Vavasour, which, I trust, you will consider as your home." Turning to
her daughter--"Emily, my love, this is Mr Mortlake, whom you have heard
your father and myself talk of so frequently." He was next introduced to
the sons, by whom he was received with equal kindness. His patron then
took Tom aside.
"The mystery," said he, "will soon be explained; in me you behold Lord
Mortlake; but, on that account, not less your sincere friend. No one,
not even Tresham, but believes you to be a relation of the family,
except Lady Mortlake and myself; so be collected, and assume a
character which, some day or other, I confidently hope may be yours
legally."
The latter words sounded strangely in our hero's ears; but this was a
day of wonders, and when they were to end he could not conjecture.
"Sir Edward Vavasour?" he whispered.
"Is no more!" was the reply.
A week passed happily, and Mortlake, in the society he esteemed and
respected, was superlatively blessed. One morning after breakfast, Lord
Mortlake took him into the library; and, locking the door, bade him be
seated.
"Mortlake," said his lordship, "the time for explanation is at hand; it
ought not any longer to be delayed; but, before disclosing much that may
astonish you, be assured that I make the disclosure without seeking any
pledge of secresy from you. I shall leave it entirely to yourself, when
you have heard all, to take what course you may judge expedient."
"My lord! do not think so meanly of the creature of your bounty as to
suppose that, whatever may be the nature of your communication, I shall
ever use it to your prejudice."
"Make no rash promises, Mr Mortlake. Hear me, and decide. I told you Sir
Edward Vavasour was no more; and yet he is only so in one sense--his
title is merged in a higher one: he is now Lord Mortlake!"
"Gracious Providence! Sir Edward Vavasour Lord Mortlake? Can it be
possible?"
"It _is_ possible; Lord Mortlake is before you. But hear me out. You are
probably aware that the late Sir Thomas Vavasour had a younger brother,
Richard; and it has perhaps come to your knowledge that he was married
to Miss Mortlake, a lady of birth and fortune, the daughter of an
extensive proprietor in Antigua. Mrs Vavasour was a Creole by birth, and
a woman of violent passions. Her husband led a very unenviable
life--but let me pass that over. Of that marriage I was the sole
offspring, and was named heir by my maternal grandfather to his large
estates, after the demise of my parents. This equitable arrangement of
his property created a prejudice in my mother's mind against me, as she
could not brook the idea of being interfered with in the use of that
which she thought she was entitled to enjoy without control. When my
father died, I was placed under the superintendence of my uncle, Sir
Thomas, who, himself a proud and passionate man, had a great contempt
for his equally proud and passionate sister-in-law; hence a new seed of
enmity was sown.
"My mother wished to make a fine gentleman of me: my uncle detested the
whole tribe of 'puppies,' and determined to make a man of me. He
carefully provided for my education; and, at the proper time, placed me
in the Temple, where I studied jurisprudence for a few years with
considerable success. The heir of a large estate, my uncle never wished
me to do more than acquire habits of industry and application. My mother
did all she could to unsettle me--but in vain. I had a will of my own,
and was by no means disposed to become her vassal.
"She was descended, through the intermarriage of one of the Mortlakes
with a co-heiress, of the ancient Barons de Mortuo Lacu, who figured
during the reign of the Edwards. This Mortlake was heir-male of the last
baron; but his stock had come off before the family were ennobled. Now,
Mrs Vavasour had a very intense desire to become Baroness de Mortuo
Lacu, or Mortlake; and as she had a legal claim--being the undoubted
representative of a co-heiress--it required political influence only to
accomplish her object. My uncle could have effected this; but he gave
the most decided opposition. He had no idea that the Vavasour name
should be entombed, even in the sepulchre of the peerage. In his
estimation, the Vavasours, who had fought with Coeur de Lion in the
Holy Land, who had perished by dozens in the wars of the Roses, who had
bled with Richmond at Bosworth, and who had taken up arms against the
omnipotent Cromwell, were worth all the Mortlakes that ever breathed.
