John Ayliffe, as we may now once more very righteously call him, was
seated in the great hall of the old house of the Hastings family. Very
different indeed was the appearance of that large chamber now from
that which it had presented when Sir Philip Hastings was in
possession. All the old, solid, gloomy-looking furniture, which
formerly had given it an air of baronial dignity, and which Sir Philip
had guarded as preciously as if every antique chair and knotted table
had been an heir-loom, was now removed, and rich flaunting things of
gaudy colors substituted. Damask, and silk, and velvet, and gilt
ornaments in the style of France, were there in abundance, and had it
not been for the arches overhead, and the stone walls and narrow
windows around, the old hall might have passed for the saloon of some
newly-enriched financier of Paris.
The young man sat at table alone--not that he was by any means fond of
solitude, for on the contrary he would have fain filled his house with
company--but for some reason or another, which he could not divine, he
found the old country gentlemen in the neighborhood somewhat shy of
his society. His wealth, his ostentation, his luxury--for he had begun
his new career with tremendous vehemence--had no effect upon them.
They looked upon him as somewhat vulgar, and treated him with mere
cold, supercilious civility as an upstart. There was one gentleman of
good family, indeed, at some distance, who had hung a good deal about
courts, had withered and impoverished himself, and reduced both his
mind and his fortune in place-hunting, and who had a large family of
daughters, to whom the society of John Ayliffe was the more
acceptable, and who not unfrequently rode over and dined with
him--nay, took a bed at the Hall. But that day he had not been over,
and although upon the calculation of chances, one might have augured
two to one John Ayliffe would ultimately marry one of the daughters,
yet at this period he was not very much smitten with any of them, and
was contemplating seriously a visit to London, where he thought his
origin would be unknown, and his wealth would procure him every sort
of enjoyment.
Two servants were in the Hall, handing him the dishes. Well-cooked
viands were on the table, and rich wine. Every thing which John
Ayliffe in his sensual aspirations had anticipated from the possession
of riches was there--except happiness, and that was wanting. To sit
and feed, and feel one's self a scoundrel--to drink deep draughts,
were it of nectar, for the purpose of drowning the thought of our own
baseness--to lie upon the softest bed, and prop the head with the
downiest pillow, with the knowledge that all we possess is the fruit
of crime, can never give happiness--surely not, even to the most
depraved.
That eating and drinking, however, was now one of John Ayliffe's chief
resources--drinking especially. He did not actually get intoxicated
every night before he went to bed, but he always drank to a sufficient
excess to cloud his faculties, to obfuscate his mind. He rather liked
to feel himself in that sort of dizzy state where the outlines of all
objects become indistinct, and thought itself puts on the same hazy
aspect.
The servants had learned his habits already, and were very willing to
humor them; for they derived their own advantage therefrom. Thus, on
the present occasion, as soon as the meal was over, and the dishes
were removed, and the dessert put upon the table--a dessert consisting
principally of sweetmeats, for which he had a great fondness, with
stimulants to thirst. Added to these were two bottles of the most
potent wine in his cellar, with a store of clean glasses, and a jug of
water, destined to stand unmoved in the middle of the table.
After this process it was customary never to disturb him, till, with a
somewhat wavering step, he found his way up to his bedroom. But on the
night of which I am speaking, John Ayliffe had not finished his fourth
glass after dinner, and was in the unhappy stage, which, with some
men, precedes the exhilarating stage of drunkenness, when the butler
ventured to enter with a letter in his hand.
"I beg pardon for intruding, sir," he said, "but Mr. Cherrydew has
sent up a man on horseback from Hartwell with this letter, because
there is marked upon it, 'to be delivered with the greatest possible
haste.'"
"Curse him!" exclaimed John Ayliffe, "I wish he would obey the orders
I give him. Why the devil does he plague me with letters at this time
of night?--there, give it to me, and go away," and taking the letter
from the man's hand, he threw it down on the table beside him, as if
it were not his intention to read it that night. Probably, indeed, it
was not; for he muttered as he looked at the address, "She wants more
money, I dare say, to pay for some trash or another. How greedy these
women are. The parson preached the other day about the horse-leech's
daughter. By ---- I think I have got the horse-leech's mother!" and he
laughed stupidly, not perceiving that the point of his sarcasm touched
himself.
He drank another glass of wine, and then looked at the letter again;
but at length, after yet another glass, curiosity got the better of
his moodiness, and he opened the epistle.
The first sight of the contents dispelled not only his indifference
but the effects of the wine he had taken, and he read the letter with
an eager and a haggard eye. The substance was as follows:
"My dearest boy:
"All is lost and discovered. I can but write you a very short account
of the things that have been happening here, for I am under what these
people call the surveillance of the police. I have got a few minutes,
however, and I will pay the maid secretly to give this to the post.
