We will go back, if it pleases the reader; for fortunately, it
happens, that, in a work of this character, one can go back. Oh, how
often in human life is it to be wished, that we could do the same!
What deeds, done amiss, would then be rectified! What mistakes in
thought, in conduct, in language, would then be corrected! What evils
for the future avoided! What false steps would be turned back! What
moral bonds shackling our whole being, would not then be broken! I do
believe, that, if any man would take any hour out of any period of his
life, and look at it with a calm, impartial, unprejudiced eye, he
would feel a longing to turn back and change something therein: he
would wish to say more, than he had said--or less--to say it in a
different tone--with a different look--or he would have acted
differently--he would have yielded--or resisted--or listened--or
refused to listen--he would wish to have exerted himself
energetically--or to have remained passive--or to have meditated ere
he acted--or considered something he had forgotten--or attended to the
small, still voice in his heart, when he had shut his ears. Something,
something, he ever would have altered in the past! But, alas! the past
is the only reality of life, unchangeable, irretrievable,
indestructible; we can neither mould it, nor recall it, nor wipe it
out. There it stands for ever: the rock of adamant, up whose steep
side we can hew no backward path.
We will turn back to where we left Doctor Miles and Beauchamp. Issuing
forth from the church, and, passing round Stephen Gimlet's cottage,
they found the worthy clergyman's little phaeton standing by the two
horses which Beauchamp had brought from Tarningham Park. Orders were
given for the four-wheeled and four-footed things to follow slowly;
and the two gentlemen walked forward on foot, the younger putting his
hand lightly through the arm of the elder, as a man does, when he
wishes to bespeak attention to what he is going to say.
"I have been looking at those monuments with some interest, my dear
doctor," said Beauchamp, after they had taken about twenty steps in
advance; "and now I am going to make you, in some degree, what, I dare
say, as a good Protestant divine, you never expected to become--my
father-confessor. There are several things, upon which I much wish to
consult you, as I have great need of a good and fair opinion and
advice."
"The best that it is in my power to give, you shall have, my young
friend," answered Doctor Miles; "not that I expect you to take my
advice, either; for I never yet, in the course of a long life, knew
above two men, who did take advice, when it was given. But that is not
always the fault of the giver; and, therefore, mine is ever ready,
when it is asked. What is it you have to say?"
"More, I fear, than can be well said in one conversation," answered
Beauchamp; "but I had better begin and tell a part, premising, that it
is under the seal of confession, and therefore----"
"Shall be as much your own secret, as if it had not been given to me,"
said Doctor Miles; "go on."
"Well, then, for one part of the story," said Beauchamp, with a smile
at his old companion's abruptness; "in the first place, my dear
doctor, I am, in some sort, an impostor; and our mutual friend,
Stanhope, has aided the cheat."
Doctor Miles turned round sharply, and looked in his face for a
moment; then nodded his head, as he saw there was no appearance of
shame in the expression, and gazed straightforward again, without
saying a word.
"To make the matter short, my good friend," continued his companion,
"my name is not Beauchamp at all, nor any thing the least like it."
"_Nom de guerre_," said Doctor Miles; "pray, what may the war be
about?"
"Of that hereafter," said Beauchamp--"for I shall still continue to
call him by the name which he repudiated. You have seen, that I have
been somewhat anxious to purchase this Moreton Hall property, and am
still anxious to do so, though I have received a little bit of news on
that subject to-day, which may make me very cautious about the
examination of titles, &c. This intelligence is, that the ostensible
proprietor is not the real one; your acquaintance, Mr. Wharton, having
become virtually possessed of the property, perhaps, by not the
fairest means."
"Humph!" said Doctor Miles; but he added nothing further, and
Beauchamp went on.
"Poor Mr. St. Leger Moreton," he said, "was by no means a man of
business, an easy, kind-hearted, somewhat too sensitive person."
"I know, I know," answered Doctor Miles, "I was well acquainted with
him; and if ever man died of a broken heart, which is by no means so
unusual an occurrence as people suppose, he did so."
"I believe it," answered Beauchamp; "but, at all events, he was not a
man, as you must know, to ascertain, that he was dealt fairly by. His
son, I am sorry to say, was willing to do any thing for ready money--I
say any thing, for I do not know that act to which he would not have
recourse for any object that he sought to gain."
"You seem to know them all thoroughly," said Doctor Miles, drily; and
he then added in a warmer tone, "I will tell you what, my dear Sir,
this Captain Moreton is one of those men who make us ashamed of human
nature. Born to a fine estate, the son of an excellent woman and
amiable man, though a weak one, he went on corrupting himself and
every one else, from boyhood to youth, and from youth to manhood. He
is the only man I have ever known without one principle of any kind,
or one redeeming point. There is but one thing to be said in his
excuse, namely, that his great aunt, old Miss Moreton, who went to
Scotland, and left him a small property there of about a thousand a
year, which he dissipated totally in eleven weeks after he got it,
spoiled him from his infancy, pampered, indulged, encouraged him in
the most frightful manner. Even his vices became virtues in her eyes;
so that there is not much marvel that he became a gambler, a
_débauchée_, a duellist, and a scoundrel. People may consider that his
courage and his talents were redeeming qualities, but I look upon them
as none. They were only energies, which carried him on to deeper
wickedness and infamy. He is now, I believe, a common sharper and
swindler."
