CHAPTER XXXIX.
FOX-HUNTING IN SPINNY LANE.
I think it will be acknowledged that Mr. Prendergast had said no wordthroughout the conversation recorded in a late chapter as havingtaken place between him and Herbert Fitzgerald over their wine, whichcould lead Herbert to think it possible that he might yet recover hislost inheritance; but nevertheless during the whole of that eveninghe held in his pocket a letter, received by him only that afternoon,which did encourage him to think that such an event might at any ratebe possible. And, indeed, he held in his pocket two letters, having atendency to the same effect, but we shall have nothing now to say asto that letter from Mr. Somers of which we have spoken before.
It must be understood that up to this time certain inquiries hadbeen going on with reference to the life of Mr. Matthew Mollett,and that these inquiries were being made by agents employed by Mr.Prendergast. He had found that Mollett's identity with Talbot hadbeen so fully proved as to make it, in his opinion, absolutelynecessary that Herbert and his mother should openly give up CastleRichmond. But, nevertheless, without a hope, and in obedience solelyto what he felt that prudence demanded in so momentous a matter,he did prosecute all manner of inquiries;--but prosecuted themaltogether in vain. And now, O thou most acute of lawyers, this newtwinkling spark of hope has come to thee from a source whence thouleast expectedst it!
_Quod minime reris Graia pandetur ab urbe._
And then, as soon as Herbert was gone from him, crossing one leg overthe other as he sat in his easy chair, he took it from his pocket andread it for the third time. The signature at the end of it was veryplain and legible, being that of a scholar no less accomplished thanMr. Abraham Mollett. This letter we will have entire, though it wasnot perhaps as short as it might have been. It ran as follows:--
45 Tabernacle row London. April--1847.
Respectit Sir--
In hall them doings about the Fitsjerrals at Carsal Richmon I halways felt the most profound respict for you because you wanted to do the thing as was rite wich was what I halways wanted to myself only coodent becase of the guvnor. "Let the right un win, guvnor," said I, hover hand hover again; but no, he woodent. And what cood the likes of me do then seeing as ow I was obligated by the forth comanment to honor my father and mother, wich however if it wasent that she was ded leving me a horphand there woodent av been none of this trobbel. If she ad livd Mr. Pindargrasp Ide av been brot hup honest, and thats what I weps for. But she dide and my guvnor why hes been a gitten the rong side of the post hever sins that hunfortunate day. Praps you knows Mr. Pindargrasp what it is to lose a mother in your herly hinfantsey. But I was at the guvnor hovers and hovers agin, but hall of no yuse. "He as stumpt hoff with my missus and now he shall stump hup the reddy." Them was my guvnors hown words halways. Well, Mr. Pindargrasp; what does I do. It warnt no good my talking to him he was for going so confounedly the rong side of the post. But I new as how Appy ouse Fitsjerral was the orse as ort to win. Leestways I thawt I new it, and so you thawt too Mr. Pindargrasp only we was both running the rong cent. But what did I do when I was so confounedly disgusted by my guvnor ankring after the baronnites money wich it wasnt rite nor yet onest. Why I went meself to Appy ouse as you noes Mr. Pindargrasp, and was the first to tel the Appy ouse gent hall about it. But wat dos he do. Hoh, Mr. Pindargrasp, I shal never forgit that faitel day and only he got me hunewairs by the scruf of the nek Im has good a man as he hevery day of the week. But you was ther Mr. Pindargrasp and noes wat I got for befrindin the Appy ouse side wich was agin the guvnor and he as brot me to the loest pich of distress in the way of rino seein the guvnor as cut of my halowence becase I wint agin his hinterest.
