“I believe, father, if you had been with us, you would not have stood
upon ceremonies any more than we did. I wish my lord would send you to
parley with the ghost; for, without doubt, you are better qualified than
we.”
“My Lord,” said Oswald, “I will go thither, with your permission; I will
see that every thing is safe, and bring the key back to you; Perhaps
this may help to dispel the fears that have been raised--at least, I
will try to do it.”
“I thank you, father, for your good offices--do as you please.”
Oswald went into the outward room. “I am going,” said he, “to shut up
the apartment. The young gentlemen have been more frightened than they
had occasion for; I will try to account for it. Which of you will go
with me?”
They all drew back, except Joseph, who offered to bear him company. They
went into the bedroom in the haunted apartment, and found every thing
quiet there. They put out the fire, extinguished the lights, locked
the door, and brought away the key. As they returned, “I thought how it
would be,” said Joseph.
“Hush! not a word,” said Oswald; “you find we are suspected of
something, though they know not what. Wait till you are called upon, and
then we will both speak to purpose.” They carried the key to the Baron.
“All is quiet in the apartment,” said Oswald, “as we can testify.”
“Did you ask Joseph to go with you,” said the Baron, “or did he offer
himself?”
“My Lord, I asked if any body would go with me, and they all declined it
but he; I thought proper to have a witness beside myself, for whatever
might be seen or heard.”
“Joseph, you were servant to the late Lord Lovel; what kind of man was
he?”
“A very comely man, please your lordship.”
“Should you know him if you were to see him?”
“I cannot say, my lord.”
“Would you have any objection to sleep a night in that apartment?”
“I beg,”--“I hope,”--“I beseech your lordship not to command me to
do it!”
“You are then afraid; why did you offer yourself to go thither?”
“Because I was not so much frightened as the rest.”
“I wish you would lie a night there; but I do not insist upon it.”
“My lord, I am a poor ignorant old man, not fit for such an undertaking;
beside, if I should see the ghost, and if it should be the person of my
master, and if it should tell me any thing, and bid me keep it secret, I
should not dare to disclose it; and then, what service should I do your
lordship?”
“That is true, indeed,” said the Baron.
“This speech,” said Sir Robert, “is both a simple and an artful one. You
see, however, that Joseph is not a man for us to depend upon; he regards
the Lord Lovel, though dead, more than Lord Fitz-Owen, living; he calls
him his master, and promises to keep his secrets. What say you, father,
Is the ghost your master, or your friend? Are you under any obligation
to keep his secrets?”
“Sir,” said Oswald, “I answer as Joseph does; I would sooner die than
discover a secret revealed in that manner.”
“I thought as much,” said Sir Robert; “there is a mystery in Father
Oswald’s behaviour, that I cannot comprehend.”
“Do not reflect upon the father,” said the Baron; “I have no cause to
complain of him; perhaps the mystery may be too soon explained; but let
us not anticipate evils. Oswald and Joseph have spoken like good men;
I am satisfied with their answers; let us, who are innocent, rest in
peace; and let us endeavour to restore peace in the family; and do you,
father, assist us.”
“With my best services,” said Oswald. He called the servants in. “Let
nothing be mentioned out of doors,” said he, “of what has lately passed
within, especially in the east apartment; the young gentlemen had not so
much reason to be frightened as they apprehended; a piece of furniture
fell down in the rooms underneath, which made the noise that alarmed
them so much; but I can certify that all things in the rooms are in
quiet, and there is nothing to fear. All of you attend me in the chapel
in an hour; do your duties, put your trust in God, and obey your Lord,
and you will find every thing go right as it used to do.”
They dispersed; the sun rose, the day came on, and every thing went on
in the usual course; but the servants were not so easily satisfied; they
whispered that something was wrong, and expected the time that should
set all right. The mind of the Baron was employed in meditating upon
these circumstances, that seemed to him the forerunners of some great
events; he sometimes thought of Edmund; he sighed for his expulsion, and
lamented the uncertainty of his fate; but, to his family, he appeared
easy and satisfied.
From the time of Edmund’s departure, the fair Emma had many uneasy
hours; she wished to enquire after him, but feared to shew any
solicitude concerning him. The next day, when her brother William came
into her apartment, she took courage to ask a question.
“Pray, brother, can you give any guess what is become of Edmund?”
“No,” said he, with a sigh; “why do you ask me?”
“Because, my dear William, I should think if any body knew, it must be
you; and I thought he loved you too well to leave you in ignorance. But
don’t you think he left the castle in a very strange manner?”
“I do, my dear; there is a mystery in every circumstance of his
departure; Nevertheless (I will trust you with a secret), he did not
leave the castle without making a distinction in my favour.”
“I thought so,” said she; “but you might tell me what you know about
him.”
“Alas, my dear Emma! I know nothing. When I saw him last, he seemed
a good deal affected, as if he were taking leave of me; and I had a
foreboding that we parted for a longer time than usual.”
“Ah! so had I,” said she, “when he parted from me in the garden.”
“What leave did he take of you, Emma?”
She blushed, and hesitated to tell him all that passed between them;
but he begged, persuaded, insisted; and, at length, under the strongest
injunctions of secrecy, she told him all.
He said, “That Edmund’s behaviour on that occasion was as mysterious
as the rest of his conduct; but, now you have revealed your secret, you
have a right to know mine.”
He then gave her the letter he found upon his pillow; she read it with
great emotion.
“Saint Winifred assist me!” said she; “what can I think? ‘The peasant
Edmund is no more, but there lives one,’--that is to my thinking, Edmund
lives, but is no peasant.”
“Go on, my dear,” said William; “I like your explanation.”
“Nay, brother, I only guess; but what think you?”
“I believe we think alike in more than one respect, that he meant to
recommend no other person than himself to your favour; and, if he were
indeed of noble birth, I would prefer him to a prince for a husband to
my Emma!”
“Bless me!” said she, “do you think it possible that he should be of
either birth or fortune?”
“It is hard to say what is impossible! we have proof that the east
apartment is haunted. It was there that Edmund was made acquainted with
many secrets, I doubt not: and, perhaps, his own fate may be involved in
that of others. I am confident that what he saw and heard there, was the
cause of his departure. We must wait with patience the unravelling this
intricate affair; I believe I need not enjoin your secrecy as to what I
have said; your heart will be my security.”
“What mean you, brother?”
“Don’t affect ignorance, my dear; you love Edmund, so do I; it is
nothing to be ashamed of. It would have been strange, if a girl of your
good sense had not distinguished a swan among a flock of geese.”
“Dear William, don’t let a word of this escape you; but you have taken
a weight off my heart. You may depend that I will not dispose of my hand
or heart till I know the end of this affair.”
William smiled: “Keep them for Edmund’s friend; I shall rejoice to see
him in a situation to ask them.”
“Hush, my brother! not a word more; I hear footsteps.”
They were her eldest brother’s, who came to ask Mr. William to ride out
with him, which finished the conference.
The fair Emma from this time assumed an air of satisfaction; and William
frequently stole away from his companions to talk with his sister upon
their favourite subject.
While these things passed at the castle of Lovel, Edmund and his
companion John Wyatt proceeded on their journey to Sir Philip Harclay’s
seat; they conversed together on the way, and Edmund found him a man of
understanding, though not improved by education; he also discovered that
John loved his master, and respected him even to veneration; from him he
learned many particulars concerning that worthy knight. Wyatt told him,
“That Sir Philip maintained twelve old soldiers who had been maimed and
disabled in the wars, and had no provision made for them; also six
old officers, who had been unfortunate, and were grown grey without
preferment; he likewise mentioned the Greek gentleman, his master’s
captive and friend, as a man eminent for valour and piety; but, beside
these,” said Wyatt, “there are many others who eat of my master’s bread
and drink of his cup, and who join in blessings and prayers to Heaven
for their noble benefactor; his ears are ever open to distress, his hand
to relieve it, and he shares in every good man’s joys and blessings.”
“Oh, what a glorious character!” said Edmund; “how my heart throbs with
wishes to imitate such a man! Oh, that I might resemble him, though at
ever so great a distance!”
Edmund was never weary of hearing the actions of this truly great man,
nor Wyatt with relating them; and, during three days journey, there were
but few pauses in their conversation.
The fourth day, when they came within view of the house, Edmund’s heart
began to raise doubts of his reception. “If,” said he, “Sir Philip
should not receive me kindly, if he should resent my long neglect, and
disown my acquaintance, it would be no more than justice.”
