It is strange how we all go grinding the fate of each other in this
world, high and low, rich and poor, the cottage tenant and the lord of
the mansion, all jostling each other, and without knowing it, each
making his fellow take a step this way or that, which very much
influences the onward path. All was cheerfulness and gaiety at
Tarningham Park. Mary Clifford had assured Ned Hayward that her
mother's consent would not only be given, but given cheerfully, that
her guardians, whose period of rule was so nearly at an end, would
raise no objection, and that all who loved her would be glad to see
her the promised bride of one so well worthy of esteem. Nor was her
promise unaccomplished; for good Mrs. Clifford was delighted. Ned
Hayward had ever been a great favourite of hers ever since he had come
to her rescue in Tarningham-lane. The guardians were quite quiescent,
replying to the letter of announcement, that whatever Miss Clifford
judged for her own happiness and received her mother's consent, would
insure their approbation. Sir John was in an ecstasy, and Isabella in
the midst of her own happiness, felt happier still at that of her
cousin. Daily letters were received from Beauchamp all breathing joy
and hope, and though lawyers were troublesome and men of business
dilatory, yet not one word was said, not one thought seemed to be
entertained of any real danger or difficulty.
All then was cheerfulness and gaiety at Tarningham Park, and not one
of its inmates had the slightest idea of the anxiety and alarm which
were felt for them in a cottage not far off. Every morning and every
evening long consultations were held between Widow Lamb and her
son-in-law regarding the fate of Mr. Beauchamp, and just in proportion
to their ignorance of the habits of the world were the difficulties
that presented themselves to their imaginations. Stephen Gimlet was
anxious to act in some direction. Mr. Beauchamp, as he still
frequently called him, being absent, he thought it would be better to
say all that they had to say, to Sir John Slingsby, or at all events
to Captain Hayward; but on the contrary his mother-in-law, with longer
experience, a disposition naturally timid and cautious, and upon the
whole better judgment, insisted that it might be wrong or dangerous to
do so.
"You cannot tell, Stephen," she said, "what this good young lord has
told them and what he has not. We cannot even be sure how this woman
stands with him. He may have divorced her for ought we know. I am sure
her conduct has always been bad enough; and if such should be the case
we might make the poor young lady unhappy when there is no need.
Nobody even can guess at all the mischief that might happen. No, no,
you watch closely for the young lord's coming back, and as soon as
ever he is here, you and I will go up and speak to him. He must be
back in time for that, and I dare say he will come on Saturday night,
so there will be plenty of time."
It was one of Stephen Gimlet's maxims, and a very good one, too, that
there never is plenty of time; but he carried the matter somewhat too
far, for he thought one could never do too much. Now that is a very
great mistake; for in love, politics, and ambition, as in the roasting
of a leg of mutton, you can remedy the _meno_, but you cannot remedy
the _piu_. However, to make up for not doing what his mother-in-law
would not let him do--and in regard to Beauchamp she had the whip hand
of him, for she did not let him into her secrets--he busied himself
every spare moment that he had in watching the proceedings of Captain
Moreton and the fair lady he had with him. His long familiarity with
beasts and birds, greatly affected his views of all things, and he got
to look upon these objects of his contemplation as two wild animals.
He internally named one the fox and the other the kite, and with the
same sort of shrewd speculation in regard to their manners, habits,
and designs, as he employed upon brutes, he watched, and calculated,
and divined with wonderful accuracy. One thing, however, he forgot,
which was, that a human fox has a few more faculties than the mere
brute; and that, although the four-legged fellow with the brush might
require great caution in any examination of his habits and
proceedings, Captain Moreton might require still more. Now that worthy
gentleman very soon found out that there was an observant eye upon
him, and he moreover discovered whose eye that was. There could not
have been a more unpleasant sensation to Captain Moreton than to feel
himself watched, especially by Stephen Gimlet; for he knew him to be
keen, shrewd, active, decided, persevering, one not easily baffled,
and by no means to be frightened; one, who must be met, combated,
overcome in any thing he undertook, or else suffered to have his own
way. Captain Moreton was puzzled how to act. To enter into open war
with Stephen was likely to be a very dangerous affair; for the
proceedings of the worthy captain, as the reader may suppose, did not
court public examination; and yet to suffer any man to become
thoroughly acquainted with all his in-comings and out-goings, was very
disagreeable and might be perilous. To gain time, indeed, was the
great thing; for Moreton's intention was, as soon as he had fairly
seen his cousin married to Isabella Slingsby, to take his departure
for another land, and to leave the consequences of the situation, in
which he had placed Lord Lenham, to operate, as he thoroughly believed
they would operate, in destroying health, vigour, and life. His only
object in remaining at all was so to guide the proceedings of his fair
companion, and to restrain her fiery and unreasoning passions, as to
prevent her overthrowing his whole scheme by her intemperate haste.
