Ned Hayward and Beauchamp pay a visit to Mr. Wittingham.
Man never sees above half of anything, never knows above half of any
thing, never understands above half of any thing; and upon this half
sight, half knowledge, and half understanding, he acts, supplying the
deficiency of his information by a guess at the rest, in which there
is more than an equal chance that he is wrong instead of right. That
is the moral of this chapter.
After Ned Hayward's interview with Stephen Gimlet, alias Wolf, our
friend turned his steps back towards Tarningham, and arrived at the
White Hart by eight o'clock. About three quarters of an hour had
shaved him, dressed him, and brushed his hair, and down he went to the
little parlour in which he had passed the preceding evening just in
time to find Mr. Beauchamp beginning his breakfast. Although the
latter gentleman shook his companion cordially by the hand, and seemed
to look upon his presence in the parlour as a matter of course, Ned
Hayward thought fit to apologise for his intrusion, adding, "I shall
not maroon myself upon you very long, for soon after breakfast I shall
decamp to Sir John Slingsby's."
"I am sorry, I assure you, to lose the pleasure of your society so
soon," replied Beauchamp, and then added, addressing the maid, who had
just brought in some broiled ham, "you had better bring some more cups
and saucers, my good girl."
"And some more ham, and also a cold fowl," added Ned Hayward. "I have
the appetite of an ogre, and if you do not make haste, I must have a
bit out of your rosy cheek, my dear, just to stay my stomach."
"La, Sir!" cried the maid, with a coquettish little titter; but she
ran away to get what was wanted, as if she were really afraid of the
consequences of Ned Hayward's appetite, and as soon as she was gone,
he said,
"I have got news for you, Beauchamp; but I will wait till the room is
clear before I give it. I have been up and out, over the hills and
faraway this morning; so I have well earned my breakfast."
"Indeed!" exclaimed his companion with a look of surprise, "really you
are an active general, but you should have given your fellow-soldiers
information of your movements, and we might have combined operations."
"There was no time to be lost," answered Hayward.
But at that moment the maid returned with the cold fowl; the ham was
still in the rear, and it was not till breakfast was half over that
the young officer could tell his tale. When he had got as far with it
as the first explanations of Mr. Gimlet, Beauchamp exclaimed eagerly,
"And what did it turn out to be?"
"Nothing after all but a love affair," answered Ned. "Now, my dear
Beauchamp, I have as much compassion for all lovers as an old
match-making dowager, and therefore I think it will be better to let
this matter drop quietly."
"Oh, certainly," answered his new friend, "I am quite as
tender-hearted in such matters as yourself; but are you quite sure of
the fact? for this seems to me to have been a very odd way of making
love."
"It was so assuredly," replied Hayward, "but nevertheless the
tale is true. The fact is the young lady is an heiress, the mother
strict--most likely the latter looks for some high match for her
daughter, and will not hear of the youth's addresses. He falls into
despair, and with a Roman courage resolves to carry off a bride.
Unfortunately for his purpose, we come up, and the rape of the Sabines
is prevented; but 'pon my honour, I admire the fellow for his spirit.
There is something chivalrous, nay more, feudal about it. He must
fancy himself some old baron who had a right prescriptive to run away
with every man's daughter that suited him; and, on my life, my dear
Beauchamp, I can go on no further in attempting to punish him for a
deed whose hot and proof spirit shames this milk-and-water age. Oh,
the times of carrying off heiresses, of robbing in cocked hats, and
full-bottomed wigs, of pinking one's adversary under the fifth rib in
Leicester Fields, with gentlemen in high shoes and gold lace for
seconds, and chairmen for spectators, when will they come again? Gone,
gone for ever, my dear Beauchamp, into the same box as our
grandmother's brocade-gown, and with them the last spark of the spirit
of chivalry has expired."
"Very true," answered Beauchamp, smiling at his companion's tirade,
"there was certainly an adventurous turn about those days which saved
them from dulness; but yet there was a primness about them which was
curious, a formality mingling with their wildest excesses, a prudery
with their licentiousness, which can only be attributed to the cut of
their clothes. There is some mysterious link between them, depend upon
it, Hayward, and whether it be that the clothes affect the man, or the
man the clothes, it is not for me to say; but the grand internal
harmony of nature will not be violated, and the spirit of the age is
represented in the coats, waistcoats, and breeches of the people of
the period much better than in all the stupid books written from time
to time to display it."
This was the first sentence that Ned Hayward had ever heard his
companion speak in a jocular tone, but Beauchamp immediately went on
in a graver manner to say, "Yet, after all, I do not see how we can
drop this matter entirely. Far be it from me, of all men on earth, to
persecute another, but yet, having already given information of this
attempt at robbery, as it seemed to us, and tendered our evidence on
oath, we cannot well draw back. A gross offence has indubitably been
committed, not only in the attack upon these two ladies, but also in
the very violent and murderous resistance which was made when we
arrived to their rescue; and this young gentleman should have a
warning at least."
