The Letter.
We left Sir John Slingsby with an exclamation in his mouth. An
expression of wonder it was, at what could have become of his friend
Ned Hayward, and the reader may recollect that it was then about ten
o'clock at night. Quitting the worthy baronet in somewhat abrupt and
unceremonious haste, we hurried after the young officer ourselves, in
order to ascertain his fate and fortune with our own eyes; and now,
having done that, we must return once more to Tarningham-park, and
make an apology to Sir John, for our rude dereliction of his house and
company. He is a good-natured man, not easily put out of temper, so
that our excuses will be taken in good part; nor was he inclined to
make himself peculiarly anxious or apprehensive about any man on the
face of the earth; so that, even in the case of his dear friend Ned
Hayward, he let things take their chance, as was his custom, trusting
to fortune to bring about a good result, and philosophically
convinced, that if the blind goddess did not choose to do so, it was
not in his power to make her. During the evening he had once or twice
shown some slight symptoms of uneasiness when he looked round and
remarked his guest's absence; he had scolded his daughter a little,
too, for not singing as well as usual; and, to say the truth, she had
deserved it; for, whether it was the story told by the gentlemen on
their return from the dining-room had frightened her--it not being
customary at Tarningham-house to have shots fired through the
windows--or whether it was that she was uneasy at Captain Hayward's
prolonged absence, she certainly did not do her best at the piano.
Sing as ill as she would, however, Mary Clifford, who sang with her,
kept her in countenance. Now Mary was a very finished musician, with
an exceedingly rich, sweet-toned voice, flexible, and cultivated in a
high degree, with which she could do any thing she chose; so that it
was very evident that she either did not choose to sing well, or else
that she was thinking of something else.
But to return to Sir John. Perhaps, if we could look into all the dark
little corners of his heart--those curious little pigeonholes that are
in the breast of every man, containing all the odd crotchets and
strange feelings and sensations, the unaccountable perversities, the
whimsical desires and emotions, that we so studiously conceal from the
common eye--it is not at all improbable that we should find a certain
degree of satisfaction, a comfort, a relief, derived by the worthy
baronet, from the unusual events which had chequered and enlivened
that evening; he had looked forward to the passing of the next six or
seven hours with some degree of apprehension; he had thought it would
be monstrous dull, with all the proprieties and decorums which he felt
called upon to maintain before his sister; and the excitement of the
interview with Mr. Wittingham, the examination of Stephen Gimlet, and
the unaccountable disappearance of Ned Hayward, supplied the vacancy
occasioned by the absence of the bottle and jest. Soon after the
gentlemen had entered the drawing-room, Sir John placed his niece and
his daughter at the piano, and engaged Dr. Miles, his sister, and even
Mr. Beauchamp in a rubber at whist; and though from time to time he
turned round his head to scold Isabella for singing negligently, yet
he contrived to extract amusement from the game,--laughing, talking,
telling anecdotes, commenting upon the play of his partner and his
opponents, and turning every thing into jest and merriment. Thus
passed the evening to the hour I have mentioned, when Mrs. Clifford
rose and retired to bed; and the first exclamation of Sir John, after
she was gone, was that which I have recorded.
"It is strange, indeed," said Beauchamp, in reply; "but you know his
habits better than I do, and can better judge what has become of him."
"Indeed, my dear uncle," said Miss Clifford, with an earnest air, "I
think you ought to make some inquiries. I do not think Captain Hayward
would have gone away in so strange a manner, without some
extraordinary motive, and after the alarming circumstance that has
happened to-night, one cannot well be without apprehension."
"A harum-scarum fellow!" answered Sir John; "nobody ever knew what he
would do next. Some wild-goose scheme of his or another; I saw him
once jump off the mole at Gibraltar, when he was a mere boy, to save
the life of a fellow who had better have been drowned, a sneaking
Spanish thief, a half-smuggler and half-spy."
"And did he save him?" exclaimed Miss Clifford, eagerly.
"Oh, to be sure," answered Sir John; "he swims like a Newfoundland
dog, that fellow."
"Your carriage, Sir," said a servant, entering and addressing Mr.
Beauchamp.
