Beauchamp; or, The Error.

by G. P. R. James

  CHAPTER XXVI.

  I do believe, from my very heart and soul, that there is not theslightest possible good in attempting to write a book regularly. I saywith prime ministers and maid-servants, with philosophers and fools,"I've tried it, and surely I ought to know." It may be objected thatthe result entirely depends upon the way in which a thing is tried,and that a very simple experiment would fail or might fail in thehands of a fool or a maid-servant, which would succeed in those of aprime minister or a philosopher. Nevertheless, it is true that criticsmake rules which life will not conform to. Art says one thing, natureanother; and, in such a case, a fig for art! Art may teach us how toembellish nature, or show us what to portray.

  "Do not be continually changing the scene," says the critic, "do notrun from character to character; introduce no personage who does nottend to bring about some result;" but in the course of human eventsthe scene is always shifting; the characters which pass before oureyes, cross and return at every instant, and innumerable personagesflit before us like shadows over a glass, leaving no trace of theirhaving been. Others, indeed, appear for an instant not only on thelimited stage of domestic life, but often on the great scene of theworld, act their appointed part, produce some particular effect, andthen like those strange visitants of our system, the comets, rush backinto the depths from which they emerged but for an hour.

  All this has been written to prove that it is perfectly right andjudicious that I should introduce my beloved reader into the study ofMr. Wharton, or rather Abraham Wharton, Esq., solicitor, andattorney-at-law. Mr. Wharton was a small, spare, narrow man, of atolerably gentlemanlike figure; and, to look at his back, one of thoseprepossessions which lead us all by the nose, made one believe thathis face must be a thin, sharp, foxlike face, probably with a darkblack beard, closely shaved, making the muzzle look blue.

  On getting round in front, however, the surprise of the newacquaintance was great to see a red and blotchy countenance, withsharp black eyes, and very little beard at all. There was generally asecret simper upon his lips intended to be courteous, but that simper,like an exchequer bill, was very easily convertible, and a poorclient, an inferior solicitor on the opposite side, or an unreadydebtor, soon found that it would be changed into heavy frowns orsarcastic grins.

  Mr. Wharton was very proper and accurate in his dress. His coat wasalways black,--even when he went out to hunt, which was not a rareoccurrence, he never sported the red jacket. In riding, he wouldoccasionally indulge in leather, elsewhere than from the kneedownwards; but the habiliment of the lower man was, upon all ordinaryoccasions, a pair of dark gray pantaloons. He was now so habited inhis study, as he called the room behind that where seven clerks wereseated, for the business he was engaged in was one in the ordinarycourse, though of extraordinary interest to Mr. Wharton. It was, inshort, the consummation of plucking a poor bird which had beenentrapped long before. Now it was not intended to leave him a feather,and yet Mr. Wharton was inclined to do the thing as decorously aspossible. By decorously I do not mean tenderly--such an unnecessarydelicacy never entered into Mr. Wharton's head. The decorum that hethought of was merely _the seeming in the world's eyes_, as a greatdeal of other decorum is, both male and female. He was about to be ashard, as relentless, as iron-hearted as a cannon-ball, but all withinfinite professions of kindness and good feeling, and sorrow for thepainful necessity, &c. &c. &c., for Mr. Wharton followed Dr.Kitchener's barbarous recipe for devouring oysters, and "tickled hislittle favourites before he ate them."

  The lawyer was standing at a table with some papers before him--nottoo many--for he was not like those bankrupt attorneys of the capitalwho fill their rooms with brown tin cases, marked in large whiteletters "House of Lords," he preferred as little show of business aspossible. His object now-a-days was not to get practice, but to makemoney. Practice enough he had; too much for the common weal.

  A clerk--a sort of private secretary indeed--was sitting at the otherend of the table, and the two had discussed one or two less importantaffairs, affecting a few hundred pounds, when Mr. Wharton at lengthobserved, "I think to-morrow is the last day with Sir John Slingsby,Mr. Pilkington, is it not?"

  He knew quite well that it was; but, it would seem, he wished to hearhis clerk's opinion upon the subject.

  "Yes, Sir," answered Mr. Pilkington, "I don't see a chance for him."

  "Nor I either," answered Mr. Wharton; "I am afraid he is quite runout, poor man. The six months' notice of fore-closure was all right,and the interest now amounts to a large sum."

