It was impossible for me to intrude upon Roland's thoughts, whatever
their nature, with a detail of those circumstances which had roused in
me a keen and anxious interest in things apart from his sorrow.
Yet as "restless I rolled around my weary bed," and revolved the renewal
of Vivian's connection with a man of character so equivocal as Peacock;
the establishment of an able and unscrupulous tool of his own in the
service of Trevanion; the care with which he had concealed from me his
change of name, and his intimacy at the very house to which I had
frankly offered to present him; the familiarity which his creature had
contrived to effect with Miss Trevanion's maid; the words that had
passed between them,--plausibly accounted for, it is true, yet still
suspicious; and, above all, my painful recollections of Vivian's
reckless ambition and unprincipled sentiments,--nay, the effect that a
few random words upon Fanny's fortune, and the luck of winning an
heiress, had sufficed to produce upon his heated fancy and audacious
temper,--when all these thoughts came upon me, strong and vivid, in the
darkness of night, I longed for some confidant, more experienced in the
world than myself, to advise me as to the course I ought to pursue.
Should I warn Lady Ellinor? But of what? The character of the servant,
or the designs of the fictitious Gower? Against the first I could say,
if nothing very positive, still enough to make it prudent to dismiss
him. But of Gower or Vivian, what could I say without--not indeed
betraying his confidence, for that he had never given me--but without
belying the professions of friendship that I myself had lavishly made to
him? Perhaps, after all, he might have disclosed whatever were his real
secrets to Trevanion; and, if not, I might indeed ruin his prospects by
revealing the aliases he assumed. But wherefore reveal, and wherefore
warn? Because of suspicions that I could not myself analyze,--
suspicions founded on circumstances most of which had already been
seemingly explained away. Still, when morning came, I was irresolute
what to do; and after watching Roland's countenance, and seeing on his
brow so great a weight of care that I had no option but to postpone the
confidence I pined to place in Iris strong understanding and unerring
sense of honor, I wandered out, hoping that in the fresh air I might re-
collect my thoughts and solve the problem that perplexed me. I had
enough to do in sundry small orders for my voyage, and commissions for
Bolding, to occupy me some hours. And, this business done, I found
myself moving westward; mechanically, as it were, I had come to a kind
of half-and-half resolution to call upon Lady Ellinor and question her,
carelessly and incidentally, both about Gower and the new servant
admitted to the household.
Thus I found myself in Regent Street, when a carriage, borne by post-
horses, whirled rapidly over the pavement, scattering to the right and
left all humbler equipages, and hurried, as if on an errand of life and
death, up the broad thoroughfare leading into Portland Place. But
rapidly as the wheels dashed by, I had seen distinctly the face of Fanny
Trevanion in the carriage; and that face wore a strange expression,
which seemed to me to speak of anxiety and grief; and by her side--Was
not that the woman I had seen with Peacock? I did not see the face of
the woman, but I thought I recognized the cloak, the bonnet, and
peculiar turn of the head. If I could be mistaken there, I was not
mistaken at least as to the servant on the seat behind. Looking back at
a butcher's boy who had just escaped being run over, and was revenging
himself by all the imprecations the Dirae of London slang could suggest,
the face of Mr. Peacock was exposed in full to my gaze.
My first impulse, on recovering my surprise, was to spring after the
carriage; in the haste of that impulse, I cried "Stop!" But the
carriage was out of sight in a moment, and my word was lost in air.
Full of presentiments of some evil,--I knew not what,--I then altered my
course, and stopped not till I found myself, panting and out of breath,
in St. James's Square--at the door of Trevanion's house--in the hall.
The porter had a newspaper in his hand as he admitted me.
"Where is Lady Ellinor? I must see her instantly."
"No worse news of master, I hope, sir?"
"Worse news of what, of whom? Of Mr. Trevanion?"
"Did you not know he was suddenly taken ill, sir,--that a servant came
express to say so last night? Lady Ellinor went off at ten o'clock to
join him."
"At ten o'clock last night?"
"Yes, sir; the servant's account alarmed her ladyship so much."
"The new servant, who had been recommended by Mr. Gower?"
"Yes, sir,--Henry," answered the porter, staring at me. "Please, sir,
here is an account of master's attack in the paper. I suppose Henry
took it to the office before he came here,--which was very wrong in him;
but I am afraid he's a very foolish fellow."
"Never mind that. Miss Trevanion,--I saw her just now,--she did not go
with her mother: where was she going, then?"
"Why, sir,--but pray step into the parlor."
"No, no; speak!"
"Why, sir, before Lady Ellinor set out she was afraid that there might
be something in the papers to alarm Miss Fanny, and so she sent Henry
down to Lady Castleton's to beg her ladyship to make as light of it as
she could; but it seems that Henry blabbed the worst to Mrs. Mole."
