Felix Holt

by George Eliot

‘And then, when I ask you, you will lay the details before me?’

  ‘Not without a thorough understanding beforehand. If I engage not to use my knowledge against you, you must engage in writing that on being satisfied by the details, you will cancel all hostile proceedings against me, and will not institute fresh ones on the strength of any occurrences now past.’

  ‘Well, I must have time,’ said Harold, more than ever inclined to thrash the attorney, but feeling bound hand and foot with knots that he was not sure he could ever unfasten.

  ‘That is to say,’ said Jermyn, with his black-browed persistence, ‘you will write to suspend proceedings.’

  Again Harold paused. He was more than ever exasperated, but he was threatened, mortified, and confounded by the necessity for an immediate decision between alternatives almost equally hateful to him. It was with difficulty that he could prevail on himself to speak any conclusive words. He walked as far as he could from Jermyn – to the other end of the room – then walked back to his chair and threw himself into it. At last he said, without looking at Jermyn, ‘I agree – I must have time.’

  ‘Very well. It is a bargain.’

  ‘No further than this,’ said Harold, hastily, flashing a look at Jermyn – ‘no further than this, that I require time, and therefore I give it to you.’

  ‘Of course. You require time to consider whether the pleasure of trying to ruin me – me to whom you are really indebted – is worth the loss of the Transome estates. – I shall wish you good-morning.’

  Harold did not speak to him or look at him again, and Jermyn walked out of the room. As he appeared outside the door and closed it behind him, Mrs Transome showed her white face at another door which opened on a level with Harold’s in such a way that it was just possible for Jermyn not to see her. He availed himself of that possibility, and walked straight across the hall, where there was no servant in attendance to let him out, as if he believed that no one was looking at him who could expect recognition. He did not want to speak to Mrs Transome at present; he had nothing to ask from her, and one disagreeable interview had been enough for him this morning.

  She was convinced that he had avoided her, and she was too proud to arrest him. She was as insignificant now in his eyes as in her son’s. ‘Men have no memories in their hearts,’ she said to herself, bitterly. Turning into her sitting-room, she heard the voices of Mr Transome and little Harry at play together. She would have given a great deal at this moment if her feeble husband had not always lived in dread of her temper and her tyranny, so that he might have been fond of her now. She felt herself loveless; if she was important to any one, it was only to her old waiting-woman Denner.

  CHAPTER XXXVI

  Are these things then necessities? –

  Then let us meet them like necessities.

  SHAKESPEARE: Henry IV

  See now the virtue living in a word!

  Hobson will think of swearing it was noon

  When he saw Dobson at the May-day fair,

  To prove poor Dobson did not rob the mail.

  ’Tis neighbourly to save a neighbour’s neck:

  What harm in lying when you mean no harm?

  But say ’tis perjury, then Hobson quakes –

  He’ll none of perjury!

  Thus words embalm

  The conscience of mankind; and Roman laws

  Bring still a conscience to poor Hobson’s aid.

  Few men would have felt otherwise than Harold Transome felt, if, having a reversion tantamount to possession of a fine estate, carrying an association with an old name and considerable social importance, they were suddenly informed that there was a person who had a legal right to deprive them of these advantages; that person’s right having never been contemplated by any one as more than a chance, and being quite unknown to himself. In ordinary cases a shorter possession than Harold’s family had enjoyed was allowed by the law to constitute an indefeasible right; and if in rare and peculiar instances the law left the possessor of a long inheritance exposed to deprivation as a consequence of old obscure transactions, the moral reasons for giving legal validity to the title of long occupancy were not the less strong. Nobody would have said that Harold was bound to hunt out this alleged remainder-man and urge his rights upon him; on the contrary, all the world would have laughed at such conduct, and he would have been thought an interesting patient for a mad-doctor. The unconscious remainder-man was probably much better off left in his original station: Harold would not have been called upon to consider his existence, if it had not been presented to him in the shape of a threat from one who had power to execute the threat.

