CHAPTER XVIII.Ned Hayward's missive to the younger Wittingham.
"What hour does the coach start at for London?"
"Half-past four, Sir."
"Arrives in town at twelve to-morrow, I think?"
"No, Sir; last time I went up, we got there by eleven."
"Then down again at half-past four?"
"Yes, Sir--gets to the White Hart at half-past eleven--longer comingdown than going up."
"That will do very well." And Ned Hayward, who had held the aboveconversation with one of Sir John Slingsby's servants, hurriedupstairs. His room was all in the most exact order. His fishingtackle, two fowling-pieces in their cases, shot-pouches, game-bags,powder-flasks, &c., were in array on the top of the drawers. Hisclothes were all in their separate places, his boots arranged underthe dressing-glass, his writing-desk upon the table, flanked on eitherside by half-a-dozen volumes. Every thing could be found in a moment,so that if called upon suddenly to march, the baggage would require notime to pack. It was to the writing-desk he first went however; heopened it, unscrewed the top of the inkstand, took out a sheet ofnotepaper and a memorandum-book, and then sat down deliberately inthe chair. The memorandum-book was first called into service, and inthe column of accounts he put down what he had paid at the inn thatmorning, and then, on another page, wrote down the following list,which I will not attempt to explain,
"Catch trout. "Write to H. W. "See Ste Gim. "Make inquiries. "Provide for boy. "Pack car. bag. "Coach to London. "Sell out 12,000_l_. "Alter will. "Pistols. "Friend--qy. Beauchamp. "Talk to him of No. 2 and No. 8."
When this was done, he put the memorandum-book in the pocket of afrock-coat, sat down again, drew the sheet of notepaper towards him,and on it wrote as follows, with a bold, free, rapid hand.
"Captain Hayward presents his compliments to Mr. Henry Wittingham, andbegs to inform him that since he had the honour of seeing him lastnight, some business has occurred which compels him to go to Londonfor a short time. He goes by the coach this day at half-past four,returns by the coach which leaves London at the same hour to-morrow,and expects to arrive at the White Hart by half-past eleven or twelve.If by that time Mr. Wittingham has found some gentleman of honour touse as his friend, Captain Hayward will have much pleasure in seeingthat gentleman at the White Hart any time between the arrival of thecoach and one o'clock. If not, he will be found for about a fortnightat Tarningham-park."
The note was then addressed and sealed, and as soon as that was done,without a moment's pause, Ned Hayward threw off the dress-coat inwhich he was still habited, put on a sporting costume, looked throughhis book of flies, and taking fishing-rod and basket in one hand, andthe note in the other, descended the stairs.
The house was now in the bustle of morning preparation; housemaidswere sweeping, men-servants were taking away lamps and candlesticks,and to one of the latter the note was delivered, with a half-crown,and directions to send some lad immediately to Buxton's inn. Thatbeing done, Ned Hayward strolled out into the park, taking his waytowards the stream, where we will join him by-and-by.
We must now return to Mary Clifford, however, who stood where NedHayward had left her in deep thought for several minutes. Had she beenthe least of an actress, she would not have done so, for she mighthave fancied that it would betray to her companion, as he walked away,what was passing in her mind; but Mary was not the least of anactress. Graceful by nature, ladylike and polished by heart andeducation, it had never been necessary for her to picture to her ownimagination what others would think of any of her movements or words.She was unaccustomed to do so. She never did it. She did not feelherself upon a stage; she was never acting a part. How few there areof whom we can say the same! But there she stood, silent, grave, andthoughtful, with Hayward's words still ringing in her ear, his mannerstill before her eyes; and both had been somewhat marked and peculiar.But three minutes were all that she would give to such thoughts. Theycame upon her in confused crowds, so numerous, so busy, so tumultuous,that they frightened her; and, not being very brave by nature, she ranaway from them, to take refuge with the calmer but sterner meditationsregarding her uncle's situation. What was to be done, and how it wasto be done, were very puzzling questions, which she asked herself overand over again, without receiving any satisfactory reply from her ownmind. Under the pressure of difficulties and dangers, whetheraffecting ourselves, or those near and dear to us, there comes upon usa necessity for action, a _cacoethes agenda_, which we can scarcelyrestrain. We cannot sit down quietly and wait for time andcircumstances to present favourable opportunities, as we should do,when the affairs in our hands were but matters of indifference toourselves; calm, business-like transactions, in which we have nopersonal feeling. The heart comes in at every turn, and perplexes allthe fine plans of the head; and we must be up and doing, whether themoment be favourable, or not. Mary Clifford felt all this, and was, insome degree, aware of the unreasonableness of precipitancy. Shethought it might be better to wait and see, and yet anxiety,eagerness, affection, urged her to do something, or something, atleast, for her uncle, as soon as possible. She could not rest underthe load; she felt as if activity would be almost a crime; and thoughtshe could see no light whichever way she turned, yet she resolved toattempt something, not feeling very sure, whether she should do injuryor not.
