Philip would have made an angry retort, but Diggs checked him, whispering that “it would not do just now.”
“You may get off from me,” pursued Jacob; “but you won’t get off from Mr. Randulph Crew for your conduct towards him last night.”
“I am ready to render Mr. Crew an account of my conduct whenever he may require it,” replied Philip, haughtily.
“If you will follow my advice, sir, now that your prospects are fully settled, you will leave off these brawls, altogether,” observed Diggs. “If Mr. Randulph Crew threatens you with an assault, give him in charge of a constable, and leave the rest to me.”
“I believe that will be the best plan,” said Philip.
“Much the best for a coward to pursue — faugh!” exclaimed Jacob, with a look of supreme contempt.
Diggs and his companion then went down stairs to the cellar, where the bags of gold were still left, and having examined them, locked the door, and put seals upon it.
This done, they repaired to the parlour, and Diggs stepping up to Hilda, addressed her:
“Chancing to have your father’s last will in my pocket, Miss Scarve,” he said, “I will read it to you, — as the sooner you are made acquainted with his injunctions the better. Mr. Beechcroft, I also request your attention to the document; and you too, Mrs. Clinton, that you may not afterwards plead ignorance of it.”
And without further preliminary, he read the will.
“It is sufficiently intelligible, I must say,” observed Abel, as he concluded; “and I must also say, that I never listened to a more disgraceful document.”
“You are at liberty to make any comment upon it you think fit, sir,” said the attorney. “I am quite prepared for expressions of disappointment on your part.”
“Why on my part, sir?” rejoined Abel.
“Because Mr. Scarve’s wise disposition of his property has prevented you from securing it for your nephew, sir,” replied the attorney.
A deep flush dyed Abel’s pale cheek, and he fixed his kindling eye upon the attorney.
“Up to this point you have succeeded in your villainy, Mr. Diggs,” he said, “but you may depend upon it, your triumph will be brief. That instrument will never hold good, and the manner in which you have obtained it, with other of your recent acts, will drive you from the profession, if they do not also banish you from the country.”
“I laugh at your threats, sir,” replied the attorney. “My position is too firm to be shaken by anything you can say or do. And you will find this will equally firm. Its motive is too apparent to admit of dispute. My late respected and lamented client wished to marry his daughter to his nephew, and fearing that she would disobey his injunctions, took care that she should not do so without forfeiting his property. Mr. Scarve had a perfect right to do this. If Miss Scarve thinks otherwise, she can dispute the will. But she will find it as difficult to be set aside, as her father, while living, was to be turned from his purpose.”
“I shall act strictly up to the conditions of my uncle’s will,” said Philip Frewin; “and it will be a matter of deep regret to me if my fair cousin should refuse to accede to them. I will not urge her at this moment, but will call again in the course of the day for her answer.” And with a supercilious bow, he took his departure with the attorney.
For some time after they were gone, not a wold was uttered by the group left in the parlour. Abel was buried in deep thought, and neither of the others appeared inclined to break the silence. At length, Abel aroused himself, and, turning to Mrs. Clinton, requested to be left alone a few minutes with Hilda; the good lady immediately withdrew.
“It may be, Hilda,” he said, in a voice of much emotion,— “though God forbid it should be so, — that the issue of this contest will be against us, and the will be declared valid. I cannot free myself from some misgivings.”
“Nor I, sir,” she replied; “and yet, to shew you how strangely and inconsistently my father has acted, you will see from this,” — and she drew forth a slip of paper from her bosom— “that he was under an obligation to the late Mr. Crew to give me to his son Randulph, with a certain dowry.”
Abel glanced over the document in surprise.
“Would I had seen this in his lifetime!” he said.
“But for his violence you would have seen it, sir,” she replied. “I was about to shew it you when you last saw him, and was only deterred by the state of excitement into which he was thrown.”
“How unfortunate!” exclaimed Abel. “But perhaps the document may still be of use.”
And he arose and paced the room to and fro, in extreme agitation. At last he stopped before Hilda, regarding her fixedly.