He sent Wyatt before, to notify his arrival to Sir Philip, while
he waited at the gate, full of doubts and anxieties concerning his
reception. Wyatt was met and congratulated on his return by most of his
fellow-servants. He asked--
“Where is my master?”
“In the parlour.”
“Are any strangers with him?”
“No, only his own family.”
“Then I will shew myself to him.”
He presented himself before Sir Philip.
“So, John,” said he, “you are welcome home! I hope you left your parents
and relations well?”
“All well, thank God! and send their humble duty to your honour, and
they pray for you every day of their lives. I hope your honour is in
good health.”
“Very well.”
“Thank God for that! but, sir, I have something further to tell you;
I have had a companion all the way home, a person who comes to wait on
your honour, on business of great consequence, as he says.”
“Who is that, John?”
“It is Master Edmund Twyford, from the castle of Lovel.”
“Young Edmund!” says Sir Philip, surprised; “where is he?”
“At the gate, sir.”
“Why did you leave him there?”
“Because he bade me come before, and acquaint your honour, that he waits
your pleasure.”
“Bring him hither,” said Sir Philip; “tell him I shall be glad to see
him.”
John made haste to deliver his message, and Edmund followed him in
silence into Sir Philip’s presence.
He bowed low, and kept at a distance. Sir Philip held out his hand,
and bad him approach. As he drew near, he was seized with an universal
trembling; he kneeled down, took his hand, kissed it, and pressed it to
his heart in silence.
“You are welcome, young man!” said Sir Philip; “take courage, and speak
for yourself.”
Edmund sighed deeply; he at length broke silence with difficulty. “I am
come thus far, noble sir, to throw myself at your feet, and implore your
protection. You are, under God, my only reliance.”
“I receive you,” said Sir Philip, “with all my heart! Your person is
greatly improved since I saw you last, and I hope your mind is equally
so; I have heard a great character of you from some that knew you in
France. I remember the promise I made you long ago, and am ready now
to fulfil it, upon condition that you have done nothing to disgrace the
good opinion I formerly entertained of you; and am ready to serve you in
any thing consistent with my own honour.”
Edmund kissed the hand that was extended to raise him. “I accept your
favour, sir, upon this condition only; and if ever you find me to impose
upon your credulity, or incroach on your goodness, may you renounce me
from that moment!”
“Enough,” said Sir Philip; “rise, then, and let me embrace you; You are
truly welcome!”
“Oh, noble sir!” said Edmund, “I have a strange story to tell you; but
it must be by ourselves, with only heaven to bear witness to what passes
between us.”
“Very well,” said Sir Philip; “I am ready to hear you; but first, go and
get some refreshment after your journey, and then come to me again. John
Wyatt will attend you.”
“I want no refreshment,” said Edmund; “and I cannot eat or drink till I
have told my business to your honour.”
“Well then,” said Sir Philip, “come along with me.” He took the youth by
the hand, and led him into another parlour, leaving his friends in great
surprise, what this young man’s errand could be; John Wyatt told them
all that he knew relating to Edmund’s birth, character, and situation.
When Sir Philip had seated his young friend, he listened in silence to
the surprising tale he had to tell him. Edmund told him briefly the most
remarkable circumstances of his life, from the time when he first
saw and liked him, till his return from France; but from that era,
he related at large every thing that had happened, recounting every
interesting particular, which was imprinted on his memory in strong and
lasting characters. Sir Philip grew every moment more affected by the
recital; sometimes he clasped his hands together, he lifted them up to
heaven, he smote his breast, he sighed, he exclaimed aloud; when Edmund
related his dream, he breathed short, and seemed to devour him with
attention; when he described the fatal closet, he trembled, sighed,
sobbed, and was almost suffocated with his agitation. But when he
related all that passed between his supposed mother and himself, and
finally produced the jewels, the proofs of his birth, and the death of
his unfortunate mother, he flew to him, he pressed him to his bosom, he
strove to speak, but speech was for some minutes denied. He wept aloud;
and, at length, his words found their way in broken exclamations.
“Son of my dearest friend! Dear and precious relic of a noble house!
child of Providence! the beloved of heaven! welcome! thrice welcome to
my arms! to my heart! I will be thy parent from henceforward, and thou
shalt be indeed my child, my heir! My mind told me from the first moment
I beheld thee, that thou wert the image of my friend! my heart then
opened itself to receive thee, as his offspring. I had a strange
foreboding that I was to be thy protector. I would then have made
thee my own; but heaven orders things for the best; it made thee the
instrument of this discovery, and in its own time and manner conducted
thee to my arms. Praise be to God for his wonderful doings towards the
children of men! every thing that has befallen thee is by his direction,
and he will not leave his work unfinished; I trust that I shall be his
instrument to do justice on the guilty, and to restore the orphan of
my friend to his rights and title. I devote myself to this service, and
will make it the business of my life to effect it.”
Edmund gave vent to his emotions, in raptures of joy and gratitude.
They spent several hours in this way, without thinking of the time that
passed; the one enquiring, the other explaining, and repeating, every
particular of the interesting story.
At length they were interrupted by the careful John Wyatt, who was
anxious to know if any thing was likely to give trouble to his master.
“Sir,” said John, “it grows dark--do you want a light?”
“We want no light but what heaven gives us,” said Sir Philip; “I knew
not whether it was dark or light.”
“I hope,” said John, “nothing has happened, I hope your honour has heard
no bad tidings; I--I--I hope no offence.”
“None at all,” said the good knight; “I am obliged to your solicitude
for me; I have heard some things that grieve me, and others that give me
great pleasure; but the sorrows are past, and the joys remain.”
“Thank God!” said John; “I was afraid something was the matter to give
your honour trouble.”
“I thank you, my good servant! You see this young gentleman; I would
have you, John, devote yourself to his service; I give you to him for an
attendant on his person, and would have you show your affection to me by
your attachment to him.”
“Oh, Sir!” said John in a melancholy voice, “what have I done to be
turned out of your service?”
“No such matter, John,” said Sir Philip; “you will not leave my
service.”
“Sir,” said John, “I would rather die than leave you.”
“And, my lad, I like you too well to part with you; but in serving my
friend you will serve me. Know, that this young man is my son.”
“Your son, sir!” said John.
“Not my natural son, but my relation; my son by adoption, my heir!”
“And will he live with you, sir?”
“Yes, John; and I hope to die with him.”
“Oh, then, I will serve him with all my heart and soul; and I will do my
best to please you both.”
“I thank you, John, and I will not forget your honest love and duty.
I have so good an opinion of you, that I will tell you of some things
concerning this gentleman that will entitle him to your respect.”
“‘Tis enough for me,” said John, “to know that your honour respects him,
to make me pay him as much duty as yourself.”
“But, John, when you know him better, you will respect him still more;
at present, I shall only tell you what he is not; for you think him only
the son of Andrew Twyford.”
“And is he not?” said John.
“No, but his wife nursed him, and he passed for her son.”
“And does old Twyford know it, sir?”
“He does, and will bear witness to it; but he is the son of a near
friend of mine, of quality superior to my own, and as such you must
serve and respect him.”
“I shall, to be sure, sir; but what name shall I call him?”
“You shall know that hereafter; in the mean time bring a light, and wait
on us to the other parlour.”
When John was withdrawn, Sir Philip said, “That is a point to be
considered and determined immediately; It is proper that you should
assume a name till you can take that of your father; for I choose you
should drop that of your foster-father; and I would have you be called
by one that is respectable.”
“In that, and every other point, I will be wholly governed by you, sir,”
said Edmund.
“Well then, I will give you the name of Seagrave; I shall say that you
are a relation of my own; and my mother was really of that family.”
John soon returned, and attended them into the other parlour; Sir Philip
entered, with Edmund in his hand.
“My friends,” said he, “this gentleman is Mr. Edward Seagrave, the
son of a dear friend and relation of mine. He was lost in his infancy,
brought up by a good woman out of pure humanity, and is but lately
restored to his own family. The circumstances shall be made known
hereafter; In the meantime, I have taken him under my care and
protection, and will use all my power and interest to see him restored
to his fortune, which is enjoyed by the usurper who was the cause of his
expulsion, and the death of his parents. Receive him as my relation,
and friend; Zadisky, do you embrace him first. Edmund, you and this
gentleman must love each other for my sake; hereafter you will do it for
your own.[”] They all rose; each embraced and congratulated the young
man.
Zadisky said, “Sir, whatever griefs and misfortunes you may have
endured, you may reckon them at an end, from the hour you are beloved
and protected by Sir Philip Harclay.”
