"Well doctor, well doctor, what is the matter?" asked Sir John
Slingsby, at the door of his own house, towards two o'clock on that
Saturday afternoon; "you look warm, doctor, and not half as dry as
usual. I declare, you have made that fat pony of yours perspire like
an alderman at the Easter ball. What has put you into the saddle? Has
the chaise broken down?"
"No, Sir John," answered Doctor Miles; "but the horse was sooner
saddled than harnessed, and I wanted to see you in haste--where are
you going now? for you are about to mount, I perceive."
"I am going down to set the fools at Tarningham to rights," answered
Sir John Slingsby. "I hear that that bilious old crow, Wittingham, and
deaf old Mr. Stumpforth, of Stumpington, have been sitting for these
two or three hours at the justice-room getting up all sorts of
vexatious cases with Wharton, to torment the poor people of the
parish, and to put them in a devout frame of mind for their Sunday's
duties; so I am going down to put my finger in the pie and spoil the
dish for them. Come along, doctor, and help, for you are a magistrate
too, and a man who does not like to see his fellow-creatures
maltreated. You can tell me what you want as we jog along."
"We shall be going exactly in the right direction," said Doctor Miles,
"for my business with you referred to your magisterial capacity, Sir
John."
The worthy, who had his foot in the stirrup, raised himself into the
saddle with wonderful agility, considering his size and his age; and,
accompanied by Doctor Miles, was soon on his way towards Tarningham,
listening with all his ears to the communication which the rector had
to make.
"You must know, my good friend," said the doctor, "that some short
time ago your gamekeeper, Stephen Gimlet, found in the little vicarage
church at Moreton some one busily engaged, as it appeared, in the
laudable task of altering the registers in the vestry. He locked him
safely in, but the culprit got out in the night; and Gimlet
communicated the fact to me. I would have spoken to you about it, but
circumstances occurred at that time which might have rendered it
unpleasant for you to deal with that business."
"I understand," said Sir John Slingsby, nodding his head
significantly, "who was the man?"
"Why, Gimlet asserts that it was no other than that worst of all bad
fellows, Captain Moreton," replied Doctor Miles. "I examined the
register, and found that an alteration had certainly been committed;
for the date of one of the insertions was advanced several years
before those that followed, by skilfully changing a nought into a six.
Under the circumstances, I thought it best to consult with Wittingham,
and I proposed that a warrant should be issued against Captain
Moreton; but the worthy gentleman thought fit both to examine and
cross-examine Gimlet in the first instance; asked him nine times over
if he would swear that it was Captain Moreton; and, when he found that
he had not seen the man's face, his back being turned to the door of
the vestry when Gimlet went in, he pooh-poohed the whole matter, and
refused to issue the warrant. I did not choose to do so myself, the
event having occurred in a parish of my own, and with one of my
registers, but this morning, on visiting old Grindley, the sexton, who
is very ill, he made a full confession of his part in the affair:
Moreton had bribed him, it seems, to open for him the family vault and
the door of the vestry. In the one the worthy captain altered the date
on his great grandfather's coffin from 1760 to 1766 by an instrument
he seemed to have had made on purpose; and in the vestry performed the
same operation with plain pen and ink."
"A pretty scoundrel," said Sir John Slingsby; "but I know what he
wants. He wants to prove that his mother could not break the entail,
which would be the case if the old man had lived an hour after she was
born."
"Precisely so," said Doctor Miles; "but I did not choose to deal with
Mr. Wittingham any more upon the subject, at least without your
assistance; and therefore before I either signed a warrant myself, or
spoke with the people of Tarningham about it, I thought it better to
come up to the park and consult with you."
"As the wisest man in the county," said Sir John Slingsby, laughing.
"My dear doctor, I will get a certificate from you and qualify for the
university of Gotham--but I will tell you what we will do, we will
send the groom here for Stephen Gimlet, and his evidence, with
the deposition of old Grindley, will soon put the whole matter
right.--Here, Tom, ride over like the devil to Ste Gimlet's cottage;
tell him to come down as fast as his legs will carry him to the
justice-room at Tarningham. We'll soon bring these gentlemen to the
end of their law, and Wharton to boot--an ill-conditioned brute, a
cross between a fox and a turnspit--do you recollect his mother,
doctor? Her legs were just like the balustrades of a bridge, turned
the wrong side upmost, only they bowed out on each side, which gave
them a sort of ogee."