"For this opposition my uncle was never forgiven by Mrs Vavasour. She
vowed vengeance, and she kept her vow. She presented a petition to the
King, which was referred to the Peers; and, after incurring enormous
expense in proving her pedigree, she succeeded in obtaining a decision
finding the barony in abeyance amongst the co-heirs of the last Lord
Mortlake, and that she was the representative of the eldest co-heir.
Thus far she got, but not one step farther. The desired writ of summons
was withheld. Meanwhile, she got entangled in pecuniary difficulties. In
this situation, she, to my surprise, applied to Sir Thomas for a loan.
The result of this application may be anticipated; for, while refusing
her request, my uncle took the opportunity of reading her a severe
lecture upon her extravagance and ambition. She was in a towering rage
upon receipt of his answer; but, as I was of age, I thought it my duty,
especially as the Peerage proceedings were to my ultimate advantage, to
raise a sum of money upon my eventual interest, by which means her debts
were paid off. The consequence of this was, that, whilst I propitiated
my mother on the one hand, I offended my uncle on the other.
"I was at this time in love with the present Lady Mortlake. She was well
connected, had fortune, and was sufficiently accomplished; but she did
not come within my mother's list of advantageous wives. She was neither
fashionable nor cared about fashion; and could not disguise her contempt
of idle and silly women of quality. My mother placed her interdict upon
my nuptials. I remonstrated, but to no purpose; and, although under no
obligation to consult my relatives, I wished at least to have the
countenance of Sir Thomas, and I took the bold step of writing to him.
To my gratification and surprise, I received a gracious answer; and, I
presume, my mother's opposition was itself, in the estimation of my
uncle, a sufficient recommendation. Acting upon his consent and
approbation, I married; but the result was fatal to Mrs Vavasour, who,
upon learning what had taken place, got into one of her tremendous
passions, and burst a blood-vessel. After lingering a few weeks, she
died, leaving behind her a letter, which was fated to be the cause of
both our troubles. A few days after its transmission, I received an
epistle from him, which, from its incoherency, indicated, as I supposed,
positive insanity. I resolved to lose no time in visiting him; but, as I
wished my intended journey to be kept quiet, I gave out that I was
merely going to Liverpool for a few days, where my wife had some
relations. I arrived at Jedburgh; and, as Merton was not far off, I
resolved to walk there; and I calculated that I should arrive about the
time that my uncle was taking his evening _siesta_. Leaving my
portmanteau at the inn, I proceeded on my way; and, as I was familiar
with every inch of ground, took a by-path, which led into the policy,
and which terminated in a door that opened into the garden. This door
was kept open until the gardeners left their work, when it was locked
for the night. I passed through, towards the stairs which descended from
the terrace into the garden; and, in a few minutes, found myself in the
presence of Sir Thomas.
"My uncle was not a little startled at my unexpected appearance. He had
apparently partaken freely of wine--at least he was in a state of
excitement.
"'By what right do you come here?' was the first inquiry.
"'Why, my dear uncle, I was surprised at your late letter, and came
personally to ascertain what you meant.'
"'Mean! and do you pretend, sir, to be ignorant of my meaning?'
"'Indeed, uncle, I am.'
"'Uncle--don't uncle me, sir--I am no uncle of yours.'
"I now thought his insanity undoubted.
"'Be composed, my dear sir,' I rejoined; 'do you not know Edward
Vavasour, your attached nephew?'
"He rose--his eyes had a peculiar expression--one I had never witnessed
before: naturally of a dark-grey, they seemed to take the hue of a fiery
red, and they glared fearfully.
"'The house of Vavasour is doomed--its last hour has come;' and, saying
these words he drew from his pocket-book a letter, which he threw
towards me. I seized it; and judge of my horror when I perceived this
paper."
Lord Mortlake then took from his escritoire the following letter:--
"SIR THOMAS,--You have had your triumph--my triumph comes now.
The despised Mortlake rejoices in the extinction of the proud
Vavasour. Know, haughty man, Edward is not the son of your
brother!"
"It is not possible to describe my feelings, Tom, at this instant--my
head turned round. That the statement was false, I doubt not; for I knew
better than Sir Thomas the deep feeling of hatred my mother could
entertain, and did entertain against us both.
