The Works of William Harrison Ainsworth

by William Harrison Ainsworth

  At such times, Jacob constantly followed him to prevent him from doing himself a mischief, but took care not to be seen. His groans and lamentations were pitiful to hear, for he had begun to fancy himself a ruined man, and not even the sight of his money could assure him to the contrary.

  It was vain to reason with him. The distressing idea was too strongly impressed upon his mind to be removed.

  His next whim was to have his boxes opened by Hilda to whom he had entrusted his keys, and he insisted upon certain deeds and papers being read to him, the meaning of which he only very imperfectly comprehended.

  One night, when seated by the fire-side wrapped in his blanket, and with his feet on a straw hassock, he desired his daughter to read him some more papers. The fire burnt as cheerily as it could in the starveling grate, and Hilda insisting upon having two candles to read by, there was more light than usual. Having got through several mortgages, leases, and bonds, to the innumerable clauses of which he listened in his usual apathetic manner; he suddenly turned round to her, and pointing to the strong-box which formerly stood under his table in the room down-stairs, signed to her to open it. Well aware that this box contained his most private papers, Hilda had hitherto avoided meddling with it, but thus injoined, she no longer hesitated. Placing it on the table, therefore, she took the large bunch of keys, and soon finding the right one, unlocked it.

  “Is there anything in particular you wish me to read, dear father?” she said, taking out some papers tied together with red tape. “Here is a bond for two thousand pounds from George Delahay Villiers, Esquire; another from Lady Brabazon; and another from Sir Bulkeley Price. Shall I read any of them?”

  The miser shook his head.

  “Here are several bills,” she continued, taking up a roll of smaller papers— “and another bundle of mortgages, will you hear any of them?”

  The miser shook his head. The movement was almost mechanical with him.

  “Then I will go on,” pursued Hilda. “Ah! what is this letter with the black seal! Shall I read it?”

  The miser made no reply. He was gazing listlessly into the fire, and watching the wreaths of smoke ascend the chimney with childish delight.

  Hilda, therefore opened the letter, and found a small memorandum enclosed in it, which she placed upon the table. Trembling with emotion, she then began to read aloud the following lines: —

  “Old and valued Friend, — If this should ever meet your eye, I shall have been a year in my grave, for in accordance with our agreement, it will not be delivered to you until the expiration of that time after my death. The agreement, I need not remind you, was so formed, that in case we should both die within the year, the contract entered into by us respecting the marriage of our children should be null and void.”

  Here Hilda was startled by a sharp cry from her father, and looking up, she saw that he was staring wildly and inquiringly at her.

  “What are you reading?” he asked.

  “The letter delivered to you by Randulph Crew,” she replied;— “the letter from his father.”

  “And what business have you to read it?” he cried. “Who gave you leave to do so?”

  “Having gone so far, I shall go on,” rejoined Hilda; and she resumed her reading: —

  “I now call upon you to fulfil your share of the contract, and to give your daughter to my son. When we entered into the engagement, I was supposed to be the richer of the two; but I am now sadly reduced, and if my son fulfils his word, and gives up the estates to pay my creditors, he will have little or nothing.”

  “He has nothing — he has nothing!” cried the miser; “I will never give my consent — never!”

  “But under whatever circumstances he may be placed,” said Hilda, continuing the letter, “whether he gives up the property or not, I call upon you to fulfil your part of the contract, as I would have fulfilled mine whatever might have happened to you; and to make, as you have agreed to do, a settlement upon your daughter proportioned to your means.”

  “I made no such agreement!” cried the miser; “it is false — false!”

  “I enclose a copy of the memorandum,” pursued Hilda, still reading, “the original, as you know, is in the possession of Cordwell Firebras. He will see it executed. God so requite you, as you shall fulfil your agreement or neglect it! — Randulph Crew.”

  “And here is the memorandum,” she added, taking up the smaller piece of paper,— “It is signed by Randulph Crew and John Scarve.”

  “It is a forgery!” shrieked the miser.

