THE FOX IN HIS EARTH.
Mary Swan the younger hesitated a moment before she executed her
mother's order, not saying anything, but looking doubtfully up into
her mother's face. "Go, my dear," said the old woman, "and ask your
father to come down. It is no use denying him."
"None in the least," said Mr. Prendergast; and then the daughter
went.
For ten minutes the lawyer and the old woman sat alone, during which
time the ear of the former was keenly alive to any steps that might
be heard on the stairs or above head. Not that he would himself
have taken any active measures to prevent Mr. Mollett's escape,
had such an attempt been made. The woman could be a better witness
for him than the man, and there would be no fear of her running.
Nevertheless, he was anxious that Mollett should, of his own accord,
come into his presence.
"I am sorry to keep you so long waiting, sir," said Mrs. Swan.
"It does not signify. I can easily understand that your husband
should wish to reflect a little before he speaks to me. I can forgive
that."
"And, sir--"
"Well, Mrs. Mollett?"
"Are you going to do anything to punish him, sir? If a poor woman may
venture to speak a word, I would beg you on my bended knees to be
merciful to him. If you would forgive him now I think he would live
honest, and be sorry for what he has done."
"He has worked terrible evil," said Mr. Prendergast solemnly. "Do you
know that he has harassed a poor gentleman into his grave?"
"Heaven be merciful to him!" said the poor woman. "But, sir, was not
that his son? Was it not Abraham Mollett who did that? Oh, sir, if
you will let a poor wife speak, it is he that has been worse than his
father."
Before Mr. Prendergast had made up his mind how he would answer her,
he heard the sound of footsteps slowly descending upon the stairs.
They were those of a person who stepped heavily and feebly, and it
was still a minute before the door was opened.
"Sir," said the woman. "Sir," and as she spoke she looked eagerly
into his face--"Forgive us our trespasses as we forgive them that
trespass against us. We should all remember that, sir."
"True, Mrs. Mollett, quite true;" and Mr. Prendergast rose from his
chair as the door opened.
It will be remembered that Mr. Prendergast and Matthew Mollett
had met once before, in the room usually occupied by Sir Thomas
Fitzgerald. On that occasion Mr. Mollett had at any rate entered the
chamber with some of the prestige of power about him. He had come
to Castle Richmond as the man having the whip hand; and though his
courage had certainly fallen somewhat before he left it, nevertheless
he had not been so beaten down but what he was able to say a word or
two for himself. He had been well in health and decent in appearance,
and even as he left the room had hardly realized the absolute ruin
which had fallen upon him.
But now he looked as though he had realized it with sufficient
clearness. He was lean and sick and pale, and seemed to be ten years
older than when Mr. Prendergast had last seen him. He was wrapped in
an old dressing-gown, and had a night-cap on his head, and coughed
violently before he got himself into his chair. It is hard for any
tame domestic animal to know through what fire and water a poor fox
is driven as it is hunted from hole to hole and covert to covert. It
is a wonderful fact, but no less a fact, that no men work so hard
and work for so little pay as scoundrels who strive to live without
any work at all, and to feed on the sweat of other men's brows. Poor
Matthew Mollett had suffered dire misfortune, had encountered very
hard lines, betwixt that day on which he stole away from the Kanturk
Hotel in South Main Street, Cork, and that other day on which he
presented himself, cold and hungry and almost sick to death, at the
door of his wife's house in Spinny Lane, St. Botolph's in the East.
He never showed himself there unless when hard pressed indeed, and
then he would skulk in, seeking for shelter and food, and pleading
with bated voice his husband right to assistance and comfort. Nor was
his plea ever denied him.
On this occasion he had arrived in very bad plight indeed: he had
brought away from Cork nothing but what he could carry on his body,
and had been forced to pawn what he could pawn in order that he might
subsist And then he had been taken with ague, and with the fit strong
on him had crawled away to Spinny Lane, and had there been nursed by
the mother and daughter whom he had ill used, deserted, and betrayed.
"When the devil was sick the devil a monk would be;" and now his
wife, credulous as all women are in such matters, believed the
devil's protestations. A time may perhaps come when even-- But
stop!--or I may chance to tread on the corns of orthodoxy. What I
mean to insinuate is this; that it was on the cards that Mr. Mollett
would now at last turn over a new leaf.
"How do you do, Mr. Mollett?" said Mr. Prendergast. "I am sorry to
see you looking so poorly."
"Yes, sir. I am poorly enough certainly. I have been very ill since
I last had the pleasure of seeing you, sir."
"Ah, yes, that was at Castle Richmond; was it not? Well, you have
done the best thing that a man can do; you have come home to your
wife and family now that you are ill and require their attendance."
Mr. Mollett looked up at him with a countenance full of unutterable
woe and weakness. What was he to say on such a subject in such a
company? There sat his wife and daughter, his veritable wife and
true-born daughter, on whom he was now dependent, and in whose hands
he lay, as a sick man does lie in the hands of women: could he deny
them? And there sat the awful Mr. Prendergast, the representative
of all that Fitzgerald interest which he had so wronged, and who up
to this morning had at any rate believed the story with which he,
Mollett, had pushed his fortunes in county Cork. Could he in his
presence acknowledge that Lady Fitzgerald had never been his wife? It
must be confessed that he was in a sore plight. And then remember his
ague!