“I firmly believe it, sir,” replied Edmund; “and my heart enjoys,
already, more happiness than I ever yet felt, and promises me all that I
can wish in future; his friendship is the earnest Heaven gives me of its
blessings hereafter.”
They sat down to supper with mutual cheerfulness; and Edmund enjoyed the
repast with more satisfaction than he had felt a long time. Sir Philip
saw his countenance brighten up, and looked on him with heart-felt
pleasure.
“Every time I look on you,” said he, “reminds me of your father; you
are the same person I loved twenty-three years ago--I rejoice to see you
under my roof. Go to your repose early, and to-morrow we will consult
farther.”
Edmund withdrew, and enjoyed a night of sweet undisturbed repose.
The next morning Edmund arose in perfect health and spirits: he waited
on his benefactor. They were soon after joined by Zadisky, who shewed
great attention and respect to the youth, and offered him his best
services without reserve. Edmund accepted them with equal respect and
modesty; and finding himself at ease, began to display his amiable
qualities. They breakfasted together; afterwards, Sir Philip desired
Edmund to walk out with him.
As soon as they were out of hearing, Sir Philip said, “I could not sleep
last night for thinking of your affairs; I laid schemes for you, and
rejected them again. We must lay our plan before we begin to act. What
shall be done with this treacherous kinsman! this inhuman monster! this
assassin of his nearest relation? I will risk my life and fortune to
bring him to justice. Shall I go to court, and demand justice of the
king? or shall I accuse him of the murder, and make him stand a public
trial? If I treat him as a baron of the realm, he must be tried by his
peers; if as a commoner, he must be tried at the county assize; but we
must shew reason why he should be degraded from his title. Have you any
thing to propose?”
“Nothing, sir; I have only to wish that it might be as private as
possible, for the sake of my noble benefactor, the Lord Fitz-Owen, upon
whom some part of the family disgrace would naturally fall; and that
would be an ill return for all his kindness and generosity to me.”
“That is a generous and grateful consideration on your part; but you owe
still more to the memory of your injured parents. However, there is
yet another way that suits me better than any hitherto proposed; I will
challenge the traitor to meet me in the field; and, if he has spirit
enough to answer my call, I will there bring him to justice; if not, I
will bring him to a public trial.”
“No, sir,” said Edmund, “that is my province. Should I stand by and see
my noble, gallant friend expose his life for me, I should be unworthy to
bear the name of that friend whom you so much lament. It will become
his son to vindicate his name, and revenge his death. I will be the
challenger, and no other.”
“And do you think he will answer the challenge of an unknown youth, with
nothing but his pretensions to his name and title? Certainly not. Leave
this matter to me; I will think of a way that will oblige him to meet me at
the house of a third person who is known to all the parties concerned,
and where we will have authentic witnesses of all that passes between
him and me. I will devise the time, place, and manner, and satisfy all
your scruples.”
Edmund offered to reply; but Sir Philip bad him be silent, and let him
proceed in his own way.
He then led him over his estate, and shewed him every thing deserving
his notice; he told him all the particulars of his domestic economy, and
they returned home in time to meet their friends at dinner.
They spent several days in consulting how to bring Sir Walter to
account, and in improving their friendship and confidence in each
other. Edmund endeared himself so much to his friend and patron, that
he declared him his adopted son and heir before all his friends and
servants, and ordered them to respect him as such. He every day improved
their love and regard for him, and became the darling of the whole
family.
After much consideration, Sir Philip fixed his resolutions, and began
to execute his purposes. He set out for the seat of the Lord Clifford,
attended by Edmund, M. Zadisky, and two servants. Lord Clifford received
them with kindness and hospitality.
Sir Philip presented Edmund to Lord Clifford and his family, as his near
relation and presumptive heir; They spent the evening in the pleasures
of convivial mirth and hospitable entertainment. The next day Sir Philip
began to open his mind to Lord Clifford, informing him that both his
young friend and himself had received great injuries from the present
Lord Lovel, for which they were resolved to call him to account; but
that, for many reasons, they were desirous to have proper witnesses
of all that should pass between them, and begging the favour of his
Lordship to be the principal one. Lord Clifford acknowledged the
confidence placed in him; and besought Sir Philip to let him be the
arbitrator between them. Sir Philip assured him, that their wrongs would
not admit of arbitration, as he should hereafter judge; but that he was
unwilling to explain them further till he knew certainly whether or not
the Lord Lovel would meet him; for, if he refused, he must take another
method with him.
Lord Clifford was desirous to know the grounds of the quarrel; but Sir
Philip declined entering into particulars at present, assuring him of
a full information hereafter. He then sent M. Zadisky, attended by John
Wyatt, and a servant of Lord Clifford, with a letter to Lord Lovel; the
contents were as follow:--
“My Lord Lovel,--Sir Philip Harclay earnestly desires to see you at the
house of Lord Clifford, where he waits to call you to account for the
injuries done by you to the late Arthur Lord Lovel, your kinsman; If you
accept his demand, he will make the Lord Clifford a witness and a judge
of the cause; if not, he will expose you publicly as a traitor and a
coward. Please to answer this letter, and he will acquaint you with the
time, place, and manner of the meeting.
“PHILIP HARCLAY.”
Zadisky presented the letter to Lord Lovel, informing him that he was
the friend of Sir Philip Harclay. He seemed surprised and confounded at
the contents; but, putting on an haughty air, “I know nothing,” said
he, “of the business this letter hints at; but wait a few hours, and I
will give you an answer.” He gave orders to treat Zadisky as a gentleman
in every respect, except in avoiding his company; for the Greek had
a shrewd and penetrating aspect, and he observed every turn of his
countenance. The next day he came and apologized for his absence, and
gave him the answer; sending his respects to the Lord Clifford. The
messengers returned with all speed, and Sir Philip read the answer
before all present.
“Lord Lovel knows not of any injuries done by him to the late Arthur
Lord Lovel, whom he succeeded by just right of inheritance; nor of any
right Sir Philip Harclay has, to call to account a man to whom he is
barely known, having seen him only once, many years ago, at the house of
his uncle, the old Lord Lovel: Nevertheless, Lord Lovel will not suffer
any man to call his name and honour into question with impunity; for
which reason he will meet Sir Philip Harclay at any time, place, and in
what manner he shall appoint, bringing the same number of friends and
dependents, that justice may be done to all parties.
“LOVEL.”
“‘Tis well,” said Sir Philip; “I am glad to find he has the spirit to
meet me; he is an enemy worthy of my sword.”
Lord Clifford then proposed that both parties should pass the borders,
and obtain leave of the warden of the Scottish marches to decide the
quarrel in his jurisdiction, with a select number of friends on both
sides. Sir Philip agreed to the proposal; and Lord Clifford wrote in his
own name to ask permission of the Lord Graham, that his friends might
come there; and obtained it, on condition that neither party should
exceed a limited number of friends and followers.
Lord Clifford sent chosen messengers to Lord Lovel, acquainting him
with the conditions, and appointing the time, place, and manner of their
meeting, and that he had been desired to accept the office of judge of
the field. Lord Lovel accepted the conditions, and promised to be there
without fail. Lord Clifford notified the same to Lord Graham, warden of
the marches, who caused a piece of ground to be inclosed for the lists,
and made preparations against the day appointed.
In the interim, Sir Philip Harclay thought proper to settle his worldly
affairs. He made Zadisky acquainted with every circumstance of Edmund’s
history, and the obligation that lay upon him to revenge the death of
his friend, and see justice done to his heir. Zadisky entered into the
cause with an ardour that spoke the affection he bore to his friend.
“Why,” said he, “would you not suffer me to engage this traitor? Your
life is of too much consequence to be staked against his; but though
I trust that the justice of your cause must succeed, yet, if it should
happen otherwise, I vow to revenge you; he shall never go back from us
both. However, my hope and trust is, to see your arm the minister of
justice.”
Sir Philip then sent for a lawyer and made his will, by which he
appointed Edmund his chief heir, by the name of Lovel, alias Seagrave,
alias Twyford; he ordered that all his old friends, soldiers, and
servants, should be maintained in the same manner during their lives;
he left to Zadisky an annuity of an hundred a year, and a legacy of two
hundred pounds; one hundred pounds to a certain monastery; the same sum
to be distributed among disbanded soldiers, and the same to the poor and
needy in his neighbourhood.
He appointed Lord Clifford joint executor with Edmund, and gave his
will into that nobleman’s care, recommending Edmund to his favour and
protection.
