CHAPTER LI
LIFE SINISTER
When business and the little cares of earthly life awoke again, everyone told me (to my great surprise and no small terror at first, butsoon to increasing acquiescence) that I was now the mistress of the fairestates of Castlewood, and, the male line being extinct, might claimthe barony, if so pleased me; for that, upon default of male heirs,descended by the spindle. And as to the property, with or without anywill of the late Lord Castlewood, the greater part would descend to meunder unbarred settlement, which he was not known to have meddled with.On the contrary, he confirmed by his last will the settlement--whichthey told me was quite needless--and left me all that he had to leave,except about a thousand pounds distributed in legacies. A privateletter to me was sealed up with his will, which, of course, it would notbehoove me to make public. But thus much--since our family history is,alas! so notorious--in duty to him I should declare. He begged me, ifhis poor lost wife--of whom he had never spoken to me--should re-appearand need it, to pay her a certain yearly sum, which I thought a greatdeal too much for her, but resolved to obey him exactly.
Neither the will nor the letter contained any reference to mygrandfather, or the possibility of an adverse claim. I could not,however, be quit of deep uneasiness and anxiety, but stanchly determinedthat every acre should vanish in folds of "the long robe" rather thanpass to a crafty villain who had robbed me of all my kindred. My hatredof that man deepened vastly, as he became less abstract, while my terrordecreased in proportion. I began to think that, instead of beingthe reckless fiend I had taken him for, he was only a low, plotting,cold-blooded rogue, without even courage to save him. By this timehe must have heard all about me, my pursuit of him, and my presencehere--then why not come and shoot me, just as he shot my grandfather?
The idea of this was unwelcome; still, I felt no sort of gratitude, butrather a lofty contempt toward him for not having spirit to try it.In Shoxford church-yard he had expressed (if Sexton Rigg was not thendeceived) an unholy wish to have me there, at the feet of my brothersand sisters. Also he had tried to get hold of me--doubtless with aview to my quietude--when I was too young to defend myself, and left athaphazard in a lawless land. What was the reason, if his mind wasstill the same, for ceasing to follow me now? Was I to be treated withcontempt as one who had tried her best and could do nothing, as a feeblecreature whose movements were not even worth inquiry? Anger at such anidea began to supersede fear, as my spirits returned.
Meanwhile Major Hockin was making no sign as to what had befallen himin Paris, or what Cosmopolitan Jack was about. But, strangely enough,he had sent me a letter from Bruntsea instead of Paris, and addressedin grand style to no less a person than "The right honorable BaronessCastlewood"--a title which I had resolved, for the present, neither toclaim nor acknowledge. In that letter the Major mingled a pennyweightof condolence with more congratulation than the post could carry for thelargest stamp yet invented. His habit of mind was to magnify things; andhe magnified my small grandeur, and seemed to think nothing else worthyof mention.
Through love of the good kind cousin I had lost, even more than throughcommon and comely respect toward the late head of the family, I felt itimpossible to proceed, for the present, with any inquiries, but leftthe next move to the other side. And the other side made it, in a mannersuch as I never even dreamed of.
About three weeks after I became, in that sad way, the mistress,escaping one day from lawyers and agents, who held me in drearyinterview, with long computations of this and of that, and formalitiesalmost endless, I went, for a breath of good earnest fresh air, beyondprecinct of garden or shrubbery. To me these seemed in mild weather totemper and humanize the wind too strictly, and take the wild spirit outof it; and now, for the turn of the moment, no wind could be too roughto tumble in. After long months of hard trouble, and worry, and fear,and sad shame, and deep sorrow, the natural spring of clear youth intoair and freedom set me upward. For the nonce there was nothing upon myselfish self to keep it downward; troubles were bubbles, and grief alow thief, and reason almost treason. I drank the fine fountain of airunsullied, and the golden light stamped with the royalty of sun.
Hilarious moments are but short, and soon cold sense comes back again.Already I began to feel ashamed of young life's selfish outburst, andthe vehement spring of mere bodily health. On this account I sat downsadly in a little cove of hill, whereto the soft breeze from the rivercame up, with a tone of wavelets, and a sprightly water-gleam. And here,in fern and yellow grass and tufted bights of bottom growth, the windmade entry for the sun, and they played with one another.
Besting here, and thinking, with my face between my hands, I wonderedwhat would be the end. Nothing seemed secure or certain, nothing evensteady or amenable to foresight. Even guess-work or the wider cast ofdreams was always wrong. To-day the hills and valleys, and the gloriouswoods of wreathen gold, bright garnet, and deep amethyst, even thatblue river yet unvexed by autumn's turbulence, and bordered with greenpasture of a thousand sheep and cattle--to-day they all were mine (sofar as mortal can hold ownership)--to-morrow, not a stick, or twig, orblade of grass, or fallen leaf, but might call me a trespasser. To seethem while they still were mine, and to regard them humbly, I rose andtook my black hat off--a black hat trimmed with mourning gray. Thenturning round, I met a gaze, the wildest, darkest, and most awful everfixed on human face.
