TWO WITNESSES.
Mr. Prendergast had given himself two days to do all that was to
be done, before he told Herbert Fitzgerald the whole of the family
history. He had promised that he would then let him know all that
there was to be known; and he had done so advisedly, considering
that it would be manifestly unjust to leave him in the dark an hour
longer than was absolutely necessary. To expect that Sir Thomas
himself should, with his own breath and his own words, make the
revelation either to his son or to his wife, was to expect a manifest
impossibility. He would, altogether, have sank under such an
effort, as he had already sank under the effort of telling it to Mr.
Prendergast; nor could it be left to the judgment of Sir Thomas to
say when the story should be told. He had now absolutely abandoned
all judgment in the matter. He had placed himself in the hands of a
friend, and he now expected that that friend should do all that there
was to be done. Mr. Prendergast had therefore felt himself justified
in making this promise.
But how was he to set about the necessary intervening work, and how
pass the intervening hours? It had already been decided that Mr.
Abraham Mollett, when he called, should be shown, as usual, into the
study, but that he should there find himself confronted, not with Sir
Thomas, but with Mr. Prendergast. But there was some doubt whether
or no Mr. Mollett would come. It might be that he had means of
ascertaining what strangers arrived at Castle Richmond; and it
might be, that he would, under the present circumstances, think it
expedient to stay away. This visit, however, was not to take place
till the second day after that on which Mr. Prendergast had heard the
story; and, in the meantime, he had that examination of Mrs. Jones to
arrange and conduct.
The breakfast was again very sad. The girls suggested to their
brother that he and Mr. Prendergast should sit together by themselves
in a small breakfast parlour, but to this he would not assent.
Nothing could be more difficult or embarrassing than a conversation
between himself and that gentleman, and he moreover was unwilling to
let it be thought in the household that affairs were going utterly
wrong in the family. On this matter he need hardly have disturbed
himself, for the household was fully convinced that things were
going very wrong. Maid-servants and men-servants can read the
meaning of heavy brows and sad faces, of long meetings and whispered
consultations, as well as their betters. The two girls, therefore,
and Aunt Letty, appeared at the breakfast-table, but it was as though
so many ghosts had assembled round the urn.
Immediately after breakfast, Mr. Prendergast applied to Aunt Letty.
"Miss Fitzgerald," said he, "I think you have an old servant of the
name of Jones living here."
"Yes, sure," said Aunt Letty. "She was living with my sister-in-law
before her marriage."
"Exactly,--and ever since too, I believe," said Mr. Prendergast,
with a lawyer's instinctive desire to divert suspicion from the true
point.
"Oh yes, always; Mrs. Jones is quite one of ourselves."
"Then would you do me the favour to beg Mrs. Jones to oblige me with
her company for half an hour or so. There is an excellent fire in my
room, and perhaps Mrs. Jones would not object to step there."
Aunt Letty promised that Mrs. Jones should be sent, merely suggesting
the breakfast-parlour, instead of the bed-room; and to the
breakfast-parlour Mr. Prendergast at once betook himself. "What can
she know about the London property, or about the Irish property?"
thought Aunt Letty, to herself; and then it occurred to her that,
perhaps, all these troubles arose from some source altogether
distinct from the property.
In about a quarter of an hour, a knock came to the breakfast-parlour
door, and Mrs. Jones, having been duly summoned, entered the room
with a very clean cap and apron, and with a very low curtsey. "Good
morning, Mrs. Jones," said Mr. Prendergast; "pray take a seat;" and
he pointed to an arm-chair that was comfortably placed near the fire,
on the further side of the hearth-rug. Mrs. Jones sat herself down,
crossed her hands on her lap, and looked the very personification of
meek obedience.
And yet there was something about her which seemed to justify the
soubriquet of duchess, which the girls had given to her. She had a
certain grandeur about her cap, and a majestical set about the skirt
of her dress, and a rigour in the lines of her mouth, which indicated
a habit of command, and a confidence in her own dignity, which might
be supposed to be the very clearest attribute of duchessdom.