"Here, Jones," cried Sir John Slingsby; "do you know what has become
of Captain Hayward? we have not seen him all night."
"Why, Sir John," answered the man, "Ralph, the under-groom, told me he
had met the captain in the park, as he was returning from taking your
note to Mr. Wharton, and that Captain Hayward made him get down,
jumped upon the cob, and rode away out at the gates as hard as he
could go."
"There, I told you so," said Sir John Slingsby, "Heaven only knows
what he is about, and there is no use trying to find it out; but this
is too bad of you, Mr. Beauchamp, ordering your carriage at this hour;
the days of curfew are passed, and we can keep the fire in a little
after sun-down."
"You should stay and see what has become of your friend, Mr.
Beauchamp," said Isabella Slingsby; "I don't think that is like a true
companion-in-arms, to go away and leave him, just when you know he is
engaged in some perilous adventure."
Beauchamp was not proof against such persuasions; but we are all
merchants in this world, trafficking for this or that, and sometimes
bartering things that are of very little value to us in reality for
others that we value more highly. Beauchamp made it a condition of his
stay, that Isabella should go on singing; and Mary Clifford engaged
her uncle in a _tête-à-tête_, while Beauchamp leaned over her cousin
at the piano. The first song was scarcely concluded, however, when the
butler again made his appearance, saying,--
"You were asking, Sir John, what had become of Captain Hayward, and
Stephen Gimlet has just come in to say that he had seen him about an
hour ago."
"Well, well," said Sir John, impatiently, "what, the devil, has become
of him? what bat-fowling exhibition has he gone upon now? By Jove!
that fellow will get his head broken some of these days, and then we
shall discover whether there are any brains in it or not. Sometimes I
think there is a great deal, sometimes that there is none at all; but,
at all events, he is as kind, good-hearted a fellow as ever lived,
that's certain."
"Stephen Gimlet says, Sir John," replied the butler, with his usual
solemnity, "that the captain went out on horseback to hunt down the
man who fired through the window."
"Whew!" whistled Sir John Slingsby, "was it not one of those cursed
fools of game-keepers, shooting a deer?"
"No, Sir John," answered the man, "it was some one who came in on
horseback by the upper gates. Captain Hayward got upon the cob and
hunted him across the moor, till he lodged him in one of the pits on
the other side, and was watching him there by the moonlight when
Stephen Gimlet came up; for he was afraid, if he went in one way, that
he might get out the other."
"Well, have they got him? have they got him?" cried Sir John; "by
Jove! this is too bad, one must have his plate made bomb-proof, if
this is to go on."
"They have not got him, please you, Sir John," replied the butler,
"for when Stephen came up, he and the captain went in, and both got
close up to the fellow, it seems, but he had time to charge his gun,
and he fired straight at them. Wolf--that is, Mr. Gimlet--says he is
sure Captain Hayward is wounded, for the man rode away as hard as he
could go before they could stop him, and the captain jumped upon the
cob and went after him again at the full gallop."
"Where did they go? which way did they take?" exclaimed the baronet,
brustling up warmly; "by Jove! this is too bad, it must be put down!
Tell Matthews and Harrison, and two or three more, to get out horses
as fast as possible--which way did they take?--can't you answer?--have
you got no ears?"
"Stephen said, Sir, that they seemed to go towards Buxton's inn,"
replied the butler, "but he could not well see, for they got amongst
the woods."
"By Jove I'll soon settle this matter," cried Sir John; "I'll just get
on a pair of boots and be off--Mr. Beauchamp, you must stay till I
come back, so come, be friendly, send away your carriage, and take a
bed."
"Upon one condition, Sir John," replied Beauchamp, "that you allow me
to be the companion of your ride."
"No, no," cried Sir John, rubbing his hands, "my dear fellow, you must
stay and protect the ladies."
"Oh, we shall do very well, papa," cried Isabella, "only order all the
doors and windows to be shut, and I will command in camp till your
return."
"There's a hero," cried Sir John Slingsby, "agreed! Jones, Jones, you
dog, tell the boy to take away his horses, and not to come for Mr.
