This must be a chapter of rapid action, comprising in its brief space
the events of many months--events which might not much interest the
reader in minute detail, but which produced important results to all
the persons concerned, and drew on the coming catastrophe.
The news that Mr. Marlow was about to be married to Emily, the
beautiful heiress of Sir Philip Hastings, spread far and wide over the
country; and if joy and satisfaction reigned in the breasts of three
persons in Emily's dwelling, discontent and annoyance were felt more
and more strongly every hour by Lady Hastings. A Duke, she thought,
would not have been too high a match for her daughter, with all the
large estates she was to inherit; and the idea of her marrying a
simple commoner was in itself very bitter. She was not a woman to bear
a disappointment gracefully; and Emily soon had the pain of
discovering that her engagement to Marlow was much disapproved by her
mother. She consoled herself, however, by the full approval of her
father, who was somewhat more than satisfied.
Sir Philip for his part, considering his daughter's youth, required
that the marriage should be delayed at least two years, and, in his
theoretical way, he soon built up a scheme, which was not quite so
successful as he could have wished. Marlow's character was, in most
respects, one after his own heart; but as I have shown, he had thought
from the first, that there were weak points in it,--or rather points
rendered weak by faults of education and much mingling with the world.
He wanted, in short, some of that firmness--may I not say hardness of
the old Roman, which Sir Philip so peculiarly admired; and the scheme
now was, to re-educate Marlow, if I may use the term, during the next
two years, to mould him in short after Sir Philip's own idea of
perfection. How this succeeded, or failed, we shall have occasion
hereafter to show.
Tidings of Emily's engagement were communicated to Mrs. Hazleton,
first by rumor, and immediately after by more certain information in a
letter from Lady Hastings. I will not dwell upon the effect produced
in her. I will not lift up the curtain with which she covered her own
breast, and show all the dark and terrible war of passions within. For
three days Mrs. Hazleton was really ill, remained shut up in her room,
had the windows darkened, admitted no one but the maid and the
physician: and well for her was it, perhaps, that the bitter anguish
she endured overpowered her corporeal powers, and forced seclusion
upon her. During those three days she could not have concealed her
feelings from all eyes had she been forced to mingle with society; but
in her sickness she had time for thought--space to fight the battle
in, and she came forth triumphant.
When she at length appeared in her own drawing-room no one could have
imagined that the illness was of the heart. She was a little paler
than before, there was a soft and pleasing languor about her carriage,
but she was, to all appearance, as calm and cheerful as ever.
Nevertheless she thought it better to go to London for a short time.
She did not yet dare to meet Emily Hastings. She feared _herself_.
Yet the letter of Lady Hastings was a treasure to her, for it gave her
hopes of vengeance. In it the mother showed but too strongly her
dislike of her daughter's choice, and Mrs. Hazleton resolved to
cultivate the friendship of Lady Hastings, whom she had always
despised, and to use her weakness for her own purposes.
She was destined, moreover, to have other sources of consolation, and
that more rapidly than she expected. It was shortly before her return
to the country that the trial of Tom Cutter took place; and not long
after she came back that he was executed. Many persons at the trial
had remarked the effect which some parts of the evidence had produced
on Sir Philip Hastings. He was not skilful in concealing the emotions
that he felt, and although it was sometimes difficult, from the
peculiarities of his character, to discover what was their precise
nature, they always left some trace by which it might be seen that he
was greatly moved.
Information of the facts was given to Mrs. Hazleton by Shanks the
attorney, and young John Ayliffe, who dwelt with pleasure upon the
pain his successful artifice had inflicted; and Mrs. Hazleton was well
pleased too.
But the wound was deeper than they thought. It was like that produced
by the bite of a snake--insignificant in itself, but carrying poison
into every vein.
Could his child deceive him? Sir Philip Hastings asked himself. Could
Emily have long known this vulgar youth--gone secretly down to see him
at a distant cottage--conferred with him unknown to either father or
mother? It seemed monstrous to suppose such a thing; and yet what
could he believe? She had never named John Ayliffe since her return
from Mrs. Hazleton's; and yet it was certain from Marlow's own
account, that she had seen him there. Did not that show that she was
desirous of concealing the acquaintance from her parents?
Sir Philip had asked no questions, leaving her to speak if she thought
fit. He was now sorry for it, and resolved to inquire; as the fact of
her having seen the young man, for whom he felt an inexpressible
dislike, had been openly mentioned in a court of justice. But as he
rode home he began to argue on the other side of the question. The man
who had made the assertion was a notorious liar--a convicted felon.
