The Works of William Harrison Ainsworth

by William Harrison Ainsworth

  “Devlish unlucky we should meet him!” said Trussell, forcing a laugh, as they quitted the house. “I suppose Jukes must have suspected something, and called him up, for I don’t think he could have overheard us.”

  Randulph made no reply, for Abel’s parting speech had sunk deep into his breast, and they proceeded in silence towards the palace stairs.

  It was a fresh and beautiful morning, though the sun was scarcely risen, and a thin silvery mist hung like a veil over the smooth surface of the water. Two or three watermen were lying asleep in their tilts, and they roused one of them, who speedily rowed them to the opposite bank, near which they found Mr. Hewitt with a couple of swords under his arm, in addition to the one by his side, accompanied by a tall stout man with a red face, dressed in a well-powdered wig, and a suit of purple velvet, and carrying a gold-headed cane, who was introduced as Mr. Molson, the surgeon.

  “You look famously,” said the fencing-master to Randulph: “follow my instructions, and you’re sure to come off victorious.”

  The party then walked along the Horseferry Road, which speedily brought them to Tothill Fields. They were the first on the ground, and Mr. Hewitt, after looking about for a short time, discovered a spot excellently adapted for the encounters.

  By this time, the sun having risen, the morning’s early promise of beauty was fully confirmed. The spot selected for the combats commanded a fine view of Westminster Abbey, which reared its massive body and tall towers above a range of mean habitations masking its back. A cloud of cawing jackdaw’s wheeled in the sunny air above its pinnacles. A calmer or more beautiful scene could not be imagined. Randulph’s reflections were interrupted by the approach of two persons from the left of the fields, who proved to be Sir Norfolk Salusbury and Cordwell Firebras. Sir Norfolk bowed stiffly to Randulph, and also to Trussell, and seeing that the beau was not arrived, said to the former, “As I am first in the field, I am entitled to the first bout.”

  “I am sorry I cannot oblige you, Sir Norfolk,” replied Randulph; “but I must give Mr. Villiers priority.”

  “Well, as you please, sir,” said the baronet, walking aside.

  Cordwell Firebras then advanced to Randulph. “I am here as Sir Norfolk’s second,” he said; “but I hope the matter may only serve as a little breathing for you both before breakfast. It is an idle quarrel. We must talk about Villiers’s attempt anon. But here he is.”

  As he spoke, two chairs were seen approaching from the lower end of the fields. When they came within a hundred yards of the party, they stopped, and from the first issued Mr. Villiers, and from the other Sir Bulkeley Price. Mr. Cripps walked by the side of his master’s chair, bearing a water-bottle and a glass. The new-comers advanced slowly towards the party, and Mr. Villiers having bowed with much haughtiness to Randulph, gracefully saluted the rest of the company.

  “Have we anything to wait for, gentlemen?” he asked.

  “Nothing,” replied Trussell; “we are all ready.”

  “To business, then,” rejoined the beau.

  At a motion from his master, Mr. Cripps advanced towards him, and receiving his clouded cane, proceeded to divest him of his coat, leaving him on a light striped silk waistcoat, with sleeves of the same material. Randulph, meantime, threw off his upper garment, and rolled up the shirt-sleeve on his right arm. Mr. Hewitt then stepped up to him, and gave him the German sword he had promised; while Mr. Villiers received an exquisitely tempered blade from the valet. These preparations made, the seconds and bystanders fell back a few paces, Trussell, Firebras, and Hewitt retiring on one side, and the two baronets on the other, while the surgeon stood at a little distance in the rear with Mr. Cripps.

  Advancing towards each other, the combatants saluted; and in an another moment their blades were crossed, and several rapid passes exchanged. The spectators watched the conflict with the greatest interest, for both parties appeared admirably matched, and the beau’s superior skill was counterbalanced by Randulph’s extraordinary vigour and quickness. Thrusts were made and parried on both sides, but not a single hit was given, until Randulph, finding his adversary engaged in tierce with a high point, made a firm thrust in carte over the arm, and passed his sword through the fleshy part of the other’s shoulder. At this successful hit, the seconds rushed forward, but before they reached the spot, the beau’s sword fell from his grasp.

