CHAPTER LIV.
BRANDON CHAPEL ON SUNDAY.
For a month and three days Mr. Jos. Larkin was left to ruminate withoutany new light upon the dusky landscape now constantly before his eyes. Atthe end of that time a foreign letter came for him to the Lodge. It wasnot addressed in Mark Wylder's hand--not the least like it. Mark's was abold, free hand, and if there was nothing particularly elegant, neitherwas there anything that could be called vulgar in it. But this was adecidedly villainous scrawl--in fact it was written as a self-educatedbutcher might pen a bill. There was nothing impressed on the wafer, but apoke of something like the ferrule of a stick.
The interior corresponded with the address, and the lines slantedconfoundedly. It was, however, on the whole, better spelled and expressedthan the penmanship would have led one to expect. It said--
'MISTER LARKINS,--Respeckted Sir, I write you, Sir, to let you know hashow there is no more Chance you shud ear of poor Mr. Mark Wylder--of hoseorrible Death I make bold to acquainte you by this writing--which isSecret has yet from all--he bing Hid, and made away with in the dark. Itis only Right is family shud know all, and his sad ending--wich I willtell before you, Sir, in full, accorden to my Best guess, as bin thefamily Lawyer (and, Sir, you will find it usful to Tell this in secret toCapten Lake, of Brandon Hall--But not on No account to any other). It isorrible, Sir, to think a young gentleman, with everything the world cangive, shud be made away with so crewel in the dark. Though you do notrekelect me, Sir, I know you well, Mr. Larkins, haven seen you hoffenwhen a boy. I wud not wish, Sir, no noise made till I cum--which I amreturning hoame, and will then travel to Gylingden strateways to see you.
Sir, your obedient servant,
'JAMES DUTTON.'
This epistle disturbed Mr. Jos. Larkin profoundly. He could recollect nosuch name as James Dutton. He did not know whether to believe this letteror not. He could not decide what present use to make of it, nor whetherto mention it to Captain Lake, nor, if he did so, how it was best to openthe matter.
Captain Lake, he was confident, knew James Dutton--why, otherwise, shouldthat person have desired his intelligence communicated to him. At leastit proved that Dutton assumed the captain to be specially interested inwhat concerned Mark Wylder's fate; and in so far it confirmed hissuspicions of Lake. Was it better to wait until he had seen Dutton, andheard his story, before hinting at his intelligence and his name--or wasit wiser to do that at once, and watch its effect upon the gallantcaptain narrowly, and trust to inspiration and the moment for strikingout the right course.
If this letter was true there was not a moment to be lost in bringing thepurchase of the vicar's reversion to a point. The possibilities werepositively dazzling. They were worth risking something. I am not surethat Mr. Larkin's hand did not shake a little as he took the statement oftitle again out of the Wylder tin box No. 2.
Now, under the pressure of this enquiry, a thing struck Mr. Larkin,strangely enough, which he had quite overlooked before. There werecertain phrases in the will of the late Mr. Wylder, which limited a largeportion of the great estate in strict settlement. Of course an attorney'sopinion upon a question of real property is not conclusive. Still theycan't help knowing something of the barrister's special province; andthese words were very distinct--in fact, they stunted down the vicar'sreversion in the greater part of the property to a strict life estate.
Long did the attorney pore over his copy of the will, with his finger andthumb closed on his under lip. The language was quite explicit--there wasno way out of it. It was strictly a life estate. How could he haveoverlooked that? His boy, indeed, would take an estate tail--and coulddisentail whenever--if ever--he came of age. But that was in the clouds.Mackleston-on-the-Moor, however, and the Great Barnford estate, wereunaffected by these limitations; and the rental which he now carefullyconsulted, told him these jointly were in round numbers worth 2,300_l._ ayear, and improvable.
This letter of Dutton's, to be sure, may turn out to be all a lie or ablunder. But it may prove to be strictly true; and in that case it willbe _every_ thing that the deeds should be executed and the purchasecompleted before the arrival of this person, and the public notificationof Mark Wylder's death.
'What a world it is, to be sure!' thought Mr. Larkin, as he shook hislong head over Dutton's letter. 'How smoothly and simply everything wouldgo, if only men would stick to truth! Here's this letter--how much timeand trouble it costs me--how much opportunity possibly sacrificed, simplyby reason of the incurable mendacity of men.' And he knocked the back ofhis finger bitterly on the open page.
