MEETING HIS MATCH.
Sir Massingberd's unlooked-for entrance into the drawing-room at the
Dovecot had a result that must seem almost farcical to those who read
it, but which to me, who dwelt among big trembling vassals, and had
learned, day by day, to fear and hate him more and more, had nothing in
it extraordinary. I, Peter Meredith, bolted straightway into the
conservatory, and there ensconced myself within the shadow of an
orange-tree, while the Rev. Matthew Long left the room with equal
celerity by the door. As for me, I confess that I was actuated by panic
on my own account; my tutor's apprehensions were aroused on behalf of
another. The instant after he disappeared, I heard the lock of the
library door shot into its staple, and knew that Marmaduke was in a
friend's keeping, and safe from any incursion of his uncle. I could see
that Mr. Gerard knew this too, for a gleam of pleasure passed over his
face, and then left it determined, defiant, and almost mocking, as when
he had first set eyes upon the intruder. There was a fire in the
otherwise darkening room, and from my place of concealment, I could
watch the lineaments of both its inmates--and two more resolved and
haughty countenances I had never beheld.
"Is it the custom of your respectable family, Sir Massingberd Heath,"
observed my host, "to force themselves into houses whose owners do not
desire the honour of their presence?"
"It is their custom to hold their own, sir," answered the baronet
curtly; "and I am come after my nephew."
It is impossible to convey the effect which this audacious speech had
upon me, its unseen hearer; unblushing, scornfully open as it was, an
awful threat seemed to lie within it, and above all, a consciousness of
the power to carry it into effect. Even Mr. Gerard, who could have had
no knowledge of the things that I knew, and had never heard the history
of Grimjaw, seemed to feel a tremor as he listened.
"Your nephew, sir, is not in a condition to receive you," returned my
host. "The consequences of seeing you might, I do not hesitate to say,
be fatal to him."
"The opinion of his medical man is different," observed Sir Massingberd
with a sneer. "Dr. Sitwell--a most estimable person, I should say, and
endowed with excellent sense--has been so very kind as to ride over
himself to Fairburn as soon as he could leave his patient, in order to
apprise me exactly how the matter stands. He recommends my seeing
Marmaduke in his first lucid interval--'There is no knowing,' said he,
'whether that may not be your poor dear nephew's last.'"
"Your poor dear nephew," repeated Mr. Gerard, with great distinctness.
"Very dear, doubtless, but not what one would call poor, at least in the
matter of expectations."
"Poor or rich, sir," retorted the other, "he has been placed in my hands
as being those most fitted to take care of him."
Mr. Gerard shrugged his shoulders, and smiled sardonically.
"You seem to conceive that confidence misplaced, sir," continued the
baronet. "The want of your good opinion afflicts me beyond measure. I
am aware that I fail to satisfy pious persons in some particulars, but
that Mr. Harvey Gerard's susceptibilities should be offended is indeed a
serious consideration; it is as though the devil himself should cry,
'For shame!'"
"Sir Massingberd Heath, you are under my roof, although unbidden and
unwelcome," returned my host; "your tongue, therefore, is chartered, so
far as I am concerned. I could not, I confess, help my countenance
expressing some astonishment when you spoke of your fitness for the
education of youth."
There was a pause here for which I could not account. Sir Massingberd's
eyes were riveted upon something on which the firelight danced and
shone. I should very much misrepresent the baronet's character, and
probably even exaggerate his capabilities, if I said he blushed, but
certainly his countenance changed. Then he broke out fiercely, "I live
as I choose, sir, and am answerable to no man, least of all to you. The
parsons had their say, and have got their reply long ago, but am I also
to be arraigned by--"
"You cannot justify yourself by any quarrel with me," interrupted Mr.
Gerard. "I have, as you say, although not for the foolish reason you
would mention, no right to be either your judge or accuser. But, Sir
Massingberd, there is a God whom we have both good cause to fear."
"So you make your own sermons, I perceive," exclaimed the other,
bitterly. "That is the reason, is it, why the good folks never see you
at church? Cant amuses me always; but religion out of your mouth is
humorous, indeed. Pray go on, sir, if my dear nephew can wait a little,
for I should be sorry to miss him altogether. You were affirming, I
think, the existence of a God."
"I was about to urge," continued Mr. Gerard, with grave severity, "since
howsoever persons differ on religious matters, they generally
acknowledge a common Father, that if there is one crime more hateful to
Him than another, it is the deliberate debauchery of the mind of youth.
I had no intention of making any particular accusation, such as the
sight of this flask seems to have suggested to you. I know nothing--but
what I guess--of its history. It has only been in my hands a very few
minutes. The person by whose means it came into this house was, I
believe, an old gipsy woman, and you are, doubtless, well aware how it
got into her possession."
Mr. Gerard paused. Sir Massingberd, who, though smiling scornfully, had
been beating the ground with his foot, here observed, with a forced
calmness, "She is a liar; she is a thief, and the mother of thieves."
"Did she steal this flask?" inquired Mr. Gerard, regarding the other
attentively. "It has your crest upon it. She did not. Good. It was then,
I suppose, only a <i>gage d'amour</i> of yours."