  "A very large sum indeed, Sir, with the costs," answered Mr.Pilkington; "you don't think, Sir, he'll attempt to revise the costsor haggle about the interest."

  "He can't, Mr. Pilkington," replied Mr. Wharton, drily, "the costs areall secured by bond and accounts passed, and it was a client of minewho advanced him the money at seven-and-a-half to pay the interestevery six months on my mortgage. I had nothing to do with thetransaction."

  Mr. Pilkington smiled, and Mr. Wharton proceeded.

  "Why you know quite well, Pilkington, that it was Dyer who advancedthe money, and his bankruptcy brought the bonds into my hands."

  "I thought there was only one bond, Sir," answered Mr. Pilkington;"you told me to have a fresh bond every six months for the runninginterest and the arrears, and the interest upon former advances, toguard against loss."

  Mr. Wharton now smiled and nodded his head, saying, for he was vain ofhis shrewdness, and vanity is a weak passion, "True, true, Pilkington,but last half-year I saw that things were coming to a close, andtherefore thought it better to have two bonds. It looks more regular,though the other is the most convenient mode."

  "And besides it secures the interest on the last half-year'sinterest," said Pilkington; but to this observation Mr. Wharton madeno reply, turning to another part of the same subject.

  "Just bid Raymond to step down to Mr. Wittingham's," said the lawyer,"and tell him with my compliments I should be glad to speak with himfor a minute. I must give him a hint of what is going on."

  "Why, Sir," said Mr. Pilkington, hesitating "you know he has a bondtoo, out on the same day, and he'll be sure to go before you, havingalso a bill of sale."

  "I know, I know," answered Mr. Wharton, "but I should like him to bethe first, Pilkington."

  "Will there be enough to cover all?" asked the clerk, doubtfully.

  "Ample," answered his great man; "besides, the whole sum comingthundering down at once will ensure that no one will be fool enough tohelp. I have heard, indeed, something about a friend who would advancemoney to pay Wittingham's bond. Let him!--all the better, that cannotsupersede my debt. Wittingham will get his money, and Sir John won'teasily find much more on any security he has to offer. Besides, whensome one begins, it gives the very best reason for others going on,and Wittingham won't be slow, depend upon it. Tell Mr. Raymond tofetch him."

  The clerk retired, not venturing to urge any more objections; but whenhe returned again, Mr. Wharton himself continued the conversationthus,

  "Wittingham is a curious person to deal with; one does not always knowwhat can be his objects."

  Mr. Wharton had always an object himself, and, therefore, he fanciedthat no man could act without one. He never took the impulse ofpassion, or the misdirection of folly, or the pigheadedness ofobstinacy into account. However, with Mr. Wittingham he was in somedegree right, as to his generally having an object; but he was in somedegree wrong also, for all the other causes of human wrong-going,passion, folly, and pigheadedness, had their share in the modes,methods, and contrivances by which the worthy magistrate sought hisends.

  "Now, what can be the meaning," continued Mr. Wharton, "of hisopposing so strongly all steps against this Mr. Beauchamp and thatCaptain Hayward, who were engaged in the duel with his son?"

  "They say he had quarrelled with Harry Wittingham and disinheritedhim," replied the clerk; "and old Mrs. Billiter, the housekeeper, isquite furious about it. She declares that it is all old Wittingham'sfault; that if it had n
ot been for him, nothing of the kind would havehappened; and that he murdered the young man. I do not know what itall means; but they say she will nurse Harry Wittingham through itafter all."

  Mr. Wharton mused for a minute or two, and then said,

  "You do not mean, he is out of danger?"

  "Oh dear, no, Sir," answered Mr. Pilkington, who perceived a slightlydissatisfied twang in his superior's question; "Mr. Slattery, thesurgeon, said he might sink at anytime for the next ten days."

  "Humph," said Mr. Wharton, "that is all right. It will keep the othersout of the way for some time to come; and a very good thing, too, forMr. Beauchamp himself. He it is who is treating for the Moreton Hallestate; there is a little hitch in the business, which will be soonremoved; but he seems to me just the sort of man who would take SirJohn Slingsby's mortgage as an investment, as soon as the other. Atall events, he might create difficulties in a business which hadbetter be settled as soon as possible for all parties, and might burnhis own fingers, poor man, into the bargain. You had the bills postedup, Pilkington?"

  "Oh, yes, Sir," replied the clerk, "for twenty miles round, offering areward. There is no fear, Sir. They are safe enough--most likely inFrance by this time."