Such was the course of her meditations, for nearly half an hour, afterNed Hayward left her; and yet it must be confessed that, though thesemeditations were upon painful subjects, they were not altogetherpainful. Did you ever listen attentively, dear reader, to one of thosefine and masterly pieces of Beethoven's writings, where the greatcomposer seems to take a delight in puzzling and perplexing the hearerdrowning him, as it were, under a flood of harmony, where discords areas frequently introduced as any thing else? But still, through themall runs a strain of melody, which links them all together.
Such was very much the case of Mary Clifford. For, although thegeneral train of her thoughts was sombre, and there was much cause forsadness in all she had heard, there was something very sweet--sheherself knew not what--that mingled with the old current ofreflection, and harmonised it beautifully. It was somethinghopeful--expectant--trustful--a belief that by the agency of some oneall would go right.--Was it love? Was it the first dawn of that which,to the young mind, is like the dawn of the morning, that softens andbeautifies every thing? I cannot tell; but, at all events, it was sofar undeveloped, that, like the strain of melody which pours throughthe whole of a fine composition, giving a tone of richness andsweetness to every part, it was undistinguishable from the rest, feltand known to be there as a thing separate and alone, and yetinseparable.
Whenever she tried to distinguish it, fear seized upon her, and sheflew away again. Why was she happy, when all that she had heard wasthe most likely to render her otherwise? She did not know, she wouldnot know; but still she gave way to the feeling, although she wouldnot give way to the thought; and while she shrunk from clothing herown sensations in distinctness, longed to render them distinct, thatshe might enjoy them more fully.
"I will go and seek Isabella," she said, at length, "she must know ofthis; and then we can all consult together, perhaps, if one can butteach her light gay heart to be prudent and discreet--and yet," shecontinued, thoughtfully, "she has, perhaps, more worldly wisdom thanmyself, more knowledge of life and all life's things. Those who areaccustomed to commune much with their own thoughts, gain, I am afraid,a conceit in their own opinion, which makes them undervalue thosewhich are formed upon a practical knowledge of the world. Isabella isfull of resources, and, perhaps, may devise many means that wouldnever strike me."
These thoughts passed through her mind as she was approaching thehouse, and very soon after she stood in her cousin's dressing-room,finding her, even at that early hour, up and partly dressed.
"Why, dearest Mary," exclaimed Isabella, "where have you got all thoseroses? The morning air must be very good for the health, as every onesays, to change your cheek, which wa
s yesterday as pale as twilight,into the very aspect of the dawn."
"I have been out walking on the terrace, more than an hour," repliedMary, "and I was pale yesterday, I suppose, from the fright of thenight before. I have had a companion, too, Isabella," she continuedgaily, though her voice trembled a little; "Captain Hayward came upand joined me, and told me all his adventures of the night before."
"Indeed!" exclaimed Miss Slingsby, "his adventures must be very wildand singular, I suppose; for his is just the spirit to seek them andto make the most of them when he has got them. But what has happenedsince, Mary?--We had all the details, you know, up to the period atwhich, like Don Quixote, he arrived at an inn."
"I do not think there is anything in the least like Don Quixote abouthim, Isabella," replied Mary Clifford, gravely; "if he seeksadventures, it is for the advantage of others."
"So did Don Quixote," replied her cousin, giving her a sly smile; "butwhat did he say, dear cousin?"
"Oh, there was a great deal besides what you heard last night,"replied Miss Clifford, "you only had the sketch, the picture is stillto be filled up, and he had better do it for himself. However, I haveother things to talk to you about, Isabella, of more importance;" andshe glanced at the maid that was arranging her mistress's hair.
"I shall be ready in a minute," answered Miss Slingsby; "make haste,Minette, I think you have been longer than usual this morning."
The maid, however, had a thousand reasons to give for being longer,all perfectly valid in her own estimation; and, whether out of spite,or in the hope that the two young ladies would grow tired of waitingand say plainly all they had to say, I cannot tell, but she contrivedto occupy a full quarter of an hour more in dressing her mistress'shair. Those who calculate upon the difficulty of carrying a secret arerarely mistaken; but in this case Mademoiselle Minette did not arriveat her end. Mary said nothing more; and, at length, the girl wasdismissed, and the two cousins were left alone together.
