The Man in Black: An Historical Novel of the Days of Queen Anne

by G. P. R. James

  CHAPTER XXXVIII.

  We must now turn on more to Sir Philip Hastings as he sat in hislonely room in prison. Books had been allowed him, paper, pen, andink, and all that could aid to pass the time; but Sir Philip hadmatter for study in his own mind, and the books had remained unopenedfor several days. Hour after hour, since his interview with SecretaryVernon, and day after day he had paced that room to and fro, till thesound of his incessant footfall was a burthen to those below. His hairhad grown very white, the wrinkles on his brow had deepened and becomemany, and his head was bowed as if age had pressed it down. As hewalked, his eye beneath his shaggy eyebrow was generally bent upon thefloor, but when any accidental circumstance caused him to raise it--adistant sound from without, or some thought passing through his ownmind--there was that curious gleam in it which I have mentioned whendescribing him in boyhood, but now heightened and rendered somewhatmore wild and mysterious. At those moments the expression of his eyesamounted almost to fierceness, and yet there was something grand, andfixed, and calm about the brow which seemed to contradict theimpatient, irritable look.

  At the moment I now speak of there was an open letter on the table,written in his daughter's hand, and after having walked up and downfor more than one hour, he sat down as if to answer it. We must lookover his shoulder and see what he writes, as it may in some degreetend to show the state of his mind, although it was never sent.

  "MY CHILD" (it was so he addressed the dear girl who had once been thejoy of his heart): "The news which has been communicated to you byMarlow has been communicated also to me, but has given small relief.The world is a prison, and it is not very satisfactory to leave onedungeon to go into a larger.

  "Nevertheless, I am desirous of returning to my own house. Your motheris very ill, with nobody to attend upon her but yourself--at least nokindred. This situation does not please me. Can I be satisfied thatshe will be well and properly cared for? Will a daughter who hasbetrayed her father show more piety towards a mother? Who is therethat man can trust?"

  He was going on in the same strain, and his thoughts becoming moreexcited, his language more stern and bitter every moment, whensuddenly he paused, read over the lines he had written with a gleamingeye, and then bent his head, and fell into thought. No one can tell,no pen can describe the bitter agony of his heart at that moment. Hadhe yielded to the impulse--had he spoken ever so vehemently andfiercely, it would have been happier for him and for all. But men willsee without knowing it in passing through the world, conventionalnotions which they adopt as principles. They fancy them originalthoughts, springing from their own convictions, when in reality theyare bents--biases given to their minds by the minds of other men. Theresult is very frequently painful, even where the tendency of theviews received is good. Thus a shrub forced out of its naturaldirection may take a more graceful or beautiful form, but there isever a danger that the flow of the sap may be stopped, or some of thebranches injured by the process.

  "No," said Sir Philip Hastings, at length, with a false sense ofdignity thus acquired, "no, it is beneath me to reproach her. Punishher I might, and perhaps I ought; for the deed itself is an offence tosociety and to human nature more than to me. To punish her would havebeen a duty, even if my own heart's blood had flowed at the same time,in those ancient days of purer laws and higher principles; but I willnot reproach without punishing. I will be silent. I will say nothing.I will leave her to her own conscience," and tearing the letter he hadcommenced to atoms, he resumed his bitter walk about the room.

  It is a terrible and dangerous thing to go on pondering for longsolitary hours on any one subject of deep interest. It is dangerouseven in the open air, under the broad, ever-varying sky, with thebirds upon the bough, and the breeze amongst the trees, and a thousandobjects in bright nature to breathe harmonies to the human heart. Itis dangerous in the midst of crowds and gay scenes of active life soto shut the spirit up with one solitary idea, which, like the fableddragon's egg, is hatched into a monster by long looking at it. Butwithin the walls of a prison, with nothing to divert the attention,with nothing to solicit or compel the mind even occasionally to seeksome other course, with no object in external nature, with thecompanionship of no fellow being, to appeal to our senses or to awakeour sympathies, the result is almost invariable. An innocent man--aman who has no one strong passion, or dark, all-absorbing subject ofcontemplation, but who seeks for and receives every mode of relieffrom the monotony of life that circumstances can afford may endureperfect solitude for years and live sane, but whoever condemns acriminal--a man loaded with a great offence--to solitary confinement,condemns him to insanity--a punishment far more cruel than death orthe rack. Hour after hour again, day after day, Sir Philip Hastingscontinued to beat the floor of the prison with untiring feet. At theend of the third day, however, he received formal notice that he wouldbe brought into court on the following morning, that the indictmentagainst him would be read, and that the attorney-general would enter a_nolle prosequi_. Some of these forms were perhaps unnecessary, but itwas the object of the government at that time to make as strong animpression on the public mind as possible without any unnecessaryeffusion of blood.

