CHAPTER XV.The Letter.
We left Sir John Slingsby with an exclamation in his mouth. Anexpression of wonder it was, at what could have become of his friendNed Hayward, and the reader may recollect that it was then about teno'clock at night. Quitting the worthy baronet in somewhat abrupt andunceremonious haste, we hurried after the young officer ourselves, inorder to ascertain his fate and fortune with our own eyes; and now,having done that, we must return once more to Tarningham-park, andmake an apology to Sir John, for our rude dereliction of his house andcompany. He is a good-natured man, not easily put out of temper, sothat our excuses will be taken in good part; nor was he inclined tomake himself peculiarly anxious or apprehensive about any man on theface of the earth; so that, even in the case of his dear friend NedHayward, he let things take their chance, as was his custom, trustingto fortune to bring about a good result, and philosophicallyconvinced, that if the blind goddess did not choose to do so, it wasnot in his power to make her. During the evening he had once or twiceshown some slight symptoms of uneasiness when he looked round andremarked his guest's absence; he had scolded his daughter a little,too, for not singing as well as usual; and, to say the truth, she haddeserved it; for, whether it was the story told by the gentlemen ontheir return from the dining-room had frightened her--it not beingcustomary at Tarningham-house to have shots fired through thewindows--or whether it was that she was uneasy at Captain Hayward'sprolonged absence, she certainly did not do her best at the piano.Sing as ill as she would, however, Mary Clifford, who sang with her,kept her in countenance. Now Mary was a very finished musician, withan exceedingly rich, sweet-toned voice, flexible, and cultivated in ahigh degree, with which she could do any thing she chose; so that itwas very evident that she either did not choose to sing well, or elsethat she was thinking of something else.
But to return to Sir John. Perhaps, if we could look into all the darklittle corners of his heart--those curious little pigeonholes that arein the breast of every man, containing all the odd crotchets andstrange feelings and sensations, the unaccountable perversities, thewhimsical desires and emotions, that we so studiously conceal from thecommon eye--it is not at all improbable that we should find a certaindegree of satisfaction, a comfort, a relief, derived by the worthybaronet, from the unusual events which had chequered and enlivenedthat evening; he had looked forward to the passing of the next six orseven hours with some degree of apprehension; he had thought it wouldbe monstrous dull, with all the proprieties and decorums which he feltcalled upon to maintain before his sister; and the excitement of theinterview with Mr. Wittingham, the examination of Stephen Gimlet, andthe unaccountable disappearance of Ned Hayward, supplied the vacancyoccasioned by the absence of the bottle and jest. Soon after thegentlemen had entered the drawing-room, Sir John placed his niece andhis daughter at the piano, and engaged Dr. Miles, his sister, and evenMr. Beauchamp in a rubber at whist; and though from time to time heturned round his head to scold Isabella for singing negligently, yethe contrived to extract amusement from the game,--laughing, talking,telling anecdotes, commenting upon the play of his partner and hisopponents, and turning every thing into jest and merriment. Thuspassed the evening to the hour I have mentioned, when Mrs. Cliffordrose and retired to bed; and the first exclamation of Sir John, aftershe was gone, was that which I have recorded.
"It is strange, indeed," said Beauchamp, in reply; "but you know hishabits better than I do, and can better judge what has become of him."
"Indeed, my dear uncle," said Miss Clifford, with an earnest air, "Ithink you ought to make some inquiries. I do not think Captain Haywardwould have gone away in so strange a manner, without someextraordinary motive, and after the alarming circumstance that hashappened to-night, one cannot well be without apprehension."
"A harum-scarum fellow!" answered Sir John; "nobody ever knew what hewould do next. Some wild-goose scheme of his or another; I saw himonce jump off the mole at Gibraltar, when he was a mere boy, to savethe life of a fellow who had better have been drowned, a sneakingSpanish thief, a half-smuggler and half-spy."
"And did he save him?" exclaimed Miss Clifford, eagerly.
"Oh, to be sure," answered Sir John; "he swims like a Newfoundlanddog, that fellow."
"Your carriage, Sir," said a servant, entering and addressing Mr.Beauchamp.