Thus rattling on, Sir John Slingsby rode forward till they reached the
entrance of the little justice-room, which was conveniently situated
immediately adjoining Mr. Wharton's offices.
The appearance of Sir John Slingsby and Dr. Miles did not seem at all
palateable to the two other magistrates and their clerk, if one might
judge by the superlative courtesy of their reception. A chair was
placed immediately for the reverend gentleman, Mr. Stumpforth vacated
his seat for Sir John as president of the magistrates, and Mr.
Wharton, with malevolent sweetness, expressed his delight at seeing
Sir John amongst them again.
"You did all you could to prevent it," said Sir John, taking the
chair, "but it would not do, Wharton. Now, gentlemen, what are you
about? we will not interrupt business."
"There are a good many cases down," said Mr. Wharton; "some of them
excise-cases, some of them under the poor-law, some of them--"
"Well, let us get through them, let us get through them," cried Sir
John, interrupting him, "for we have business, too, which must be
done.
"We must take things in their order," said Mr. Wittingham, drily.
"Oh, yes, according to the ledger," cried Sir John Slingsby, laughing;
"every thing in the regular way of trade, Wittingham, eh? Who's this?
James Jackson, the publican," he continued, looking at the paper;
"well, Wittingham, how does the debtor and creditor account stand with
him?"
Mr. Wittingham winced, but replied nothing; and the case was regularly
taken up. Some nine or ten others followed; and certainly every thing
was done by the two magistrates who had been found sitting, and their
exceedingly excellent clerk to tire out Sir John Slingsby and Dr.
Miles, by protracting the investigation as long as possible. The poor
persons, however, who had been compelled by the power of paper or
parchment to appear in the awful presence of justice, had reason to
thank their stars and did so most devoutly, that the number of
magistrates was increased to four. A number of cases were dismissed as
frivolous; very lenient penalties were inflicted in other instances;
and, if the real truth were told, the person who suffered the severest
punishment under the proceedings of that day was no other than Mr.
Wittingham, upon whom Sir John Slingsby continued to pour for two long
hours all the stores of sarcasm which had accumulated in his bosom
during the last fortnight. At length the magistrates' paper was over,
and worthy Mr. Wittingham showed an inclination to depart; but Sir
John Slingsby stopped him, exclaiming,
"Stay a bit, Wittingham, stay a bit, my good Sir. The case with which
we have now to deal you have already nibbled at; so you must have your
share of it."
"I am ill, Sir John," said Mr. Wittingham, "I am not fit."
"Not fit I have long known you to be," rejoined Sir John, and then
added in a murmur, "for any thing but a tall stool at the back end of
a slopseller's shop; but as to being ill, Wittingham, you don't
pretend to be ill. Why your complexion is as ruddy as if you had
washed your face with guineas out of your strong box. However it is
this business of Captain Moreton and his falsification of the register
at Moreton church that we have to deal with."
"I have already disposed of that," said Mr. Wittingham, sharply, "and
I am not disposed to go into it again."
But it was now Mr. Wharton's turn to attack Mr. Wittingham.
"You have disposed of it, Sir," he exclaimed, with all the blood in
his body rushing up into his face; "the falsification of the registers
of Moreton church! why, I never heard of this!"
"There was no reason that you should," answered Mr. Wittingham,
tartly; "you are not a magistrate, I think, Mr. Wharton; and besides,
you might in some degree, be considered as a party interested.
Besides, you were absent, and so I sent for Bacon and dealt with the
matter myself."
"Fried his bacon and deviled the attorney," said Sir John Slingsby,
with a roar, "you see he is such an active creature, Wharton, he must
be doing whether right or wrong. I declare he cuts out so much matter
for the bench in reversing all his sage decrees, that the rest of the
magistrates can scarcely manage it."
"I did not come here to be insulted, Sir John Slingsby," said Mr.
Wittingham, the jaundiced yellow of his face gradually becoming of an
olive green, "I did not come here to be insulted, and will not stay
for such a purpose; I expect to be treated like a gentleman, Sir."
