LORD ELLINGHAM AND TOM RAIN.
The interview between Lady Hatfield and the Earl of Ellingham had lasted
a considerable time; and it was close upon three o'clock in the
afternoon when his lordship reached Horsemonger Lane Gaol.
He communicated to the governor his desire to see Thomas Rainford; and
although visitors were usually compelled to speak to prisoners through
an iron grating, yet the rank of the nobleman and the fact of his being
in the commission of the peace for another county (Middlesex), procured
him immediate access to the highwayman's cell.
Rainford was sitting in a pensive attitude at a table on which his
dinner remained untouched. We have before said—and we now repeat—that he
cared but little for the peril of his own predicament: there were,
however, ties which bound him to the existence that was now in jeopardy,
and to the freedom that was lost.
He started from his seat with unfeigned surprise, when the Earl of
Ellingham entered the cell.
"You are astonished to see _me_ here, Mr. Rainford?" said the nobleman,
in a mild and mournful tone.
"It is a visit, my lord," was the answer, "that I certainly did not
expect."
"And yet—if the statement you made to Lady Hatfield be true—I am but
performing a duty——"
"Ah! then she has told you _that_!" exclaimed the prisoner.
"She has told me that you claim a near—a very near relationship to me,"
rejoined the nobleman, his voice trembling with emotion—for the reader
has seen enough of him to be aware that he possessed a generous heart.
"Yes—my lord," replied Rainford: "the same father was the author of our
being—although our mothers were different."
"Is this true?—is it really true?" demanded the Earl hastily.
"As true as there is an Almighty God who now beholds the great peer and
the prisoned highwayman face to face!" replied Rainford solemnly; and
divesting himself of his coat, he bared his right arm and exhibited a
particular mark.
"I cannot doubt it—I cannot disbelieve you!" exclaimed the nobleman,
tears starting from his eyes.
And then the great peer and the prisoned highwayman were folded in each
other's arms.
"But, my God!" exclaimed Arthur, when the excitement of this fraternal
recognition had somewhat passed away; "in what a condition do I find
you, my poor brother!"
"Grieve not for me, Arthur," said Rainford: "my fate will soon be
decided now; and whatever it may be, I shall be prepared to meet it as
becomes a brave man."
"Talk not thus, Thomas!" cried the nobleman, pressing his hand warmly.
"I have money to buy off your prosecutors—interest to use in your
behalf——"
"If I say to you, '_Yes, use both_,' Arthur," replied the highwayman,
"it is only because there is _one_ who loves me well, and for whose sake
I could wish to live."
"I understand you—you allude to Miss Esther de Medina," said the Earl.
"But there is _another_ for whose sake you must hope to live and enjoy
freedom again: and that is the brother who now stands before you, and
who, for our father's sake, will never—never desert you!"
"My dear Arthur, your kindness unmans me," said Rainford; "and yet—if
you knew all—you would perhaps think that I am not altogether unworthy
of your sympathy! But, sit down, and let me show you that, though of
lost and ruined reputation, I am not without some feeling!"
The Earl took one of the two chairs that there were in the cell; and
Rainford seated himself near his half-brother on the other.
"That you are acquainted with a considerable portion of my history, I
know," resumed the highwayman; "for some seven or eight years ago you
encountered a gipsy-woman near Oxford, who revealed to you——"
"The faithful Miranda indeed told me all she knew!" interrupted the
Earl. "But at that period she believed you to have been long dead."
"Yes—and it was only a short time ago that I met her in Hampshire,"
answered Rainford; "and accident led us to converse together. A word or
two which I dropped without anticipating the result, induced her to make
certain inquiries: then she requested me, in a hurried and excited
manner, to bare my right arm—and it was only on the occasion of which I
am speaking, and which occurred a few months since, that I learnt the
real narrative of my birth. It appears that when Miranda had fallen so
dangerously ill, and had become delirious, the gipsies considered me to
be a burthen to them, as I was not born of their race; and one of them
took me to Winchester, in the neighbourhood of which city the tents were
pitched at the time; and there he purposely abandoned me. What
subsequently became of me I have not time now to relate; my history has
been most eventful, and could not be compressed into a short narrative.