Another thought now struck him for the first time. Was there no mode of'hedging,' so that whether Mark Wylder were living or dead the attorneyshould stand to win?
Down came the Brandon boxes. The prudent attorney turned the key in thedoor, and forth came the voluminous marriage settlement of StanleyWilliams Lake, of Slobberligh, in the county of Devon, late captain, &c.,&c. of the second part, and Dorcas Adderley Brandon, of Brandon Hall, inthe county of &c., &c. of the second part, and so forth. And as he readthis pleasant composition through, he two or three times murmuredapprovingly, 'Yes--yes--yes.' His recollection had served him quiterightly. There was the Five Oaks estate, specially excluded fromsettlement, worth 1,400_l._ a year; but it was conditioned that the saidStanley Williams Lake was not to deal with the said lands, except withthe consent in writing of the said Dorcas, &c., who was to be aconsenting party to the deed.
If there was really something 'unsound in the state of Lake's relations,'and that he could be got to consider Lawyer Larkin as a friend worthkeeping, that estate might be had a bargain--yes, a _great_ bargain.
Larkin walked off to Brandon, but there he learned that Captain _Brandon_Lake as he now chose to call himself, had gone that morning to London.
'Business, I venture to say, and he went into that electioneering withoutever mentioning it either.'
So thought Larkin, and he did not like this. It looked ominous, and likean incipient sliding away of the Brandon business, Well, no matter, allthings worked together for good. It was probably well that he should notbe too much shackled with considerations of that particular kind in theimportant negotiation about Five Oaks.
That night he posted a note to Burlington, Smith, and Co., and bySaturday night's post there came down to the sheriff an execution for123_l._ and some odd shillings, upon a judgment on a warrant to confess,at the suit of that firm, for costs and money advanced, against the poorvicar, who never dreamed, as he conned over his next day's sermon withhis solitary candle, that the blow had virtually descended, and that hishomely furniture, the silver spoons his wife had brought him, and the twoshelves half full of old books which he had brought her, and all the restof their little frugal trumpery, together with his own thin person, hadpassed into the hands of Messrs. Burlington, Smith, and Co.
The vicar on his way to the chapel passed Mr. Jos. Larkin on thegreen--not near enough to speak--only to smile and wave his hand kindly,and look after the good attorney with one of those yearning gratefullooks, which cling to straws upon the drowning stream of life.
The sweet chapel bell was just ceasing to toll as Mr. Jos. Larkin stalkedunder the antique ribbed arches of the little aisle. Slim and tall, heglided, a chastened dignity in his long upturned countenance, and a fainthalo of saint-hood round his tall bald head. Having whispered his orisonsinto his well-brushed hat and taken his seat, his dove-like eyes restedfor a moment upon the Brandon seat.
There was but one figure in it--slender, light-haired, with his yellowmoustache and pale face, grown of late a little fatter. Captain BrandonLake was a very punctual church-goer since the idea of trying the countyat the next election had entered his mind. Dorcas was not very well. LordChelford had taken his departure, and your humble servant, who pens thesepages, had gone for a few days to Malwich. There was no guest just thenat Brandon, and the captain sat alone on that devotional dais, theelevated floor of the great oaken Brandon seat.
There were old Brando
n and Wylder monuments built up against the walls.Figures cut in stone, and painted and gilded in tarnished splendour,according to the gorgeous barbarism of Elizabeth's and the first James'sage; tablets in brass, marble-pillared monuments, and a couple oflife-sized knights, armed _cap-a-pie_, on their backs in the aisle.
There is a stained window in the east which connoisseurs in that branchof mediaeval art admire. There is another very fine one over the Brandonpew--a freak, perhaps, of some of those old Brandons or Wylders, who hada strange spirit of cynicism mingling in their profligacy and violence.
Reader, you have looked on Hans Holbein's 'Dance of Death,' that grim,phantasmal pageant, symbolic as a dream of Pharaoh; and perhaps you bearin mind that design called 'The Elector,' in which the Prince, emergingfrom his palace gate, with a cloud of courtiers behind, is met by a poorwoman, her little child by the hand, appealing to his compassion,despising whom, he turns away with a serene disdain. Beneath, in blackletter, is inscribed the text '_Princeps induetur maerore et quiescerefaciam superbiam potentium_'--and gigantic Death lays his fingers on thegreat man's ermine tippet.