"'Uncle, this letter is the legacy of an enemy--allow me to retain it,
and I will bring positive evidence to disprove the assertion it
contains.'
"My uncle was too much excited to listen to me. In a hoarse and angry
voice, he muttered--
"'Give me the letter, you villain!'
"I endeavoured to pacify him, but without success; when, suddenly
rising, he seized a knife, and, rushing forward, made a thrust at me
with it. I avoided the blow, and retreated. He, incautiously advancing,
lost his footing, and fell with the knife underneath. I hastily stepped
forward to raise him, but had not strength to do so; for, by one of
those strange and unaccountable accidents, which not unfrequently give
the air of romance to real life, the point of the knife had been turned
towards his body, and, passing between his ribs, had pierced his heart.
He died in an instant. I endeavoured again to raise the body, but in
vain. I drew out the knife, and blood then came with it. To describe my
situation at this terrible moment is impossible: my uncle dead at my
feet--no one to witness how the accident happened--I might be dragged as
a felon to trial for his supposed murder. My grief for his unhappy end
was soon absorbed in fears for my own safety--for, here was I, the
apparent heir, discovered with the man to whom I was to succeed, a
bleeding corpse beside me; then the quarrel between us--the stigma
thrown upon me by my vindictive parent, which, for aught I knew, Sir
Thomas might have bruited abroad--all this made me tremble. Even if
acquitted, still the suspicious circumstances of the case would be
greedily seized upon by the public, which never judges favourably, and a
stain would have been cast upon the family name never to be effaced. My
uncle was past all human assistance, and my remaining could not aid him.
I therefore fled, unobserved by any one; and barely three hours had
elapsed from my leaving the inn, until I was again its inmate. At a late
hour I heard a noise of voices, which accorded ill with my morbid state
of feeling. I rang to know the cause; and the answer to my inquiry was
the announcement that a dreadful murder had been committed upon Sir
Thomas Vavasour, and that you, Tom, had been taken into custody, under
such circumstances as warranted the strongest presumptions of your
guilt.
"My astonishment could only be equalled by the horror I felt at having
caused an innocent fellow-creature to be placed in hazard of his life.
However, I was sufficiently collected; and, having learned that you
could not be brought to trial for some time, I left the place with the
firm resolution that, be the consequences what they might, not one hair
of your head should be injured.
"I had no secrets from my wife, and to her I disclosed everything. After
some deliberation, we agreed that it was best, if possible, to procure
your escape from the prison; as, if that could be accomplished, there
would be no necessity for any disclosures to gratify the inquisitive and
malicious. I resolved to act by myself, without the assistance of any
one. My first object was to prevent interference of the country writers;
and this I accomplished easily enough, by creating an impression that
they would give offence to the new Baron of Merton, if they ventured to
assist you. Thus I deprived you of the advice of these worthies, which,
after all, was no great loss. I should have regretted your imprisonment,
had I not been informed that you were a _mauvais sujet_, and that the
restraint would do you no harm, as it might induce you to reflect.
"With my wife's assistance, I procured a female dress, bonnet and cloak.
I also bought a file, a rope-ladder, and some aquafortis, as I thought
it would be no very difficult matter to help you out of an old Scotch
county jail. Lady Mortlake had an uncle resident a mile or two from
Liverpool. This fact presented an ostensible object for a trip, and we
set off together. I left her with her relative; and, crossing the
country, I got to Jedburgh in good time. I was quite unknown, as, prior
to my last eventful visit, many years had passed by since I had been in
the County of Roxburgh. I gave myself out to be an Edinburgh writer,
which was believed.