But should the laws of my country demand that my misdeeds be expiated on
the scaffold, I will leave that history, written out in all its
remarkable details, for your contemplation."
"Talk not thus, Thomas—oh! talk not thus!" cried Arthur. "I will save
you yet—even if I throw myself at the feet of my sovereign, and proclaim
that you are my brother!"
"God grant that you may prove successful, for the sake of _one_ who
loves me well!" said Rainford, solemnly. "But let me pursue the thread
of that much of my story which I have now to relate to you. It appears
that when Miranda _did_ recover from her serious illness, the gipsies
did not like to tell her the truth relative to myself; and they
therefore invented the tale of my death to account for my disappearance.
Thus was it that, until a few months ago, she remained in ignorance of
the deceit that had been practised upon her; and the same day which
revealed to her the fact that I was still alive, made me acquainted with
the history of my birth. Miranda also told me that Benjamin Bones was
still in existence and was reputed to be a rich man. She had recently
been in London; and curiosity had prompted her to make inquiries
concerning him. All that she had gleaned, she communicated to me. It
then struck me that I would come to London—that I would throw myself in
the way of that man who had plundered me of my inheritance—and that I
would watch for some favourable opportunity to wring from him the amount
with interest and compound interest, that was fairly mine. I learnt from
Miranda that certain papers had been found about the person of my poor
mother, after she was dead, and that the perusal of them had excited the
interest of this Bones. It therefore struck me that I might recover
those documents, as well as the money of which I had been plundered. If
the documents should prove in any way interesting or valuable, I
thought, so much the better: if not, no harm would be done in obtaining
possession of them. I came to London; and accident enabled me, through
the intervention of a mutual acquaintance named Tullock, to meet with
Benjamin Bones. I offered him my services in a particular way—and he
accepted them. To be candid, he was to plan deeds of villany—and I was
to execute them. His terms were so ridiculously exorbitant that I should
have laughed at them, had I not a particular object to serve in
connecting myself with him. And the opportunity which I sought presented
itself sooner than I had anticipated. In a word, I had succeeded in all
I had undertaken: I was enabled to help myself to as much as I chose of
his hoarded treasures—and I discovered the papers that I have alluded
to."
"And were they of any interest?" asked the Earl.
"Of such interest and of such value, Arthur," returned Tom Rain, "that
perhaps there is no other man in England who would have failed to avail
himself of the brilliant prospects that they opened to my view. But I
was not to be dazzled by them—not to be led away by the temptation. No:
I knew that my character was gone—that my reputation was tarnished—that
my misdeeds were numerous and great;—and I felt also for _you_,
Arthur—as well as for the haughty name of Ellingham!"
"What do you mean, my dear brother?" cried the noble, struck by the
impressive tone in which Rainford uttered these words.
"I mean," answered the debased highwayman to the great peer, "that
within the last few days there has been within my reach a jewel which I
might have had, and might still have, for the mere trouble of extending
my hand to reach it: a jewel such as men toil all their lives to gain!
This jewel is a proud title and a princely fortune——"
"Thomas!—my brother!" ejaculated the Earl, a strange and exciting
suspicion flashing through his brain.
"Yes—a proud title and a princely fortune, Arthur," repeated Rainford:
"but I desire neither! Yet—solemnly and seriously do I declare that,
amongst those papers which I discovered in the den of Benjamin Bones,
there was one which would make me rich at the expense of another—ennoble
me to the prejudice of one whom the proud title better becomes,—and that
individual who would thus suffer is _yourself_! For Octavia Manners was
the Countess of Ellingham—and I—the debased highwayman, am thine elder
brother, legitimately born!"
"Oh! what do I hear?" exclaimed Arthur: "and how much generosity does
your conduct display! But think not, dearest brother, that I grieve at
the announcement which you have just made! No—far from that! To know
that my father did justice to your poor mother—to be able to entertain
the conviction that the author of our being was less guilty than I
imagined—is a source of satisfaction so pure—so sincere—so heart-felt,
that I would gladly purchase it even with the loss of title and of
fortune!"