It is a copy of this, which, in very splendid colouring, fills the windowthat lights the Brandon state seat in the chapel. The gules and gold werereflected on the young man's head, and with a vain augury, the attorneyread again the solemn words from Holy Writ, _'Princeps indueturmaerore.'_ The golden glare rested like a glory on his head; but therewas also a gorgeous stain of blood that bathed his ear and temple. Hishead was busy enough at that moment, though it was quite still, and hissly eyes rested on his Prayer-book; for Sparks, the millionaire clothier,who had purchased Beverley, and was a potent voice in the DollingtonBank, and whose politics were doubtful, and relations amphibious, wassitting in the pew nearly opposite, and showed his red, fat face andwhite whiskers over the oak wainscoting.
Jos. Larkin, like the rest of the congregation, was by this time praying,his elbows on the edge of the pew, his hands clasped, his thumbs underhis chin, and his long face and pink eyes raised heavenward, with now andthen a gentle downward dropping of the latter. He was thinking of CaptainLake, who was opposite, and, like him, praying.
He was thinking how aristocratic he looked and how well, in externals, hebecame the Brandon seat; and there were one or two trifles in thecaptain's attitude and costume of which the attorney, who, as we know,was not only good, but elegant, made a note. He respected his audacityand his mystery, and he wondered intensely what was going on in thatsmall skull under the light and glossy hair, and anxiously guessed howvitally it might possibly affect him, and wondered what his schemes wereafter the election--_quiescere faciam superbiam potentium_; and moredarkly about his relations with Mark Wylder--_Princeps induetur maerore_.
His eye was on the window now and then it dropped, with a vague presage,upon the sleek head of the daring and enigmatical captain, reading theLitany, from 'battle, murder, and sudden death, good Lord deliver us,'and he almost fancied he saw a yellow skull over his shoulder gloweringcynically on the Prayer-book. So the good attorney prayed on, to theedification of all who saw, and mothers in the neighbouring seats werespecially careful to prevent their children from whispering or fidgeting.
When the service was over Captain Lake went across to Mr. Sparks, andasked him to come to Brandon to lunch. But the clothier could not, andhis brougham whirled him away to Naunton Friars. So Stanley Lake walkedup the little aisle toward the communion table, thinking, and took holdof the railing that surrounded the brass monument of Sir William deBraundon, and seemed to gaze intently on the effigy, but was reallythinking profoundly of other matters and once or twice his sly sidelongglance stole ominously to Jos. Larkin, who was talking at the church doorwith the good vicar.
In fact, he was then and there fully apprising him of his awfulsituation; and poor William Wylder looking straight at him, with whiteface and damp forehead, was listening stunned, and hardly understanding aword he said, and only the dreadful questions rising to his mouth, 'Can_anything_ be done? Will the people come _to-day_?'
Mr. Larkin explained the constitutional respect for the Sabbath.
'It would be better, Sir--the publicity of an arrest' (it was a hard wordto utter) 'in the town would be very painful--it would be better I think,that I should walk over to the prison--it is only six miles--and see theauthorities there, and give myself up.'
And his lip quivered; he was thinking of the leave-taking--of poor Dollyand little Fairy.
'I've a great objection to speak of business to-day,' said Mr. Larkin,holily; 'but I may mention that Burlington and Smith have written verysternly; and the fact is, my dear Sir, we must look the thing straight inthe face; they are determined to go through with it; and you know myopinion all along about the fallacy--you _must_ excuse me, seeing all thetrouble it has involved you in--the infatuation of hesitating about thesale of that miserable reversion, which they could have disposed of onfair terms. In fact, Sir, they look upon it that you don't want to paythem and of course, they are very angry.'
'I'm sure I was wrong. I'm such a fool!'
'I must only go to the Sheriff the first thing the morning and beg of himto hold over that thing, you know, until I have heard from Burlington andSmith; and I suppose I may say to them that you see the necessity ofdisposing of the reversion, and agree to sell it if it be not too late.'
The vicar assented; indeed, he had grown, under this urgent pressure, asnervously anxious to sell as he had been to retain it.
'And they can't come _to-day_?'
'Certainly not.'
And poor William Wylder breathed again in the delightful sense of evenmomentary escape, and felt he could have embraced his preserver.
'I'll be very happy to see you to-morrow, if you can conveniently lookin--say at twelve, or half-past, to report progress.'
So that was arranged; and again in the illusive sense of deliverance, thepoor vicar's hopes brightened and expanded. Hitherto his escapes had notled to safety, and he was only raised from the pit to be sold to theIshmaelites.
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