“I’m afraid Mr. Randulph has displeased his uncle, Mr. Trussell,” said Mr. Jukes. “I wish he had come home before the old gentleman went to bed.”
“I wish he had, Mr. Jukes,” replied Trussell, laughing; “but it can’t be helped. Boys will be boys. I needn’t tell you I was just such another at his age.”
“You were a great deal worse than he’ll ever be, I hope,” replied the butler.
“Ha! ha! I fear so, Jukes,” replied Trussell, smiling, as if a high compliment had been paid him. “I was a sad fellow — a sad fellow! I’ve been talking over old times and old adventures with Sir Singleton Spinke; and I fear we were terrible rakes — he! he! The young men of the present day have sadly degenerated. They haven’t half the spirit of the beaux of good Queen Ann’s days, when I was young — that is, when I was a boy, for I’m young still. The bottle’s empty, Jukes. But perhaps, you think I’ve had wine enough. And, i’faith, I almost think I have myself. So I’ll e’en seek my pillow. Sit up for Randulph, Jukes. I’ll lecture him in the morning. Carry the candle, old fellow, and lend me your arm, for I don’t feel quite so steady as usual.” And in this way he was conveyed up stairs.
Abel’s first inquiry, when Mr. Jukes entered his room on the following morning at seven o’clock, was as to the time at which his nephew returned overnight, and he received for reply, “Oh! somewhere about half-past eleven, or twelve, sir. I didn’t exactly observe.”
“You took care not to do so,” rejoined Abel. “But what account did he give of himself?”
“I really didn’t question him, sir,” returned Mr. Jukes— “He went to bed almost immediately. But if he retired late, he’s up early enough; for he’s in the garden already.”
“The deuce he is!” cried Abel, getting up. “Well, come, that’s in his favour, at all events. My dressing-gown, Jukes.”
“If I might offer an opinion, sir,” said the butler, as he assisted his master to put on his morning-robe, “I should say Mr. Randulph hasn’t been at a gay party. He looks very thoughtful, and as if he had something in his mind. I hope he isn’t going to fight a duel.”
“I hope not,” cried Abel, hastily. “That may account for his getting up so early. I must see him, and prevent it. Don’t let him go out, on any account, till I come down.”
Having dressed himself as expeditiously as he could, he proceeded to the garden, where he found his nephew looking quite as pensive as he had been described by the butler.
“You were late home last night, Randulph?” he said, after the usual greeting had passed between them.
“I was, indeed, much later than I intended, uncle;” replied the young man; “but I was unavoidably detained.”
“May I ask in what way?” rejoined Abel.
“Pardon me, uncle, if I do not answer the question,” replied Randulph.
“I will not press you,” rejoined Abel, severely. “But upon one point I require a direct answer. You have not, I trust, an affair of honour, so called — but most mistakenly — on hand?”
“I have not!” replied Randulph, emphatically.
“I believe you,” rejoined Abel, “And so I am told you saw Hilda Scarve yesterday, and under circumstances not very agreeable to yourself?”
The young man blushed deeply.
“I am not sorry to find you have some shame left,” said his uncle; “and trust the occurrence may prove a wholesome lesson to you. And now, while I am lecturing you, let me add that there are other dangers to which you may be exposed, besides those arising from pretty actresses, and dissipation. I mean political dangers — dangers springing from the secret societies and their agents. Your father, I am aware, inclined to the Jacobite cause; and I am aware, also, that your mother had, and still has, the same bias. But she gave me to understand you were a stanch Hanoverian. Has she misrepresented you?”
“Most assuredly not!” replied Randulph. “But I have troubled myself so little about the matter, that it is only lately that I have discovered that her opinions were adverse to my own. I am obliged to you for the caution you have given me. Do you chance to know a gentleman named Cordwell Firebras?”
“The name seems familiar to me,” replied Abel, musing. “Ah! now I recollect it. It belonged to a person who was concerned in the Rebellion of ‘15, and had well-nigh involved your father in it. But what of him?” he continued, regarding Randulph fixedly. “Do you know him? Have you met him since you came to town?”
“I must again decline answering the question, uncle,” replied Randulph.