  The effect upon the mind of Sir Philip Hastings, however, was notsalutary. The presence of the judges, the crowd in the court, the actof standing in the prisoners' dock, even the brief speech of thelawyer commending the lenity and moderation of government, while hemoved the recording of the _nolle prosequi_, all irritated and excitedthe prisoner. His irritation was shown in his own peculiar way,however; a smile, bitter and contemptuous curled his lip. His eyeseemed to search out those who gazed at him most and stare them down,and when he was at length set at liberty, he turned away from the dockand walked out of the court without saying a word to any one. Thegovernor of the jail followed him, asking civilly if he would notreturn to his house for a moment, take some refreshment, and arrangefor the removal of his baggage. It seemed as if Sir Philip answered atall with a great effort; but in the end he replied laconically, "No, Iwill send."

  Two hours after he did send, and towards evening set out in a hiredcarriage for his own house. He slept a night upon the road, and thefollowing day reached the Court towards evening. By that time,however, a strange change had come over him. Pursuing the course ofthose thoughts which I have faintly displayed, he had waged war withhis own mind--he had struggled to banish all traces of anger andindignation from his thoughts--in short, fearing from the sensationsexperienced within, that he would do or say something contrary to therigid rule he had imposed upon himself, he had striven to lay out ascheme of conduct which would guard against such a result. The end ofthis self-tutoring was satisfactory to him. He had fancied he hadconquered himself, but he was very much mistaken. It was only theouter man he had subdued, but not the inner.

  When the carriage drew up at his own door, and Sir Philip alighted,Emily flew out to meet him. She threw her arms around his neck andkissed his cheek, and her heart beat with joy and affection.

  For an instant Sir Philip remained grave and stern, did not repel her,but did not return her embrace. The next instant, however, his wholemanner changed. A sort of cunning double-meaning look came into hiseyes. He smiled, which was very unusual with him, assumed a sort ofsportiveness, which was not natural, called her "dainty MistressEmily," and asked after the health of "his good wife."

  His coldness and his sternness might not have shocked Emily at all,but his apparent levity pained and struck her with terror. A cold sortof shudder passed over her, and unclasping her arms from his neck, shereplied, "I grieve to say mamma is very ill, and although the news ofyour safety cheered her much, she has since made no progress, butrather fallen back."

  "Doubtless the news cheered you too very much, my sweet lady," saidSir Philip in an affected tone, and without waiting for reply, hewalked on and ascended to his wife's room.

  Emily returned to the drawing-room and fell into one of her profoundfits of meditation; but this time they were all sad and tending tosadness. The
re Sir Philip found her when he came down an hour after.She had not moved, she had not ordered lights, although the sun wasdown and the twilight somewhat murky. She did not move when heentered, but remained with her head leaning on her hand, and her eyesfixed on the table near which she sat. Sir Philip gazed at hergloomily, and said to himself, "Her heart smites her. Ha, ha,beautiful deceitful thing. Have you put the canker worm in your ownbosom? Great crimes deserve great punishments. God of heaven! keep mefrom such thoughts. No, no, I will never avenge myself on the plea ofavenging society. My own cause must not mingle with suchvindications."

  "Emily," he said in a loud voice, which startled her suddenly from herreverie, "Emily, your mother is very ill."

  "Worse? worse?" cried Emily with a look of eager alarm; "I will fly toher at once. Oh, sir, send for the surgeon."

  "Stay," said Sir Philip, "she is no worse than when you left her,except insomuch as a dying person becomes much worse every minute.Your mother wishes much to see Mrs. Hazleton, who has not been withher for two days, she says. Sit down and write that lady a note askingher to come here to-morrow, and I will send it by a groom."

  Emily obeyed, though with infinite reluctance; for she had remarkedthat the visits of Mrs. Hazleton always left her mother neitherimproved in temper nor in health.

  The groom was dispatched, and returned with a reply from Mrs. Hazletonto the effect that she would be there early on the following day.During his absence, Sir Philip had been but little with his daughter.Hardly had the note been written when he retired to his own smallroom, and there remained shut up during the greater part of theevening. Emily quietly stole into her mother's room soon after herfather left her, fearing not a little that Lady Hastings might haveremarked the strange change which had come upon her husband during hisabsence. But such was not the case. She found her mother calmer andgentler than she had been during the last week or ten days. Herhusband's liberation, and the certainty that all charge against himwas at an end, had afforded her great satisfaction; and although shewas still evidently very ill, yet she conversed cheerfully with herdaughter for nearly an hour.

  "As I found you had not told your father the hopes that Mr. Marlowheld out when he went away, I spoke to him on the subject," she said."He is a strange cynic, my good husband, and seemed to care verylittle about the matter. He doubt's Marlow's success too, I think, butall that he said was, that if it pleased me, that was enough for him.Mrs. Hazleton will be delighted to hear the news."

