“How now, Sir,” interrupted the Knight, “what of her, or how can aught between us, concern her?”
“It concerns her, and deeply,” answered Prestwyche, “but I must not in prudence tarry here. If you desire to know more, and will trust to my word that no ill is intended you, come with me; if not I will return your good night, and trouble you no longer.”
“I believe thee,” said Vancouver, “to be a youth of gentle and honourable breeding. Promise me on the honour of a gentleman, that I shall be safe, and free to return, and I will accompany you.”
“I do promise,” replied Prestwyche; and wrapping his cloak more closely around him, and pulling down his cap at the same time, so as to shade as much as possible his countenance, he passed on towards a small postern in the garden-wall, which having opened, he emerged, along with his companion, into the open plain which lay before them, varied only by occasional clumps of wood. Taking advantage of these, in order, if possible, to escape observation, they proceeded until the thickening clusters of trees impeded their direct progress.
Continuing the character of guide, Prestwyche entered a narrow defile, which the thick foliage on either side buried in almost total darkness. Winding down a rapid declivity, the path terminated in a rude bridge thrown across the waters of a small brook. Passing this, they forced their way through a tangled thicket of underwood and commingling branches; and these surmounted, they found themselves on a level spot of ground, not exceeding twelve yards in its longest diameter, from which the wood had been cleared. Three sides of this opening were sheltered by close and gigantic trees, mingled with shrubs, which filling up the interstices of the trunks, completed a natural curtain. The fourth was guarded by a rugged and almost perpendicular bank, against which leaned a structure so rude, as to raise an uncertainty whether it was intended for a human habitation or not. Prestwyche knocked thrice at the door which guarded the entrance to this edifice.
“Who knocks?” inquired a feeble but harsh voice from within.
Two slight taps at the door seemed to convey an answer to this question, for a bolt was withdrawn, and an entrance offered to Prestwyche and his companion. The dim prospect of the interior was such as apparently to diminish the Knight’s confidence. It accorded indeed with the exterior of the building, the turf and wooden walls of which were far from prepossessing. The glare of a small fire in the extremity of the narrow apartment rendered visible two figures; the one an old and withered female, who had officiated as portress, and the other a man of a middle age, and bearing the appearance of a domestic servant to some one of superior class. The furniture of the place seemed, in its fashion and value, to correspond with the habitation itself.
“You have nothing to fear,” said Prestwyche, as his companion hesitated to proceed: “wretched as is this hovel, you will, I doubt not, approve my choice of a temporary habitation, when its reasons are known to you.”
“I doubt not your assurance,” replied the Knight, “strange as your lodging seems; and I were somewhat weaker than I deem myself, did I abandon a quest which has cost me such a wearisome ramble, now that we have, as I trust, arrived at its termination. I wait to follow you.”
They entered, and crossing the apartment in which sat the two personages before mentioned, stood in front of another door, which seemed designed to open into some excavation in the rock, against which the hut leaned. This Prestwyche opened. A lamp was burning on a table in the room, to which the entrance was now before them. They proceeded; Prestwyche closed the door of the chamber, or rather cavern, and proceeded to acquaint the Knight with the purport of his invitation, and with those circumstances relative to the situation of Chiverton and his sister, which as the reader is already aware of, it were needless to repeat.
CHAPTER V.
MISERABLE CREATURE!
If thou persist in this, ’tis damnable —
Dost thou imagine thou can’st slide in blood
And not be tainted with a shameful fall?
Or like the black and melancholic yew tree,
Dost think to root thyself in dead men’s graves,
And yet to prosper?
THE WHITE DEVIL.
IT was about noon of the next day, when the physician received a summons to attend Chiverton in the Maiden’s Chamber.
The Knight addressed him as he entered the room. “I marvel to heaven,” he exclaimed, “how it came to pass, that Mahmood Bali, who is wont to compass his ends with so much skill, should forget or lose his talent, when most needed. Had he taken the pains to aim aright, this new plague, that threatens to overturn all my plans, had not occurred.”
