The Knight Of Gwynne, Vol. 2 (of 2)

by Charles James Lever

  CHAPTER XXV. A DARK CONSPIRACY

  Dr. Hickman was so little prepared for the favorable change in LadyEleanor's appearance since he had last seen her, as almost to doubt thatshe was the same, and it was with a slight tremor of voice he said,--"Is it age with me, my Lady, or altered health, that makes thedifference, but you seem to me not what I remember you? You are fresher,pardon an old man's freedom, and I should say far handsomer too!"

  "Really, Mr. Hickman, you make me think my excursion well repaid bysuch flatteries," said she, smiling pleasantly, and not sorry thus for amoment to say something that might relieve the awkward solemnity of thescene. "I hope sir, that this air, severe though it be, may prove asserviceable to yourself. Have you slept well?"

  "No, my Lady, I scarcely dozed the whole night; this place is a verypoor one. The rain comes in there,--where you see that green mark,--andthe wind whistles through these broken panes,-and rats, bother them!they never ceased the night through. A poor, poor spot it is, sureenough!"

  It never chanced to cross his mind, while bewailing these signs ofindigence and discomfort, that she, to whom he addressed thecomplaint, had been reduced to as bad, even worse, hardships by his owncontrivance. Perhaps, indeed, the memory of such had not occurred atthat moment to Lady Eleanor, had not the persistence with which he dwelton the theme somewhat ruffled her patience, and eventually reminded herof her own changed lot. It was then with a slightly irritated tone sheremarked,--

  "Such accommodation is a very unpleasant contrast to the comforts youare accustomed to, sir; and these sudden lessons in adversity are, nowand then, very trying things."

  "What does it signify?" sighed the old man, heavily; "a day sooner, afew hours less of sunshine, and the world can make little difference toone like me! Happy for me, if, in confronting them, I have done anythingtowards my great purpose, the only object between me and the grave!"

  Lady Eleanor never broke the silence which followed these words;and though the old man looked as if he expected some observation orrejoinder, she said not a word. At length he resumed, with a faintmoan,--"Ah, my Lady, you have much to forgive us for."

  "I trust, sir, that our humble fortunes have not taught us to forget theduties of Christianity," was the calm reply.

  "Much, indeed, to pardon," continued he, "but far less, my Lady, than islaid to our charge. Lawyers and attorneys make many a thing a cause ofbitterness that a few words of kindness would have settled. And what twomen of honest intentions could arrange amicably iu five minutes is oftenworked up into a tedious lawsuit, or a ruinous inquiry in Chancery. Soit is!"

  "I have no experience in these affairs, sir, but I conclude your remarksare quite correct."

  "Faith you may believe them, my Lady, like the Bible; and yet, knowingthese fellows so well, having dealings with them since--since--oh, Godknows how long--upon my life, they beat me entirely after all. 'T islike taking a walk with a quarrelsome dog; devil a cur he sees but hesets on him, and gets you into a scrape at every step you go! That 'swhat an attorney does for you. Take out a writ against that fellow,process this one, distrain the other, get an injunction here, applyfor a rule there. Oh dear! oh dear! I 'm weary of it for law! Allthe bitterness it has given me in my life long, all the sorrow andaffliction it costs me now." He wiped his eyes as he concluded, andseemed as if overcome by grief.

  "It must needs be a sorry source of reparation, sir," rejoined LadyEleanor, with a calm, steady tone, "when even those so eminentlysuccessful can see nothing but affliction in their triumphs."

  "Don't call them triumphs, my Lady; that's not the name to give them. Inever thought them such."

  "I 'm glad to hear it, sir,--glad to know that you have laid up suchstore of pleasant memories for seasons like the present."

  "There was that proceeding, for instance, in December last. Now wouldyou believe it, my Lady, Bob and I never knew a syllable about it tillit was all over. You don't know what I 'm speaking of; I mean the writagainst the Knight."

  "Really, Dr. Hickman, I must interrupt you; however gratifying to meto hear that you stand exculpated for any ungenerous conduct towards myhusband, the pleasure of knowing it is more than counterbalanced by thegreat pain the topic inflicts upon me."

  "But I want to clear myself, my Lady; I want you to think of us a littlemore favorably than late events may have disposed you."

  "There are few so humble, sir, as not to have opinions of moreconsequence than mine."

  "Ay, but it's yours I want,--yours, that I 'd rather have than theking's on his throne. 'T is in that hope I 've come many a weary milefar away from my home, maybe never to see it again! and all that I mayhave your forgiveness, my Lady, and not only your forgiveness, but yourapprobation."

  "If you set store by any sentiments of mine, sir, I warn you not to askmore than I have iu my power to bestow. I can forgive, I have forgiven,much; but ask me not to concur in acts which have robbed me of thecompanionship of my husband and my son."

