The Works of William Harrison Ainsworth

by William Harrison Ainsworth

  On examining the ground beneath it, he found foot-prints upon the soil and on the crushed grass, and, as far as he could ascertain, two or three persons must have assisted at the robbery. He traced the foot-prints across the garden to a wall about six feet high, at the back of which was a narrow passage, communicating between the adjoining house and the area in front of the abbey; and here, from certain indications in the soil, he had no doubt that the depredators had got over. His vociferations while conducting the search brought some of the inmates of the next house into the passage, and they told him that they had seen and heard nothing, but begged him to come round and satisfy himself. This he instantly did, and found their representations perfectly correct. The only proof of the robbers having gained admission by this way lay in the fact of the passage-door being left open. His investigations ended, the miser, who made no remark while conducting them, went back to his own house.

  To his surprise, he found that his daughter and Jacob had returned. The latter looked greatly disconcerted, and continued twirling his hat between his fingers, but Hilda advanced towards him.

  “I am greatly distressed to hear of your loss, father,” she said.

  “And to whom am I to attribute it?” he rejoined, bitterly. “If you had remained at home, and Jacob had been on the watch, it would not have happened.”

  “Perhaps not,” she rejoined; “but I am not wholly to blame. It was your unkindness that compelled me to take this step.”

  “Well, and what does good Abel Beechcroft, kind Abel Beechcroft say?” cried the miser tauntingly; “what does he advise? — will he receive you? — will he adopt you? — will he give you to his nephew Randulph? He is welcome to do so if he pleases.”

  “Do not let us speak on this subject now, father,” rejoined Hilda— “you have too much upon your mind without it. I pray you to believe that I have been guilty of no wilful disobedience towards you.”

  “Pshaw!” cried the miser, contemptuously— “I will not have my patience abused by idle professions. But, as you say, we will discuss the matter at another time. Answer me only one question — have you seen Randulph Crew?”

  “I have,” replied Hilda, blushing deeply.

  “At his uncle’s?” demanded the miser.

  “No,” she rejoined— “but in a situation and under circumstances that, if I had entertained the slightest regard for him, would have effectually obliterated it.”

  “We saw your nephew at the same time, sir,” said Jacob, who had now regained his self-possession.

  “Indeed!” exclaimed the miser— “where did you see him?”

  “At the Folly on the Thames,” replied Jacob; “and he was not in the miserable dress he came to visit you in, but in a fine suit and handsome peruke. I told you he was playing you false. If I’m not deceived, also, he was on good terms with the gay lady to whom Mr. Randulph Crew was paying attention, and which made Miss Hilda so jealous!”

  “Jacob?” she exclaimed, again colouring.

  “Nay, I meant no offence, Miss,” he returned; “but you know it’s the truth.”

  “What idle story is this?” exclaimed the miser, incredulously.

  Jacob’s reply was cut short by a knock at the door.

  “Are you at home, sir?” he asked.

  “Yes — yes—” replied the miser: “in my present frame of mind I care not whom I see.”

  Jacob then departed, and in a few seconds returned, with a countenance fraught with vexation and surprise, ushering in Diggs and Philip Frewin. The latter was dressed in the same miserable suit, the same old wig, and the same old shoes with high quarters, that he had worn on the preceding day. The visitors appeared struck with the embarrassed air of the miser and his family, and Diggs inquired the cause of it.

  “Before I explain what has happened to myself, Mr. Diggs,” said Scarve, “I think it right to state that my servant, Jacob Post, declares he saw my nephew on board the Folly on the Thames this morning, and very differently dressed from what he is at present.”

  “I saw him not two hours ago,” said Jacob.

  “That must have been at half-past two o’clock,” rejoined Diggs, taking out his watch, “and at that time he was with me. You must, therefore, be mistaken, friend.”

  “I am quite at a loss to conceive what Jacob can mean,” said Philip, “but I certainly was with Mr. Diggs at the time specified, as he has just stated.”

