While the rapid railway, of which she was half afraid among all her
other fears and excitements, carried Susan across the border, her
brother hastened by himself along the country road to Kenlisle. It still
wanted an hour of noon, but Horace was angry to be so late, and his
thoughts were not of the most agreeable description. It was, to be sure,
no personal loss to himself which could be brought about by the mission
of the old pitman to Sir John Armitage, which he had stopped for this
time, but might not be able to stop again; but if the story was actually
told to Roger Musgrave's real friends, who would use it for the
interests of the heir, there was an end of "the power" of Horace over
the two attorneys, whose breach of trust could no longer be concealed.
Then he was furious to think that his sister had heard something, much
or little, of his conversation with the old man, and might have it in
her power to give a clue to the secret. While mingled with this
immediate concern was a renewed impression of the importance which his
father attached to Colonel Sutherland's letter, or at least to the
information contained in it; and the most eager anxiety to get to London
to resolve his fate, if that was possible, by investigations at Doctors'
Commons into the will. Whose will was it? Was he justified in believing
that even the name of Scarsdale was the real name of the family, or at
least of the testator who had willed a "posthumous punishment and
vengeance" upon his father? Horace could give no answer to these
questions; he could not even resolve on hastening to town immediately,
for his time was bound to the will of another, and his funds were
exhausted. To wait was the only possibility which remained to him, and
he did that with a sufficiently ill grace.
Mr. Stenhouse, however, was still at Kenlisle. As soon as he reached the
office, and had ascertained that Mr. Pouncet was in his private room, in
conference with his former partner, Horace lost no time in demanding an
audience. He was received by the Kenlisle lawyer with the greatest
evident reluctance and hesitation. Mr. Pouncet gave him the veriest
little nod as he came in, and glanced from Horace to Mr. Stenhouse with
an expression which seemed to say that he was the victim of a
conspiracy, and that some new complot was hatching against his peace. He
did not even ask the young man's business; the whole affair was growing
unbearable to the man of character, who knew his reputation and credit
to be in the hands of these two, yet who, frightened as he was, could
scarcely veil his repugnance and impatience. Mr. Stenhouse, however,
shook hands cordially with his new friend. "Well, Mr. Scarsdale?" he
said, in his frankest tone, "any news?" He was not afraid; and to show
that he had no occasion to be so, but that the whole burden of legal
peril lay upon his unfortunate colleague, was a pleasure and
refreshment indescribable to Mr. Pouncet's amiable "friend."
"Not very pleasant news," said Horace; "I have just seen old Adam
Brodie, the pitman, and stopped him on his way to Armitage Park. He has
taken it into his head that Sir John might like to hear his story, and
that it might be worth Mr. Musgrave's while to give him an annuity. He
will make the whole public if his mouth is not stopped. I came instantly
to let you know. He thinks the young Squire might give him ten shillings
a-week; he thinks me a friend of the young Squire, so I have persuaded
him to let me try what I can do."
"Ah! Pouncet, my dear fellow, this is your concern," said Mr. Stenhouse,
with his broadest smile.
Mr. Pouncet grew graver than before; he raised his head a little from
the papers over which he was bending, and spoke with the greatest
hesitation, clearing his throat and stammering at every word.
"I--I don't see how it can be my concern," he said; "who is Adam
Brodie?--I--I never--heard the name."
"Unfortunately I know him, and so does our young friend here," said Mr.
Stenhouse--"the old fellow who happened to be present when--ah, I see
you recollect now! Awkward business, very--and Sir John Armitage himself
is a client of yours; how very provoking! I'm afraid you'll have to do
something about it, Pouncet; it would not answer you at all to have this
affair known."
Mr. Pouncet did not look up; rage and provocation almost beyond bearing
had risen within him, but he durst not show them. His very integrity and
honour in other matters made the bondage of this one guilt more
intolerable; he was enraged to be compelled to bow to it, but he dared
not resist.
"The matter can be easily arranged, if Mr. Pouncet does not object to
the cost," said Horace, trying the new rôle of peacemaker.
"If I do not object--what do you mean, sir?" cried Mr. Pouncet, with
uncontrollable impatience; "what have I to do with it more than
Stenhouse? This is a pleasant improvement, certainly. D---- the whole
concern!--I wish I had never had anything to do with it, with all my
heart!"
"My dear fellow, compose yourself; it is too late for that; and,
besides, it is you who are endangered," said the bland Mr. Stenhouse;
"think of your own interest, my excellent friend."