  "Wait a bit; don't be too hard, my Lady; I 'm on the verge of the grave,a little more, and the dark sleep that never breaks will be on me,and if in this troubled hour I take a wrong word, or say a thing toostrong,--forgive me for it. My thoughts are often before me, on the longjourney I'm so soon to go."

  "It were far better, Dr. Hickman, that we should speak of something lesslikely to be painful to us both, and if that cannot be, that you shouldrest satisfied with knowing that however many are the sources of sorrowan humble fortune has opened to us, the disposition to bear malice isnot among their number."

  "You forgive me, then, my Lady,--you forgive me all?"

  "If your own conscience can only do so as freely as I do, believe me,sir, your heart will be tranquil."

  The old man pressed his hands to his face, and appeared overcome byemotion. A dead silence ensued, which at length was broken by oldHickman muttering broken words to himself, at first indistinctly, andthen more clearly.

  "Yes, yes,--I made--the offer--I begged--I supplicated. I did all--all.But no, they refused me! There was no other way of restoring them totheir own house and home--but they would n't accept it. I would havesettled the whole estate--free of debt--every charge paid off, uponthem. There 's not a peer in the land could say he was at the head ofsuch a property."

  "I must beg, sir, that I may be spared the unpleasantness of overhearingwhat I doubt is only intended for your own reflection; and if you willpermit me, to take my leave--"

  "Oh, don't go--don't leave me yet, my Lady. What was it I said,--wherewas my poor brain rambling? Was I talking about Captain Darcy? Ah! thatwas the most painful part of all."

  "My God! what is it you mean?" said Lady Eleanor, as a sickness likefainting crept over her. "Speak, sir,--tell me this instant!"

  "The bills, my Lady,--the bills that he drew in Glee-son's name."

  "In Gleeson's name! It is false, sir, a foul and infamous calumny;my son never did this thing,--do not dare to assert it before me, hismother."

  "They are in that pocket-book, my Lady,-seven of them for a thousandpounds each. There are two more somewhere among my papers, and it was tomeet the payment that the Captain did this." Here he took from beneathhis pillow a parchment document, and held it towards Lady Eleanor, who,overwhelmed with terror and dismay, could not stretch her band to takeit.

  "Here--my Lady--somewhere here," said he, moving his finger vaguelyalong the lower margin of the document--"here you'll see Maurice Darcywritten--not by himself, indeed, but by his son. This deed of saleincludes part of Westport, and the town-lands of Cooldrennon andShoughnakelly. Faith, and, my Lady, I paid my hard cash down on thenail for the same land, and have no better title than what you see!The Knight has only to prove the forgery; of course he could n't do soagainst his own son."

  "Oh, sir, spare me,--I entreat of you to spare me!" sobbed Lady Eleanor,as, convulsed with grief, she hid her face.

  A knocking was heard at this moment at the door, and on its beingrepeated louder, Hickman querulously demanded, "Who was there?"

/>   "A note for Lady Eleanor Darcy," was the reply; "her Ladyship'sservant waits for an answer."

  Lady Eleanor, without knowing wherefore, seemed to feel that the tidingsrequired prompt attention, and with an effort to subdue her emotion, shebroke the seal, and read:--

  "Lady Eleanor,--Be on your guard,--there is a dark plot against you.Take counsel in time,--and if you hear the words, 'T is eighty-six yearshave crept to your feet, to die,' you can credit the friendship of thiswarning."

  "Who brought this note?" said she, in a voice that became full andstrong, under the emergency of danger.

  "Your butler, my Lady."

  "Where is he? Send him to me." And as she spoke, Tate mounted thestairs.

  "How came you by this note, Tate?"

  "A fisherman, my Lady, left it this instant, with directions to be givento you at once and without a moment's delay."

  "'Tis nothing bad, I hope and trust, my Lady," whispered the old man."The darling young lady is not ill?"

  "No, sir, she is perfectly well, nor are the tidings positively badones. There is no answer, Tate." So saying, she once more opened thepaper and read it over.

  Without seeing wherefore, Lady Eleanor felt a sudden sense of hardihoodtake possession of her; the accusation by which, a moment previous, shehad been almost stunned, seemed already lighter to her eyes, and thesuspicion that the whole interview was part of some dark design dawnedsuddenly on her mind. Nor was this feeling permanent; a glance at themiserable old man, who, with head beut down and half-closed eyes, laybefore her, dispelling the doubts even more rapidly than they wereformed. Indeed, now that the momentary excitement of speaking had passedaway, he looked far more wan and wasted than before; his chest, too,heaved with a fluttering, irregular action, that seemed to denote severeand painful effort, while his fingers, with a restless and fidgetymotion, wandered here and there, pinching the bed-clothes, and seemingto search for some stray object.

  While the conflict continued in Lady Eleanor's mind, the old man's brainonce more began to wander, and his lips murmured half inarticulatelycertain words. "I would give it all!" said he, with a sudden cry; "everyshilling of it for that--but it cannot be--no, it cannot be."

