MR. SCARBOROUGH IS BURIED.
When Mr. Scarborough died, and when he had been buried, his son Mountjoy
was left alone at Tretton, living in a very desolate manner. Till the
day of the funeral, Merton, the doctor, had remained with him and his
aunt, Miss Scarborough; but when the old squire had been laid in his
grave they both departed. Miss Scarborough was afraid of her nephew, and
could not look forward to living comfortably at the big house; and Dr.
Merton had the general work of his life to call him away. "You might as
well stay for another week," Mountjoy had said to him. But Merton had
felt that he could not remain at Tretton without some especial duty, and
he too went his way.
The funeral had been very strange. Augustus had refused to come and
stand at his father's grave. "Considering all things, I had rather
decline," he had written to Mountjoy. Other guests--none were invited,
except the tenants. They came in a body, for the squire had been noted
among them as a liberal landlord.
But a crowd of tenants does not in any way make up that look of family
sorrow which is expected at the funeral of such a man as Mr.
Scarborough. Mountjoy was there, and stood through the ceremony
speechless, and almost sullen. He went down to the church behind the
body with Merton, and then walked away from the ground without having
uttered a syllable. But during the ceremony he had seen that which
caused him to be sullen. Mr. Samuel Hart had been there, and Mr.
Tyrrwhit. And there was a man whom he called to his mind as connected
with the names of Evans & Crooke, and Mr. Spicer, and Mr. Richard
Juniper. He knew them all as they stood there round the grave, not in
decorous funeral array, but as strangers who had strayed into the
cemetery. He could not but feel, as he looked at them and they at him,
that they had come to look after their interest,--their heavy interest on
the money which had been fraudulently repaid to them. He knew that they
had parted with their bonds. But he knew also that almost all that was
now his would have been theirs, had they not been cheated into believing
that he, Mountjoy Scarborough, was not, and never would be, Scarborough
of Tretton Park. They said nothing as they stood there, and did not in
any way interrupt the ceremony; but they looked at Mountjoy as they
were standing, and their looks disconcerted him terribly.
He had declared that he would walk back to the house which was not above
two miles distant from the graveyard, and therefore, when the funeral
was over, there was no carriage to take him. But he knew that the men
would dog his steps as he walked. He had only just got within the
precincts of the park when he saw them all. But Mr. Tyrrwhit was by
himself, and came up to him. "What are you going to do, Captain
Scarborough," he said, "as to our claims?"
"You have no claims of which I am aware," he said roughly.
"Oh yes, Captain Scarborough; we have claims, certainly. You've come up
to the front lately with a deal of luck; I don't begrudge it, for one;
but I have claims,--I and those other gentlemen; we have claims. You'll
have to admit that."
"Send in the documents. Mr. Barry is acting as my lawyer; he is Mr.
Grey's partner, and is now taking the leading share in the business."
"I know Mr. Barry well; a very sharp gentleman is Mr. Barry."
"I cannot enter into conversation with yourself at such a time as this."
"We are sorry to trouble you; but then our interests are so pressing.
What do you mean to do, Captain Scarborough? That's the question."
"Yes; with the estate," said Mr. Samuel Hart, coming up and joining
them. Of the lot of men, Mr. Samuel Hart was the most distasteful to
Mountjoy. He had last seen his Jew persecutor at Monte Carlo, and had
then, as he thought, been grossly insulted by him. "What are you hafter,
captain?" To this Mountjoy made no answer, but Hart, walking a step or
two in advance, turned upon his heels and looked at the park around him.
"Tidy sort of place, ain't it, Tyrrwhit, for a gentleman to hang his 'at
up, when we were told he was a bastard, not worth a shilling?"
"I have nothing to do with all that," said Mountjoy; "you and Mr.
Tyrrwhit held my acceptances for certain sums of money. They have, I
believe, been paid in full."
"No, they ain't; they ain't been paid in full at all; you knows they
ain't." As he said this, Mr. Hart walked on in front, and stood in the
pathway, facing Mountjoy. "How can you 'ave the cheek to say we've been
paid in full? You know it ain't true."
"Evans & Crooke haven't been paid, so far," said a voice from behind.
"More ain't Spicer," said another voice.
"Captain Scarborough, I haven't been paid in full," said Mr. Juniper,
advancing to the front. "You don't mean to tell me that my five hundred
pounds have been paid in full? You've ruined me, Captain Scarborough. I
was to have been married to a young lady with a large fortune,--your Mr.
Grey's niece,--and it has been broken off altogether because of your bad
treatment. Do you mean to assert that I have been paid in full?"
"If you have got any document, take it to Mr. Barry."
"No, I won't; I won't take it to any lawyer. I'll take it right in
before the Court, and expose you. My name is Juniper, and I've never
parted with a morsel of paper that has your name to it."
"Then, no doubt, you'll get your money," said the captain.
"I thought, gentlemen, you were to allow me to be the spokesman on this
occasion," said Mr. Tyrrwhit. "We certainly cannot do any good if we
attack the captain all at once. Now, Captain Scarborough, we don't want
to be uncivil."