  “The original is in the possession of Cordwell Firebras,” said Hilda. “Father, you have dealt unjustly by Randulph Crew. You owe him a great reparation, and I trust you will make it.”

  “I owe him nothing,” replied the miser; “it is all a fabrication. Give me the papers, that I may burn them! Give them to me directly!”

  And getting up, he staggered toward her, and snatched the letter and memorandum from her, with the intention of throwing them into the fire. But before he could do so, the door opened, and admitted Abel Beechcroft.

  “What do you want, sir?” cried the miser, fearfully regarding him, and letting the papers which he had crushed in his grasp drop upon the floor.

  “I have heard about your illness, Mr. Scarve,” replied Abel; “and am come to say a few words to you that must be said while you are able to hear them.”

  “But you disturb me,” rejoined the miser— “you can have nothing to say to me.”

  “I have something to forgive,” returned Abel.

  “To forgive!” echoed Scarve vacantly. “How have I injured you? Ah! now I recollect! I — I — married Arabella Clinton, whom you would willingly have wedded. But she has been dead and gone these seventeen years and more.”

  “My father is not sufficiently himself to converse with you, Mr. Beechcroft,” said Hilda; “but there is one thing I would mention—”

  “Not a word about the letter, or the contract!” cried the miser, with sudden fury; “not a word, or I will launch my curse against you — a father’s curse — beware how you incur it!”

  “What is this?” cried Abel Beechcroft, in astonishment.

  “Nothing,” cried the miser— “it is a matter between me and my daughter. Get you gone. You have no business here. I can die without your forgiveness.”

  “Father!” exclaimed Hilda, “I have a duty to others as well as to you. Another opportunity may not occur. I must tell Mr. Beechcroft what I have discovered.”

  The miser shook his hands at her in impotent fury, and attempted to pronounce the curse; but his utterance failed him and with a half articulate cry, he fell senseless to the ground.

  Hilda’s cries instantly brought Jacob to the room, and the miser was laid upon his bed, where restoratives were successfully employed. Inexpressibly shocked and alarmed by what he had witnessed, Abel Beechcroft took his leave and Hilda having picked up the letter and memorandum, and carefully straightened them, put them both into a place of security.

  * * *

  CHAPTER V.

  Abel’s Conduct on Learning of the Miser’s Illness — Sir Singleton Spinke Proposes to the Fair Thomasine — Randulph again Dines with Lady Brabazon — He Receivesy a Note From Kitty Conway; and is Assaulted by Philip Frewin and His Myrmidons on His Way to Sup with Her.

  Accounts of Mr. Scarve’s state of health had been conveyed to Mrs. Crew by Jacob, who unhesitatingly expressed his conviction that the attack would terminate fatally.

  “He may linger for some time,” said Jacob; “but I’m certain he’ll never be himself again.”

  This intelligence produced a visible effect on Abel, and Mrs. Crew thought she could discover less asperity in his feelings towards his old enemy. He desired Jacob to inform him daily how his master went on, and to be sure and let him know instantly if any material change for the worse took place.

  “I suppose there is nothing I can do for him,” he added— “nothing I can send him.”

  “Why, h
e won’t take any physic if he knows it,” said Jacob; “and as to wine or brandy, there isn’t a drop in the house, and hasn’t been these four or five days. And we can’t send to buy any, for he only gives Miss Hilda the trifle he used to allow for house expenses, and she doesn’t like to take any of his money, for fear of angerin’ him, for he counts it every day, and would be sure to miss it.

  “Take a bottle of wine and another of brandy back with you, Jacob,” said Abel.

  “Thank’ee, sir — thank’ee!” rejoined Jacob; “it may be the means o’ savin’ his life. I’ll mix a spoonful with his gruel, and I dare say he’ll never find it out.”

  “Is there anything else I can send him?” asked Abel. “My housekeeper would make him broths, or jellies. We have more convenience here than you can have.”

  “And more means as well,” replied Jacob; “I won’t say no, for we really are hardly put to it to treat him as he should be treated. And only think of him, rollin’ in wealth, and yet denyin’ himself the common comforts of existence — the necessaries, I may say, at a time like this. And then to be indebted to you for ‘em, sir — you — of all people in the world.”