“If I live,” said he, “I will make him appear to be worthy of it; if I
die, he will want a friend. I am desirous your lordship, as a judge of
the field, should be unprejudiced on either side, that you may judge
impartially. If I die, Edmund’s pretensions die with me; but my friend
Zadisky will acquaint you with the foundation of them. I take these
precautions, because I ought to be prepared for every thing; but my
heart is warm with better hopes, and I trust I shall live to justify
my own cause, as well as that of my friend, who is a person of more
consequence than he appears to be.”
Lord Clifford accepted the trust, and expressed the greatest reliance
upon Sir Philip’s honour and veracity.
While these preparations were making for the great event that was to
decide the pretensions of Edmund, his enemies at the Castle of Lovel
were brought to shame for their behaviour to him.
The disagreement between Wenlock and Markham had by degrees brought on
an explanation of some parts of their conduct. Father Oswald had often
hinted to the Baron, Wenlock’s envy of Edmund’s superior qualities,
and the artifices by which he had obtained such an influence with Sir
Robert, as to make him take his part upon all occasions. Oswald now
took advantage of the breach between these two incendiaries, to persuade
Markham to justify himself at Wenlock’s expence, and to tell all he
knew of his wickedness; at length, he promised to declare all he knew
of Wenlock’s conduct, as well in France as since their return, when he
should be called upon; and, by him, Oswald was enabled to unravel the
whole of his contrivances, against the honour, interest, and even life
of Edmund.
He prevailed on Hewson, and Kemp, his associate, to add their testimony
to the others. Hewson confessed that he was touched in his conscience,
when he reflected on the cruelty and injustice of his behaviour to
Edmund, whose behaviour towards him, after he had laid a snare for his
life, was so noble and generous, that he was cut to the heart by it,
and had suffered so much pain and remorse, that he longed for nothing
so much as an opportunity to unburden his mind; but the dread of Mr.
Wenlock’s anger, and the effects of his resentment, had hitherto kept
him silent, always hoping there would come a time, when he might have
leave to declare the whole truth.
Oswald conveyed this information to the Baron’s ear, who waited for
an opportunity to make the proper use of it. Not long after, the two
principal incendiaries came to an open rupture, and Markham threatened
Wenlock that he would shew his uncle what a serpent he had harboured in
his bosom. The Baron arrested his words, and insisted upon his telling
all he knew; adding,--
“If you speak the truth, I will support you; but if you prove false, I
will punish you severely. As to Mr. Wenlock, he shall have a fair trial;
and, if all the accusations I have heard are made good, it is high time
that I should put him out of my family.”
The Baron, with a stern aspect, bade them follow him into the great
hall; and sent for all the rest of the family together.
He then, with great solemnity, told them he was ready to hear all sides
of the question. He declared the whole substance of his informations,
and called upon the accusers to support the charge. Hewson and Kemp gave
the same account they had done to Oswald, offering to swear to the
truth of their testimony; several of the other servants related such
circumstances as had come to their knowledge. Markham then spoke of
every thing, and gave a particular account of all that had passed on
the night they spent in the east apartment; he accused himself of being
privy to Wenlock’s villany, called himself fool and blockhead for being
the instrument of his malignant disposition, and asked pardon of his
uncle for concealing it so long.
The Baron called upon Wenlock to reply to the charge; who, instead of
answering, flew into a passion, raged, swore, threatened, and finally
denied every thing. The witnesses persisted in their assertions. Markham
desired leave to make known the reason why they were all afraid of him.
“He gives it out,” said he, “that he is to be my lord’s son-in-law;
and they, supposing him to stand first in his favour, are afraid of his
displeasure.”
“I hope,” said the Baron, “I shall not be at such a loss for a
son-in-law, as to make choice of such a one as him; he never but once
hinted at such a thing, and then I gave him no encouragement. I have
long seen there was something very wrong in him; but I did not believe
he was of so wicked a disposition; It is no wonder that princes should
be so frequently deceived, when I, a private man, could be so much
imposed upon within the circle of my own family. What think you, son
Robert?”
“I, sir, have been much more imposed on; and I take shame to myself on
the occasion.”
“Enough, my son,” said the Baron; “a generous confession is only a proof
of growing wisdom. You are now sensible, that the best of us are liable
to imposition. The artifices of this unworthy kinsman have set us at
variance with each other, and driven away an excellent youth from this
house, to go I know not whither; but he shall no longer triumph in his
wickedness; he shall feel what it is to be banished from the house of
his protector. He shall set out for his mother’s this very day; I will
write to her in such a manner as shall inform her that he has offended
me, without particularising the nature of his faults; I will give him an
opportunity of recovering his credit with his own family, and this shall
be my security against his doing further mischief. May he repent, and be
forgiven.
“Markham deserves punishment, but not in the same degree.”
“I confess it,” said he, “and will submit to whatever your lordship
shall enjoin.”
“You shall only be banished for a time, but he for ever. I will send
you abroad on a business that shall put you in a way to do credit to
yourself, and service to me. Son Robert, have you any objection to my
sentence?”
“My Lord,” said he, “I have great reason to distrust myself; I am
sensible of my own weakness, and your superior wisdom, as well as
goodness; and I will henceforward submit to you in all things.”
The Baron ordered two of his servants to pack up Wenlock’s clothes and
necessaries, and to set out with him that very day; he bade some others
keep an eye upon him lest he should escape; As soon as they were ready,
my Lord wished him a good journey, and gave him a letter for his mother.
He departed without saying a word, in a sullen kind of resentment, but
his countenance shewed the inward agitations of his mind.
As soon as he was gone, every mouth was opened against him; a thousand
stories came out that they never heard before; The Baron and his sons
were astonished that he should go on so long without detection. My lord
sighed deeply at the thoughts of Edmund’s expulsion, and ardently wished
to know what was become of him.
Sir Robert took the opportunity of coming to an explanation with his
brother William; he took shame to himself for some part of his past
behaviour. Mr. William owned his affection to Edmund, and justified it
by his merit and attachment to him, which were such that he was
certain no time or distance could alter them. He accepted his brother’s
acknowledgement, as a full amends for all that had passed, and begged
that henceforward an entire love and confidence might ever subsist
between them. These new regulations restored peace, confidence, and
harmony, in the Castle of Lovel.
At length, the day arrived for the combatants to meet. The Lord Graham,
with twelve followers gentlemen, and twelve servants, was ready at the
dawn of day to receive them.
The first that entered the field, was Sir Philip Harclay, knight, armed
completely, excepting his head-piece; Hugh Rugby, his esquire, bearing
his lance; John Barnard, his page, carrying his helmet and spurs; and
two servants in his proper livery. The next came Edmund, the heir of
Lovel, followed by his servant John Wyatt; Zadisky, followed by his
servant.
At a short distance came the Lord Clifford, as judge of the field, with
his esquire, two pages, and two livery-servants; followed by his eldest
son, his nephew, and a gentleman his friend, each attended by one
servant; He also brought a surgeon of note to take care of the wounded.
The Lord Graham saluted them; and, by his order, they took their places
without the lists, and the trumpet sounded for the challenger. It was
answered by the defendant, who soon after appeared, attended by three
gentlemen his friends, with each one servant, beside his own proper
attendants.
A place was erected for the Lord Clifford, as judge of the field;
he desired Lord Graham would share the office, who accepted it, on
condition that the combatants should make no objection, and they agreed
to it with the greatest courtesy and respect. They consulted together on
many points of honour and ceremony between the two combatants.
They appointed a marshal of the field, and other inferior officers,
usually employed on these occasions. The Lord Graham sent the marshal
for the challenger, desiring him to declare the cause of his quarrel
before his enemy. Sir Philip Harclay then advanced, and thus spoke:
“I, Philip Harclay, knight, challenge Walter, commonly called Lord
Lovel, as a base, treacherous, and bloody man, who, by his wicked arts
and devices, did kill, or cause to be killed, his kinsman, Arthur Lord
Lovel, my dear and noble friend. I am called upon, in an extraordinary
manner, to revenge his death; and I will prove the truth of what I have
affirmed at the peril of my life.”
Lord Graham then bade the defendant answer to the charge. Lord Lovel
stood forth before his followers, and thus replied:
“I, Walter, Baron of Lovel, do deny the charge against me, and affirm
it to be a base, false, and malicious accusation of this Sir Philip
Harclay, which I believe to be invented by himself, or else framed by
some enemy, and told to him for wicked ends; but, be that as it may, I
will maintain my own honour, and prove him to be a false traitor, at the
hazard of my own life, and to the punishment of his presumption.”
Then said the Lord Graham, “will not this quarrel admit of arbitration?”
