Beauchamp; or, The Error.

by G. P. R. James

  CHAPTER XL.

  The sun shone bright in Stephen Gimlet's cottage for a couple of hoursafter dawn, till about an hour before evening's close. For the firstthree or four hours the same sunshine seemed to pervade the interiorhouse, that glowed without. Widow Lamb seemed contented with what shehad done; her meek face wore as warm a smile as ever now shone uponit; and she busied herself during the morning in all the littlehousehold arrangements, and in teaching the boy his letters. The boyhimself played about merrily, whilst she was occupied with theinanimate things of the place, and then came and said his letters,infamously ill, indeed, but still somewhat better than usual. When thesun got round to his southern-most point, Widow Lamb, not at allsurprised at her son-in-law's absence, as its probability had beenannounced beforehand, gave the boy his dinner, and took a verymoderate portion of food herself; but, when the day had three or fourhours declined from its prime, she wondered that Stephen had not comeback, and, at the end of an hour, grew somewhat uneasy. She consoledherself, however, by supposing, that Lord Lenham had not yet returnedfrom London, and that Stephen was waiting for his arrival; but anotherhour passed, and another; and at length her son, Billy Lamb, made hisappearance, inquiring somewhat anxiously for his brother-in-law.

  Mrs. Lamb simply told him, that Stephen was out, adding that he hadbeen away all day.

  "It is droll I haven't seen him," said the boy, "but I dare say he isvexed about his dog."

  "Why, what has happened to the dog?" asked Widow Lamb. "He took it outwith him this morning early."

  "Ay, but the people of Tarningham killed it for a mad dog," said BillyLamb, "I dare say the poor beast was not mad at all. I saw itafterwards and knew it directly; but I have seen nothing of Stephen."

  "He is up at Sir John's," said Widow Lamb, "and I dare say is waitingtill the young lord comes down from London."

  "No, that can't be, mother," replied her son, "for the gentleman camedown yesterday evening; one of our post-boys drove him."

  "That's very odd," said Widow Lamb, "I wonder Stephen has not comeback then. I hope nothing's the matter."

  "Oh, dear no," replied the deformed lad; "you know Ste was always fondof wandering about, and would, at times, be out for a couple of daystogether; but I wanted to tell him that I have found out nothing aboutthat Captain Moreton, except that he is going away from the cottagesomewhere to-night. I did not see him myself, when I took up theletters to him to-day; but the servant-girl told she had been sent upto Buxton's Inn to order a chaise, and that it was to be down therejust at nightfall."

  "Ay, ill birds fly at night," said Widow Lamb; "but I wish Stephenwould come home, for he has been now gone well-nigh twelve hours."

  "Oh, he is safe enough, mother," reiterated her son, "it is not likeif it were night-time, or winter either--but I must get back; forthere will be all the supper-beer to carry out;" and, after a few morewords, he departed.

  Hour after hour, however, went by; and Stephen Gimlet did not appear,till the good old lady's apprehensions increased every minute. She putthe boy to bed and sat up and watched; but eight, nine, ten o'clockcame, and no one approached the cottage-door. A terribly anxious nightwas that which followed; and, though about midnight Widow Lamb went tobed, sleep did not visit her eyes for some hours. She lay and revolvedall, that could have happened. She was anxious for her son-in-law;anxious for the result of his mission to Beauchamp; and she hadresolved to set off early on the morrow morning for Tarningham Park,taking the boy with her. At about half-past three, however, wearinessoverpowered the old woman, and she slept. Her frame was not verystrong; and, exhausted with both watching and anxiety, the slumberthat fell upon her was profound and long. The first thing that awokeher was the little boy pulling her by the arm and saying, "Granny,granny, you are a sluggard now, as you called me the other day. I amvery hungry, I want my breakfast."

  Widow Lamb started up, and looking at her old round watch in itstortoiseshell-case, she saw that it was half-past seven o'clock. Vexedand angry with herself, she hurried on her clothes, and proceeded togive the boy some food, urging him to hasten his meal, as she wasgoing to take him a walk. The temptation was strong, and at about aquarter past eight they were out of the cottage, and on the way toTarningham Park. She heard village-bells ringing merrily, as on a dayof festival; but Widow Lamb's heart was sad. The whole country wassmiling in the morning light; but, though to a fine mind the beautiesof nature never lose their charm, yet to the old there is, at alltimes, a melancholy mingled with the pleasure they produce; and to thespirit cast down with apprehension, or affliction, the very lovelinessbecomes a load. The boy lingered, and would fain have played by theway; but his grandmother hurried him forward as fast as his littlelegs could carry him; and they reached the mansion of Sir JohnSlingsby a few minutes before nine. There were carriages already atthe door. Servants were seen bustling about; but all were too busy totake notice of the old widow and the little boy, till, going into thecourt-yard, she addressed herself to one of the helpers in the stable,whom she had seen and known, and told him her apprehensions about herson-in-law.

