For the Term of His Natural Life

by Marcus Andrew Hislop Clarke

  The lost son of Sir Richard Devine had returned to England, and madeclaim to his name and fortune. In other words, John Rex had successfullycarried out the scheme by which he had usurped the rights of his oldconvict-comrade.

  Smoking his cigar in his bachelor lodgings, or pausing in a calculationconcerning a race, John Rex often wondered at the strange ease withwhich he had carried out so monstrous and seemingly difficult animposture. After he was landed in Sydney, by the vessel which SarahPurfoy had sent to save him, he found himself a slave to a bondagescarcely less galling than that from which he had escaped--the bondageof enforced companionship with an unloved woman. The opportune death ofone of her assigned servants enabled Sarah Purfoy to instal the escapedconvict in his room. In the strange state of society which prevailedof necessity in New South Wales at that period, it was not unusual forassigned servants to marry among the free settlers, and when it washeard that Mrs. Purfoy, the widow of a whaling captain, had married JohnCarr, her storekeeper, transported for embezzlement, and with two yearsof his sentence yet to run, no one expressed surprise. Indeed, when theyear after, John Carr blossomed into an "expiree", master of a fine wifeand a fine fortune, there were many about him who would have made hisexistence in Australia pleasant enough. But John Rex had no notion ofremaining longer than he could help, and ceaselessly sought means ofescape from this second prison-house. For a long time his search wasunsuccessful. Much as she loved the scoundrel, Sarah Purfoy did notscruple to tell him that she had bought him and regarded him as herproperty. He knew that if he made any attempt to escape from hismarriage-bonds, the woman who had risked so much to save him wouldnot hesitate to deliver him over to the authorities, and state how theopportune death of John Carr had enabled her to give name and employmentto John Rex, the absconder. He had thought once that the fact of herbeing his wife would prevent her from giving evidence against him, andthat he could thus defy her. But she reminded him that a word to Bluntwould be all sufficient.

  "I know you don't care for me now, John," she said, with grimcomplacency; "but your life is in my hands, and if you desert me I willbring you to the gallows."

  In vain, in his secret eagerness to be rid of her, he raged and chafed.He was tied hand and foot. She held his money, and her shrewd wit hadmore than doubled it. She was all-powerful, and he could but wait untilher death or some lucky accident should rid him of her, and leave himfree to follow out the scheme he had matured. "Once rid of her," hethought, in his solitary rides over the station of which he was thenominal owner, "the rest is easy. I shall return to England with aplausible story of shipwreck, and shall doubtless be received with openarms by the dear mother from whom I have been so long parted. RichardDevine shall have his own again."

  To be rid of her was not so easy. Twice he tried to escape from histhraldom, and was twice brought back. "I have bought you, John," hispartner had laughed, "and you don't get away from me. Surely you can becontent with these comforts. You were content with less once. I am notso ugly and repulsive, am I?"

  "I am home-sick," John Carr retorted. "Let us go to England, Sarah."

  She tapped her strong white fingers sharply on the table. "Go toEngland? No, no. That is what you would like to do. You would be masterthere. You would take my money, and leave me to starve. I know you,Jack. We stop here, dear. Here, where I can hand you over to the firsttrooper as an escaped convict if you are not kind to me."

  "She-devil!"

  "Oh, I don't mind your abuse. Abuse me if you like, Jack. Beat me if youwill, but don't leave me, or it will be worse for you."

  "You are a strange woman!" he cried, in sudden petulant admiration.

  "To love such a villain? I don't know that. I love you because you are avillain. A better man would be wearisome to such as I am."

  "I wish to Heaven I'd never left Port Arthur. Better there than thisdog's life."

  "Go back, then. You have only to say the word!" And so they wouldwrangle, she glorying in her power over the man who had so longtriumphed over her, and he consoling himself with the hope that the daywas not far distant which should bring him at once freedom and fortune.One day the chance came to him. His wife was ill, and the ungratefulscoundrel stole five hundred pounds, and taking two horses reachedSydney, and obtained passage in a vessel bound for Rio.