"Wonderful are the expectations of man," exclaimed the baronet, "just
as much might a chimney-sweeper expect to be treated like an
archbishop, because he wears black--but let us to business, let us to
business, if we go on complimenting each other in this way we shall
not get through the affair to-night, especially with your lucid
assistance, Wittingham; for if there be a man in England who can so
stir a puddle that the sharpest eyes shall not be able to see a lost
half-crown at the bottom, you are the man."
Up started the worthy magistrate, exclaiming in a weak voice and
bewildered air,
"I will not stay, that man will drive me mad."
"Impossible," shouted Sir John Slingsby, as Mr. Wittingham staggered
towards the door; and he then added in a lower tone, "fools never go
mad, they tell me;" but Doctor Miles, who saw that old Wittingham was
really ill, rose from his seat, and crossing the room, spoke a word or
two to the retreating magistrate, which he was not allowed to finish,
for old Wittingham pushed him rudely aside and darted out of the room.
Before I proceed to give any account of the further inquiries of the
three magistrates who remained, I shall beg leave to follow Mr.
Wittingham to his own house. About two hundred yards' distance from
the justice-room he stopped, and leaned for a minute or two against a
post, and again paused at his own gate as if hardly able to proceed.
He reached his own dwelling, however, and after several attempts, with
a shaking hand, succeeded in thrusting his private key into the lock
and opening the door. The hall was vacant; the whole house still;
there was neither wife nor child to receive and welcome him; no
kindred affection, no friendly greeting to soothe and cheer the sick
old man, whose pursuits, whose hopes, whose tendencies through life
had been totally apart from the kindly sympathies of our nature. But
there are times, steel the heart how we may, when a yearning for those
very kindly sympathies will come over us; when the strong frame
broken, the eager energies quelled, the fierce passions dead and still
within us, the strong desires either disappointed or sated, leave us
alone in our weakness, to feel with bitter regret that there are
better things and more enduring than those which we have pursued; and
when the great moral lessons, taught by decay, are heard and listened
to for the first time, when perhaps it is too late to practise them.
That lonely house, that silent hall, the absence of every trace of
warm life and pleasant social companionship, the dull, dead stillness
that pervaded every thing had their effect upon Mr. Wittingham, and a
sad effect it was. All was so quiet and so still; all was so solemn
and so voiceless; he felt as if he were entering his tomb. The very
sunshine, the bright sunshine that, streaming through the fanlight
over the door, fell in long rays upon the marble-floor, had something
melancholy in it, and he thought "It will soon shine so upon my
grave." What was to him then the satisfaction of the greedy love of
gold, that creeping ivy of the heart, that slowly growing, day by day,
chokes every softer and gentler offspring of that on which it rests?
What was to him the gratification of that vanity, which was all that
the acquisition of wealth had satisfied? Nothing, all nothing. He
stood there friendless, childless, companionless, alone; sick at
heart, disappointed in all those expectations he had formed, having
reaped bitterness from the very success of his labours, and finding no
medicine either for the heart or the body in the gold he had
accumulated or the station he had gained.
He paused there for a moment, whilst a deep and bitter anguish of the
regret of a whole life took possession of him, and then staggering on
into the trim, well-arranged, cold and orderly library, he sunk into
one of the arm-chairs by the side of the fireless hearth and rang the
bell sharply. For two or three minutes no one appeared, and then he
rang again, saying to himself,
"There never were such bad servants as mine; ay, ay, it wants a
mistress of a house," and he rang again furiously.
In about a minute after the door opened, and Mrs. Billiter appeared,
and Mr. Wittingham inquired, angrily, why nobody came at his summons?
The housekeeper replied,
"That she thought the footman had come, but finding the bell ring
again she had hastened up herself."
Mr. Wittingham's rage was then turned upon the footman, and after
denouncing him in very vehement terms and condemning him to expulsion
from his household, his anger either worked itself off, or his
strength became exhausted, and he sat for a moment or two in silence,
till Mrs. Billiter quietly began to move towards the door.
"Stay, Billiter," he cried; "what are you going for? I tell you I am
ill, woman, very ill."
"I was going to send for Mr. Slattery," said Billiter, in a cold tone;
"I saw you were ill, Sir."
"Send for the devil!" exclaimed Mr. Wittingham, "that fellow Slattery
is no good at all. Here have I been taking his soap-pills and his
cordial-boluses for these three weeks, and am no better but rather
worse. I will go to bed, Billiter--get me a cup of hot coffee--I feel
very ill indeed."