  “You know well enough what I mean, Mr. Philip,” rejoined Jacob, gruffly; “you know you’re deceivin’ your uncle.”

  Mr. Diggs smiled at the miser, and shrugged his shoulders.

  “They’re in league together, sir,” said Jacob, “if you don’t believe me, ask Miss Hilda if she didn’t see him.”

  “I certainly thought I saw Philip,” said Hilda, “but I confess I was too much confused at the time to observe accurately.”

  “May I ask my fair cousin how she happened to be in a situation to make such observation?” inquired Philip.

  “Ay, you may well ask that,” added the miser.

  “It can matter little why I was there,” replied Hilda; “nor do I conceive myself called upon to answer the question.”

  “I can give you no explanation, Philip,” said Scarve, “for I have received none myself. My daughter has chosen to go out without leave, during my absence, and Jacob has accompanied her. I profess myself wholly ignorant as to where she has been.”

  “You are not wholly ignorant, father,” replied Hilda, “for I have already admitted I have been to Mr. Abel Beechcroft, and I may now add,” she continued, looking at Philip, “that I have called upon Mrs. Verral, in Fenchurch-street.”

  “Mrs. Verral!” exclaimed Philip, starting.

  “Ay, you may well look surprised and dismayed, sir,” pursued Hilda, “you anticipate what is to follow. She has made your real character and circumstances known to me. Father, your nephew is not what he seems. And he is not more false in outward appearance than in reality. What will be of more consequence to you than anything else is, that he is a ruined man, seeking an alliance with me only to repair his broken fortunes.”

  “It is necessary for me now to interpose, Miss Scarve,” said Diggs. “No one can be better acquainted with your cousin’s affairs than I am; and so far from being a ruined man, or in the slightest degree embarassed, he is this moment worth half a million of money.”

  “Do you hear that?” cried the miser, triumphantly.

  “I shall not speak of myself,” said Philip.

  “No, you had better not,” interrupted Jacob.

  “Peace, sirrah!” cried the miser; “there is no need of assertions, nephew; I am quite satisfied. And now, may I ask what brings you here?”

  “We come to conclude the marriage settlement, sir,” rejoined Diggs. “My client is anxious to expedite the match.”

  “I regret to tell you a very unfortunate accident has just occurred, which will prevent my giving the sum I intended,” said the miser.

  “How so, sir?” cried the attorney, with a disappointed look.

  “That’s right, sir,” said Jacob, drawing near his master; and twitching his coat tail; he whispered in his ear, “touch ’em up on that.”

  “Be quiet, sirrah,” cried the miser, aloud. “To put the matter at rest,” he added to the attorney, “I must inform you, that during my absence, I have been robbed of the whole of the large sum paid me yesterday.”

  “What!” exclaimed Philip, turning very pale, “the fourteen thousand pounds.”

  Mr. Scarve replied in the affirmative.

  “God bless me! my dear sir, you don’t say so?” cried Diggs.

  “Yes I do,” rejoined the miser; “every jot of it is gone.”

  “What an unheard-of robbery!” exclaimed the attorney— “but it must be inquired into. When did it happen — and how? Pray give me all the particulars. I must set the officers to work immediately.”

  “No,” replied the miser, mournfully— “it is gone, and employing thief takers and c
onstables won’t bring it back again, but on the contrary, will involve further loss of money, as well as of time and patience. I meant to give it to my daughter on her marriage. But as I have lost it, she must go without a portion.”

  “Without a portion, Mr. Scarve,” exclaimed Diggs. “The loss of fourteen thousand pounds is heavy, it is true, but it falls more lightly upon you than it would upon most men. You have still wealth sufficient to make the settlement you proposed upon your daughter, without feeling it.”

  “Pardon me, Mr. Diggs,” returned the miser, “I proposed to give my daughter a particular sum of money, which I had in my eye at the time of making the offer. Of this I have been fraudulently deprived, and it is no longer in my power to fulfil my agreement.”