  In fact, what he would have done had the circumstances been different was much clearer than what he should choose to do or feel himself compelled to do in the actual crisis. He would not have been disgraced if, on a valid claim being urged, he had got his lawyers to fight it out for him on the chance of eluding the claim by some adroit technical management. Nobody off the stage could be sentimental about these things, or pretend to shed tears of joy because an estate was handed over from a gentleman to a mendicant sailor with a wooden leg. And this chance remainder-man was perhaps some such specimen of inheritance as the drunken fellow killed in the riot. All the world would think the actual Transomes in the right to contest any adverse claim to the utmost. But then – it was not certain that they would win in the contest; and not winning, they would incur other loss besides that of the estate. There had been a little too much of such loss already.

  But why, if it were not wrong to contest the claim, should he feel the most uncomfortable scruples about robbing the claim of its sting by getting rid of its evidence? It was a mortal disappointment – it was a sacrifice of indemnification – to abstain from punishing Jermyn. But even if he brought his mind to contemplate that as the wiser course, he still shrank from what looked like complicity with Jermyn; he still shrank from the secret nullification of a just legal claim. If he had only known the details, if he had known who this alleged heir was, he might have seen his way to some course that would not have grated on his sense of honour and dignity. But Jermyn had been too acute to let Harold know this: he had even carefully kept to the masculine pronoun. And he believed that there was no one besides himself who would or could make Harold any wiser. He went home persuaded that between this interview and the next which they would have together, Harold would be left to an inward debate, founded entirely on the information he himself had given. And he had not much doubt that the result would be what he desired. Harold was no fool: there were many good things he liked better in life than an irrational vindictiveness.

  And it did happen that, after writing to London in fulfilment of his pledge, Harold spent many hours over that inward debate, which was not very different from what Jermyn imagined. He took it everywhere with him, on foot and on horseback, and it was his companion through a great deal of the night. His nature was not of a kind given to internal conflict, and he had never before been long undecided and puzzled. This unaccustomed state of mind was so painfully irksome to him – he rebelled so impatiently against the oppression of circumstances in which his quick temperament and habitual decision could not help him – that it added tenfold to his hatred of Jermyn, who was the cause of it. And thus, as the temptation to avoid all risk of losing the estate grew and grew till scruples looked minute by the side of it,1 the difficulty of bringing himself to make a compact with Jermyn seemed more and more insurmountable.

  But we have seen that the attorney was much too confident in his calculations. And while Harold was being galled by his subjection to Jermyn’s knowledge, independent information was on its way to him. The messenger was Christian, who, after as complete a survey of probabilities as he was capable of, had come to the conclusion that the most profitable investment he could make of his peculiar experience and testimony in relation to Bycliffe and Bycliffe’s daughter, was to place them at the disposal of Harold Transome. He was afraid of Jermyn; he utterly distrusted Johnson; but he
thought he was secure in relying on Harold Transome’s care for his own interest; and he preferred above all issues the prospect of forthwith leaving the country with a sum that at least for a good while would put him at his ease.

  When, only three mornings after the interview with Jermyn, Dominic opened the door of Harold’s sitting-room, and said that ‘Meester Chreestian’, Mr Philip Debarry’s courier and an acquaintance of his own at Naples, requested to be admitted on business of importance, Harold’s immediate thought was that the business referred to the so-called political affairs which were just now his chief association with the name of Debarry, though it seemed an oddness requiring explanation that a servant should be personally an intermediary. He assented, expecting something rather disagreeable than otherwise.

  Christian wore this morning those perfect manners of a subordinate who is not servile, which he always adopted towards his unquestionable superiors. Mr Debarry, who preferred having some one about him with as little resemblance as possible to a regular servant, had a singular liking for the adroit, quiet-mannered Christian, and would have been amazed to see the insolent assumption he was capable of in the presence of people like Mr Lyon, who were of no account in society. Christian had that sort of cleverness which is said to ‘know the world’ – that is to say, he knew the price-current of most things.

