by Ellen Wood
“Then I warn you of the consequences of a refusal,” quietly said Mr. Carlyle; “you are trespassing upon a stranger’s property. This house is not Lord Mount Severn’s; he sold it some time back.”
They knew better. Some laughed, and said these tricks were stale.
“Listen, gentlemen,” rejoined Mr. Carlyle, in the plain, straightforward manner that carried its own truth. “To make an assertion that could be disproved when the earl’s affairs come to be investigated, would be simply foolish. I give you my word of honor as a gentleman — nay, as a fellow-man — that this estate, with the house and all it contains, passed months ago, from the hands of Lord Mount Severn; and, during his recent sojourn here, he was a visitor in it. Go and ask his men of business.”
“Who purchased it?” was the inquiry.
“Mr. Carlyle, of West Lynne. Some of you may possibly know him by reputation.”
Some of them did.
“A cute young lawyer,” observed a voice; “as his father was before him.”
“I am he,” proceeded Mr. Carlyle; “and, being a ‘cute lawyer,’ as you do me the honor to decide, you cannot suppose I should risk my money upon any sale not perfectly safe and legal. I was not an agent in the affair; I employed agents; for it was my own money that I invested, and East Lynne is mine.”
“Is the purchase money paid over?” inquired more than one.
“It was paid over at the time — last June.”
“What did Lord Mount Severn do with the money?”
“I do not know,” replied Mr. Carlyle. “I am not cognizant of Lord Mount Severn’s private affairs.”
Significant murmurs arose. “Strange that the earl should stop two or three months at a place that wasn’t his.”
“It may appear so to you, but allow me to explain,” returned Mr. Carlyle. “The earl expressed a wish to pay East Lynne a few days’ visit, by way of farewell, and I acceded. Before the few days were over, he was taken ill, and remained, from that time, too ill to quit it. This very day — this day, gentlemen, as we stand here, was at length fixed for his departure.”
“And you tell us you bought the furniture?”
“Everything as it stands. You need not doubt my word, for the proofs will be forthcoming. East Lynne was in the market for sale; I heard of it, and became the purchaser — just as I might have bought an estate from any of you. And now, as this is my house, and you have no claim upon me, I shall be obliged to you to withdraw.”
“Perhaps you’ll claim the horses and carriages next, sir,” cried the man with the hooked nose.
Mr. Carlyle raised his head haughtily. “What is mine is mine, legally purchased and paid for — a fair, just price. The carriages and horses I have nothing to do with; Lord Mount Severn brought them down with him.”
“And I have got a safe watcher over them in the out premises, to see as they don’t run away,” nodded the man, complacently; “and if I don’t mistake, there’s a safe watcher over something else upstairs.”
“What a cursed scoundrel Mount Severn was.”
“Whatever he may have been, it does not give you the right to outrage the feelings of his daughter,” warmly interrupted Mr. Carlyle; “and I should have thought that men, calling themselves Englishmen, would have disdained the shame. Allow me, Lady Isabel,” he added, imperatively taking her hand to lead her from the room. “I will remain and deal with this business.”
But she hesitated and stopped. The injury her father had done these men was telling painfully on her sense of right, and she essayed to speak a word of apology, of sorrow; she thought she ought to do so; she did not like them to deem her quite heartless. But it was a painful task, and the color went and came in her pale face, and her breath was labored with the excess of her tribulation.
“I am very sorry,” she stammered; and with the effort of speaking, emotion quite got the better of her, and she burst into tears. “I did not know anything of all this; my father’s affairs were not spoken of before me. I believe I have not anything; if I had, I would divide it amongst you as equally as I could. But, should the means ever be in my power — should money ever be mine, I will thankfully pay all your claims.”
All your claims! Lady Isabel little thought what that “all” would comprise. However, such promises, made at such a moment, fell heedlessly upon the ear. Scarcely one present but felt sympathy and sorrow for her, and Mr. Carlyle drew her from the room. He closed the door upon the noisy crew, and then sobs came forth hysterically.