And now Mr. Pindargrasp I ave a terrible secret to hunraffel wich will put the sadel on the rite orse at last and as I does hall this agin my own guvnor wich of corse I love derely I do hope Mr. Pindargrasp you wont see me haltoogether left in the lerch. A litel something to go on with at furst wood be very agrebbel for indeed Mr. Pindargrasp its uncommon low water with your umbel servant at this presant moment. And now wat I has to say is this--Lady Fits warnt niver my guvnors wife hat all becase why hed a wife alivin has I can pruv and will and shes alivin now number 7 Spinny lane Centbotollfs intheheast. Now I do call that noos worse a Jews high Mr. Pindargrasp and I opes youll see me honestly delt with sein as how I coms forward and tels it hall without any haskin and cood keep it all to miself and no one coodent be the wiser only I chews to do the thing as is rite.
You may fine out hall about it hall at number 7 Spinny lane and I advises you to go there immejat. Missus Mary Swan thats what she calls herself but her richeous name his Mollett--and why not seein who is er usban. So no more at presence but will com foward hany day to pruv hall this agin my guvnor becase he arnt doing the thing as is rite and I looks to you Mr. Pindargrasp to see as I gits someat ansum sein as ow I coms forward agin the Appy ouse gent and for the hother party oos side you is a bakkin.
I ham respictit Sir Your umbel servant to command,
ABM. MOLLETT.
I cannot say that Mr. Prendergast believed much of this terribly longepistle when he first received it, or felt himself imbued with anygreat hope that his old friend's wife might be restored to her nameand rank, and his old friend's son to his estate and fortune. Butnevertheless he knew that it was worth inquiry. That Aby Molletthad been kicked out of Hap House in a manner that must have beenmortifying to his feelings, Mr. Prendergast had himself seen; andthat he would, therefore, do anything in his power to injure OwenFitzgerald, Mr. Prendergast was quite sure. That he was a vilerwretch even than his father, Mr. Prendergast suspected,--having beenled to think so by words which had fallen from Sir Thomas, and beingfurther confirmed in that opinion by the letter now in his hand.He was not, therefore, led into any strong opinion that these newtidings were of value. And, indeed, he was prone to disbelieve them,because they ran counter to a conviction which had already beenmade in his own heart, and had been extensively acted on by him.Nevertheless he resolved that even Aby's letter deserved attention,and that it should receive that attention early on the followingmorning.
And thus he had sat for the three hours after dinner, chattingcomfortably with his young friend, and holding this letter in hispocket. Had he shown it to Herbert, or spoken of it, he would haveutterly disturbed the equilibrium of the embryo law student, andrendered his entrance in Mr. Die's chambers absolutely futile. "Tenwill not be too early for you," he had said. "Mr. Die is always inhis room by that hour." Herbert had of course declared that ten wouldnot be at all too early for him; and Mr. Prendergast had observedthat after leaving Mr. Die's chambers, he himself would go on to theCity. He might have said beyond the City, for his intended expeditionwas to Spinny Lane, at St. Botolph's in the East.
When Herbert was gone he sat musing over his fire with Aby's letterstill in his hand. A lawyer has always a sort of affection for ascoundrel,--such affection as a hunting man has for a fox. He lovesto watch the skill and dodges of the animal, to study the wiles bywhich he lives, and to circumvent them by wiles of his own, stillmore wily. It is his glory to run the beast down; but then he wouldnot for worlds run him down, except in conformity with certain laws,fixed by old custom for the guidance of men in such sports. And thetwo-legged vermin is adapted for pursuit as is the fox with fourlegs. He is an unclean animal, leaving a scent upon his trail, whichthe nose of your acute law hound can pick up over almost any ground.And the more wily the beast is, the longer he can run, the moretrouble he can give in the pursuit, the longer he can stand up beforea pack of legal hounds, the better does the forensic sportsman loveand value him. There are foxes of so excellent a nature, so keen intheir dodges, so perfect in their cunning, so skilful in evasion,that a sportsman cannot find it in his heart to push them to theirdestruction unless the field be very large so that many eyes arelooking on. And the feeling is I think the same with
lawyers.