  “Well, my dear uncle,” said Philip, “sooner than—”

  “I know what your generosity prompts you to say, Mr. Frewin,” interrupted Diggs. “But I have a duty to you as well as to my worthy client and friend Mr. Scarve, and I must say, that if he departs from his word, on the present plea, I cannot advise you to proceed with the match.”

  “I have not the money to give, Philip,” said the miser.

  “Nay, uncle, if you put it on that footing, I myself must retract,” said Philip. “I am not ignorant how rich you are.”

  “Nobody doubts it,” remarked Jacob, “or you wouldn’t be so urgent for the match. Stick to your determination, sir,” he added to his master. “Don’t give your daughter anything, and you’ll soon see how the gentleman will hang fire.”

  “Leave the room, sirrah!” cried the miser, angrily. And Jacob moved towards the door, but he did not go out.

  “Before I am disposed of in this way, father, and without my own consent,” said Hilda, “I must beg that my cousin, Mr. Philip Frewin’s character may be fully investigated; that you will hear what I have to say on the subject; and what Mrs. Verral has to say.”

  “I will hear nothing!” cried the miser, furiously. “You are acting under the advice of Abel Beechcroft. Mrs Verral is a friend of his. He sent you to her.”

  “I cannot deny it,” replied Hilda.

  “Mrs. Verral may malign me as much as she thinks fit,” said Philip, boldly; “but fortunately my character stands on too firm a basis to be shaken by a malicious woman’s aspersions. I must entreat, sir,” he added, turning, with an appearance of candour, towards his uncle, “that you will investigate this matter; that you will not put faith in Abel Beechcroft’s assertion, or in that of Mrs. Verral; but inquire among my friends — among those who know me well — as to how I stand. It is, perhaps, useless to refer to Mr. Diggs.”

  “Not at all,” replied the miser. “As I said before, I am quite satisfied with his assurance.”

  “And I can give it most heartily, sir,” replied the attorney. “Excepting yourself, I do not know a more careful, prudent, sagacious man than my client, Mr. Philip Frewin. I feel called upon, by these attacks on his character, to say thus much for him. And I can do what his calumniators cannot, — I can give you proof of what I assert. I suspect, sir, you will find, when you look into the matter, that some scheme is hatching against you.”

  “The scheme is wholly on your side,” cried Jacob; “and if my master was not wilfully blind, he would easily perceive it.”

  “Nephew,” said the miser, taking Philip’s hand, “I am quite satisfied with the rectitude of your conduct, and of the stability of your position.”

  “Father!” cried Hilda, “you are deceived. You are the dupe of a designer.”

  But the miser turned a deaf ear to her, and exchanged a few words in a low tone with Philip and Diggs; and on their offering to take their departure, he accompanied them to the street-door, and fastened it after them.

  * * *

  CHAPTER XVI.

  Lady Brabazon Deposits Her Diamonds with the Miser — Gallantry of the Latter — He Discovers the Contriver of the Robbery of the Mortgage Money.

  When he returned, the parlour was vacant. Hilda and her aunt had retired to their own room, and Jacob had descended to the cellar to get out of the way. The miser mounted to the ladies’ room, and seeing the key in the door, turned it, and took it out. This precaution taken, he sat down in his chair, and remained for nearly two hours pondering on the events of the day. He was still wrapped in painful meditations, when a loud knock was heard at the door. Before an answer could be returned, the summons was repeated, and he heard Jacob proceeding along the passage — the door was opened — footsteps were heard approaching — and, as he raised his head in surprise, Lady Brabazon was announced. It is quite certain, that if Mr. Scarve had been consulted he would have refused her ladyship admittance. But as it was not now in his power to deny himself, he rose, with the best grace he could, to receive her. Jacob received a nod, and departed.