“I am so grieved, Lady Isabel! Had I foreseen this annoyance, you should have been spared it. Can you go upstairs alone, or shall I call Mrs. Mason?”
“Oh, yes! I can go alone; I am not ill, only frightened and sick. This is not the worst,” she shivered. “There are two men up — up — with papa.”
“Up with papa.” Mr. Carlyle was puzzled. He saw that she was shaking from head to foot, as she stood before him.
“I cannot understand it, and it terrifies me,” she continued, attempting an explanation. “They are sitting in the room, close to him: they have taken him, they say.”
A blank, thunderstruck pause. Mr. Carlyle looked at her — he did not speak; and then he turned and looked at the butler, who was standing near. But the man only responded by giving his head a half shake, and Mr. Carlyle saw that it was an ominous one.
“I will clear the house of these,” he said to Lady Isabel, pointing back to the dining-room, “and then join you upstairs.”
“Two ruffians, sir, and they have got possession of the body,” whispered the butler in Mr. Carlyle’s ear, as Lady Isabel departed. “They obtained entrance to the chamber by a sly, deceitful trick, saying they were the undertaker’s men, and that he can’t be buried unless their claims are paid, if it’s for a month to come. It has upset all our stomachs, sir; Mrs. Mason while telling me — for she was the first one to know it — was as sick as she could be.”
At present Mr. Carlyle returned to the dining-room, and bore the brunt of the anger of those savage, and it may be said, ill-used men. Not that it was vented upon him — quite the contrary — but on the memory of the unhappy peer, who lay overhead. A few had taken the precaution to insure the earl’s life, and they were the best off. They left the house after a short space of time; for Mr. Carlyle’s statement was indisputable, and they knew the law better than to remain, trespassers on his property.
But the custodians of the dead could not be got rid of. Mr. Carlyle proceeded to the death-chamber, and examined their authority. A similar case had never occurred under his own observation, though it had under his father’s, and Mr. Carlyle remembered hearing of it. The body of a church dignitary, who had died deeply in debt, was arrested as it was being carried through the cloisters to its grave in the cathedral. These men, sitting over Lord Mount Severn, enforced heavy claims; and there they must sit until the arrival of Mr. Vane from Castle Marling — now the Earl of Mount Severn.
On the following morning, Sunday, Mr. Carlyle proceeded again to East Lynne, and found, to his surprise, that there was no arrival. Isabel sat in the breakfast-room alone, the meal on the table untouched, and she shivering — as it seemed — on a low ottoman before the fire. She looked so ill that Mr. Carlyle could not forbear remarking upon it.
“I have not slept, and I am very cold,” she answered. “I did not close my eyes all night, I was so terrified.”
“Terrified at what?” he asked.
“At those men,” she whispered. “It is strange that Mr. Vane has not come.”
“Is the post in?”
“I don’t know,” she apathetically replied. “I have received nothing.”
She had scarcely spoke when the butler entered with his salver full of letters, most of them bearing condolence with Lady Isabel. She singled out one and hastened to open it, for it bore the Castle Marling post-mark. “It is Mrs. Vane’s handwriting,” she remarked to Mr. Carlyle.
CASTLE MARLING, Saturday.
“MY DEAR ISABEL — I am drea
dfully grieved and shocked at the news conveyed in Mr. Carlyle’s letter to my husband, for he has gone cruising in his yacht, and I opened it. Goodness knows where he may be, round the coast somewhere, but he said he should be home for Sunday, and as he is pretty punctual in keeping his word, I expect him. Be assured he will not lose a moment in hastening to East Lynne.
“I cannot express what I feel for you, and am too bouleversee to write more. Try and keep up your spirits, and believe me, dear Isabel, with sincere sympathy and regret, faithfully yours,
“EMMA MOUNT SEVERN.”
The color came into Isabel’s pale cheek when she read the signature. She thought, had she been the writer, she should, in that first, early letter, have still signed herself Emma Vane. Isabel handed the note to Mr. Carlyle. “It is very unfortunate,” she sighed.
Mr. Carlyle glanced over it as quickly as Mrs. Vane’s illegible writing allowed him, and drew in his lips in a peculiar manner when he came to the signature. Perhaps at the same thought which had struck Isabel.
