A DOUBTFUL SEARCH.
On the 3rd of February the college boys reassembled for school, after
the Christmas holidays. Rather explosive were the choristers at times at
getting no holidays--as they were pleased to regard it; for they had to
attend the cathedral twice daily always. Strictly speaking, the boys had
assembled on the previous day, the 2nd of February, and those who lived
at a distance, or had been away visiting, had to be back for that day.
It is Candlemas Day, as everybody knows, and a saint's day; and on
saints' days the king's scholars had to attend the services.
On the 3rd the duties of the school began, and at seven in the morning
the boys were clattering up the steps. It was not a propitious morning:
snow and sleet doing battle, one against the other. Jocelyn had left,
and the eldest of the two Prattletons had succeeded him as senior.
Cookesley was second senior, Lewis third, and the eldest of the Aultanes
was fourth.
The boys were not assembling in any great amount of good feeling. Lewis,
who with his brother had passed the holidays at the house of the late
Marmaduke Carr, and consequently had been in Westerbury, did not forget
the grudge he owed to Henry Arkell. It had been Mr. Lewis's pleasure to
spend his leisure-hours (time, possibly, hanging somewhat heavily on his
hands) in haunting the precincts of the cathedral. Morning, noon, and
night had he been seen there; now hovering like a ghost in one of the
cloister quadrants, now playing at solitary pitch-and-toss in the
grounds, and now taking rather slow, meditative steps past the deanery.
He had thus made himself aware that Henry Arkell and Miss Beauclerc not
unfrequently met; whether by accident or design on the young lady's
part, she best knew. Four times each day had Henry Arkell to be in the
grounds and cloisters on his way to and from college; and, at the very
least, on two of those occasions, Miss Beauclerc would happen to be
passing. She always stopped. Lewis had seen him sometimes walking on
with only a lift of the trencher, and Miss Beauclerc would not have it,
but stopped as usual. There was no whispering, there were apparently few
secrets; the talking was open and full of gaiety on the young lady's
part, if her laughter was anything to judge by; but Lewis was not the
less savage. When _he_ met her, she would say indifferently, "How d'ye
do, Lewis?" and pass on. Once, Lewis presumed to stop her with some item
of news that ought to have proved interesting, but Miss Beauclerc
scarcely listened, made some careless remark in answer, and continued
her way: the next minute she met Henry Arkell, and stayed with _him_.
That Lewis was in love with the dean's daughter, he knew to his sorrow.
How worse than foolish it had been on his part to suffer himself to fall
in love with her, we might say, but that this passion comes to us
without our will. Lewis believed that she loved Henry Arkell; he
believed that but for Henry Arkell being in the field, some favour might
be shown to him; and he had gone on hating him with a fierce and bitter
hatred. One day, Henry had come springing down the steps of the
cathedral, and encountered Miss Beauclerc close to him. They stood there
on the red flagstones of the cloisters, no gravestone being in that
particular spot, Georgina laughing and talking as usual. Lewis was in
the opposite quadrant of the cloisters, peeping across stealthily, and a
devout wish crossed his heart that Arkell was buried on the spot where
he then stood. Lewis was fated not to forget that wish.
How he watched, day after day, none save himself saw or knew. He was
training for an admirable detective in plain clothes. He suspected there
had been some coolness between Henry and Miss Beauclerc, and that she
was labouring to dispel it; he knew that Arkell did not go to the
deanery so much as formerly, and he heard Miss Beauclerc reproach him
for it. Lewis had given half his life for such a reproach from her lips
to be addressed to him.
There were so many things for which he hated Henry Arkell! There was his
great progress in his studies, there was the brilliant examination he
had undergone, and there was the gold medal. Could Lewis have
conveniently got at that medal, it had soon been melted down. He had
also taken up an angry feeling to Arkell on account of the doings of
that past November night--the locking up in the church of St. James the
Less. Lewis had grown to nourish a very strange notion in regard to it.