  “Well, Mr. Scarve,” said Lady Brabazon, “I am come to know whether I can have the four thousand pounds to-night.”

  “Impossible, your ladyship, impossible!” replied the miser. “If you will pay me twice the interest agreed upon — it cannot be. I have suffered a very heavy loss to-day — a very heavy loss indeed.”

  “Poh — poh! that is always the way with you usurers,” replied Lady Brabazon. “You are always suffering some heavy loss. But you don’t expect me to believe you. You take a great deal too good care of your money to lose it. I must have a thousand pounds for a special purpose to-night. And if you won’t let me have the four thousand, I must have the smaller amount, and on the security of these jewels.” And she produced a case of diamonds. “You see,” she added, displaying them, “they are worth nearly double the amount.”

  “They are very brilliant,” he replied, gazing at them with the eye of a connoisseur. “But I cannot lend your ladyship the money.”

  “Mr. Scarve,” said Lady Brabazon, “I have a debt to pay to-night — and if I do not discharge it, my character will be entirely lost.”

  “Your ladyship’s character as a punctual paymaster will scarcely suffer by the delay of a night,” said Scarve, drily.

  “But this is a debt of honour!” said Lady Brabazon. “I will redeem my jewels in less than a week.”

  “Oh, if it is a debt of honour, that is quite another thing,” said the miser. “These are certainly a magnificent set of diamonds. Your ladyship must look vastly well in them. Will you favour me by putting them on?”

  “Certainly, Mr. Scarve, if you desire it,” replied Lady Brabazon, condescendingly.

  “I don’t know which to admire most, your ladyship or the diamonds,” said the miser, gallantly.

  “The old fool has fallen in love with me,” thought Lady Brabazon; “I must improve the advantage I have gained. You are very complaisant, Mr. Scarve,” she added aloud, and with one of her bewitching smiles — a smile which, in her younger days, had never failed of execution.

  “It would be strange if I were not, to so fascinating a person as your ladyship,” replied the miser, with a strange leer, that sat very ill on his withered features.

  Lady Brabazon cast down her eyes.

  “I almost forget what brought me hither,” she observed, after a slight pause, during which she hoped the miser would follow up his gallant commencement.

  “A proof it cannot be of great importance,” said Scarve; “but your ladyship has asked me a favour, and I will ask one in return. I have been disappointed in my dearest expectations of late. My daughter will not marry according to my wishes. What should I do? I am too old to marry again.”

  “Scarcely,” replied her ladyship, trying to force a blush, but decidedly failing in the attempt.

  “I will put a case,” continued the miser, “merely for consideration. Suppose I were to offer myself to a person of your ladyship’s rank — and in your ladyship’s position. What sort of reception should I be likely to meet with?”

  “That, I should say, would depend entirely upon the settlement you proposed to make, Mr. Scarve,” replied Lady Brabazon. “You are reported to be immensely rich. You have some mis
understanding with your daughter, you say, which I can readily conceive — daughters are so very unmanageable — there is my Clementina, for instance, the sweetest temper in the world, but she gives me an infinity of trouble: — but, as I was saying, you are immensely rich — money is no object to you; if, therefore, you were to settle upon a lady in my position somewhere about a hundred thousand pounds — but not less — I think — mind, I only think — for I offer a very hasty and ill-considered opinion — I think, however, she might be induced to accept you.”

  “Rather a large sum to pay for a wife at my time of life, your ladyship,” observed the miser, drily.

  “Not a fraction more than would be required, believe me, my good sir,” replied Lady Brabazon.

  “Then I must abandon any views I may have entertained of an exalted alliance,” sighed the miser. “But suppose we take another view of the case. Perhaps for a hundredth part of the sum, there would be no necessity for marriage at all.”

  “That is a view of the case which I cannot for a moment contemplate, Mr. Scarve,” said her ladyship, with a glance of indignation. “Allow me to remind you that I came here on business.”