"You had better see some one," said Mrs. Billiter, "for you don't look
right at all, and it would take some hours to get another doctor."
"Well, well, send for the man if it must be so," said Mr. Wittingham,
"but he does nothing but cram one with potions and pills just to make
up a long bill. Here, help me upstairs, I will go to bed, and bring
me a cup of strong coffee--I declare I can scarcely stand."
As soon as Mr. Wittingham was safely deposited in his room, Mrs.
Billiter descended to the kitchen, and sent the housemaid at once for
Mr. Slattery, taking care to spend as much time as possible on the
preparation of the coffee, not judging it by any means a good beverage
for her master, in which she was probably, right. The surgeon,
however, was so long ere he appeared, that she was obliged to carry up
the coffee to Mr. Wittingham, whom she found retching violently, and
complaining of violent pains. He nevertheless drank the coffee to the
last drop, in the more haste as Mrs. Billiter expressed an opinion it
would do him harm; after having accomplished which he sank back upon
his pillow exhausted, and closed his eyes. The colour of his skin was
now of a shade of deep green, approaching to black under his eyes, and
the housekeeper, as she stood by his bedside and gazed at him, thought
to herself that it would not last long. It must not be pretended that
she was in any degree greatly affected at the prospect of her master's
speedy demise, though she had lived in his service very many years,
for he was not one to conciliate affection in any one, and her
meditations were more of how she could best serve the graceless lad,
whose disposition she had assisted to ruin, than of his father's
probable fate.
While she thus paused and reflected, the quick, creaky step of Mr.
Slattery was on the stairs, and the moment after he entered the room,
rubbing gently together a pair of hands, the fingers of which were fat
and somewhat red, though very soft and shapeless, presenting the
appearance of four long sausages and a short one. He had always a
cheerful air, Mr. Slattery, for he fancied it comforted his patients,
kept up their spirits, and prevented them from sending for other
advice. Thus he would stand and smile upon a dying man, as if he had a
real and sincere pleasure in his friend's exit from a world of woe;
and very few people could discover from the worthy gentleman's
countenance whether a relation was advancing quietly towards recovery
or the tomb. Thus with a jaunty step he approached Mr. Wittingham's
bedside, sat down, and as the sick man opened his eyes, laughed
benignantly, saying,
"Why, my dear Sir, what is all this? You must have been agitating
yourself," and at the same time he put his fingers on the pulse.
"Agitated myself!" cried Mr. Wittingham, "it is that old bankrupt
brute, Sir John Slingsby, has nearly driven me mad, and I believe
these servants will finish it. Why the devil do you leave my wig
there, Billiter? Put it upon the block; don't you see Mr. Slattery is
sitting upon it?"
"Well, I declare," cried the surgeon, "I thought I felt as if I were
sitting upon a cat or something of that kind. But, my dear Sir, you
must really keep yourself quiet or you will bring yourself into a
feverish state. The pulse is hard and quick now, and your skin is very
hot and dry. We must make a little addition to the soap pill, and I
will send you directly a stomachic cordial-draught, combined with a
little narcotic, to produce comfortable sleep."
He still kept his fingers on the pulse, gazing into the sick man's
eyes, till Mr. Wittingham could have boxed his ears, and at length he
said,
"The draught must be repeated every two hours if you do not sleep, so
that you had better have somebody sit up with you to give it you."
"I will have no such thing," said Mr. Wittingham, "I can't bear to
have people pottering about in my room all night; I can take the
draughts very well myself if they are put down by me."
"But they must be shaken before taken," said Mr. Slattery.
"Well, then, I can shake them," said Mr. Wittingham; and the worthy
surgeon, finding his patient obstinate, gave up the point. He
proceeded to ask a variety of questions, however, to which he received
nothing but gruff and grumbling replies, the worthy gentleman
principally insisting upon receiving something which would relieve the
great pain he felt in his side. Thereupon Mr. Slattery undertook to
explain to him all the various causes which might produce that pain;
but the confused crowd of gall-bladders and gall-stones, and indurated
livers, and kidneys, and ducts, and glands, conveyed very little
tangible information to the mind of his hearer, and only served to
puzzle, alarm, and irritate him. At length, however, the surgeon
promised and vowed that he would send him all manner of remedies for
his evils, and spoke in such a confident tone of his being better on
the next day, or the day after, that he left him more composed. The
housekeeper followed Mr. Slattery out of the room, but did not think
fit to make any observation till they reached the foot of the stairs,
when she touched Mr. Slattery gently on the arm and beckoned him into
the dining-room, "He seems in a bad way, Sir," said the housekeeper.