After puzzling his brain to torment, as to how Arkell _could_ have got
out, and finding no solution, he arrived at length at the conclusion
that he had never been in. He must have left the church previously,
Lewis believed, and he had locked up an empty church. It is true he had
thought he heard the organ going, but he fully supposed now that he
heard it only in fancy. Arkell's silence on the point contributed to
this idea: it was entirely beyond Lewis's creed to suppose a fellow
could have such a trick played him and not complain of it. Arkell had
never given forth token of cognisance from that hour to this, and Lewis
assumed he had not been in.
It very much augmented his ill feeling, especially when he remembered
his own night of horrible anticipation. Mr. Lewis had come to the final
conclusion that Arkell had been "out on the spree;" and but for a vague
fear that his own share in the night's events might be dragged to light,
he would certainly have contrived that it should reach the ears of Mr.
Wilberforce. He and his brother were to be for another half year
boarders at the master's house. Cookesley acted there as senior; the
senior boy, Prattleton, living at home.
The boys trooped into the schoolroom, and Prattleton stood with the roll
in his hand. Lewis had not joined on the previous day; he had obtained
grace until this, for he wanted to spend it at Eckford. As he came in
now, he made rather a parade of shaking hands with Prattleton, and
wishing him joy of his honours. Most of the boys liked to begin by being
in favour with a new senior, however they might be fated to end, and
Lewis and Prattleton were great personal friends--it may be said
confidants. Lewis had partially trusted Prattleton with the secret of
his love for Miss Beauclerc; and he had fully entrusted him with his
hatred of Henry Arkell. Scarcely a minute were they together at any
time, but Lewis was speaking against Arkell; telling this against him,
telling that. Constant dropping will wear away a stone; and Prattleton
listened until he was in a degree imbued with the same feeling.
Personally, he had no dislike to Arkell himself; but, incited by Lewis,
he was quite willing to do him any ill turn privately.
The roll was called over when Henry Arkell entered. He put down a load
of books he carried, and went up to Prattleton to shake hands, as Lewis
had done; being a chorister, he had not gone into the schoolroom on the
previous day; and he wished him all good luck.
"I am sorry to have to mark you late on the first morning, Arkell,"
Prattleton quietly said as he shook hands with him. "The school has a
superstition, you know--that anyone late on the first morning will be
so, as a rule, through the half."
"I know," answered Henry. "It is no fault of mine. Mr. Wilberforce
desired me to tell you that he detained me, therefore I am to be marked
as having been present."
"Did he detain you?"
"For ten minutes at least. I met him as I was coming in, and he caused
me to go back with him to his house and bring in these books. He then
gave me the message to you."
"All right," said Prattleton, cheerfully: and he erased the cross
against Arkell's name, and marked him as present.
Even this little incident exasperated Lewis. His ill feeling rendered
him unjust. No other boy, that he could remember, had been marked as
present, not being so. He was beginning to say something sarcastic upon
the point, when the entrance of the master himself shut up his tongue
for the present.
But we cannot stop with the college boys just now.
On this same day, later, when the sun, had there been any sun to see,
was nearing the meridian, Lawyer Fauntleroy sat in his private office,
deep in business. Not a more clever lawyer than he throughout the town
of Westerbury; and to such men business flocks in. His table stood at a
right angle with the fireplace, and the blazing fire burning there,
threw its heat upon his face, and his feet rested on a soft thick mat of
wool. Mr. Fauntleroy, no longer young, was growing fonder and fonder of
the comforts of life, and he sat there cosily, heedless of the hail that
beat on the window without.
The door softly opened, and a clerk came in. It was Kenneth. "Are you at
home, sir?"
Mr. Fauntleroy glanced up from the parchment he was bending over--a
yellow-looking deed, and his brow looked forth displeasure. "I told you
I did not care to be interrupted this morning, Kenneth, unless it was
for anything very particular. Who is it?"
"A lady, sir. 'Mrs. Carr' was the name she gave in."
"Carr--Carr?" debated Mr. Fauntleroy, unable to recal any lady of the
name amidst his acquaintance. "No. I have no leisure for ladies to-day."
