BEFORE THE BLOW.
As yet in ignorance of the mischief which I had unwittingly done to my
dearest friend, I could not but wonder why I received no news from
Harley Street. I had confessed to Mr. Long what Sir Massingberd had
persuaded me to do, and although he had thought me wrong to have acted
without consulting him in the matter, he anticipated no evil
consequences. He rather sought to laugh me out of my own forebodings and
presentiments. Still there was this somewhat suspicious corroboration of
them, that the newborn courtesies of our formidable neighbour had
suddenly ceased, as though the end for which they had been used was
already attained. The baronet's manner towards us was as surly as ever,
and even a trifle more so, as if to recompense himself for his previous
constrained politeness. To myself, his manner was precisely that of a
man who does not attempt to conceal his contempt for one whom he has
duped. Since Marmaduke's departure, there had gone forth various
decrees, injunctions, and what not, from the Court of Chancery, obtained
doubtless through Mr. Clint, on behalf of the heir-presumptive, against
certain practices of Sir Massingberd connected with the estate. Formerly
he had done what he chose, not only with "his own," but with what was
not his own in the eye of the law. But Marmaduke's reversionary rights
were now strictly protected. Not a tree in the park could fell beneath
the axe, but the noise thereof reached the Chancellor's ears, and
brought down reproof, and even threats, upon the incensed baronet. His
hesitation to institute proceedings for the recovery of his ward, had
given confidence to his opponents; and Mr. Gerard was not one to suffer
the least wrong to be committed with impunity; it was out of his pocket
that the expenses came for the edicts necessary to enforce compliance,
and I have heard him say that he never remembered to have spent any
money with greater personal satisfaction.
This "thinning the timber" (as Sir Massingberd euphoniously termed
cutting down the most ornamental trees, in his excusatory despatches),
having been put a stop to, the squire took to selling the family plate.
A quantity of ancient silver, with the astonished Griffins upon it, was
transferred from the custody of Gilmore to that of certain transmuters
of metal in town, and came back again to Fairburn Hall in the shape of
gold pieces. But even the melting-pot was compelled to disclose its
secrets; and the squire received such a severe reprimand upon the text
of heirlooms, as made him writhe with passion, and which put an end to
any friendly connection that might have before existed between himself
and John, Lord Eldon, at once and for ever. I think it must have been
immediately after the receipt of that very communication, that Sir
Massingberd came over to the rectory upon the following errand. Mr. Long
and myself were at our "Tacitus" in the study one evening, when the
baronet was announced, and I rose to leave the room. "Stay where you
are, young gentleman," said he roughly; "what I have to say will, it is
like enough, soon be no secret to anybody. Mr. Long, I must tell you at
once that money I must have. The way in which my property is meddled
with by the lawyer in London, set on to do it by friends of yours, too,
is beyond all bearing. I declare to you, that I--Sir Massingberd Heath,
the nominal owner of twenty thousand acres, and of a rent-toll of half
as many thousand pounds--have not five guineas in my pocket at this
moment, nor do I know how to raise them. Now, am I a man, think you, to
sit down with my hands before me, and submit to such a state of things
as this?"
"Really, Sir Massingberd, I cannot say," returned my tutor; "I cannot
see how I can help you in anyway."
"Yes, you _can_ help me, sir. You have influence with those
persons--curse them!--who have taken it in hand to do me these
injuries, who have interfered between uncle and nephew, between guardian
and ward. Now, I have made up my mind what I will do, and I am come here
to let you know it. You pretend to entertain some regard towards your
late pupil, Marmaduke."
"The regard is genuine, Sir Massingberd. I wish others entertained the
like, who are more nearly connected with him than by the bond of pupil
and tutor."
"Pray put me out of the question," returned the baronet coolly. "What I
have to say concerns others, not myself. You like this lad, and wish him
well; you hope for him an unclouded future; you trust that the character
of the family will be redeemed in his virtuous hands, and that the
remembrance of what it has been will not cleave to him, but will
gradually die out."