“No,” replied Sir Philip; “when I have justified this charge, I have
more to bring against him. I trust in God and the justice of my cause,
and defy that traitor to the death!”
Lord Clifford then spoke a few words to Lord Graham, who immediately
called to the marshal, and bade him open the lists, and deliver their
weapons to the combatants.
While the marshal was arranging the combatants and their followers,
Edmund approached his friend and patron; he put one knee to the ground,
he embraced his knees with the strongest emotions of grief and anxiety.
He was dressed in complete armour, with his visor down; his device was
a hawthorn, with a graft of the rose upon it, the motto--This is not my
true parent; but Sir Philip bade him take these words--E fructu arbor
cognoscitur.
Sir Philip embraced the youth with strong marks of affection. “Be
composed, my child!” said he; “I have neither guilt, fear, nor doubt
in me; I am so certain of success, that I bid you be prepared for the
consequence.”
Zadisky embraced his friend, he comforted Edmund, he suggested every
thing that could confirm his hopes of success.
The marshal waited to deliver the spear to Sir Philip; he now presented
it with the usual form.
“Sir, receive your lance, and God defend the right!”
Sir Philip answered, “Amen!” in a voice that was heard by all present.
He next presented his weapon to Lord Lovel with the same sentence, who
likewise answered “Amen!” with a good courage. Immediately the lists
were cleared, and the combatants began to fight.
They contended a long time with equal skill and courage; at length
Sir Philip unhorsed his antagonist. The judges ordered, that either he
should alight, or suffer his enemy to remount; he chose the former, and
a short combat on foot ensued. The sweat ran off their bodies with the
violence of the exercise. Sir Philip watched every motion of his enemy,
and strove to weary him out, intending to wound, but not to kill him,
unless obliged for his own safety.
He thrust his sword through his left arm, and demanded, whether he would
confess the fact? Lord Lovel enraged, answered, he would die sooner.
Sir Philip then passed the sword through his body twice, and Lord Lovel
fell, crying out that he was slain.
“I hope not,” said Sir Philip, “for I have a great deal of business for
you to do before you die: confess your sins, and endeavour to atone for
them, as the only ground to hope for pardon.”
Lord Lovel replied, “You are the victor, use your good fortune
generously!”
Sir Philip took away his sword, and then waved it over his head, and
beckoned for assistance. The judges sent to beg Sir Philip to spare the
life of his enemy.
“I will,” said he, “upon condition that he will make an honest
confession.”
Lord Lovel desired a surgeon and a confessor.
“You shall have both,” said Sir Philip; “but you must first answer me a
question or two. Did you kill your kinsman or not?”
“It was not my hand that killed him,” answered the wounded man.
“It was done by your own order, however? You shall have no assistance
till you answer this point.”
“It was,” said he, “and Heaven is just!”
“Bear witness all present,” said Sir Philip; “he confesses the fact!”
He then beckoned Edmund, who approached.
“Take off your helmet,” said he; “look on that youth, he is the son of
your injured kinsman.”
“It is himself!” said the Lord Lovel, and fainted away.
Sir Philip then called for a surgeon and a priest, both of which Lord
Graham had provided; the former began to bind up his wounds, and his
assistants poured a cordial into his mouth. “Preserve his life, if it be
possible,” said Sir Philip; “for much depends upon it.”
He then took Edmund by the hand, and presented him to all the company.
“In this young man,” said he, “you see the true heir of the house of
Lovel! Heaven has in its own way made him the instrument to discover
the death of his parents. His father was assassinated by order of that
wicked man, who now receives his punishment; his mother was, by his
cruel treatment, compelled to leave her own house; she was delivered in
the fields, and perished herself in seeking a shelter for her infant.
I have sufficient proofs of every thing I say, which I am ready to
communicate to every person who desires to know the particulars. Heaven,
by my hand, has chastised him; he has confessed the fact I accuse him
of, and it remains that he make restitution of the fortune and honours
he hath usurped so long.”
Edmund kneeled, and with uplifted hands returned thanks to Heaven, that
his noble friend and champion was crowned with victory. The lords and
gentlemen gathered round them, they congratulated them both; while Lord
Lovel’s friends and followers were employed in taking care of him. Lord
Clifford took Sir Philip’s hand.
“You have acted with so much honour and prudence, that it is
presumptuous to offer you advice; but what mean you to do with the
wounded man?”
“I have not determined,” said he; “I thank you for the hint, and beg
your advice how to proceed.”
“Let us consult Lord Graham,” replied he.
Lord Graham insisted upon their going all to his castle: “There,” said
he, “you will have impartial witnesses of all that passes.” Sir Philip
was unwilling to give so much trouble. The Lord Graham protested he
should be proud to do any service to so noble a gentleman. Lord Clifford
enforced his request, saying, it was better upon all accounts to keep
their prisoner on this side the borders till they saw what turn his
health would take, and to keep him safely till he had settled his
worldly affairs.
This resolution being taken, Lord Graham invited the wounded man and
his friends to his castle, as being the nearest place where he could
be lodged and taken proper care of, it being dangerous to carry him
further. They accepted the proposal with many acknowledgements; and,
having made a kind of litter of boughs, they all proceeded to Lord
Graham’s castle, where they put Lord Lovel to bed, and the surgeon
dressed his wounds, and desired he might be kept quiet, not knowing at
present whether they were dangerous or not.
About an hour after, the wounded man complained of thirst; he asked
for the surgeon, and enquired if his life was in danger? The surgeon
answered him doubtfully. He asked--
“Where is Sir Philip Harclay?”
“In the castle.”
“Where is that young man whom he calls the heir of Lovel?”
“He is here, too.”
“Then I am surrounded with my enemies. I want to speak to one of my own
servants, without witnesses; let one be sent to me.”
The surgeon withdrew, and acquainted the gentlemen below. “He shall not
speak to any man,” said Sir Philip, “but in my presence.” He went with
him into the sick man’s room. Upon the sight of Sir Philip, he seemed in
great agitation.
“Am I not allowed to speak with my own servant?” said he.
“Yes, sir, you may; but not without witnesses.”
“Then I am a prisoner, it seems?”
“No, not so, sir; but some caution is necessary at present. But compose
yourself, I do not wish for your death.”
“Then why did you seek it? I never injured you.”
“Yes, you have, in the person of my friend, and I am only the instrument
of justice in the hand of Heaven; endeavour to make atonement while
life is spared to you. Shall I send the priest to you? perhaps he
may convince you of the necessity of restitution, in order to obtain
forgiveness of your sins.”
Sir Philip sent for the priest and the surgeon, and obliged the servant
to retire with him. “I leave you, sir, to the care of these gentlemen;
and whenever a third person is admitted, I will be his attendant; I will
visit you again within an hour.”
He then retired, and consulted his friends below; they were of opinion
that no time should be lost. “You will then,” said he, “accompany me
into the sick man’s apartment in an hour’s time.”
Within the hour, Sir Philip, attended by Lord Clifford and Lord Graham,
entered the chamber. Lord Lovel was in great emotion; the priest stood
on one side of the bed, the surgeon on the other; the former exhorted
him to confess his sins, the other desired he might be left to his
repose. Lord Lovel seemed in great anguish of mind; he trembled, and was
in the utmost confusion. Sir Philip intreated him, with the piety of
a confessor, to consider his soul’s health before that of his body. He
then asked Sir Philip, by what means he knew that he was concerned in
the death of his kinsman?
“Sir,” replied he, “it was not merely by human means this fact was
discovered. There is a certain apartment in the Castle of Lovel, that
has been shut up these one and twenty years, but has lately been opened
and examined into.”
“O Heaven!” exclaimed he, “then Geoffry must have betrayed me!”
“No, sir, he has not; it was revealed in a very extraordinary manner to
that youth whom it most concerns.”
“How can he be the heir of Lovel?”
“By being the son of that unfortunate woman, whom you cruelly obliged to
leave her own house, to avoid being compelled to wed the murderer of her
husband: we are not ignorant, moreover, of the fictitious funeral you
made for her. All is discovered, and you will not tell us any more than
we know already; but we desire to have it confirmed by your confession.”
“The judgments of Heaven are fallen upon me!” said Lord Lovel. “I am
childless, and one is arisen from the grave to claim my inheritance.”
“Nothing, then, hinders you to do justice and make restitution; it is
for the ease of your conscience; and you have no other way of making
atonement for all the mischief you have done.”
“You know too much,” said the criminal, “and I will relate what you do
not know.”
“You may remember,” proceeded he, “that I saw you once at my uncle’s
house?”