"Uncivil be blowed!" said Mr. Hart; "I want to get my money, and mean to
'ave it. I agreed as you was to speak, Mr. Tyrrwhit; but I means to be
spoken up for; and if no one else can do it, I can do it myself. Is we
to have any settlement made to us, or is we to go to law?"
"I can only refer you to Mr. Barry," said Mountjoy, walking on very
rapidly. He thought that when he reached the house he might be able to
enter in and leave them out, and he thought also that if he kept them on
the trot he would thus prevent them from attacking him with many words.
Evans & Crooke were already lagging behind, and Mr. Spicer was giving
signs of being hard pressed. Even Hart, who was younger than the others,
was fat and short, and already showed that he would have to halt if he
made many speeches.
"Barry be d----d!" exclaimed Hart.
"You see how it is, Captain Scarborough," said Tyrrwhit; "Your father,
as has just been laid to rest in hopes of a a happy resurrection, was a
very peculiar gentleman."
"The most hinfernal swindler I ever 'eard tell of!" said Hart.
"I don't wish to say a word disrespectful," continued Tyrrwhit, "but he
had his own notions. He said as you was illegitimate,--didn't he, now?"
"I can only refer you to Mr. Barry," said Mountjoy.
"And he said that Mr. Augustus was to have it all; and he proved his
words,--didn't he, now? And then he made out that, if so, our deeds
weren't worth the paper they were written on. Isn't it all true what I'm
saying? And then when we'd taken what small sums of money he chose to
offer us, just to save ourselves from ruin, then he comes up and says
you are the heir, as legitimate as anybody else, and are to have all the
property. And he proves that too! What are we to think about it?"
There was nothing left for Mountjoy Scarborough but to make the pace as
good as possible. Mr. Hart tried once and again to stop their progress
by standing in the captain's path, but could only do this sufficiently
at each stoppage to enable him to express his horror with various
interjections. "Oh laws! that such a liar as 'e should ever be buried!"
"You can't do anything by being disrespectful, Mr. Hart," said Tyrrwhit.
"What--is it--he means--to do?" ejaculated Spicer.
"Mr. Spicer," said Mountjoy, "I mean to leave it all in the hands of Mr.
Barry; and, if you will believe me, no good can be done by any of you by
hunting me across the park."
"Hare you a bastard, or haren't you?" ejaculated Hart.
"No, Mr. Hart, I am not."
"Then pay us what you h'owes us. You h'ain't h'agoing to say as you don't
h'owe us?"
"Mr. Tyrrwhit," said the captain, "it is of no use my answering Mr.
Hart, because he is angry."
"H'angry! By George, I h'am angry! I'd like to pull that h'old sinner's
bones h'out of the ground!"
"But to you I can say that Mr. Barry will be better able to tell you
than I am what can be done by me to defend my property."
"Captain Scarborough," said Mr. Tyrrwhit, mildly, "we had your name, you
know. We did have your name."
"And my father bought the bonds back."
"Oh laws! And he calls himself a shentleman!"
"I have nothing farther to say to you now, gentlemen, and can only refer
you to Mr. Barry." The path on which they were walking had then brought
them to the corner of a garden wall, through which a door opened into
the garden. Luckily, at the moment, it occurred to Mountjoy that there
was a bolt on the other side of the gate, and he entered it quickly and
bolted the door. Mr. Tyrrwhit was left on the other side, and was joined
by his companions as quickly as their failing breath enabled them to do
so. "'Ere's a go!" said Mr. Hart, striking the door violently with the
handle of his stick.
"He had nothing for it but to leave us when we attacked him altogether,"
said Mr. Tyrrwhit. "If you had left it to me he would have told us what
he intended to do. You, Mr. Hart, had not so much cause to be angry, as
you had received a considerable sum for interest." Then Mr. Hart turned
upon Mr. Tyrrwhit, and abused him all the way back to their inn. But it
was pleasant to see how these commercial gentlemen, all engaged in the
natural course of trade, expressed their violent indignation, not so
much as to their personal losses, but at the commercial dishonesty
generally of which the Scarboroughs, father and son, had been and were
about to be guilty.
Mountjoy, when he reached the house of which he was now the only
occupant besides the servants, stood for an hour in the dining-room with
his back toward the fire, thinking of his position. He had many things
of which to think. In the first place, there were these pseudo-creditors
who had just attacked him in his own park with much acrimony. He
endeavored to comfort himself by telling himself that they were
certainly pseudo-creditors, to whom he did not in fact owe a penny. Mr.
Barry could deal with them.
But then his conscience reminded him that they had, in truth, been
cheated,--cheated by his father for his benefit. For every pound which
they had received they would have claimed three or four. They would no
doubt have cheated him. But how was he now to measure the extent of his
father's fraud against that of his creditors? And though it would have
been right in him to resist the villany of these Jews, he felt that it
was not fit that he should escape from their fangs altogether by his
father's deceit. He had not become so dead to honor but that _noblesse
oblige_ did still live within his bosom. And yet there was nothing that
he could do to absolve his bosom. The income of the estate was nearly
clear, the money brought in by the late sales having all but sufficed to
give these gentlemen that which his father had chosen to pay them. But
was he sure of that income? He had just now asserted boldly that he was
the legitimate heir to the property; but did he know that he was so?