Mr. Prendergast had always felt a tenderness towards the Molletts,father and son,--a tenderness which would by no means have preventedhim from sending them both to the halter had that been necessary, andhad they put themselves so far in his power. Much as the sportsmanloves the fox, it is a moment to him of keen enjoyment when he putshis heavy boot on the beast's body,--the expectant dogs standinground demanding their prey--and there both beheads and betails him."A grand old dog," he says to those around him. "I know him well. Itwas he who took us that day from Poulnarer, through Castlecor, andright away to Drumcollogher." And then he throws the heavy carcassto the hungry hounds. And so could Mr. Prendergast have delivered upeither of the Molletts to be devoured by the dogs of the law; but hedid not the less love them tenderly while they were yet running.
And so he sat with the letter in his hand, smiling to think that thefather and son had come to grief among themselves; smiling also atthe dodge by which, as he thought most probable, Aby Mollett wasstriving to injure the man who had kicked him, and raise a littlemoney for his own private needs. There was too much earnestness inthat prayer for cash to leave Mr. Prendergast in any doubt as toAby's trust that money would be forthcoming. There must be somethingin the dodge, or Aby would not have had such trust.
And the lawyer felt that he might, perhaps, be inclined to give somelittle assistance to poor Aby in the soreness of his needs. Foxeswill not do well in any country which is not provided with theirnatural food. Rats they eat, and if rats be plentiful it is so fargood. But one should not begrudge them occasional geese and turkeys,or even break one's heart if they like a lamb in season. A fox willalways run well when he has come far from home seeking his breakfast.
Poor Aby, when he had been so cruelly treated by the "gent of Appyouse," whose side in the family dispute he had latterly been soanxious to take, had remained crouching for some hour or two inOwen's kitchen, absolutely mute. The servants there for a while feltsure that he was dying; but in their master's present mood they didnot dare to go near him with any such tidings. And then when thehounds were gone, and the place was again quiet, Aby gradually rousedhimself, allowed them to wash the blood from his hands and face, torestore him to life by whisky and scraps of food, and gradually gothimself into his car, and so back to the Kanturk Hotel, in South MainStreet, Cork.
But, alas, his state there was more wretched by far than it hadbeen in the Hap House kitchen. That his father had fled was no morethan he expected. Each had known that the other would now play someseparate secret game. But not the less did he complain loudly when heheard that "his guvnor" had not paid the bill, and had left neithermoney nor message for him. How Fanny had scorned and upbraided him,and ordered Tom to turn him out of the house "neck and crop;" how hehad squared at Tom, and ultimately had been turned out of the house"neck and crop,"--whatever that may mean--by Fanny's father, needsnot here to be particularly narrated. With much suffering and manyprivations--such as foxes in their solitary wanderings so oftenknow--he did find his way to London; and did, moreover, by means ofsuch wiles as foxes have, find out something as to his "guvnor's"whereabouts, and some secrets also as to his "guvnor" which his"guvnor" would fain have kept to himself had it been possible. Andthen, also, he again found for himself a sort of home--or holerather--in his old original gorse covert of London; somewhere amongthe Jews we may surmise, from the name of the row from which hedated; and here, setting to work once more with his usual cunningindustry,--for your fox is very industrious,--he once more attemptedto build up a slender fortune by means of the "Fitsjerral" family.The grand days in which he could look for the hand of the fairEmmeline were all gone by; but still the property had been too goodnot to leave something for which he might grasp. Properly worked, byhimself alone, as he said to himself, it might still yield him somecomfortable returns, especially as he should be able to throw overthat "confouned old guvnor of his."
He remained at home the whole of the day after his letter waswritten, indeed for the next three days, thinking that Mr.Prendergast would come to him, or send for him; but Mr. Prendergastdid neither the one nor the other. Mr. Prendergast took his adviceinstead, and putting himself into a Hansom cab, had himself driven to"Centbotollfs intheheast."
Spinny Lane, St. Botolph's in the East, when at last it was found,was not exactly the sort of place that Mr. Prendergast had expected.It must be known that he did not allow the cabman to drive him up tothe very door indicated, nor even to the lane itself; but contentedhimself with leaving the cab at St. Botolph's church. The huntsman inlooking after his game is as wily as the fox himself. Men do not talkat the covert side--or at any rate they ought not. And they shouldstand together discreetly at the non-running side. All manner ofwiles and silences and discretions are necessary, though too oftenbroken through by the uninstructed,--much to their own discomfort.And so in hunting his fox, Mr. Prendergast did not dash up loudlyinto the covert, but discreetly left his cab at the church of St.Botolph's.
