There are moments in the life of every one, when some sudden and
unexpected change hurries us rapidly through a bustling and exciting
scene, where we are called upon to decide and act suddenly upon
unforeseen conditions, and then leaves us to pause and reflect in
solitude and silence upon what we have just done. The effect is
strange, as all men arrived at mature life must have felt, when, left
to our own thoughts, we scan the busy moments just passed, doubtful
whether impulse or reason have guided us, and still more doubtful
whether impulse or reason have guided us aright. Often the answer is,
"Yes," and often, "No;" and, when it is negative, man, with his great
skill in covering his own faults and follies from his eyes, satisfies
himself by shrugging up his shoulders, and saying--"I acted for the
best--" forgetting too often how much of the fault he would thus
palliate is attributable to the evil habit of not making reason his
ever-present and ready guide. Exercise her daily, use her upon all
occasions, and she will act at the first call. Neglect her for an
hour, she falls asleep, and requires time to be roused. All very
trite; but do any of us remember this as much as we ought?
When Smeaton stood alone, shut up in the priest's chamber, he began to
ask himself if he had done wisely in consenting to be hidden in that
retreat, and he could not but acknowledge that love for Emmeline, and
the thought of obtaining means of access to her under some remote and
uncertain contingences, had shared more in fixing his determination
than the consideration either of his own safety or of his own name and
character. He saw that he had not acted in accordance with reason; but
he too--for he was by no means perfect--treated the error lightly,
saying to himself--
"Well, it is done, and cannot be undone. Let us make the best of it.
There is always a way out of this secret chamber, that is one comfort;
but I had better examine it more closely. I saw the key lying there,
it is true, but I did not satisfy myself that it would turn in the
lock, and it seemed somewhat rusty."
Thus musing, he took the light from the table, and walked quickly
through the passage along which the old woman had led him.
"She was foolish," he thought, "to hesitate about showing me the way.
No one could miss it."
At the end of the lower passage, he found the key lying in the little
niche, and, taking it up, was about to apply it to the lock, when he
thought he heard a step, without being able to distinguish at first
whether it was in the passage behind him, or on the hill-side beyond
the door. He turned round, and looked, and listened; and then clearly
heard the step again, apparently close to him, but on the outside. The
next instant, a voice was heard speaking in a grumbling tone, and with
a strong Devonshire accent.
"I don't see what is the use of sending us down here," it said. "Why,
twenty people could pass us in this wood."
"Never you mind, Jim; do your duty and obey orders," said another
voice. "Let other people think what is _the use_. I am sure you would
never find out for yourself, if it made you take ten steps off your
horse's back. There, get on a little lower down. I'll mount guard
here, where the path turns."
"Oh, ho!" exclaimed Smeaton, to himself; "the search has begun. I may
as well wait here a little. Any one coming down the stairs, and along
the passage, would soon be heard; and I think these two gentlemen
outside would easily be dealt with."
He accordingly put the candle in the niche where the key had lain,
brought the hilt of his sword a little round, and quietly placed the
key in the lock. A few minutes passed in perfect silence, the men
without either standing perfectly still, or sitting on the edge of the
fountain; but then Smeaton's quick ear caught the sound of a distant
footfall, which evidently came nearer and nearer, but not by the
passage in which he was standing.
"Who may this new visitor be, I wonder!" he mentally ejaculated, and,
bending down his head, listened more attentively. The step came nearer
and nearer, and approached the door close to which he had placed
himself. Then, a loud voice cried "Stand!" and Smeaton could hear the
sound of what seemed a spring and a brief scuffle.
"Ugh, ugh! don't strangle me!" cried a good, round, jolly voice. "Man,
I am apoplectic, by the blessing of God and the assistance of capons
and strong waters. If you twist my cravat in that way, you will get
nothing but a dead statuary, which is as bad as a dead lion."
The last words confirmed what the tone of voice had intimated to
Smeaton before, that his good friend Van Noost was the person who had
fallen into the hands of the Philistines; and, believing, from their
conversation that morning, that the poor sculptor had more cause than
himself to fear the pursuit of justice, he felt really sorry for him.