Kenneth hesitated. "It's not likely to be the Mrs. Carr in Carr _v._
Carr; the lady you have had some correspondence with, is it, sir?" he
waited to ask. "She is a stranger, and is dressed as a widow."
"The Mrs. Carr in Carr _v._ Carr!" repeated Mr. Fauntleroy. "By Jupiter,
I shouldn't wonder if she's come to Westerbury! But I thought she was in
Holland. Show her in."
Mr. Kenneth retired, and came back with the visitor. It was Mrs. Carr.
Mr. Fauntleroy pushed aside the deed before him, and rose to salute her,
wondering at her extreme youth. She spoke English fluently, but with a
foreign accent, and she entered at once upon the matter which had
brought her to Westerbury.
"A circumstance has occurred to renew the old anxiety about this cause,"
she said to Mr. Fauntleroy. "Should we lose it, I shall lose all I have
at present to look forward to, for our affairs in Holland are more
complicated than ever. It may turn out, Mr. Fauntleroy, that my share of
this inheritance will be all I and my little children will have to
depend upon in the world."
"But the cause is safe," returned Mr. Fauntleroy. "The paper you found
and forwarded to me last October--or stay, November, wasn't it----"
"Would you be so kind as let me see that paper?" she interrupted.
Mr. Fauntleroy rose and brought forward a bundle of papers labelled
"Carr." He drew out a letter, and laid it open before his visitor. It
was the one you saw before; the letter written by Robert Carr the elder
to his son, stating that the marriage had been solemnized at the church
of St. James the Less, and that the entry of it would be found there.
"And there the marriage is entered, as I subsequently wrote you word,"
observed Mr. Fauntleroy. "It is singular how your husband could have
overlooked that letter."
"It had slipped between the leaves of the blotting-book, or else been
placed there purposely by Mr. Carr," she answered; "and my husband may
not have been very particular in examining the desk, for at that time he
did not know his legitimacy would be disputed. Are you sure it is in the
register, sir?" she continued, some anxiety in her tone.
"Quite sure," replied Mr. Fauntleroy. "I sent to St. James's to search
as soon as I got this letter, glad enough to have the clue at last; and
there it was found."
"Well--it is very strange," observed Mrs. Carr, after a pause. "I will
tell you what it is that has made me so anxious and brought me down.
But, in the first place, I must observe that I concluded the cause was
at an end. I cannot understand why the other side did not at once give
up when that letter was discovered."
Knowing that _he_ had kept the other side in ignorance of the letter,
Mr. Fauntleroy was not very explanatory on this point. Mrs. Carr
continued--
"My husband had a friend of the name of Littelby, a solicitor. He was
formerly the manager of an office in London, but about two months since
he left it for one in the country, Mynn and Mynn's----"
"Mynn and Mynn," interrupted Mr. Fauntleroy; "that's the firm who are
conducting the case for your adversaries--the Carrs, of Eckford.
Littelby? Yes, it is the name of their new man, I remember."
"Well, sir, last week Mr. Littelby was in London, and he called at Mrs.
Dundyke's, where I had been staying since I came over from Holland, a
fortnight before. The strangest thing has happened there! Mr.
Dundyke--but you will not thank me to take up your time, perhaps, with
matters that don't concern you. Mr. Littelby spoke to me upon the
subject of the letter that I had found, and he said he feared there was
something wrong about it, though he could not conceive how, for that
there had been no marriage, so far as could be discovered."
"He can say the moon's made of green cheese if he likes," cried Mr.
Fauntleroy.
"He said that the opinion of Mynn and Mynn was, that the pretended
letter had been intended as a _ruse_--a false plea, written to induce
the other side to give up peaceably; but that most positively there was
no truth in the statement of the marriage being in the register. Sir, I
am sure Mr. Littelby must have had good cause for saying this,"
emphatically continued Mrs. Carr "He is a man incapable of deceit, and
he wishes well to me and my children. The last advice he gave me was,
not to be sanguine; for Mynn and Mynn were clever and cautious
practitioners, and he knew they made sure the cause was theirs."