But how to gain the necessary time was the question. He first changed
his haunts and his hours, went out on the other side of the heath; but
Stephen Gimlet was there; took his walk in the early morning, instead
of late in the evening; but the figure of Stephen Gimlet was seen in
the gray twilight, whether it was day-dawn or sunset; and Captain
Moreton became seriously uneasy.
Nothing, however, as yet appeared to have resulted from all this
watching, till, on the Saturday morning, somewhat to Captain Moreton's
surprise, the door of the room, where he was sitting alone, was
opened, and in walked his friend and acquaintance, Harry Wittingham.
The young man was exceedingly pale; but still he appeared to move
freely and without pain or difficulty; and a look of real pleasure
came up in Captain Moreton's face, which completely deceived Mr.
Wittingham, junior, as to the sensations of his friend towards him. He
fancied, as Captain Moreton shook him warmly by the hand, and declared
he was delighted to see him well again, that the other was really glad
at his recovery. Now Harry Wittingham might have been wounded, sick,
dying, dead, buried, turned into earth again, without Captain
Moreton's caring one straw about him, simply as Harry Wittingham _per
se_; but as one who might be serviceable in his schemes, who might
help him out of a difficulty, and, by taking part in a load of danger,
might help Captain Moreton to bear the rest, he was an object of great
interest to the captain, who, congratulated him again and again upon
his recovered health, made him sit down, inquired particularly into
all he had suffered, and did and said all those sorts of things which
were most likely to make a man thus convalescent believe that a
friendly heart had been greatly pained by all he had undergone.
Harry Wittingham was soon seated in an armchair, and making himself
quite at home. Contrary to the advice of all doctors, he indulged in a
glass of brandy-and-water at the early hour of half-past ten, and
declared he was a great deal better for it, that old fool Slattery
having kept him without wine, spirits, or porter for the last five
weeks.
"Ay, that might be necessary some time ago," said Moreton, "till your
wound was healed, but it is all stuff now. It must have been a bad
wound that you have got, Harry; and I am devilish sorry I could not be
down myself, for I think then you would have got no wound at all.
However, you gave him as good as you got, and that was some
consolation. No gentleman should ever be without his revenge, whether
it be with cards, or pistols, or what not, he should always give
something for what he gets, and if he does that, he has every reason
to be satisfied."
"I have not got quite enough yet," said Harry Wittingham, with a
significant nod of his head; "and some people shall find that by and
by."
"Ay, that's right, quite," answered Captain Moreton; "but I say, Hal,
how is the old cock, your father? I heard yesterday he was breaking
sadly--got the jaundice, or some devil of a thing like that--as yellow
as one of the guineas he keeps locked up from you--time for him to
take a journey, I should think."
For a minute or two Harry Wittingham made no reply, but then he set
his teeth hard and said,
"I should not wonder if the hard-hearted old flint were to leave it
all away from me."
Captain Moreton gave a long, low whistle, exclaiming, "Upon my life,
you must stop that. Hang me, if I would not pretend to be penitent and
play a good boy for a month or two."
"It is no use in the world," answered Harry Wittingham; "you might as
well try to turn the Thames at Gravesend as to put him out of his
course when once he has taken a thing into head. He must do what he
likes, he can't take it all, that's one comfort; but I say, Moreton,
what the devil is that fellow Wolf hanging about here for? You had
better not have any thing to do with him, I can tell you. He is as
great a scamp as ever lived, and I'll punish him some day or another.
I should have come in yesterday, but I saw him sitting down there upon
the mound upon the heath, looking straight here, and so I went away."