"Lion, or whatever else you may call yourself," replied the soldier's
voice, "you must along with me. Come, come, no struggling, or I'll
break your pate, master. By ----, they say, 'as fat as a lord;' and,
if this is a lord, it is a fat one of the sort."
"Ugh, ugh!" cried Van Noost. "I tell you, you will strangle me if you
drag me in that way."
Smeaton could bear it no more. The impulse to help the poor caster of
leaden figures was too strong to be resisted; and he gave way to it.
In a moment, the key was turned in the lock and the door drawn back,
hiding completely the light in the niche. A slight gleam of the risen
moon showed the waters of the well about three feet across, with a
little path beyond, and a soldier pulling Van Noost along. In a
moment, Smeaton was across the well; the man, hearing a noise, turned
his head; but, before he could see whence it came, or who was his
assailant, a blow from Smeaton's clenched fist forced him to relax his
grasp upon the sculptor, and a second, before he could use his sword,
sent him rolling down the hill-side amongst the trees and bushes.
"Quick! Come with me!" cried Smeaton, seizing Van Noost's hand, and
pulling him on. "Jump!--take a good spring."
The last words were uttered after he himself had cleared the well, and
was standing in the passage, but still holding Van Noost's hand across
the water. Some of the lead of the statuary's profession, however,
seemed to have got into the poor man's hinder quarters, for, though he
made a great effort to follow his conductor, he fell short by a few
inches; and, had it not been for Smeaton's grasp, might probably have
been drowned. The other, however, dragged him into the passage head
foremost, and quietly closed and locked the door.
"Hush!" he whispered, seeing that Van Noost was about to speak. "Hush!
be perfectly still."
"Jim, Jim," cried the voice of the soldier without--"look after them.
They are coming your way--stop them--shoot them dead, if they won't
stand."
As he spoke, he scrambled up again towards the path, displacing a
large stone which rolled down into the valley. Whether the other
soldier took it for a flying enemy or not, I cannot tell; but,
instantly after, he vociferated loudly--"Stand!" and the next moment
the report of a pistol shot was heard.
Smeaton smiled, and whispered to his companion--"All is safe; but keep
perfectly silent."
The sound of many feet running from above was then heard, as some of
the companions of the men below hurried down, alarmed by the shot, and
great confusion, with much talking, ensued, of which only fragments
reached the ears of those in the passage, somewhat after the following
fashion.
"What is the matter, what is the matter?" "Here, come here. They have
gone down here. I had got hold of him by the neck; but another came
up, and knocked me down." "Who did you get hold of?" "They have got a
dark lantern with them; for the light flashed out and dazzled my eyes.
If you don't make haste, they will be gone. They ran straight down for
the bay."
Many other cries, questions, and answers were going on at once; but
two or three of the soldiers, answering the call of the man who had
fired the pistol below, hurried down the path and, accompanied by him,
ran on, some between the back of the houses and the steep hill-side,
and others along the verge of the little stream, thus sweeping the
whole course of the valley till they reached the smooth white sand on
the shore of the bay.
The scene was calm and beautiful, the moon shining brightly over the
sheltered water of the bay, and changing it into rippling silver,
while Ale Head, dark and shadowy, swept like a gigantic wall round the
south-western side, and the opposite point of Ale Down just caught the
gleam of moonlight on its high head. It was a scene which might have
led a lover of the picturesque, or one of the unhappy children of
Imagination, to pause and dream. But the soldiers had no such
thoughts; one single object attracted their whole attention. This was
a fishing-boat, quietly rowing out of the little mouth of the bay, and
darkening a diminutive space on the shining sea beyond.
They drew their own conclusions, which, like most hasty conclusions
from insufficient premises, were altogether false. The boat was merely
filled with fishermen; and, if the pursuers had paused to consider,
they would have comprehended that sufficient time had not elapsed
between the firing of the shot above, and the moment that they reached
the beach, for any person to have pushed off the boat and rowed to the
entrance of the bay. They determined in their own minds, however, that
the persons of whom they came in search had made their escape by that
means, and one said to the others--
"Well, they are off, that's clear, and there is no use of trying to
follow; for, even if we were to get the boats off, I know no more
about 'em than a jackass does of a powder-horn. Do you, Symes?"