  Emily doubted the fact, but she did not express her doubt, merelytelling her mother she had written to Mrs. Hazleton, and that theservant had been sent with the note.

  "She has not been over for two days," said Lady Hastings. "I cannotthink what has kept her away."

  "Some accidental circumstance, I dare say," said Emily, "but there canbe no doubt she will be here to-morrow early."

  They neither of them knew that on the preceding night but one Mrs.Hazleton had received a visit from John Ayliffe, which,notwithstanding all her self-command and assumed indifference, haddisturbed her greatly.

  Mrs. Hazleton nevertheless was, as Emily anticipated, very early atthe house of Sir Philip Hastings. She first made a point of seeingthat gentleman himself; and though her manner was, as usual, calm andlady-like, yet every word and every look expressed the greatestsatisfaction at seeing him once more in his home and at liberty. ToEmily also she was all tenderness and sweetness; but Emily, on herpart, shrunk from her with a feeling of dread and suspicion that shecould not repress, and hardly could conceal. She had not indeed readany of the papers which Marlow had left with her, for he had not toldher to read them; but he had directed her thoughts aright, and had ledher to conclusions in regard to Mrs. Hazleton which were very painful,but no less just.

  That lady remarked a change in Emily's manner--she had seen somethingof it before;--but it now struck her more forcibly, and though shetook no notice of it whatever, it was not a thing to be forgotten orforgiven; for to those who are engaged in doing ill there cannot be agreater offence than to be suspected, and Mrs. Hazleton was convincedthat Emily did suspect her.

  After a brief interview with father and daughter, their fair guestglided quietly up to the room of Lady Hastings, and seated herself byher bed-side. She took the sick lady's hand in hers--that white,emaciated hand, once so beautiful and rosy-tipped, and said howdelighted she was to see her looking a great deal better.

  "Do you think so really?" said Lady Hastings; "I feel dreadfully weakand exhausted, dear Mrs. Hazleton, and sometimes think I shall neverrecover."

  "Oh don't say so," replied Mrs. Hazleton; "your husband's return hasevidently done you great good: the chief part of your malady has beenmental. Anxiety of mind is often the cause of severe sickness, whichpasses away as soon as it is removed. One great source of uneasinessis now gone, and the only other that remains--I mean this unfortunateengagement of dear Emily to Mr. Marlow--may doubtless, with a littlefirmness and decision upon your part, be remedied also."

  Mrs. Hazleton was very skillful in forcing the subject with which shewished to deal, into a conversation to which it had no reference; andhaving thus introduced the topic on which she loved to dwell, she wenton to handle it with her usual skill, suggesting every thing thatcould irritate the invalid against Marlow, and render the idea of hismarriage with Emily obnoxious in her eyes.

  Even when Lady Hastings, moved by some feelings of gratitude andsatisfaction by the intelligence of Marlow's efforts to recover herhusband's property, communicated the hopes she entertained to hervisitor, Mrs. Hazleton contrived to turn the very expectations toMarlow's disadvantage, saying, "If such should indeed be the result,this engagement will be still more unfortunate. With such vastproperty as dear Emily will then possess, with her beauty, with heraccomplishments, with her graces, the hand of a prince would be hardlytoo much to expect for her; and to see her throw herself away upon amere country gentleman--a Mr. Marlow--all very well in his way, but anobody, is indeed sad; and I would certainly prevent it, if I wereyou, while I had power."

  "But how can I prevent it?" asked Lady Hastings; "my husband and Emilyare both resolute in such things. I have no power, dear Mrs.Hastings."

  "Yon are mistaken, my sweet friend," replied her companion; "the powerwill indeed soon go from you if these hopes which have been held outdo not prove fallacious. You are mistress of this house--of this veryfine property. If I understand rightly, neither your husband nor yourdaughter have at present anything but what they derive from you. Thisposition may soon be altered if your husband be reinstated in theHastings estates."

  "But your would not, Mrs. Hazleton, surely you would not have me usesuch power ungenerously?" said Lady Hastings.

  Mrs. Hazleton saw that she had gone a little too far--or ratherperhaps that she had suggested that which was repugnant to thecharacter of her hearer's mind; for in regard to money matters no onewas ever more generous or careless of self than Lady Hastings.What was her's was her husband's and her child's--she knew nodifference--she made no distinction.

  It took Mrs. Hazleton some time to undo what she had done, but shefound the means at length. She touched the weak point, the failing ofcharacter. A little stratagem, a slight device to win her own way byan indirect method, was quite within the limits of Lady Hastings'principles; and after dwelling some time upon a recapitulation of allthe objections against the marriage with Marlow, which could suggestthemselves to an ambitious mind, she quietly and in an easy suggestivetone, sketched out a plan, which both to herself and her hearer,seemed certain of success.

  Lady Hastings caught at the plan eagerly, and determined to follow itin all the details, which will be seen hereafter.