“You say you are yourself, father,” rejoined Hilda; “but I deny it. If you were in your right mind you could not act thus. You could not render me for ever miserable. You could not separate me from one to whom I am tenderly attached, and seek to unite me to one whom I abhor. And oh! why this cruel injustice! Why seek to benefit Philip Frewin, whose character has already been exposed to you by Mr. Beechcroft, at my expense? But do not deceive yourself as to the consequences of this wicked act. I will never wed Philip Frewin, and if Randulph Crew offers me his hand, I will accept him.”
“Execute your will, sir,” said Diggs, with a contemptuous smile, “and rest easy as to its fulfilment.”
“Mark me, Hilda,” rejoined the miser, trembling with passion, “I have been years in collecting my fortune. I have saved it by the greatest frugality and self-denial. I love my money as well as my own flesh and blood — nay, better; and I will not place it in the power of this spendthrift — this Randulph Crew — to be squandered away. I will give it to one who will take proper care of it — to Philip Frewin. He will regard it as I have done; will watch its increase, and experience the same intense delight in its accumulation. He will never part with it.”
“Never, sir, never!” cried Philip,
“You are doing the very thing you seek to avoid, father,” replied Hilda. “You are placing me in the power of a profligate and a spendthrift. You are throwing your money away; and if this will is ever executed, and the money gets into your nephew’s hands, so far from being hoarded up, as you expect, it will be wasted in riot and extravagance.”
“She pleads solely for Randulph Crew,” remarked Diggs, in a low tone to the miser.
“I know it,” replied the latter, dipping the pen into the ink.
“Father! dear father!” cried Hilda; “do not turn a deaf ear to my last appeal — if you have any love for me, do not do this.”
“I have made up my mind,” he answered coldly. And he signed it with a firm hand.
“God forgive you, father, as I do!” exclaimed Hilda, bursting into an agony of tears.
“I had better take care of the will, sir?” said Diggs, after he had attested the signature.
The miser signified his assent, and the attorney, placing the will carefully in his pocket, arose.
“You may depend upon your injunctions being entirely fulfilled on my part, uncle,” said Philip. “Good night, and when I call again, I shall hope to find you better. Good night, fair cousin.”
And saluting Hilda, who turned from him in disgust, he followed Diggs down stairs, and they made the best of their way out of the house, congratulating each other on the complete success of their infamous scheme.
* * *
CHAPTER IX.
Mr. Rathbone Divulges His Plan to Mrs. Nettleship and Persuades Her to Act in Concert with Him in His Design Upon the Valet.
Mr. Cripps’ plan of inveigling Mr. Rathbone into consenting to his marriage with the widow, threatened to be defeated by the precipitation of the lady herself, who now that she had made up her mind to it, declaimed strongly against the delay, and began to tax him with cooling in his ardour towards her. The valet protested to the contrary; but all would not do, and he began to fear he should be compelled to sacrifice the three thousand pounds, which went very much against his inclinations. Luckily, while he was in this dilemma, the duel occurred between his master and Randulph, and the wound which the latter had received, immediately furnished him with a pretext for absenting himself until he should have time to mature his plans. He felt too secure of his prize to be under any apprehension of being supplanted by Mr. Rathbone.
Accordingly, he dispatched Antoine, the French valet, who was in his confidence, and to whom he had promised a very handsome reward, in case of his success, to the widow with a message, stating that he had been wounded in a duel, and could not leave his room for some days, but as soon as he could get out he would pay her a visit.
On receiving this distressing intelligence, Mrs. Nettleship uttered a scream, and fell back in her chair, and it required the combined assistance of Antoine and a female servant, with abundance of rosa-solis and ratafia, to bring her to herself. At this juncture, Mr. Rathbone entered the room, and expressing great anxiety to know what was the matter, was informed of it.
“And where is the dear man wounded?” asked Mrs. Nettleship, faintly.
“Dans le bras — in de arm, madame,” replied Antoine. “Mais pas dangereusement — not severely, madame. You shall see him again, et de bonne heure — sur ma foi. My master sends his love to you, and bids me say his wound is not so deep as that you have inflicted on him.”