"You have been in this family a long time, I am told, Mrs. Jones,"
said Mr. Prendergast, using his pleasantest voice.
"A very long time indeed," said Mrs. Jones.
"And in a very confidential situation, too. I am told by Sir Thomas
that pretty nearly the whole management of the house is left in your
hands?"
"Sir Thomas is very kind, sir; Sir Thomas always was very kind,--poor
gentleman!"
"Poor gentleman, indeed! you may well say that, Mrs. Jones. This
family is in great affliction; you are no doubt aware of that." And
Mr. Prendergast as he spoke got up, went to the door, and saw that it
was firmly closed.
Mrs. Jones acknowledged that she was aware of it. "It was
impossible," she said, "for servants to shut their eyes to things, if
they tried ever so."
"Of course, of course," said Mr. Prendergast; "and particularly for a
person so attached to them all as you are."
"Well, Mr. Pendrergrass, I am attached to them, certainly. I have
seed 'em all born, sir--that is, the young ladies and Mr. Herbert.
And as for her ladyship, I didn't see her born, in course, for we're
both of an age. But it comes much to the same thing, like."
"Exactly, exactly; you are quite one of themselves, as Sir Thomas's
sister said to me just now. 'Mrs. Jones is quite one of ourselves.'
Those were her very words."
"I'm sure I'm much obliged to Miss Letty."
"Well, as I was saying, a great sorrow has come upon them all, Mrs.
Jones. Now will you tell me this--do you know what it is? Can you
guess at all? Do the servants know, down stairs?"
"I'd rather not be guessing on any such matters, Mr. Pendrergrass.
And as for them, if they were impudent enough for the like, they'd
never dare to tell me. Them Irish servants is very impudent betimes,
only they're good at the heart too, and there isn't one'd hurt a dog
belonging to the family."
"I am sure they would not," said Mr. Prendergast. "But you yourself,
you don't know what this trouble is?"
"Not a know," said Mrs. Jones, looking down and smoothing her apron.
"Well, now. Of course you understand, Mrs. Jones--and I must explain
this to you to account for my questions. Of course you understand
that I am here as Sir Thomas's friend, to set certain matters right
for him if I can."
"I supposed as much as that, if you please, sir."
"And any questions that I may ask you, I ask altogether on his
behalf--on his behalf and on that of his wife, Lady Fitzgerald. I
tell you, that you may have no scruples as to answering me."
"Oh, sir, I have no scruples as to that. But of course, sir, in
anything I say I must be guided by--by--"
"By your own judgment you were going to say."
"Yes, sir; begging pardon for mentioning such a thing to the likes of
you, sir."
"Quite right; quite right. Everybody should use their own judgment in
everything they do or say, more or less. But now, Mrs. Jones, I want
to know this: you remember her ladyship's first marriage, I dare
say."
"Yes, sir, I remember it," said Mrs. Jones, shaking her head.
"It was a sad affair, wasn't it? I remember it well, though I was
very young then. So were you too, Mrs. Jones."
"Young enough, surely, sir; and foolish enough too. We were the most
of us that, then, sir."
"True, true; so we were. But you remember the man, don't you--her
ladyship's husband? Mr. Talbot, he called himself." And Mr.
Prendergast took some trouble to look as though he did not at all
wish to frighten her.
"Yes, I do remember him." This she said after a considerable pause.
"But it is a very long time ago, you know, Mr. Pendrergrass."
"A very long time. But I am sure you do remember. You lived in the
house, you know, for some months."
"Yes, I did. He was my master for three months, or thereabouts; and
to tell the truth, I never got my wages for those three months yet.
But that's neither here nor there."
"Do you believe now, Mrs. Jones, that that Mr. Talbot is still
alive?" He asked the question in a very soft voice, and endeavoured
not to startle her by his look as he did so. But it was necessary to
his purpose that he should keep his eye upon her. Half the answer to
his question was to be conveyed by the effect on the muscles of her
face which that question would produce. She might perhaps command
her voice to tell a falsehood, but be unable to command her face to
support it.