“Answer me sincerely,” he said— “do you love Randulph?”
“You need scarcely ask that question, sir,” she rejoined, blushing.
“The match seems ordained by Heaven!” cried Abel; “it is useless to oppose it. Listen to me, Hilda. I loved your mother — deeply, passionately loved her. By my own fault, it seems — though I understood it not then — I lost her, and she became the bride of your father. From that time, I was doomed to wretchedness, and though my sufferings were hidden under the mask of indifference, the vulture of despair was perpetually gnawing at my heart. During this dreadful period, when I hated all mankind, and him most of all who I conceived had robbed me of what I hold dearest on earth, you were born, and soon afterwards my sister, Mrs. Crew, gave birth to Randulph. It was whispered among our family that the two infants would suit each other, and that their union would reconcile old grievances. In the bitterness and anguish of my heart, I vowed that this should never happen, if I could prevent it, and for years I nourished the resolution, until it became rooted in my breast. Your mother died, and it might have been supposed that my sorrows and resentments would be buried in her grave. But it was not so. There are some loves, as there are some hatereds, that survive the tomb, and mine was one of them. Whatever brought her image to my mind, gave me acute suffering, and I prohibited all who knew me, on pain of my displeasure, from alluding to her in any way. Thus little reached me of you or your father, till Randulph’s arrival in town a few months since. To my surprise, I found he had seen you, and from the manner in which he spoke of you, I perceived that he was smitten by your charms.”
Hilda uttered a slight exclamation.
“I will not disguise from you,” pursued Abel, “that this discovery gave me inexpressible uneasiness, and I sought by every means in my power, to prevent him from seeing you again. But fate had decreed it otherwise. Chance brought you together again and again, until the final adventure at Vauxhall seemed to link your affections together indissolubly.”
“It did so,” observed Hilda.
“Notwithstanding all this, I could not bring myself to consent to your marriage,” continued Abel, “nay, I determined to cast off Randulph for ever, if he disobeyed me. My resolution was somewhat shaken by your father’s illness, and I began to find my dislike to the connexion abating. Can you understand these contradictory feelings, Hilda, for I loved you all the time.”
“I can, sir,” she replied.
“That which alone removed my objection,” said Abel, sternly, “was the sad spectacle I beheld in the cellar this morning. After the sight I there witnessed, I could not retain further animosity against the author of my misery. I can now review the past with calmness. I can now think of your mother without pain, and of your father without heart-burning. I can love you as their child, without other feelings obtruding upon me.”
And opening his arms, he folded Hilda in a strict embrace.
“Bless you! bless you, my child!” he cried “If Randulph proves worthy of you, he shall have you.”
Hilda averted her head, and there was silence between them for a brief space.
“You wished to have some communication with my poor father before his death,” she said, at length. “I hope it was not of importance.”
“Only to himself,” replied Abel, with a deep sig
h. “I wished to forgive him for prevailing upon me, under the garb of friendship, to introduce him to your mother and her family. I wished to forgive him for the arts he used to wean her affections from me; for his misrepresentations of my circumstances and character; and for the prolonged anguish he occasioned me, and to which death would have been preferable. I wished to say thus much to him — to hear from his own lips an avowal of his regret, — and to be at peace with him for ever!”
“You are at peace with him now, sir, I trust,” said Hilda.
“As far as I myself am concerned, I am so,” replied Abel, “but for you—”
“Oh, do not think of me!” cried Hilda. “I forgive him from the bottom of my heart. He has been the dupe of others.”
“Say, rather, he has been the bond-slave of Mammon,” replied Abel, sternly, “who has destroyed him, as he destroys all his worshippers. But I will not pain you by any harsh reflections. Be assured nothing shall be neglected to repair the injury he has done you. And now, farewell, my dear child, since you decide upon remaining here. I will see you again in the latter part of the day, and meantime you stand in need of some repose.”
And folding her once more in his arms, he took his leave.
* * *
CHAPTER XIV.