  “It is nothing,” said Villiers, surrendering himself to the surgeon, who likewise hurried towards him; “but I acknowledge myself defeated.”

  While the beau’s wound was bound up by the surgeon, and he was led to the chair by Mr. Cripps, Sir Norfolk Salusbury, who had been a watchful spectator of the conflict, stepped forward, and said to Randulph, “Whatever may be the issue of our encounter, Mr. Crew, I shall declare that, in the combat which has just taken place, you have conducted yourself like a man of honour and spirit.”

  “I am glad to receive the acknowledgment from you, Sir Norfolk,” replied Randulph, bowing.

  “Pray do not hurry yourself on my account,” said the baronet, courteously.

  “I am quite ready for you,” replied Randulph. “What I have gone through has only served to steady my nerves.”

  With the assistance of Firebras, who had come over to him, Sir Norfolk then took off his coat, waistcoat, and shirt; and in this state presented so extraordinary an appearance, that Randulph could scarcely repress a smile. The punctilious old knight’s first step was to deliver his sword to Mr. Hewitt, who, on measuring it with that of Randulph, found that it exceeded the latter in length by two inches. He therefore gave him one of his own swords; and Sir Norfolk, beating an appeal with his right foot, bade his youthful opponent come on. Having gone through their salutes with the greatest formality, they commenced the combat with the utmost caution. Sir Norfolk acted chiefly upon the defensive, and contented himself almost entirely with parrying the thrusts aimed at him. Randulph soon found that he had a formidable antagonist to deal with, and, altering his plan, tried to compel him to attack him. He made several feints with great dexterity, and just touched his adversary’s breast with an inside thrust in carte, causing a slight effusion of blood. This had the effect of rousing the old baronet into exertion, and in his turn he became the assailant. He attacked Randulph with such force and fury, that he drove him back several paces. The young man returned to the charge, and pressed his adversary in his turn, so that he regained his ground; but, while making a pass in carte, his sword was turned near the wrist by a dexterous and sudden lunge on the part of the baronet, whose point entered his side below the elbow, and inflicted a severe wound. Maddened by the pain, Randulph continued to fight desperately; but the seconds rushed between the combatants, and, interposing their blades, declared that the strife must terminate, and that Sir Norfolk was the victor. The baronet immediately dropped his sword; and Randulph, whose strength had been fast failing, fell to the ground insensible.

  * * *

  BOOK III. — ABEL BEECHCROFT

  CHAPTER I.

  What Became of Randulph after the Duel — How Hilda Received the Intelligence that Randulph Had Been Wounded in the Duel; and What Passed between Cordwell Firebras and the Miser.

  Assistance was promptly afforded Randulph, after his fall, by the surgeon. Placed in Sir Bulkeley Price’s chair, he was removed to the nearest tavern in the Horseferry Road, where his wound was dressed. Sir Norfolk Salusbury, who expressed great concern about him, followed him thither as soon as he had bound up his wound, and put on his habiliments, and appeared greatly relieved when the surgeon gave him his positive assurance that no danger whatever was to be apprehended.

  “Is that Sir Norfolk Salusbury?” asked Randulph in a faint voice.

  “It is,” replied the baronet, stepping forward.

  “Our quarrel is now at an end, I trust?” said the young man, extending his hand, which the other grasped cordially.

  “In toto,” replied Sir Norfolk; “and not merely is it at an end, but a friendship, I hope, has commenced
between us from this date.”

  “I shall hold it cheaply purchased on my part, if it proves so,” replied Randulph, smiling gratefully.

  “My first business shall be to call on Hilda Scarve to tell her how bravely you have combated in her defence,” said Sir Norfolk.

  “You will for ever oblige me,” replied the young man, trying to raise himself, but sinking back the next moment, exhausted by the effort.

  “I must interdict further conversation, gentlemen,” interposed the surgeon; “the bleeding has recommenced, and the pulse has risen. If I am left alone with my patient for a few hours, I will answer for his doing well, but not otherwise.”

  The room was then cleared, and Sir Norfolk invited the others to breakfast with him at his lodgings in Abingdon Street; and Trussell, finding that his attendance was not required, but that he was rather in the way than otherwise, accepted the invitation.