Never was such a time as I have had this morning. Four men have been
here, and among them Atkinson, who lived just down below at the
cottage with the gray shutters. He knew me in a minute, and told
everybody who I was. But that is not the worst of it, for they have
got a commissioner of police with him--a terrible looking man, who
took as much snuff as Mr. Jenkins, the justice of peace. They had got
all sorts of information in England about me, and you, and every body,
and they came to me to give them more, and cross-questioned me in a
terrible manner; and that ugly old Commissioner, in his black coat and
great wig, took my keys, and opened all the drawers and places. What
could I do to stop them? So they got all your letters to me; because I
could not bear to burn my dear boy's letters, and that letter from old
Sir John to my poor father, which I once showed you. So when they got
all those, there was no use of trying to conceal it any more, and,
besides, they might have sent me to the Bastile or the Tower of
London. So every thing has come out, and the best thing you can do is
to take whatever money you have got, or can get, and run away as fast
as possible, and come over here and take me away. One of them was as
fine a man as ever I saw, and quite a gentleman, though very severe.
"Pray, my dear John, don't lose a moment's time, but run away before
they catch you; for they know every thing now, depend upon it, and
nothing will stop them from hanging you or sending you to the colonies
that you can do; for they have got all the proofs, and I could see by
their faces that they wanted nothing more; and if they do, my heart
will be quite broken, that is, if they hang you or send you to the
colonies, where you will have to work like a galley-slave, and a man
standing over you with a whip, beating your bare back very likely. So
run away, and come to your afflicted mother."
She did not seem to have been quite sure what name to sign, for she
first put "Brown," but then changed the word to "Hastings," and then
again to "Ayliffe." There were two or three postscripts, but they were
of no great importance, and John Ayliffe did not take the trouble of
reading them. The terms he bestowed upon his mother--not in the
secrecy of his heart, but aloud and fiercely--were any thing but
filial, and his burst of rage lasted full five minutes before it was
succeeded by the natural fear and trepidation which the intelligence
he had received might well excite. Then, however, his terror became
extreme. The color, usually high, and now heightened both by rage and
wine, left his cheeks, and, as he read over some parts of his mother's
letter again, he trembled violently.
"She has told all," he repeated to himself, "she has told all--and
most likely has added from his own fancy. They have got all my letters
too which the fool did not burn. What did say, I wonder? Too much--too
much, I am sure. Heaven and earth, what will come of it! Would to God
I had not listened to that rascal Shanks! Where should I go now for
advice? It must not be to him. He would only betray and ruin me--make
me the scape-goat--pretend that I had deceived him, I dare say. Oh, he
is a precious villain, and Mrs. Hazleton knows that too well to trust
him even with a pitiful mortgage--Mrs. Hazleton--I will go to her. She
is always kind to me, and she is devilish clever too--knows a good
deal more than Shanks if she did but understand the law--I will go to
her---she will tell me how to manage."
No time was to be lost. Ride as hard as he could it would take him
more than an hour to reach Mrs. Hazleton's house, and it was already
late. He ordered a horse to be saddled instantly, ran to his bedroom,
drew on his boots, and then, descending to the hall, stood swearing at
the slowness of the groom till the sound of hoofs made him run to the
door. In a moment he was in the saddle and away, much to the
astonishment of the servants, who puzzled themselves a little as to
what intelligence their young master could have received, and then
proceeded to console themselves according to the laws and ordinances
of the servants' hall in such cases made and provided. The wine he had
left upon the table disappeared with great celerity, and the butler,
who was a man of precision, arrayed a good number of small silver
articles and valuable trinkets in such a way as to be packed up and
removed with great facility and secrecy.
In the meanwhile John Ayliffe rode on at a furious pace, avoiding a
road which would have led him close by Mr. Shanks's dwelling, and
reached, Mrs. Hazleton's door about nine o'clock.
That lady was sitting in a small room behind the drawing-room, which I
have already mentioned, where John Ayliffe was announced once more as
Sir John Hastings. But Mrs. Hazleton, in personal appearance at least,
was much changed since she was first introduced to the reader. She was
still wonderfully handsome. She had still that indescribable air of
calm, high-bred dignity which we are often foolishly inclined to
ascribe to noble feelings and a high heart; but which--where it is not
an art, an acquirement--only indicates, I am inclined to believe, when
it has any moral reference at all, strength of character and great
self-reliance. But Mrs. Hazleton was older--looked older a good
deal--more so than the time which had passed would alone account for.
The passions of the last two or three years had worn her sadly, and
probably the struggle to conceal those passions had worn her as much.
Nevertheless, she had grown somewhat fat under their influence, and a
wrinkle here and there in the fair skin was contradicted by the
plumpness of her figure.
She rose with quiet, easy grace to meet her young guest, and held out
her hand to him, saying, "Really, my dear Sir John, you must not pay
me such late visits or I shall have scandal busying herself with my
good name."
But even as she spoke she perceived the traces of violent agitation
which had not yet departed from John Ayliffe's visage, and she added,
"What is the matter? Has any thing gone wrong?"
"Every thing is going to the devil, I believe," said John Ayliffe, as
soon as the servant had closed the door. "They have found out my
mother at St. Germain."