“I well remember it.”
“At that time my mind was disturbed by the baleful passion of envy; it
was from that root all my bad actions sprung.”
“Praise be to God!” said the good priest; “he hath touched your heart
with true contrition, and you shew the effect of his mercies; you will
do justice, and you will be rewarded by the gift of repentance unto
salvation.”
Sir Philip desired the penitent to proceed.
“My kinsman excelled me in every kind of merit, in the graces of person
and mind, in all his exercises, and in every accomplishment. I was
totally eclipsed by him, and I hated to be in his company; but what
finished my aversion, was his addressing the lady upon whom I had
fixed my affections. I strove to rival him there, but she gave him the
preference that, indeed, was only his due; but I could not bear to see,
or acknowledge, it.
“The most bitter hatred took possession of my breast, and I vowed to
revenge the supposed injury as soon as opportunity should offer. I
buried my resentment deep in my heart, and outwardly appeared to rejoice
at his success. I made a merit of resigning my pretensions to him, but
I could not bear to be present at his nuptials; I retired to my father’s
seat, and brooded over my revenge in secret. My father died this year,
and soon after my uncle followed him; within another year my kinsman was
summoned to attend the king on his Welch expedition.
“As soon as I heard he was gone from home, I resolved to prevent his
return, exulting in the prospect of possessing his title, fortune, and
his lady. I hired messengers, who were constantly going and coming to
give me intelligence of all that passed at the castle; I went there soon
after, under pretence of visiting my kinsman. My spies brought me
an account of all that happened; one informed me of the event of the
battle, but could not tell whether my rival was living or dead; I hoped
the latter, that I might avoid the crime I meditated. I reported his
death to his Lady, who took it very heavily.
“Soon after a messenger arrived with tidings that he was alive and well,
and had obtained leave to return home immediately.
“I instantly dispatched my two emissaries to intercept him on the way.
He made so much haste to return, that he was met within a mile of his
own castle; he had out-rode his servants, and was alone. They killed
him, and drew him aside out of the highway. They then came to me with
all speed, and desired my orders; it was then about sunset. I sent
them back to fetch the dead body, which they brought privately into the
castle: they tied it neck and heels, and put it into a trunk, which they
buried under the floor in the closet you mentioned. The sight of the
body stung me to the heart; I then felt the pangs of remorse, but it was
too late; I took every precaution that prudence suggested to prevent the
discovery; but nothing can be concealed from the eye of Heaven.
“From that fatal hour I have never known peace, always in fear of
something impending to discover my guilt, and to bring me to shame; at
length I am overtaken by justice. I am brought to a severe reckoning
here, and I dread to meet one more severe hereafter.”
“Enough,” said the priest; “you have done a good work, my son! trust in
the Lord; and, now this burden is off your mind, the rest will be made
easy to you.”
Lord Lovel took a minute’s repose, and then went on.
“I hope by the hint you gave, Sir Philip, the poor lady is yet alive?”
“No, sir, she is not; but she died not till after she brought forth a
son, whom Heaven made its instrument to discover and avenge the death of
both his parents.”
“They are well avenged!” said he. “I have no children to lament for
me; all mine have been taken from me in the bloom of youth; only one
daughter lived to be twelve years old; I intended her for a wife for one
of my nephews, but within three months I have buried her.” He sighed,
wept, and was silent.
The gentlemen present lifted up their hands and eyes to Heaven in
silence.
“The will of Heaven be obeyed!” said the priest. “My penitent hath
confessed all; what more would you require?”
“That he make atonement,” said Sir Philip; “that he surrender the title
and estate to the right heir, and dispose of his own proper fortune to
his nearest relations, and resign himself to penitence and preparation
for a future state. For this time I leave him with you, father, and will
join my prayers with yours for his repentance.”
So saying, he left the room, and was followed by the Barons and the
surgeon; the priest alone remaining with him. As soon as they were out
of hearing, Sir Philip questioned the surgeon concerning his patient’s
situation; who answered, that at present he saw no signs of immediate
danger, but he could not yet pronounce that there was none.
“If he were mortally wounded,” said he, “he could not be so well, nor
speak so long without faintness; and it is my opinion that he will soon
recover, if nothing happens to retard the cure.”
“Then,” said Sir Philip, “keep this opinion from him; for I would
suffer the fear of death to operate on him until he hath performed some
necessary acts of justice. Let it only be known to these noblemen, upon
whose honour I can rely, and I trust they will approve my request to
you, sir.”
“I join in it,” said Lord Clifford, “from the same motives.”
“I insist upon it,” said Lord Graham; “and I can answer for my surgeon’s
discretion.”
“My lords,” said the surgeon, “you may depend on my fidelity; and,
after what I have just heard, my conscience is engaged in this noble
gentleman’s behalf, and I will do every thing in my power to second your
intentions.”
“I thank you, sir,” said Sir Philip, “and you may depend on my gratitude
in return. I presume you will sit up with him to-night; if any danger
should arise, I desire to be called immediately; but, otherwise, I would
suffer him to rest quietly, that he may be prepared for the business of
the following day.”
“I shall obey your directions, sir; my necessary attendance will give
me a pretence not to leave him, and thus I shall hear all that passes
between him and all that visit him.”
“You will oblige me highly,” said Sir Philip, “and I shall go to rest
with confidence in your care.”
The surgeon returned to the sick man’s chamber, Sir Philip and the
Barons to the company below: they supped in the great hall, with all
the gentlemen that were present at the combat. Sir Philip and his Edmund
retired to their repose, being heartily fatigued; and the company staid
to a late hour, commenting upon the action of the day, praising the
courage and generosity of the noble knight, and wishing a good event to
his undertaking.
Most of Lord Lovel’s friends went away as soon as they saw him safely
lodged, being ashamed of him, and of their appearance in his behalf;
and the few that stayed were induced by their desire of a further
information of the base action he had committed, and to justify their
own characters and conduct.
The next morning Sir Philip entered into consultation with the two
Barons, on the methods he should take to get Edmund received, and
acknowledged, as heir of the house of Lovel. They were all of opinion,
that the criminal should be kept in fear till he had settled his
worldly affairs, and they had resolved how to dispose of him. With this
determination they entered his room, and enquired of the surgeon how he
had passed the night. He shook his head, and said but little.
Lord Lovel desired that he might be removed to his own house. Lord
Graham said, he could not consent to that, as there was evident danger
in removing him; and appealed to the surgeon, who confirmed his opinion.
Lord Graham desired he would make himself easy, and that he should have
every kind of assistance there.
Sir Philip then proposed to send for the Lord Fitz-Owen, who would see
that all possible care was taken of his brother-in-law, and would assist
him in settling his affairs. Lord Lovel was against it; he was peevish
and uneasy, and desired to be left with only his own servants to attend
him. Sir Philip quitted the room with a significant look; and the two
Lords endeavoured to reconcile him to his situation. He interrupted
them. “It is easy for men in your situation to advise, but it is
difficult for one in mine to practise; wounded in body and mind, it
is natural that I should strive to avoid the extremes of shame and
punishment; I thank you for your kind offices, and beg I may be left
with my own servants.”
“With them, and the surgeon, you shall,” said Lord Graham; and they both
retired.
Sir Philip met them below. “My lords,” said he, “I am desirous that my
Lord Fitz-Owen should be sent for, and that he may hear his brother’s
confession; for I suspect that he may hereafter deny, what only the fear
of death has extorted from him; with your permission I am determined to
send messengers to-day.”
They both expressed approbation, and Lord Clifford proposed to write
to him, saying, a letter from an impartial person will have the more
weight; I will send one of my principal domestics with your own. This
measure being resolved upon, Lord Clifford retired to write, and Sir
Philip to prepare his servants for instant departure. Edmund desired
leave to write to father Oswald, and John Wyatt was ordered to be the
bearer of his letter. When the Lord Clifford had finished his letter, he
read it to Sir Philip and his chosen friends, as follows:--
“RIGHT HON. MY GOOD LORD,--I have taken upon me to acquaint your
Lordship, that there has been a solemn combat at arms between your
brother-in-law, the Lord Lovel, and Sir Philip Harclay, Knt. of
Yorkshire. It was fought in the jurisdiction of the Lord Graham, who,
with myself, was appointed judge of the field; it was fairly won, and
Sir Philip is the conqueror. After he had gained the victory he declared
at large the cause of the quarrel, and that he had revenged the death
of Arthur Lord Lovel his friend, whom the present Lord Lovel had
assassinated, that he might enjoy his title and estate. The wounded man
confessed the fact; and Sir Philip gave him his life, and only carried
off his sword as a trophy of his victory. Both the victor and the
vanquished were conveyed to Lord Graham’s castle, where the Lord Lovel
now lies in great danger. He is desirous to settle his worldly affairs,
and to make his peace with God and man. Sir Philip Harclay says there
is a male heir of the house of Lovel, for whom he claims the title and
estate; but he is very desirous that your Lordship should be present at
the disposal of your brother’s property that of right belongs to him,
of which your children are the undoubted heirs. He also wants to consult
you in many other points of honour and equity. Let me intreat you, on
the receipt of this letter, to set out immediately for Lord Graham’s
castle, where you will be received with the utmost respect and
hospitality. You will hear things that will surprise you as much as they
do me; you will judge of them with that justice and honour that speaks
your character; and you will unite with us in wondering at the ways of
Providence, and submitting to its decrees, in punishing the guilty, and
doing justice to the innocent and oppressed. My best wishes and prayers
attend you and your hopeful family. My lord, I remain your humble
servant,
“CLIFFORD.”