“Your declining to do so is an answer in this case,” rejoined Abel; “and I must warn you against him as a most dangerous person. Thirty years have elapsed since this Firebras placed your poor father in fearful jeopardy. But if he is the person I have heard described, they will not have changed him.”
“Set your mind at rest as to his influence over me,” replied Randulph. “I shall never waver in my loyalty.”
“I am glad to hear it, nephew,” returned Abel; “for rely upon it, if unhappily, another rebellion should break out, it will end as disastrously as the first. And now let us go to breakfast.”
And leading the way to the house, they sat down to the well-spread board. Trussell did not make his appearance, and the meal passed off satisfactorily enough, until towards its close, Mr. Jukes brought a note, which he delivered to Randulph.
“By your leave, uncle,” said Randulph, glancing in some confusion at the superscription, and recognising the hand.
He then broke the seal, and read as follows:— “I am going to Mr. Scarve; and if I have an assurance of regret from you for your hasty conduct last night, and an undertaking that you will join us, I will engage to procure you the hand of his daughter. Your determination must be speedily made; for to-day he is about to sign a marriage contract with his nephew, Philip Frewin. The bearer will bring you to me, if you desire to see me. ‘C. F.’”
“You seem agitated, nephew,” observed Abel. “Are the contents of that note secret?”
“Indeed, sir, they are,” replied Randulph. “And, what is more, I must answer them in person.”
“O, by all means do so,” replied Abel, testily. “But remember my caution.”
Randulph then hurried out of the room, and found in the hall, the landlord of the Rose and Crown, who had brought him the note.
“Are you going with me, sir?” asked the landlord.
Randulph replied in the affirmative; and they quitted the house together.
Abel was a good deal surprised and annoyed at his nephew’s departure, and repaired to his library, where he endeavoured to compose his thoughts with a book. But the remedy in this instance proved futile; for when Mr. Jukes entered the room about an hour afterwards, he found him pacing to and fro within it, with a disturbed air.
“Well, is Randulph returned?” he asked quickly.
“No, sir,” replied the butler. “I am come to say that Mr. Scarve’s servant, Jacob Post, is without, and wishes to speak with you.”
“What’s is his business?” demanded Abel, sharply.
“I didn’t inquire, sir,” replied Mr. Jukes; “but something I should fancy relating to Miss Hilda.”
The butler’s reply was here a little wide of the truth. He had tried to pump Jacob as to his errand, but the latter declined to satisfy his curiosity.
“Most likely,” said Abel. “Shew him in.”
And the next moment Jacob was admitted. He had his crabstick under his arm, and twisted his hat between his fingers as before, looking any way but direct at Abel. Seeing that his presence was desired by neither party, Mr. Jukes retired.
“Well, friend, what has brought you hither?” asked Abel.
Jacob coughed, and tried to clear away the huskiness that impeded his articulation.
“I’m come to see whether you’ve a situation for me, sir,” he said, after sundry ineffectual attempts at plain speaking. “Wages isn’t an object with me, sir, — they isn’t, indeed. And I should like to serve you bette
r than any other gen’l’man I know of.”
“What! have you left Mr. Scarve?” said Abel.
“Not yet, sir,” replied Jacob. “But he’s given me notice. And if he hadn’t, I think I should have done the same by him. He’s grown worse than ever. He promised to give me a recommendation to you. But I don’t think he meant what he said.”
“Well, I’ll see what can be done for you,” rejoined Abel; “that is, if Mr. Jukes can find you a place, — for I must leave the matter entirely to him. But what about your young mistress?”
“I was coming to her, sir,” replied Jacob; “but I thought I’d settle my own affairs first. I’ve no good news to tell you about her. Master locked her in her own room last night, and he declares he won’t let her out till she consents to marry his ne’vy!”
Abel uttered an angry exclamation.
“Within these few days he’s grown a downright barbarous domestic tyrant,” continued Jacob. “There’s no bearin’ him. But to be sure he had enough to put him out of his way yesterday; for do you know, sir, he was robbed of fourteen thousand pounds during our absence. However, he took it more quietly than one might have expected; and I can’t help thinkin’ as how one Mr. Cordwell Firebras, a strange gentleman who visited him yestermorning, knew somethin’ about it.”
