The History of Pendennis, Volume 2

by William Makepeace Thackeray

  CHAPTER XXXII

  FIAT JUSTITIA.

  The dinner was served when Arthur returned, and LadyRockminster began to scold him for arriving late. But Laura, lookingat her cousin, saw that his face was so pale and scared, that sheinterrupted her imperious patroness; and asked, with tender alarm,what had happened? Was Arthur ill?

  Arthur drank a large bumper of sherry. "I have heard the mostextraordinary news; I will tell you afterward," he said, looking atthe servants. He was very nervous and agitated during the dinner."Don't tramp and beat so with your feet under the table," LadyRockminster said. "You have trodden on Fido, and upset his saucer. Yousee Mr. Warrington keeps his boots quiet."

  At the dessert--it seemed as if the unlucky dinner would never beover--Lady Rockminster said, "This dinner has been exceedingly stupid.I suppose something has happened, and that you want to speak to Laura.I will go and have my nap. I am not sure that I shall have anytea--no. Good night, Mr. Warrington. You must come again, and whenthere is no business to talk about." And the old lady, tossing up herhead, walked away from the room with great dignity.

  George and the others had risen with her, and Warrington was about togo away, and was saying "Good-night" to Laura, who, of course waslooking much alarmed about her cousin, when Arthur said, "Pray, stay,George. You should hear my news too, and give me your counsel in thiscase. I hardly know how to act in it."

  "It's something about Blanche, Arthur," said Laura, her heart beating,and her cheek blushing, as she thought it had never blushed inher life.

  "Yes--and the most extraordinary story," said Pen. "When I left you togo to my uncle's lodgings, I found his servant, Morgan, who has beenwith him so long, at the door, and he said that he and his master hadparted that morning; that my uncle had quitted the house, and had goneto an hotel--this hotel. I asked for him when I came in; but he wasgone out to dinner. Morgan then said that he had something of a mostimportant nature to communicate to me, and begged me to step into thehouse; his house it is now. It appears the scoundrel has saved a greatdeal of money while in my uncle's service, and is now a capitalist anda millionaire, for what I know. Well, I went into the house, and whatdo you think he told me? This must be a secret between us all--atleast if we can keep it, now that it is in possession of that villain.Blanche's father is not dead. He has come to life again. The marriagebetween Clavering and the Begum is no marriage."

  "And Blanche, I suppose, is her grandfather's heir," said Warrington.

  "Perhaps: but the child of what a father! Amory is an escapedconvict--Clavering knows it; my uncle knows it--and it was with thispiece of information held over Clavering _in terrorem_ that thewretched old man got him to give up his borough to me."

  "Blanche doesn't know it," said Laura, "nor poor Lady Clavering."

  "No," said Pen; "Blanche does not even know the history of her father.She knew that he and her mother had separated, and had heard, as achild, from Bonner, her nurse, that Mr. Amory was drowned in New SouthWales. He was there as a convict, not as a ship's captain, as the poorgirl thought. Lady Clavering has told me that they were not happy, andthat her husband was a bad character. She would tell me all, she said,some day: and I remember her saying to me, with tears in her eyes,that it was hard for a woman to be forced to own that she was glad tohear her husband was dead: and that twice in her life she should havechosen so badly. What is to be done now? The man can't show and claimhis wife: death is probably over him if he discovers himself: returnto transportation certainly. But the rascal has held the threat ofdiscovery over Clavering for some time past, and has extorted moneyfrom him time after time."

  "It is our friend, Colonel Altamont, of course," said Warrington: "Isee all now."

  "If the rascal comes back," continued Arthur, "Morgan, who knows hissecret, will use it over him--and having it in his possession,proposes to extort money from us all. The d--d rascal supposed I wascognizant of it," said Pen, white with anger; "asked me if I wouldgive him an annuity to keep it quiet; threatened me, _me_, as if I wastrafficking with this wretched old Begum's misfortune; and wouldextort a seat in Parliament out of that miserable Clavering. Goodheavens! was my uncle mad, to tamper in such a conspiracy? Fancy ourmother's son, Laura, trading on such a treason!"

  "I can't fancy it, dear Arthur," said Laura; seizing Arthur's hand,and kissing it.

