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A Narrative of Startling Interest!!
EDWARD BARNETT,
A NEGLECTED CHILD OF SOUTH CAROLINA, WHO ROSE TO BE A PEER OF GREAT
BRITAIN,--AND THE STORMY LIFE OF HIS GRANDFATHER, CAPTAIN WILLIAMS,
Or
The Earl's Victims:
with an Account of the Terrible End of the Proud Earl De Montford, the
Lamentable Fate of the Victim of His Passion,
And
The Shadow's Punishment,
'Truth Is Stranger Than Fiction.'
by
TOBIAS ACONITE,
The Mayor of Hole cum Corner.
1855
THE EARL'S VICTIMS.
CHAPTER I.
THE STEWARD.
Earl de Montford sat in a plainly furnished room in his stately mansion.
Gorgeously decorated as were the other apartments of his princely
residence, this apartment, with its plain business-look--its hard
benches for such of the tenantry as came to him or his agent on
business--its walls garnished with abstracts of the Game and Poor Law
Enactments--its worn old chairs and heavy oak presses, the open doors of
some of which disclosed bundles of old papers, parchments, etc.--this
little room, the only one almost ever seen by any save the aristocracy
and their followers--exercised and contained frequently more of human
hope and fear than any other or the whole of the others of this
sumptuous edifice. Here the toil-worn farmer came to pay his dues to the
Lord of the Manor--here often too with beating heart and quivering lip,
the old servant of the soil came to beg for time--time to enable him by
hard pinching to make up his proportion of the sum spent in luxury by
his landlord. Ah! reader! could those old walls reveal the sounds, the
tales of human suffering, of heartless avarice, and callous
indifference--of sneering assumption and hopeless woe, thy brain would
be as fire, thy heart would sicken, and thy blood would boil, till
rushing over every prudent thought, through grinding teeth and
passion-paling lips would start, the one wild word, Revenge!
I have said the room was plainly furnished, but there was one
exception--the chair in which the Earl sat. This was an old one,
formerly the chair of state in which the old Barons his ancestors had
presided at many a scene of wassail, with their retainers. It had been
stuffed and new-covered to suit modern luxury, but the armorial bearings
remained still carved in the wood of the high back, with the proud
motto, "Nulli Secundi," second to none.
The Earl was not alone. His agent, a hard-featured man of business, sat
at a desk, busy with papers, and a venerable old man, who had been his
father's steward, stood a little behind his chair. There was a frown on
the brow of the nobleman, as after a stern glance at the old man, he
asked,
'Has that scoundrel been apprehended yet?'
'He has not, your lordship,' said the agent, slowly folding up a
document; 'nor does it seem likely he will be. I have had the old haunts
searched--I have, as you directed, promised large rewards for his
apprehension, and threatened the tenants if they harbor him, but no clue
to his hiding-place has yet been discovered. I am afraid he has left.'
'He has not,' interrupted the Earl. 'He is here, in this neighbourhood.
I feel his hated presence. He must have harborers, Johnson. The parvenu
millionaire--the cotton lord--harbors these ruffians by refusing to
prosecute poachers. He preaches equal rights, forsooth! Break down his
fences--send my deer to stray into his park--get some one to fire his
barns--I will pay them. He has thwarted me, and he shall feel the agony
of a long and fluctuating law-suit. Oh! for one day of my Norman
ancestors! I would sweep such vermin from the earth. Waters!' said he,
turning to the steward, 'beware! I have, from respect to my father's
memory, somewhat restrained myself towards you. You have pleaded this
man's cause. Say no more. He has threatened me--dared to use reproaches
and threats to a peer of the realm--he shall be crushed as a noxious
reptile!'
'My lord,' said the old man firmly, 'I was your father's steward--I was
your grandfather's foster-brother and playmate--man and boy, I have been
in the service of your family for over seventy years, and for the love
of your house have I withstood you in wrong-doing--I beseech you again,
let this man go. You well know he is an injured man. Add not more to
that final account which you as well as I must one day render before
God.'
'Palter such trash to coward fools!--I want none of your priestcraft,'
returned the nobleman. 'Do I not know the reason of all this affected
love for justice and mercy. Your grand-daughter was to have married this
midnight robber--they were betrothed, or some such trash. Find
him--doubtless _she_ knows how--let them marry--such a son-in-law will
be an honor to your family, and a comfort to your declining years.'
'Your insinuations and your sneers fall as harmless upon me as your
threats,' said the steward with dignity. 'I am eighty-nine, and shall
soon be beyond them: but when you brand with undeserved infamy one who
never injured you--when you accuse my innocent grandchild of being
privy to the concealment of a midnight robber, as you but now called the
unhappy man whom your ill-usage, whom your misdeeds drove from a happy
home and honorable course of life, you commit an action, only equalled
in its baseness, by its cowardice!'