"That is my earnest desire," replied Mr. Long, gravely.
"I am glad to hear it," continued the other; "and I suppose Mr. Clint
cherishes some similar notion; and this man Gerard--this rebel, this
hypocrite----"
"Sir Massingberd Heath," said I, interrupting him, "you have bidden me
stay here; but I shall not remain to listen to slanders against Mr.
Harvey Gerard; he is no hypocrite, but a very honest and kind-hearted
man."
"He has hoodwinked this young wise-acre already, you see," pursued the
baronet. "His object is evidently to secure the heir of Fairburn for his
daughter; I have not the least doubt the jade is making play with the
poor molly-coddle as fast as----"
Mr. Long and myself both rose before the speaker could finish the
sentence. My tutor checked with his finger the wrathful words that were
at my lips, and observed with energy: "Sir Massingberd, be silent!
Under my roof, you shall not traduce that virtuous and excellent young
girl."
I never saw Mr. Long so excited; I never admired him so much. The
baronet paused, as though hesitating whether it was worth while to
indulge himself in uttering insults; I am thankful to say he decided
that it was not. It would have been pollution to Lucy Gerard's name to
have heard it spoken by such lips.
"Well, well," returned he, "I have nothing to say against the young
woman. It is probable, however, you will allow, that some attachment may
arise between herself and my nephew. You grant that, do you? Ah, I
thought so. In that case, Mr. Gerard would prefer the husband of his
daughter to be free from all stain. Good! There are three persons then,
at least, all interested in my nephew's good name. Now, listen: you know
something, parson, of the mode of life pursued by the Heaths from
generation to generation; you know something of the deeds that have been
committed at Fairburn Hall. What is known, however, is honourable and
harmless compared to what is _not_ known; the vices which you have
shuddered at are mere follies--the offspring of idleness and high
spirits--compared to those of which you have yet to hear."
It is impossible to imagine a more repulsive spectacle than this man
presented, exulting not only in his own wickedness, but in that of his
forefathers. He took from his pocket a huge manuscript, and thus
proceeded:--"The records of the House of Heath are red with blood, and
black with crime. I hold them in my hand here, and they are very pretty
reading. Now, look you, I will leave them here for your perusal,
parson--they have at least this attraction about them, they are
_true_--and when you have made yourself master of the contents, perhaps
you can recommend to me a publisher."
"Is it possible," cried my tutor, "that you can do this dreadful wrong
at once to ancestors and descendant? Have you no mercy even for kith and
kin? Do you dare to defy God and Man alike?"
"I dare publish that pamphlet, unless I have money," quoth Sir
Massingberd scornfully, "and that is the sole question with which we
need now concern ourselves. A pretty welcome young Sir Marmaduke will
meet with when he comes into the country among all who know his family
history. As for me, my character is one which is not likely to suffer
from any disclosure."
"Are all the murders done and attempted set down here, Sir Massingberd?"
inquired my tutor, taking up the pamphlet "The catalogue of crime is
truly frightful; but you do not seem to have brought the narrative down
to the most recent dates."
"The most recent dates?" reiterated the baronet mechanically.
"Yes, sir," responded my tutor, "the history is evidently incomplete. If
it should come out in its present form, it would need an appendix. I
would scarcely recommend you to run the risk of another person
publishing a continuation. You had better take it home, and reconsider
the matter."