"You feel yourself tolerably comfortable, I suppose, now that you are
with your wife and daughter," continued Mr. Prendergast, most
inhumanly.
Mr. Mollett continued to look at him so piteously from beneath his
nightcap. "I am better than I was, thank you, sir," said he.
"There is nothing like the bosom of one's family for restoring one to
health; is there, Mrs. Mollett;--or for keeping one in health?"
"I wish you gentlemen would think so," said she, drily.
"As for me, I never was blessed with a wife. When I am sick I have to
trust to hired attendance. In that respect I am not so fortunate as
your husband; I am only an old bachelor."
"Oh, ain't you, sir?" said Mrs. Mollett; "and perhaps it's best so.
It ain't all married people that are the happiest."
The daughter during this time was sitting intent on her work, not
lifting her face from the shirt she was sewing. But an observer might
have seen from her forehead and eye that she was not only listening
to what was said, but thinking and meditating on the scene before
her.
"Well, Mr. Mollett," said Mr. Prendergast, "you at any rate are not
an old bachelor." Mr. Mollett still looked piteously at him, but said
nothing. It may be thought that in all this Mr. Prendergast was more
cruel than necessary, but it must be remembered that it was incumbent
on him to bring the poor wretch before him down absolutely on his
marrow-bones. Mollett must be made to confess his sin, and own that
this woman before him was his real wife; and the time for mercy had
not commenced till that had been done.
And then his daughter spoke, seeing how things were going with him.
"Father," said she, "this gentleman has called because he has had a
letter from Abraham Mollett; and he was speaking about what Abraham
has been doing in Ireland."
"Oh dear, oh dear!" said poor Mollett. "The unfortunate young man;
that wretched, unfortunate, young man! He will bring me to the grave
at last--to the grave at last."
"Come, Mr. Mollett," said Mr. Prendergast, now getting up and
standing with his back to the fire, "I do not know that you and I
need beat about the bush much longer. I suppose I may speak openly
before these ladies as to what has been taking place in county Cork."
"Sir!" said Mr. Mollett, with a look of deprecation about his mouth
that ought to have moved the lawyer's heart.
"I know nothing about it," said Mrs. Mollett, very stiffly.
"Yes, mother, we do know something about it; and the gentleman may
speak out if it so pleases him. It will be better, father, for you
that he should do so."
"Very well, my dear," said Mr. Mollett, in the lowest possible voice;
"whatever the gentleman likes--only I do hope--" and he uttered a
deep sigh, and gave no further expression to his hopes or wishes.
"I presume, in the first place," began Mr. Prendergast, "that this
lady here is your legal wife, and this younger lady your legitimate
daughter? There is no doubt I take it as to that?"
"Not--any--doubt--in the world, sir," said the Mrs. Mollett, who
claimed to be so de jure. "I have got my marriage lines to show, sir.
Abraham's mother was dead just six months before we came together;
and then we were married just six months after that."
"Well, Mr. Mollett; I suppose you do not wish to contradict that?"
"He can't, sir, whether he wish it or not," said Mrs. Mollett.
"Could you show me that--that marriage certificate?" asked Mr.
Prendergast.
Mrs. Mollett looked rather doubtful as to this. It may be, that much
as she trusted in her husband's reform, she did not wish to let him
know where she kept this important palladium of her rights.
"It can be forthcoming, sir, whenever it may be wanted," said Mary
Mollett the younger; and then Mr. Prendergast, seeing what was
passing through the minds of the two women, did not press that matter
any further.
"But I should be glad to hear from your own lips, Mr. Mollett, that
you acknowledge the marriage, which took place at--at Fulham, I think
you said, ma'am?"
"At Putney, sir; at Putney parish church, in the year of our Lord
eighteen hundred and fourteen."
"Ah, that was the year before Mr. Mollett went into Dorsetshire."
"Yes, sir. He didn't stay with me long, not at that time. He went
away and left me; and then all that happened, that you know of--down
in Dorsetshire, as they told me. And afterwards when he went away on
his keeping, leaving Aby behind, I took the child, and said that I
was his aunt. There were reasons then; and I feared-- But never mind
about that, sir; for anything that I was wrong enough to say then
to the contrary, I am his lawful wedded wife, and before my face he
won't deny it. And then when he was sore pressed and in trouble he
came back to me, and after that Mary here was born; and one other, a
boy, who, God rest him, has gone from these troubles. And since that
it is not often that he has been with me. But now, now that he is
here, you should have pity on us, and give him another chance."
But still Mr. Mollett had said nothing himself. He sat during
all this time, wearily moving his head to and fro, as though the
conversation were anything but comfortable to him. And, indeed, it
cannot be presumed to have been very pleasant. He moved his head
slowly and wearily to and fro; every now and then lifting up one hand
weakly, as though deprecating any recurrence to circumstances so
decidedly unpleasant. But Mr. Prendergast was determined that he
should speak.
