The History of Pendennis

by William Makepeace Thackeray

  CHAPTER LXXI. Fiat Justitia

  The dinner was served when Arthur returned, and Lady Rockminster beganto scold him for arriving late. But Laura, looking at her cousin, sawthat his face was so pale and scared, that she interrupted her imperiouspatroness; and asked, with tender alarm, what had happened? Was Arthurill?

  Arthur drank a large bumper of sherry. "I have heard the mostextraordinary news; I will tell you afterwards," he said, looking atthe servants. He was very nervous and agitated during the dinner. "Don'ttramp and beat so with your feet under the table," Lady Rockminstersaid. "You have trodden on Fido, and upset his saucer. You see 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 any tea--no.Good night, Mr. Warrington. You must come again, and when there is nobusiness to talk about." And the old lady, tossing up her head, walkedaway from the room with great dignity.

  George and the others had risen with her, and Warrington was about to goaway, and was saying "Good night" to Laura, who, of course, was lookingmuch alarmed about her cousin, when Arthur said, "Pray, stay, George.You should hear my news too, and give me your counsel in this case. Ihardly 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 in her 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 whilst in my uncle's service, and is now a capitalist anda millionaire, for what I know. Well, I went into the house, and what doyou think he told me? This must be a secret between us all--at least ifwe can keep it, now that it is in possession of that villain. Blanche'sfather is not dead. He has come to life again. The marriage betweenClavering 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 the wretchedold 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 a child,from Bonner, her nurse, that Mr. Amory was drowned in New South Wales.He was there as a convict, not as a ship's-captain, as the poor girlthought. Lady Clavering has told me that they were not happy, and thather husband was a bad character. She would tell me all, she said, someday: and I remember her saying to me, with tears in her eyes, that itwas hard for a woman to be forced to own that she was glad to hear herhusband was dead: and that twice in her life she should have chosen sobadly. What is to be done now? The man can't show and claim hiswife: 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 money fromhim time after time."

  "It is our friend Colonel Altamont, of course," said Warrington "I seeall now."

  "If the rascal comes back," continued Arthur, "Morgan, who knows hissecret, will use it over him--and having it in his possession, proposesto extort money from us all. The d----d rascal supposed I was cognisantof it," said Pen, white with anger; "asked me if I would give him anannuity to keep it quiet; threatened me, me, as if I was traffickingwith this wretched old Begum's misfortune, and would extort a seat inParliament out of that miserable Clavering. Good heavens! was my unclemad, to tamper in such a conspiracy? Fancy our mother's son, Laura,trading on such a treason!"

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

  "No!" broke out Warrington's deep voice, with a tremor; he surveyed thetwo generous and loving young people with a pang of indescribable loveand pain. "No. Our boy can't meddle with such a wretched intrigue asthat. 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 easily enough anacknowledgment that the reasons which you have given to him as the headof the family are amply sufficient for breaking off the union. Don't youthink with me, Laura?" He scarcely dared to look her in the face as hespoke. Any lingering hope that he might have--any feeble hold that hemight feel upon the last spar of his wrecked fortune, he knew he wascasting away; and he let the wave of his calamity close over him. Penhad started up whilst he was speaking, looking eagerly at him. He turnedhis head away. He saw Laura rise up also and go to Pen, and once moretake his hand and kiss it. "She thinks so too--God bless her!" saidGeorge.

  "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 you notpledged to her? Would you leave her because she is in misfortune? And ifshe is unhappy, wouldn't you console her? Our mother would, had she beenhere." And, as she spoke, the kind girl folded her arms round him, andburied 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. Teachme my duty. Pray for me that I may do it--pure heart. God bless you--Godbless 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--thatgirl." Indeed, she looked and smiled like an angel. Many a day after hesaw that smile--saw her radiant face as she looked up at Pen--saw herputting back her curls, blushing and smiling, and still looking fondlytowards 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 his nephew.Upon this announcement, Laura, not without some alarm, and an appealinglook to Pen, which said, "Behave yourself well--hold to the right, anddo your duty--be gentle, but firm with your uncle"--Laura, we say, withthese warnings written in her face, took leave of the two gentlemen, andretreated to her dormitory. Warrington, who was not generally fondof tea, yet grudged that expected cup very much. Why could not oldPendennis have come in an hour later? Well, an hour sooner or later,what matter? The hour strikes at last. The inevitable moment comes tosay Farewell, The hand is shaken, the door closed, and the friend gone;and, the brief joy over, you are alone. "In which of those many windowsof the hotel does her light beam?" perhaps he asks himself as he passesdown the street. He strides away to the smoking-room of a neighbouringClub, and, there applies himself to his usual solace of a cigar. Men arebrawling and talking loud about politics, opera-girls, horse-racing, theatrocious tyranny of the committee:--bearing this sacred secret abouthim, he enters into this brawl. Talk away, each louder than the other.Rattle and crack jokes. Laugh and tell your wild stories. It is strangeto take one's pla
ce and part in the midst of the smoke and din, andthink every man here has his secret ego most likely, which is sittinglonely and apart, away in the private chamber, from the loud game inwhich the rest of us 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 atool and puppet, and so compromised his honour and good name. Theold fellow'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 impudentscoundrel of a Morgan. The old gentleman bemoaned himself, and cursedMorgan's ingratitude with peevish pathos.