  Aware that he was looked at as a messenger while he remained standing near the door with his hat in his hand, he said, with respectful ease,

  ‘You will probably be surprised, sir, at my coming to speak to you on my own account; and, in fact, I could not have thought of doing so if my business did not happen to be something of more importance to you than to any one else.’

  ‘You don’t come from Mr Debarry, then?’ said Harold, with some surprise.

  ‘No, sir. My business is a secret; and, if you please, must remain so.’

  ‘Is it a pledge you are demanding from me?’ said Harold, rather suspiciously, having no ground for confidence in a man of Christian’s position.

  ‘Yes, sir; I am obliged to ask no less than that you will pledge yourself not to take Mr Jermyn into confidence concerning what passes between us.’

  ‘With all my heart,’ said Harold, something like a gleam passing over his face. His circulation had become more rapid. ‘But what have you had to do with Jermyn?’

  ‘He has not mentioned me to you then – has he, sir?’

  ‘No; certainly not – never.’

  Christian thought, ‘Aha, Mr Jermyn! you are keeping the secret well, are you?’ He said, aloud,

  ‘Then Mr Jermyn has never mentioned to you, sir, what I believe he is aware of – that there is danger of a new suit being raised against you on the part of a Bycliffe, to get the estate?’

  ‘Ah!’ said Harold, starting up, and placing himself with his back against the mantelpiece. He was electrified by surprise at the quarter from which this information was coming. Any fresh alarm was counteracted by the flashing thought that he might be enabled to act independently of Jermyn; and in the rush of feelings he could utter no more than an interjection. Christian concluded that Harold had had no previous hint.

  ‘It is this fact, sir, that I came to tell you of.’

  ‘From some other motive than kindness to me, I presume,’ said Harold, with a slight approach to a smile.

  ‘Certainly,’ said Christian, as quietly as if he had been stating yesterday’s weather. ‘I should not have the folly to use any affectation with you, Mr Transome. I lost considerable property early in life, and am now in the receipt of a salary simply. In the affair I have just mentioned to you I can give evidence which will turn the scale against you. I have no wish to do so, if you will make it worth my while to leave the country.’

  Harold listened as if he had been a legendary hero, selected for peculiar solicitation by the Evil One. Here was temptation in a more alluring form than before, because it was sweetened by the prospect of eluding Jermyn. But the desire to gain time served all the purposes of caution and resistance, and his indifference to the speaker in this case helped him to preserve perfect self-command.

  ‘You are aware,’ he said, coolly, ‘that silence is not a commodity worth purchasing unless it is loaded. There are many persons, I dare say, who would like me to pay their travelling expenses for them. But they might hardly be able to show me that it was worth my while.’

  ‘You wish me to state what I know?’

  ‘Well, that is a necessary preliminary to any further conversation.’

  ‘I think you will see, Mr Transome, that, as a matter of justice, the knowledge I can give is worth something, quite apart from my future appearance or non-appearance as a witness. I must take care of my own interest, and if anything should hinder you from choosing to satisfy me for taking an essential witness out of the way, I must at least be paid for bringing you the information.’

  ‘Can you tell me who and where this Bycliffe is?’

  ‘I can.’

  ‘– And give me a notion of the whole affair?’

  ‘Yes: I have talked to a lawyer – not Jermyn – who is at the bottom of the law in the affair.’

  ‘You must not count on any wish of mine to suppress evidence or remove a witness. But name your price for the information.’

  ‘In that case I must be paid the higher for my information. Say, two thousand pounds.’

  ‘Two thousand devils!’ burst out Harold, throwing himself into his chair again, and turning his shoulder towards Christian. New thoughts crowded upon him. ‘This fellow may want to decamp for some reason or other,’ he said to himself. ‘More people besides Jermyn know about his evidence, it seems. The whole thing may look black for me if it comes out. I shall be believed to have bribed him to run away, whether or not.’ Thus the outside conscience came in aid of the inner.