"Here, Jones," cried Sir John Slingsby; "do you know what has becomeof Captain Hayward? we have not seen him all night."
"Why, Sir John," answered the man, "Ralph, the under-groom, told me hehad met the captain in the park, as he was returning from taking yournote to Mr. Wharton, and that Captain Hayward made him get down,jumped upon the cob, and rode away out at the gates as hard as hecould go."
"There, I told you so," said Sir John Slingsby, "Heaven only knowswhat he is about, and there is no use trying to find it out; but thisis too bad of you, Mr. Beauchamp, ordering your carriage at this hour;the days of curfew are passed, and we can keep the fire in a littleafter sun-down."
"You should stay and see what has become of your friend, Mr.Beauchamp," said Isabella Slingsby; "I don't think that is like a truecompanion-in-arms, to go away and leave him, just when you know he isengaged in some perilous adventure."
Beauchamp was not proof against such persuasions; but we are allmerchants in this world, trafficking for this or that, and sometimesbartering things that are of very little value to us in reality forothers that we value more highly. Beauchamp made it a condition of hisstay, that Isabella should go on singing; and Mary Clifford engagedher uncle in a _t?te-?-t?te_, while Beauchamp leaned over her cousinat the piano. The first song was scarcely concluded, however, when thebutler again made his appearance, saying,--
"You were asking, Sir John, what had become of Captain Hayward, andStephen Gimlet has just come in to say that he had seen him about anhour ago."
"Well, well," said Sir John, impatiently, "what, the devil, has becomeof him? what bat-fowling exhibition has he gone upon now? By Jove!that fellow will get his head broken some of these days, and then weshall discover whether there are any brains in it or not. Sometimes Ithink there is a great deal, sometimes that there is none at all; but,at all events, he is as kind, good-hearted a fellow as ever lived,that's certain."
"Stephen Gimlet says, Sir John," replied the butler, with his usualsolemnity, "that the captain went out on horseback to hunt down theman who fired through the window."
"Whew!" whistled Sir John Slingsby, "was it not one of those cursedfools of game-keepers, shooting a deer?"
"No, Sir John," answered the man, "it was some one who came in onhorseback by the upper gates. Captain Hayward got upon the cob andhunted him across the moor, till he lodged him in one of the pits onthe other side, and was watching him there by the moonlight whenStephen Gimlet came up; for he was afraid, if he went in one way, thathe might get out the other."
"Well, have they got him? have they got him?" cried Sir John; "byJove! this is too bad, one must have his plate made bomb-proof, ifthis is to go on."
"They have not got him, please you, Sir John," replied the butler,"for when Stephen came up, he and the captain went in, and both gotclose up to the fellow, it seems, but he had time to charge his gun,and he fired straight at them. Wolf--that is, Mr. Gimlet--says he issure Captain Hayward is wounded, for the man rode away as hard as hecould go before they could stop him, and the captain jumped upon thecob and went after him again at the full gallop."
"Where did they go? which way did they take?" exclaimed the baronet,brustling up warmly; "by Jove! this is too bad, it must be put down!Tell Matthews and Harrison, and two or three more, to get out horsesas fast as possible--which way did they take?--can't you answer?--haveyou got no ears?"
"Stephen said, Sir, that they seemed to go towards Buxton's inn,"replied the butler, "but he could not well see, for they got amongstthe woods."
"By Jove I'll soon settle this matter," cried Sir John; "I'll just geton a pair of boots and be off--Mr. Beauchamp, you must stay till Icome back, so come, be friendly, send
away your carriage, and take abed."
"Upon one condition, Sir John," replied Beauchamp, "that you allow meto be the companion of your ride."
"No, no," cried Sir John, rubbing his hands, "my dear fellow, you muststay and protect the ladies."
"Oh, we shall do very well, papa," cried Isabella, "only order all thedoors and windows to be shut, and I will command in camp till yourreturn."