"Believe what, sir?" said she, and the lawyer could immediately
perceive that she did believe and probably knew that that man who had
called himself Talbot was still alive.
"Do you believe, Mrs. Jones, that he is alive--her ladyship's former
husband, you know?"
The question was so terrible in its nature, that Mrs. Jones
absolutely shook under it. Did she think that that man was still
alive? Why, if she thought that what was she to think of her
ladyship? It was in that manner that she would have answered the
question, had she known how; but she did not know; she had therefore
to look about her for some other words which might be equally
evasive. Those which she selected served her turn just as well. "Lord
bless you, sir!" she said. It was not that the words were expressive,
but the tone was decidedly so. It was as though she said, "How can
that man be alive, who has been dead these twenty years and more?"
But nevertheless, she was giving evidence all the time against the
cause of her poor mistress.
"You think, then, that he is dead?"
"Dead, sir! Oh, laws! why shouldn't he be dead?" And then there was a
pause between them for a couple of minutes.
"Mrs. Jones," said Mr. Prendergast, when he had well considered the
matter, "my belief is that your only object and wish is to do good to
your master and mistress."
"Surely, sir, surely; it would be my bounden duty to do them good, if
I knew how."
"I will tell you how. Speak out to me the whole truth openly and
freely. I am here as the friend of Sir Thomas and of her ladyship. He
has sent to me that I may advise him what to do in a great trouble
that has befallen him, and I cannot give him good advice till I know
the truth."
"What good could it do him, poor gentleman, to know that that man is
alive?"
"It will do him good to know the truth; to know whether he be alive
or no. Until he knows that he cannot act properly."
"Poor gentleman! poor gentleman!" said Mrs. Jones, putting her
handkerchief up to her eyes.
"If you have any information in this matter--and I think you have,
Mrs. Jones--or even any suspicion, it is your duty to tell me."
"Well, sir, I'm sure I don't say against that. You are Sir Thomas's
friend to be sure, and no doubt you know best. And I'm a poor
ignorant woman. But to speak candidly, sir, I don't feel myself free
to talk on this matter. I haven't never made nor marred since I've
been in this family, not in such matters as them. What I've seed,
I've kep' to myself, and when I've had my suspecs, as a woman
can't but have 'em, I've kep' them to myself also. And saving your
presence, sir, and meaning no offence to a gentleman like you," and
here she got up from her chair and made another curtsey, "I think
I'd liefer hold my tongue than say anything more on this matter."
And then she remained standing as though she expected permission to
retire.
But there was still another pause, and Mr. Prendergast sat looking at
the fire. "Don't you know, ma'am," at last he said, with almost an
angry voice, "that the man was here, in this house, last week?" And
now he turned round at her and looked her full in the face. He did
not, however, know Mrs. Jones. It might be difficult to coax her
into free communication, but it was altogether out of his power to
frighten her into it.
"What I knows, sir, I knows," said she, "and what I don't know, I
don't know. And if you please, sir, Lady Fitzgerald--she's my missus;
and if I'm to be said anything more to about this here matter, why,
I'd choose that her ladyship should be by." And then she made a
little motion as though to walk towards the door, but Mr. Prendergast
managed to stop her.
"But we want to spare Lady Fitzgerald, if we can--at any rate for a
while," said he. "You would not wish to bring more sorrow upon her,
would you?"
"God forbid, Mr. Pendrergrass; and if I could take the sorrow from
her heart, I would willingly, and bear it myself to the grave; for
her ladyship has been a good lady to me. But no good never did come,
and never will, of servants talking of their missusses. And so if you
please, sir, I'll make bold to"--and again she made an attempt to
reach the door.
But Mr. Prendergast was not yet persuaded that he could not get
from the good old woman the information that he wanted, and he was
persuaded that she had the information if only she could be prevailed
upon to impart it. So he again stopped her, though on this occasion
she made some slight attempt to pass him by as she did so. "I don't
think," said she, "that there will be much use in my staying here
longer."
"Wait half a minute, Mrs. Jones, just half a minute. If I could only
make you understand how we are all circumstanced here. And I tell you
what; though you will trust me with nothing, I will trust you with
everything."