  "The confounded impudent scoundrel! He was drunk last night, andchallenged me to fight him, Pen; and, begad, 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 deserves tobe 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, theconfounded thief brought the thing I wanted--not like that stupid Germanlout. And what sort of time have you had in the country? Been a gooddeal with Lady Rockminster? You can't do better. She is one of theold school--vieille ecole, bonne ecole, hey? Dammy, they don't makegentlemen and ladies now; and in fifty years you'll hardly know one manfrom another. But they'll last my time. I ain't long for this business:I am getting very old, Pen, my boy; and, gad, I was thinking to-day, asI was packing up my little library, there's a bible amongst the booksthat belonged to my poor mother; I would like you to keep that, Pen. Iwas thinking, sir, that you would most likely open the box when it wasyour property, and the old fellow was laid under the sod, sir," and theMajor coughed and wagged his old head over the 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 destroy thedarling hope of the old gentleman's life, and create in his breast awoeful anger and commotion.

  "Hey--hey--I'm off, sir," nodded the Elder; "but I'd like to reada speech 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 my brother Jackwould bring the family right. You must go down into the west, and buythe old estate, sir. Nec tenui penna, hey? We'll rise again, sir--riseagain on the wing--and, begad, I shouldn't be surprised that you will bea 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, and hemuttered, "The cat's out of the bag now, begad!"

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

  The Major tried to look unconcerned. "What--that storyabout--about--What-d'-you-call-'em, hey?"

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

  "Hem--a dev'lish awkward affair!" said the old man, rubbing his nose."I--I've been aware of that--eh--confounded circumstance for some 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, perhaps may,"Arthur said, gloomily. "He seems disposed to trade upon his secret, andhas already proposed terms of ransom to me. I wish I had known of thematter earlier, sir. It is not a very pleasant thought to me that I amengaged to a convict's daughter."

  "The very reason why I kept it from you--my dear boy. But Miss Amory isnot a convict's daughter, don't you see? Miss Amory is the daughter ofLady Clavering, with fifty or sixty thousand pounds for a fortune; andher father-in-law, a Baronet and country gentleman, of high reputation,approves of the match, and gives up his seat in Parliament to hisson-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 tellyou he is dead. The first sign of life he shows, he is dead. He can'tappear. We have him at a deadlock, like the fellow in the play--the'Critic,' hey?--dev'lish amusing play, that 'Critic.' Monstrous wittyman, Sheridan; and so was his son. By Gad, sir, when I was at the Cape,I remember----"

  The old gentleman's garrulity, and wish to conduct Arthur to the Cape,perhaps arose from a desire to avoid the subject which was nearest hisnephew's heart; but Arthur broke out, interrupting him--"If you had toldme this tale sooner, I believe you would have spared me and yourselfa great deal of pain and disappointment; and I should not have foundmyself tied to an engagement from which I can't, in honour, 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," Arthur criedout, "I would go and join my father-in-law at the hulks! See, thatrather than take a seat in Parliament as a bribe from Clavering forsilence, I would take the spoons off the table! See, that you have givenme a felon's daughter for a wife; doomed me to poverty and shame; cursedmy career when it might have been--when it might have been so differentbut for you! Don't you see that we have been playing a guilty game, andhave been overreached;--that in offering to marry this poor girl,for the sake of her money, and the advancement she would bring, I wasdegrading myself, and prostituting my honour?"

  "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't pass,"Arthur said. "I have no other words for it, and am sorry if they hurtyou. I have felt, for months past, that my conduct in this affair hasbeen wicked, sordid, and worldly. I am rightly punished by the event,and having sold myself for money and a seat in Parliament, by losingboth."

  "How do you mean that you lose either?" shrieked the old gentleman. "Whothe devil's to take your fortune or your seat away from you? By G--,Clavering shall give 'em to you. You shall have every shilling of eightythousand 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, Heaven helpme, I will sin no more. I will let Clavering off from that bargain whichwas made without my knowledge. I will take no money with Blanche butthat which was originally settled upon her; and I will try to make herhappy. You have done it. You have brought this on me, sir. But you knewno better: and I forgive----"

  "Arthur--in God's name--in your father's, who, by Heavens, was theproudest man alive, and had the honour of the family always at heart--inmine--for the sake of a poor broken-down old fellow, who has always beendev'lish fond of you--don't fling this chance away--I pray you, I begyou, I implore you, my dear, dear boy, don't fling this chance away.It's the making of you. You're sure to get on. You'll be a Baronet; it'sthree thousand a year: dammy, on my knees, there, I beg of you, don't dothis."

  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 weeping andwinking, the broken voice. "Ah, sir," said Arthur, with a groan, "youhave brought pain enough on me, spare me this. You have wished me tomarry Blanche. I marry her. For God'
s sake, sir, rise! I can't bear 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 cannot help the misfortune; and as she had myword when she was prosperous, I shall not withdraw it now she is poor. Iwill not take Clavering's seat, unless afterwards it should be givenof his free will. I will not have a shilling more than her originalfortune."

  "Have the kindness to ring the bell," said the old gentleman. "Ihave done 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, onmy knees, by Jove, to my own nephew--I mightn't have been--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 if thecontest and defeat had quite broken him.

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