Every one present expressed the highest approbation of this letter.
Sir Philip gave orders to John Wyatt to be very circumspect in his
behaviour, to give Edmund’s letter privately to father Oswald, and to
make no mention of him, or his pretensions to Lovel Castle.
Lord Clifford gave his servant the requisite precautions. Lord Graham
added a note of invitation, and sent it by a servant of his own. As soon
as all things were ready, the messengers set out with all speed for the
Castle of Lovel.
They stayed no longer by the way than to take some refreshment, but rode
night and day till they arrived there.
Lord Fitz-Owen was in the parlour with his children; Father Oswald was
walking in the avenue before the house, when he saw three messengers
whose horses seemed jaded, and the riders fatigued, like men come a long
journey. He came up, just as the first had delivered his message to the
porter. John Wyatt knew him; he dismounted, and made signs that he had
something to say to him; he retired back a few steps, and John, with
great dexterity, slipped a letter into his hand. The father gave him his
blessing, and a welcome.
“Who do you come from?” said he aloud.
“From the Lords Graham and Clifford to the Lord Fitz-Owen; and we bring
letters of consequence to the Baron.”
Oswald followed the messengers into the hall; a servant announced their
arrival. Lord Fitz-Owen received them in the parlour; Lord Clifford’s
servant delivered his master’s letter, Lord Graham’s his, and they said
they would retire and wait his Lordship’s answer. The Baron ordered them
some refreshment. They retired, and he opened his letters. He read them
with great agitations, he struck his hand upon his heart, he exclaimed,
“My fears are all verified! the blow is struck, and it has fallen upon
the guilty!”
Oswald came in a minute after.
“You are come in good time,” said the Baron. “Read that letter, that my
children may know the contents.”
He read it, with faultering voice, and trembling limbs. They were all
in great surprise. William looked down, and kept a studied silence. Sir
Robert exclaimed--
“Is it possible? can my uncle be guilty of such an action?”
“You hear,” said the Baron, “he has confessed it!”
“But to whom?” said Sir Robert.
His father replied, “Lord Clifford’s honour is unquestionable, and I
cannot doubt what he affirms.”
Sir Robert leaned his head upon his hand, as one lost in thought; at
length he seemed to awake.
“My Lord, I have no doubt that Edmund is at the bottom of this business.
Do you not remember that Sir Philip Harclay long ago promised him his
friendship? Edmund disappears; and, soon after, this man challenges my
Uncle. You know what passed here before his departure; He has suggested
this affair to Sir Philip, and instigated him to this action. This is
the return he has made for the favours he has received from our family,
to which he owes every thing!”
“Softly, my son!” said the Baron; “let us be cautious of reflecting upon
Edmund; there is a greater hand in this business. My conjecture was too
true; It was in that fatal apartment that he was made acquainted with
the circumstances of Lord Lovel’s death; he was, perhaps, enjoined to
reveal them to Sir Philip Harclay, the bosom friend of the deceased.
The mystery of that apartment is disclosed, the woe to the guilty is
accomplished! There is no reflection upon any one; Heaven effects its
purposes in its own time and manner. I and mine are innocent; let us
worship, and be silent!”
“But what do you propose to do?” said Sir Robert.
“To return with the messengers,” answered the Baron. “I think it highly
proper that I should see your Uncle, and hear what he has to say; my
children are his heirs; in justice to them, I ought to be acquainted
with every thing that concerns the disposal of his fortune.”
“Your Lordship is in the right,” answered Sir Robert, “it concerns us
all. I have only to ask your permission to bear you company.”
“With all my heart,” said the Baron; “I have only to ask of you in
return, that you will command yourself, and not speak your mind hastily;
wait for the proofs before you give judgment, and take advice of your
reason before you decide upon any thing; if you reflect upon the past,
you will find reason to distrust yourself. Leave all to me, and be
assured I will protect your honour and my own.”
“I will obey you in all things, my lord; and will make immediate
preparation for our departure.” So saying, he left the room.
As soon as he was gone, Mr. William broke silence.
“My Lord,” said he, “if you have no great objection, I beg leave also to
accompany you both.”
“You shall, my son, if you desire it; I think I can see your motives,
and your brother’s also; your coolness will be a good balance to his
warmth; you shall go with us. My son Walter shall be his sister’s
protector in our absence, and he shall be master here till we return.”
“I hope, my dear father, that will not be long; I shall not be happy
till you come home,” said the fair Emma.
“It shall be no longer, my dearest, than till this untoward affair is
settled.”
The Baron desired to know when the messengers were expected to return.
Oswald took this opportunity to retire; he went to his own apartment,
and read the letter, as follows:--
“The Heir of Lovel, to his dear and reverend friend, father Oswald.
“Let my friends at the Castle of Lovel know that I live in hopes one day
to see them there. If you could by any means return with the messengers,
your testimony would add weight to mine; perhaps you might obtain
permission to attend the Baron; I leave it to you to manage this. John
Wyatt will inform you of all that has passed here, and that hitherto my
success has outrun my expectation, and, almost, my wishes. I am in the
high road to my inheritance; and trust that the Power who hath conducted
me thus far, will not leave his work unfinished. Tell my beloved
William, that I live, and hope to embrace him before long. I recommend
myself to your holy prayers and blessing, and remain your son and
servant, Edmund.”
Oswald then went to the messengers; he drew John Wyatt to a distance
from the rest, and got the information he wanted. He stayed with
him till he was sent for by the Baron, to whom he went directly, and
prevented his questions, by saying, “I have been talking with the
messengers; I find they have travelled night and day to bring the
letters with all speed; they only require one night’s rest, and will be
ready to set out with you to-morrow.”
“‘Tis well,” said the Baron; “we will set out as soon as they are
ready.”
“My Lord,” said Oswald, “I have a favour to beg of you; it is, that I
may attend you; I have seen the progress of this wonderful discovery,
and I have a great desire to see the conclusion of it; perhaps my
presence may be of service in the course of your business.”
“Perhaps it may,” said the Baron; “I have no objection, if you desire to
go.”
They then separated, and went to prepare for their journey.
Oswald had a private interview with Joseph, whom he informed of all that
he knew, and his resolution to attend the Baron in his journey to the
north.
“I go,” said he, “to bear witness in behalf of injured innocence. If it
be needful, I shall call upon you; therefore hold yourself in readiness
in case you should be sent for.”
“That I will,” said Joseph, “and spend my last remains of life and
strength, to help my young lord to his right and title. But do they not
begin to suspect who is the heir of Lovel?”
“Not in the least,” said Oswald; “they think him concerned in the
discovery, but have no idea of his being interested in the event.”
“Oh, father!” said Joseph, “I shall think every day a week till your
return; but I will no longer keep you from your repose.”
“Good night,” said Oswald; “but I have another visit to pay before I go
to rest.”
He left Joseph, and went on tip-toe to Mr. William’s room, and tapped at
his door. He came and opened it. “What news, father?”
“Not much; I have only orders to tell you that Edmund is well, and as
much your friend as ever.”
“I guessed,” said William, “that we should hear something of him. I have
still another guess.”
“What is that, my child?”
“That we shall see or hear of him where we are going.”
“It is very likely,” said Oswald; “and I would have you be prepared for
it;--I am confident we shall hear nothing to his discredit.”
“I am certain of that,” said William, “and I shall rejoice to see him; I
conclude that he is under the protection of Sir Philip Harclay.”
“He is so,” said Oswald; “I had my information from Sir Philip’s
servant, who is one of the messengers, and was guide to the others in
their way hither.”