"To be sure, to be sure," answered Ned Hayward, "I have got the pistol
ball singing in my ear now, and I am quite willing to give him a
fright, and old Wittingham too. The latter I will, please Heaven,
torment out of the remnant of seven senses that he has left, for a
more pompous, vulgar old blockhead I never saw; and therefore I should
propose at once--that is to say, as soon as I have done this cup of
coffee--you have finished I see--to go to good Mr. Wittingham's and
belabour him with our small wits till he is nearly like the man who
was scourged to death with rushes."
"Nay, nothing quite so sanguinary as that, I trust," said Beauchamp,
"but I will accompany you willingly and see fair play between you and
the magistrate."
According to this arrangement, as soon as breakfast was over, and Ned
Hayward had given some directions with regard to preparing his horse,
his baggage, and a conveyance for the latter, the two gentlemen
sallied forth to the magistrate's room in the town, where they found
Mr. Wittingham seated with a clerk, the inferior attorney of the
place. The latter was a man well fitted to prompt an ignorant and
self-conceited magistrate in a matter of difficulty, if its importance
were not very great, and he knew all the particulars. He was a little
fat compact man, in form, feature, and expression very like a Chinese
pig. His nose had the peculiar turn-up of the snout of that animal,
his small eyes the same sagacious twinkle, his retreating under-jaw
the same voracious and ever-ready look, and when at all puzzled he
would lift his head and give a peculiar snort, so exceedingly porcine
in its tone, that one could scarcely divest one's self of the idea
that he was one of the mud-loving herd.
On the present occasion, indeed, he was ignorant of the facts of the
case about to be brought before Mr. Wittingham. The latter gentleman
having considered with great solicitude whether he should make him
acquainted with all that had occurred and seek his advice and
co-operation. But Mr. Wittingham was cautious, exceedingly cautious,
as I have already shown, when no strong passion caused him to act in a
decided manner upon the spur of the moment. His natural impulse might
indeed be vehement, and he frequently had to repeat to himself that
sage adage, "The least said is soonest mended," before he could get
himself to refrain from saying a word to the clerk, Mr. Bacon, except
that two men had come to him the night before with a cock-and-a-bull
story about a highway robbery of which he did not believe a word, and
they were to come again that morning, when he should sift them
thoroughly.
Now it is wonderful how the very least bits of art will frequently
betray the artist. Mr. Wittingham merely said, "Two men," which led
his clerk, Mr. Bacon, to suppose that he had never seen either of the
two men before; but when Mr. Beauchamp appeared, in company with Ned
Hayward, and the clerk recollected that the magistrate had very
frequently wondered in his presence, who Mr. Beauchamp could be, and
had directed him to make every sort of inquiry, he naturally said to
himself, "Ha, ha, Wittingham has got something that he wishes to
conceal; if not, why didn't he say at once that Beauchamp was one of
the two. There's a screw loose somewhere, that's clear."
On Ned Hayward the clerk's small eyes fixed with a keen, inquisitive,
and marvelling glance, as with his gay dashing air, half military,
half sporting, firm and yet light, measured and yet easy, he advanced
into the room and approached the table. It was a sort of animal that
Mr. Bacon had never seen in his life before, and he looked just like a
young pig when it sees a stagecoach dash by, standing firm for a
minute, but ready in an instant to toss up its snout, curl up its
tail, and caper off with a squeak as fast as it can go.
"Well, Mr. Witherington," said Ned Hayward, perfectly aware that
nothing so much provokes a pompous man as mistaking his name, "here we
are according to appointment, and doubtless you are ready to take our
depositions, Mr. Witherington."
"Wittingham, Sir," said the magistrate, impressively, laying a strong
emphasis on each syllable, "I beg you'll give me my own name, and
nobody else's."
"Ay, ay, Whittington," said Ned Hayward, with the utmost composure, "I
forgot; I knew it was some absurd name in an old ballad or story, and
confounded you somehow or other with the man in 'Chevy Chase' who
When his legs were smitten off,
He fought upon his stumps.
But I remember now, you're the son of the Lord Mayor of London, the
cat-man."
"No, Sir, no," exclaimed Mr. Wittingham, whose face had turned purple
with rage, "I am not his son, and you must be a fool to think so, for
he died two hundred years ago."
"Oh, I know nothing of history," said Ned Hayward, laughing, "and
besides, I dare say it's all a fable."
"This gentleman's name is Wittingham, Sir," said the clerk, "W-I-T-wit,
T-I-N-G-ting, H-A-M ham, Wittingham."
"Oh, thank you, thank you, Sir," said the young gentleman, "I shan't
forget it now, '_Littera scripta manet_,' Mr. What's-your-name?"
"My name is Bacon, Sir," said the clerk, with a grunt.
"Ah, very well, very well," replied Ned Hayward, "now to business.
Wittingham, Bacon, and Co., I shan't forget that; an excellent good
firm, especially when the junior partner is cut into rashers and well
roasted. We are here, Sir, to tender information upon oath, when it
can no longer be of any avail, which we tendered last night, when it
might have been of avail, in regard to an attempt at highway robbery
committed yesterday evening upon the persons of two ladies in this
neighbourhood, namely, Mrs. Clifford and her daughter."