"No more than you do, corporal," replied the other. "We had better go
back to the house and tell the Justice."
"Tell the captain, Symes--tell the captain," replied the corporal.
"That is what we must do. We know nothing of Justices. Justice has no
more to do with us than my cap has with a bunch of keys. We act under
our captain, Symes, and to him I shall go and report. Come along, my
men."
In the mean time, while all these events had been passing on the side
of the hill and in the passage near the well, other occurrences had
taken place in Ale Manor House itself, which I must briefly notice.
Richard Newark had crept quietly after Smeaton and Mrs. Culpepper as
far as he dared; and, at all events, had discovered the direction
which they had taken. Emmeline had run out upon the terrace, and,
watching the windows above, had gained some farther knowledge from the
way in which she saw the light travel. Indeed, she clearly perceived
it through the windows next to her own, and it seemed to pause for
some time there. A distant sound, however, caused her to return
suddenly into the house and order the doors to be closed. This had
hardly been done, when the old housekeeper returned; and, going from
servant to servant, in her quiet smooth way, cautioned each to say, if
Colonel Smeaton was asked for, that he had ridden away to Axminster
for the day.
Then came a period of suspense; but it did not last very long; for, at
the end of five or six minutes, the approach of the troopers was
intimated by the noise of their horses upon the terrace. Sundry orders
were given in a loud voice, and then the great bell at the door rang.
"Don't open the door," said Richard Newark, to one of the servants who
was crossing the hall. "Let me see who these folks are."
Then, partly opening one of the windows of the saloon, he called out--
"What do you want, my masters? Do you think we hold a horse fair here,
that you bring so many beasts for sale?"
"Open the door, in the king's name and to the king's troops," said the
officer in command, who had imbibed as much punch as was compatible
with the due exercise of his understanding. "We require to search this
house."
"That you shall not do, were you twice as tall," replied the boy,
boldly, "without a lawful right to do so. Do you know this is the
house of Sir John Newark, a Justice of peace for the county?"
"Oh, let them in, Richard," said Emmeline. "You cannot keep them out."
At the same moment, Justice Best advanced on foot to the window,
saying--
"Let your people open the door, Master Richard. My name is Best. You
have seen me with your father, and must know that I am a Justice of
the peace too. Sir John is aware of our coming, and makes no
opposition.
"Oh, that is another case, worshipful Master Best," replied the boy.
"Open the door, my men, and let in the great magistrate."
Then, taking a light from the table, he went out into the hall and
bowed low with mock reverence as the Justice and two or three of the
soldiers entered.
"Pray, what is your good will and pleasure, and whom do you seek,
worshipful sir?" asked the boy, whose wits seemed to sharpen under
exercise. "As for myself, I am quite harmless. I heard an old woman,
one day, call me an innocent, and my nurse used to call me her lamb.
So that, unless Justice be a wolf, I have nothing to fear from her
fangs. Indeed, this knowledge-box of mine is so empty, that there are
not materials within it sufficient to manufacture treason, even
against a farmer's orchard; and, as for robbery or murder, upon my
life they never came into my noddle--always excepting birds' nests and
mackerel in the bay."
"You are a merry boy, Master Richard," returned the Justice; "but our
purpose in coming hither, is to seek a certain personage, passing for
and reputed to be a servant of one Colonel Henry Smeaton. If he is
produced at once, we shall give you no further trouble; but if not, we
must search the house; for we are credibly informed that this man, in
the disguise of a servant, is no other than the Earl of Eskdale, a
known adherent of the Pretender. It is impossible for him to escape;
for the house is surrounded. So you had better produce him at once. As
I wish to do everything with courtesy, however, you had better
communicate what I say to Colonel Smeaton, who may escape injurious
suspicions if he gives his companion up freely."
"Colonel Smeaton has gone over to Axminster this afternoon," said one
of the servants, coming forward, "and won't be back to-night; but, as
for his man, your worship, he was in the hall not a minute ago, and
making all the maids laugh with his funny stories."