“I know,” answered the physician, “from the words of Jaggar, a few moments before his calamity, that Prestwyche is, or lately was in the neighbourhood Hath he attempted aught to your injury or annoyance?”
“Thou shalt hear, Walter,” replied Chiverton. “I have just left you old dotard, Vancouver. He has been at the pains to inform me, that this poor house of mine, — that is which I call mine, — with these lands of Chiverton, and everything appertaining thereunto, are in fact not mine, but my sister’s.”
“What follows?” asked Scymel.
“The consequence is easy,” replied the Knight; “stripped of the holiday terms with which Vancouver gilds his pill, it stands thus — that he contracted to marry his daughter to the owner of Chiverton Hall — not to John Chiverton — a wandering Knight, carrying his inheritance on his back.”
“And you conclude, that Prestwyche is the author of the Knight’s information.”
“I have it from Vancouver’s lips that such is the source of his knowledge. The secret (for he did not acknowledge it,) I gleaned from some unguarded expressions, that dropped from him unconsciously.” —
“It is well,” said Scymel; “and such being the case, I know not any reason we have to make a bugbear of this discovery, which, though untimely, may, I doubt not, be prevented from injuring, and, perhaps, be made the means of forwarding your plans.”
“I know thee,” replied the Knight, “skilful and foresighted beyond ordinary, and therefore suspect thee not of speaking at random. Yet, I perceive not, truly, how this end may be accomplished with the ease thou seem’st to expect.”
“The means I purpose to use,” answered the physician, “arc simple. The Knight knows your sister is indisposed — he has reason to thin’ seriously so.”
“What of that?”
“Of the nature of her complaint he knows nothing; its commencement, its progress, or probable termination.”
“Well — well — this I know — to the point, good Scymel — thou tormentest me with riddles — for heaven’s sake, man, speak out. What has, or can have, my sister’s illness with our present topic?”
“Much, Sir, and if well managed, will deliver us from this and all other difficulties on the same score.”
“I would fain be enlightened on this subject, through which I can at present in no wise see my way.”
“You are yourself, Sir, the next in succession to your sister. On her death, without offspring, the demesnes of Chiverton descend to you.”
“How?” exclaimed the Knight hastily, “what is your meaning? By everything sacred, if thou dost, as I suspect — but no — no — thou canst not — darest not — insinuate aught so damnable.”
“Sir,” replied the physician, “I know not why you should thus mistake me. Your sister’s malady being, as I have said, unknown to Sir Gamelyn, why should he not be induced to believe it mental, rather than physical; such as to preclude the possibility of her forming any connection to deprive you of these possessions, which during her life you will possess in her right, and afterwards as your own undoubted estates.”
“The plan were good,” answered Chiverton, “were it practicable. But how will Vancouver be induced to believe this new tale?”
“That,” said Scymel, “will, with your approbation, be my business, in which I doubt not of success. The expressions which were used yesterday in detail
ing to him and his daughter, your sister’s indisposition, were fortunately indefinite enough to bear without straining the sense most expedient to be given them. That you did not disclose these circumstances before, may be accounted for from a natural delicacy as to the situation of the Lady Ellice. Prestwyche, too, must be secured, and if, as is probable, further interviews are contemplated between him and Vancouver, his non-appearance will weaken the confidence the Knight seems to have reposed in his representations.”
“Aye,” replied Chiverton, “do thou converse with Vancouver; none can better than thou give a plausible colouring to whatever tale thou choosest to tell. But stay — he must ere long discover the fallacy of thy account — what will ensue on such discovery? — how shall that certainty be guarded against?”
“It will then,” answered the physician, “be too late for his objections — the seal will then be set — the ties drawn to knots, which he cannot loose. But why, Sir, anticipate difficulties? He who, without weaknesses to delay, or prejudices to distract his schemes, moves on through every accident in one unshaken course, will always trample under his foot the unlooked-for brambles that impede the progress of the fearful and wavering.”