  "I must leave you, sir," said Lady Eleanor, rising; "and although I haveheard much to agitate and afflict me, it is some comfort to my heart tothink that I have poured some balm into yours; you have my forgivenessfor everything."

  "Wait a second, my Lady, wait one second!" gasped he, as withoutstretched hands he tried to detain her. "I 'll have strength for itin a minute--I want--I want to ask you once more what you refused meonce--and it is n't--it is n't that times are changed, and that you arein poverty now, makes me hope for better luck. It is because this is therequest of one on his death-bed,--one that cannot turn his thoughts awayfrom this world, till he has his mind at ease. There, my Lady, take thatpocket-book and that deed, throw them into the fire there. They 're theonly proofs against the Captain,--no eye but yours must ever see them.If I could see my own beautiful Miss Helen once more in the old house ofher fathers--"

  "I will not hear of this, sir," interposed Lady Eleanor, hastily. "Notime or circumstances can make any change in the feelings with which Ihave already replied to this proposal."

  "Heffernan tells me, my Lady, that the baronetcy is certain--don'tgo--don't go! It's the voice of one you 'll never hear again calls onyou. 'Tis eighty-six years have crept to your feet, to die!"

  A faint shriek burst from Lady Eleanor; she tottered, reeled, and fellfainting to the ground.

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  Terrified by the sudden shock, the old man rung his bell with violence,and screamed for help, in accents where there was no counterfeitedanxiety; and in another moment his servant rushed iu, followed byNalty, and in a few seconds later by O'Reilly himself, who, hearing thecries, believed that the effort to feign a death-bed bad _turned_ into adreadful reality.

  "There--there--she is ill--she is dying! It was too much--the shock didit!" cried the old man, now horror-struck at the ruin he had caused.

  "She is better,--her pulse is coming back," whispered O'Reilly; "alittle water to her lips,-that will do."

  "She is coming to--I see it now," said old Hickman; "leave the room,Bob; quick, before she sees you."

  As O'Reilly gently disengaged his arm, which, in placing the faintingform on the sofa, was laid beneath her head, Lady Eleanor slowly openedher eyes, and fixed them upon him. O'Reilly suddenly became motionless;the calm and steady gaze seemed to have paralyzed him; he could notstir, he could not turn away his own eyes, but stood like one fascinatedand spell-bound.

  "Oh dear! oh dear!" muttered the old man; "she 'll know him now, and seeit all."

  "Yes," exclaimed Lady Eleanor, pushing back from her the officious bandsthat ministered about her. "Yes, sir, I do see it all! Oh, let me bethankful for the gleam of reason that has guided me in this dark hour.And you, too, do you be thankful that you have been spared from workingsuch deep iniquity!"

  As she spoke she arose, not a vestige of illness remaining, but a deepflush mantling in the cheek that, but a moment back, was deathly pale."Farewell, sir. You had a brief triumph over the fears of a poor weakwoman; but I forgive you, for you have armed her heart with a courage itnever knew before."

  With these words she moved calmly towards the door, which O'Reilly inrespectful silence held open; and then, descending the stairs with afirm step, left the house.

  "Is she gone, Bob?" said the old man, faintly, as the door clappedheavily. "Is she gone?"

  O'Reilly made no reply, but leaned his head on the chimney, and seemedlost in thought.

  "I knew it would fail," said Nalty in a whisper to O'Reilly.

  "What 's that he 's saying, Bob?--what 's Nalty saying?"

  "That he knew it would fail, sir," rejoined O'Reilly, with a bitternessthat showed he was not sorry to say a disagreeable thing.

  "Ay! but Nalty was frightened about his annuity; he thought, maybe, I 'ddie in earnest. Well, we 've something left yet."

  "What's that?" asked O'Reilly, almost sternly.

  "The indictment for forgery," said Hickman, with a savage energy.

  "Then you must look out for another lawyer, sir," said Nalty. "That Itell you frankly and fairly."

  "What?--I didn't hear."

  "He refuses to take the conduct of such a case," said O'Reilly; "and,indeed, I think on very sufficient grounds."

  "Ay!" muttered the old doctor. "Then I suppose there 's no help for it!Here, Bob, put these papers in the fire."

  So saying, he drew a thick roil of documents from beneath his pillow,and placed it in his son's hands. "Put them in the blaze, and let me seethem burned."

  O'Reilly did as he was told, stirring the red embers till the whole masswas consumed.

  "I am glad of that, with all my heart," said he, as the flame died out."That was a part of the matter I never felt easy about."

  "Didn't you?" grunted the old man, with a leer of malice. "What was ityou burned, d'ye think?"

  "The bills,--the bonds with young Darcy's signature," replied O'Reilly,almost terrified by an unknown suspicion.

  "Not a bit of it, Bob. The blaze you made was a costly fire to you, asyou 'll know one day. That was my will."