Mr. Pouncet immediately betook himself to his papers as before, turning
them over rapidly; he made no answer; habit had accustomed him to the
civil taunts of Stenhouse--but he could not bear the same insulting
inferences from a new voice.
"There is a very easy way of managing the matter," said Horace, once
more; "the man is old, and has been long in your service. He lost his
son in an accident at the pit two years ago; it is perfectly practicable
to pension him on that account."
"And leave him free to seek another pension on the other," said Mr.
Stenhouse; "won't do: no--they are rapacious, those people; that would
only rouse his appetite, the old rogue. A man who gets one thing easily
always hankers for another. He'd try Sir John immediately, and double
his terms. No, no; if he gets anything, he must understand distinctly
what he gets it for. If I were you, Pouncet, I'd lose no time, either.
He can't live long, that's one good thing."
"I never have bribed any man!" cried Mr. Pouncet, vehemently--"I'll not
begin now. I don't mind doing my share for any old servant; but I--I
can't stand this, Stenhouse! What do you mean by turning it all on me?"
"Simply because he can do me no harm, my dear fellow," said the smiling
Mr. Stenhouse. "Stop now! don't let us get impatient; here is our young
friend has something to say."
Mr. Stenhouse was already benevolently aware that the remarks of "our
young friend" were gall and bitterness to his old partner, and perhaps
if anything could have made Horace's new patron more gracious, it was
this fact.
"I was about to say," said Horace, with a little eagerness, "that the
old man believes me a friend of the young Squire, as he calls him, and
that I am quite willing to be made the channel of communication with
him. If you trust it to me, he shall never know that the money does not
come from Roger Musgrave; and my own opinion is that this will be the
best arrangement. If he wants more money, at least he will come to you
to seek it, and not to--"
The young man stopped short prudently, and went no further. Mr. Pouncet
could not bear the emphasis upon that you, or the look of personal
appeal which accompanied it, at least from any one but his old partner.
He got up abruptly, and pushed his chair from the table.
"Stenhouse, will you settle this business? I'll agree to your decision,"
he said, pushing hastily away. "I've--I've got an appointment at twelve
o'clock. I'm rather too late already; you can settle it without me."
Mr. Stenhouse smiled as he went, and so did Horace, almost without being
aware of it. They had both a certain pleasure in the sufferings of their
victim--a pure amateur enjoyment, entirely distinct from any
consideration of advantage; however, they settled the matter between
them easily and rapidly enough. To be liberal with another man's means
is no difficult matter. Mr. Stenhouse arranged that a sum sufficient for
a year's stipend to the old pitman, at his own terms of ten shillings
a-week, should be paid into the hands of Horace, who undertook to
dispense it; and Horace, on his part, lost no time in demanding from his
new employer a few days' leave of absence before proceeding to his post.
Mr. Stenhouse was very curious to know why this sudden permission was
asked from him--so curious, that he granted it only on condition that
Horace should first be settled in his office, and ascertain the nature
of his new duties. After he had spent a week in Harliflax, perhaps he
might be spared for another week; and as he was going to London, as he
said, why, Harliflax was so much nearer London than Kenlisle, and indeed
on the way. With which decision Horace chafing considerably, but
compelled to assent, had no alternative but to declare himself
satisfied. It was so arranged accordingly. Mr. Pouncet, when he
returned, put his name to the required check, which certainly committed
him to nothing, and might indeed appear nothing but a gratuity to the
clerk who was about to leave him; and Horace put twenty pounds out of
the six-and-twenty in his own pocket. Not that he meant to defraud the
pitman, or anybody else, but he was completely indifferent whether the
money he used for his own immediate purposes was his own, or Mr.
Pouncet's, or the property of old Adam. He made full arrangement to have
the weekly stipend paid to the old miner. He saw him indeed, paid him
the first instalment himself, and persuaded the poor pensioner that his
own bounty was the immediate source of this little income; his own
bounty, subject to the approval of the young Squire. Then having done
this Christian office, and procured for the ungrateful Mr. Pouncet the
unwilling virtue of doing good by stealth, Horace, with Mr. Pouncet's
twenty pounds in his pocket, started on his journey to Harliflax, full
of hope, ambition, and expectation, with Doctors' Commons and the
unknown will occupying most of his thoughts. But a week--no more--and
he should know what was his "singular and unhappy fortune," and what the
mysterious document which was supposed to have influenced him in his
earliest childhood, and had broken all ties of nature between himself
and his father, actually was.