After some farther conversation they separated, and each went to his
repose.
The next morning the whole party set out on their journey; they
travelled by easy stages on account of the Baron’s health, which began
to be impaired, and arrived in health and spirits at the castle of Lord
Graham, where they were received with the utmost respect and kindness by
the noble master.
The Lord Lovel had recovered his health and strength as much as possible
in the time, and was impatient to be gone from thence to his own house.
He was surprised to hear of the arrival of his brother and nephews, and
expressed no pleasure at the thoughts of seeing them. When Sir Philip
Harclay came to pay his respects to Baron Fitz-Owen, the latter received
him with civility, but with a coldness that was apparent. Sir Robert
left the room, doubting his resolution. Sir Philip advanced, and took
the Baron by the hand.
“My Lord,” said he, “I rejoice to see you here. I cannot be satisfied
with the bare civilities of such a man as you. I aspire to your esteem,
to your friendship, and I shall not be happy till I obtain them. I will
make you the judge of every part of my conduct, and where you shall
condemn me, I will condemn myself.”
The Baron was softened, his noble heart felt its alliance with its
counterpart, but he thought the situation of his brother demanded some
reserve towards the man who sought his life; but, in spite of himself,
it wore off every moment. Lord Clifford related all that had passed,
with the due regard to Sir Philip’s honour; he remarked how nobly he
concealed the cause of his resentment against the Lord Lovel till the
day of combat, that he might not prepossess the judges against him. He
enlarged on his humanity to the vanquished, on the desire he expressed
to have justice done to his heirs; finally, he mentioned his great
respect for the Lord Fitz-Owen, and the solicitude he shewed to have
him come to settle the estate of the sick man in favour of his children.
Lord Clifford also employed his son to soften Sir Robert, and to explain
to him every doubtful part of Sir Philip’s behaviour.
After the travellers had taken some rest, the Lord Graham proposed that
they should make a visit to the sick man’s chamber. The lords sent
to acquaint him they were coming to visit him, and they followed the
messenger. The Lord Fitz-Owen went up to the bedside; he embraced his
brother with strong emotions of concern. Sir Robert followed him; then
Mr. William.
Lord Lovel embraced them, but said nothing; his countenance shewed his
inward agitations. “Lord Fitz-Owen first broke silence.
“I hope,” said he, “I see my brother better than I expected?”
Lord Lovel bit his fingers, he pulled the bed-clothes, he seemed almost
distracted; at length he broke out--
“I owe no thanks to those who sent for my relations! Sir Philip Harclay,
you have used ungenerously the advantage you have gained over me! you
spared my life, only to take away my reputation. You have exposed me to
strangers, and, what is worse, to my dearest friends; when I lay in
a state of danger, you obliged me to say any thing, and now you take
advantage of it, to ruin me in my friends’ affection. But, if I recover,
you may repent it!”
Sir Philip then came forward.
“My Lords, I shall take no notice of what this unhappy man has just now
said; I shall appeal to you, as to the honourable witnesses of all that
has passed; you see it was no more than necessary. I appeal to you for
the motives of my treatment of him, before, at, and after our meeting.
I did not take his life, as I might have done; I wished him to repent of
his sins, and to make restitution of what he unjustly possesses. I was
called out to do an act of justice; I had taken the heir of Lovel under
my protection, my chief view was to see justice done to him;--what
regarded this man was but a secondary motive. This was my end, and I
will never, never lose sight of it.”
Lord Lovel seemed almost choaked with passion, to see every one giving
some mark of approbation and respect to Sir Philip. He called out--
“I demand to know who is this pretended heir, whom he brings out to
claim my title and fortune?”
“My noble auditors,” said Sir Philip, “I shall appeal to your
judgment, in regard to the proofs of my ward’s birth and family; every
circumstance shall be laid before you, and you shall decide upon them.
“Here is a young man, supposed the son of a peasant, who, by a train
of circumstances that could not have happened by human contrivance,
discovers not only who were his real parents, but that they came to
untimely deaths. He even discovers the different places where their
bones are buried, both out of consecrated ground, and appeals to their
ashes for the truth of his pretensions. He has also living proofs to
offer, that will convince the most incredulous. I have deferred entering
into particulars, till the arrival of Baron Fitz-Owen. I know his
noble heart and honourable character, from one that has long been an
eye-witness of his goodness; such is the opinion I have of his justice,
that I will accept him as one of the judges in his brother’s cause.
I and my ward will bring our proofs before him, and the company here
present; in the course of them, it will appear that he is the best
qualified of any to judge of them, because he can ascertain many of
the facts we shall have occasion to mention. I will rest our cause upon
their decision.”
Lord Graham applauded Sir Philip’s appeal, affirming his own
impartiality, and calling upon Lord Clifford and his son, and also his
own nephews who were present. Lord Clifford said--
“Sir Philip offers fairly, and like himself; there can be no place nor
persons more impartial than the present, and I presume the Lord Lovel
can have no objection.”
“No objection!” answered he; “what, to be tried like a criminal, to have
judges appointed over me, to decide upon my right to my own estate and
title? I will not submit to such a jurisdiction!”
“Then,” said Sir Philip, “you had rather be tried by the laws of the
land, and have them pronounce sentence upon you? Take your choice, sir;
if you refuse the one, you shall be certain of the other.”
Lord Clifford then said--“You will allow Lord Lovel to consider of
the proposal; he will consult his friends, and be determined by their
advice.”
Lord Fitz-Owen said--“I am very much surprised at what I have heard. I
should be glad to know all that Sir Philip Harclay has to say for his
ward, that I may judge what my brother has to hope or fear; I will then
give my best advice, or offer my mediation, as he may stand in need of
them.”
“You say well,” replied Lord Graham, “and pray let us come directly to
the point; Sir Philip, you will introduce your ward to this company, and
enter upon your proofs.”
Sir Philip bowed to the company; he went out and brought in Edmund,
encouraging him by the way; he presented him to Baron Fitz-Owen, who
looked very serious.
“Edmund Twyford,” said he, “are you the heir of the house of Lovel?”
“I am, my Lord,” said Edmund, bowing to the ground; “the proofs will
appear; but I am, at the same time, the most humble and grateful of all
your servants, and the servant of your virtues.”
Sir Robert rose up, and was going to leave the room.
“Son Robert, stay,” said the Baron; “if there is any fraud, you will be
pleased to detect it, and, if all that is affirmed be true, you will not
shut your eyes against the light; you are concerned in this business;
hear it in silence, and let reason be arbiter in your cause.”
He bowed to his father, bit his lip, and retired to the window. William
nodded to Edmund, and was silent. All the company had their eyes fixed
on the young man, who stood in the midst, casting down his eyes with
modest respect to the audience; while Sir Philip related all the
material circumstances of his life, the wonderful gradation by which
he came to the knowledge of his birth, the adventures of the haunted
apartment, the discovery of the fatal closet, and the presumptive proofs
that Lord Lovel was buried there. At this part of his narration, Lord
Fitz-Owen interrupted him.
“Where is this closet you talk of? for I and my sons went over the
apartment since Edmund’s departure, and found no such place as you
describe.”
“My Lord,” said Edmund, “I can account for it: the door is covered with
tapestry, the same as the room, and you might easily overlook it; but I
have a witness here,” said he, and putting his hand into his bosom,
he drew out the key. “If this is not the key of that closet, let me
be deemed an impostor, and all I say a falsehood; I will risk my
pretensions upon this proof.”
“And for what purpose did you take it away?” said the Baron.
“To prevent any person from going into it,” replied Edmund; “I have
vowed to keep it till I shall open that closet before witnesses
appointed for that purpose.”
“Proceed, sir,” said the Baron Fitz-Owen.
Sir Philip then related the conversation between Edmund and Margery
Twyford, his supposed mother.
Lord Fitz-Owen seemed in the utmost surprise. He exclaimed, “Can this be
true? strange discovery! unfortunate child!”
Edmund’s tears bore witness to his veracity. He was obliged to hide
his face, he lifted up his clasped hands to heaven, and was in great
emotions during all this part of the relation; while Lord Lovel groaned,
and seemed in great agitation.
Sir Philip then addressed himself to Lord Fitz-Owen.
“My Lord, there was another person present at the conversation between
Edmund and his foster-mother, who can witness to all that passed;
perhaps your lordship can tell who that was?”
“It was father Oswald,” replied the Baron; “I well remember that he went
with him at his request; let him be called in.”
He was sent for, and came immediately. The Baron desired him to relate
all that passed between Edmund and his mother.