"Who is Mrs. Mole?"
"Miss Trevanion's maid, sir,--a new maid; and Mrs. Mole blabbed to my
young lady, and so she took fright, and insisted on coming to town. And
Lady Castleton, who is ill herself in bed, could not keep her, I
suppose,--especially as Henry said, though he ought to have known
better, 'that she would be in time to arrive before my lady set off.'
Poor Miss Trevanion was so disappointed when she found her mamma gone.
And then she would order fresh horses and go on, though Mrs. Bates (the
housekeeper, you know, sir) was very angry with Mrs. Mole, who
encouraged Miss; and--"
"Good heavens! Why did not Mrs. Bates go with her?"
"Why, sir, you know how old Mrs. Bates is, and my young lady is always
so kind that she would not hear of it, as she is going to travel night
and day; and Mrs. Mole said she had gone all over the world with her
last lady, and that--"
"I see it all. Where is Mr. Gower?"
"Mr. Gower, sir!"
"Yes! Can't you answer?"
"Why, with Mr. Trevanion, I believe, sir."
"In the North,--what is the address!"
"Lord N--, C-- Hall, near W--"
I heard no more.
The conviction of some villanous snare struck me as with the swiftness
and force of lightning. Why, if Trevanion were really ill, had the
false servant concealed it from me? Why suffered me to waste his time,
instead of hastening to Lady Ellinor? How, if Mr. Trevanion's sudden
illness had brought the man to London,--how had he known so long
beforehand (as he himself told me, and his appointment with the waiting-
woman proved) the day he should arrive? Why now, if there were no
design of which bliss Trevanion was the object, why so frustrate the
provident foresight of her mother, and take advantage of the natural
yearning of affection, the quick impulse of youth, to hurry off a girl
whose very station forbade her to take such a journey without suitable
protection,--against what must be the wish, and what clearly were the
instructions, of Lady Ellinor? Alone, worse than alone! Fanny
Trevanion was then in the hands of two servants who were the instruments
and confidants of an adventurer like Vivian; and that conference between
those servants, those broken references to the morrow coupled with the
name Vivian had assumed,--needed the unerring instincts of love more
cause for terror?--terror the darker because the exact shape it should
assume was obscure and indistinct.
I sprang from the house.
I hastened into the Haymarket, summoned a cabriolet, drove home as fast
as I could (for I had no money about me for the journey I meditated),
sent the servant of the lodging to engage a chaise-and-four, rushed into
the room, where Roland fortunately still was, and exclaimed,--"Uncle,
come with me! Take money, plenty of money! Some villany I know, though
I can't explain it, has been practised on the Trevanions. We may defeat
it yet. I will tell you all by the way. Come, come!"
"Certainly. But villany,--and to people of such a station--pooh!
collect yourself. Who is the villain?"
"Oh, the man I had loved as a friend; the man whom I myself helped to
make known to Trevanion,--Vivian, Vivian!"
"Vivian! Ah, the youth I have heard you speak of! But how? Villany to
whom,--to Trevanion?"
"You torture me with your questions. Listen: this Vivian (I know him),
--he has introduced into the house, as a servant, an agent capable of any
trick and fraud; that servant has aided him to win over her maid,--
Fanny's--Miss Trevanion's. Miss Trevanion is an heiress, Vivian an
adventurer. My head swims round; I cannot explain now. Ha! I will
write a line to Lord Castleton,--tell him my fears and suspicions; he
will follow us, I know, or do what is best."
I drew ink and paper towards me and wrote hastily. My uncle came round
and looked over my shoulder.
Suddenly he exclaimed, seizing my arm: "Gower, Gower! What name is
this? You said Vivian."
"Vivian or Gower,--the same person."
My uncle hurried out of the room. It was natural that he should leave
me to make our joint and brief preparations for departure.
I finished my letter, sealed it, and when, five minutes afterwards, the
chaise came to the door, I gave it to the hostler who accompanied the
horses, with injunctions to deliver it forthwith to Lord Castleton
himself.
My uncle now descended, and stepped from the threshold with a firm
stride. "Comfort yourself," he said, as he entered the chaise, into
which I had already thrown myself. "We may be mistaken yet."
"Mistaken! You do not know this young man. He has every quality that
could entangle a girl like Fanny, and not, I fear, one sentiment of
honor that would stand in the way of his ambition. I judge him now as
by a revelation--too late--Oh Heavens, if it be too late!"
A groan broke from Roland's lips. I heard in it a proof of his sympathy
with my emotion, and grasped his hand, it was as cold as the hand of the
dead.