  Mr. Wharton seemed satisfied; and, after a few minutes, worthy Mr.Wittingham entered the office, and was thence ushered into the study;but, alas! it was no longer the Mr. Wittingham of former days. Thesomewhat fresh complexion; the stiff, consequential carriage; thevulgar swagger, were all gone; and Mr. Wittingham looked a very sickold gentleman, indeed; weak in the knees, bent in the back, and sallowin the face. The wig was ill-adjusted, the Melton coat a world toowide; you could have put a finger between the knee-bands of thebreeches and the stockings; and the top-boots slipped down almost tothe ancles. It was marvellous how one who had been so tall and thinbefore, could have become, to the eye, so much taller and thinner. Thegreat Prince of Parma, wrote despatches, reviewed troops, andconducted a negotiation, within one hour before a long and lingeringmalady terminated in death. He knew he was dying, and yet went throughall his ordinary business, as if he had only to dress and go out to aparty instead of into his grave. This was a wonderful instance of thepersistence of character under bodily infirmity, or rather of itstriumph over corporeal decay. But that of Mr. Wittingham was moreremarkable. The external Wittingham was wofully changed: his oldestfriend would not have known him; but the internal Wittingham was stillthe same; there was not a tittle of difference. He was not in theleast softened, he was not in the least brightened: his was one ofthose granite natures, hard to cut, and impossible to polish. Althoughhe had very little of the diamond in him, yet, as the diamond can onlybe shaped by the powder of the diamond, nothing but Wittingham couldtouch Wittingham. His own selfishness was the only means by which hewas accessible.

  "Ah, Mr. Wharton," he said, "you sent for me; what is in the wind now?Not about these two young men any more, I trust. That account isclosed. I will have nothing to do with it. Henry Wittingham called outthis Captain Hayward; Captain Hayward was fool enough to go out withHenry Wittingham. They each had a shot, and the balance struck was apistol-ball against Henry Wittingham. Perhaps, if all the items hadbeen reckoned, the account might have been heavier, but I am not goingto open the books again, I should not find any thing to the credit ofmy son, depend upon it."

  "Oh, no, my good friend," said Mr. Wharton, in the most amiable tonepossible; "I knew the subject was disagreeable to you, and thereforenever returned to the business again. The other magistrates did whatthey thought their duty required, in offering a reward, &c., but asyou had a delicacy in meddling where your son was concerned, thematter was not pressed upon you."

  "Delicacy! fiddlesticks' ends!" retorted Mr. Wittingham. "I never hada delicacy in my life!--I did not choose! That is the proper word. Butif it was not about this, why did you send for me?"

  "Why, my dear Sir," said Mr. Wharton, "I thought it due in honour togive you a hint--as I know you are a large creditor of Sir JohnSlingsby--that matters are not going altogether well there."

  "I have known that these six years," answered the magistrate; "honour,indeed! You have a great deal to do with honour, and delicacy, and allthat; but I am a man of business, and look to things as matters ofbusiness. Speak more plainly, Wharton, what is there going worse thanusual at the Park? Does he want to borrow more money?

  "He did a fortnight ago, and could not get it," replied Mr. Wharton,drily; for the most impudent rogue in the world does not like to feelhimself thoroughly understood. "But the short and the long of thematter is this, my good Sir:--Sir John can go on no longer. Sixmonths' notice of fore-closure is out tomorrow; other steps must betaken immediately; large arrears of interest are due; two or threebonds with judgment are hanging over our poor friend; and you hadbetter look after yourself."

  "Well, well, there is time enough yet," said Mr. Wittingham, in a muchless business-like tone than Mr. Wharton expected; "the preliminariesof the law are somewhat lengthy, Mr. Wharton? _fi-fas_ and _ca-sas_take some time; and I will think of the matter."

  "As you please, my good friend," answered Wharton; "only just let mehint, that all the preliminaries have been already gone through. Anexecution will be put in early to-morrow; there are a good manycreditors, and there may be a sort of scramble, as the school-boyshave it, where the quickest runner gets the biggest nut. I thought itbut kind and fair to tell you, as a neighbour and a friend, especiallyas your debt is no trifle, I think."

  "An execution early to-morrow!" exclaimed Mr. Wittingham; "won't theestate pay all?"

  "About two-thirds, I imagine," said Wharton, telling, as was his wont,a great lie with the coolest face possible.