"It is you who are generous, Arthur," said Rainford—for so we shall
continue to call him, at all events for the present. "But that coronet
which sits so gracefully on your noble brow, and that fortune which
enables you to do so much good, shall never be lost to you. No—never,
Arthur! Titles I care not for—great wealth I do not crave;—and even if I
yearned for the one or aspired to the other, of what avail would be that
idle—ineffectual ambition? Here am I in a vile dungeon—accused of a
serious offence—my life endangered! And, even if your interest should
save me, must I not for ever become an exile from the land of my birth?
Yes: for whether you deter the prosecutors from farther proceedings in
my case,—or, should they push the matter to the extreme verge, and my
life be saved only at your intercession,—can I remain in England? If
released from custody, how can I hope to gain an honest name in this
clime?—if condemned to death, and then reprieved, will not this leniency
on the part of the Crown be conceded on the condition of banishment for
the remainder of my days? Thus, Arthur, even did I desire to possess the
proud name of Ellingham—did I aspire to that coronet which adorns thy
brow—I could not be mad enough to yield to the temptation. But, I
repeat—I care not for rank—I need not much wealth; and thus neither my
position nor my inclination will for an instant permit me to disturb you
in the enjoyment of the family honours and the hereditary estates."
"Alas! how much—how deeply do I regret that we had not met before to
embrace as brothers!" exclaimed the Earl. "Though crimes are imputed to
you, Thomas,—yet do you possess a heart endowed with the loftiest—the
most generous feelings! Ah! well do I now understand wherefore you were
agitated last night at Lady Hatfield's house—and why you told me that
from no other man in England would you ask as a favour that right of
egress from the mansion which you could command by force! And I, who was
once on the point of striking you! But wherefore did you not then reveal
to me what you have told me now?"
"The secret of my birth you should never have learnt from _my_ lips,"
answered Rainford. "No—I would not have allowed you to know that you
possessed a relative for whom you would have to blush. But I was
compelled to make that revelation to Lady Hatfield—because——"
"Ah! let us not talk of her, brother!" said Lord Ellingham mournfully.
"I would not for worlds reproach you—and yet you know not how profoundly
I have loved that woman—how tenderly I love her still! But my hopes
there——Let us change the topic, I say!" he added, hastily interrupting
himself. "And now tell me if there be any thing I can do in order to
soften the grief which must be experienced by that _one_ to whom you
alluded ere now—any message that I can take to her——"
"Yes: you must see _her_," said Rainford, after a moment's reflection;
"and you must tell her that she is to give up to you all those papers
which relate to the marriage of our father and my mother and to my
birth. She is acquainted with every thing that concerns me and my
affairs. It was my original intention to keep those papers—not to serve
any purpose—never to use them,—but to gratify one of those unaccountable
whims which sometimes influence the most strong-minded amongst us. I
thought that, perhaps, when in a foreign land,—for it was my intention
to have quitted this country in a few days,—I might sometimes feel a
pleasure in contemplating documents so closely connected with my
parentage and my birth. Perhaps, too, I might have been swayed by some
little sentiment of pride in being able to say to myself, '_A title and
a princely fortune are within my grasp; and I will not take them,
because I feel myself so utterly unworthy of the first, and because I
require not the other_.'—But now, let my fate be whatever it may, it is
prudent that those papers should be destroyed. She, who has them in her
keeping, loves me—adores me: but she has one foible—one weakness which
has already produced serious embarrassment. She is fond of gay
apparel—of costly jewels—of those trinkets and that outward show which
dazzle the minds of so many women; and this passion on her part is
stronger than herself. In a word, then, I would rather that the papers
should not remain in her hands—I would sooner that they should be burnt
at once than become the source of a temptation which circumstances might
perhaps some day render irresistible to _her_. If you really wish to
ease my mind of any portion of that weight of anxiety which now hangs
upon it, you will at once visit her; and when you tell her all that has
passed between you and me ere now, she will give you up those documents,
which I enjoin you to commit to the flames, when you have perused them."