Beauchamp till this time to-morrow night--nay, I insist, Beauchamp--no
refusal, no refusal--capital haunch of venison just ready for the
spit--bottle of Burgundy, and all very proper--every thing as prim as
my grandmother's maiden aunt--but come along, I'll equip you for your
ride--ha, ha, ha, capital fun, by Jove! Ned Hayward's a famous fellow
to give us such a hunt extempore; as good as a bagged fox, and a devil
a deal better than a drag."
Thus saying, Sir John Slingsby rolled out of the room, followed by Mr.
Beauchamp, to prepare themselves for their expedition from a vast
store of very miscellaneous articles, which Sir John Slingby's
dressing-room contained. He was, Heaven knows, any thing but a miser,
and yet in that dressing-room were to be found old suits of clothes
and equipments of different kinds, which he had had at every different
period, from twenty to hard upon the verge of sixty; jack-boots, dress
pumps, hobnailed shoes, Hessians, and pen-dragons, great coats, small
coats, suits of regimentals, wrap-rascals, the complete costume of a
harlequin, which now scarcely would have held one of his thighs, and a
mask and domino. But with each of these pieces of apparel was
connected some little incident, or tale, or jest, which clung
lingering to the old gentleman's memory, associating with events
sweet, or joyous, or comic, sometimes even with sad events, but always
with something that touched one or other of the soft points in his
heart; and he never could make up his mind to part with them. From
these he would have fain furnished his guest with a wardrobe, but
unfortunately the baronet's and Mr. Beauchamp's were of very different
sizes, and he laughingly put away the pair of boots that were offered,
saying, "No, no, Sir John, my shoes will do very well; I have ridden
in every sort of foot-covering under the sun, I believe, from wooden
boots to morocco leather slipper; but I will take this large cloak
that is hanging here, in case we should have to bivouac."
"Ha, ha, ha!" cried Sir John again; "a capital notion; I should not
mind it at all:--light a great fire on the top of the moor, turn our
toes in, and put a bundle of heath under our heads:--we have got
capital heath here. Were you ever in Scotland, Mr. Beauchamp?"
"I was, Sir, once," answered Beauchamp, in a tone so stern and grave,
that Sir John Slingsby suddenly looked up and saw the countenance of
his guest clouded and gloomy, as if something exceedingly offensive or
painful had just been said to him. It cleared up in a moment, however,
and as soon as the baronet was ready they issued forth again and
descended into the hall.
In the meanwhile, Isabella and her cousin had remained sitting near
the piano, both rather thoughtful in mood. For a minute or two each
was silent, busied, apparently, with separate trains of thought. At
length Mary looked up, inquiring, "What do you intend to do,
Isabella?"
"What do you mean, Mary, love?" replied her cousin; "if you mean to
ask whether I intend to marry Ned Hayward, as I have a slight notion
papa intends I should, I say no, at once;" and she laughed gaily.
"Oh, no," answered Miss Clifford; "my question was not half so serious
a one, Isabella; though I do not see why you should not, either. I
only wished to ask whether you intended to sit up or go to bed."
"Why I should not," exclaimed Isabella, gaily, "I can give you twenty
good reasons in a minute. We are both so thoughtless; we should ruin
ourselves in a couple of years; we are both so merry, we should laugh
ourselves to death in a fortnight; we are both so harum-scarum, as
papa calls it, that it would not be safe for one to trust the other
out of his sight; for a thousand to one we should never meet again; he
would go to the East Indies, and I to the West seeking him; and then
each would go to meet the other, and we should pass each other by the
way."
Mary Clifford smiled thoughtfully; and after pausing in meditation for
a moment or two, she answered, "After all, Isabella, I have some
doubts as to whether either of you is as thoughtless as you take a
pleasure in seeming."
"Oh, you do me injustice--you do me injustice, Mary," cried Miss
Slingsby; "I seem nothing but what I am. As to Captain Hayward," she
added, with a sly smile, "you know best, Mary dear. He is your _preux
chevalier_, you know; delivered you from lions and tigers, and giants
and ravishers, and, as in duty bound, has talked to nobody but you all
day."
Mary coloured a little, but replied straightforwardly, "Oh yes, we
have talked a good deal, enough to make me think that he is not so
thoughtless as my uncle says; and I know you are not so thoughtless as
you say you are yourself. But what do you intend to do while they are
gone?"