  Having escaped thraldom, John Rex proceeded to play for the great stakeof his life with the utmost caution. He went to the Continent, and livedfor weeks together in the towns where Richard Devine might possibly haveresided, familiarizing himself with streets, making the acquaintanceof old inhabitants, drawing into his own hands all loose ends ofinformation which could help to knit the meshes of his net the closer.Such loose ends were not numerous; the prodigal had been too poor, tooinsignificant, to leave strong memories behind him. Yet Rex knew wellby what strange accidents the deceit of an assumed identity is oftenpenetrated. Some old comrade or companion of the lost heir mightsuddenly appear with keen questions as to trifles which could cut hisflimsy web to shreds, as easily as the sword of Saladin divided thefloating silk. He could not afford to ignore the most insignificantcircumstances. With consummate skill, piece by piece he built up thestory which was to deceive the poor mother, and to make him possessor ofone of the largest private fortunes in England.

  This was the tale he hit upon. He had been saved from the burningHydaspes by a vessel bound for Rio. Ignorant of the death of SirRichard, and prompted by the pride which was known to be a leadingfeature of his character, he had determined not to return until fortuneshould have bestowed upon him wealth at least equal to the inheritancefrom which he had been ousted. In Spanish America he had striven toaccumulate that wealth in vain. As vequero, traveller, speculator,sailor, he had toiled for fourteen years, and had failed. Worn out andpenitent, he had returned home to find a corner of English earth inwhich to lay his weary bones. The tale was plausible enough, and in thetelling of it he was armed at all points. There was little fear thatthe navigator of the captured Osprey, the man who had lived in Chile and"cut out" cattle on the Carrum Plains, would prove lacking in knowledgeof riding, seamanship, or Spanish customs. Moreover, he had determinedupon a course of action which showed his knowledge of human nature.

  The will under which Richard Devine inherited was dated in 1807, and hadbeen made when the testator was in the first hopeful glow of paternity.By its terms Lady Devine was to receive a life interest of threethousand a year in her husband's property--which was placed in thehands of two trustees--until her eldest son died or attained the ageof twenty-five years. When either of these events should occur, theproperty was to be realized, Lady Devine receiving a sum of a hundredthousand pounds, which, invested in Consols for her benefit, would,according to Sir Richard's prudent calculation exactly compensate forher loss of interest, the remainder going absolutely to the son, ifliving, to his children or next of kin if dead. The trustees appointedwere Lady Devine's father, Colonel Wotton Wade, and Mr. Silas Quaid,of the firm of Purkiss and Quaid Thavies Inn, Sir Richard's solicitors.Colonel Wade, before his death had appointed his son, Mr. Francis Wade,to act in his stead. When Mr. Quaid died, the firm of Purkiss and Quaid(represented in the Quaid branch of it by a smart London-bred nephew)declined further responsibility; and, with the consent of Lady Devine,Francis Wade continued alone in his trust. Sir Richard's sister and herhusband, Anthony Frere, of Bristol, were long ago dead, and, as we know,their representative, Maurice Frere, content at last in the lot thatfortune had sent him, had given up all thought of meddling with hisuncle's business. John Rex, therefore, in the person of the returnedRichard, had but two persons to satisfy, his putative uncle, Mr. FrancisWade, and his putative mother, Lady Devine.

  This he found to be the easiest task possible. Francis Wade was aninvalid virtuoso, who detested business, and whose ambition was to beknown as man of taste. The possessor of a small independent income, hehad resided at North End ever since his father's death, and had made theplace a miniature Strawberry Hill. When, at his sister's urgent wish, heassumed the sol
e responsibility of the estate, he put all the floatingcapital into 3 per cents., and was content to see the interestaccumulate. Lady Devine had never recovered the shock of thecircumstances attending Sir Richard's death and, clinging to the beliefin her son's existence, regarded herself as the mere guardian of hisinterests, to be displaced at any moment by his sudden return. Theretired pair lived thus together, and spent in charity and bric-a-bracabout a fourth of their mutual income. By both of them the return ofthe wanderer was hailed with delight. To Lady Devine it meant therealization of a lifelong hope, become part of her nature. To FrancisWade it meant relief from a responsibility which his simplicity alwayssecretly loathed, the responsibility of looking after another person'smoney.

  "I shall not think of interfering with the arrangements which you havemade, my dear uncle," said Mr. John Rex, on the first night of hisreception. "It would be most ungrateful of me to do so. My wants arevery few, and can easily be supplied. I will see your lawyers some day,and settle it."

  "See them at once, Richard; see them at once. I am no man of business,you know, but I think you will find all right."