  Everything belonging to Sir Norfolk was as formal as himself. He had an old servant, the stiffest and tallest of his class, who moved like an automaton worked by rusty springs. Moreover, he had a favourite greyhound, who would allow no one to caress him but his master; and a peacock, his especial favourite, which used to strut backwards and forwards with him for hours together in a little garden at the back of the house. Inhospitality formed no part of the worthy old baronet’s character, and a very plentiful repast was set before his guests. Despising tea and coffee as effeminate and enervating beverages, he nevertheless offered them to his guests, but they were declined by all, and the light claret substituted, greatly preferred. A few bottles of this pleasant drink served to wash down the broiled salmon, the slices of mutton-ham, the rump-steaks, the kidneys, and anchovy toasts, with which the board was spread. A cold sirloin of beef, and a veal and ham pasty, flanked by a tankard of stout Welsh ale, stood on the sideboard, and to these Sir Bulkeley Price applied himself, and declared he had not made so good a breakfast since he arrived in town.

  “Your early rising has given you an appetite, Sir Bulkeley,” said the elder baronet.

  “Perhaps so,” replied the other, again applying to the tankard; “but your ale is excellent — quite equal to my own. I wish I had sent some up from Flint.”

  Aqua vitae in small glasses was then handed round, and partaken of by all except the host. After this, the party broke up, Trussell setting out to see how his nephew went on, and Sir Norfolk and Firebras proceeding to the Little Sanctuary, to call on the miser. Not having seen his daughter overnight, for he did not wait up for her, Mr. Scarve only became acquainted with the beau’s attempt to carry her off, on the following morning. The relation of the matter threw him into a violent passion, and when, shortly afterwards, Jacob ushered in Sir Norfolk Salusbury and Firebras, who called to acquaint him with the result of the two duels, they found him in a state of the greatest excitement. Without allowing the baronet time to utter a word, he rushed up to him, and, in a voice half choked by fury, exclaimed— “Have you killed him? — have you killed him?”

  “Do you allude to Mr. Randulph Crew, sir?” demanded Sir Norfolk, calmly.

  “No, to the beau — to Villiers!” rejoined the miser.

  “I have not engaged with him,” replied the old baronet; “but he has met with due chastisement from Mr. Crew.”

  “I am glad to hear it,” rejoined the miser; “but I should have been pleased if his villainy had been punished by any other person. You, yourself, are in some measure to blame for this misadventure, Sir Norfolk.”

  “I can make due allowance for your excited feelings, Mr. Scarve,” returned the baronet; “but—”

  “‘Sdeath, sir!” interrupted the miser— “why did you let Hilda out of your sight? Since you undertook the charge of her, it was your duty to keep strict watch over her.”

  “I feel there is reason in what you say, Mr. Scarve,” replied Sir Norfolk; “nevertheless—”

  “I want no explanation,” cried the miser, fiercely; “it is sufficient for me that the thing has happened. And look how it stands: — My daughter is entrusted to your care — is all but carried off by a libertine, from under your very nose — and is rescued by the very person of all others I wished her to avoid, and against whom I cautioned you. Can anything be imagined more vexatious?”

  “It is as vexatious to me as it can be to yourself, Mr. Scarve,” replied Sir Norfolk, sternly, for his forbearance was fast ebbing; “but I must pray of you to use more moderation in your tones and language. Recollect whom you are addressing.”

  “I ought to have recollected your blind and stupid punctiliousness, which so easily makes you the dupe of designers, before I committed my daughter to your charge,” cried the miser, exasperated by the other’s haughtiness.

  “Whew!” exclaimed Firebras, with a slight whistle. “There’ll be another duel presently, if he goes on at this rate.”

  “Mr. Scarve, I wish you a good morning,” said the old baronet, bowing stiffly; “you shall hear from me ere long.”

  “Stay, Sir Norfolk,” cried Hilda, rushing up to him; “my father does not know what he says. For my sake, let it pass.”

  “Ay, ay, Sir Norfolk, let it pass,” said Firebras, in a low tone. “Mr. Scarve’s intemperate conduct should move your pity rather than your anger.”

  “I believe you are right, sir,” replied the old baronet in the same tone; “I will regard it as a mere infirmity of temper.”