Spinny Lane, when at last found by intelligence given to him at thebaker's,--never in such unknown regions ask a lad in the street, forhe invariably will accompany you, talking of your whereabouts veryloudly, so that people stare at you, and ask each other what canpossibly be your business in those parts. Spinny Lane, I say, was notthe sort of locality that he had expected. He knew the look of thehalf-protected, half-condemned Alsatias of the present-day rascals,and Spinny Lane did not at all bear their character. It was a streetof small new tenements, built, as yet, only on one side of theway, with the pavement only one third finished, and the stones inthe road as yet unbroken and untrodden. Of such streets there arethousands now round London. They are to be found in every suburb,creating wonder in all thoughtful minds as to who can be theirtens of thousands of occupants. The houses are a little too goodfor artisans, too small and too silent to be the abode of variouslodgers, and too mean for clerks who live on salaries. They are asdull-looking as Lethe itself, dull and silent, dingy and repulsive.But they are not discreditable in appearance, and never have thatMohawk look which by some unknown sympathy in bricks and mortarattaches itself to the residences of professional ruffians.
Number seven he found to be as quiet and decent a house as any inthe row, and having inspected it from a little distance he walked upbriskly to the door, and rang the bell. He walked up briskly in orderthat his advance might not be seen; unless, indeed, as he began tothink not impossible, Aby's statement was altogether a hoax.
"Does a woman named Mrs. Mary Swan live here?" he asked of adecent-looking young woman of some seven or eight and twenty, whoopened the door for him. She was decent looking, but poverty strickenand wan with work and care, and with that heaviness about her whichperpetual sorrow always gives. Otherwise she would not have been illfeatured; and even as it was she was feminine and soft in her gaitand manner. "Does Mrs. Mary Swan live here?" asked Mr. Prendergast ina mild voice.
She at once said Mrs. Mary Swan did live there; but she stood withthe door in her hand by no means fully opened, as though she did notwish to ask him to enter; and yet there was nothing in her tone torepel him. Mr. Prendergast at once felt that he was on the rightscent, and that it behoved him at any rate to make his way intothat house; for if ever a modest-looking daughter was like animmodest-looking father, that young woman was like Mr. Mollettsenior.
"Then I will see her, if you please," said Mr. Prendergast, enteringthe passage without her invitation. Not that he pushed in withroughness; but she receded before the authority of his tone, andobeyed the command which she read in his eye. The poor young womanhesitated as though it had been her intention to declare that Mrs.Swan was not within; but if so, she had not strength to carry out herpurpose, for in the next moment Mr. Prendergast found himself in thepresence of the woman he had come to seek.
"Mrs. Mary Swan?" said Mr. Prendergast, asking a question as to heridentity.
"Yes, sir, that is my name," said a sickly-looking elderly woman,rising from her chair.
The room in which the two had been
sitting was very poor; butnevertheless it was neat, and arranged with some attention toappearance. It was not carpeted, but there was a piece of druggetsome three yards long spread before the fireplace. The wall had beenpapered from time to time with scraps of different coloured paper, asopportunity offered. The table on which the work of the two women waslying was very old and somewhat rickety, but it was of mahogany; andMrs. Mary Swan herself was accommodated with a high-backed arm-chair,which gave some appearance of comfort to her position. It was nowspring; but they had a small, very small fire in the small grate,on which a pot had been placed in hopes that it might be inducedto boil. All these things did the eye of Mr. Prendergast take in;but the fact which his eye took in with its keenest glance wasthis,--that on the other side of the fire to that on which sat Mrs.Mary Swan, there was a second arm-chair standing close over thefender, an ordinary old mahogany chair, in which it was evident thatthe younger woman had not been sitting. Her place had been close tothe table-side, where her needles and thread were still lying. Butthe arm-chair was placed idly away from any accommodation for work,and had, as Mr. Prendergast thought, been recently filled by someidle person.