  Richard, however, put off the visit from day to day. He desired tohave as little to do with lawyers as possible. He had resolved uponhis course of action. He would get money from his mother for immediateneeds, and when that mother died he would assert his rights. "My roughlife has unfitted me for drawing-rooms, dear mother," he said. "Do notlet there be a display about my return. Give me a corner to smoke mypipe, and I am happy." Lady Devine, with a loving tender pity, for whichJohn Rex could not altogether account, consented, and "Mr. Richard" sooncame to be regarded as a martyr to circumstances, a man conscious of hisown imperfections, and one whose imperfections were therefore lightlydwelt upon. So the returned prodigal had his own suite of rooms, his ownservants, his own bank account, drank, smoked, and was merry. For fiveor six months he thought himself in Paradise. Then he began to find hislife insufferably weary. The burden of hypocrisy is very heavy to bear,and Rex was compelled perpetually to bear it. His mother demanded allhis time. She hung upon his lips; she made him repeat fifty times thestory of his wanderings. She was never tired of kissing him, of weepingover him, and of thanking him for the "sacrifice" he had made for her.

  "We promised never to speak of it more, Richard," the poor lady said oneday, "but if my lifelong love can make atonement for the wrong I havedone you--"

  "Hush, dearest mother," said John Rex, who did not in the leastcomprehend what it was all about. "Let us say no more."

  Lady Devine wept quietly for a while, and then went away, leaving theman who pretended to be her son much bewildered and a little frightened.There was a secret which he had not fathomed between Lady Devine and herson. The mother did not again refer to it, and, gaining courage as thedays went on, Rex grew bold enough to forget his fears. In the firststages of his deception he had been timid and cautious. Then thesoothing influence of comfort, respect, and security came upon him,and almost refined him. He began to feel as he had felt when Mr. LionelCrofton was alive. The sensation of being ministered to by a lovingwoman, who kissed him night and morning, calling him "son"--of beingregarded with admiration by rustics, with envy by respectable folk--ofbeing deferred to in all things--was novel and pleasing. They were sogood to him that he felt at times inclined to confess all, and leave hiscase in the hands of the folk he had injured. Yet--he thought--such acourse would be absurd. It would result in no benefit to anyone, simplyin misery to himself. The true Richard Devine was buried fathoms deepin the greedy ocean of convict-discipline, and the waves of innumerablepunishments washed over him. John Rex flattered himself that he hadusurped the name of one who was in fact no living man, and that, unlessone should rise from the dead, Richard Devine could never return toaccuse him. So flattering himself, he gradually became bolder, and byslow degrees suffered his true nature to appear. He was violent to theservants, cruel to dogs and horses, often wantonly coarse in speech,and brutally regardless of the feelings of others. Governed, like mostwomen, solely by her feelings, Lady Devine had at first been prodigalof her affection to the man she believed to be her injured son. But hisrash acts of selfishness, his habits of grossness and self-indulgence,gradually disgusted her. For some time she--poor woman--fought againstthis feeling, endeavouring to overcome her instincts of distaste, andarguing with herself that to permit a detestation of her unfortunate sonto arise in her heart was almost criminal; but she was at length forcedto succumb.

  For the first year Mr. Richard conducted himself with great propriety,but as his circle of acquaintance and his confidence in himselfincreased, he now and then forgot the part he was playing. One day Mr.Richard went to pass the day with a sporting friend, only too proud tosee at his table so wealthy and wonderful a man. Mr. Richard drank agood deal more than was good for him, and returned home in a conditionof disgusting drunkenness. I say disgusting, because some folks have theart of getting drunk after a humorous fashion, that robs intoxication ofhalf its grossness. For John Rex to be drunk was to be himself--coarseand cruel. Francis Wade was away, and Lady Devine had retired forthe night, when the dog-cart brought home "Mr. Richard". The virtuousbutler-porter, who opened the door, received a blow in the chest anda demand for "Brandy!" The groom was cursed, and ordered to instantoblivion. Mr. Richard stumbled into the dining-room--veiled in dim lightas a dining-room which was "sitting up" for its master ought to be--andordered "more candles!" The candles were brought, after some delay, andMr. Richard amused himself by spilling their meltings upon the carpet."Let's have 'luminashon!" he cried; and climbing with muddy boots uponthe costly chairs, scraping with his feet the polished table, attemptedto fix the wax in the silver sconces, with which the antiquarian tastesof Mr. Francis Wade had adorned the room.