The Earl started up, purple with rage. For a moment, he seemed about to
strike the aged form before him. He paused, however, and stood regarding
him with clenched hands and furious look, and every evil passion glaring
from his eyes. The steward moved not one inch, but confronted him in the
majesty of venerable age.
The agent paused not for one moment in his task, but quietly labelling
and tying up a pile of documents, placed it in its proper pigeon hole,
and went on with methodical exactness to the next. They were a strange
group. The man of business in his chair, pursuing his work as if no
other were present, but observing all that took place nevertheless; the
nobleman in the prime of glorious manhood, noble, as far as physical
beauty could go; handsome, rich, accomplished, intellectual, but
distorted as that face was now, in his rage, ugly, hideous in the
extreme as he gazed upon the calm face slightly flushed with virtuous
indignation, the spare form and silver locks of the aged man who dared
to stand between him and the victims of his wrath.
Gradually the face of the nobleman became calmer, one by one the lines
of passion disappeared and an expression of cold sarcasm took possession
of his features; he threw himself into his chair and turned to the
agent.
'Mr. Lambert, be pleased to pay particular attention to my orders, that
is if your nerves are not too much discomposed by the exciting piece of
eloquence Mr. Waters has just favored us with for my especial benefit.
Gad! Waters, you'd do the heavy fathers finely on the stage. I'll write
to Davidge for you, that last speech of yours was capital; couldn't you
favor us with a finishing touch, we are all attention.' The agent placed
his papers on the table, and wheeling his chair round, sat in imitation
of his master as if in expectation of hearing some rich joke.
The single word 'God!' escaped the steward as he turned to leave the
room; he gave one glance around as if for the last time looking on those
familiar objects, cast a sorrowful glance at his master, and was about
to quit, when his eye was arrested by a picture; it was that of frank
and noble boy in the pride of youth and beauty, his face ruddy with
exercise, his eye bright with intellect. It was a portrait of the Earl
when a boy.
He turned towards them once more.
'My lord,' said he, 'I pass by your harsh speeches of me and mine. It
may be I spoke too rudely myself. I will dwell no longer on the past, it
is irrevocable; of my broken-hearted grandchild; of her young love,
which was twined too strong around her heart, for one to perish without
the other; of my own head grey in your service I will never more
speak--but oh! for the love that bright boy once bore me, here on my
knees, I entreat you, spare this man, who once was your playmate, spare
him as you would be spared yourself; for let not your proud heart
deceive you, not all your array of domestics, not all your barred doors,
can save you from a violent death, or the guilt of murder, if you do not
stop this unrighteous prosecution--for your own sake I entreat you stop,
ere it be too late. Spurn this grey head if you will into the dust, but
listen and spare.'
The Earl was unmoved as marble.
The old man left with bent head and slow step. 'Lambert, you will issue
a notice, offering £500 to any one who captures Horace Hunter, dead or
alive--also on pain of expulsion from the property, forbid any one
harboring him; send for two London officers. These country bumpkins will
never find him. Enquire for a dissolute fellow, known by the name of
Curly Tom--pay him well: he perhaps may track him, in short, find this
man and punishment to death shall follow.'
'It shall on you!' said a loud voice, apparently near them.
The Earl sprang to the window, and jumped out, the agent trembling
remained, not a living being was in sight--the window opened upon a
smooth lawn, there was not a chance of a person escaping notice, but no
one was there; he summoned the domestics; they searched--no one was
found, they had seen no one. Frantic with rage, yet with an ill-defined
sensation of fear, the nobleman, re-entered the mansion, and dismissing
every one, locked himself in an inner chamber.
The agent waited until his master was gone; then seated himself in the
chair of state, and mused. 'Let me see! £500, too much to slip from my
hands. I will find this Curly Tom myself--I think I know him--and if I
can but keep him sober--and promise him a good carouse when Hunter's
caught, he will entrap him--for these scoundrels all know how to find
one another--£500, too much for any of these bumpkins constables, no,
no, I must have it--there is danger though--I must think over it--that
voice was queer, where could it come from--could any one be in the
presses?' After screwing up his courage to the task, he opened them
fearfully one by one; there was nothing there but the old papers before
mentioned. He stooped and stood leaning against the mantelpiece, over
which was the Earl's picture--then puzzled, but determined on his course
of action, he left the room and took his way to the village. He was not
far from the house, when a servant called to him. 'You have a paper on
your back, Mr. Lambert,' said he. He took his coat off; on the back,
fastened with a pin, was a paper, with the single word, doomed, written
upon it. The man of business was puzzled; he was not altogether a
coward, but this was not a business proceeding; he said nothing,
however, but methodically folded it up, placed it in his pocket book,
and proceeded.