Besides, he knew him to be malicious; he had twice before thrown out
insinuations which Sir Philip believed to be baseless, and could only
be intended to produce uneasiness. Might not these last words of his
be traced to the same motive? He would inquire in the first place, he
thought, what was the connection between the convict and John Ayliffe,
and stopping on the way for that purpose, he, soon satisfied himself
that the two were boon companions.
When he reached his own dwelling, he found Emily seated by Marlow in
one of her brightest, happiest moods. There was frank candor, graceful
innocence, bright open-hearted truth in every look and every word. It
was impossible to doubt her; and Sir Philip cast the suspicion from
him, but, alas! not for ever. They would return from time to time to
grieve and perplex him; and he would often brood for hours over his
daughter's character, puzzling himself more and more. Yet he would not
say a word--he blamed himself for even thinking of the matter; and he
would not show a suspicion. Yet he continued to think and to doubt,
while poor unconscious Emily would have been ready, if asked, to solve
the whole mystery in a moment. She had been silent from an
unwillingness to begin a painful subject herself; and though she had
yielded no assent to Mrs. Hazleton's arguments, they had made her
doubt whether she ought to mention, unquestioned, John Ayliffe's
proposal and conduct. She had made up her mind to tell all, if her
father showed the slightest desire to know any thing regarding her
late visit; but there was something in the effects which that visit
had produced on her mind, which she could not explain to herself.
Why did she love Mrs. Hazleton less? Why had she lost so greatly her
esteem for her? What had that lady done or said which justified so
great a change of feeling towards her? Emily could not tell. She could
fix upon no word, no act, she could entirely blame--but yet there had
been a general tone in her whole demeanor which had opened the poor
girl's eyes too much. She puzzled herself sadly with her own thoughts;
and probably would have fallen into more than one of her deep
self-absorbed reveries, had not sweet new feelings, Marlow's frequent
presence, kept her awake to a brighter, happier world of thought.
She was indeed very happy; and, could she have seen her mother look
brighter and smile upon her, she would have been perfectly so. Her
father's occasional moodiness she did not heed; for he often seemed
gloomy merely from intense thought. Emily had got a key to such dark
reveries in her own heart, and she knew well that they were no true
indications either of discontent or grief, for very often when to the
eyes of others she seemed the most dull and melancholy, she was
enjoying intense delight in the activity of her own mind. She judged
her father from herself, and held not the slightest idea that any
word, deed or thought of hers had given him the slightest uneasiness.
Notwithstanding the various contending feelings and passions which
were going on in the little circle on which our eyes are fixed, the
course of life had gone on with tolerable smoothness as far as Emily
and Marlow were concerned, for about two months, when, one morning,
Sir Philip Hastings received a letter in a hand which he did not know.
It reached him at the breakfast table, and evidently affected him
considerably with some sort of emotion. His daughters instantly caught
the change of his countenance, but Sir Philip did not choose that any
one should know he could be moved by any thing on earth, and he
instantly repressed all agitation, quietly folded up the letter again,
concluded his breakfast, and then retired to his own study.
Emily was not deceived, however. There were moments in Sir Philip's
life when he was unable to conceal altogether the strong feelings of
his heart under the veil of stoicism--or as he would have termed
it--to curb and restrain them by the power of philosophy. Emily had
seen such moments, and knew, that whatever were the emotions produced
by that letter, whether of anger or grief or apprehension--her father
was greatly moved.
In his own study, Sir Philip Hastings seated himself, spread the
letter before him, and read it over attentively. But now it did not
seem to affect him in the least. He was, in fact, ashamed of the
feelings he had experienced and partly shown. "How completely," said
he to himself, "does a false and fictitious system of society render
us the mere slaves of passion, infecting even those who tutor
themselves from early years to resist its influence. Here an insolent
young man lays claim to my name, and my inheritance, and coolly
assumes not only that he has a title to do so, but that I know it; and
this instead of producing calm contempt, makes my heart beat and my
blood boil, as if I were the veriest schoolboy."
The letter was all that Sir Philip stated, but it was something more.
It was a very artful epistle, drawn up by the joint shrewdness of Mr.
Shanks, Mr. John Ayliffe, and Mrs. Hazleton. It concisely stated the
claims of the young man who signed it, to all the property of the late
Sir John Hastings and to the baronetcy. It made no parade of proofs,
but assumed that those in the writer's possession were indisputable,
and also that Sir Philip Hastings was well aware that John Ayliffe was
his elder brother's legitimate son. The annuity which had been bought
for himself and his mother was broadly stated to have been the
purchase-money of her silence, negotiated by her father, who had no
means to carry on a suit at law. As long as his mother lived, the
writer said, he had been silent out of deference to her wishes, but
now that she was dead in France, he did not feel himself bound to
abide by an arrangement which deprived him at once of fortune and
station, and which had been entered into without his knowledge or
consent. He then went on to call upon Sir Philip Hastings in the
coolest terms to give up possession and acknowledge his right without
what the writer called "the painful ceremony of a lawsuit;" and in two
parts of the letter allusion was made to secret information which the
writer had obtained by the kind confidence of a friend whom he would
not name.