Philip Frewin Is Dangerously Wounded by Randulph — His Last Vindictive Effort.
Randulph’s feelings on awaking, and finding himself in the watch-house, were at first humiliating and full of self-reproach. But by degrees these milder sentiments speedily gave way to anger against Philip Frewin; and so indignant did he become, on reflection, at the conduct of the latter, that he resolved that his first business on obtaining his freedom, should be to seek him out, and call him to a strict account. His wrath had by no means abated, as Mr. Foggo entered the chamber, a little before eight o’clock to call up him and his companions.
“I hope you rested well, gen’l’men,” said the constable, with a somewhat malicious grin. “Will you please to have breakfast?”
“Not here, Mr. Foggo,” replied Trussell, yawning. “I think you said, last night, — or else I dreamed it, — that it wouldn’t be necessary to go before a magistrate.”
“I think it may be managed, sir,” said the constable, “provided — ahem!”
“Provided we come down, — eh, Mr. Foggo?” rejoined Trussell.
“Exactly, sir,” replied the other.
“Do not bribe him, uncle!” cried Randulph, indignantly. “We have been most unjustifiably detained, and I wish to be taken before a magistrate, that I may have an opportunity of complaining of the shameful treatment we have experienced, as well as of preferring a charge against Philip Frewin.”
“Be advised by me, my dear boy, and make no further disturbance about the matter,” replied Trussell. “You’ll get no redress.”
“But, uncle—”
“Between ourselves,” interrupted Trussell, “I would rather the affair didn’t come to the ears of my brother Abel, which if we’re publicly examined, will unquestionably be the case.”
“That’s why I recommend you not to go before his worship,” observed the cunning constable; “it may be disagreeable in its consequences.”
“To be sure it may,” replied Trussell, slipping a guinea into his hand. “Let us out as fast as you can.”
“I shall not move,” said Randulph.
“Oh! it’s quite optional,” said Mr. Foggo, evidently disconcerted.
“I shall go, at all events,” said Trussell.
“And so shall I,” said Jacob. “I shall get back to my poor master as fast as I can. Lord knows what may have happened in my absence!”
“Well, if you’re both going, I must perforce accompany you,” said Randulph; “but I protest against the step.”
Mr. Foggo attended them to the door of the watchhouse, and made them a most polite bow as he let them out. Taking a hasty leave of the others, Jacob set off to the Little Sanctuary, where, it is needless to say, a painful surprise awaited him.
As they walked along, Trussell proposed that they should breakfast at a coffee-house, and put their toilette a little in order before going home; and Randulph, recollecting that Jacob had mentioned the Crown Inn, in Ox Yard, as a place frequented by Philip Frewin, suggested that they should go there, Trussell being perfectly agreeable to the arrangement, they bent their steps in that direction.
On arriving at the Crown, and inquiring for Philip, they learnt that he had rooms in the house, but had been out the greater part of the night, and was absent at the time. He was, however, momentarily expected, and the waiter promised to let them know when he returned.
Trussell then ordered a good breakfast, to which, after making their toilettes, they both did ample justice. At the expiration of an hour, Randulph renewed his inquiries about Philip. Still, he had not returned.
“Well, if you like to wait here for him,” said Trussell, “I will go home, and make some excuse for you, and will return and tell you what I have done.”
The desire of avenging himself on Philip Frewin being now paramount in Randulph’s breast, he readily assented to this plan, and Trussell departed. Having fee’d the waiter to ensure the accomplishment of his object, Randulph flung himself into a seat, and was musing over the events of the previous night, by way of keeping up his choler against Philip, when the door suddenly opened, and a man stepping into the chamber, was about to withdraw, with an apology for his intrusion, when a cry from Randulph, who recognised him as Cordwell Firebras, checked him.
“What! is it you, Randulph?” cried Firebras, holding out his hand. “I came here to meet another person, but you are the man of all others I most wished to see. What the deuce are you doing here?”
“I am waiting to see Philip Frewin,” replied Randulph. “He served me a scurvy trick last night, and got me shut up in the watch-house, and I mean to chastise him.”