"There's a hero," cried Sir John Slingsby, "agreed! Jones, Jones, youdog, tell the boy to take away his horses, and not to come for Mr.Beauchamp till this time to-morrow night--nay, I insist, Beauchamp--norefusal, no refusal--capital haunch of venison just ready for thespit--bottle of Burgundy, and all very proper--every thing as prim asmy grandmother's maiden aunt--but come along, I'll equip you for yourride--ha, ha, ha, capital fun, by Jove! Ned Hayward's a famous fellowto give us such a hunt extempore; as good as a bagged fox, and a devila deal better than a drag."
Thus saying, Sir John Slingsby rolled out of the room, followed by Mr.Beauchamp, to prepare themselves for their expedition from a vaststore of very miscellaneous articles, which Sir John Slingby'sdressing-room contained. He was, Heaven knows, any thing but a miser,and yet in that dressing-room were to be found old suits of clothesand equipments of different kinds, which he had had at every differentperiod, from twenty to hard upon the verge of sixty; jack-boots, dresspumps, hobnailed shoes, Hessians, and pen-dragons, great coats, smallcoats, suits of regimentals, wrap-rascals, the complete costume of aharlequin, which now scarcely would have held one of his thighs, and amask and domino. But with each of these pieces of apparel wasconnected some little incident, or tale, or jest, which clunglingering to the old gentleman's memory, associating with eventssweet, or joyous, or comic, sometimes even with sad events, but alwayswith something that touched one or other of the soft points in hisheart; and he never could make up his mind to part with them. Fromthese he would have fain furnished his guest with a wardrobe, butunfortunately the baronet's and Mr. Beauchamp's were of very differentsizes, and he laughingly put away the pair of boots that were offered,saying, "No, no, Sir John, my shoes will do very well; I have riddenin every sort of foot-covering under the sun, I believe, from woodenboots to morocco leather slipper; but I will take this large cloakthat is hanging here, in case we should have to bivouac."
"Ha, ha, ha!" cried Sir John again; "a capital notion; I should notmind it at all:--light a great fire on the top of the moor, turn ourtoes in, and put a bundle of heath under our heads:--we have gotcapital heath here. Were you ever in Scotland, Mr. Beauchamp?"
"I was, Sir, once," answered Beauchamp, in a tone so stern and grave,that Sir John Slingsby suddenly looked up and saw the countenance ofhis guest clouded and gloomy, as if something exceedingly offensive orpainful had just been said to him. It cleared up in a moment, however,and as soon as the baronet was ready they issued forth again anddescended into the hall.
In the meanwhile, Isabella and her cousin had remained sitting nearthe piano, both rather thoughtful in mood. For a minute or two eachwas silent, busied, apparently, with separate trains of thought. Atlength Mary looked up, inquiring, "What do you intend to do,Isabella?"
"What do you mean, Mary, love?" replied her cousin; "if you mean toask whether I intend to marry Ned Hayward, as I have a slight notionpapa intends I should, I say no, at once;" and she laughed gaily.
"Oh, no," answered Miss Clifford; "my question was not half so seriousa one, Isabella; though I do not see why you should not, either. Ionly wished to ask whether you intended to sit up or go to bed."
"Why I should not," exclaimed Isabella, gaily, "I can give you twentygood reasons in a minute. We are both so thoughtless; we should ruinourselves in a couple of years; we are both so merry, we should laughourselves to death in a fortnight; we are both so harum-scarum, aspapa calls it, that it would not be safe for one to trust the otherout of his sight; for a thousand to one we should never meet again; hewould go to the East Indies, and I to the West seeking him; and theneach would go to meet the other, and we should pass each other by theway."
Mary Clifford smiled thoughtfully; and after pausing in meditation fora moment or two, she answered, "After all, Isabella, I have somedoubts as to whether either of you is as thoughtless as you take apleasure in seeming."
"Oh, you do me injustice--you do me injustice, Mary," cried MissSlingsby; "I seem nothing but what I am. As to Captain Hayward," sheadded, with a sly smile, "you know best, Mary dear. He is your _preuxchevalier_, you know; delivered you from lions and tigers, and giantsand ravishers, and, as in duty bound, has talked to nobody but you allday."
Mary coloured a little, but replied straightforwardly, "Oh yes, wehave talked a good deal, enough to make me think that he is not sothoughtless as my uncle says; and I know you are not so thoughtless asyou say you are yourself. But what do you intend to do while they aregone?"