He paused there to see what effect this first intelligence would
produce, and it was very great; for Mrs. Hazleton well knew that upon
the concealment of his mother's existence had depended one of the
principal points in his suit against Sir Philip Hastings. What was
going on in her mind, however, appeared not in her countenance. She
paused in silence, indeed, for a moment or two, and then said in her
sweet musical voice, "Well, Sir John, is that all?"
"Enough too, dear Mrs. Hazleton!" replied the young man. "Why you
surely remember that it was judged absolutely necessary she should be
supposed dead--you yourself said, when we were talking of it, 'Send
her to France.' Don't you remember?"
"No I do not," answered Mrs. Hazleton, thoughtfully; "and if I did it
could only be intended to save the poor thing from all the torment of
being cross-examined in a court of justice."
"Ay, she has been cross-examined enough in France nevertheless," said
the young man bitterly, "and she has told every thing, Mrs.
Hazleton--all that she knew, and I dare say all that she guessed."
This news was somewhat more interesting than even the former; it
touched Mrs. Hazleton personally to a certain extent, for all that
Jane Ayliffe knew and all that she guessed might comprise a great deal
that Mrs. Hazleton would not have liked the world to know or guess
either. She retained all her presence of mind however, and replied
quite quietly "Really, Sir John, I cannot at all form a judgment of
these things, or give you either assistance or advice, as I am anxious
to do, unless you explain the whole matter fully and clearly. What has
your mother done which seems to have affected you so much? Let me hear
the whole details, then I can judge and speak with some show of
reason. But calm yourself, calm yourself, my dear sir. We often at the
first glance of any unpleasant intelligence take fright, and thinking
the danger ten times greater than it really is, run into worse dangers
in trying to avoid it. Let me hear all, I say, and then I will
consider what is to be done."
Now Mrs. Hazleton had already, from what she had just heard,
determined precisely and entirely what she would do. She had divined
in an instant that the artful game in which John Ayliffe had been
engaged, and in which she herself had taken a hand, was played out,
and that he was the loser; but it was a very important object with her
to ascertain if possible how far she herself had been compromised by
the revelations of Mrs. Ayliffe. This was the motive of her gentle
questions; for at heart she did not feel the least gentle.
On the other hand John Ayliffe was somewhat angry. All frightened
people are angry when they find others a great deal less frightened
than themselves. Drawing forth his mother's letter then, he thrust it
towards Mrs. Hazleton, almost rudely, saying, "Read that, madam, and
you'll soon see all the details, that you could wish for."
Mrs. Hazleton did read it from end to end, postscript and all, and she
saw with infinite satisfaction and delight, that her own name was
never once mentioned in the whole course of that delectable epistle.
As she read that part of the letter, however, in which Mrs. Ayliffe
referred to the very handsome gentlemanly man who had been one of her
unwished for visitors, Mrs. Hazleton said within herself, "This is
Marlow; Marlow has done this!" and tenfold bitterness took possession
of her heart. She folded up the letter with neat propriety, however,
and handed it back to John Ayliffe, saying, in her very sweetest
tones, "Well, I do not think this so very bad as you seem to imagine.
They have found out that your mother is still living, and that is all.
They cannot make much of that."
"Not much of that!" exclaimed John Ayliffe, now nearly driven to
frenzy, "what if they convict one of perjury for swearing she was
dead?"
"Did you swear she was dead?" exclaimed Mrs. Hazleton with an
exceedingly well assumed look of profound astonishment.
"To be sure I did," he answered. "Why you proposed that she should be
sent away yourself, and Shanks drew out the affidavit."
A mingled look of consternation and indignation came into Mrs.
Hazleton's beautiful face; but before she could make any reply he went
on, thinking he had frightened her; which was in itself a satisfaction
and a sort of triumph.
"Ay, that you did," he said, "and not only that, but you advanced me
all the money to carry on the suit, and I am told that that is
punishable by law. Besides, you knew quite well of the leaf being torn
out of the register, so we are in the same basket I can tell you, Mrs.
Hazleton."
"Sir, you insult me," said the lady, rising with an air of imperious
dignity. "The charity which induced me to advance you different sums
of money, without knowing what they were to be applied to--and I can
prove that some of them were applied to very different purposes than a
suit at law--has been misunderstood, I see. Had I advanced them to
carry on this suit, they would have been paid to your and my lawyer,
not to yourself. Not a word more, if you please! You have mistaken my
character as well as my motives, if you suppose that I will suffer you
to remain here one moment after you have insulted me by the very
thought that I was any sharer in your nefarious transactions." She
spoke in a loud shrill tone, knowing that the servants were in the
hall hard by, and then she added, "Save me the pain, sir, of ordering
some of the men to put you out of the house by quitting it directly."
"Oh, yes, I will go, I will go," cried John Ayliffe, now quite
maddened, "I will go to the devil, and you too, madam," and he burst
out of the room, leaving the door open behind him.
"I can compassionate misfortune," cried Mrs. Hazleton, raising her
voice to the very highest pitch for the benefit of others, "but I will
have nothing to do with roguery and fraud," and as she heard his
horse's feet clatter over the terrace, she heartily wished he might
break his neck before he passed the park gates. How far she was
satisfied, and how far she was not, must be shown in another chapter.