"Did you see him again to-day?" asked Captain Moreton, with very
uneasy feelings.
"Oh, yes," answered Wittingham, "there he was prowling about with his
gun under his arm; but I doubled upon him this time, and went down the
lanes, and in by the back way."
"I will make him pay for this," said Moreton, setting his teeth. "He
has been spying here for a long time, and if it was not that I don't
wish any fuss till the day after to-morrow is over, I would break
every bone in his skin."
"It would be a good thing if you did," answered Harry Wittingham;
"I'll tell you how he served me;" and he forthwith related all the
circumstances of his somewhat unpleasant adventure with Stephen Gimlet
when he visited the gamekeeper's cottage.
The moment he had done, Captain Moreton tapped him on the arm with a
meaning smile, saying,
"I'll tell you what, Harry, though you are not very strong yet, yet if
you are up to giving me ever so little help, we'll punish that fellow
before to-morrow's over. If you can come here to-night and take a bed,
we'll get up early and dodge him as he has been dodging us. He is
always out and about before any body else, so that there will be no
one to help him let him halloo as loud as he will. He is continually
off Sir John's ground with his gun and dog, so that we have every
right to think he is poaching, as he used to do."
"Well, but what will you do with him?" said Harry Wittingham; "he is
devilish strong remember."
"Yes, but so am I," answered Captain Moreton; "and I will take him
unawares, so that he cannot use his gun. Once down, I will keep him
there, while you tie his arms, and then we will bundle him over here,
and lock him up for a day or two."
"Give him a precious good hiding," said young Wittingham, "for he well
deserves it; but I don't see any use of keeping him. If we punish him
well on the spot, that's enough."
"There's nothing that you or I can do," answered Captain Moreton,
"that will punish him half so much as keeping him here till noon on
Monday, for now I'll let you into one thing, Harry: I am looking out
for my revenge upon some other friends of ours, and I have a notion
this fellow is set to watch every thing I do, with promise of devilish
good pay, if he stops me from carrying out my plan. It will all be
over before twelve o'clock on Monday; and if we can keep him shut up
here till then, he will lose his bribe, and I shall have vengeance.
You can give him a good licking, too, if you like, and nobody can say
any thing about it if we catch him off old Sir John's grounds."
"I don't care whether they say any thing about it or not," answered
Harry Wittingham; "they may all go to the devil for that matter, and
I'll lend a hand with all my heart. But remember, I'm devilish weak,
and no match for him now; for this wound has taken every bit of
strength out of me."
"Oh, you'll soon get that up again," answered Captain Moreton; "but
I'll manage all the rough work. But how do you get on about money if
the old fellow gives you none?"
"I should be devilishly badly off, indeed," replied the young man, "if
our old housekeeper did not help me; but she has taken her money out
of the bank, and is selling some things for me; so I must not forget
to let her know that I am here if I come to-night."
"Oh, I'll take care of that," answered Captain Moreton. "There's a boy
brings up my letters and things, a quiet, cunning little humpbacked
devil, who whistles just like a flageolet, and says very little to any
body. I'll tell him to go and tell old mother what's-her-name slyly,
that you are here if she wants you."
The whole scheme seemed palatable to Harry Wittingham, and he entered
into the details with great zest and spirit, proposing several
improvements upon Captain Moreton's plan, some of which suited that
gentleman quite well. Another glass of brandy-and-water was added, and
Harry Wittingham declared that it was better than all the doctor's
stuff he had swallowed since he was wounded, for that he was already
much better than when he came, and felt himself quite strong again.
After an hour's rambling conversation upon all sorts of things not
very gentlemanly either in tone or matter, the two worthy confederates
parted.
As the visitor took his way back to Buxton's Inn, he looked boldly
round for Stephen Gimlet with a pleasant consciousness of coming
vengeance; but the gamekeeper was not to be seen, and meditating the
pleasant pastime laid out for the following day, Mr. Wittingham
reached the inn, and ordered a very good dinner as a preparation. He
felt a little feverish, it is true, but nevertheless he drank the
bottle of stiff port which was placed on the table when dinner was
served; and elated with wine, set out as soon as it was dark to take
part once more in one of those schemes of evil which suited too well
his rash and reckless disposition, little knowing that all the time he
was the mere tool of another.