"O, I shall sit up, of course," answered Isabella; "I always do, tillpapa goes to bed. When he has a large party, and I hear an eruption ofthe Goths and Vandals making its way hither--which I can alwaysdiscover by the creaking of the glass-door--I retreat into that littleroom and fortify myself with lock and key, for I have no taste formankind in a state of drunkenness; and then when they have roared andbellowed, and laughed, and quarrelled, and drank their coffee and goneaway, I come out and talk to papa for half an hour, till he is readyto go to bed."
"But is he always in a very talking condition himself?" asked MaryClifford.
"Oh, fie! now, Mary," exclaimed her cousin; "how can you suffer yourmind to be prejudiced by people's reports. My father likes to seeevery one happy, and even jovial under his roof--perhaps a little toomuch--but if you mean to say he gets tipsy, it is not the case; Inever saw him the least so in all my life; in fact I don't think hecould if he would; for I have seen him drink as much wine as wouldmake me tipsy twenty times over, without its having any effect uponhim at all--a little gay, indeed; but he is always gay after dinner."
Mary Clifford listened with a quiet smile, but replied not toIsabella's discourse upon her father's sobriety, merely saying, "Well,if you sit up, my dear cousin, I shall sit up too, to keep youcompany;" but scarcely had the words passed her sweet lips, when incame Sir John Slingsby and Mr. Beauchamp, the baronet holding a noteopen in his hand.
"Ha, ha, ha," he cried, "news of the deserter, news of the deserter,we had just got to the hall door, horses ready, cloaks on our backs,servants mounted, plans arranged, a gallop of five or six miles and abivouac on the moor before us, when up walks one of the boys fromBuxton's inn with this note from the runaway; let us see what hesays," and approaching the lamp he read by its light severaldetached sentences from Ned Hayward's letter, somewhat to thefollowing effect: "Dear Sir John, for fear you should wonder what hasbecome of me--so I did, by Jove--I write this to tell you--ah, I knewall that before--cantered him across the common--earthed him in oldsand-pit--rascal fired at me--not much harm done--chased him alongthe road, but lost him at the three turnings--came on here--verytired--comfortable quarters--particular reason for staying where Iam--over with you early in the morning--Ned Hayward."
"Ah, very well, very well," continued Sir John, "that's all right; sonow Beauchamp, if you are for a game at piquet I am your man; if not,some wine and water and then to bed. I'll put you under the tutelageof my man Galveston, who knows what's required by every sort of men inthe world, from the Grand Turk down to the Methodist parson, and hewill provide you with all that is necessary."
Mr. Beauchamp, however, declined both piquet and wine-and-water; and,in about half-an-hour, the whole party had retired to their rooms; andgradually Tarningham Hall sank into silence and repose.
One of the last persons who retired to rest was Sir John Slingsbyhimself; for, before he sought his own room, he visited the library,and there, lying on the table where his letters were usually placed,he found a note, neatly folded and sealed, and directed in a stiff,clear, clerk-like hand. He took it up and looked at it; laid it downagain: took it up once more; held it, f
or at least three minutes, inhis hand, as if irresolute whether he should open it or not; and atlength tore open the seal, exclaiming,
"No, hang me if I go to bed with such a morsel on my stomach."
Then, putting it on the other side of the candle, and his glass to hiseye, he read the contents. They did not seem to be palateable; for thefirst sentence made him exclaim,
"Pish! I know you my buck!"
After this he read on again; and, though he made no furtherexclamation, his brow became cloudy, and his eye anxious. When he haddone, he threw it down, put his hands behind his back, and walked twoor three times up and down the room, stopping every now and then togaze at the Turkey carpet.
"Hang him!" he cried at length. "By Jove! this is a pretty affair."
And then he walked up and down again.
"Well, devil take it!" he cried, at length, tearing the note topieces, and then throwing the fragments into the basket underthe table, "it will come, some how or other, I dare say. There isalways something turns up--if not, the trees must go--can't behelped--improve the prospect--landscape gardening--ha! ha! ha!"
And laughing heartily, he rolled off to bed.
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