"I have let you go on, doctor," said Beauchamp, "because you have not
said one word that is not just; but yet I must tell you, that this
gentleman is my first cousin, and, unfortunately, heir to my estates
and name."
Doctor Miles halted suddenly, and looked at his companion with some
surprise.
"This takes me unprepared," he said; "I never heard of his having more
than one cousin, namely, the present Lord Lenham; and he, I
understood, was travelling in India for pleasure--a curious place to
go for pleasure--but all men have their whims."
"It was not exactly a whim that led me thither, my dear doctor," said
Beauchamp; "from the time I was twenty-one years of age up to the
present hour, I have been a wanderer over the face of the earth,
expiating in bitterness of heart one early error. I have not time now,
and, I may say also, I have not spirits at the present moment to enter
into the long detail of my past history. Let it suffice for the
present to say, that a species of persecution, very difficult to avoid
or bear, made me for many years a stranger to my native country. I
visited every part of Europe and America, and then thought I would
travel in the East, visiting scenes full of interest both from their
novelty, in some respects, and from the vast antiquity to which their
history and many of their monuments go back. As I found that all my
movements were watched for the purpose of subjecting me to annoyance,
I thought my residence in India a favourable opportunity for dropping
my title and assuming another name, and have ever since gone by that
of Beauchamp. During these wanderings my income has far exceeded my
expenditure; a large sum of money has accumulated, and, on my return
to England, I was advised to invest it in land. My attention was first
directed to this estate, which I am desirous of purchasing, by finding
a letter at my agents from my cousin Captain Moreton, expressing great
penitence for all that has passed, professing a desire to retrieve his
errors, lamenting the loss of the family property, and asking for a
loan of five thousand pounds.
"I hope you did not give it him," cried Doctor Miles. "His penitence
is all feigned; his reformation false; the money would go at the
gambling-table in a week. I am not uncharitable in saying so, for I
have had the opportunity of ascertaining within this month, that the
man is the same as ever."
"So I found on making inquiries," rejoined Beauchamp, "and
consequently I refused decidedly. This refusal brought a most insolent
and abusive letter, of which I took no notice; but having received
intimation that the man is married, I made up my mind to the following
course: to purchase this property, and, if he have any children, to
make it the condition of my giving him pecuniary assistance, that he
shall give up one of them to be educated entirely by myself. Having
insured that all shall be done to make that child a worthy member of
society, I would settle the Moreton estate upon it, and thus, at all
events, leave one of my name in a situation to do honour to it."
"A kind plan, and a good one," said Doctor Miles; "but yet people will
call it a whimsical one, and wonder that you do not marry yourself and
transmit your property and name to children of your own."
A bright and cheerful smile came upon Beauchamp's face.
"Hitherto, my dear doctor," he said, "that has been impossible. The
obstacles, however, are now removed--at least, I believe so; and,
perhaps, some day I may follow the course you suggest, but that will
make no difference in regard to my intention. If I have children of my
own, they will have more than enough for happiness, and having
conceived a scheme of this kind, I never like to abandon it. I will
therefore purchase this property, if it can be ascertained that Mr.
Wharton's title is perfectly clear; but perhaps you, as the clergyman
of two parishes here, can obtain proofs for me, that all the
collateral heirs to the estate, under the entail made by Sir Charles
Moreton, are extinct beyond all doubt. Under those circumstances, the
sale by my uncle and his son would be valid."
"Wharton would not have bought it without he was sure," said Doctor
Miles.
"The sum actually paid was very small," replied Beauchamp, in a
peculiar tone, "all the rest went to cover a debt, real or pretended,
of Mr. Wharton's own, but here we are at the gates of the park, and so
I must bring our conference to an end. To-morrow or the next day I
will tell you more of my personal history, for there are other
subjects on which I must consult you. Do you know who this is riding
up so fast?"
"A fool," said Doctor Miles; and almost as he spoke, a young,
fresh-coloured man, dressed in a green coat and leather breeches, and
mounted on a splendid horse, with a servant behind him, cantered up,
and sprang to the ground.
"I don't know--ah--whether I have the honour of speaking to Mr.
Beauchamp--ah," he said, in a self-sufficient tone.
Beauchamp bowed his head, saying, "The same, Sir."
"Then, Sir--ah--my name is Granty--ah--and you see--ah--I have
been referred to you--ah--as the friend of a certain Captain
Hayward--ah--in reference to a little affair--ah--between him and my
friend Harry Wittingham--ah--whom he threatened to horsewhip--ah."
