Barometers are of such use to maritime and other folk, in indicating the
changes of atmospherical phenomena, and the approach of disturbing
elements, that it is a wonder in these go-a-head days, no instrument has
been constructed by which we could ascertain the fluctuations of the
human temperament. One might have a sort of graduated thermometer, _par
exemple_, to indicate the rise and force of the passions, especially
that of anger, and call it a "cholerometer." The idea may be
recommended to the attention of scientific philanthropists, as it would
be of incalculable use in preventing unruly encounters, if one but just
knew the exact choleric and argumentative calibre and equipoise of those
with whom one has frequently to come in contact.
If such an instrument did exist, the barometrical measurement applied to
the old dowager, Mrs Hartshorne's temper on the morning that Markworth
came to have his interview, and state his case about Susan, would
certainly have indicated some such stormy height, or fall, as 29 degrees
31, or thereabouts!
Mr Trump had gone down expressly the previous day, as he said he would;
and a nice storm he created. "Not a tempest in a teapot," but a regular
carousal of the elements--a rushing together of hot and cold streams,
not of air, as is so eloquently described in the pages of Professor
Maury, but of temper and passion.
"Stuff and nonsense," said the dowager, virulently, "I won't believe it!
Do you mean to say that that man, who was stopping here in the house
with us as Thomas' friend, and accepted our hospitality, took advantage
of our kindness, and ran off with that idiot girl; why, it's absurd!
Stuff and nonsense, I tell you. I won't believe it!"
"But, my dear madam," interposed Mr Trump, "I assure you it is a fact.
We've got the proof, and I have just told you all the circumstances.
It's as clear as a counsellor's wig, madam! He took the girl away from
here, married her, and there she is; nothing could be plainer."
"Gammon!" said the dowager. "It is all rubbish!"
"My dear madam," said the lawyer, "just be sensible for a moment."
"I've got more sense in my little finger, sir, than you have in your
whole body," snapped out the old lady.
"Granted, my dear madam; but, pardon me, if that is not exactly relevant
to the case. The proof is clear enough that Markworth took her away;
and I sent my clerk down to the church mentioned in the certificate, and
there is no doubt that he married Susan there, and that she's now at
Havre. Besides, his motive is plain enough; he wanted to get her
fortune."
"The artful, designing scoundrel!" broke out the dowager.
"The question is, my dear madam, what is to be done now? That fellow
said he was coming down here to-morrow morning. Would it be better to
wait until you see him, and fathom his plans, or else send over to Havre
at once, and take steps to recover the girl?"
"The cunning, crawling villain!" ejaculated Mrs Hartshorne; "but I'll
be even with him yet, I'll be even with him!"
"I am quite at your disposal," promptly replied the lawyer, who was
eager to be bounding after Markworth; and just at this moment, before
anything had been decided upon, Doctor Jolly was announced.
He apologised for interrupting the conversation; but said, that as he
had heard that Mr Trump had just come down, he thought there would be
some tidings of Susan, which must be his excuse for walking in so
unceremoniously.
Whereupon, both the dowager and the lawyer together fired out upon him
with the astonishing news. "Bless my soul!" exclaimed he, horrified at
what he heard. "Who would have thought it? But I always said he was a
bad fellow! I told you so Mrs Hartshorne, I told you so!"
"And much good there was in your telling! If you hadn't been always
dangling here, taking that governess off from her duties, and had looked
after Susan better yourself, this would never have happened."
"Bless my soul! madam," exclaimed the doctor, staring helplessly at Mr
Trump, aghast at the blame being thus thrown on him of all others; and
dabbing his face in perplexity with his yellow bandana pocket
handkerchief. "Bless my soul, madam! What have _I_ got to do with it?"
Tom at this moment came hobbling up the front steps, and the doctor,
eagerly seizing the opportunity to escape from the dowager's invective,
went out of the room hastily to open the door for him, when he took the
opportunity of telling Tom, as we have already heard, that there was
"the devil to pay in there," pointing with his thumb over his shoulder
to the room he had just quitted, in the most significant manner.