  "No!" broke out Warrington's deep voice, with a tremor; he surveyedthe two generous and loving young people with a pang of indescribablelove and pain. "No. Our boy can't meddle with such a wretched intrigueas that. Arthur Pendennis can't marry a convict's daughter; and sit inParliament as member for the hulks. You must wash your hands of thewhole affair, Pen. You must break off. You must give no explanationsof why and wherefore, but state that family reasons render a matchimpossible. It is better that those poor women should fancy you falseto your word than that they should know the truth. Besides, you canget from that dog Clavering--I can fetch that for you easilyenough--an acknowledgement that the reasons which you have given tohim as the head of the family are amply sufficient for breaking offthe union. Don't you think with me, Laura?" He scarcely dared to lookher in the face as he spoke. Any lingering hope that he mighthave--any feeble hold that he might feel upon the last spar of hiswrecked fortune, he knew he was casting away; and he let the wave ofhis calamity close over him. Pen had started up while he was speaking,looking eagerly at him. He turned his head away. He saw Laura rise upalso and go to Pen, and once more take his hand and kiss it. "Shethinks so too--God bless her!" said George.

  "Her father's shame is not Blanche's fault, dear Arthur, is it?" Laurasaid, very pale, and speaking very quickly. "Suppose you had beenmarried, would you desert her because she had done no wrong? Are younot pledged to her? Would you leave her because she is in misfortune?And if she is unhappy, wouldn't you console her? Our mother would, hadshe been here." And, as she spoke, the kind girl folded her arms roundhim, and buried her face upon his heart.

  "Our mother is an angel with God," Pen sobbed out. "And you are thedearest and best of women--the dearest, the dearest and the best.Teach me my duty. Pray for me that I may do it--pure heart. God blessyou--God bless you, my sister."

  "Amen," groaned out Warrington, with his head in his hands. "She isright," he murmured to himself. "She can't do any wrong, I think--that girl." Indeed, she looked and smiled like an angel. Many a dayafter he saw that smile--saw her radiant face as she looked up atPen--saw her putting back her curls, blushing and smiling, and stilllooking fondly toward him.

  She leaned for a moment her little fair hand on the table, playing onit. "And now, and now," she said, looking at the two gentlemen--

  "And what now?" asked George.

  "And now we will have some tea," said Miss Laura, with her smile.

  But before this unromantic conclusion to a rather sentimental scenecould be suffered to take place, a servant brought word that MajorPendennis had returned to the hotel, and was waiting to see hisnephew. Upon this announcement, Laura, not without some alarm, and anappealing look to Pen, which said "Behave yourself well--hold to theright, and do your duty--be gentle, but firm with your uncle"--Laura,we say, with these warnings written in her face, took leave of thetwo gentlemen, and retreated to her dormitory. Warrington, who was notgenerally fond of tea, yet grudged that expected cup very much. Whycould not old Pendennis have come in an hour later? Well, an hoursooner or later, what matter? The hour strikes at last? The inevitablemoment comes to say Farewell. The hand is shaken, the door closed,and the friend gone; and, the brief joy over, you are alone. "In whichof those many windows of the hotel does _her_ light beam?" perhaps heasks himself as he passes down the street. He strides away to thesmoking-room of a neighboring club, and there applies himself to hisusual solace of a cigar. Men are brawling and talking loud aboutpolitics, opera-girls, horse-racing, the atrocious tyranny of thecommittee; bearing this sacred secret about him, he enters into thisbrawl. Talk away, each louder than the other. Rattle and crack jokes.Laugh and tell your wild stories. It is stra
nge to take one's placeand part in the midst of the smoke and din, and think every man herehas his secret _ego_, most likely, which is sitting lonely and apart,away in the private chamber, from the loud game in which the rest ofus is joining!

  Arthur, as he traversed the passages of the hotel, felt his angerrousing up within him. He was indignant to think that yonder oldgentleman whom he was about to meet, should have made him such a tooland puppet, and so compromised his honor and good name. The oldfellow's hand was very cold and shaky when Arthur took it. He wascoughing; he was grumbling over the fire; Frosch could not bring hisdressing-gown or arrange his papers as that d--d, confounded,impudent scoundrel of a Morgan. The old gentleman bemoaned himself,and cursed Morgan's ingratitude with peevish pathos.