The woman who rose from her chair as she declared herself to be MarySwan was old and sickly looking, but nevertheless there was thatabout her which was prepossessing. Her face was thin and delicate andpale, and not hard and coarse; her voice was low, as a woman's shouldbe, and her hands were white and small. Her clothes, though verypoor, were neat, and worn as a poor lady might have worn them. Thoughthere was in her face an aspect almost of terror as she owned toher name in the stranger's presence, yet there was also about her acertain amount of female dignity, which made Mr. Prendergast feelthat it behoved him to treat her not only with gentleness, but alsowith respect.
"I want to say a few words to you," said he, "in consequence of aletter I have received; perhaps you will allow me to sit down for aminute or two."
"Certainly, sir, certainly. This is my daughter, Mary Swan; do youwish that she should leave the room, sir?" And Mary Swan, as hermother spoke, got up and prepared to depart quietly.
"By no means, by no means," said Mr. Prendergast, putting his handout so as to detain her. "I would much rather that she should remain,as it may be very likely that she may assist me in my inquiries. Youwill know who I am, no doubt, when I mention my name; Mr. Mollettwill have mentioned me to you--I am Mr. Prendergast."
"No, sir, he never did," said Mrs. Swan.
"Oh!" said Mr. Prendergast, having ascertained that Mr. Mollett wasat any rate well known at No. 7 Spinny Lane. "I thought that he mightprobably have done so. He is at home at present, I believe?"
"Sir?" said Mary Swan senior.
"Your father is at home, I believe?" said Mr. Prendergast, turning tothe younger woman.
"Sir?" said Mary Swan junior. It was clear at any rate that the womenwere not practised liars, for they could not bring themselves on thespur of the moment to deny that he was in the house.
Mr. Prendergast did not wish to be confronted at present with MatthewMollett. Such a step might or might not be desirable before thetermination of the interview; but at the present moment he thoughtthat he might probably learn more from the two women as they werethan he would do if Mollett were with them.
It had been acknowledged to him that Mollett was living in thathouse, that he was now at home, and also that the younger womanpresent before him was the child of Mollett and of Mary Swan theelder. That the young woman was older than Herbert Fitzgerald, andthat therefore the connection between Mollett and her mother musthave been prior to that marriage down in Dorsetshire, he was sure;but then it might still be possible that there had been no marriagebetween Mollett and Mary Swan. If he could show that they had beenman and wife when that child was born, then would his old friend Mr.Die lose his new pupil.
"I have a letter in my pocket, Mrs. Swan, from Abraham Mollett--" Mr.Prendergast commenced, pulling out the letter in question.
"He is nothing to me, sir," said the woman, almost in a tone ofanger. "I know nothing whatever about him."
"So I should have supposed from the respectability of yourappearance, if I may be allowed to say so."
"Nothing at all, sir; and as for that, we do try to keep ourselvesrespectable. But this is a very hard world for some people to livein. It has been very hard to me and this poor girl here."
"It is a hard world to some people, and to some honest people,too,--which is harder still."
"We've always tried to be honest," said Mary Swan the elder.
"I am sure you have; and permit me to say, madam, that you will findit at the last to be the best policy;--at the last, even as far asthis world is concerned. But about this letter--I can assure you thatI have never thought of identifying you with Abraham Mollett."
"His mother was dead, sir, before ever I set eyes on him or hisfather; and though I tried to do my--" and then she stopped herselfsuddenly. Honesty might be the best policy, but, nevertheless, was itnecessary that she should tell everything to this stranger?
"Ah, yes; Abraham's mother was dead before you were married," saidMr. Prendergast, hunting his fox ever so craftily,--his fox whom heknew to be lying in ambush up stairs. It was of course possible thatold Mollett should slip away out of the back door and over a wall. Iffoxes did not do those sort of things they would not be worth halfthe attention that is paid to them. But Mr. Prendergast was well onthe scent; all that a sportsman wants is good scent. He would rathernot have a view till the run comes to its close. "But," continuedMr. Prendergast, "it is necessary that I should say a few words toyou about this letter. Abraham's mother was, I suppose, not exactlyan--an educated woman?"