“I sha’n’t hinder your laudable design,” replied Firebras, laughing. “But,” he added, closing the door, “I was about to send to you on a matter of the utmost importance. I have a proposal to make to you that affects your nearest and dearest interests. Come to me at the Chequers Inn, Millbank, a little before midnight, and I will give you proof that I hold your fortune in my hands.”
“To be obtained on the same terms as heretofore?” demanded Randulph.
“Hear what I have got to propose, and then inquire the conditions,” rejoined Firebras.
“Well, I will come,” replied Randulph.
As he said this, the waiter entered the room, and made a sign to him that his man had arrived.
Randulph’s eyes sparkled, and without saying a word, he beckoned Firebras to follow him, and, directed by the waiter, proceeded to Philip’s room, which immediately adjoined his own.
Philip was not alone. He was attended by Captain Culpepper, and was laughingly counting out a sum of money for him. But his glee died away on beholding Randulph’s stern looks, and he would have beaten a retreat, if Firebras had not closed the door, and planted his bulky person before it.
“What do you want here, sir?” he cried, in as fierce a tone as he could command, to Randulph. “This is my room — you have no business in it. Ring the bell, Captain Culpepper!”
“If the Captain stirs, I will cut his throat!” cried Firebras.
“If I treat you as a gentleman, scoundrel, it is more than you deserve,” said Randulph, fiercely; “but I demand instant satisfaction for your conduct last night.”
“I can’t fight to-day, Mr. Crew,” said Philip. “I’m engaged on particular business, as this gentleman knows. To-morrow, at any hour you please.”
“This is a pitiful evasion, coward!” cried Randulph; “but it shall not avail you.” And he struck him with the flat of his sword.
“‘S blood! sir, hold your hand!” cried Captain Culpepper, whipping out his blade, and interposing. “Leave off this game, or, by my troth, I’ll slit your weasand for you.”
“No, you won’t, Captain,” said C
ordwell Firebras, stepping forward. “Let them settle the matter themselves. If Mr. Frewin is a gentleman, he will give Mr. Crew satisfaction; and if he is not, you must agree with me, as a man of honour, that no punishment can be too degrading for him.”
“I must confess there is reason in what you say, sir,” replied Culpepper. “Fight him, sir — fight him!” he whispered to Philip— “I’ll help you, if you require it.”
“Hold your hand, ruffian!” cried Philip, exasperated by the treatment he had experienced, “and look to yourself.”
And drawing his sword, he attacked Randulph with the utmost fury. It was evident, from his style of fencing, that Philip did not want skill; but his passion robbed him of judgment, and he frequently exposed himself to his antagonist, who fought with great coolness, evidently meaning to disarm him, or at most slightly wound him.
Desirous, at length, of putting an end to the conflict, Randulph assailed his adversary more vigorously, and was driving him towards the wall, when footsteps were heard hurrying along the passage. Firebras turned to lock the door to prevent interruption, and while he was thus engaged, Culpepper made a thrust at Randulph, which, fortunately, the latter was able to avoid by a sudden spring backwards.
Exasperated by this treachery, Randulph dexterously parried a thrust in carte from Philip, and instantly returning the pass, his point plunged deeply into the other’s breast. Philip staggered, and would have fallen, if Culpepper had not caught him.
“Don’t mind me!” cried the wounded man, “attack him! — attack him! I’ll give you a thousand pounds if you kill him.”
“I can’t do it now, sir,” whispered Culpepper. “I fear you’re seriously hurt.”
“Yes, it’s all over,” groaned Phillip. “Curse him! the luck’s always on his side.”
Meanwhile, Cordwell Firebras had rushed up to Randulph, who looked stupified at the result of the encounter.
“Get off as fast as you can,” he cried; “it won’t do to be taken just now. The window in that closet is open, and you are young and active, and can easily reach the ground. Repair to the Chequers at once, and keep close all day. I’ll be with you before midnight.”
The Works of William Harrison Ainsworth Page 325