  The man kindly undertook to make inquiries, and let her know theresult; and leaving her there for some minutes, he came back shortlyafter with the butler, who told her, that Stephen Gimlet had certainlynot been there the day before. "I can't stop to talk with you, goody,"he said, in an important tone; "for you see Miss Slingsby is justgoing to set out, to be married to Lord Lenham; but, as soon as theycome back from church, I will tell Sir John; and depend upon it hewill have Stephen sought for."

  "If I could speak with Lord Lenham for one minute," said Widow Lamb;but the man interrupted her, laughing. "You must go down toTarningham, then, goody," he said, "for his lordship slept there lastnight; or else you can go down to the church of Little Tarningham,where, I dare say, he is waiting by this time; or, what is better thanall, wait here till they come back; and I'll give Ste Gimlet's littleboy a bit of bride-cake."

  As he spoke, he hurried back again into the house; and Widow Lambpaused and thought, with the tears in her eyes; but at length she saidaloud, "I will go down to the church;" and, taking the little boy bythe hand, who did not at all like the idea of losing the bride-cake,she hurried out of the gates of the court, and pursued one of thesmall footpaths leading towards Little Tarningham. She was withinfifty yards from the park paling, when Sir John Slingsby's carriagesdrove past at a quick rate; and Widow Lamb, though little able frommuch exertion, hurried her pace, till the boy was forced to run, tokeep up with her. The church, as the reader knows, was at the distanceof somewhat less than half a mile; and, when Widow Lamb reached it,there stood before the gates of the little churchyard, two or threehandsome carriages and one post-chaise. Passing quickly along the paththrough the cemetery, the old woman approached the door, which wasajar, and heard the full sonorous voice of Dr. Miles reading themarriage-service. She pushed open the door gently and went in. Therewere a great number of people in the church, collected from Tarninghamand the neighbourhood, some in the little gallery, where they couldsee best; some in pews in the body of the church; and one or two inthe aisle. The latter, however, did not prevent the old lady fromseeing straight up to the altar, around which was congregated thebridal party, with Beauchamp and Captain Hayward on the one side, andSir John Slingsby with his family on the other. Just as Widow Lambentered, Dr. Miles, standing before the altar, was saying aloud, "Ipronounce that they be man and wife together."

  It was evident the ceremony was nearly over; the marriage in factcompleted. The benediction was then given, and the psalm said; and,after all those parts of the service, which are usually read,Beauchamp drew the arm of Isabella through his own and led her downthe aisle towards the little vestry which stood on the right hand sideof the church. The people in the pews rose up to look over; but, tothe surprise of many, one of the pew-doors opened, before thenewly-married couple had taken two steps; and a lady issued forth,and, turning her face towards the altar, stood right in the way of theadvancing party. Her eye fixed straig
ht upon Lord Lenham, flashing andfierce; her lip curled with a smile of contemptuous triumph, while herbrow appeared knit with a heavy frown. At the same moment a voice,which some persons near recognised as that of Mr. Wharton, theattorney, exclaimed from the pew which the lady had just left, "Nowshe has spoiled it all."

  But what was the effect of this apparition upon those in whosepresence it so suddenly appeared? Beauchamp staggered and turneddeadly pale; and Isabella recoiled in alarm from that menacing lookand flashing eye, saying in a low tone, "Good Heaven, who is this?"

  "Who am I, girl?" said the lady, aloud, "I will tell you who I am, andlet him deny it if he can. I am this man's lawful wife whom you havejust married--look at his face, pale, dastard conscience is upon it.He is well aware of the truth that I speak and the crime that he hascommitted."

  But Beauchamp instantly recovered himself, and while a dead silenceprevailed in the whole church, he put Isabella's hand into herfather's, advanced a step towards the person before him, and fixinghis eyes firmly upon her, he said,

  "Charlotte Hay, you have laid once more a dark and horrible scheme toinjure me. By cunning artifices and long concealment you have taughtme to believe you were dead for some years, and have waited for thismoment for your revenge--you know it, you dare not deny it--but youmay yet find yourself deceived. In one point you are already deceived;for, doubtless, judging from your own heart, you imagine I haveconcealed previous events from this lady and her family. Such is notthe case; and now you force upon me that which I have always avoided,the trial whether there ever was any marriage at all between myselfand you."

  "Avoided it, because you knew it could not be questioned," answeredthe lady, scornfully. "Your father and yourself took lawyers' opinionenough, and the reply of every one was that the marriage was perfectlygood and valid."

  "Not worth a straw," said a voice behind her, and turning round withthe look of a demon the eyes of Charlotte Hay lighted on Widow Lamb,who had walked quietly up the aisle at the commencement of this scene.For a moment or two she gazed at her as if striving to recall herface, and then gave a short scream, muttering afterwards to herself,

  "I know who has done this, I know who has done this!"

  "What is this, my good woman?" cried Mr. Wharton, stepping out of thepew, and putting himself at the side of Charlotte Hay.

  Sir John Slingsby was darting forward towards him with wrath in hiscountenance, but Doctor Miles held him by the arm, and Widow Lambreplied boldly,

  "What I said, Mr. Wharton, was that this lady's pretended marriagewith Lord Lenham, then Mr. St. Leger, was no marriage at all."