“I know, Walter,” returned the Knight, “that thou fearest nothing. I think thou canst not waver in thy designs. Thy means, like thine ends, are, to me at least, strangely unintelligible. But go, and however thou actest in this affair, I will not doubt the path thou hast selected is the best. I am over anxious in this business — it wearies me to distraction.”
“I will then leave you,” said Scymel; “I trust on returning, to be the messenger of welcome tidings.”
“I would it might be so,” answered Chiverton, as Scymel left the apartment and proceeded on the object of his mission.
Addressing himself to the apartment in which Vancouver and his daughter sat, he knocked at the door, which was opened by the Knight himself. His countenance was troubled, and had lost the free and open expression that usually marked it. But he received the physician in his accustomed frank manner.
“Good Master Scymel, I beseech you enter — thanks to the occasion, whatever it may be, that has procured us this pleasure.”
“Your goodness, Sir Gamelyn, is flattering — and yet I must trespass upon it. Might I, without greatly interrupting your better occupations, request the favour of half an hour’s converse. The nook I call my study is unoccupied: — if it please you we will retire thither.”
“Willingly, good Sir, most willingly. But stay — aye, that will be better. Isabel, my love, go to your chamber a while — Master Scymel and I have some trifling business in hand.”
The physician bowed reverently as the Lady passed him in quitting the apartment. She returned his mute salutation with native dignity and sweetness. Scymel gazed after her a moment, and turning towards the Knight, walked with him to the upper end of the room.
“You, doubtless, divine, Sir Gamelyn, the cause of my present intrusion?” said the physician.
“It were an untruth,” answered the Knight, “were I to deny that I have some forethought of the subject of which you would speak. Yet I would, if you object not, rather listen to your explanation, than trust to any uncertain surmises I may myself have formed.”
“Even as you please, Sir Gamelyn. I meant not to affect any thing of disguise; my object requires it not. I am informed by Sir John Chiverton, that he has this afternoon passed some time in company with his valued guests. Will Sir Gamelyn de Vancouver allow a humble admirer of the character of both those guests, to express the regret he sorely feels, that any cloud should have obscured the progress of a connection, that promised to be equally the source of happiness to all parties?”
“I thank you, Master Scymel — I doubt not your good wishes. Sir John and I parted not long ago — he departed, as it seemed in unwonted haste, and without so long delay as to make reply to certain queries, which I addressed to him, and momentous enough in my estimation to deserve some answer.”
“Of this I was aware, Sir Gamelyn, when I sought you. Let me entreat that the circumstances to which you have alluded, may make not unfavourable impression on your mind. The explanation I have to offer, will I trust both dispel your doubts, and satisfy you that he who now addresses you can with more propriety make that explanation, than Chiverton himself could have done.”
“I shall with pleasure listen — I would not wish that trifles should break off a business thus far proceeded in, and which in truth I have dwelt on with some foolish pleasure.”
“I will then,” said the physician, “essay to clear away this unfortunate misunderstanding. You made inquiries, yesterday, after the health of the Lady Ellice.”
“I remember, Master Scymel.”
“It was not, at that time, thought necessary to explain the nature of her malady. But you must now be made aware, that she suffers under the united oppression of bodily and mental calamity. A violent fright, incurred in the early part of her life, produced an impression on her imagination, which heightened by subsequent mismanagement, has at times arisen into decided, though temporary fits of insanity. Under one of these she now labours.”
“Still, Master Scymel, these things, which for the unhappy lady’s sake, I grieve deeply to hear, do not, as I perceive, immediately affect the question between Sir John Chiverton and myself.”
“You speak, Sir Gamelyn, as I apprehend, of the claims of the Lady Ellice to this estate. These claims Sir John is far from disputing. If in aught he gives too free scope to the sway of his affections, it is in love to his sister. But the Lady Ellice is, from her malady, incapable of taking into her hands the government of the domains of Chiverton, even were she wishful of it; so far from which, she has, in her intervals of reason, repeatedly requested her brother to receive, as a gift from her, the possessions which to her are useless. This he has ever refused to do.”