"I don't want no trust, sir; not about all this."
"But listen to me. Sir Thomas has reason to believe--nay, he feels
quite sure--that this man is alive."
"Poor gentleman! poor gentleman!"
"And has been here in this house two or three times within the last
month. Sir Thomas is full sure of this. Now can you tell me whether
the man who did come was this Talbot, or was not? If you can answer
that positively, either one way or the other, you will do a service
to the whole family,--which shall not go unrewarded."
"I don't want no reward, sir. Ask me to tattle of them for rewards,
after thirty years!" And she put her apron up to her eyes.
"Well, then, for the good of the family. Can you say positively that
the man who came here to your master was Talbot, or that he was not?"
"Indeed then, sir, I can't say anything positively, nor for that
matter, not impositively either." And then she shut herself up
doggedly, and sat with compressed lips, determined to resist all the
lawyer's arts.
Mr. Prendergast did not immediately give up the game, but he failed
in learning from her any more than what she had already told him. He
felt confident that she did know the secret of this man's existence
and presence in the south of Ireland, but he was forced to satisfy
himself with that conviction. So he let her go, giving her his hand
as she went in token of respect, and receiving her demure curtsey
with his kindest smile. "It may be," thought he to himself, "that I
have not done with her yet."
And then he passed another tedious day,--a day that was terribly
tedious to them all. He paid a visit to Sir Thomas; but as that
arrangement about Mollett's visit had been made between them, it was
not necessary that anything should be done or said about the business
on hand. It was understood that further action was to be stayed till
that visit was over, and therefore for the present he had nothing
to say to Sir Thomas. He did not see Lady Fitzgerald throughout
the whole day, and it appeared to him, not unnaturally, that she
purposely kept out of his way, anticipating evil from his coming. He
took a walk with Herbert and Mr. Somers, and was driven as far as
the soup-kitchen and mill at Berry Hill, inquiring into the state of
the poor, or rather pretending to inquire. It was a pretence with
them all, for at the present moment their minds were intent on other
things. And then there was that terrible dinner, that mockery of a
meal, at which the three ladies were constrained to appear, but at
which they found it impossible to eat or to speak. Mr. Somers had
been asked to join the party, so that the scene after dinner might
be less painful; but even he felt that he could not talk as was his
ordinary wont. Horrible suspicions of the truth had gradually come
upon him; and with a suspicion of such a truth--of such a tragedy
in the very household--how could he, or how could any one hold a
conversation? and then at about half-past nine, Mr. Prendergast was
again in his bed-room.
On the next morning he was early with Sir Thomas, persuading him to
relinquish altogether the use of his study for that day. On that
evening they were to have another interview there, in which Mr.
Prendergast was to tell his friend the result of what had been done.
And then he had to arrange certain manoeuvring with the servants in
which he was forced to obtain the assistance of Herbert. Mollett
was to be introduced into the study immediately on his arrival, and
this was to be done in such a manner that Mrs. Jones might assuredly
be ignorant of his arrival. On this duty our old friend Richard
was employed, and it was contrived that Mrs. Jones should be kept
upstairs with her mistress. All this was difficult enough, but he
could not explain even to Herbert the reason why such scheming
was necessary. Herbert, however, obeyed in silence, knowing that
something dreadful was about to fall on them.
Immediately after breakfast Mr. Prendergast betook himself to the
study, and there remained with his London newspaper in his hand. A
dozen times he began a leading article, in which the law was laid
down with great perspicuity and certainty as to the present state of
Ireland; but had the writer been treating of the Sandwich Islands
he could not have attracted less of his attention. He found it
impossible to read. On that evening he would have to reveal to
Herbert Fitzgerald what was to be his fate!
Matthew Mollett at his last interview with Sir Thomas had promised to
call on this day, and had been counting the days till that one should
arrive on which he might keep his promise. He was terribly in want
of cash, and as we all know Aby had entirely failed in raising the
wind--any immediate fund of wind--on the occasion of his visit to the
baronet; and now, when this morning came, old Mollett was early on
the road. Aby had talked of going with him, but Aby had failed so
signally on the occasion of the visit which he did make to Castle
Richmond, that he had been without the moral strength to persist in
his purpose.