"A case of jaundice, Mrs. Billiter," replied the surgeon, raising his
eyebrows, "which is never very pleasant."
"But I want to know if there is any danger, Mr. Slattery," continued
Mrs. Billiter, "it is very necessary that people should be aware."
"Why, there is always danger in every disease," answered the surgeon,
who abominated a straightforward answer to such questions; but then,
bethinking himself, and seeing that it might be better to be a little
more explicit, he added, "Jaundice, even the green, or black jaundice,
as it is sometimes called, which your master has, is not in itself by
any means a dangerous disease; but there are accidents, which occur in
the progress of an illness, that may produce very fatal results,
sometimes in a moment. This is by no means uncommon in jaundice. You
see the cause of that yellow, or green tint of the skin and eyes is
this, either in consequence of biliary calculi, or the construction
of the ducts leading from the gall-bladder, or pressure upon the
gall-bladder itself. The bile is prevented from flowing, as it
naturally does, into the intestinal canal."
"Lord 'a mercy," cried Mrs. Billiter, "what do I know of all such
stuff? I never heard of people having canals in their inside before,
or ducks either, except when they had eaten them roasted; and that
I'll swear my master hasn't for the last two months. Gall he has, sure
enough, and bitterness too, as the scripture says."
"Wait a moment, wait a moment, and you will see it all clearly
directly," said the worthy surgeon. "As I have said, the bile being
thus prevented from flowing in its natural course is absorbed into the
vascular system; and, as long as it is deposited merely on the mucous
membrane, showing itself, as we see, in the discolouration of the
cuticle, no harm ensues; but the deposition of the smallest drop of
bile on the membranes of the brain acts as the most virulent poison on
the whole nervous system, and sudden death very frequently follows,
sometimes in five minutes, sometimes in an hour or two. Now this was
the reason why I wished you to sit up with him to-night; but, as he
wont hear of it, it can't be helped; and one thing is certain, that
even if you were there, you could do no good, should such a thing
occur; for I know no remedial means any more than for the bite of a
rattlesnake."
"I wish he would see his son," said Mrs. Billiter, "but you told him
he would be better to-morrow or the next day, and so there is no hope
of it; for, unless he is frightened out of his wits, he would fly into
a fury at the very name of the thing."
"Well, wait till to-morrow, wait till to-morrow," said Mr. Slattery,
"and if I see that it won't hurt him, I will frighten him a bit. I
don't see that there is any danger just at present, if he keeps
himself quiet; and he must not be irritated on any account. However,
if I were you, I would be ready to go to him directly, if he rings his
bell; and in the meantime I'll send him the composing draught."
Notwithstanding Mr. Slattery's composing draughts, Mr. Wittingham
passed a wretched night. He was feverish, heated, full of dark and
horrible fancies, hearing the blood going in his head like a mill, and
thinking of every thing that was miserable within the whole range of a
not very extensive imagination. He bore it obstinately, however, for
some hours, taking the potions by his bedside, within even less than
the prescribed intervals, but finding no relief. At length he began to
wonder, if people would hear him when he rang. He found himself
growing weaker and more weak; and he suffered exceeding pain, till
darkness and the torture of his own thoughts became intolerable; and,
stretching out his hand, he rang the bell about three o'clock in the
morning. The old housekeeper, who had remained dressed close at hand,
was in his room in a moment; and Mr. Wittingham felt as much pleased
and grateful, as it was in his nature to feel. She did her best to
soothe and comfort him; and, just as the light was coming in, the
sedative medicines, which he had taken, began to produce some effect;
and he fell into a heavy sleep. Nevertheless, when Mr. Slattery
visited him, he found no great improvement; but a warm bath produced
some relief. The worthy surgeon began to fancy, however, from all the
symptoms that he saw, that he was likely to lose a patient of some
importance; and he judged that it might be as well to establish a
claim upon that patient's successor. He therefore determined to take
the advocacy of Harry Wittingham's cause upon himself; and, in order
to prepare the way for what he had to say in the evening, he gave the
worthy gentleman under his hands a significant hint, that he was in a
good deal of danger.
