Markworth was as good as his word.
As soon as he saw that there was no chance of prevailing on the old
dowager to pay over Susan's inheritance without calling in the aid of
the law, he quickly set the slowly-moving wheels of that ponderous and
unwieldly machinery in motion.
The very day Mr Trump and himself both got back to London, Mrs
Hartshorne was served, through her solicitors, with a notice to refund
the sum of twenty thousand pounds cash, trust money held by her on
behalf of her daughter, Susan Markworth _nee_ Hartshorne, and bequeathed
by the late Roger Hartshorne, deceased, now claimed by Allynne Markworth
on behalf of his wife Susan, as beforesaid.
This legal notice was sent to Messrs. Trump, Sequence, and Co., by a
firm of Jewish notoriety, Solomonson and Isaacs, unknown to Mr Trump,
save through the columns of the "Law List"--although their names were
frequently seen in the newspapers, under the head of "Police
Intelligence," as the defenders of low class criminals and receivers of
stolen goods.
"Mishter Sholomonshon" had not only been willing to act as Markworth's
banker, "for a shtrong conshiderashun, ma dere shir," pending the suit,
but also agreed to act as his legal adviser in the matter, and instruct
counsel for carrying on the case. As Markworth looked upon all
attorneys as alike, they all being, in his estimation, "limbs of the
devil," without any distinction between them, he consented willingly to
the arrangement, particularly as he knew Solomonson was as sharp as a
needle, and he was not at all averse to his being a Jew; besides, he
already knew all about the matter, and Markworth was not personally
acquainted with any other lawyers.
"Sharp work!" said Mr Trump, rubbing his hands gleefully in
anticipation of a lengthy suit and a long bill of costs when this notice
was served. "Sharp work; but I don't like to have to act with that
rascally Jew firm; I wish the rogue had respectable solicitors. It
can't be helped though now--"
"Quite so," murmured Mr Sequence, affirmatively, looking at his partner
straight in the face, with his dull eyes and expressionless features.
"But we'll stop their little game," continued Mr Trump, as if speaking
to himself, without taking any notice of Sequence at the moment. He
presently turned to him, however, and the two, after some little
deliberation, settled upon what course they should pursue.
Mr Trump was resolved, according to the dowager's express wish and his
own personal inclination--that fifty pounds rankled sorely in his
breast!--to fight the case to the death.
The notice was answered by a peremptory refusal to pay over the trust
money.
Whereupon Mrs Hartshorne was invited in judicial parlance through her
solicitors to show cause why she should not refund the said sum of
twenty thousand pounds.
The rule, "to show cause," was retorted to by sundry pleas, the first of
which averred never indebtedness, and the others that the plaintiff,
Allynne Markworth, had coerced the said Susan Hartshorne, falsely termed
Susan Markworth, on whose behalf the trust money was claimed, which
claim was null and void, and without foundation in the eyes of the law,
inasmuch as the said plaintiff "had entered into a conspiracy to obtain
the money of a person of unsound mind, under the pretence of going
through a marriage ceremony with a person who, in the eye of the law,
could not make a binding contract."
These pleas were replicated, and the whole thing resolved itself into a
formal case at law--a very important case of medical jurisprudence,
wherein the evidence for the defence was to impeach the sanity of the
plaintiffs principal witness.
Everything was at length arranged. The preliminaries of the combat were
all settled, and counsel were engaged on either side. The foemen were
eager for the fray, a day was fixed for the trial, late in the
Michaelmas term, and on the day of battle appointed, the lists would be
lined by the partisans of the respectives combatants, who would then
enter the arena with visors closed and lances couched--visors of legal
dust with which to blind their opponent's eyes, and not to save their
own, and lances of parchment briefs with substantial butts of strong
witnesses--to fight the be-wigged and be-gowned battle until either foe
should fall. When "God defend the right," or in the more colloquial
language of the prize ring, "may the best man win."
The case of "Markworth _versus_ Hartshorne" created an immense sensation
in legal circles when it was known that a day had been appointed for
giving it a hearing.
The issues involved were very intricate; and, as in most cases based on
a point of lunacy, the sympathy of the public, who, as yet, knew nothing
reliable about the matter, was in favour of Markworth and his wife, the
latter of whom would be, it was said, produced in court to testify her
own sanity at the time she married the plaintiff.
The whole case, in fact, rested upon this point--whether the marriage
was a real marriage or not--that is to say, whether Susan Hartshorne was
sane or insane at the time she ran away with Markworth. If she was in
her right senses at the time, then the marriage was _bona fide_, and the
old dowager would have to hand over the nice little amount of her
daughter's inheritance that was due; if Susan was proved to be imbecile,
then the marriage would be void, the dowager would still retain her hold
of the twenty thousand pounds, and Markworth be indictable for
conspiracy.
It was a civil suit, so to speak, based on criminal ends; so it would go
worse with the plaintiff than the defendant should his case fall
through.