“Cordwell Firebras! Has he been with him?” said Abel, in surprise.
“He was with him twice yesterday,” replied Jacob. “And a note came from him this mornin’, which I know, from some chance expressions let fall by the old fellow concernin’ it, related to your ne’vy and his daughter.”
“Indeed!” exclaimed Abel.
“I almost fancy Mr. Firebras advised him to make up a marriage between ‘em,” pursued Jacob.
“‘Sdeath!” exclaimed Abel, furiously. “How dares he make such a proposition? Who gave him commission to interfere?”
“That’s more than I can tell,” replied Jacob. “But howsomedever I don’t think master’ll pay much attention to him, for he is goin’ to sign a marriage contract with Mr. Philip Frewin and his attorney this mornin’.”
“It must not be,” rejoined Abel. “That Frewin is an impostor.”
“So I thought from the first,” returned Jacob; “but yesterday it was confirmed to me.” And he proceeded to detail what he had witnessed at the Folly on the Thames.
Abel heard him in silence; and at the close of his narration said, “much as I dislike your master, painful as the interview will be to me, I will see him myself. Do not announce my coming, but take care I obtain admittance. Get some refreshment as quickly as you can, and then make the best of your way home.”
Jacob was not slow in obeying the injunction. Repairing to the kitchen, in less than five minutes he laid bare a cold shoulder of lamb, despatched half a dozen lettuces, which he plunged into a salt-stand, and then thrust almost whole into his capacious mouth, disposed of rather better than half a loaf, and washed all down with a large jug of strong ale. He then set off to the stairs by the river side, where his boat awaited him, and jumping into it, pulled off as swiftly as he could to the opposite bank.
* * *
CHAPTER XX.
Abel’s Interview with the Miser — Unexpected Appearance of Randulph and Cordwell Firebras — Result of the Meeting.
Half an hour afterwards, Abel Beechcroft set forth; and taking his way beneath the trees of the Bishop’s walk — his own favourite promenade, where he used to pass the greater portion of each day, gazing at the broad and beautiful stream flowing past it, — proceeded along the Stangate, and crossing Westminster Bridge, directed his steps towards the Little Sanctuary. As he approached the miser’s dwelling, a tide of tumultuous feeling pressed upon him, and he almost doubted his power of sustaining the interview he was about to seek; but stringing himself up to the task, he knocked at the door. The summons was instantly answered by Jacob, who was in readiness, and who, without a word, admitted him.
“You’re just in time, sir,” said the latter, as he shut the door, in a deep whisper,— “he’s with him.”
“Who! — Philip Frewin?” demanded Abel, in the same tone.
“Ay, ay,” replied Jacob: “Philip Frewin, and his attorney, Mr. Diggs.” And striding along the passage, he threw open the door, and bellowed out “Mr. Abel Beechcroft.”
This unlooked-for announcement, followed by the entrance of the old man, whose stern features were charged with a menacing expression, and who did not remove his hat, caused the utmost surprise and consternation among the trio. The miser was seated at the table, listening to a clause in a legal instrument which had been drawn up by Diggs, who was reading it to him, but who instantly stopped on hearing the name of his visitor. Philip, whose back was to the door, turned round in some confusion; and the miser, though greatly disconcerted, made an effort to command himself, and said, in a voice of forced politeness, though suppressed rage,— “May I ask to what I am to attribute the honour of this most unexpected visit, Mr. Beechcroft?”
“You will attribute it solely to the interest I take in your daughter’s welfare, Mr. Scarve,” replied Abel. “I would preserve her from the arts of a scoundrel, to whom you are about to consign her.”
“You are not perhaps aware in whose presence you stand, Mr. Beechcroft?” cried Philip, rising and furiously regarding him.
“I believe you are Mr. Philip Frewin, the very person I referred to,” replied Abel, coldly.
“Then I am to understand you applied the opprobrious term you have just used to me?” cried Philip.
“Most distinctly!” rejoined Abel: “and I am willing to repeat it — to strengthen it — if you desire it.”