  "You'll break the table, sir," said the servant.

  "Damn the table!" said Rex. "Buy 'nother table. What's table t'you?""Oh, certainly, sir," replied the man.

  "Oh, c'ert'nly! Why c'ert'nly? What do you know about it?"

  "Oh, certainly not, sir," replied the man.

  "If I had--stockwhip here--I'd make you--hic--skip! Whar's brandy?"

  "Here, Mr. Richard."

  "Have some! Good brandy! Send for servantsh and have dance. D'you dance,Tomkins?"

  "No, Mr. Richard."

  "Then you shall dance now, Tomkins. You'll dance upon nothing one day,Tomkins! Here! Halloo! Mary! Susan! Janet! William! Hey! Halloo!" And hebegan to shout and blaspheme.

  "Don't you think it's time for bed, Mr. Richard?" one of the menventured to suggest.

  "No!" roared the ex-convict, emphatically, "I don't! I've gone to bed atdaylight far too long. We'll have 'luminashon! I'm master here. Mastereverything. Richard 'Vine's my name. Isn't it, Tomkins, you villain?"

  "Oh-h-h! Yes, Mr. Richard."

  "Course it is, and make you know it too! I'm no painter-picture,crockery chap. I'm genelman! Genelman seen the world! Knows what'swhat. There ain't much I ain't fly to. Wait till the old woman's dead,Tomkins, and you shall see!" More swearing, and awful threats ofwhat the inebriate would do when he was in possession. "Bring upsome brandy!" Crash goes the bottle in the fire-place. "Light up thedroring-rooms; we'll have dance! I'm drunk! What's that? If you'd gonethrough what I have, you'd be glad to be drunk. I look a fool"--thisto his image in another glass. "I ain't though, or I wouldn't behere. Curse you, you grinning idiot"--crash goes his fist through themirror--"don't grin at me. Play up there! Where's old woman? Fetch herout and let's dance!"

  "Lady Devine has gone to bed, Mr. Richard," cried Tomkins, aghast,attempting to bar the passage to the upper regions.

  "Then let's have her out o' bed," cried John Rex, plunging to the door.

  Tomkins, attempting to restrain him, is instantly hurled into a cabinetof rare china, and the drunken brute essays the stairs. The otherservants seize him. He curses and fights like a demon. Doors bang open,lights gleam, maids hover, horrified, asking if it's "fire?" and beggingfor it to be "put out". The whole house is in an up
roar, in the midstof which Lady Devine appears, and looks down upon the scene. Rex catchessight of her; and bursts into blasphemy. She withdraws, strangelyterrified; and the animal, torn, bloody, and blasphemous, is at lastgot into his own apartments, the groom, whose face had been seriouslydamaged in the encounter, bestowing a hearty kick on the prostratecarcase at parting.

  The next morning Lady Devine declined to see her son, though he sent aspecial apology to her.

  "I am afraid I was a little overcome by wine last night," said he toTomkins. "Well, you was, sir," said Tomkins.

  "A very little wine makes me quite ill, Tomkins. Did I do anything veryviolent?"

  "You was rather obstropolous, Mr. Richard."

  "Here's a sovereign for you, Tomkins. Did I say anything?"

  "You cussed a good deal, Mr. Richard. Most gents do when they'vebin--hum--dining out, Mr. Richard."

  "What a fool I am," thought John Rex, as he dressed. "I shall spoileverything if I don't take care." He was right. He was going the rightway to spoil everything. However, for this bout he made amends--moneysoothed the servants' hall, and apologies and time won Lady Devine'sforgiveness.

  "I cannot yet conform to English habits, my dear mother," said Rex, "andfeel at times out of place in your quiet home. I think that--if you canspare me a little money--I should like to travel."

  Lady Devine--with a sense of relief for which she blamedherself--assented, and supplied with letters of credit, John Rex went toParis.

  Fairly started in the world of dissipation and excess, he began to growreckless. When a young man, he had been singularly free from the vice ofdrunkenness; turning his sobriety--as he did all his virtues--to viciousaccount; but he had learnt to drink deep in the loneliness of the bush.Master of a large sum of money, he had intended to spend it as he wouldhave spent it in his younger days. He had forgotten that since his deathand burial the world had not grown younger. It was possible that Mr.Lionel Crofton might have discovered some of the old set of foolsand knaves with whom he had once mixed. Many of them were alive andflourishing. Mr. Lemoine, for instance, was respectably married in hisnative island of Jersey, and had already threatened to disinherit anephew who showed a tendency to dissipation.