"Sharp men," acquiesced Mr. Fauntleroy, nodding his head with a
fellow-feeling of approval; "but we have got the whip hand of them in
your case, Mrs. Carr."
"I thought it better to tell you this," said she, rising. "It has made
me so uneasy that I have scarcely slept since; for I know Mr. Littelby
would not discourage me without cause."
"Without fancying he has cause," corrected Mr. Fauntleroy. "Be at ease,
ma'am: the marriage is as certain as that oak and ash grow. Where are
you staying in Westerbury?"
"In some lodgings I was recommended to in College-row," answered she,
producing a card. "Perhaps you will take down the address----"
"Oh, no need for that," said Mr. Fauntleroy, glancing at it, "I know the
lodgings well. Mind they don't shave you."
Mrs. Carr was shown out, and Mr. Fauntleroy called in his managing
clerk. "Kenneth," said he, "let the Carr cause be completed for counsel;
and when the brief's ready, I'll look over it to refresh my memory. Send
Omer down to St. James the Less, to take a copy of the marriage."
"I thought Omer brought a copy," observed Mr. Kenneth.
"No; I don't think so. It will save going again if he did. Ask him."
Mr. Kenneth returned to the clerks' office. "Omer, did you bring a copy
of the marriage in the case, Carr _v._ Carr, when you searched the
register at St. James's church?" he demanded.
"No," replied Omer.
"Then why did you not?"
"I had no orders, sir. Mr. Fauntleroy only told me to look whether such
an entry was there."
"Then you must go now----What's that you are about? Winter's settlement?
Why, you have had time to finish that twice over."
"I have been out all the morning with that writ," pleaded Omer, "and
could not get to serve it at last. Pretty well three hours I was
standing in the passage next his house, waiting for him to come out, and
the wind whistling my head off all the time."
Mr. Kenneth vouchsafed no response to this; but he would not disturb the
clerk again from Winter's deed. He ordered another, Mr. Green, to go to
St. James's church for the copy, and threw him half-a-crown to pay for
it.
Young Mr. Green did not relish the mission, and thought himself
barbarously used in being sent upon it, inasmuch as that he was an
articled clerk and a gentleman, not a paid nobody. "Trapesing through
the weather all down to that St. James's!" muttered he, as he snatched
his hat and greatcoat.
It struck three o'clock before he came back. "Where's Kenneth?" asked
he, when he entered.
"In the governor's room. You can go in."
Mr. Green did go in, and Mr. Kenneth broke out into anger. "You have
taken your time!"
"I couldn't come quicker," was Mr. Green's reply. "I had to look all
through the book. The marriage is not there."
"It is thrift to send you upon an errand," retorted Mr. Kenneth. "You
have not been searching."
"I have done nothing else but search since I left. If the entry had been
there, Mr. Kenneth, I should have been back in no time. It is not
exactly a day to stop for pleasure in a mouldy old church that's colder
than charity, or to amuse oneself in the streets."
Mr. Fauntleroy looked up from his desk. "The entry is there, Green: you
have overlooked it."
"Sir, I assure you that the entry is not there," repeated Mr. Green. "I
looked very carefully."
"Call in Omer," said Mr. Fauntleroy. "You saw the entry of Robert Carr's
marriage to Martha Ann Hughes?" he continued, when Omer appeared.
"Yes, sir."
"You are sure of it?"
"Certainly, sir. I saw it and read it."
"You hear, Mr. Green. You have overlooked it."
"If Omer can find it there, I'll do his work for a week," retorted young
Green. "I will pledge you my veracity, sir----"
"Never mind your veracity," interrupted Mr. Fauntleroy; "it is a case of
oversight, not of veracity. Kenneth, you have to go down to Clark's
office about that bill of costs; you may as well go on to St, James's
and get the copy."
"Two half-crowns to pay instead of one, through these young fellows'
negligence," grumbled Mr. Kenneth. "They charge it as many times as they
open their vestry."