  "The confounded impudent scoundrel! He was drunk last night, andchallenged me to fight him, Pen; and, bedad, at one time I was soexcited that I thought I should have driven a knife into him; and theinfernal rascal has made ten thousand pound, I believe--and deservesto be hanged, and will be; but, curse him, I wish he could have lastedout my time. He knew all my ways, and, dammy, when I rang the bell,the confounded thief brought the thing I wanted--not like that stupidGerman lout. And what sort of time have you had in the country? Been agood deal with Lady Rockminster? You can't do better. She is one ofthe old school--_vieille ecole, bonne ecole_, hey? Dammy, they don'tmake gentlemen and ladies now; and in fifty years you'll hardly knowone man from another. But they'll last my time. I ain't long for thisbusiness: I am getting very old, Pen, my boy; and, gad, I was thinkingto-day, as I was packing up my little library, there's a Bible amongthe books that belonged to my poor mother; I would like you to keepthat, Pen. I was thinking, sir, that you would most likely open thebox when it was your property, and the old fellow was laid under thesod, sir," and the major coughed and wagged his old head overthe fire.

  His age--his kindness, disarmed Pen's anger somewhat, and made Arthurfeel no little compunction for the deed which he was about to do. Heknew that the announcement which he was about to make would destroythe darling hope of the old gentleman's life, and create in his breasta woeful anger and commotion.

  "Hey--hey--I'm off, sir," nodded the Elder; "but I'd like to read aspeech of yours in the _Times_ before I go--'Mr. Pendennis said,Unaccustomed as I am to public speaking'--hey, sir? hey, Arthur?Begad, you look dev'lish well and healthy, sir. I always said mybrother Jack would bring the family right. You must go down into thewest, and buy the old estate, sir. _Nec tenui penna_, hey? We'll riseagain, sir--rise again on the wing--and, begad, I shouldn't besurprised that you will be a baronet before you die."

  His words smote Pen. "And it is I," he thought, "that am going tofling down the poor old fellow's air-castle. Well, it must be. Heregoes. I--I went into your lodgings at Bury-street, though I did notfind you," Pen slowly began--"and I talked with Morgan, uncle."

  "Indeed!" The old gentleman's cheek began to flush involuntarily, andhe muttered, "The cat's out of the bag now, begad!"

  "He told me a story, sir, which gave me the deepest surprise andpain," said Pen.

  The major tried to look unconcerned. "What--that story about--about--What-do-you-call-'em, hey?"

  "About Miss Amory's father--about Lady Clavering's first husband, andwho he is, and what."

  "Hem--a devilish awkward affair!" said the old man, rubbing his nose."I--I've been aware of that--eh--confounded circumstance, forsome time."

  "I wish I had known it sooner, or not at all," said Arthur, gloomily.

  "He is all safe," thought the senior, greatly relieved. "Gad! I shouldhave liked to keep it from you altogether--and from those two poorwomen, who are as innocent as unborn babes in the transaction."

  "You are right. There is no reason why the two women should hear it;and I shall never tell them--though that villain, Morgan, perhapsmay," Arthur said, gloomily. "He seems disposed to trade upon hissecret, and has already proposed terms of ransom to me. I wish I hadknown of the matter earlier, sir. It is not a very pleasant thought tome that I am engaged to a convict's daughter."

  "The very reason why I kept it from you--my dear boy. But Miss Amoryis not a convict's daughter, don't you see? Miss Amory is the daughterof Lady Clavering, with fifty or sixty thousand pounds for a fortune;and her father-in-law, a baronet and country gentleman, of highreputation, approves of the match, and gives up his seat in Parliamentto his son-in-law. What can be more simple?"

  "Is it true, sir?"