  "But why? were you present? what can you know about it? are you one ofthe judges of the ecclesiastical court?" asked Mr. Wharton, withamazing volubility.

  "I am no judge, and was not present though I was in the house,"answered Widow Lamb; "but it was no marriage at all, and I can proveit, so you need not be terrified, dear young lady, for you are hislawful wife at this very moment."

  Charlotte Hay turned towards Isabella with a look of withering scorn,and exclaimed,

  "You may be his concubine, girl, if you like, but you can never be hiswife as long as I live."

  "I say she is his wife," cried Widow Lamb, indignantly, "just as muchas you are the wife of Archibald Graham, the minister of Blackford, myhusband David Lamb's first cousin. You thought all trace of thatmarriage was removed; you knew not that there are people living whowitnessed the marriage; you knew not that I had your marriage linesnow in my possession, and a letter from your real husband written longafter Captain Moreton took you away from him, and after your pretendedmarriage with this gentleman."

  "Produce them, produce them," cried Mr. Wharton, "let us see whatthese wonderful documents are. Such papers often turn out meremoon-shine in a court of law."

  "At all events, Sir, this church is not a court of law," said Dr.Miles, advancing, "such matters must not be argued here, and I mustremark that if this lady had any just cause to oppose this marriageshe was bound to state it when called upon in the solemn manner whichthe ritual prescribes. How the fact of her not having done so mayaffect the legal questions implicated is not for me to say, but I mustdeclare that her not having tendered her opposition at the propermoment was highly wrong, and does not give a favourable impression ofher case."

  The lady turned her fierce eyes upon the rector, and then glared overthe rest of the party, but seemed without a reply, for she made none.Mr. Wharton came to her assistance with a falsehood, however.

  "The lady was too much overpowered, Sir, to speak," he said, "and Iwas not formally authorised by her to do so. But as to this old woman,I demand that the documents she mentions be produced, for I have everyreason to believe that this is a mere pretext, in fact a case of fraudoriginating in conspiracy, and I shall not scruple to give the goodlady into custody if I can find a constable, unless she instantlyproduces the documents." He looked full at Widow Lamb while he spoke,and then added, "Have you got them? can you produce them?"

  "I have not got them here," answered the old woman in a falteringtone, somewhat alarmed at the threat of a man who had ruined herhusband, "but they are safe enough, I am sure, and they shall beproduced whenever there is a trial."

  "Oh, oh!" cried Mr. Wharton, "what time to manufacture them! But Iwill take care of you, my good lady. I will see for a constabledirectly, and--"

  "Nonsense, you rogue!" cried Sir John Slingsby, "you know very wellthat such a thing is out of the question. You can manufacture nocharge upon such a ground, whatever others may manufacture."

  "Rogue, Sir John," cried Mr. Wharton, furiously, "that man is therogue who does not pay his just debts, and you know whether the nameapplies best to me or to you."

  "To you, lawyer Wharton," said Stephen Gimlet, coming up the aisle,"there, hold your tongue, for I heard all your talk with CaptainMoreton this morning, and how you settled all your differences uponhis promising you what you called a _post obit bond_, to pay you fivethousand pounds upon the death of Lord Harcourt Lenham. There, GoodyLamb, there is the letter you gave me yesterday; I'll tell you how itall happened that I could not deliver it by-and-by."

  "Here are the papers, here are the papers!" cried the widow, tearingopen the letter; "here are the marriage lines, as the people call themin Scotland, between Charlotte Hay and Archibald Graham, and here ispoor Archy's letter to my husband written long after."

  "You had better get into the chaise and go," whispered Mr. Wharton tothe lady, who now stood pale and trembling beside him, and thenraising his voice as if to cover her retreat, he continued: "takenotice, Sir John Slingsby and all persons here present, that I chargethe noble lord there with the crime of bigamy in having intermarriedwith Isabella Slingsby, his wife Charlotte Hay being still living, andthat I at once pronounce these things in the old woman's hands merelyforgeries got up between her and Viscount Lenham while he was stayingat the cottage of her son-in-law Stephen Gimlet, _alias_ Wolf. Youwill act as you like, Sir John, but it is only a friendly part to saythat if you have any regard for your daughter you will separate her atonce from one who is not and cannot be her husband."

  Thus saying he walked with a well-assured air to the door of thechurch, neither turning to the right nor to the left, but the momenthe turned away Ned Hayward quitted the side of Mary Clifford, andwith a quick step followed the lawyer. He let him pass through thechurchyard and open the gate, but then going up to one of thepost-boys standing by Beauchamp's carriage, the young officer said,

  "Lend me your whip one moment."

  The man at once put it in his hand, and the next instant it was laidover Mr. Wharton's shoulders some five or six times with rapid andvigorous reiteration.

  "I think the price is five pounds," said Ned Hayward, nodding his headto the smarting and astounded attorney; "it is cheap, Mr. Wharton, andperhaps I may require a little more at the same price. Good morning,"and he re-entered the church, while the servants and post-boys gave agrand shout, and Mr. Wharton sneaked away vowing vengeance for afutur
e day.