usually transacted his
business, and found him seated in a chair, as pale as death, with his
daughter supporting his head.
"Something has happened," said Juliet, in a low voice--"something has
happened between him and that woman who was here just now; for the
moment that she was gone, he called for me eagerly, but before I could
reach him he was in the state that you see."
Measures were immediately taken for restoring Mr. Carr, and in about
half-an-hour they proved successful. He opened his eyes faintly and
looked around him, and then endeavoured to rise from his chair, but
was unable to do so. He was very angry, however, when he found that a
medical man had been sent for, vowed it was ruin and destruction, and
reproached Juliet bitterly for bringing him, as he termed it, to
poverty and disgrace.
Poor Juliet wept, not so much at the sting of her father's reproaches,
as because she thought his senses were bewildered; for although Mr.
Carr throughout life had displayed his avarice in acts, he had been
very careful to avoid suffering the miser to appear in his words. He
often, on the contrary, affected a tone of liberality; talked much
about "petty savings," and people being "penny wise and pound
foolish;" with all those old proverbs and saws of liberality, which
are more frequently in the mouths of the greedy and the avaricious
than of the really generous and open-handed.
Gradually, as he recovered himself, he became more guarded again, said
that as the doctor had been sent for he could not help it, but at the
same time put Juliet away from him with a cold air, and begged that
she would not act in such a way another time without his authority. He
asked, moreover, with a look of doubt and suspicion, if she had seen
that old woman, and seemed relieved when he was informed that such had
not been the case.
The surgeon, when he arrived, would fain have sent Mr. Carr to bed,
declared that he was much more ill than he believed himself to be, and
protested that he would not answer for the consequences if his
directions were not obeyed. Mr. Carr resisted, however, saying, that
there could be no use of his going to bed then, as he must set off for
York at six o'clock on the following morning, to be present at the
assizes.
It was in vain that Juliet remonstrated, and besought him to refrain
from an act which the surgeon assured him might cost his life,--it was
in vain that she represented how little it mattered whether the men
who robbed his house were convicted or not, if his own death was to be
the result. He grew angry with her arguments, telling her that she
knew not what she was talking about, and could not enter into his
views, or understand his motives; and so far, at least, he seemed to
be in the right, that the very exertion appeared to do him good, for
during the evening he went about making his preparations with much
greater strength than either Juliet or Helen believed him to possess.
He was pale when he rose on the following morning, and his hand shook
a good deal, as if he had had a slight stroke of the palsy; but his
determination of proceeding to York was so evident, that Juliet dared
offer no farther opposition, and only petitioned to be allowed to
accompany him. He did not comply with her request, however, saying,
somewhat impatiently, that there was no need of increasing the charges
at an inn. His daughter judged, and judged rightly, that the
apprehension of expense was not the sole cause of her father's
unwillingness to take her with him, and she did not venture to propose
that arrangement which had but too often taken place between him and
herself--namely, that she should pay her share from her own private
income.
As soon as the chaise appeared, Mr. Carr and Helen Barham got into it,
and the door was already shut when William Barham, who had been
wandering about the house during the whole morning, as if not knowing
what to do with his vacant time, ran up to the side of the vehicle,
and spoke a few words to Mr. Carr. The old man seemed surprised, but
after a reply and a rejoinder, exclaimed--"Very well--very well,
then--only make haste!"
The youth's portmanteau was immediately sent for, and strapped upon
the carriage; he himself took his place inside, and the whole party
were borne away in a very few minutes. To Juliet, who watched them
from the window, the words which William Barham had spoken where
inaudible; and she was not a little surprised to see the young man
depart, even for a short time, without the ordinary courtesy of
bidding her adieu; for, to say the truth, there had been a growing
familiarity in his manner, which, though difficult to check, had been
not a little disagreeable to her. On the present occasion, she
concluded that he was going to witness the trial at York, and was glad
of the relief; but she would have been still more surprised at his
conduct, though even better satisfied with the result, if she had
known that he only proposed to accompany M. Carr as far as the high
road, and there to get a place in the first coach for London.
While in the carriage with Mr. Carr and Helen, William Barham
maintained that sort of dull reserve which his sister's presence
seemed now to produce invariably, and only entered into conversation
for the purpose, of hinting to the old lawyer that he wanted a supply
of money. With scarcely a moment's hesitation given to his habitual
reluctance to part with money on any consideration, Mr. Carr produced
his pocket-book, and handed over at once two ten-pound notes to his
young companion, only stipulating that, when they arrived at the inn,
he should give a note of hand for the sum which he had received.
"This man has been called a miser and a usurer," thought Helen, "and
yet he deals thus liberally and kindly. So do people gain the
reputation of vices that they do not possess."
But poor Helen Barham knew not, that for every shilling which Mr. Carr
lent to William, he calculated that he would gain fifty, if not a
hundred per cent. On their arrival at the inn, which occupied the
angle where the by-road from Yelverly joined the high road from York
to London, Mr. Carr and William Barham got out of the carriage; and
the old lawyer carefully took a memorandum from the young man of the
sum which had been given him. William then took leave of his sister,
merely shaking hands as if she had been some common acquaintance, and
the chaise rolled on towards York, while Helen's brother remained
waiting the arrival of the coach. When it came, he got into the
inside, seeing that is was already tenanted by two well-dressed young
women, and an elderly gentleman; and in a few minutes the youth was in
full conversation, casting away entirely all that reserve which he had
displayed in the presence of his sister, and giving himself all sorts
of airs, as if he were the scion of some noble house, frequenting the
first society in the land, and possessing wealth at will.
Fast drove the coach along the road, and faster went the young man's
tongue, the innocent girls within the vehicle giving full credit to
every word he said, though not particularly liking his manners and
appearance, and their elder companion, with more experience and
knowledge of the world, setting him down, not exactly for what he
really was, but for some saucy shopboy, suddenly possessed of a few
pounds, and raised in his own impudent imagination to the highest
pitch of fortune.
At the end of about two hours, the coach drove up to an inn to change
horses, and at the same moment a dark-coloured, but highly-finished
barouche, rolled rapidly past on the side next to William Barham. The
old gentleman who occupied the other corner, could only perceive that
the carriage contained a man of a distinguished aspect, with fine
features and a very dark complexion; but William Barham recognised
with terror the well-known countenance of Lieberg, and saw that the
keen dark eye rested upon him while the finger was raised and the brow
contracted. He turned deadly pale, and became as silent as the grave.
The old gentleman remarked all this, and whispered to one of
his daughters, "I suppose this vulgar young coxcomb is some
valet-de-chambre, and if so, depend upon it that was his master who
passed just now."
William Barham's sharp ears caught the meaning of the whisper, and his
heart burned within him, but he did not dare to reply. His only
resource was to betake himself to the outside of the coach at the next
stage, and to drown the mingled feelings of apprehension and rage in
five or six glasses of strong brandy and water, taken wherever the
vehicle stopped long enough to give time for such potations.