  “Sir Norfolk,” said Hilda, speaking with forced calmness— “some menacing words passed between you and Randulph Crew last night. You say he has risked his life on my account, and has punished my assailant. I trust that nothing has passed, or may pass, between you and him. Promise me, this, Sir Norfolk.”

  “Sir Norfolk may safely give that promise now,” remarked Firebras.

  “How mean you, sir?” cried Hilda, becoming as pale as death. “Have you met him, Sir Norfolk? — have you fought?”

  The old baronet averted his head.

  “I will answer for him,” said Firebras; “they have met.”

  “But nothing has happened?” cried Hilda. “Randulph is safe, — is he not?”

  “I did my best not to touch him,” replied the old baronet, reluctantly; “but he put me so hardly to it, that — that—”

  “Well,” cried Hilda, breathlessly.

  “After receiving a scratch myself, which a plaster has cured,” pursued Sir Norfolk; “I slightly wounded him.”

  “And this is the reward of his devotion to me!” cried Hilda.

  “It is nothing — nothing whatever, Miss Scarve,” said Firebras; “the surgeon says he will be out again in a week.”

  “I am glad you hit him,” said the miser; “it will teach him to meddle where he has no concern in future.”

  “I was grieved to do so,” replied Sir Norfolk: “but he forced me to it. I never crossed swords with a braver young man. You have formed an erroneous opinion of him, Mr. Scarve.”

  “I have formed no opinion of him at all,” rejoined the miser.

  “You are sure he is not dangerously wounded, Sir Norfolk?” cried Hilda.

  “Quite sure,” replied the old baronet.

  “Thank Heaven!” she exclaimed, and with a gasp for utterance, she fell into the arms of her aunt, who stood close beside her, and who bore her out of the room.

  “It requires no conjuror to tell how affairs stand in that quarter, Mr. Scarve,” observed Cordwell Firebras.

  “It is plain she loves the young man,” said Sir Norfolk. “And, for my own part, I think him in every way worthy of her.”

  “Worthy or not, he shall never have her,” returned the miser, sullenly.

  “It is not for me to dictate to you, Mr. Scarve,” rejoined Sir Norfolk; “nor would I presume to hint the course I think you ought to pursue; but being satisfied that your daughter’s affections are engaged to this young man, unless your objections to him are insuperable, I hope you will not interfere with their happiness.”

  “My objections to him are insuperable, Sir
Norfolk,” rejoined the miser, coldly.

  “I am truly sorry to hear it,” replied the old baronet.

  “Excuse me, Sir Norfolk,” said Firebras, seeing that the other was about to take leave, “I have a few words to say to Mr. Scarve.”

  Sir Norfolk then bowed, quitted the room, and was ushered to the door by Jacob.

  While this was passing, Cordwell Firebras seated himself very composedly on a stool near the chair which the miser had just taken.

  “I presume, Mr. Scarve, there are no eaves-droppers?” he said, glancing towards the door.

  “I hope not,” replied the miser, who eyed him with great repugnance; “but if you have any secret matters to discuss, you had better speak in a low tone.”

  “Very well,” resumed Firebras, complying with the hint, “we must have a little talk together about this young man — this Randulph Crew.”

  “I guessed what was coming,” groaned the miser.

  “You cannot now mistake your daughter’s partiality for him,” pursued Firebras; “and, on the other hand, I can tell you that he is devotedly attached to her.”

  “Likely enough,” replied the miser; “but I will never consent to his union with her.”

  “You must give your consent if I choose to require it,” said Firebras, coldly.

  The miser moved uneasily in his chair.

  “You will not pretend to dispute my power to compel you to give her to him?” pursued Firebras. “I have but to produce a certain paper that you know of, and she is his.”

  “Not so fast,” rejoined the miser. “You hold this document in terrorem over me — but how if I resist it?”

  “You cannot resist it,” replied Firebras “you have bound yourself too strongly. Let me remind you of the packet delivered to you by Randulph Crew. Your daughter, too, will side with me. I have only to acquaint her with certain facts, and you well know what the consequences will be.”

  “Well, take her,” cried the miser— “take her, — but you will have her without a penny.”