"Who are you? What do you want here?" I faltered forth, while shrinkingback for flight, yet dreading or unable to withdraw my gaze from his.The hollow ground barred all escape; my own land was a pit for me, andI must face this horror out. Here, afar from house or refuge, hand ofhelp, or eye of witness, front to front I must encounter this atrociousmurderer.
For moments, which were ages to me, he stood there without a word; anddaring not to take my eyes from his, lest he should leap at me, I had nopower (except of instinct), and could form no thought of him, for mortalfear fell over me. If he would only speak, would only move his lips, orany thing!
"The Baroness is not brave," he said at last, as if reproachfully; "butshe need have no fear now of me. Does her ladyship happen to know who Iam?"
"The man who murdered my grandfather."
"Yes, if you put a false color on events. The man who punished amiscreant, according to the truer light. But I am not here to arguepoints. I intend to propose a bargain. Once for all, I will not harmyou. Try to listen calmly. Your father behaved like a man to me, and Iwill be no worse to you. The state of the law in this country is suchthat I am forced to carry fire-arms. Will it conduce to your peace ofmind if I place myself at your mercy?"
I tried to answer; but my heart was beating so that no voice came, onlya flutter in my trembling throat. Wrath with myself for want of couragewrestled in vain with pale, abject fear. The hand which offered methe pistol seemed to my dazed eyes crimson still with the blood of mygrandfather.
"You will not take it? Very well; it lies here at your service. If yourfather's daughter likes to shoot me, from one point of view it will bejust; and but for one reason, I care not. Don't look at me with pity,if you please. For what I have done I feel no remorse, no shadow ofrepentance. It was the best action of my life. But time will fail,unless you call upon your courage speedily. None of your family lackthat; and I know that you possess it. Call your spirit up, my dear."
"Oh, please not to call me that! How dare you call me that?"
"That is right. I did it on purpose. And yet I am your uncle. Not by thelaws of men, but by the laws of God--if there are such things. Now, haveyou the strength to hear me?"
"Yes; I am quite recovered now. I can follow every word you say.But--but I must sit down again."
"Certainly. Sit there, and I will stand. I will not touch or come nearerto you than a story such as mine requires. You know your own side of it;now hear mine.
"More than fifty years ago there was a brave young nobleman, handsome,rich, accomplished, strong, not given to drink or gambling, or anyfashionable vices. His faults were few, an
d chiefly three--he hada headstrong will, loved money, and possessed no heart at all. Withchances in his favor, this man might have done as most men do who havesuch gifts from fortune. But he happened to meet with a maiden farbeneath him in this noble world, and he set his affections--such as theywere--upon that poor young damsel.
"This was Winifred Hoyle, the daughter of Thomas Hoyle, a farmer, in alonely part of Hampshire, and among the moors of Rambledon. The noblemanlost his way, while fishing, and being thirsty, went to ask for milk.What matter how it came about? He managed to win her heart before sheheard of his rank and title. He persuaded her even to come and meet himin the valley far from her father's house, where he was wont to angle;and there, on a lonely wooden bridge across a little river, he kneltdown (as men used to do) and pledged his solemn truth to her. His solemnlie--his solemn lie!
"Such love as his could not overleap the bars of rank or the pale ofwealth--are you listening to me carefully?--or, at any rate, not bothof them. If the poor farmer could only have given his Winifred 50,000pounds, the peer would have dropped his pride, perhaps, so far as to behonest. But farmers in that land are poor, and Mr. Hoyle could givehis only child his blessing only. And this he did in London, where hissimple mind was all abroad, and he knew not church from chapel. Hetook his daughter for the wife of a lord, and so she took herself, poorthing! when she was but his concubine. In 1809 such tricks were easilyplayed by villains upon young girls so simple.
"But he gave her attestation and certificate under his own hand; andher poor father signed it, and saw it secured in a costly case, and thenwent home as proud as need be for the father of a peer, but sworn tokeep it three years secret, till the king should give consent. Such foullies it was the pride of a lord to tell to a farmer.
"You do not exclaim--of course you do not. The instincts of your raceare in you, because you are legitimate. Those of the robbed side are inme, because I am of the robbed. I am your father's elder brother. Whichis the worse, you proud young womam, the dastard or the bastard?"
"You have wrongs, most bitter wrongs," I answered, meeting fierce eyesmildly; "but you should remember that I am guiltless of those wrongs,and so was my father. And I think that if you talk of birth so, you mustknow that gentlemen speak quietly to ladies."
"What concern is that of mine? A gentleman is some one's son. I am theson of nobody. But to you I will speak quietly, for the sake of yourpoor father. And you must listen quietly. I am not famous for sweettemper. Well, this great lord took his toy to Paris, where he had herat his mercy. She could not speak a word of French; she did not know asingle soul. In vain she prayed him to take her to his English home;or, if not that, to restore her to her father. Not to be too long aboutit--any more than he was--a few months were enough for him. He foundfault with her manners, with her speech, her dress, her every thing--allwhich he had right, perhaps, to do, but should have used it earlier. Andshe, although not born to the noble privilege of weariness, had been anold man's darling, and could not put up with harshness. From words theycame to worse, until he struck her, told her of her shame, or ratherhis own infamy, and left her among strangers, helpless, penniless, andbrokenhearted, to endure the consequence.