  But Mr. Lemoine would not care to recognize Mr. Lionel Crofton, thegambler and rake, in his proper person, and it was not expedient thathis acquaintance should be made in the person of Richard Devine, lestby some unlucky chance he should recognize the cheat. Thus poor LionelCrofton was compelled to lie still in his grave, and Mr. Richard Devine,trusting to a big beard and more burly figure to keep his secret, wascompelled to begin his friendship with Mr. Lionel's whilom friends allover again. In Paris and London there were plenty of people ready tobecome hail-fellow-well-met with any gentleman possessing money. Mr.Richard Devine's history was whispered in many a boudoir and club-room.The history, however, was not always told in the same way. It wasgenerally known that Lady Devine had a son, who, being supposed to bedead, had suddenly returned, to the confusion of his family. But themanner of his return was told in many ways.

  In the first place, Mr. Francis Wade, well-known though he was, didnot move in that brilliant circle which had lately received his nephew.There are in England many men of fortune, as large as that left by theold ship-builder, who are positively unknown in that little world whichis supposed to contain all the men worth knowing. Francis Wade was aman of mark in his own coterie. Among artists, bric-a-brac sellers,antiquarians, and men of letters he was known as a patron and manof taste. His bankers and his lawyers knew him to be of independentfortune, but as he neither mixed in politics, "went into society",betted, or speculated in merchandise, there were several large sectionsof the community who had never heard his name. Many respectablemoney-lenders would have required "further information" before theywould discount his bills; and "clubmen" in general--save, perhaps,those ancient quidnuncs who know everybody, from Adam downwards--had butlittle acquaintance with him. The advent of Mr. Richard Devine--a coarseperson of unlimited means--had therefore chief influence upon thatsinister circle of male and female rogues who form the "half-world".They began to inquire concerning his antecedents, and, failingsatisfactory information, to invent lies concerning him. It wasgenerally believed that he was a black sheep, a man whose family kepthim out of the way, but who was, in a pecuniary sense, "good" for aconsiderable sum.

  Thus taken upon trust, Mr. Richard Devine mixed in the very best ofbad society, and had no lack of agreeable friends to help him to spendmoney. So admirably did he spend it, that Francis Wade became at lastalarmed at the frequent drafts, and urged his nephew to bring hisaffairs to a final settlement. Richard Devine--in Paris, Hamburg, orLondon, or elsewhere--could never be got to attack business, and Mr.Francis Wade grew more and more anxious. The poor gentlemanpositively became ill through the anxiety consequent upon his nephew'sdissipations. "I wish, my dear Richard, that you would let me know whatto do," he wrote. "I wish, my dear uncle, that you would do what youthink best," was his nephew's reply.

  "Will you let Purkiss and Quaid look into the business?" said thebadgered Francis.

  "I hate lawyers," said Richard. "Do what you think right."

  Mr. Wade began to repent of his too easy taking of matters in thebeginning. Not that he had a suspicion of Rex, but that he hadremembered that Dick was always a loose fish. The even current of thedilettante's life became disturbed. He grew pale and hollow-eyed. Hisdigestion was impaired. He ceased to take the interest in china whichthe importance of that article demanded. In a word, he grew despondentas to his fitness for his mission in life. Lady Ellinor saw a change inher brother. He became morose, peevish, excitable. She went privatelyto the family doctor, who shrugged his shoulders. "There is no danger,"said he, "if he is kept quiet; keep him quiet, and he will live foryears; but his father died of heart disease, you know." Lady Ellinor,upon this, wrote a long letter to Mr. Richard, who was at Paris,repeated the doctor's opinions, and begged him to come over at once.Mr. Richard replied that some horse-racing matter of great importanceoccupied his attention, but that he would be at his rooms in ClargesStreet (he had long ago established a town house) on the 14th, and would"go into matters". "I have lost a good deal of money lately, my dearmother," said Mr. Richard, "and the present will be a good opportunityto make a final settlement." The fact was that John Rex, now three yearsin undisturbed possession, considered that the moment had arrived forthe execution of his grand coup--the carrying off at one swoop of thewhole of the fortune he had gambled for.

  CHAPTER III. EXTRACTED FROM THE DIARY OF THE REV. JAMES NORTH.