"Then I shall write to the baronet and go alone to London," said
Mollett, père.
"Bother!" replied Mollett, fils. "You hain't got the cash, governor."
"I've got what 'll take me there, my boy, whether you know it or not.
And Sir Thomas 'll be ready enough to send me a remittance when I'm
once out of this country."
And so Aby had given way,--partly perhaps in terror of Mr. Somers'
countenance; and Matthew Mollett started again in a covered car
on that cold journey over the Boggeragh mountains. It was still
mid-winter, being now about the end of February, and the country
was colder, and wetter, and more wretched, and the people in that
desolate district more ragged and more starved than when he had last
crossed it. But what were their rags and starvation to him? He was
worse off than they were. They were merely dying, as all men must do.
But he was inhabiting a hell on earth, which no man need do. They
came out to him in shoals begging; but they came in vain, getting
nothing from him but a curse through his chattering teeth. What right
had they to torment with their misery one so much more wretched than
themselves?
At a little before twelve the covered car was at the front door of
Castle Richmond house, and there was Richard under the porch. On
former occasions Mr. Mollett had experienced some little delay
in making his way into the baronet's presence. The servants had
looked cold upon him, and he had felt as though there might be hot
ploughshares under his feet at any step which he took. But now
everything seemed to be made easy. Richard took him in tow without a
moment's delay, told him confidentially that Sir Thomas was waiting
for him, bade the covered car to be driven round into the yard with
a voice that was uncommonly civil, seeing that it was addressed to a
Cork carman, and then ushered Mr. Mollett through the hall and down
the passage without one moment's delay. Wretched as he had been
during his journey--wretched as an infernal spirit--his hopes
were now again elated, and he dreamed of a golden paradise. There
was something pleasant in feeling his mastery over that poor old
shattered baronet.
"The gentleman to wait upon Sir Thomas," said Richard, opening the
study door; and then Mr. Mollett senior found himself in the presence
of Mr. Prendergast.
Mr. Prendergast was sitting in a high-backed easy chair, facing the
fire, when the announcement was made, and therefore Mollett still
fancied that he was in the presence of Sir Thomas until he was well
into the room and the door was closed upon him; otherwise he might
probably have turned on his heels and bolted. He had had three or
four interviews with Mr. Prendergast, having received different
sums of money from that gentleman's hands, and had felt on all
such occasions that he was being looked through and through. Mr.
Prendergast had asked but few questions, never going into the matter
of his, Mollett's, pecuniary connexion with Sir Thomas; but there
had always been that in the lawyer's eye which had frightened the
miscreant, which had quelled his bluster as soon as it was assumed,
and had told him that he was known for a blackguard and a scoundrel.
And now when this man, with the terrible gray eye, got up from Sir
Thomas's chair, and wheeling round confronted him, looking him full
in the face, and frowning on him as an honest man does frown on an
unconvicted rascal--when, I say, this happened to Mr. Mollett senior,
he thoroughly at that moment wished himself back in London. He turned
his eye round to the door, but that was closed behind him. He looked
around to see whether Sir Thomas was there, but no one was in the
room with him but Mr. Prendergast. Then he stood still, and as that
gentleman did not address him, he was obliged to speak; the silence
was too awful for him--"Oh, Mr. Prendergast!" said he. "Is that you?"
"Yes, Mr. Mollett, it is I."
"Oh, ah--I suppose you are here about business of your own. I was
wishing to see Sir Thomas about a little business of my own; maybe
he's not in the way."
"No, he is not; not exactly. But perhaps, Mr. Mollett, I can do as
well. You have known me before, you know, and you may say to me
openly anything you have to say to Sir Thomas."
"Well; I don't know about that, sir; my business is with the
baronet--particular." Mr. Mollett, as he spoke, strained every
nerve to do so without appearance of dismay; but his efforts were
altogether ineffectual. He could not bring himself to look Mr.