A lurid light came over Sir Massingberd's evil face; for a moment I
trembled for the man who dared to speak such words to him, but almost
instantly he recovered his usual cruel calm.
"Your sagacity, Mr. Gerard," returned he, "is truly admirable. Is it the
result of experience or intuition? or has this old ginger-faced harridan
made you her favoured confidant? With your fondness for all such
vagabonds I am well acquainted."
"The reprobation of a man like you, Sir Massingberd, should be dearer
than the praise of ordinary mortals; but this matter does not concern
myself in any way."
The baronet muttered something between his set teeth.
"Pshaw! man," continued Mr. Gerard, with unutterable scorn; "think not
to frighten <i>me</i>. I am stronger than you, because I am richer; you are
as poor as those very vagabonds whom you despise; your very existence
depends upon the alms of a stranger. That you are unscrupulous in your
revenges, I do not doubt; but you would have to deal in Harvey Gerard
with one who only uses honourable weapons with an honourable foe. If you
did me or mine a mischief, I swear to you that I would shoot you like a
dog."
The frame of the speaker shook with contemptuous passion. Defiant as was
his language, it fell far short of the disdain expressed in his tone
and manner. It was not in Sir Massingberd's nature to be overawed, but
his truculent features no longer maintained their grimness--their cruel
humour. He could not put aside a man like Gerard with a brutal jest. I
do not say that he was conscious of his own inferiority, but he knew
that his opponent not only did not fear, but actually despised him. This
was wormwood.
"I am ashamed," continued Mr. Gerard, after a pause, "to have lost my
temper with you, Sir Massingberd, upon my own account. I wish to have
nothing in common with you--not even a quarrel. We were speaking of this
gipsy woman, and you called her thief, and what not. Whatever may be her
faults, however, it does not become you to dwell on them; but for her
and her prompt assistance, your nephew would not at this moment be
alive. Out of this very flask she administered to him--" So frightful
an execration here broke from the baronet's lips that I anticipated it
to be the prelude to a personal assault upon my host. Mr. Gerard,
however, stood quietly stirring the fire, with his eyes fixed firmly but
calmly on those of Sir Massingberd, just as a mad doctor might regard a
dangerous patient.
"That is a very singular exclamation of gratitude," observed Mr. Gerard,
sardonically, "to one who has just performed you--or at least
<i>yours</i>--so great a service. It really seems as though you almost
regretted that it <i>was</i> performed."
A look of deadly hatred had now taken the place of all other expressions
on the baronet's face. It forgot even to wear its sneer.
"I have been insulted enough, I think," said he, with a calmness more
terrible than wrath. "Even as it is, I shall scarcely be able to
requite you, though, be sure, I will do my best. But, with respect to my
errand, I am come here to see my nephew, and that I will do."
"That you shall not do, Sir Massingberd, so surely as this house is
mine."
"And who shall prevent me?" exclaimed the baronet, contemptuously
measuring his foe from head to foot.
"Not I, sir, indeed," returned Mr. Gerard; "but I will see that my
servants put you out of doors by force," and as he spoke he laid his
hand upon the bell.
"Before night, then, I shall send for Marmaduke, and he shall be carried
back to Fairburn, which, after all, is his proper home, and be there
nursed."
"Nursed!" repeated my host, hoarsely. "Nursed by the grave-digger, you
mean."
Sir Massingberd turned livid and sat down; then, as one who acts in his
sleep, he passed his handkerchief once or twice across his forehead.
"How dare you speak such things to me?" said he, looking round about
him. "To hear you talk, one would think that I had tried to murder the
boy."
"I <i>know</i> you did," cried Mr. Gerard, solemnly, laying his finger upon
the baronet's arm. "If your nephew, Marmaduke, dies, his blood is on
your head."
"On mine! how on mine? How, in the name of all the devils, could I have
hindered the lad's horse from running away with him?"
"I will tell you how. You might have suffered Mr. Long to purchase a
horse for the boy, as he offered to do, and not have sent to London for
a confirmed run-away."
"He rode it half a dozen times without any harm," replied Sir
Massingberd, sullenly.
"Yes, with a curb that would have tamed a wild horse fresh from the
lasso. But when you took that curb for the keeper's pony, riding with
gun in hand for the first time in your life--and sent your nephew forth
upon that devil with a snafflebridle--nay, I have it yonder, sir--don't
lie; you calculated that if what you wished should happen all would be
laid to chance. A change of bridles is an accident like enough to
happen; lads are thrown from horseback every day. See, I track your
thoughts like slime. Base ruffian! rise; begone from beneath this roof,
false coward--"
Sir Massingberd started up like one stung by an adder.
"Yes, I say coward! Heavens! that this creature should still feel the
touch of shame! Be off, be off; molest not any one within this house,
at peril of your life--murderer--murderer!"
Without a word, without a glance of reply, Sir Massingberd seized his
hat, and hurried from the room. I felt some alarm lest he should make
some violent effort to visit Marmaduke; but Mr. Gerard's countenance
gave me comfort. He stood quite still, listening with grim satisfaction
to the baronet's retreating footsteps.
They were heard for an instant striding along the floor of the hall, and
then were exchanged for the sound of his horse's hoofs urged to speed
along the carriage-drive. Sir Massingberd Heath had met for once with
his match--and more.