"Mr. Mollett," said he, "I must beg you to say in so many words,
whether the statement of this lady is correct or is incorrect. Do you
acknowledge her for your lawful wife?"
"He daren't deny me, sir," said the woman, who was, perhaps, a little
too eager in the matter.
"Father, why don't you behave like a man and speak?" said his
daughter, now turning upon him. "You have done ill to all of us;--to
so many; but now--"
"And are you going to turn against me, Mary?" he whined out, almost
crying.
"Turn against you! no, I have never done that. But look at mother.
Would you let that gentleman think that she is--what I won't name
before him? Will you say that I am not your honest-born child? You
have done very wickedly, and you must now make what amends is in your
power. If you do not answer him here he will make you answer in some
worse place than this."
"What is it I am to say, sir?" he whined out again.
"Is this lady here your legal wife?"
"Yes, sir," said the poor man, whimpering.
"And that marriage ceremony which you went through in Dorsetshire
with Miss Wainwright was not a legal marriage?"
"I suppose not, sir."
"You were well aware at the time that you were committing bigamy?"
"Sir!"
"You knew, I say, that you were committing bigamy; that the child
whom you were professing to marry would not become your wife through
that ceremony. I say that you knew all this at the time? Come, Mr.
Mollett, answer me, if you do not wish me to have you dragged out of
this by a policeman and taken at once before a magistrate."
"Oh, sir! be merciful to us; pray be merciful to us," said Mrs.
Mollett, holding up her apron to her eyes.
"Father, why don't you speak out plainly to the gentleman? He will
forgive you, if you do that."
"Am I to criminate myself, sir?" said Mr. Mollett, still in the
humblest voice in the world, and hardly above his breath.
After all, this fox had still some running left in him, Mr.
Prendergast thought to himself. He was not even yet so thoroughly
beaten but what he had a dodge or two remaining at his service. "Am
I to criminate myself, sir?" he asked, as innocently as a child might
ask whether or no she were to stand longer in the corner.
"You may do as you like about that, Mr. Mollett," said the lawyer; "I
am neither a magistrate nor a policeman; and at the present moment I
am not acting even as a lawyer. I am the friend of a family whom you
have misused and defrauded most outrageously. You have killed the
father of that family--"
"Oh, gracious!" said Mrs. Mollett.
"Yes, madam, he has done so; and nearly broken the heart of that poor
lady, and driven her son from the house which is his own. You have
done all this in order that you might swindle them out of money for
your vile indulgences, while you left your own wife and your own
child to starve at home. In the whole course of my life I never came
across so mean a scoundrel; and now you chaffer with me as to whether
or no you shall criminate yourself! Scoundrel and villain as you
are--a double-dyed scoundrel, still there are reasons why I shall not
wish to have you gibbeted, as you deserve."
"Oh, sir, he has done nothing that would come to that!" said the poor
wife.
"You had better let the gentleman finish," said the daughter. "He
doesn't mean that father will be hung."
"It would be too good for him," said Mr. Prendergast, who was now
absolutely almost out of temper. "But I do not wish to be his
executioner. For the peace of that family which you have so brutally
plundered and ill used, I shall remain quiet,--if I can attain my
object without a public prosecution. But, remember, that I guarantee
nothing to you. For aught I know you may be in gaol before the night
is come. All I have to tell you is this, that if by obtaining a
confession from you I am able to restore my friends to their property
without a prosecution, I shall do so. Now you may answer me or not,
as you like."
"Trust him, father," said the daughter. "It will be best for you."
"But I have told him everything," said Mollett. "What more does he
want of me?"
"I want you to give your written acknowledgment that when you
went through that ceremony of marriage with Miss Wainwright in
Dorsetshire, you committed bigamy, and that you knew at that time
that you were doing so."
Mr. Mollett, as a matter of course, gave him the written document,
and then Mr. Prendergast took his leave, bowing graciously to the two
women, and not deigning to cast his eyes again on the abject wretch
who crouched by the fire.
"Don't be hard on a poor creature who has fallen so low," said Mrs.
Mollett as he left the room. But Mary Mollett junior followed him to
the door and opened it for him. "Sir," she said, addressing him with
some hesitation as he was preparing to depart.
"Well, Miss Mollett; if I could do anything for you it would gratify
me, for I sincerely feel for you,--both for you and for your mother."
"Thank you, sir; I don't know that there is anything you can do for
us--except to spare him. The thief on the cross was forgiven, sir."
"But the thief on the cross repented."
"And who shall say that he does not repent? You cannot tell of his
heart by scripture word, as you can of that other one. But our
Lord has taught us that it is good to forgive the worst of sinners.
Tell that poor lady to think of this when she remembers him in her
prayers."
"I will, Miss Mollett; indeed, indeed I will;" and then as he left
her he gave her his hand in token of respect. And so he walked away
out of Spinny Lane.