THE HON. MRS. BULLIVANT TO CAPTAIN FERRIS.
"My dear Wilton," wrote Mrs. Bullivant to her half-brother a couple of
days subsequently to the events recorded in the last chapter, "I have
some very singular news for you which I lose no time in communicating;
but whether--bearing in mind the peculiar features of the case--you
will be inclined to stigmatize it as bad news or to bless it as good,
seems to me somewhat problematical, and I at once confess that I am
myself at a loss to know in which light to regard it.
"Although my disappointment in the matter of Mr. Cortelyon's will was
so extreme as almost for a time to drive me beyond myself, and to stir
up within me feelings and passions to which I had been a stranger
aforetime, and although I took a silent oath that, come what might, I
would be revenged for what I then regarded, and still regard, as the
vile trick of which I was made the victim; yet am I inclined to think
that had it not been for your persistent fanning of the flame which
just then burnt so fiercely within me, my passion would gradually have
cooled down, my reason would have again found its equipoise, and I
should never have given my sanction to a certain step, the rashness
and futility of which I recognized almost from the moment of agreeing
to it.
"Mind, in writing this I am not imputing any blame to you; or, if
there is any, we share it on equal terms. Your own disappointment was
bitter enough in all conscience to goad you on to do things from
which, at another time and in your calmer moments, you would have
turned away as being not merely useless, but impolitic.
"From the moment you placed young Cortelyon in my hands my almost
insane longing to be revenged for the foul wrong his grandfather had
done me slackened and grew faint, and I recognized with overwhelming
clearness what a blunder we had made and with what a burden I had
saddled myself. Now that I had got the child into my keeping what was
I to do with him? There was the rub. As for carrying out the dark hint
you one day let drop--only by way of trying me, I feel sure, and with
no thought that I would agree to act on it--as you know, I shrank from
it aghast. I have a child of my own, and I could not forget it; and,
little cause as I had to love young C., whatever else might happen to
him his life was absolutely safe so long as he remained under my roof.
But the perplexing question of how to dispose of him was one which
allowed me no rest.
"As you are aware, from the date of the lad's arrival at Homecroft I
put him into the sole charge of Mrs. Balchin (whom, as I have good
reason for knowing, I can thoroughly trust), and kept him wholly
secluded from the rest of the household, for whose benefit I invented
a little fable explanatory of my reasons for acting as I did, but to
what extent they believed it I have no means of knowing.
"If I had been uncomfortable before, you may imagine what effect your
letter had on me in which you informed me that a reward of five
hundred pounds was offered for the recovery of the missing heir. For
the next few days I was like a distracted woman, turning over in my
mind a dozen schemes, each one more wild and impracticable than the
last.
"Then, all at once, the black clouds opened and a way of escape lay
clear before me.
"As I daresay you may remember, not only Mrs. Balchin, but her
husband, is in my service, the latter having acted as my coachman ever
since my marriage. Well, a few mornings ago Balchin received a letter
from a firm of lawyers in New York informing him that a legacy
equivalent to five hundred pounds of English money had been left him
by an uncle lately deceased, but that it would be requisite for him to
go over to the States, and be prepared to prove his identity, before
the money could be paid him. When he came to me and showed me his
letter, and told me all this, I could have found it in my heart to
embrace him.
"Can you guess, _mon cher frère_, what were the first words I said to
myself? They were these: 'Balchin's wife shall keep him company on the
voyage, and with them they shall take young Cortelyon. _But they shall
come back alone?_
"There is no need to trouble you with details. It will be enough to
state that by the evening of the second day after Balchin's receipt of
the letter all arrangements had been made, and the little party of
three were ready to start. They were to have the use of my carriage as
far as Tuxford, where they would join the night coach for the south on
their way to Liverpool, from which port they would sail by the first
available packet for New York, Balchin is a capable man, and I had no
fear about his failing to carry out the instructions laid down for
him. Of course the expenses of the journey, so far as his wife and the
child were concerned, were to be defrayed by me.
"I ought to mention here that I had often heard Mrs. Balchin refer to
her numerous clan of cousins in America, and when I put the case
before her she readily engaged, for a hundred pounds paid down, to get
the boy permanently adopted by one of them. As you know, I could ill
spare any such sum, but I would have made a still greater sacrifice
rather than let the opportunity go by of ridding myself of what had
latterly become the incubus of my life.