Solomonson and Isaacs, however, were sharp practitioners, and one of
their first proceedings was to subpoena Doctor Jolly, who had attended
Susan so long as her medical adviser, and who, of course, would be a
very material witness: this was in order to prevent the other side from
getting hold of him; and Miss Kingscott was also favoured with a little
oblong slip of paper and a guinea in order to insure her attendance to
the same end.
They were sharp enough, as Mr Trump found out to his cost; for before
the day fixed for the trial, the dowager's lawyers were at their wits
end how to support their case. They had got hold of Joseph Begg, who
had witnessed the marriage, and the curate who solemnised it, to bear
out the alleged charge of conspiracy against Markworth, but beyond that
they felt they could do nothing. If Susan were placed in the
witness-box, and stood her cross-examination so as to prove her sanity,
the case would be all put out of court, or, as Mr Trump graphically
expressed it, "it would be all up."
Indeed, Mr Trump had such very serious thoughts about the termination
of the case, after he had thoroughly gone into the evidence _pro_ and
_con_, that he took upon himself to advise Mrs Hartshorne to compromise
the matter before it came on for trial. This was just after Tom came
back from his visit to Susan and reported how happy and changed she was.
But the dowager would not hear a word of compromise. She was determined
to "fight it out on that line," as General Grant is reported to have
said when besieging Richmond in the Southern States, not only "if it
took all the summer," but the winter too.
Accordingly the case of "Markworth _versus_ Hartshorne," was regularly
put down for trial; and Sergeants Thickhyde, Q.C., and Silvertong
retained for the defence. The Jew lawyers had got hold of the
well-known Brassy, considered A1 at the criminal bar, and Serjeant
Interpleader, to conduct their case on Markworth's behalf.
Volume 2, Chapter XI.
"THE GIRL I LEFT BEHIND ME."
"_Partant pour la Syrie_" should have been the proper title for this
chapter, only instead of _la Syrie_, read _l'Abysinne_; but as "The girl
I left behind me" is more appropriate to the matter, if not to the
motive of what follows, the latter heading has been adopted in
preference. "The Girl I left behind me!" That would-be jovial and yet
melancholy air, with its dreary rub-a-dub-dub which the band plays when
the regiment is marching out so gaily oh! with the route for foreign
service. The Light Brigade played it when they started off to the
Crimea; the Royals when they sailed for India, to avenge the deaths of
our murdered kinswomen at Cawnpore: how many that departed so gallantly
marching to the strains of that sad hackneyed tune, saw their native
land again, or met the welcome of the girls they left behind them!
The "fiddle-de-dee" conversation with the old dowager had levelled the
charming little Spanish castle which Tom had erected down to the ground;
so it was with a very sad heart that he called at the parsonage on the
following day to acquaint Lizzie and her brother with the upshot of his
interview with his mother.
He was obliged to speak out straight and tell the truth: and it resulted
in his worst fears being realised. Herbert Pringle said he could not
hear of an engagement between them, as Mrs Hartshorne would not give
her consent; and Lizzie, with a very pale little face and a determined
little air, as if she was a martyr and being led to the stake, said she
would have to do as her brother told her.
Tom, on hearing this, burst into a passion, and said she had "never
cared for him," and that "nobody cared for him," and he "wished he was
dead," and that he "would go away," and "when some bullet put an end to
his life" she "would think of him," a false, "fickle, perjured girl as
she was;" and he went off in a tantrum, unmindful of Lizzie's pleading
little face, and the longing violet eyes, and the pale, tearless cheek.
Tom went straight off to rejoin his regiment, the depot of which was
quartered at Aldershot. He told the Colonel, who was an old bachelor,
and regarded Tom as a son, that he wanted to exchange and go on foreign
service.
"Pooh, pooh!" said the old Plunger, who had grown grey in the regiment,
and seen much service at its head in India and the Crimea--"Pooh, pooh,
Tom; why, you must be crossed in love, my boy!"
Tom was very sad over it, and very stern; he could not see anything to
joke about. He told the colonel that he was very unhappy at home, and
wished to go away for a time; and if he could assist him in furthering
his object, he, Tom, would ever remain grateful, and so on.
The Colonel was a kind hearted old fellow, and seeing that Tom was sore
wounded, he did not rally him any more on the subject, but entered into
it _con amore_.
"I'll do anything for you, Tom, my boy, that I can. You know that
without my saying it; and if you really do want to go abroad, I can put
you in the way of it this present moment."
"Can you, Colonel?" said Tom, earnestly; "I wish you would."
"That I will, my boy! You know the Abyssinian Expedition is just
starting out."
"By Jove!" said Tom, "that's just what I should like."
"Easy, my boy--easy! Don't run away with the squad like that all at
once! I'm just coming to it, my boy."
"Pray excuse me, sir," said Tom, who was dying for the rather easy-going
Colonel to proceed.
"All right, my boy--all right. You see, I met my friend Sir Charles,
who goes out with the advanced corps, the other day in London, and he
told me that if I knew any smart young officer who would like to go out,
he would be happy to let him come with him as one of his aides-de-camp,
to oblige me."