Mr. Wittingham heard the announcement in silence, closed his eyes,
compressed his lips, and seemed more terribly affected than the worthy
surgeon had at all expected. He therefore judged it best to throw in a
little consolation before he proceeded further, and he continued in a
soothing and cajoling tone:
"I know you to be a man of strong mind, my dear Sir, and not likely to
be depressed at the thought of a little peril. Therefore, if I had
thought the case hopeless, I should have told you so at once. It is
not so, however, at all; and I only wished to warn you, that there was
some danger, in order to show you the necessity of keeping yourself
quite quiet and taking great care."
Mr. Wittingham answered not a word; and, after a very unpleasant
pause, the surgeon took his leave, promising to come again in the
evening.
When he did return, Mr. Slattery found his patient wonderfully
composed as he thought. Nevertheless, there was an awkward something
about the pulse, a sort of heavy suppressed jar, which did not make
him augur very favourably of his prospects. As he sat by the bedside
with his fingers upon the wrist and his eyes half shut, as if
considering all the slightest indications which might be afforded by
that small agitated current that beat and quivered beneath his touch,
what was Mr. Slattery reflecting upon? Not Mr. Wittingham's state,
except as far as it was to influence his conduct in a non-medical
capacity. He said to himself--or thought, which is the same thing,
"This old gentleman will go. He has not stamina to struggle with such
a disease. As I can do little for the Wittingham present, I way as
well do what I can for the Wittingham to come. If I show myself his
friend, he may show himself mine; and though perhaps the discussion
may make life's feeble tide ebb a little faster, it is not much matter
whether it be low water half an hour sooner or later."
Mrs. Billiter, however, did not happen to be in the room at the
moment, and Mr. Slattery resolved to have a witness to his benevolent
proceedings. He therefore asked numerous questions, and discussed
various important points affecting the sick man's health till the good
housekeeper appeared. He then gradually led the conversation round to
young Harry Wittingham, remarking that he had had a long drive since
the morning, and speaking of Buxton's Inn, as one of the places at
which he had called.
"By the way, I did not see your son, my dear Sir," he added, "he was
out. Indeed he may be considered as quite well now, and only requires
care of himself, kind attention from others, and a mind quiet and at
ease."
Mr. Wittingham said not a word, and Mr. Slattery mistook his silence
entirely. "I now think, my dear Sir," he continued, "that it would be
a great comfort to you if you would have him home. Under present
circumstances it would be advisable, I think, I do indeed."
Then the storm burst, then the smothered rage broke forth with fearful
violence. I will not repeat all Mr. Wittingham said, for a great deal
was unfit for repetition. He cursed, he swore, he gave Mr. Slattery
over to perdition, he declared that he would never let his son darken
his doors again, that he had cast him off, disinherited him, trusted
he might come to beg his bread. He told the surgeon to get out of his
house and never to let him see him again; he vowed that he was glad he
was dying, for then that scoundrel, his son, would soon find out what
it was to offend a father, and would understand that he could not make
his peace whenever he pleased by sending any pitiful little pimping
apothecary to try and frighten him into forgiveness. In vain Mr.
Slattery strove to speak, in vain he endeavoured to excuse himself, in
vain he took a tone of authority, and told his patient he would kill
himself, if he gave way to such frantic rage. Again and again Mr.
Wittingham, sitting bolt upright in bed, with a face black and green
with wrath and jaundice, told him to get out of the house, to quit the
room, to close the books and strike a balance; and at length the
surgeon was fairly driven forth, remonstrating and protesting, unheard
amidst the storm of his patient's words.
Mrs. Billiter did not think fit to follow him, for she knew her master
well, and that his ever ready suspicions would be excited by the least
sign of collusion. Besides, she was not altogether well pleased that
Mr. Slattery had thought fit to take the business out of her hands
without consulting her, and made as she termed it, a fine kettle of
fish of the whole affair. Thus she acted perfectly honestly, when Mr.
Wittingham turned upon her as soon as the surgeon was gone,
exclaiming,
"What do you think of all this, woman? What do you think of his
impertinence?"
And she replied, "I think him a meddling little fool, Sir."