“The dear soul!” exclaimed Mrs. Nettleship, pathetically,
“It’s all out, now,” said Mr. Rathbone, to the widow; “this is his French valet. I told you it was Mr. Willars all the time.”
“Certainement monsieur,” said Antoine; “ce’st Monsieur Villiers qui est mon maitre.”
“He says Mr. Villiers is his master,” observed Mr. Rathbone. “I understand French a little myself. I’ll ask him a question or two, I say, Monsieur, What’s — your — name—”
“Antoine,” replied the valet bowing.
“I say Monsieur Ontwine, do you know a Mr. Cripps?”
“Creepps, sare!” cried the valet perplexed.
“Yes, Crackenthorpe Cripps,” reiterated Mr. Rathbone.
“Pardon, Monsieur, but may I enquire why you ask de question?” rejoined Antoine.
“Because we’ve had a visit from a person of that name,” replied Mr. Rathbone, winking at the widow. “A person very like your master — very.”
“Mais, mai fa, monsieur! — vous ne mefiez pas. You don’t suspect, sare.”
“No, Monsieur Ontwine, I don’t suspect you, because I’m certain — your master has been deceiving us.”
“Deceiving you, sare!” exclaimed the valet; “impossible! Mr. Villiers is a man of too much honor. He would never deceive a lady. Sare, he will call you out, when he get well, if you say so. He will run you through de ventre — what you call it — de stomach.”
“For Heaven’s sake, don’t tell him, then, Mons. Ontwine,” cried Mr. Rathbone, alarmed. “I only meant to say that Mr. Willars has passed himself off as his own valet — as Mr. Cripps.”
“Quoi!” exclaimed Antoine. “Mr. Villiers pass himself off as Creepps — is that it?”
“Yes, that’s it, Monsieur Ontwine,” replied Mr. Rathbone; “but we smoked him directly we couldn’t mistake him for a walet — ha! ha!”
“Ah, vraiment non, monsieur!” replied Antoine, joining in the laugh— “impossible!”
“There could be no mistake in your case, Monsieur Ontwine,” pursued Mr. Rathbone; “but with Mr. Willars it’s a different matter.”
“Very different, sare,” replied Antoine, gravely, and muttering to himself— “bete! niais!” he added aloud, to Mrs. Nettleship. “Has madame any commands to honour me with for my master?”
“Say how sorry I am for him,” replied the widow. “I wish I might come and nurse him.”
“Mr. Villiers will be bien flatte, I’m sure,” replied the valet— “but he could not tink of such a ting.”
“Nor anybody else,” replied Mr. Rathbone. “It would be highly improper. No, he’ll soon be well, and will come and pay his respects to you.”
“His first visit will be rendered to you, madame,” said the valet; and, with a profound bow, he took his leave.
As soon as Antoine was gone, Mr. Rathbone ordered the maid out of the room, and took a chair near Mrs. Nettleship.
“My dear Mrs. N.,” he began, “I’m glad to find things in such a good train with your beau.”
“You’re very obleeging to say so, Mr. R.,” replied the widow, “and it’s more than could be expected from you.”
“Now my dear Mrs. N.,” pursued Rathbone, “I’m going to act as a friend to you. Don’t deceive yourself. You fancy Mr. Willars in love with you, but I’ll tell you the truth, — he’s only in
love with your fortune.”
“You’re his rival, Mr. Rathbone,” said the widow, turning up her nose.
“No, I ain’t,” replied the other; “and if you want to see whether he loves you or your fortune best, tell him what I’m going to tell you. You must know,” he added in an altered tone— “that in winding up your poor husband’s affairs, I find instead of his being the wealthy man he was supposed, that he died greatly in debt.”
“In debt!” screamed the widow, pushing back the chair. “In debt, Mr. R.!”
“Don’t faint, my dear Mrs. N.,” said Mr. Rathbone. “There isn’t time for it just now, — and there’s nobody but me to see you. Your case stands thus: — You have nothing — nay, less than nothing — for all your husband’s property will be seized. I’ve kept the secret safe enough to this moment, and I’ll keep it till you’re married, if I can. Now, perhaps, you begin to perceive my motive for giving you up so easily, and for encouraging the beau.”