"I thus got free access to you, and the result I need not repeat. The
gig I bought for the purpose, as well as the horse. I had them in
readiness at a village at some distance, having given the landlord of
the inn to believe that it was merely an ordinary case of elopement. In
order to mystify the folks of Jedburgh, your letter was enclosed under
cover to my wife, who herself drove to the post-office, and put it in
the box, in this way destroying every possibility of detection. I caused
the body of Sir Thomas to be interred at Vavasour, where his two
brothers had previously been buried. This prevented the necessity of my
personal presence at Merton, where perchance I might have been
recognised as the person who left the counting-house so hurriedly on the
day of the supposed murder. I have never lived at Merton since; it is
occupied by the factor, and, in virtue of the deed of entail, the
Scottish estates belong now to my second son. I induced your mother to
reside on the English estate, where my wife could personally attend to
her comfort. The rest you know. Our travels made me intimately
acquainted with you, and I found you had talent, tolerable acquirements,
and an affectionate heart; and I was determined to aid you, if you would
be but true to yourself. Your vices were the result of idleness, and the
foolish indulgence of a fond mother. Do not think me harsh when I say
so; but, Tom, had you not been removed from her, you would have been
lost. Oh, what have parents to answer for, by allowing their children to
take their own way! From my connection with Antigua, I had no difficulty
in providing for you. My cousin, Mr Edward Mortlake, managed my West
Indian estates--a source of revenue to the company of which he was
senior partner. I had merely to signify my wishes to place a young
friend in his counting-house, and it was granted. Neither he nor Tresham
knew your real history--they both thought you some off-shoot of the
Mortlakes. The latter was expressly desired to conceal my name, and to
avoid notice of the Vavasour family as much as possible. And he kept the
secret well. My accession to the Vavasour estates brought without any
trouble that which my misguided mother so much coveted; for, as my
political support was not to be despised, ministers induced the king to
terminate the abeyance, and I received my summons as Baron Mortlake. The
story imposed upon my poor uncle by Mrs Vavasour was, as I was from the
first assured, a malicious fiction of her own; for, luckily, I was able
to trace out the whole circumstances connected with my birth; and the
testimony of the nurse and medical man, which I obtained in a quiet way,
were perfectly conclusive. Indeed, legally, my mother's declaration
availed nothing; but I was anxious, morally, to satisfy myself, as far
as I could, that I was the son of her marriage with Mr Richard Vavasour.
I have now told you all. As I was the accidental cause of your perilous
situation and loss of character, it was but common justice to assist you
as far as lay in my power. You have raised yourself to respectability
and affluence, partly by my recommendation, but principally by your own
exertions. You owe me, therefore, nothing; and, on the contrary, I am
still considerably your debtor. If, after reflection, you think a
disclosure necessary to clear the reputation of Tom Vallance, you have
my full permission to make it."
"Never, my dear lord--or, if you will allow me to term you, my dear
friend--shall I make the slightest use of your confidence. You have,
from a worthless and idle vagabond, metamorphosed me into a reputable
and honest man. Tom Vallance has ceased to exist; but the heart of Tom
Mortlake is too deeply attached to his benefactor ever to do anything
that would cause him the slightest pain."
"You are a noble fellow, Tom, and well deserve your fortune."
Several months after this conversation, the public journals announced
that "Thomas Mortlake, Esq., of the firm of Tresham, Mortlake, &
Tresham, was married, by special license, at Vavasour, to Emily, eldest
daughter of the Right Honourable Edward Lord Mortlake." If an
accomplished and sweet-tempered wife, a fine family, an attached friend,
good health, and a competent fortune, could make any one happy, then Tom
Mortlake was superlatively blessed.
THE SERJEANT'S TALES.
THE BEGGAR'S CAMP.
I recur again to the strange adventures of Serjeant Square, and present
another section of them to the readers of the "Border Tales:"--
With ruined prospects, and friendships severed by death (he began), I
resolved to bid, once more, farewell to my native Edinburgh.
I passed two or three days in this listless manner, each being to see me
put in force my resolution to depart; till at length, having provided
myself with a seaman's dress, taken the powder out of my hair, seized a
stout stick, and provided a small bundle of necessaries, I once more set
out upon the world, caring little whether I went to the south or the
west, to London or Bristol, to Greenock or Port-Glasgow. I had, in my
absent state of mind, almost unconsciously, or perhaps from habit, taken
my way down the Canongate, and had reached the girth cross--a few steps,
and the streets of Edinburgh would pass from under my feet, perhaps for
ever. I neither knew nor cared. A flood of painful recollections came
over me, as I stood scarce knowing for what object I had paused. So
doubtful and indifferent, so undecided did I stand, that, to put an end
to the recollections that pained me whilst I hesitated, I took a piece
of copper from my pocket, and, tossing it up into the air, I cried, "A
head for England--a lady for Scotland!" The halfpenny tingled at my
feet, the king's head looked to the sky, and, as if relieved of a care,
I moved quickly on, nor once looked behind, until I had placed Arthur's
Seat between me and the city.