It was probably intended to give point to this insinuation at an after
period, but if it was aimed at poor Emily, it fell harmless for the
time, as no one knew better than Sir Philip that she had never been
informed of any thing which could affect the case in question.
Indeed, the subject of the annuity was one which he had never
mentioned to any one since the transaction had been completed many
years before; and the name of John Ayliffe had never passed his lips
till Marlow mentioned having seen that young man at Mrs. Hazleton's
house.
When he had read the letter, and as soon as he thought he had mastered
the last struggle of passion, he dipped the pen in the ink and wrote
the few following words:
"Sir Philip Hastings has received the letter signed John Ayliffe
Hastings. He knows no person of that name, but has heard of a young
man of the name of John Ayliffe. If that person thinks he has any just
claim on Sir Philip Hastings, or his estate, he had better pursue it
in the legal and ordinary course, as Sir Philip Hastings begs to
disclaim all private communication with him."
He addressed the letter to "Mr. John Ayliffe," and sent it to the
post. This done, he rejoined Marlow and Emily, and to all appearance
was more cheerful and conversable than he had been for many a previous
day. Perhaps it cost him an effort to be cheerful at all, and the
effort went a little beyond its mark. Emily was not altogether
satisfied, but Lady Hastings, when she came down, which, as usual, was
rather late in the day, remarked how gay her husband was.
Sir Philip said nothing to any one at the time regarding the contents
of the letter he had received. He consulted no lawyer even, and tried
to treat the subject with contemptuous forgetfulness; but his was a
brooding and tenacious mind, and he often thought of the epistle, and
the menaces it implied, against his own will. Nor could he or any one
connected with him long remain unattentive or ignorant of the matter,
for in a few weeks the first steps were taken in a suit against him,
and, spreading from attorneys' offices in every direction, the news of
such proceedings travelled far and wide, till the great Hastings case
became the talk of the whole country round.
In the mean time, Sir Philip's reply was very speedily shown to Mrs.
Hazleton, and that lady triumphed a good deal. Sir Philip was now in
the same position with John Ayliffe, she thought, that she had been in
some time before with Mr. Marlow; and already he began to show, in her
opinion, a disposition to treat the case very differently in his own
instance and in hers.
There he had strongly supported private negotiation; here he rejected
it altogether; and she chose to forget that circumstances, though
broadly the same, were in detail very different.
"We shall see," she said to herself, "we shall see whether, when the
proofs are brought forward, he will act with that rigid sense of
justice, which he assumed here."
When the first processes had been issued, however, and common rumor
justified a knowledge of the transaction, without private information,
Mrs. Hazleton set out at once to visit "poor dear Lady Hastings," and
condole with her on the probable loss of fortune. How pleasant it is
to condole with friends on such occasions. What an accession of
importance we get in our own eyes, especially if the poor people we
comfort have been a little bit above us in the world.
But Mrs. Hazleton had higher objects in view; she wanted no accession
of importance. She was quite satisfied with her own position in
society. She sought to see and prompt Lady Hastings--to sow dissension
where she knew there must already be trouble; and she found Sir
Philip's wife just in the fit frame of mind for her purpose. Sir
Philip himself and Emily had ridden out together; and though Mrs.
Hazleton would willingly have found an opportunity of giving Sir
Philip a sly friendly kick, and of just reminding him of his doctrines
announced in the case between herself and Mr. Marlow, she was not
sorry to have Lady Hastings alone for an hour or two. They remained
long in conference, and I need not detail all that passed. Lady
Hastings poured forth all her grief and indignation at Emily's
engagement to Mr. Marlow; and Mrs. Hazleton did nothing to diminish
either. She agreed that it was a very unequal match, that Emily with
her beauty and talents, and even with her mother's fortune alone,
might well marry into the highest family of the land. Nay, she said,
could the match be broken off, she might still take her rank among the
peeresses. She did not advise, indeed, actual resistance on the part
of her friend; she feared Lady Hastings' discretion; but she
insinuated that a mother and a wife by unwavering and constant
opposition, often obtained her own way, even in very difficult
circumstances.
From that hour Mrs. Hazleton was Lady Hastings' best friend.