Prendergast in the face for a moment, or avoid feeling like a dog
that dreads being kicked. All manner of fears came upon him, and he
would at the moment have given up all his hopes of money from the
Castle Richmond people to have been free from Mr. Prendergast and his
influence. And yet Mollett was not a coward in the ordinary sense of
the word. Indeed he had been very daring in the whole management of
this affair. But then a course of crime makes such violent demands
on a man's courage. Let any one think of the difference of attacking
a thief, and being attacked as a thief! We are apt to call bad men
cowards without much consideration. Mr. Mollett was not without
pluck, but his pluck was now quelled. The circumstances were too
strong against him.
"Listen to me, Mr. Mollett--; and, look here, sir; never mind
turning to the door; you can't go now till you and I have had some
conversation. You may make up your mind to this: you will never
see Sir Thomas Fitzgerald again--unless indeed he should be in the
witness-box when you are standing in the dock."
"Mr. Prendergast; sir!"
"Well. Have you any reason to give why you should not be put in the
dock? How much money have you got from Sir Thomas during the last two
years by means of those threats which you have been using? You were
well aware when you set about this business that you were committing
felony; and have probably felt tolerably sure at times that you would
some day be brought up short. That day has come."
Mr. Prendergast had made up his mind that nothing could be gained by
soft usage with Mr. Mollett. Indeed nothing could be gained in any
way, by any usage, unless it could be shown that Mollett and Talbot
were not the same person. He could afford therefore to tell the
scoundrel that he was a scoundrel, and to declare against him--war to
the knife. The more that Mollett trembled, the more abject he became,
the easier would be the task Mr. Prendergast now had in hand. "Well,
sir," he continued, "are you going to tell me what business has
brought you here to-day?"
But Mr. Mollett, though he did shake in his shoes, did not look at
the matter exactly in the same light. He could not believe that Sir
Thomas would himself throw up the game on any consideration, or that
Mr. Prendergast as his friend would throw it up on his behalf. He,
Mollett, had a strong feeling that he could have continued to deal
easily with Sir Thomas, and that it might be very hard to deal at all
with Mr. Prendergast; but nevertheless the game was still open. Mr.
Prendergast would probably distrust the fact of his being the lady's
husband, and it would be for him therefore to use the indubitable
proofs of the facts that were in his possession.
"Sir Thomas knows very well what I've come about," he began, slowly;
"and if he's told you, why you know too; and in that case--."
But what might or might not happen in that case Mr. Mollett had not
now an opportunity of explaining, for the door opened and Mrs. Jones
entered the room.
"When that man comes this morning," Mr. Prendergast had said to
Herbert, "I must get you to induce Mrs. Jones to come to us in the
study as soon as may be." He had not at all explained to Herbert why
this was necessary, nor had he been at any pains to prevent the young
heir from thinking and feeling that some terrible mystery hung over
the house. There was a terrible mystery--which indeed would be more
terrible still when it ceased to be mysterious. He therefore quietly
explained to Herbert what he desired to have done, and Herbert,
awaiting the promised communication of that evening, quietly did as
he was bid.
"You must go down to him, Jones," he had said.
"But I'd rather not, sir. I was with him yesterday for two mortal
hours; and, oh, Mr. Herbert! it ain't for no good."
But Herbert was inexorable; and Mrs. Jones, feeling herself overcome
by the weight of the misfortune that was oppressing them all, obeyed,
and descending to her master's study, knocked at the door. She knew
that Mr. Prendergast was there, and she knew that Sir Thomas was
not; but she did not know that any stranger was in the room with Mr.
Prendergast. Mr. Mollett had not heard the knock, nor, indeed, had
Mr. Prendergast; but Mrs. Jones having gone through this ceremony,
opened the door and entered.
"Sir Thomas knows; does he?" said Mr. Prendergast, when Mollett
ceased to speak on the woman's entrance. "Oh, Mrs. Jones, good
morning. Here is your old master, Mr. Talbot."