"Oh, sir!" ejaculated Tom, in anxiety.
"The question is, my boy, are you a smart young officer, and can I
recommend you?" the Colonel asked, being a bit of a wag, as he saw the
sudden joy which irradiated the suppliant's face.
"I would thank you so much, sir," ejaculated Tom; "I am sure I could be
useful to him if you would only recommend me."
"Much use you would be, to be sure! I suppose you would teach him the
last waltz step, and tell him how to flirt, you dog!"
"Oh, sir--you'll oblige me, Colonel, won't you? and do me this favour?"
"Well, I don't mind if I do, Tom. You are a young scamp I know, but
I've a sort of liking for you, and I'll give you a letter of
introduction to Sir Charles. But you must go up to London at once, for
he'll be off in a day or two. I daresay you can catch him at that den
of thieves, the Horse Guards, or else at his club."
"Oh I thank you, sir," said Tom, shaking the old veteran heartily by the
hand. "Oh! thank you, Colonel; I'll never forget your kindness."
"There, there, my boy--take it easily. And now if you will kindly let
me have my arm to myself, I will sit down and write you your letter at
once, and also one to the commander-in-chief, which will facilitate your
movements."
The Colonel then sat down and wrote as he promised; and Tom was off in a
jiffey to London. In the joy of going off, he had for a moment
forgotten Lizzie, only to remember her with a ten times greater fondness
a moment or two later.
Being diligent in his explorations, Tom speedily found his new chief,
who received him very cordially, and said how very glad he was to be
able to do anything for the old Plunger veteran, from whom he had just
come. Tom, to his great joy, was appointed one of the aides-de-camp of
the general who was going off with the expeditionary force to Abyssinia.
He was only just in time, however, for the places had all been filled
up. Tom indeed owed his luck to the sudden illness of one of the
officers already appointed.
What a wonderful thing that Abyssinian Expedition was! The world sees
some queer changes in its time. Twenty-eight hundred and fifty years
ago the Queen of Sheba paid her celebrated visit to King Solomon at
Jerusalem, and here, so many centuries after, we have the children of
the Gentiles and the inhabitants of the Isles of the West sallying out
and getting them ready to battle against the descendants of the
self-same King Solomon and the Queen of Sheba across the waters of the
Red Sea.
Tom had very few days in which to prepare for his departure. It was now
October, and he had to go by the overland route to India first, and then
to sail from Bombay with the advance guard of the invading army.
His mother was very much vexed at his going away. She did not think he
would have acted up to what he had threatened; but Tom had the same
stubborn temper at bottom, and what he had said he would stick to, so
she could not alter it. As she saw this she did not press him, for she
knew it would be no use; his preparations were therefore rather hurried.
Tom, however, was not going to part from Lizzie in that way. He had
rushed off that time in a passion, but he was not going to leave her so
abruptly, and he went down again to the parsonage to make his peace in
his own way.
The little conservatory witnessed many little tender scenes before the
day of his departure came, although the time was but short for them to
be acted in. Pringle had interposed scruples at first, but his calm
course of ecstasy with the languid Laura made him somewhat more lenient
than the campaigner, his future mother-in-law--the time was drawing on
now--would have approved.
Tender little scenes of love these were in that romantic conservatory,
which had witnessed all Tom's love-making and all his short happiness.
Little repetitions and conjugations of the same verb _amo_ over and over
again, with its present, and its past, and its future subjunctive
tenses. Who has not lived and loved and can fill in all these details?
Ah! how well remembered they are--the looks, the smiles, the tears, the
joys, the sorrows, the ecstasies of love's young dream! Tom Moore was
more eloquent on the subject than Goethe, who told--
Ich habe genossen das irdische Gluck;
Ich habe gelebt und geliebt,
Is not half so expressive as the Irish Catullus.
Fond hearts are severed however, if sometimes only for a time. Tom came
down one day to the parsonage to take his last farewell. He had bidden
adieu to his mother before. Lizzie he wanted to see last of all! She
was the girl he left behind him.
It was very sad for the young lovers to part like this, just when they
were beginning to know each other.
But perhaps it was for the best. With true love "Absence makes the
heart grow fonder," with the article of dross the reverse proverb holds
true. Perhaps as it is preferable to be able to know which is the real
Simon Pure: a separation sometimes works well.
There is little good in dwelling on last words.
The parting was only for a time, as Tom fondly told Lizzie, trying to
cheer her up.
One long embrace, one last kiss, and Tom was off. The young Dunois had
sallied forth for the Orient, and Lizzie wept like Medora at the
departure of Conrad the Corsair, thinking, if not exclaiming--
"And is he gone?" On sudden solitude
How oft that question will intrude!
"'Twas but an instant past, and here he stood!
And now"--without the portal's porch she rush'd,
And then her tears at length in freedom gush'd;
Big, bright, and fast, unknown to her they fell,
And still her lips refused to send "Farewell!"
Volume 2, Chapter XII.