"I will do your bidding, Thomas, in all respects save one," returned
Lord Ellingham: "and that is with regard to the destruction of the
papers. No—if you are generous to a degree, I must at least be just; and
I will keep those documents for you—safely, religiously keep them—to be
at your disposal at any time, however remote, should altered
circumstances induce you to claim them."
"Then you imagine," said Rainford, with something of bitterness in his
tone, "that should the future smile upon me, I might be tempted to pluck
the coronet from your brow to place it on mine own? You wrong me—yes,
you wrong me, Arthur!"
"Heaven knows that I would not willingly—wantonly do so!" cried the
nobleman enthusiastically. "But, justice——"
"Well—be it as you say," interrupted Rainford, with a view to terminate
the discussion on this topic. "Obtain the papers—they will be safer with
you than with her, much as she is devoted to me. And now must I reveal
to you another secret—a secret of a strange and romantic nature,
connected with _her_ whom you are about to visit——"
"With Esther?" said the Earl hastily.
"Ah! ever harping upon that name!" exclaimed Rainford. "Did I not assure
you last night that Esther is as pure and innocent as woman can be, and
that she does not even know me by sight? See, then, if I have deceived
you:—but I will not keep you in suspense——"
At this moment, the turnkey entered with an intimation that it was
impossible to allow the interview to be protracted any longer on the
present occasion, as the hour for locking up had already passed some
time.
"To-morrow, then, you will come again," said Rainford, in a low whisper
to his brother. "And now go to No. 5, Brandon Street, Lock's Fields-—it
is not very far from here—and inquire for Mrs. Rainford."
The Earl pressed his hand in assurance of obeying the directions thus
given; and, as the turnkey appeared impatient, the young nobleman
hurried away from his brother's cell.
But the mystery relative to Esther de Medina—whatever it might be—was
not so soon to be cleared up as the Earl of Ellingham expected.
Upon leaving the prison, he observed an ill-looking fellow lounging
about at the gate, and on whose forbidding countenance the light of the
lamp streamed fully when the wicket was opened to afford the nobleman
egress:—for our readers will remember that all the incidents yet related
in this narrative occurred in the winter time, when it is dark at four
o'clock.
But it was now nearly six o'clock; and the atmosphere was heavy with
mist.
The Earl walked rapidly away from the prison-gate; but when he had
proceeded about thirty yards, he inquired of a passer-by the way to
Lock's Fields.
The man was a stranger in the neighbourhood, and could not tell him.
"Please, sir, I'll show you the way," exclaimed another individual,
stepping officiously forward.
Lord Ellingham immediately recognised, by the light that glimmered from
a window in Horsemonger Lane, the ill-looking fellow whom he had noticed
at the door of the prison; and for an instant he hesitated to accept his
services. But at the next moment he felt ashamed of this vague alarm,
and directed the man to lead on.
The fellow turned abruptly round, saying, "You are going out of your
way, sir. We must get down to the Fields by the back of the prison."
And he led the way, the Earl following him, down Horsemonger Lane
towards Harper Street. But as they passed along the prison-wall, Arthur
observed two or three men loitering about at short intervals from each
other; and it struck him that his guide coughed in a peculiar fashion as
he passed them.
A misgiving, which he vainly endeavoured to resist, was now excited in
the Earl's mind; but still he would not turn back nor question his
guide.
Suddenly he was seized from behind, and pulled violently backward, while
a strong hand fastened itself as it were over his mouth. He struggled
desperately: but his guide turned on him, and he was now in the grasp of
four powerful men, whose united strength it was impossible to resist.
Still he endeavoured to release himself: and once he managed to get the
hand away from his mouth, an advantage of which he instantly availed
himself to cry out for help.
But in another instant he was stunned by the blow of a pistol on the
head.
When he awoke, he was in total darkness, and lying on a hard bed.
He instinctively stretched out his arms: his right hand encountered a
rough and damp stone wall.
He rose and groped cautiously about him;—but it required not many
moments to convince him of the terrible though mysterious truth—that he
was the inmate of a narrow dungeon!
But where was he thus imprisoned?
Who were the authors of this outrage?
And for what purpose was he made a captive?
These three queries defied all conjecture; and the young nobleman was
left to the darkness of his dungeon and the gloom of his meditations.