"O, I shall sit up, of course," answered Isabella; "I always do, till
papa goes to bed. When he has a large party, and I hear an eruption of
the Goths and Vandals making its way hither--which I can always
discover by the creaking of the glass-door--I retreat into that little
room and fortify myself with lock and key, for I have no taste for
mankind in a state of drunkenness; and then when they have roared and
bellowed, and laughed, and quarrelled, and drank their coffee and gone
away, I come out and talk to papa for half an hour, till he is ready
to go to bed."
"But is he always in a very talking condition himself?" asked Mary
Clifford.
"Oh, fie! now, Mary," exclaimed her cousin; "how can you suffer your
mind to be prejudiced by people's reports. My father likes to see
every one happy, and even jovial under his roof--perhaps a little too
much--but if you mean to say he gets tipsy, it is not the case; I
never saw him the least so in all my life; in fact I don't think he
could if he would; for I have seen him drink as much wine as would
make me tipsy twenty times over, without its having any effect upon
him at all--a little gay, indeed; but he is always gay after dinner."
Mary Clifford listened with a quiet smile, but replied not to
Isabella's discourse upon her father's sobriety, merely saying, "Well,
if you sit up, my dear cousin, I shall sit up too, to keep you
company;" but scarcely had the words passed her sweet lips, when in
came Sir John Slingsby and Mr. Beauchamp, the baronet holding a note
open in his hand.
"Ha, ha, ha," he cried, "news of the deserter, news of the deserter,
we had just got to the hall door, horses ready, cloaks on our backs,
servants mounted, plans arranged, a gallop of five or six miles and a
bivouac on the moor before us, when up walks one of the boys from
Buxton's inn with this note from the runaway; let us see what he
says," and approaching the lamp he read by its light several
detached sentences from Ned Hayward's letter, somewhat to the
following effect: "Dear Sir John, for fear you should wonder what has
become of me--so I did, by Jove--I write this to tell you--ah, I knew
all that before--cantered him across the common--earthed him in old
sand-pit--rascal fired at me--not much harm done--chased him along
the road, but lost him at the three turnings--came on here--very
tired--comfortable quarters--particular reason for staying where I
am--over with you early in the morning--Ned Hayward."
"Ah, very well, very well," continued Sir John, "that's all right; so
now Beauchamp, if you are for a game at piquet I am your man; if not,
some wine and water and then to bed. I'll put you under the tutelage
of my man Galveston, who knows what's required by every sort of men in
the world, from the Grand Turk down to the Methodist parson, and he
will provide you with all that is necessary."
Mr. Beauchamp, however, declined both piquet and wine-and-water; and,
in about half-an-hour, the whole party had retired to their rooms; and
gradually Tarningham Hall sank into silence and repose.
One of the last persons who retired to rest was Sir John Slingsby
himself; for, before he sought his own room, he visited the library,
and there, lying on the table where his letters were usually placed,
he found a note, neatly folded and sealed, and directed in a stiff,
clear, clerk-like hand. He took it up and looked at it; laid it down
again: took it up once more; held it, for at least three minutes, in
his hand, as if irresolute whether he should open it or not; and at
length tore open the seal, exclaiming,
"No, hang me if I go to bed with such a morsel on my stomach."
Then, putting it on the other side of the candle, and his glass to his
eye, he read the contents. They did not seem to be palateable; for the
first sentence made him exclaim,
"Pish! I know you my buck!"
After this he read on again; and, though he made no further
exclamation, his brow became cloudy, and his eye anxious. When he had
done, he threw it down, put his hands behind his back, and walked two
or three times up and down the room, stopping every now and then to
gaze at the Turkey carpet.
"Hang him!" he cried at length. "By Jove! this is a pretty affair."
And then he walked up and down again.
"Well, devil take it!" he cried, at length, tearing the note to
pieces, and then throwing the fragments into the basket under
the table, "it will come, some how or other, I dare say. There is
always something turns up--if not, the trees must go--can't be
helped--improve the prospect--landscape gardening--ha! ha! ha!"
And laughing heartily, he rolled off to bed.