Could he believe his father? Had not Mr. Grey asserted that he would not
accept this later evidence? Was he not sure that Augustus intended to
proceed against him? and was he not aware that nothing could be called
his own till that lawsuit should have been decided? If that should be
given against him, then these harpies would have been treated only too
well; then there would be no question, at any rate by him, as to what
_noblesse oblige_ might require of him. He could take no immediate step
in regard to them, and therefore, for the moment, drove that trouble
from his mind.
But what should he do with himself as to his future life? To be
persecuted and abused by these wretched men, as had this morning been
his fate, would be intolerable. Could he shut himself up from Mr. Samuel
Hart and still live in England? And then could he face the clubs,--if the
clubs would be kind enough to re-elect him? And then there came a dark
frown across his brow, as he bethought himself that even at this moment
his heart was longing to be once more among the cards. Could he not
escape to Monaco, and there be happy among the gambling-tables? Mr. Hart
would surely not follow him there, and he would be free from the
surveillance of that double blackguard, his brother's servant and his
father's spy.
But, after all, as he declared to himself, did it not altogether turn on
the final answer which he might get from Florence Mountjoy? Could
Florence be brought to accede to his wishes, he thought that he might
still live happily, respectably, and in such a manner that his name
might go down to posterity not altogether blasted. If Florence would
consent to live at Tretton, then could he remain there. He thought it
over as he stood there with his back to the fire, and he told himself
that with Florence the first year would be possible, and that after the
first year the struggle would cease to be a struggle. He knew himself,
he declared, and he made all manner of excuses for his former vicious
life, basing them all on the hardness of her treatment of him. He did
not know himself, and such assurances were vain. But buoyed up by such
assurances, he resolved that his future fate must be in her hands, and
that her word alone should suffice either to destroy him or to save him.
Thinking thus of his future life, he resolved that he would go at once
to Cheltenham, and throw himself, and what of Tretton belonged to him,
at the girl's feet. Nor could he endure himself to rest another night at
Tretton till he had done so. He started at once, and got late to
Gloucester, where he slept, and on the next morning at eleven o'clock
was at Cheltenham, out on his way to Montpellier Terrace. He at once
asked for Florence, but circumstances so arranged themselves that he
first found himself closeted with her mother. Mrs. Mountjoy was
delighted, and yet shocked, to see him. "My poor brother!" she said;
"and he was buried only yesterday!" Such explanation as Mountjoy could
give was given. He soon made the whole tenor of his thoughts
intelligible to her. "Yes; Tretton was his,--at least he supposed so. As
to his future life he could say nothing. It must depend on Florence. He
thought that if she would promise to become at once his wife, there
would be no more gambling. He had felt it to be incumbent on him to come
and tell her so."
Mrs. Mountjoy, frightened by the thorough blackness of his apparel and
by the sternness of his manner, had not a word to say to him in
opposition. "Be gentle with her," she said, as she led the way to the
room in which Florence was found. "Your cousin has come to see you," she
said; "has come immediately after the funeral. I hope you will be
gracious to him." Then she closed the door, and the two were alone
together.
"Florence!" he said.
"Mountjoy! We hardly expected you here so soon."
"Where the heart strays the body is apt to follow. I could speak to no
one, I could do nothing, I could hope and pray for nothing till I had
seen you."
"You cannot depend on me like that," she answered.
"I do depend on you most entirely. No human being can depend more
thoroughly on another. It is not my fortune that I have come to offer
you, or simply my love, but in very truth my soul."
"Mountjoy, that is wicked!"
"Then wicked let it be. It is true. Tretton, by singular circumstances,
is all my own, free of debt. At any rate, I and others believe it to be
so."
"Tretton being all your own can make no difference."
"I told you that I had not come to offer you my fortune." And he almost
scowled at her as he spoke. "You know what my career has hitherto been,
though you do not perhaps know what has driven me to it. Shall I go
back, and live after the same fashion, and let Tretton go to the dogs?
It will be so unless you take me and Tretton into your hands."
"It cannot be."
"Oh, Florence! think of it before you pronounce my doom."
"It cannot be. I love you well as my cousin, and for your sake I love
Tretton also. I would suffer much to save you, if any suffering on my
part would be of avail. But it cannot be in that fashion." Then he
scowled again at her. "Mountjoy, you frighten me by your hard looks;--but
though you were to kill me you cannot change me. I am the promised wife
of Harry Annesley; and for his honor I must bid you plead this cause no
more." Then, just at this moment there was a ring at the bell and a
knock at the door, each of them somewhat impetuous, and Florence
Mountjoy, jumping up with a start, knew that Harry Annesley was there.