“I do — I do,” sighed the widow. “But what’s to be done, for I begin to think with you, that if Mr. Willars finds this out, he may run off?”
“He never shall find it out,” replied Mr. Rathbone, “if you’ll promise to pay me the three thousand pounds to be forfeited by you in case of your breaking your marriage contract with me, and I’ll tell you how to do it. He believes you’re worth fifty thousand pounds — ha! ha! — and I’ve taken care to favour the notion — he! he! — you shall give him the whole of your property, and make him settle five thousand pounds of his own upon you. I’ll be your trustee; and the money must be paid into my hands. Thus you’ll get a young gay husband, and saddle him with your debts.”
“I can’t do it,” said the widow; “I tremble at the thought of such dreadful deception. Why, it’s little better than swindling. I’ll explain my situation to him, and throw myself upon his compassion.”
“And you’ll lose him as sure as my name’s Tom Rathbone,” replied the other.
“Well, I place myself in your hands,” said the widow; “it’s a frightful position.”
“We must lose no time in bringing the matter to an issue,” replied Mr. Rathbone. “My attorney, Mr. Diggs, will prepare the settlement for you. Keep up your spirits — it’ll be all right ha! ha!” and he took his departure.
Mrs. Nettleship took to her bed for a couple of days, at the end of which time she grew more composed, had another interview with Mr. Rathbone, requested him to shew her her husband’s books, and having satisfied herself that his statement was correct, promised to follow his instructions implicitly.
At the end of a fortnight, Mr. Cripps presented himself to her. He looked very pale, for he had been drinking freely the night before with the Duke of Doncaster’s gentleman, but this circumstance gave him additional interest in the eyes of Mrs. Nettleship. As preconcerted, soon after his arrival, Mr. Rathbone entered the room.
“Ah, Mr. Willars!” said the latter— “Glad to see you out again. Hope you killed your man — ha! ha! — I’ve been thinking a good deal about you during your absence.”
“I hope you’ve made up your mind to release Mrs. Nettleship from her engagement to you, sir?” replied Mr. Cripps.
“Before I reply, I must ask Mrs. Nettleship one or two questions,” replied Mr. Rathbone “Is it your intention to marry Mr. Willars, ma’am?”
“La! Mr. R., what a question,” replied the widow. “However I’ll answer it. It is.”
“And how do you mean to settle your property, madam? — on yourself I hope,” rejoined Mr. Rathbone. “I’ve no doubt Mr. Willars will make an excellent husband; but you are bound to take care of your own.”
“I shan’t settle it at all,” said Mrs. Nettleship— “if I give him myself, I give him my fortune as well.”
“You are an angel,” cried Mr. Cripps, rapturously; “and if you hadn’t a farthing, instead of being as wealthy and beautiful as you are, you would be equally dear to me.”
“Are you quite sure?” cried Mrs. Nettleship.
“Pon rep,” replied the valet, pressing his heart.
“Well, then—” cried the widow.
“Mrs. N. is about to test your sincerity by representing her circumstances as very different from what they are,” interrupted Mr. Rathbone. “She told me she would do so. But I don’t think it a fair joke; and I therefore warn you against it.”
“It might have startled me a little,” replied Mr. Cripps, forcing a laugh; “but it would have made no difference in my sentiments or intentions. And now, Mr. Rathbone, since disinterestedness is the order of the day, you, I hope, will imitate the good example set you by Mrs. Nettleship, and excuse her the three thousand pounds. I’ll now tell you frankly that my motive for pretending to be a valet was to trick you out of your consent. But finding I am dealing with a liberal, straightforward gentleman, I therefore think it the best as well as the most honest course to ask you to remit the penalty. You cannot fairly claim it without forfeiting both the lady’s and my good opinion; and I’m sure you don’t desire to do that.”
“I’ll tell you what I’ll do,” replied Mr. Rathbone, putting on an air of candour equal to that of the valet; “if you’ll agree to settle five thousand pounds on Mrs. N., I will give up the contract.”
“Settle five thousand pounds!” exclaimed Mr. Cripps, rather staggered.