"Ah, very likely," replied the Justice. "We have heard he is a jocular
person. This confirms our information. Be so good as to ask him to
walk hither, and remember you have admitted that he was in this house
not a minute ago."
"To be sure I did," retorted the man, surlily; "and I don't doubt that
he'll be in this hall in less than a minute more."
So saying he walked away, murmuring something about a pack of fools,
which the Justice did not hear, or did not choose to hear.
Turning quietly to the door of the smaller saloon, his worship
observed, in his usual soft and courteous accents, "Perhaps, Master
Richard, you will allow me to examine my prisoner in this room. We
have had a long ride, and a seat in a chair would be pleasanter to me
than to remain in the saddle or to stand upon my legs."
"Ay, they seem weakly," answered the lad; "but you shall have right
good leave and license to sit as long as a hen, if it pleases you, and
see what you can hatch--a brood of nonsensicalities, doubtless!" he
added to himself, as he followed the Justice into the room. Then,
raising his voice again, he said--"Here is Justice Best, Emmy, come to
look for Henry Smeaton's servant, accusing him of being attached to
the three Kings of Brentford, and committing high treason against the
wise men of Gotham. He is going to examine him in here, and we shall
have rare fun, I don't doubt. Do stay and see the proverbs of Solomon
put into action."
Emmeline, however, was fain to escape from the room, with an
inclination of her head to the Justice as she passed; for, although
she was desirous enough to hear all that took place, she feared that
her anxiety and alarm might be evidenced too strongly.
It was clear enough to Mr. Justice Best that Richard Newark was
laughing at him; but, as the lad was generally considered in the
county deficient in intellect, he contented himself with saying, "Poor
boy!" and seated himself solemnly at the table.
"This fellow is not coming, it seems," said Captain Smallpiece, who
had followed with some of the soldiers into the room. "I had better
search the house, your worship."
"Nay, nay, nay!" exclaimed the Justice, "have a little patience,
Smallpiece. One of you have the goodness to call in my clerk."
"Here I am, sir," said a small man from behind; and, almost at the
same moment, Smeaton's servant entered the room, with a curious and
peculiar sort of leer upon his countenance, which seemed to show that
he, at all events, entertained no apprehension of the result. He was
followed by the servant who had spoken to the Justice in the hall, and
some other domestics; and, raising his eyes to his face, the Justice
asked, with an important air, "Pray, who are _you_, sir?"
"I am Colonel Smeaton's servant," he answered, with a strong Cockney
accent. "They told me you wanted me."
"Are you his _only_ servant?" asked the Justice, a good deal staggered
by the man's appearance.
"He could not have a better," replied the man; "and, though I'm the
only one, I'm as good as two; for I groom the horses and valet the
master."
"Oh, ho!" ejaculated the Justice. "Now we are coming to it. Methinks a
common lackey, sir, would not put on such a demeanour to a magistrate
of the county acting in the king's name. My lord, concealment is of no
avail. We know all about you, and have full information."
"Lord! lord! _I_, my lord!" cried the man; "to think of my turning out
a lord!--I, who was born in a back garret at the corner of Fetter
Lane, fattened upon the fumes of soap-suds--for my mother was a
washerwoman, your worship--an honest woman, for all that--I, to turn
out a lord! Well, the transmogrifications of this 'varsal world are
miraculous, I do declare. Has your worship got my certificate in that
little book; for if you have, I'll be a lord for all the rest of my
life--see if I don't--and get a pension from the King, to keep up my
dignity."
"Five foot, eleven, and a half," said the Justice, reading from a
paper he had taken out of his pocket-book, and then raising his eyes
to the man's figure. "Deuce take it! he does not seem so tall as
that."
"Five foot three quarters, without my shoes," replied the man,
smartly; "but perhaps I shall grow, seeing that I am only
one-and-thirty, and a peer of the realm. I don't see why I should not
grow to any height, now I have right and title to hold my head higher
than I ever thought to hold it. Humility has shortened me all this
while."
"Come, come, sir," said the Justice, thrown into a great state of
doubt and indecision. "If you are the Earl of Eskdale, you had better
acknowledge it at once; and, whether you are or are not, treat the
Court with respect."