  "And what will Sir John do?" said the magistrate, "and poor MissSlingsby?"

  "I am afraid we must touch Sir John's person," replied the lawyer,with a sneer; "and as to poor Miss Slingsby, I see nothing for it, butthat she should go out as a governess. But do not let us talknonsense, Wittingham. You are a man of sense and of business. I havegiven you a caution, and you will act upon it. That is all I have todo with the matter."

  To Mr. Wharton's surprise, however, he did not find Mr. Wittingham soready to act in the way he hinted as had been anticipated. The oldgentleman hesitated, and doubted, and seemed so uneasy that thesolicitor began to fear he had mistaken his character totally, toapprehend that, after all, he might be a kind-hearted, benevolent oldgentleman. The reader, however, who has duly remarked the conversationbetween the magistrate on his sick-bed, and worthy Dr. Miles, may,perhaps, perceive other causes for Mr. Wittingham's hesitation. He hadfound that Sir John Slingsby possessed a secret which might hang hisson. Now, although I do not mean at all to say that Mr. Wittinghamwished his son to die, in any way, or that he would not have beensomewhat sorry for his death, by any means, yet he would have muchpreferred that the means were not those of strangulation. To have hisson hanged, would be to have his own consideration hanged. In short,he did not at all wish to be the father of a man who had been hanged;and consequently he was somewhat afraid of driving Sir John Slingsbyinto a corner. But each man, as Pope well knew, has some rulingpassion, which is strong even in death. Sir John Slingsby owed Mr.Wittingham five thousand pounds; and Mr. Wittingham could not forgetthat fact. As he thought of it, it increased, swelled out, grew heavy,like a nightmare. To lose five thousand pounds at one blow! What wasany other consideration to that? What was the whole Newgate-calendar,arranged as a genealogical tree and appended to his name either asancestry or posterity? Nothing, nothing! Dust in the balance! Afeather in an air-pump! Mr. Wittingham grew exceedingly civil to hiskind friend, Mr. Wharton; he compassionated poor Sir John Slingsbyvery much; he was sorry for Miss Slingsby; but he did not in the leastsee why, when other people were about to help themselves, he shouldnot have his just right. He chatted over the matter with Mr. Wharton,and obtained an opinion from him, without a fee, as to the best modeof proceeding--and Mr. Wharton's opinions on such points were verysound; but in this case particularly careful. Then Mr.
Wittingham wenthome, sent for his worthy solicitor, Mr. Bacon, whom he had employedfor many years, as cheaper and safer than Mr. Wharton, and gave himinstructions, which set the poor little attorney's hair on end.

  Mr. Bacon knew Mr. Wittingham, however; he had been accustomed tomanage him at petty sessions; and he was well aware that it wasnecessary to set Mr. Wittingham in opposition to Mr. Wittingham,before he could hope that any one's opinion would be listened to. Whenthose two respectable persons had a dispute together, there was somechance of a third being attended to who stepped in as an umpire.

  But, in the present case, Mr. Bacon was mistaken. He did not say oneword of the pity, and the shame, and the disgrace of taking Sir JohnSlingsby quite by surprise; but he started various legal difficulties,and, indeed, some formidable obstacles to the very summary proceedingswhich Mr. Wittingham contemplated. But that gentleman was as a gunloaded with excellent powder and well-crammed down shot, by Mr.Wharton; and the priming was dry and fresh. Mr. Bacon's difficultieswere swept away in a moment; his obstacles leaped over; and thesolicitor was astonished at the amount of technical knowledge whichhis client had obtained in a few hours.

  There was nothing to be done but obey. Mr. Wittingham was too good acard to throw out: Sir John Slingsby was evidently ruined beyondredemption; and with a sorrowful heart--for Mr. Bacon was, at bottom,a kind and well-disposed man--he took his way to his office withhis eyes roaming from one side of the street to the other, as if hewere looking for some means of escaping from a disagreeable task.As they thus roamed, they fell upon Billy Lamb, the little deformedpot-boy. The lawyer eyed him for a minute or so as he walked along,compared him in imagination with one of his own clerks, a tall,handsome-looking fellow, with a simpering face; thought that Billywould do best, though he was much more like a wet capon, than a humanbeing, and beckoning the boy into his office, retired with him into aninner room, where Mr. Bacon proceeded so cautiously and diffidently,that, had not Billy Lamb's wits been as sharp as his face, he wouldhave been puzzled to know what the solicitor wanted him to do.