"Ay, that he is, Billiter, that he is!" answered Mr. Wittingham, "and
I believe he has tried to frighten me, just to serve his own purposes.
But he shall find himself mistaken, that he shall.--He has done me
harm enough, though--putting me in such a passion. My head aches as if
it would split," and Mr. Wittingham pressed his hand upon his
forehead, and sunk back upon his pillow.
By this time night was falling fast; and Mrs. Billiter retired to
obtain lights; when she returned, Mr. Wittingham seemed dozing,
exhausted, as she thought, by the fit of passion, to which he had
given way. Sitting down, therefore, at a distance, she took up a book
and began to read. It was one of those strange, mystical compositions,
the product of a fanatical spirit, carried away into wild and daring
theories regarding things wisely hidden from the eyes of man, in
which, sometimes, by one of the strange contrarieties of human nature,
the most selfish, material, and unintellectual persons take great
delight. It was called the "Invisible World Displayed," and it had
been lately bought by Mr. Wittingham, since he had fallen into the
melancholy and desponding state, which usually accompanies the disease
he laboured under. For more than an hour Mrs. Billiter went on reading
of ghosts, and spirits, and phantoms, and devils, till her hair began
to stand erect under a thick cushion-cap. But still there was a sort
of fascination about the book which carried her on. She heard her
master breathing hard close by; and more than once she said to
herself, "He's getting a good sleep now, at all events." At length she
began to think the sleep lasted somewhat long; and, laying down the
book, she went and looked in between the curtains. He had not moved at
all, and was snoring aloud; so, as the clock had struck eleven she
thought she might as well send the other servants to bed, resolving to
sit up in his room and sleep in the great chair. About a quarter of an
hour was occupied in this proceeding, and in getting some refreshment;
and, when she returned, opening the door gently, she heard the same
sonorous breathing; and, seating herself again, she took up the book
once more, thinking: "I dare say he will wake soon; so I had better
not go to sleep, ere I have given him the other draught." Wonderful
were the tales that she there read, of people possessed of miraculous
warnings, and of voices heard, and of apparitions seen in the dead
hour of night. Tarningham clock struck twelve, whilst she was still
poring over the pages; but, though she was a good deal excited by what
she read, fatigue and watching would have their effect; and her eyes
became somewhat heavy. To cast off this drowsiness, she rose and
quietly put the room in order; then sat down again, and had her hand
once more upon the book, when suddenly the heavy breathing stopped for
a minute. "He is going to wake now," said Mrs. Billiter to herself;
but scarcely had the thought passed through her mind, when she heard a
sudden sort of rattling and snorting noise from the bed; and, jumping
up in alarm, she ran forward, and drew back the curtain. The light
fell straight upon the face of the sick man; and a horrible sight it
presented. The features were all in motion; the eyes rolling in the
head; the teeth gnashing together; foam issuing from the mouth; and
the whole limbs agitated, so that the bed-clothes were drawn into a
knot around him. Mr. Wittingham, in short, was in strong convulsions.
Mrs. Billiter was, naturally, greatly alarmed; and her first impulse
was to run to the door to call for help; but suddenly a new view of
the case seemed to strike her: "No, I won't," she said, and, going
back, she got some hartshorn, and applied it to Mr. Wittingham's
nostrils, sprinkled some water on his face, wet his temples, and did
every thing she could think of to put an end to the fit. It continued
violently for several minutes, however; and she thought, "Perhaps he
ought to be bled; I ought to send for Slattery, I do believe;" but at
that moment the spasm seemed relaxed; the contorted limbs fell
languid; a calm expression spread over the features; the eyelids fell
heavily, rose, and fell again; and though the fingers continued to
grasp the bed-clothes, it was with no violence. "He is getting
better," said the housekeeper to herself. The next moment the motions
of the hands ceased; a sharp shudder passed over the whole frame; the
chest heaved and fell; then came a deep sigh; and the eyes opened; the
jaw dropped; all became motionless; there was not a sound. Mrs.