"The Earl of Eskdale!" cried old Mrs. Culpepper, who had come into the
room with the other servants. Then, seeing that surprise had done what
few things ever did do, thrown her off her guard, she added, "No, I
can answer for it he is none of that blood. Why, the Earl of Eskdale
must be an old white-headed man."
"Ay, ay, but that earl is dead," exclaimed the Justice. "This is the
young earl we talk of, my good lady--Mrs. Culpepper, I believe; I hope
you are well, Mrs. Culpepper--but don't meddle with this business, for
I don't think you can know anything about it."
"How can _you_ know, Goody?" cried the servant, turning sharply round
to her, with a mock look of indignation. "Pray don't do me out of my
dignity--I may be a peer or a prince, for aught you know."
"I never saw such a one," said the old woman, sarcastically; "but I
can answer for your being none of the Eskdale family, for they were
all tall handsome men and women; and you are no more like them than a
beggar's cur is like a stag-hound."
"Civil, you see, civil!" said the man. "You perceive that high station
is not without its inconveniences; but if your worship will only make
me out a peer, I will take any title you please. I am quite
indifferent as to names. Suppose you call me Lord Fetter Lane, or the
Earl of Newgate."
"You may soon have a better right to either title than you expect,"
growled Captain Smallpiece, who was difficult to convince; but the
Justice, whose wits were somewhat clearer, though not very pellucid
either, began to have marvellous doubts on the subject of the man's
real condition.
"Pray, sir," he said, "if you are really Colonel Smeaton's servant,
and nobody else, when did you enter that gentleman's service, and
where?"
"In Lunnun town," replied the man, drily, "on the fifth day of June
last, at about half past three in the evening. Thank God, I have had a
good edication, considering the mess I was brought up in; and I am
very reg'lar in my habits--which I owe to my dear departed mother, who
always kept her washing-books very correct, and wiped her hands
whenever she took them out of the tub. She used to say she could
always go into court with clean hands, poor woman; and so can I; for
you see I always keep a little book here in my pocket, in which I put
down when I enter, and when I quit, a service, and I get my kind
masters to sign for me. Some of them don't speak as well as I deserve,
it is true; but still they cannot say much harm. There is the book.
You may look at it."
"Let me see, let me see," said the Justice; and, taking the book, he
read some of the various characters which had been given to the man
before him by the different masters whom he had served; one of which
was as follows:
"This is to certify that Thomas Higham was in my service for eleven
months and three days--a clever fellow, but a saucy rascal--passably
honest, and not given to drink. I discharged him for his impudence.
"HENRY SACKVILLE,
"_Deputy Comptroller of Her Majesty's Household_."
Such was the first certificate he read; but there were a number of
others, all much to the same purpose, which fully accounted for the
time of Master Thomas Higham, from the age of sixteen up to the moment
at which he stood before the magistrate.
"There must be some mistake here," said Mr. Best, beckoning up Captain
Smallpiece and pointing to the papers before him. At that instant, the
report of fire-arms was heard through the window which Richard Newark
had left open, and the Justice exclaimed: "Hark! What is that?"
"Some of the fools let a pistol off by accident," answered the
military officer. "Being fools, they are always committing some
folly."
Having been thus oracular, he proceeded, with a somewhat unsteady
gaze, to examine the certificates before him. He was one of those men
who, even in their most sober moments (and he was not now sober), have
a certain obscurity of mental vision which prevents them from
perceiving anything but what is immediately before them. He stumbled
and blundered through several of the testimonials, repeating from time
to time--"Well, I don't see what that has to do with it. Well, I don't
see--Tom Higham may be a good sort of saucy fellow; but who is Tom
Higham? I should like to know. You cannot tell that this is Tom
Higham."
"But it is very clear that he cannot be Lord Eskdale," replied the
magistrate; "for his lordship is six foot high, and this man is five
foot four. I am sure there has been some mistake. Our information is
decided, it is true, that the Earl was seen passing this way. But we
have no proof that he came to this house."
"Well, we had better search at all events," said the officer.