"In the name of fortune!" exclaimed Miss Slingsby, as soon as the maidwas gone; "what solemn thing have you got to tell? Has he proposedalready? On my word, it is a very speedy declaration!"
Mary coloured like a rose, but answered gravely, "Dear Isabella, howcan you be so light? If you speak of Captain Hayward, our conversationhas been upon very different subjects, and was a very serious one. Iam afraid I shall have to distress you, Isabella, as much or more,than his information distressed me."
"I hope not," replied Isabella. "I did not know at all that he was adistressing person. I always thought him a very pleasant fellow, andimagined you thought so too, dear cousin; but how has he contrived todistress you?"
"Why, by some news of no very pleasant character," answered MaryClifford, "he overheard, accidentally it seems, some conversationrelating to your father, from which he learned some particulars, thatgrieve me greatly to hear."
"Indeed!" cried Miss Slingsby, with a start; "they are not going toshoot at him, I hope?"
"Oh, dear no," replied Mary, "nothing of that kind; but about hisaffairs generally."
"Well, speak out boldly, Mary, dear," answered her cousin, "I see youare going round the matter, love, for fear of vexing me; tell it atonce, whatever it may be. You know I have a bold heart, not easily putdown; and, though you judge me light and thoughtless, I know, believeme, Mary, it is more a necessity of my situation than any thing else.If I were to think by the hour together over all the things that areunpleasant to me, as you or my dear aunt would do, I should only killmyself without altering them. Papa has his own ways, which were formedbefore I was born; and, coming so late in the day, I don't think Ihave any right to meddle with them. I get out of the way of all thatis disagreeable to me as much as I can; and, when I can't, like a gooddutiful daughter, I submit. You know that he is, to use our good oldgardener's expression, 'as kind as the flowers in May;' and I shouldbe very ungrateful if I teazed him by constantly opposing habits whichI cannot change, and which are my elder brothers and sisters. Myphilosophy may be a bad one, but pray leave it to me, Mary, for Icould not be happy with any other."
Mary Clifford took her cousin's hand and pressed it kindly in her own;"I would not take it from you for the world," she said, "for I knowand understand all you feel, and am quite well aware that you areperforming the first of duties in endeavouring to make your father'shouse as happy for him as you can, while you don't suffer your ownmind and manners to be tainted by customs you do not approve. You havehad a hard part to play, dear cousin, and you have played it well; butit is not upon these subjects I come to speak to you, but upon one,which though perhaps of less vital importance, unfortunately affectsthe happiness of this life more. Your father's means and fortune,which I am sorry to say, from all I hear, are very much embarrassed."
"Good heavens! what do you mean?" exclaimed Isabella, gazing anxiouslyin her face, and Mary went on as delicately as she could to tell herall that Ned Hayward had communicated. At first, the poor girl seemedoverwhelmed, exclaiming, "A week before they call for such a largesum! six weeks before the whole is finally gone from us! Good heavens,Mary, what is to be done?"
In a moment, however, she rallied: "Well," she exclaimed, "I have beenvery blind--as blind as a great politician, Mary. A thousand thingsshould have prepared me for this that I now recollect, letters, andmessages and intimations of various kinds. That sleek knave, Wharton,is at the bottom of it all; but he shall not crush me; and I dare saywe shall do very well with what is left. I have jewels and trinkets ofmy own, and poor mamma's, to keep house for a longtime; and there mustbe something left out of the wreck."
"But the thing is, if possible, to prevent the ship from being wreckedat all," answered Mary Clifford; and she then went on to tell all thatCaptain Hayward proposed to do, in order to prevent any immediatecatastrophe, not trusting her voice to comment upon his conduct for amoment.
But Isabella did it for her, "O, dear, kind, generous fellow," shecried, "how I love him! Don't you, Mary? Although papa may have manybad and foolish friends, you see there are some noble and wiseones--but I'll tell you what, Mary, we'll go down and talk to himafter breakfast, and we'll all consult and see what is to be done;we'll have a plot to serve papa, whether he will or not; and I declareMr. Beauchamp shall be one of the conspirators."
"Just what I should propose," answered Mary Clifford; "for, althoughyou have known Mr. Beauchamp but a very short time--"
"A good deal longer than you have known Ned Hayward," answered MissSlingsby, with a smile.
"Nay, nay, pray do be serious, Isabella," answered her cousin; "I wasgoing to say, though we have known Mr. Beauchamp but a very shorttime, I do believe from various traits I have seen, I do think he isan amiable and kind-hearted man, though perhaps somewhat cold andstately."
"Oh, he may be warm enough, for aught we know," replied Miss Slingsby,"but there is the breakfast bell; papa will be down and want hiscoffee."
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