The tale had, of course, to be told over again to Tom, when he was
admitted to the council, now of four; and an animated debate ensued on
what was to be done. It was finally resolved that the lawyer should
telegraph to London, and send over one of his clerks that night to
Havre, to watch the house where Susan was, and see that she was not
removed in the interim; that Mr Trump was to remain at The Poplars
until after Markworth's visit on the morrow; and, at his express wish,
Tom was to go over as soon afterwards as possible, and fetch Susan back
himself.
After a good deal of fluctuation, from 29 degrees 31 down to so low a
fall as 28 degrees 64, the barometrical pressure of the dowager's temper
had returned to its abnormal state, during the excited conversation that
had gone on all the time; but the next morning, however, when Markworth
made his appearance, the dowager's barometer sank again to a very low
depth indeed.
Although he was opposed to three people at once--the old lady, Tom, and
Mr Trump, the former of whom piled Pelion on Ossa in her wrath,
Markworth kept his temper admirably. He seemed to pride himself on the
successful issue of his scheme, and related each step he had taken with
an air of ill-concealed triumph. The dowager was furious, but her
hot-tempered words appeared to have little or no effect on the man who
now proclaimed himself the husband of her daughter, a neglect of which
daughter by herself and her cruelty, he stated, led to his success.
Rages are all very well in their way, but the dowager's anger was
powerless here, so Markworth bore off the palm of victory against the
triple odds against which he had contested it.
The only time that he appeared to be affected by all that was said
against him, was when Tom addressed him pointedly and coldly with the
stern truth, which he could not dispute. He then turned pale.
"You have done a dishonourable action, sir," said Tom. "I treated you
and trusted you as a gentleman and a friend, and you have abused that
trust. I--I never thought you would have acted like it; and, apart from
the injury you have done us, I am sorry for it, for you have hurt my
faith in a man's honour."
Tom really felt it thus.
"I can't excuse myself," answered Markworth, "but I have done good to
your sister instead of harm. I have brought her back to her reason,
instead of letting her remain a hopeless idiot, as she would have done
if I had not drawn her out; and I'll say this, it was not all for the
sake of her money I did it. I was really, so help me heaven I
interested in her case, and trusted to cure her honestly."
"You need not swear any more false oaths to me," answered Tom; "I don't
desire to speak to you again, or see you again as long as I live."
"Very well," said Markworth, "so be it. But all I have to say is this,
that if you wish to take back your sister you are free to do so; if she
likes to go, I will not prevent her. As for you, madam," he said,
turning politely to Mrs Hartshorne, and bowing, "I have placed the
matter in the hands of my solicitor, for I am determined to get the
fortune to which my wife is entitled."
"You'll not get a penny, rogue," retorted the dowager (barometer 28
degrees 64!) "not if there's any law in the land."
"We will see, madam."
"Hark you, sir," said Mr Trump, having his say, of which he had been
sadly deprived all the time the dowager was going on. "Hark you, sir,
we can find the girl was of unsound mind, as I told you before, and have
you indicted for a conspiracy."
"That we will!" echoed the dowager, "and have you on the treadmill,
villain!"
Mrs Hartshorne had somewhat vague notions of the power of that large
word in capitals--Law, and seemed to think that its obvious bent in any
case, especially one like the present, was the treadmill.
"We will see," answered Markworth, defiantly; "but you will have to
prove your case, my dear sir. You see I did it all by myself, and the
girl was a willing agent, and of age: she is of perfectly sound mind, as
she can prove in the witness-box, and how you are to get over all that
evidence remains to be proved."
"We'll prove it," answered Mr Trump; but although he was certainly
cross, his countenance did not exhibit any strong hopes of success.
"The cunning vagabond is too much for us," he murmured, _sotto voce_.
"Good morning," said Markworth, blandly, to all, and he walked out
triumphantly, the dowager screaming after him, "Not a penny will you
get, scoundrel."
In Markworth's confession he had very naturally, for his own sake, not
brought up the governess's name; consequently she was excluded from all
share in the conspiracy. She knew of his being down, however, and had
gone out apparently for a walk while the battle was being fought in the
dining-room. She wished to meet Markworth alone, and he was equally
desirous to see her; so it is not surprising that a few minutes after
taking such a stagey farewell of the dowager, the two met beyond the
precincts of The Poplars.
"Just the person I wanted to see," ejaculated Markworth, on coming up
with her under the shadow of the wall, which encircled the Hartshorne
mansion.
"Indeed! I did not think you would be so glad to see me," replied Miss
Kingscott.