  “Take care he never knows it, nor even suspects it,” said Abel, hastily.

  “Never fear, sir,” replied Jacob; “he shall learn nothin’ from me. But he’ll never ask.”

  “I suppose I cannot be of any assistance to your young lady, Jacob?” said Mrs. Crew.

  “I fear not, ma’am,” replied Jacob. “My poor young missis has a hard task to go through, but she must fulfil it. And brighter days, I hope, are in store for her.”

  Abel then rang the bell, and gave instructions to Mr. Jukes, who taking Jacob to his pantry, brought the wine and brandy his master had ordered, and filled a can with mutton broth for him.

  “You shall have some nice chicken broth tomorrow,” said the butler; “and in the meantime, this will be better than nothing.”

  “I should think so,” replied Jacob,

  During the few minutes which it had taken the butler to go to the cellar, Jacob had found time to dig deep into a steak pie, and to empty a quart mug of ale; but he now started up, put the brandy into one capacious pocket, and the wine into the other and taking up the can of broth set off at his quickest pace to the Little Sanctuary.

  He came daily for a fresh supply of broth, which he said, and with perfect truth, was the main support of his master. Abel always saw him for a few minutes when he came, and listened with the greatest interest to his accounts of the miser’s proceedings. Jacob told him of Diggs’s visit, and of his suspicion that he had made his will; and concluded by mentioning the sum of money which the attorney had carried away. This account perplexed and troubled Abel exceedingly, and he muttered to himself, “I must make some inquiries about Diggs, and try to find out what he does with the money. I hope this wretched old man has not put the crowning act to his folly, and left his property away from his daughter.”

  “God forbid!” exclaimed Jacob. “But there’s no sayin’ what he may do. I wish you would see him, sir.”

  “I would see him if I thought it would do any good,” replied Abel; “but I apprehend my interference would only be productive of harm. I must see him before all is over. We have an account to settle together.”

  “Then you’d better not put it off too long,” replied Jacob.

  Abel, however, could not muster up resolution for the painful scene which he expected to encounter; until one evening — as he was sitting after dinner over his wine, with his sister, Randolph, and Trussell — Jacob who had been there before in the morning, came to inform him that the miser had been so unwell all day, and so fanciful and light-headed, that if he wished to have any communication with him while he was in his right mind, he had better not postpone his visit. Abel then decided upon going at once, and accordingly proceeded with Jacob to the Little Sanctuary, where he had the short and painful interview with the miser, detailed in the preceding chapter.

  By this time, Randulph was able to go abroad. One of his earliest visits was to Sir Norfolk Salusbury, who was delighted to see him, and shook him cordially by the hand, repeating what he had previously stated, that he thought he had conducted himself admirably in the affair of the duel. Sir Norfolk then began to talk of the miser’s illness, and deplored the position of his daughter, adding that he had been several times to call upon him, but had always been denied admittance. While they were thus conversing, Sir Bulkeley Price was announced. Like Sir Norfolk, he appeared greatly pleased to see Randulph abroad again, and offered his congratulations.

  “Villiers was out before you, Mr. Crew,” he said; “I had a visit from him yesterday; but he still wears his arm in a sling, probably because he thinks it becoming. He came to entreat me to offer his apologies to Miss Scarve, and to express his compunction for his conduct. He was incited to it, he declares, by the violence of his passion for her; but he is now entirely cured, and is heartily ashamed of his conduct.”

  “He said as much to me,” added Sir Norfolk. “He also expressed himself most handsomely about you, Mr. Crew,” pursued Sir Bulkeley; “and said he was extremely glad the duel had terminated in the way it did. I hope, therefore, you will be better friends than ever.”

  “We may be better friends, because we shall probably see less of each other,” said Randulph, laughing. “However, it is pleasant to have such flattering things said of one by an adversary.”