"I never saw her, sir."
"She died when he was very young?"
"Four years old, sir."
"And her son hardly seems to have had much education?"
"It was his own fault, sir; I sent him to school when he came to me,though, goodness knows, sir, I was short enough of means of doing so.He had better opportunities than my own daughter there; and though Isay it myself, who ought not to say it, she is a good scholar."
"I'm sure she is,--and a very good young woman too, if I can judge byher appearance. But about this letter. I am afraid your husband hasnot been so particular in his way of living as he should have been."
"What could I do, sir? a poor weak woman!"
"Nothing; what you could do, I'm sure you did do."
"I've always kept a house over my head, though it's very humble, asyou see, sir. And he has had a morsel to eat and a cup to drink ofwhen he has come here. It is not often that he has troubled me thismany years past."
"Mother," said Mary Swan the younger, "the gentleman won't care toknow about, about all that between you and father."
"Ah, but it is just what I do care to know."
"But, sir, father perhaps mightn't choose it." The obedience of womento men--to those men to whom they are legally bound--is, I think,the most remarkable trait in human nature. Nothing equals it but theinstinctive loyalty of a dog. Of course we hear of gray mares, and ofgarments worn by the wrong persons. Xanthippe doubtless did live, andthe character from time to time is repeated; but the rule, I think,is as I have said.
"Mrs. Swan," said Mr. Prendergast, "I should think myself dishonestwere I to worm your secrets out of you, seeing that you are yourselfso truthful and so respectable." Perhaps it may be thought thatMr. Prendergast was a little late in looking at the matter in thislight. "But it behoves me to learn much of the early history of yourhusband, who is now living with you here, and whose name, as I takeit, is not Swan, but Mollett. Your maiden name probably was Swan?"
"But I was honestly married, sir, in the parish church at Putney, andthat young woman was honestly born."
"I am quite sure of it. I have never doubted it. But as I wassaying, I have come here for information about your husband,and I do not like to ask you questions off your guard,"--oh, Mr.Prendergast!--"and therefore I think it right to tell you, thatneither I nor
those for whom I am concerned have any wish to bearmore heavily than we can help upon your husband, if he will only comeforward with willingness to do that which we can make him do eitherwillingly or unwillingly."
"But what was it about Abraham's letter, sir?"
"Well, it does not so much signify now."
"It was he sent you here, was it, sir? How has he learned where weare, Mary?" and the poor woman turned to her daughter. "The truth is,sir, he has never known anything of us for these twenty years; nor weof him. I have not set eyes on him for more than twenty years,--notthat I know of. And he never knew me by any other name than Swan, andwhen he was a child he took me for his aunt."
"He hasn't known then that you and his father were husband and wife?"
"I have always thought he didn't, sir. But how--"
Then after all the young fox had not been so full of craft as theelder one, thought Mr. Prendergast to himself. But nevertheless, hestill liked the old fox best. There are foxes that run so uncommonlyshort that you can never get a burst after them.
"I suppose, Mrs. Swan," continued Mr. Prendergast, "that you haveheard the name of Fitzgerald?"
The poor woman sat silent and amazed, but after a moment the daughteranswered him. "My mother, sir, would rather that you should ask herno questions."
"But, my good girl, your mother, I suppose, would wish to protectyour father, and she would not wish to answer these questions in acourt of law."
"Heaven forbid!" said the poor woman.
"Your father has behaved very badly to an unfortunate lady whosefriend I am, and on her behalf I must learn the truth."
"He has behaved badly, sir, to a great many ladies," said Mrs. Swan,or Mrs. Mollett as we may now call her.
"You are aware, are you not, that he went through a form of marriagewith this lady many years ago?" said Mr. Prendergast, almostseverely.
"Let him answer for himself," said the true wife. "Mary, go upstairs, and ask your father to come down."
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