“Sir, you shall render me an account for this insolence,” cried Philip, clapping his hand to his side, and betraying by the movement — for he was disguised in his tattered apparel — that he was accustomed to carry a sword.
“Let the law deal with him, my good sir,” interrupted Diggs. “You have a fair ground of action for defamation. As a professional man, I warn you to take heed what you say of my respectable client, Mr. Beechcroft.”
“You and your ‘respectable client’ will pursue whatever course you think proper,” replied Abel; “but do not imagine your menaces will prevent me from disclosing the truth to Mr. Scarve.”
“If you have come to defame my nephew to me, Mr. Beechcroft, your errand will be fruitless,” said the miser, who had by this time fully recovered his composure. “I must decline hearing anything you have to say. After what passed between us, years ago, I am surprised you should come here at all; and I am still more surprised that you have obtained admittance, which you certainly would not have done if my inclinations had been consulted. But it seems I am no longer master of my own house, or of my own servants.”
“Mr. Scarve,” said Abel, in a commanding tone, and with a look that made the miser quail, “I have been called upon — solemnly called upon — to take this step. You well know the opinion I entertain of you, and the abhorrence in which I hold you — and that nothing would have brought me near you but a matter of the utmost urgency. I have been called upon, I repeat, by an appeal which I could not resist,” — his voice slightly trembled,— “to befriend your daughter; and, at the sacrifice of all personal consideration, I will befriend her. She herself has told me she has the strongest dislike to your nephew, and never will marry him.”
“All this may be very true, sir,” replied the miser, “but I am at a loss to understand the right you have to mix yourself up in my affairs.”
“He has no right whatever, legal or otherwise, to do so,” interposed Diggs.
“I shall assume it, then,” replied Abel. “Mr. Scarve, if you are deaf to the appeal I have made to you — if you can resist the dying wish of your much-injured wife, for her’s is the charge laid upon me, and are determined to force the inclinations of your child — if neither of these instances have weight with you, at least exercise the prudence which has hitherto been supposed to guide your conduct. You know me too w
ell to suppose for an instant that I would deceive you. I therefore in your presence, and in his presence, denounce your nephew as an impostor — a cheat — a swindler!”
“‘Sdeath I sir, if you go on thus,” cried Philip, fiercely, “neither your years nor my uncle’s presence shall protect you.”
“Let him take his own course,” said Diggs, taking up a pen, and making some hasty memoranda on a sheet of paper. “We shall have swingeing damages — swingeing damages.”
“Mr. Beechcroft,” said the miser, “the opinion you have expressed of me is fully reciprocated. You cannot hate me more than I hate you. Nevertheless, I am free to admit that you are incapable of advancing a deliberate falsehood; and I therefore believe that you think what you tell me of my nephew. But you are completely deceived; and some one, for a base purpose, has practised upon your credulity. Mr. Philip Frewin is a careful and a prudent man — far too careful to please you — and has, in a few years, saved a large sum of money. This, his attorney and mine, Mr. Diggs will, I am persuaded, testify to you.”
“Unless bonds, mortgages, and leases, to the tune of thirty thousand pounds and upwards go for nothing, I certainly can do so,” replied Diggs. “Mr. Philip Frewin is worth that sum, besides an equal amount left him by his father, and which I have every reason to believe he holds in his possession. I agree with you, Mr. Scarve, Mr. Beechcroft must be the dupe of some designing person. But I can soon convince him of his error.”
“You will perhaps convince my attorney, Mr. Plaskett, of Lincoln’s Inn, whom I have instructed to make inquiries on the subject, sir,” returned Abel, incredulously. “Meantime, I am satisfied that I have sufficient warrant for my opinion, and I therefore adhere to it. I also give you warning, Mr. Diggs, that I shall hold you accountable for your statement. You say that Mr. Philip Frewin is wealthy — that you have deeds of his in your possession, proving him worth thirty thousand pounds and upwards. Let those deeds be exhibited to Mr. Scarve.”
“There is some reason in this, Diggs,” remarked the miser. “I should like to see them.”
The Works of William Harrison Ainsworth Page 303