  ‘I will not give you one sixpence for your information,’ he said, resolutely, ‘until time has made it clear that you do not intend to decamp, but will be forthcoming when you are called for. On those terms I have no objection to give you a note, specifying that after the fulfilment of that condition – that is, after the occurrence of a suit, or the understanding that no suit is to occur – I will pay you a certain sum in consideration of the information you now give me!’

  Christian felt himself caught in a vice. In the first instance he had counted confidently on Harold’s ready seizure of his offer to disappear, and after some words had seemed to cast a doubt on this presupposition, he had inwardly determined to go away, whether Harold wished it or not, if he could get a sufficient sum. He did not reply immediately, and Harold waited in silence, inwardly anxious to know what Christian could tell, but with a vision at present so far cleared that he was determined not to risk incurring the imputation of having anything to do with scoundrelism. We are very much indebted to such a linking of events as makes a doubtful action look wrong.

  Christian was reflecting that if he stayed, and faced some possible inconveniences of being known publicly as Henry Scaddon for the sake of what he might get from Esther, it would at least be wise to be certain of some money from Harold Transome, since he turned out to be of so peculiar a disposition as to insist on a punctilious honesty to his own disadvantage. Did he think of making a bargain with the other side? If so, he might be content to wait for the knowledge till it came in some other way. Christian was beginning to be afraid lest he should get nothing by this clever move of coming to Transome Court. At last he said,

  ‘I think, sir, two thousand would not be an unreasonable sum, on those conditions.’

  ‘I will not give two thousand.’

  ‘Allow me to say, sir, you must consider that there is no one whose interest it is to tell you as much as I shall, even if they could; since Mr Jermyn, who knows it, has not thought fit to tell you. There may be use you don’t think of in getting the information at once.’

  ‘Well?’

  ‘I think a gentleman should act liberally under such circumstances.’

  �
��So I will.’

  ‘I could not take less than a thousand pounds. It really would not be worth my while. If Mr Jermyn knew I gave you the information, he would endeavour to injure me.’

  ‘I will give you a thousand,’ said Harold, immediately, for Christian had unconsciously touched a sure spring. ‘At least, I’ll give you a note to the effect I spoke of.’

  He wrote as he had promised, and gave the paper to Christian.

  ‘Now, don’t be circuitous,’ said Harold. ‘You seem to have a business-like gift of speech. Who and where is this Bycliffe?’

  ‘You will be surprised to hear, sir, that she is supposed to be the daughter of the old preacher, Lyon, in Malthouse Yard.’

  ‘Good God! How can that be?’ said Harold. At once, the first occasion on which he had seen Esther rose in his memory – the little dark parlour – the graceful girl in blue, with the surprisingly distinguished manners and appearance.

  ‘In this way. Old Lyon, by some strange means or other, married Bycliffe’s widow when this girl was a baby. And the preacher didn’t want the girl to know that he was not her real father: he told me that himself. But she is the image of Bycliffe, whom I knew well – an uncommonly fine woman – steps like a queen.’

  ‘I have seen her,’ said Harold, more than ever glad to have purchased this knowledge. ‘But now, go on.’

  Christian proceeded to tell all he knew, including his conversation with Jermyn, except so far as it had an unpleasant relation to himself.

  ‘Then,’ said Harold, as the details seemed to have come to a close, ‘you believe that Miss Lyon and her supposed father are at present unaware of the claims that might be urged for her on the strength of her birth?’

  ‘I believe so. But I need not tell you that where the lawyers are on the scent you can never be sure of anything long together. I must remind you, sir, that you have promised to protect me from Mr Jermyn by keeping my confidence.’

  ‘Never fear. Depend upon it, I shall betray nothing to Mr Jermyn.’