"What's that to him? it doesn't come out of his pocket," whispered Green
to Omer, as they returned to their own room. "But if they find the Carr
marriage entered there, I'll be shot in two."
"And I'll be shot in four if they don't," retorted Omer. "What a blind
beetle you must have been, Green!"
Mr. Kenneth came back from his mission. He walked straight into the
presence of Mr. Fauntleroy, and beckoning Omer in after him, attacked
him with a storm of reproaches.
"Do you drink, Mr. Omer?"
"Drink, sir!"
"Yes, drink. Are the words not plain enough?"
"No, sir, I do not," returned Omer, in astonishment.
"Then, Mr. Omer, I tell you that you do. No man, unless he was a drunken
man, could pretend to see things which have no place. When you read that
entry of Robert Carr's marriage in the register, you saw double, for it
never was anywhere but in your brain. There is no entry of the marriage
in St. James's register," he added, turning to Mr. Fauntleroy.
Mr. Fauntleroy's mouth dropped considerably. "No entry!"
"Nothing of the sort!" continued Mr. Kenneth. "There's no name, and no
marriage, and no anything--relating to Robert Carr."
"Bless my heart, what an awful error to have been drawn into!" uttered
Mr. Fauntleroy, who was so entirely astounded by the news, that he, for
the moment, doubted whether anything was real about him. "All the
expense I have been put to will fall upon me; the widow has not a rap,
certain; and to take her body in execution would bring no result, save
increasing the cost. Mr. Omer, are you prepared to take these charges on
yourself, for the error your carelessness has led us into? I should not
have gone on paying costs myself but for that alleged entry in the
register."
Mr. Omer looked something like a mass of petrifaction, unable to speak
or move.
"But for the marriage being established--as we were led to suppose--we
never should have gone on to trial. Mrs. Carr must have relinquished
it," continued Mr. Fauntleroy.
"Of course we should not," chimed in the managing clerk.
"I thought there must be some flaw in the wind; I declare I did, by the
other side's carrying it on, now that I find Mynn and Mynn knew of the
alleged marriage," exclaimed Mr. Fauntleroy. "I shall look to you for
reimbursement, Omer. And, Mr. Kenneth, you'll search out some one in his
place: we cannot retain a clerk in our office who is liable to lead us
into ruinous mistakes, by asserting that black is white."
Mr. Omer was beginning to recover his senses. "Sir," he said, "you are
angry with me without cause. I can be upon my oath that the marriage of
Robert Carr with Martha Ann Hughes is entered there: I repeated to you,
sir, the date, and the names of the witnesses: how could I have done
that without reading them?"
"That's true enough," returned Mr. Fauntleroy, his hopes beginning to
revive.
"Here's a proof," continued the young man, taking out a worn
pocket-book. "I am a bad one to remember Christian names, so I just
copied the names of the witnesses here in pencil. 'Edward Blisset
Hughes,' and 'Sophia Hughes,'" he added, holding it towards Mr.
Fauntleroy.
"They were her brother and sister," remarked Mr. Fauntleroy, in
soliloquy, looking at the pencilled marks. "Both are dead now; at least,
news came of her death, and he has not been heard of for years: she
married young Pycroft."
"Well, sir," argued Omer, "if these names had not been in the register,
how could I have taken them down? I did not know the names before, or
that there ever were such people."
The argument appeared unanswerable, and Mr. Fauntleroy looked at his
head clerk. The latter was not deficient in common sense, and he was
compelled to conclude that he had himself done what he had accused Mr.
Green of doing--overlooked it.
"Allow me to go down at once to St. James's, sir," resumed Omer.
"I will go with you," said Mr. Fauntleroy. The truth was, he was ill at
ease.
They proceeded together to St. James's church, causing old Hunt to
believe that Lawyer Fauntleroy and his establishment of clerks had all
gone crazy together. "Search the register three times in one day!"
muttered he; "nobody has never done such a thing in the memory of man."
But neither Omer nor his master, Mr. Fauntleroy, could find any such
entry in the register.