Mollett of course turned round, and found himself confronted with the
woman. They stared at each other for some moments, and then Mollett
said, in a low dull voice, "Yes, she knows me; it was she that lived
with her at Tallyho Lodge."
"You remember him now, Mrs. Jones; don't you?" said Mr. Prendergast.
For another moment or two Mrs. Jones stood silent; and then she
acknowledged herself overcome, and felt that the world around her had
become too much for her. "Yes," said she, slowly; "I remembers him,"
and then sinking into a chair near the door, she put her apron up to
her eyes, and burst into tears.
"No doubt about that; she remembers me well enough," said Mollett,
thinking that this was so much gained on his side. "But there ain't
a doubt about the matter at all, Mr. Prendergast. You look here,
and you'll see it all as plain as black and white." And Mr. Mollett
dragged a large pocket-book from his coat, and took out of it certain
documents, which he held before Mr. Prendergast's eyes, still keeping
them in his own hand. "Oh, I'm all right; I am," said Mollett.
"Oh, you are, are you?" said the lawyer, just glancing at the paper,
which he would not appear to heed. "I am glad you think so."
"If there were any doubt about it, she'd know," said he, pointing
away up towards the body of the house. Both Mr. Prendergast and Mrs.
Jones understood well who was that she to whom he alluded.
"You are satisfied at any rate, Mrs. Jones," said the lawyer. But
Mrs. Jones had hidden her face in her apron, and would not look up.
She could not understand why this friend of the family should push
the matter so dreadfully against them. If he would rise from his
chair and destroy that wretch who stood before them, then indeed he
might be called a friend!
Mr. Prendergast had now betaken himself to the door, and was standing
with his back to it, and with his hands in his trousers-pockets,
close to the chair on which Mrs. Jones was sitting. He had resolved
that he would get that woman's spoken evidence out of her; and he
had gotten it. But now, what was he to do with her next?--with her
or with the late Mr. Talbot of Tallyho Lodge? And having satisfied
himself of that fact, which from the commencement he had never
doubted, what could he best do to spare the poor lady who was so
terribly implicated in this man's presence?
"Mrs. Jones," said he, standing over her, and gently touching her
shoulder, "I am sorry to have pained you in this way; but it was
necessary that we should know, without a doubt, who this man is,--and
who he was. Truth is always the best, you know. So good a woman as
you cannot but understand that."
"I suppose it is, sir,--I suppose it is," said Mrs. Jones, through
her tears, now thoroughly humbled. The world was pretty nearly at
an end, as far as she was concerned. Here, in this very house of
Castle Richmond, in Sir Thomas's own room, was her ladyship's former
husband, acknowledged as such! What further fall of the planet into
broken fragments could terrify, or drive her from her course more
thoroughly than this? Truth! yes, truth in the abstract, might be
very good. But such a truth as this! how could any one ever say that
that was good? Such was the working of her mind; but she took no
trouble to express her thoughts.
"Yes," continued Mr. Prendergast, speaking still in a low voice, with
a tone that was almost tender, "truth is always best. Look at this
wretched man here! He would have killed the whole family--destroyed
them one by one--had they consented to assist him in concealing the
fact of his existence. The whole truth will now be known; and it is
very dreadful; but it will not be so dreadful as the want of truth."
"My poor lady! my poor lady!" almost screamed Mrs. Jones from under
her apron, wagging her head, and becoming almost convulsive in her
grief.
"Yes, it is very sad. But you will live to acknowledge that even this
is better than living in that man's power."
"I don't know that," said Mollett. "I am not so bad as you'd make me.
I don't want to distress the lady."
"No, not if you are allowed to rob the gentleman till there's not a
guinea left for you to suck at. I know pretty well the extent of the
evil that's in you. If we were to kick you from here to Cork, you'd
forgive all that, so that we still allowed you to go on with your
trade. I wonder how much money you've had from him altogether?"
"What does the money signify? What does the money signify?" said Mrs.
Jones, still wagging her head beneath her apron. "Why didn't Sir
Thomas go on paying it, and then my lady need know nothing about it?"