The magistrate, however, was of a different opinion. He thought he had
gone quite far enough in offending Sir John Newark, of whom he stood
in no little fear; he saw many means which the worthy knight might
have of annoying, if not injuring, him, and knew that he would not at
all scruple to use them.
A somewhat sharp altercation ensued, which highly amused Richard
Newark, and not less Smeaton's servant, who, after it had gone on for
some minutes, interposed with his usual saucy leer, saying:
"Will your worships tell me whether I am to be a Lord or not after
all? I am very willing to be a Lord, if you wish it."
"Hold your tongue, fellow," said Justice Best. "You interrupt me in
explaining to Captain Smallpiece that it would be wrong, discourteous,
and perhaps illegal, to search Sir John Newark's house without
information that an attainted person was actually here. All the
suspicions were of yourself; and, if they turn out to be groundless,
my functions in the case cease. If Captain Smallpiece, indeed, thinks
fit to take upon himself--"
Before he could finish the sentence, one of the corporals of the
regiment, followed by the men who had been down on the beach with him,
pushed his way through the crowd round the door, and saluted in
military fashion his commanding officer.
"Well, what the devil do you want, Corporal? I told you to keep watch
outside."
"I have come to report that they have got off, sir," said the man. "We
could not overtake them before they got into a boat and away."
"Who, who, who?" shouted the magistrate. "Who do you mean by 'they'?"
"Why, the Earl and his servant, I suppose, your worship," replied the
corporal. "I got hold of one of them by the neck; but then up comes
the other, flashed the light of a dark lantern in my eyes, and, before
I could draw sword, knocked me head foremost down the hill. Good luck
to the bush that stopped me. They ran away together down through the
wood, and passed Jim, here, who fired his pistol at them."
"Ay, that I did," said a man behind him.
"They ran away down to the water, however," added the other, "and,
before we could overtake them, had jumped into a boat and were rowing
away out to sea."
"There, there, now," cried Mr. Best. "I told you how it would be." And
he looked straight at Captain Smallpiece, as if the whole of this
mischance had been of that officer's bringing about.
"No, you did not," rejoined the Captain. "You did not say anything of
the kind. You were cock-sure, like all the rest of them, that this
lackey was the Earl disguised, and that you would pounce upon him here
like a hawk on a hedge-sparrow."
"But did you not wish to search the house without the slightest
grounds of pretence?" demanded the magistrate. The officer, however,
turned away from him, with a look of half-drunken contempt, and,
addressing himself to the corporal, asked,
"What sort of men were they, corporal?"
"One was short and fat," said the corporal, "with a great many ribbons
about him. The other was a tall man, and seemed youngish, as far as I
could see."
"The Earl and his servant without doubt," said the Justice.
"I suppose so," grumbled Captain Smallpiece, in a disappointed tone.
"What is to be done now? Shall we search?"
"Search! Search for what," demanded the Justice, "when they have got
off to sea? There is no proof they were ever in the house at all, and
very probably have been, during the time, down in one of the huts.
What is to be done! Why, march off your men as fast as possible, and
let us see how we can patch up matters with Sir John Newark. He won't
forget it in a hurry, depend upon it. I require you, sir, to march off
your men."
"Oh, very well," cried the Captain, indignantly. "That shall be done
faster than you like perhaps. There, sound boot and saddle." And he
walked away to the door.
"Could you favour me with a glass of wine, Master Richard?" said the
Justice, in an insinuating tone. "We have ridden far; and this is dry
work."
"Not a drop," replied the boy, boldly. "You came on a fool's errand;
and you may go dry away. I can tell you, Master Best," he added, with
a laugh, "you'll want all the wit in your noddle to settle accounts
with my father; and it would be unkind to take a jot out of the
canister by putting wine in. You have had quite enough to-night
already, I should think; and, at all events, you'll get no more here."
The servants laughed; and, after trying hard for a look of dignity
which would not come, Justice Best walked out of the room, with his
clerk sneaking behind him, like a beaten cur.
"There, there," cried Richard Newark, running out into the hall and to
the foot of the stairs, "shut all the doors and windows. Emmy, Emmy!
Come down. All the fools are gone!"