Thus moving along, sometimes listlessly, at others quickening my pace, I
had journeyed on until I had reached the neighbourhood of Berwick. The
day had been overcast with partial light showers; several times I had
resolved to stay for the remainder of the day and night in the next inn
I came to; but, enticed by partial clearings up of the weather, I still
walked on, until towards sunset, when the weather all at once put on
the most threatening aspect and the rain fell very heavily. There was
neither house nor shelter of any kind in sight; the thick, dense clouds
that came driving from the west completely obscured the twilight I had
calculated upon. At length I perceived, at a small distance from the
road, a house, with light issuing from the windows. I knocked for
admittance, which was at once cheerfully given, and every exertion made
for my comfort by the kind host and hostess--a farmer and his wife. To
my inquiries if they could oblige me with a bed for the night--
"You are kindly welcome to the shelter of our roof," said the farmer,
"and a seat by the fire; and, were it not for a strange circumstance,
you might have both a room and a bed."
"William--William!" said the wife, with a look of great alarm, "do not
speak of it; I could not think of even putting a dog there, far less a
Christian. I will give the stranger a pair of blankets, and make a good
fire for him; but do not speak of that fearful room. I wish the laird
would allow us to pull it down."
"Grace, my woman," replied he, "I did not mean him to pass the night in
it. I only, without thinking any harm, mentioned it. I wish, as well as
you, that it were taken down."
Struck by their strange discourse, I requested my kind host to tell me
the history of the apartment that seemed to give them so much
uneasiness.
Drawing his seat more near to the fire--"I have not the smallest
objection," said he, "as it will show, whatever is the cause of the
strange disturbances, that there is no blame on our part. This bit land
that I farm has been in our family for more than two nineteen years, and
the third nineteen of the lease is nearly expired. Both the old and
present lairds have been good landlords to us--we could not well refuse
any small favour they required at our hands; and, indeed, we always
found ourselves the gainers for any little that was in our power. A few
months after the rebels were defeated, and the rebellion quelled by the
battle of Culloden, the young laird came back to the Big House again
safe, and we all rejoiced. On the day after his arrival, he came to our
house to visit us, for he was always like one of ourselves. I saw there
was something upon his mind, he was so douce and thoughtful--not in the
least like his former way, which was all laughing and chatting with
every one. It did not become me to inquire the cause; so, after staying
a short time, he requested me to come out and take a turn with him, to
see some young trees that had been planted before he joined the king's
army. As soon as we were a short distance from the house, he stopped,
and, looking me full in the face--
"'William,' said he, 'I believe you would not do anything to harm or
bring me into trouble.'
"I think my face flushed, for I found my ears glow at the supposition.
"'No, laird; I would far rather harm or bring myself into trouble. Who
has belied me to your honour? I am certain neither thought nor word of
mine ever gave you cause to suspect me.'
"I really felt hurt and grieved for a moment, until he took my hand in
his, and smiled.
"'William,' said he, 'I am sorry if I have unintentionally hurt your
honest feelings. I have nothing but good faith in you. I have an affair
of importance on hand, and you must aid me.'
"'With all my heart,' replied I. 'Only tell me what I am to do.'
"'There is one for whose safety I am most anxious,' continued he; 'his
life is in danger. In my own house he cannot be concealed; in yours he
may. I shall provide for it, if you are willing to encounter the risk
and inconvenience. You have no family or servants that reside with you.
I shall build an apartment attached to your house, which he shall
occupy; and you will attend to all his wants, and administer to his
comforts as much as in your power.'
"To all this Grace and I gave our hearty consent. Everything was made
ready in much less time than I could have conceived possible; the laird
superintending all himself, and we obedient to his will. When all was to
his mind, he went from home for a few days, leaving word with me, that
whoever should give me his letter, authorising me to put them in
possession of the room, I was at once to comply, and ask no questions.