It was clear that Mrs. Jones would not look at the matter in a
proper light. As far as she could see, there was no reason why a
fair bargain should not have been made between Mollett and Sir
Thomas,--made and kept on both sides, with mutual convenience. That
doing of justice at the cost of falling heavens was not intelligible
to her limited philosophy. Nor did she bethink herself, that a
leech will not give over sucking until it be gorged with blood. Mr.
Prendergast knew that such leeches as Mr. Mollett never leave the
skin as long as there is a drop of blood left within the veins.
Mr. Prendergast was still standing against the door, where he had
placed himself to prevent the unauthorized departure of either Mrs.
Jones or Mr. Mollett; but now he was bethinking himself that he might
as well bring this interview to an end. "Mr. Mollett," said he, "you
are probably beginning to understand that you will not get much more
money from the Castle Richmond family?"
"I don't want to do any harm to any of them," said Mollett, humbly;
"and if I don't make myself troublesome, I hope Sir Thomas will
consider me."
"It is out of your power, sir, to do any further harm to any of them.
You don't pretend to think that after what has passed, you can have
any personal authority over that unfortunate lady?"
"My poor mistress! my poor mistress!" sobbed Mrs. Jones.
"You cannot do more injury than you at present have done. No one is
now afraid of you; no one here will ever give you another shilling.
When and in what form you will be prosecuted for inducing Sir Thomas
to give you money, I cannot yet tell. Now, you may go; and I strongly
advise you never to show your face here again. If the people about
here knew who you are, and what you are, they would not let you off
the property with a whole bone in your skin. Now go, sir. Do you hear
me?"
"Upon my word, Mr. Prendergast, I have not intended any harm!"
"Go, sir!"
"And even now, Mr. Prendergast, it can all be made straight, and I
will leave the country altogether, if you wish it--"
"Go, sir!" shouted Mr. Prendergast. "If you do not move at once, I
will ring the bell for the servants!"
"Then, if misfortune comes upon them, it is your doing, and not
mine," said Mollett.
"Oh, Mr. Pendrergrass, if it can be hushed up--" said Mrs. Jones,
rising from her chair and coming up to him with her hands clasped
together. "Don't send him away in your anger; don't'ee now, sir.
Think of her ladyship. Do, do, do;" and the woman took hold of his
arm, and looked up into his face with her eyes swimming with tears.
Then going to the door she closed it, and returning again, touched
his arm, and again appealed to him. "Think of Mr. Herbert, sir, and
the young ladies! What are they to be called, sir, if this man is to
be my lady's husband? Oh, Mr. Pendrergrass, let him go away, out of
the kingdom; do let him go away."
"I'll be off to Australia by the next boat, if you'll only say the
word," said Mollett. To give him his due, he was not at that moment
thinking altogether of himself and of what he might get. The idea of
the misery which he had brought on these people did, to a certain
measure, come home to him. And it certainly did come home to him
also, that his own position was very perilous.
"Mrs. Jones," said the lawyer, seeming to pay no attention whatever
to Mollett's words, "you know nothing of such men as that. If I were
to take him at his word now, he would turn upon Sir Thomas again
before three weeks were over."
"By ----, I would not! By all that is holy, I would not. Mr.
Prendergast, do--."
"Mr. Mollett, I will trouble you to walk out of this house. I have
nothing further to say to you."
"Oh, very well, sir." And then slowly Mollett took his departure,
and finding his covered car at the door, got into it without saying
another word to any of the Castle Richmond family.
"Mrs. Jones," said Mr. Prendergast, as soon as Mollett was gone, "I
believe I need not trouble you any further. Your conduct has done you
great honour, and I respect you greatly as an honest woman and an
affectionate friend."
Mrs. Jones could only acknowledge this by loud sobs.
"For the present, if you will take my advice, you will say nothing of
this to your mistress."
"No, sir, no; I shall say nothing. Oh, dear! oh dear!"
"The whole matter will be known soon, but in the mean time, we may as
well remain silent. Good day to you." And then Mrs. Jones also left
the room, and Mr. Prendergast was alone.