“No great sum to a man of fortune,” rejoined Mr. Rathbone; “she brings you twenty times the amount.”
“And herself,” insinuated the widow.
“I’ll act as her trustee,” pursued Mr. Rathbone— “it’ll be a very pretty present to her.”
“I’m sure you won’t hesitate, dearest,” whispered the widow, “since Mr. Rathbone’s so kind.”
“No — no, I can’t hesitate,” stammered Mr. Cripps; “but just now all my money’s locked up, ‘pon rep.”
“Don’t let that be an obstacle,” said Mr. Rathbone— “you shall give me a bond for the amount — that will do just as well.”
“Ah! if you’re satisfied with that, I’m quite content,” returned Mr. Cripps. “I thought you required the money down, and that would have rather inconvenienced me.”
“Well, then, we had better settle the matter at once,” said Mr. Rathbone— “I’ll go and fetch my attorney, who shall prepare the bond and settlement, and then I’ll deliver the contract to Mrs. Nettleship, after which there’ll be no further obstacle to your union.”
So saying, he quitted the room, and the lovers were left alone together. Neither of them felt very easy; and at last the widow proposed an adjournment to the dining-room, where refreshments were prepared, and a few glasses of wine restored Mr. Cripps to his usual confidence and spirits.
About two hours afterwards, Mr. Rathbone returned, bringing with him Mr. Diggs. Both the settlement and the bond were prepared.
Not till that moment did it occur to Mr. Cripps that he was about to commit a forgery. He gazed at the deeds, as if uncertain what to do; then, hastily snatching up a pen, he signed them in his master’s name, and in a signature so nearly resembling Mr. Villier’s, that it could scarcely be detected from it. This done, Mr. Rathbone delivered a paper to Mrs. Nettleship, and took his departure with Diggs.
* * *
CHAPTER X.
How Mr. Cripps’s Marriage with the Widow Was Interrupted.
One morning, about a week after this, Mr. Jukes, while busied in the butler’s pantry, was surprised by a visit from his nephew, who strutted in very unceremoniously, and seated himself, according to custom, on the edge of the table. He was finer dressed than usual, being equipped in one of his master’s best suits.
“Well, nunks, how are you, old fellow?” he said, “This is the last visit I shall pay you in this way.”
“Glad to hear it,” replied Mr. Jukes, drily.
“Your wits were ever dull, nunks,” replied Mr. Cripps; “and you misapprehend me. I mean that when I visit you next, it will be in a gilt coach, like my master’s.”
“Heaven save us!
” exclaimed the butler— “what new folly is the lad dreaming of?”
“You shall hear presently, nunks,” replied the valet; “but I’m quite exhausted with my walk; give me a cup of ale, if you have no wine. Not bad tipple, ‘pon rep!” he added, tossing off a glass poured out for him. “I’m going to be married, nunks.”
“What, to that foolish widow?” cried Mr. Jukes.
“I’m about to marry Mrs. Nettleship,” replied Mr. Cripps; “and I will thank you to speak more respectfully of one to whom you will soon be so nearly related. I am to be married to her on Thursday next, and I am come to invite you to the wedding. She has fifty thousand pounds, and it’s all to be mine — no settlement — no tying up — no cursed trustees — fifty thousand pounds! what do you think of that, nunks, eh?”
“I’m lost in astonishment,” replied Mr. Jukes; “but take care of it when you get it. Don’t fool it away.”
“Leave me to manage my own concerns, nunks,” rejoined the valet. “I’ll take another glass of ale,” he added, helping himself.
“Well, and where is the wedding to take place?” asked Mr. Jukes.
“At my master’s,” replied Mr. Cripps. “There’ll be a dinner, and a ball after it, and a supper after that. You’ll come, of course; but you mustn’t come as a servant. You must lay aside your livery, and put on one of Trussell Beechcroft’s suits.”
“If I come at all, it’ll be in my own clothes, depend upon it,” replied Mr. Jukes. “But pray, does your master know what’s going to take place in his house? — has he given you leave to have this dinner, and ball, and supper, eh?”
The Works of William Harrison Ainsworth Page 322