“Still, Master Scymel, you have not said, that Sir John has himself any claim to the possessions he holds.”
“I have not, Sir Gamelyn, nor does he pretend such. Some interest in them he has, the exact nature of which I know not — the main portion is indisputably the Lady Ellice’s. But, bethink you, Sir; on the death of Ellice, without offspring, these lands are rightfully her brother’s; so settled. Now, as marriage is with her out of question, may not Chiverton be considered as possessing in fact that which the future is certain to give him?”
“This, Master Scymel, I comprehend, and will consider your words, which appear to me to have weight. But why was not this told before?
I hate secrecy as I hate Satan. Why could he not openly, and plainly, have told me this ere I came here? Surely I was entitled to know it. And yet had the information not come to me from another quarter, I have no reason to think one word of explanation would have been given.”
“Yet such explanation was assuredly intended. And ask yourself, Sir Gamelyn, whether, dearly as Chiverton values his sister, and with his family pride, could he be eager to confess, even to yourself, the situation of Ellice? Even in this house, Chiverton, myself, and her own immediate attendants are alone acquainted with the extent of her calamity.”
“I confide in your words, Master Scymel. But, yet, is there not some youth, a lover of the Lady Ellice? — I bethink me, I have heard such rumour. How has this been concealed from him?”
“I grieve, Sir Gamelyn, to say it is so: this has been the fatal cause of great aggravation of her disorder. In one of those intervals of unshaded reason, which she yet at times enjoys, she saw Reginald Prestwyche. He had, indeed, known her in earlier years, but a quarrel between him and Chiverton had long interrupted their acquaintance; nor was it until this later meeting that any peculiar affection existed, or at least was manifested between them.”
“And of what disposition is the youth — he is, I think, of gentle extraction?”
“He is; and report speaks him brave and well possessed of all becoming acquirements. But he is a rash, hotheaded, and romantic dreamer: one that runs int
o danger for the sake of extricating himself; trusting to his foolish valour in exclusion of his judgment, and listening to explanation only when the mischief done is irreparable. Yet, by one of those contradictions of which our strange nature affords so many instances, he can at times assume the appearance of coolness and deliberation, and has, in fact, a sort of mad sagacity, which enables him to come safely through adventures, which better men would have failed in, and wiser men would have left untried.”
The physician had mingled in his account of Prestwyche, so much that he knew would tally with the Knight’s own knowledge, if he had, indeed, had much converse with the youth, that Vancouver readily believed the falsehoods which were thus mingled with truth; and gave Prestwyche credit for all the rashness and impatient folly with which Scymel had charged him.
Besides, the desire which the old Knight entertained of completing the intended union, disposed him to listen with easy ears to any statement tending to obviate difficulties in the way of the event. The physician was not slow at perceiving the favourable turn of Vancouver’s thoughts.
“Your kindness, Sir Gamelyn,” said he, “will excuse the imperfect manner of my narration; the import of its matter you apprehend, as I perceive. Shall I be allowed to acquaint Sir John, that the threatened obstacle to our views no longer exists?”
“Do so, good Master Scymel,” said the Knight, “or stay — aye — let me consider what you have said — but it matters not — and will you add, that I will myself wait upon him some hour hence, if so suit his leisure?”
“I will so bear your message, Sir Gamelyn,” replied the physician, “and rejoice in the performance of the office.”
“Thanks, Master Scymel, thanks,” said Vancouver; and the physician left the apartments.
“Thanks, truly,” said he as he passed the gallery, “to nature that made you hasty Knight, alike easy in adopting and rejecting his belief. But now dispatch must be had, the weathercock that one breeze has turned favourably to our wishes, the next wind may render more adverse than before. And now to Chiverton — but stay — what voices are those — Janet’s? — aye, that I recognise; but the other?”
The Works of William Harrison Ainsworth Page 11