"If he threatened," answered Beauchamp, in a calm tone, "he is a very
likely man to fulfil his words--but I think, Sir, we had better speak
upon this subject alone, as Captain Hayward has put me in possession
of his views. This is my friend, Doctor Miles, a clergyman."
"Oh, yes, I know Doctor Miles--ah," said Mr. Granty, "a very good
fellow, aren't you, Miles--ah?"
"No, Sir, I am not," answered Doctor Miles; "but now, Mr. Beauchamp, I
will leave you, as you seem to have some pleasant conversation before
you;" and shaking Mr. Beauchamp by the hand without any further
apparent notice of what he had heard, Doctor Miles walked to the side
of his carriage and got in, honouring Mr. Granty with the sort of
cold, stiff bow that a poker might be supposed to make if it were
taught to dance a minuet. But Doctor Miles had noticed all that had
passed, and did not forget it.
And now, dear reader, we will put our horses into a quicker pace, leap
over all the further conversation between Mr. Beauchamp and Mr.
Granty, and also an intervening space of two days, merely premising
that, during that period, from a great number of knots on the tangled
string of events, neither Mary Clifford nor Isabella Slingsby had any
opportunity of speaking to Mr. Beauchamp for more than two minutes in
private. Those two minutes were employed by Miss Clifford, to whose
lot they fell, in telling him, with a hesitating and varying colour,
that she very much wished for a short conversation with him. Beauchamp
was surprised, but he answered with courtesy and kindness, and wished
her to proceed at once. Sir John Slingsby was upon them the next
moment, however, and the matter was deferred.
Thus went the two days I have mentioned, but on the morning of the
third, just about half-past five, when every body but skylarks are
supposed to be asleep, Mr. Beauchamp and our friend Ned Hayward
entered the small meadow just under the trees by the palings of
Tarningham Park, on the side next to Tarningham, near the spot where
the river issued forth into the fields on its onward progress. They
were followed by a man, carrying a mahogany case, bound with brass,
and a gentleman in a black coat, with a surgical air about him; for
strange human nature seldom goes out to make a hole in another piece
of human nature, without taking precautions for mending it as soon as
made.
Beauchamp took out his watch and satisfied himself that they were to
their time, spoke a few words to the surgeon, unlocked the mahogany
box, looked at some of the things it contained, and then walked up and
down the field with Ned Hayward for a quarter of an hour.
"This is too bad, Hayward," he said, at length; "I think we might very
well now retire."
"No, no," said Hayward, "give him law enough, one can never tell what
may stop a man. He shall have another quarter of an hour. Then if he
does not come, he shall have the horsewhipping."
Ten minutes more passed, and then two other gentlemen entered the
field, with a follower, coming up at a quick pace, and with heated
brows.
"Beg pardon, gentlemen--ah," said Mr. Granty, advancing; "but we have
had the devil's own work--ah--to get the tools--ah. My friend
Wittingham was knocked down by a fellow--ah--that he was sending for
cash, so that I had to furnish--ah--"
"Never mind all this," said Beauchamp, "you are now here, though you
have kept my friend waiting. We had better proceed to business at
once, as I have had a hint that from a slight indiscretion on your
part, Sir, in mentioning this matter before a clergyman, inquiries
have been made which may produce inconvenient results."
Mr. Granty was somewhat nettled; but neither Beauchamp nor Hayward
attended to any of his 'ahs;' the ground was measured, the pistols
loaded, the two gentlemen placed on their ground, and then came the
unpleasant "one--two--three." Both fired instantly, and the next
moment Harry Wittingham reeled and dropped. Beauchamp thought he saw
Ned Hayward waver slightly, more as if the pistol had recoiled
violently in his hand than any thing else; but, as soon as his
antagonist fell, the young officer ran up to him, stooped and raised
his head.
The surgeon came up directly and opened the wounded man's coat and
waistcoat as he lay with his face as pale as ashes. At the same
moment, however, there was a cry of "Hie, hie," and turning round,
Beauchamp saw the poor little pot-boy, Billy Lamb, scampering across
the field as hard as he could go.
"Run, run," cried the boy; "there are the magistrates and the
constables all coming up--run over by the style there; I brought the
chaise to the end of the lane.
"I can't go," said Ned Hayward, "till I hear what is to come of this."
"You had better go," said the surgeon, looking up; "it does not seem to
me to be dangerous, but you may get into prison if you stay. No, it
has shattered the rib, but passed round. He will do well, I think.
Run, run; I can see the people coming."
Beauchamp took Ned Hayward's arm and drew him away. In two minutes
they had reached the chaise and were rolling on; but then Ned Hayward
leaned back somewhat languidly, and said,
"I wish, Beauchamp, you would just tie your handkerchief tight round
my shoulder here, for it is bleeding more than I thought, and I feel
sickish."
"Good Heavens! are you hurt?" exclaimed Beauchamp, and opening his
waistcoat, he saw that the whole right side of his shirt was steeped
in blood.