The baronet affected to receive this advice in earnest, and retired,
foiled and furious.[1] He never more set foot in the Rectory, save
twice; once when he called upon me, and persuaded me to forward that
hateful letter to Marmaduke, and again upon the occasion I am about to
describe. The errand he then came upon was of small consequence, but the
circumstance I shall never forget. After-events have made it one of the
most memorable in my life, for it was the last time, save one, that I
ever beheld Massingberd Heath. Little did I think what a mystery was
then impending--so frightful, so unexampled, that it now seems almost
strange that it did not visibly overshadow that giant form, that
ruthless face. If we could thus read the future of others, how fearful
would be many a meeting which is now so conventional and commonplace! It
is true that we should always part, both from friends and from enemies,
in some sort as though we were parting with them for the last time; but
how different a leave-taking would it be, if we were indeed assured
that they and we would meet no more upon this side the grave! How I
should have devoured that man with mine eyes, had I known that they
would not again behold him--save one awful Once--before we should both
stand together in the presence of God! What terrors, what anxieties,
what enigmas were about to be brought to us and to others by the
morrow's sun! Yet, at the time, with what little things we occupied
ourselves! It was in the morning that Sir Massingberd paid his visit--a
morning of early November, when the first sharp frost had just set in.
He came about money matters, as usual. We were surprised to see him,
because, as I have said, he had relapsed into his accustomed stern
unsociable habits, and had seemed to have given up all attempts to gain
any furtherance of his plans from Mr. Long. He had called he said, about
a matter that affected the parson himself, or he would not have
troubled him. Certain Methodists had offered him twenty pounds a year as
the ground-rent of a chapel to be built upon the outskirts of the Park,
and within view of the Rectory windows. For his part, he hated the
Methodists; and had no sort of wish to offend Mr. Long by granting their
prayer. Still, being grievously in want of money, he had come to say
that if Mr. Clint could not be induced to give him some pecuniary help,
the chapel must be built.
My tutor, who had a very orthodox abhorrence of all dissent, and
especially when it threatened his own parish, was exceedingly disturbed
by this intelligence.
"What!" cried he; "you preach to your nephew doctrines of Conservatism,
Sir Massingberd, and yet are induced for a wretched bribe to let a nest
of sectaries be built in the very avenue of your Park!"
"It is terrible indeed," quoth the baronet drily; "but they might set it
up opposite my front door for an extra five-pound note. I announce their
offer solely on your account. They call on me to-morrow for my final
decision, and I cannot afford to say, 'No.' Now, you can do what you
please with Mr. Clint, and may surely represent to him that this is a
case where twenty pounds may be well expended. The matter will thus be
staved off for a year at least; and next year, you know, I may be in
better circumstances--or dead, which many persons would greatly prefer."
"Certainly," returned my tutor gravely, "I will do my best with Mr.
Clint; but in the meantime, rather than let this chapel be built, I will
advance the money you mention at my own risk. I happen to have a
considerable sum in the house at present, which I intended to lodge with
the bank at Crittenden to-morrow. So you shall have the notes at once."
"That is very fortunate," said the baronet, coolly; and Mr. Long counted
them out into his hand--twenty flimsey, but not yet ragged, one-pound
notes, for the imitation of the like of which half-a-dozen men were at
that time often strung up in front of the Old Bailey together. From
82961 to 82980 the numbers ran, which--albeit I am no great hand at
recollecting such things--I shall remember, from what followed, as long
as I live. I can see the grim Squire now, as he rolls them tightly up,
and places them in that huge, lapelled waistcoat-pocket; as he slaps it
with his mighty hand, as though he would defy the world to take them
from him, however unlawfully acquired; as he leaves the room with an
insolent nod, and clangs across the iron road with his nailed shoes.
I watch him through the Rectory window, as, ere he puts the key in his
garden-door, he casts a chance look-up at the sky. He looks to see what
will happen on the morrow. Does he read nothing save Continuance of Fine
and Frosty Weather? Nothing. All is blue and clear as steel; not a cloud
to be seen the size of a man's hand from north to south, from east to
west. There is no warning to be read in the cold and smiling heaven; no
"_Mene, mene_," for this worse than Belshazzar on its broad cerulean
wall!
[1] Years afterwards I became possessed of the pamphlet in question,
which, having glanced at, I very carefully committed to the flames. I do
not doubt, however, that Sir Massingberd would have carried his threat
into execution, had not Mr. Long's menace shaken his purpose.