Billiter listened. Not the rustle of the lightest breath could be
heard. She held the candle close to his eyes; the eyelids quivered
not; the pupil did not contract. A cold, damp dew stood upon the
sunken temples; and all was still but the silence of death. She set
down the candle on the chair, and gazed at him for two or three
minutes, almost as motionless as the dead body before her; then,
suddenly starting, she said in a low tone: "There is no time to be
lost; I must think of the poor boy; for he was a hard-hearted old man;
and there is no knowing what he may have done. She pressed her hand
upon her forehead tight for a minute or two, in deep thought; then
putting the candle on the table at a distance from the bed-curtains,
she went out, ran up stairs, and called up the footman, waiting at his
door till he came out.
"Master is very ill, John," said Mrs. Billiter; "I don't think he will
get through the night, so you must run up--"
"And bring down Mr. Slattery," said the footman, interrupting her.
"No," answered the housekeeper, "Slattery said he could do no good;
and master and he had a sad quarrel, but you must go and call Mr.
Harry. Tell him to come down directly, and not to lose a minute."
"I had better take the horse," said the man, "for Buxton's Inn is a
good bit of a way."
"He is not at Buxton's Inn," answered Mrs. Billiter, "but at Morris's
little cottage on Chandleigh-heath. You can take the horse if you
like, but be quick about it for Heaven's sake. It is a clear,
moonlight night, and you can gallop all the way."
"That I will," said the man, and ran down stairs.
Without calling any one else, Mrs. Billiter returned to the chamber of
death, looked into the bed for a moment or two and saw that all was
still. She knew he was dead right well, but yet it seemed strange to
her that he had not moved. There was something awful in it, and she
sat down upon a chair and wept. She had not loved him; she had not
esteemed or respected him; she had known him to be harsh, cruel, and
unkind, but yet there was something in seeing the life of the old man
go out solitary, untended by kindred hands, without a friend, without
a relation near, with bitterness in his spirit and enmity between him
and his only child, that moved the secret sources of deep emotion in
the woman's heart and opened the fountain of tears.
While she yet wept, she heard the horse's feet pass by towards
Chandleigh-heath, and then for about an hour all was silent. Buried in
deep sleep, the inhabitants of the little town knew not, cared not,
thought not of all that was passing in the dwelling of their rich
neighbour. At length a distant sound was heard of hoofs beating fast
the hard road; it came nearer and nearer; and starting up, Mrs.
Billiter ran down stairs with a light in her hand and opened the
hall-door. The next moment she heard the garden-gate opened, and a
figure came forward leading a horse.
Casting the rein over the beast's neck and giving it a cut with the
whip to send it towards the stables, Harry Wittingham sprang forward,
ran up the steps, and entered the house. His face was not pale but
flushed, and his eyes fiery.
"Ah, Master Harry," said Mrs. Billiter, as soon as she saw him, "he is
gone."
"Gone!" exclaimed Harry Wittingham, "do you mean he is dead?"
"Yes," answered the old woman; "but come up, Sir, come up, there is
much to be thought of."
Without a word the young man stood beside her, whilst she closed and
locked the door, and then followed her up stairs to his dead father's
room. She suffered him to gaze into the bed for a minute or two, with
haggard eyes and heavy brow, but then she touched his arm, saying,
"Master Harry, Master Harry, you had better think of other things just
now; he was very hard upon you, and I can't help thinking tried to do
you wrong. Four or five days ago he wrote a great deal one afternoon,
and then told me afterwards 'he had remembered me in his will.' You
had better see what that will is--he kept all the papers he cared most
about in that table-drawer--the key hangs upon his watch-chain."
With shaking hands Harry Wittingham took up the watch, approached the
table and opened the drawer with the key. There were several papers
within and different note-books, but one document lay at the top with
a few words written on the outside, and the young man instantly took
it up, opened and began to read it. Mrs. Billiter gazed at him,
standing at a distance, with a look of anxiety and apprehension. When
he had read about a dozen lines his face assumed a look of terrible
distress he dropped the paper from his hand, and sinking into a chair,
exclaimed,
"Good God, he thought I shot at him!"
"But you didn't? you didn't, Master Harry?"
"I?--I never thought of it!" exclaimed Harry Wittingham.
Mrs. Billiter ran forward, picked up the paper, and put it in his hand
again.
"There's a large fire in the kitchen to keep water hot," she said in a
whisper; "all the maids are in bed, and the man has not come back yet,
but he won't be long--be quick, Master Harry, be quick."
The young man paused, gazed thoughtfully at the paper for a moment or
two, then took up the light and hurried out of the room.