"The clocks were striking nine when they started, which would leave
them an hour and a-half for the journey to Tuxford. Balchin was on the
box, with the stable-boy beside him, whom it was necessary to take in
order that he might bring back the carriage. Inside were Mrs. Balchin
and the child, the latter soundly asleep under the influence of a
narcotic. You can but faintly imagine with what an intense feeling of
relief I watched the carriage disappear in the soft darkness of the
autumn night.
"You will be wondering by this time as to the nature of the singular
news which I began this letter by telling you I had to communicate.
You shall now be told it, what I have written so far being merely the
needful introduction thereto.
"Imagine, then, if you can, my feelings of mingled amazement and alarm
when, shortly after ten o'clock, my maid came to tell me that the
carriage had just returned, and that Balchin was very anxious to speak
to me. I ordered him to be at once admitted, and the moment I set eyes
on his face I knew that something had gone amiss, although the mere
fact of his presence there was enough to convince me on that point.
"Without giving him time to speak, I said quickly: 'Where is the
child? Nothing has happened to him I hope?'
"'Only this, ma'am, that we've been robbed of him,' was his reply.
"And so it proved to be. As they were crossing Blaydon Heath they had
been stopped by a masked horseman carrying a pistol in one hand and a
small lantern in the other, who had bidden Balchin bring the carriage
to a halt, on pain of instant death. Naturally the man was much
frightened, seeing that in his wife's purse was not merely the
passage-money for all three, but the hundred pounds given by me for
the purpose just named. But in that respect his fears proved to be
unfounded. Riding up to the carriage window, the horseman first turned
his lantern full on Mrs. Balchin and then on the face of the sleeping
child. 'As I thought, madam, as I thought,' he said. 'I find you here
in possession of property which does not belong to you. With your good
pleasure I will relieve you of it. Nay, no demur, or you will find it
the worse for you. Child-stealing, allow me to remind you, is a crime
punishable with a long term of transportation. Hand the boy over to me
at once, and thank your lucky stars that you are allowed to escape so
easily.'
[Illustration: "The compliments of Captain Nightshade."]
"What could the woman do but comply? Indeed, as she has since told me,
she was nearly frightened out of her wits. Without dismounting, the
horseman opened the carriage door, and the child, still sleeping
soundly, was transferred to him. Placing the boy in front of him, with
one arm round him, he backed his horse from the carriage, and then
addressing Balchin, said, 'You can drive back home, and when you get
there give my compliments to your mistress--the compliments of Captain
Nightshade--and tell her she ought to go down on her knees and thank
me for having saved her from the consequences of a most shameful
crime.' With that he waved his hand, set spur to his horse, and
cantered off.
"Such was the story brought back by Balchin.
"Captain Nightshade, I must tell you, is a notorious highwayman who
for two or three years past has been the terror of this part of
England. For the last six or seven months, however, nothing has been
heard of him, and everybody was hoping that he had seen fit to
transfer his attentions elsewhere.
"Now, tell me this if you can. How did he, of all people in the world,
succeed in discovering that young C. was hidden under my roof, and
that he was about to be smuggled away at that particular time? It is a
question which the oftener I ask it, the more bewildered I become.
Somebody must have acted the part of spy and traitor, but who is that
somebody? and through what mysterious channel did he or she succeed in
communicating my intentions to the highwayman? I have my suspicions in
the matter, but I refrain from inflicting them upon you.
"Captain Nightshade's motive in getting hold of the boy is as plain as
a pikestaff. He will restore him to his friends, and claim the reward
offered for his recovery.
"And after such an ignominious fashion has the scheme of revenge
hatched by you, and in a weak moment acceded to by me, collapsed and
crumbled to pieces. That I should ever have allowed myself to be mixed
up with any such affair seems to me, writing now, wholly
inconceivable; but it merely serves to prove to what lengths a woman
will go when blinded by passion, spite, and the overthrow of her most
cherished hopes.
"Somehow, I have not much fear that the friends of young C., even
should the facts of the case be made known to them, will take any
further steps in the affair. They will not, I am quite sure, if Miss
Baynard has any say in the affair. I could love that girl, Wilton,
were it in my nature to love anybody. And to think that not a shilling
of her great-uncle's wealth will come to her! It is most shameful.
"But enough, I am tired, and must leave till another day my answers to
certain questions which you ask in your last letter.
"Your affectionate sister,
"Onoria Bullivant."