"Tendered last night, Sir!" exclaimed the clerk, in spite of a
tremendous nudge from Mr. Wittingham, "pray whom did you tender it
to?"
"To the right reverend gentleman on the bench," said Ned Hayward, with
a profound bow to the worthy magistrate; and then looking at him full
in the face with a significant smile, the young gentleman added, "he
refused to take our depositions on secret motives, or information of
his own, which as it was kept in the profound depth of his mind, I
will not pretend to penetrate."
Mr. Wittingham was in a state of most distressing perplexity. His
fears were a powder magazine, Ned Hayward's smile was a spark, and
there was a terrible explosion in his chest, which had nearly blown
the window out.
"I--I--you see, Bacon," he whispered to the clerk, "I thought it was
all nonsense, I was sure it was all nonense--you may see by the
fellow's manner that it is so--Who'd attend to such stuff?"
"I don't know, Sir," said the clerk, "magistrates are bound to take
informations of felonies tendered on oath; but we shall soon see who
he is; we'll swear him," and taking up a paper from the table he began
to write, lifting up his head after a moment and inquiring, "What is
your name and profession?"
"My name is Edward Hayward," answered our friend, "late captain in His
Majesty's 40th regiment, now unattached."
Mr. Wittingham's face grew blanker and blanker. Yamen's own could not
have looked a more russetty brown. He did not know how to interfere
with the clerk, or how to proceed himself; but at length, after sundry
hums and haws, he said, "I think we had better hear the whole story
first, and then take down the deposition if we should find it
necessary. If Mrs. Clifford was robbed, or attempted to be robbed, why
the devil doesn't Mrs. Clifford come to give me information herself? I
see no reason why we should suffer such accounts to be gone into by
deputy. The offence was against Mrs. Clifford, and we shall always be
ready to balance."
"The offence was against the law of the land, Sir," said Mr.
Beauchamp, stepping forward, "and we who witnessed the offence, and
prevented it from being carried further, now come forward to demand
that interference of justice which cannot be refused, without great
danger to those who deny it."
"Well, well," said Mr. Wittingham, "I am not going to deny it; let us
hear your story, and as you are one of the informers, be so good as to
favour us with your name, profession, &c."
"My name, Sir, is Beauchamp," replied the gentleman he addressed,
"profession, I am sorry to say, I have none."
"Ah," said the magistrate drily, but the clerk whispered sharply in
his ear: "He has two thousand pounds in the bank, paid in the day
before yesterday. Jenkins told me last night at the Free and Easy, so
it's all a mistake about his being--you know what."
The clerk had a reverence for gentlemen who had two thousand pounds at
one time in a country bank--much greater reverence than for captains
of infantry unattached; and consequently he proceeded to take Mr.
Beauchamp's deposition first, with all due respect, notwithstanding
every thing Mr. Wittingham could do to embarrass his course of
operations. Then came Ned Hayward's turn, but our good friend thought
fit to be more serious when an oath had been administered, and
delivered his evidence with gravity and propriety. As soon, however,
as Mr. Wittingham began to meddle with the matter again, and to treat
the affair as one of little consequence, and not deserving much
consideration, the spirit of malicious fun seized upon Ned once more,
and he said with a mysterious air, "Sir, I beg you will give this your
most serious attention, for you cannot yet tell what parties may be
implicated. In giving our testimony of course we speak to facts alone.
I have strictly confined myself to what I saw, and have not even
mentioned one circumstance of which I have even a shade of doubt; but
without interfering with your business, Mr. Skittington--for I never
take another man's trade upon me--yet I shall certainly feel myself
called upon to investigate quietly, and by all lawful means, the whole
particulars of this business. That a felony has been committed there
can be no doubt; two pistols were fired at me with intent to take my
life, or do me some grievous bodily harm; one ball went through my
hair, and the matter is a very grave one, which may probably bring
some respectable persons into a noose under a gallows. Look to it,
look to it, Mr. Whittington, for I shall certainly look to it myself."
"Well, Sir, well, do any thing you please," said the magistrate, "I
will do my duty without being tutored by you. I consider your conduct
very disrespectful and--"
But ere he could finish the sentence the door of the justice-room
opened, and a young man entered dressed in the garb of a gentleman.
Mr. Wittingham's face turned as pale as death, and Ned Hayward fixed
his eyes for an instant--a single instant--upon the countenance of the
new comer. It was by no means a prepossessing one, and the expression
was not improved by a black handkerchief being tied over one eye, and
hiding part of the nose and cheek. The young officer instantly
withdrew his eyes, and fixed them sternly on the ground. "This is too
impudent," he thought, and there was a momentary hesitation in his
mind as to whether he should not at once point out the intruder as the
chief offender in the acts lately under discussion. Good-nature,
however prevailed, and while Henry Wittingham advanced straight to his
father's side, and with a look of bold fierceness whispered a word in
his ear, Ned Hayward turned to the door, saying, "Come, Beauchamp, our
business here is over, and I must go up to Sir John Slingsby's."
Beauchamp followed him, after giving a sharp glance at Henry
Wittingham, and at the door of the house they saw a horse standing
which seemed to have been ridden hard.