  Shortly afterwards, the party left Abingdon Street, and proceeded to the Mall in Saint James’s Park, where they met Beau Villiers, Lady Brabazon, and Clementina, together with their constant attendant, Sir Singelton Spinke. Villiers, whose right arm was sustained by a scarf, immediately held forth his disengaged hand to Randulph, and passed so many encomiums upon his courage and address, that the latter must have been made of stubborn material indeed, to be insensible to them. His generous nature was sensibly touched, and he began to think he had done the beau an injustice. Lady Brabazon, too, exerted her utmost witchery, and told him with a captivating smile, “that if he consulted his looks he would fight a duel and get wounded once a month, as he now looked handsomer than ever.”

  The interview ended in Randulph accepting an invitation to dine the next day with Lady Brabazon. Trussell was enchanted. Accident, and a combination of circumstances, had accomplished precisely what he had desired. As to Randulph, he was annoyed with himself for having made the engagement; but it was now too late to retract. He felt somewhat embarrassed as to how to communicate the matter to his mother; but Trussell relieved him of the difficulty, and, on their return home, gave a lively and diverting account of the meeting in the park, and said it had led to a reconciliation dinner, which was to take place at Lady Brabazon’s on the following day.

  “I hope the dinner may not lead to another quarrel,” said Abel.

  “I hope so too,” replied Mrs. Crew. “I wish you would discontinue your intimacy with Lady Brabazon, Randulph, — I cannot endure her.”

  “I do not intend to continue it to the same extent as before,” said Randulph; “but it was impossible to refuse the present invitation.”

  “Quite impossible!” echoed Trussell— “never was anything so handsome as Villiers’s apologies.”

  “Pshaw!” exclaimed Abel; “they are as little to be trusted as himself.”

  “I don’t think so in the present case,” said Randulph.

  “You may take my word for it, you are deceived,” rejoined Abel. And here the conversation dropped.

  The next day, soon after five o’clock, Randulph and his uncle crossed from the Palace Stairs to Westminster, and shaped their course towards the Little Sanctuary. Trussell wished to call for a new peruke which he had ordered from Peter Pokerich; and while he stepped into the little barber’s to try it on, Randulph proceeded to the other side of the street to make inquiries after the miser and his daughter.

  “He’s as bad as he can be,” said Jacob, who answered his knock, shaking his head; “and I’m afraid t
his constant watchin’ will be too much for Miss Hilda. I want to have a word with you, but I can’t stop just now, for I’m wanted. Where shall you be to-night?”

  “I am going to dine with Lady Brabazon in Pall Mall,” said Randulph; “I shall leave about ten, and will call here on my way home.”

  “No; I’ll step up to her ladyship’s at ten,” said Jacob; “and I’ll wait till you come out. We may have somethin’ to do together.”

  With this, he closed the door, and Randulph walked across the street to Peter Pokerich’s. At the same moment, a chair was seen advancing along the street, which stopped at Mr. Deacle’s, the mercer, and being opened, let forth Sir Singleton Spinke, very gaily dressed, who skipped into the mercer’s shop. Having witnessed the old beau’s entrance, Randulph turned into the barber’s, and told his uncle what had occurred.

  “Sir Singleton must be gone to pay court to the fair Thomasine,” said Trussell, laughing.

  On hearing this remark, Peter, without saying a word, darted out of the shop, and hurried to the neighbouring house. Trussell was at first disposed to be angry, but on reflecting on the probable cause of the barber’s sudden flight, he burst into a loud laugh.

  “Let us go and see what happens,” he said, arranging his wig.

  The little barber, meanwhile, had entered the mercer’s shop. There was no one in attendance in front but an apprentice, who did not notice him. He accordingly stepped lightly and quickly towards the door of the inner room, which was left ajar, enabling him to hear what passed within, while the upper port being glazed, shewed him that the speakers were Sir Singleton and his mistress. The old beau was on his knees, while the fair Thomasine had abandoned her hand to him, though she averted her looks from him; owing to which circumstance, she did not discover the jealous eyes of the barber glaring at her through the window. As to Peter, he tugged at his wig with jealous rage, and would have plucked handfuls of hair from it, if it would have yielded. But the wig was stoutly made, and resisted his efforts bravely.