“Had Mrs. Vane been worth a rush, she would have come herself, knowing your lonely situation,” he uttered, impulsively.
Isabel leaned her head upon her hand. All the difficulties and embarrassments of her position came crowding on her mind. No orders had been given in preparation for the funeral, and she felt that she had no right to give any. The earls of Mount Severn were buried at Mount Severn; but to take her father thither would involve great expense; would the present earl sanction that? Since the previous morning, she seemed to have grown old in the world’s experience; her ideas were changed, the bent of her thoughts had been violently turned from its course. Instead of being a young lady of high position, of wealth and rank, she appeared to herself more in the light of an unfortunate pauper and interloper in the house she was inhabiting. It has been the custom in romance to present young ladies, especially if they be handsome and interesting, as being entirely oblivious of matter-of-fact cares and necessities, supremely indifferent to future prospects of poverty — poverty that brings hunger and thirst and cold and nakedness; but, be assured, this apathy never existed in real life. Isabel Vane’s grief for her father — whom, whatever may have been the aspect he wore for others, she had deeply loved and reverenced — was sharply poignant; but in the midst of that grief, and of the singular troubles his death had brought forth, she could not shut her eyes to her own future. Its blank uncertainty, its shadowed-forth embarrassments did obtrude themselves and the words of that plain-speaking creditor kept ringing in her ears: “You won’t have a roof to put your head under, or a guinea to call your own.” Where was she to go? With whom to live? She was in Mr. Carlyle’s house now. And how was she to pay the servants? Money was owing to them all.
“Mr. Carlyle, how long has this house been yours?” she asked, breaking the silence.
“It was in June that the purchase was completed. Did Lord Mount Severn never tell you he had sold it to me?”
“No, never. All these things are yours?” glancing round the room.
“The furniture was sold with the house. Not these sort of things,” he added, his eye falling on the silver on the breakfast table; “not the plate and linen.”
“Not the plate and linen! Then those poor men who were here yesterday have a right to them,” she quickly cried.
“I scarcely know. I believe the plate goes with the entail — and the jewels go also. The linen cannot be of consequence either way.”
“Are my clothes my own?”
He smiled as he looked at her; smiled at her simplicity, and assured her that they were nobody’s else.
“I did not know,” she sighed; “I did not understand. So many strange things have happened in the last day or two, that I seem to understand nothing.”
Indeed, she could not understand. She had no definite ideas on the subject of this transfer of East Lynne to Mr. Carlyle; plenty of indefinite ones, and they were haunting her. Fears of debt to him, and of the house and its contents being handed over to him in liquidation, perhaps only partial, were working in her brain.
“Does my father owe you any money?” she breathed in a timid tone.
“Not any,” he replied. “Lord Mount Severn was never indebted to me in his life.”
“Yet you purchased East Lynne?”
“As any one else might have done,” he answered, discerning the drift of her thoughts. “I was in search of an eligible estate to invest money in, and East Lynne suited me.”
“I feel my position, Mr. Carlyle,” she resumed, the rebellious tears forcing themselves to her eyes; “thus to be intruding upon you for a shelter. And I cannot help myself.”
“You can help grieving me,” he gently answered, “which you do much when you talk of obligation. The obligation is on my side, Lady Isabel; and when I express a hope that you will continue at East Lynne while it can be of service, however prolonged that period may be, I assure you, I say it in all sincerity.”
“You are very kind,” she faltered; “and for a few days; until I can think; until — Oh, Mr. Carlyle, are papa’s affairs really so bad as they said yesterday?” she broke off, her perplexities recurring to her with vehement force. “Is there nothing left?”
Now Mr. Carlyle might have given the evasive assurance that there would be plenty left, just to tranquilize her. But to have used deceit with her would have pricked against every feeling of his nature; and he saw how implicitly she relied upon his truth.