"There and thus I saw the light beneath most noble auspices. But I neednot go on with all that. As long as human rules remain, this happy talewill always be repeated with immense applause. My mother's love wasturned to bitter hatred of his lordship, and, when her father died fromgrief, to eager thirst for vengeance. And for this purpose I was born.
"You see that--for a bastard--I have been fairly educated; but not afarthing did his lordship ever pay for that, or even to support hiscasual. My grandfather Hoyle left his little all to his daughterWinifred; and upon that, and my mother's toil and mine, we have keptalive. Losing sight of my mother gladly--for she was full of pride, andhoped no more to trouble him, after getting her father's property--hemarried again, or rather he married for the first time without perjury,which enables the man to escape from it. She was of his own rank--as youknow--the daughter of an earl, and not of a farmer. It would not havebeen safe to mock her, would it? And there was no temptation.
"The history of my mother and myself does not concern you. Such peopleare of no account until they grow dangerous to the great. We lived incheap places and wandered about, caring for no one, and cared for bythe same. Mrs. Hoyle and Thomas Hoyle we called ourselves when we wantednames; and I did not even know the story of our wrongs till the heatand fury of youth were past. Both for her own sake and mine my motherconcealed it from me. Pride and habit, perhaps, had dulled her justdesire for vengeance; and, knowing what I was, she feared--the thingwhich has befallen me. But when I was close upon thirty years old, andmy mother eight-and-forty--for she was betrayed in her teens--a suddenillness seized her. Believing her death to be near, she told me, ascalmly as possible, every thing, with all those large, quiet views ofthe past, which at such a time seem the regular thing, but make thewrong tenfold blacker. She did not die; if she had, it might have beenbetter both for her and me, and many other people. Are you tired of mytale? Or do you want to hear the rest?"
"You can not be asking me in earnest," I replied, while I watched hiswild eyes carefully. "Tell me the rest, if you are not afraid."
"Afraid, indeed! Then, for want of that proper tendance and comfortwhich a few pounds would have brought her, although she survived, shesurvived as a wreck, the mere relic and ruin of her poor unhappy self.I sank my pride for her sake, and even deigned to write to him, in rankand wealth so far above me, in every thing else such a clot below myheel. He did the most arrogant thing a snob can do--he never answered myletter.
"I scraped together a little money, and made my way to England, andcame to that house--which you now call yours--and bearded that noblenobleman--that father to be so proud of! He was getting on now in years,and growing, perhaps, a little nervous, and my first appearance scaredhim. He got no obeisance from me, you may be certain, but still I didnot revile him. I told him of my mother's state of mind, and the greatcare she required, and demanded that, in common justice, he, havingbrought her to this, should help her. But nothing would he promise, nota sixpence even, in the way of regular allowance. Any thing of that sortcould only be arranged by means of his solicitors. He had so expensive ason, with a very large and growing family, that he could not be pledgedto any yearly sum. But if I would take a draft for 100 pounds, and signan acquittance in full of all claims, I might have it, upon proving myidentity.
"What identity had I to prove? He had taken good care of that. I turnedmy back on him and left the house, without even asking for his curse,though as precious as a good man's blessing.
"It was a wild and windy night, but with a bright moon rising, and goingacross this park--or whatever it is called--I met my brother. At a crestof the road we met face to face, with the moon across our foreheads. Wehad never met till now, nor even heard of one another; at least he hadnever heard of me. He started back as if at his own ghost; but I hadnothing to be startled at, in this world or the other.
"I made his acquaintance, with deference, of course, and we got onvery well together. At one time it seemed good luck for him to haveillegitimate kindred; for I saved his life when he was tangled in theweeds of this river while bathing. You owe me no thanks. I thought twiceabout it, and if the name would have ended with him, I would never haveused my basket-knife. By trade I am a basket-maker, like many another'love-child.'
"However, he was grateful, if ever any body was, for I ran some risk indoing it; and he always did his very best for me, and encouraged me tovisit him. Not at his home--of course that would never do--but whenhe was with his regiment. Short of money as he always was, throughhis father's nature and his own, which in some points were the veryopposite, he was even desirous to give me some of that; but I never tooka farthing from him. If I had it at all, I would have it from the properone. And from him I resolved to have it.
"How terrified you look! I am coming to it now. Are you sure that youcan bear i
t? It is nothing very harrowing; but still, young ladies--"
"I feel a little faint," I could not help saying; "but that is nothing.I must hear the whole of it. Please to go on without minding me."
"For my own sake I will not, as well as for yours. I can not have youfainting, and bringing people here. Go to the house and take food, andrecover your strength, and then come here again. I promise to be here,and your father's daughter will not take advantage of my kindness."
Though his eyes were fierce (instead of being sad) and full of strangetempestuous light, they bore some likeness to my father's, and assertedpower over me. Reluctant as I was, I obeyed this man, and left himthere, and went slowly to the house, walking as if in a troubled dream.
Erema; Or, My Father's Sin Page 51