"Indeed I am, Clara; I wished to settle up with you. I have married the
girl, and the thing's regularly _en train_ now. I have only got to get
the money."
"That's just what I wanted."
"Well, I've got it for you."
"Really?" exclaimed the governess, surprised; she had never thought that
Markworth would have kept to his compact once he had got the girl off.
But he was "careful about little things," as he had told Tom when he
first came down to The Poplars, and he was not going to incur Clara
Kingscott's hostility by breaking his agreement, even when there was
nothing to force him to keep it.
"Yes, really," he answered; "here's the other hundred I promised you, so
you and I are quits, Clara."
"Thank you," she said, turning over the notes in astonishment in her
hand; "I never expected you to pay me."
"Did you not. I always keep my bargains."
"Do you," she replied. "You have not always done so."
"Let bygones be bygones, Clara; I promised you the money, and I have
paid you now, and you cannot complain."
"It is the first time you ever recollected what you owed me," said the
governess, bitterly.
"Don't say that, Clara; let us be good friends. Our compact is now
finished, and we need not rake up the past. If there is anything more I
can do for you, Clara, let me know; and if it's in my power, I'll do
it," said Markworth, magnanimously, for he thought the woman had still a
lingering regard for him.
"I don't want anything from you, Allynne Markworth," she said, angrily
stamping her foot; "and I don't wish to see you again. You've been the
curse of my life! But all's not over yet between us!" she muttered,
significantly, as she turned on her heel and walked back towards the
house.
Markworth looked after her a moment, and then resumed his way down to
the railway station, _en route_ for London. He had a good deal to do
before starting for Havre, and wanted to get there before Tom or anyone
else went over after Susan.
"That's the way with them all!" he said, to himself, as he walked away
rapidly in quick strides. "They get all they can, and then wash their
hands of you!"
But he made a great mistake. Miss Kingscott had not by any means washed
her hands of Markworth yet. She had gathered a good deal from the
conversation between Mr Trump and the dowager on the previous day, to
which she had listened attentively through the keyhole of the next room,
and she knew that she could not only upset Markworth's plans for
obtaining Susan's inheritance, but perhaps, also, get him imprisoned, if
she exposed her share in the affair.
This she intended to do, but not until the last moment, just when she
should think fit; and at present she would remain at The Poplars, and go
on as if she knew nothing of the great event. She might captivate Tom
in the meantime, she thought; and, at all events, she as yet had the
doctor to fall back upon. Aesculapius had been twice as devoted to her
since she displayed so much energy in trying to get Susan back. He had
muttered to himself, over and over again, as he rode up to The Poplars,
in his daily visits to Tom, "She is a dooced fine girl; and a clever
girl, too, by Gad!" and, no doubt, would have repeated that declaration
of his which the campaigner's call had nipped in the bud, if the
opportunity had only favoured him. But it had not, for the dowager
seemed adverse to letting the doctor remain a moment alone with the
governess.
When Markworth had gone away, the council between Mrs Hartshorne, and
Tom, and the lawyer, was resumed; Tom said that he would go the next day
if he was able and fetch back Susan. As for the money matters, the old
lady declared she would spare no expense to "cheat that scoundrel" out
of his plunder; and Mr Trump was authorised to go to every end to
defeat the suit of Markworth _versus_ Hartshorne, which the schemer had
stated would be at once commenced, the old lady refusing to surrender
her daughter's fortune unless she were compelled to do so. And she
"wouldn't even do it then," she declared.
While they were debating over the matter, Miss Kingscott came in quietly
and went up to her room--nobody knowing what a strong witness she would
prove on the side of the defendants in the case, if she so willed it:
she now revolved in her mind whether she would or would not act in the
matter. It was as yet unsettled, although she had sworn to revenge
herself on Markworth. His last words to her had somewhat disarmed her.
Nemesis or _non_ Nemesis: that was the question. The former triumphed.
Mr Trump went back to London; and there he found that the case of
Markworth _versus_ Hartshorne, was already "brewing in the storm,"
although it remained to be proved whether it was going to be "nipped in
the bud," as the American stump speaker told his audience after he had
informed them that he "smelt a rat." With which metaphor the chapter
had better be concluded.
Barometer "Fair" again!
Volume 2, Chapter VII.