  "Begad, yes, it is true, of course it's true. Amory's dead. I tell youhe _is_ dead. The first sign of life he shows, he is dead. He can'tappear. We have him at a dead-lock like the fellow in the play--theCritic, hey?--devilish amusing play, that Critic. Monstrous witty manSheridan; and so was his son. By gad, sir, when I was at the Cape, Iremember--" The old gentleman's garrulity, and wish, to conduct Arthurto the Cape, perhaps arose from a desire to avoid the subject whichwas near est his nephew's heart; but Arthur broke out, interruptinghim, "If you had told me this tale sooner, I believe you would havespared me and yourself a great deal of pain and disappointment; and Ishould not have found myself tied to an engagement from which I can't,in honor, recede."

  "No, begad, we've fixed you--and a man who's fixed to a seat inParliament, and a pretty girl, with a couple of thousand a year, isfixed to no bad thing, let me tell you," said the old man.

  "Great Heavens, sir!" said Arthur; "are you blind? Can't you see?"

  "See what, young gentleman?" asked the other.

  "See, that rather than trade upon this secret of Amory's," Arthurcried out, "I would go and join my father-in-law at the hulks! See,that rather than take a seat in Parliament as a bribe from Claveringfor silence, I would take the spoons off the table! See, that you havegiven me a felon's daughter for a wife; doomed me to poverty andshame; cursed my career when it might have been--when it might havebeen so different but for you! Don't you see that we have been playinga guilty game, and have been over-reached; that in offering to marrythis poor girl, for the sake of her money, and the advancement shewould bring, I was degrading myself, and prostituting my honor?"

  "What in Heaven's name do you mean, sir?" cried the old man.

  "I mean to say that there is a measure of baseness which I can'tpass," Arthur said. "I have no other words for it, and am sorry ifthey hurt you. I have felt, for months past, that my conduct in thisaffair has been wicked, sordid, and worldly. I am rightly punished bythe event, and having sold myself for money and a seat in Parliament,by losing both."

  "How do you mean that you lose either?" shrieked the old gentleman."Who the devil's to take your fortune or your seat away from you. ByG--, Clavering _shall_ give 'em to you. You shall have every shillingof eighty thousand pounds."

  "I'll keep my promise to Miss Amory, sir," said Arthur.

  "And, begad, her parents shall keep theirs to you."

  "Not so, please God," Arthur answered. "I have sinned, but, Heavenhelp me, I will sin no more. I will let Clavering off from thatbargain which was made without my knowledge. I will take no money withBlanche but that which was originally settled upon her; and I will tryto make her happy. You have done it. You have brought this on me, sir.But you knew no better: and I forgive--"

  "Arthur--in God's name--in your father's, who, by Heavens, was theproudest man alive, and had the honor of the family always atheart--in mine--for the sake of a poor broken down old fellow, who hasalways been dev'lish fond of you--don't fling this chance away--I prayyou, I beg you, I implore you, my dear, dear boy, don't fling thischance away. It's the making of you. You're sure to get on. You'll bea baronet; it's three thousand a year: dammy, on my knees, there, Ibeg of you, don't do this."

  And the old man actually sank down on his knees, and seizing one ofArthur's hands, looked up piteously at him. It was cruel to remark theshaking hands, the wrinkled and quivering face, the old eyes weepingand winking, the broken voice. "Ah, sir," said Arthur, with a groan."You have brought pain enough on me, spare me this. You have wished meto marry Blanche. I marry her. For God's
sake, sir, rise, I can'tbear it."

  "You--you mean to say that you will take her as a beggar, and be oneyourself?" said the old gentleman, rising up and coughing violently.

  "I look at her as a person to whom a great calamity has befallen, andto whom I am promised. She can not help the misfortune; and as she hadmy word when she was prosperous, I shall not withdraw it now she ispoor. I will not take Clavering's seat, unless afterward it should begiven of his free will. I will not have a shilling more than heroriginal fortune."

  "Have the kindness to ring the bell," said the old gentleman. "I havedone my best, and said my say; and I'm a dev'lish old fellow.And--and--it don't matter. And--and Shakspeare was right--and CardinalWolsey--begad--'and had I but served my God as I've served you'--yes,on my knees, by Jove, to my own nephew--I mightn't havebeen--Good-night, sir, you needn't trouble yourself to call again."

  Arthur took his hand, which the old man left to him; it was quitepassive and clammy. He looked very much oldened; and it seemed as ifthe contest and defeat had quite broken him.

  On the next day he kept his bed, and refused to see hisnephew.