“I fear things are not very bright,” he answered. “That is, so far as we can see at present. But there may have been some settlement effected for you that you do not know of. Warburton & Ware—”
“No,” she interrupted: “I never heard of a settlement, and I am sure there is none. I see the worst plainly. I have no home, no home and no money. This house is yours; the town house and Mount Severn go to Mr. Vane; and I have nothing.”
“But surely Mr. Vane will be delighted to welcome you to your old home. The houses pass to him — it almost seems as though you had the greater right in them, than he or Mrs. Vane.”
“My home with them!” she retorted, as if the words had stung her. “What are you saying, Mr. Carlyle?”
“I beg your pardon, Lady Isabel. I should not have presumed to touch upon these points myself, but—”
“Nay, I think I ought to beg yours,” she interrupted, more calmly. “I am only grateful for the interest you take in them — the kindness you have shown. But I could not make my home with Mrs. Vane.”
Mr. Carlyle rose. He could do no good by remaining, and did not think it well to intrude longer. He suggested that it might be more pleasant if Isabel had a friend with her; Mrs. Ducie would no doubt be willing to come, and she was a kind, motherly woman.
Isabel shook her head with a passing shudder. “Have strangers, here, with — all — that — in papa’s chamber!” she uttered. “Mrs. Ducie drove over yesterday, perhaps to remain — I don’t know; but I was afraid of questions, and would not see her. When I think of — that — I feel thankful that I am alone.”
The housekeeper stopped Mr. Carlyle as he was going out.
“Sir, what is the news from Castle Marling? Pound said there was a letter. Is Mr. Vane coming?”
“He was out yachting. Mrs. Vane expected him home yesterday, so it is to be hoped he will be here to-day.”
“Whatever will be done if he does not come?” she breathed. “The leaden coffin ought to be soldered down, for you know, sir, the state he was in when he died.”
“It can be soldered down without Mr. Vane.”
“Of course — without Mr. Vane. It’s not that, sir. Will those men allow it to be done? The undertakers were here this morning at daybreak, and those men intimated that they were not going to lose sight of the dead. The words sounded significant to us, but we asked them no questions. Have they a right to prevent it, sir?”
“Upon my word I cannot tell,” replied Mr. Carlyle. “The proceeding is so rare a one, that I know little what right of law
they have or have not. Do not mention this to Lady Isabel. And when Mr. Va — when Lord Mount Severn arrives, send down to apprise me of it.”
CHAPTER XI.
THE NEW PEER — THE BANK-NOTE
A post-chaise was discerned thundering up the avenue that Sunday afternoon. It contained the new peer, Lord Mount Severn. The more direct line of rail from Castle Marling, brought him only to within five miles of West Lynne, and thence he had travelled in a hired chaise. Mr. Carlyle soon joined him, and almost at the same time Mr. Warburton arrived from London. Absence from town at the period of the earl’s death had prevented Mr. Warburton’s earlier attendance. Business was entered upon immediately.
The present earl knew that his predecessor had been an embarrassed man, but he had no conception of the extent of the evil; they had not been intimate, and rarely came in contact. As the various items of news were now detailed to him — the wasteful expenditure, the disastrous ruin, the total absence of provision for Isabel — he stood petrified and aghast. He was a tall stout man, of three-and-forty years, his nature honorable, his manner cold, and his countenance severe.
“It is the most iniquitous piece of business I ever heard of!” he exclaimed to the two lawyers. “Of all the reckless fools, Mount Severn must have been the worst!”
“Unpardonably improvident as regards his daughter,” was the assenting remark.
“Improvident! It must have been rank madness!” retorted the earl. “No man in his senses could leave a child to the mercy of the world, as he has left her. She has not a shilling — literally, not a shilling in her possession. I put the question to her, what money there was in the house when the earl died. Twenty or twenty-five pounds, she answered, which she had given to Mason, who required it for housekeeping purposes. If the girl wants a yard of ribbon for herself, she has not the pence to pay for it! Can you realize such a case to the mind?” continued the excited peer. “I will stake my veracity that such a one never occurred yet.”
“No money for her own personal wants!” exclaimed Mr. Carlyle.
“Not a halfpenny in the world. And there are no funds, and will be none, that I can see, for her to draw upon.”