“Yes I do say it, sir, and I’ll stand by it,” he replied, confidently.
“Not before Mrs. Brideoake,” I rejoined. “What can be the cause of the extraordinary influence that this lady has acquired over your mistress, Comberbach?”
“Don’t question me on that subject, sir,” he rejoined, in alarm, “I daren’t answer you. I wish with all my heart she had never come near the place! It would have been better for my missis — better for you — better for me and Molly Bailey — better for everybody — except herself. Stay, sir! You are not going back to the library?” he added, noticing that I was proceeding in that direction.
“Yes I am,’” I replied. “No further harm can be done by my staying here, since Mrs. Brideoake is aware that I am in the house.”
The butler evidently would have preferred my immediate departure, but he raised no further objection, and I entered the library and sat down. Nearly half an hour elapsed before Doctor Foam made his appearance, and I drew an unfavourable augury from his extremely serious looks.
“Mrs. Mervyn is worse, I fear, doctor?” I said.
“I am sorry to tell you she is,” he replied. “I have only quitted her for a moment to speak to you. Go to my house, and remain there till I return. I have no time now to enter upon a subject which I desire to mention to you.”
“Can I not see Mrs. Mervyn again?”
“Not to-day,” he replied. “It will be useless to wait here with any such expectation. To-morrow, perhaps — but I can answer for nothing. I have sent for Mrs. Mervyn’s professional adviser, Mr. Tester. The poor lady contemplates some new arrangements in regard to the disposition of her property, and they must be made without delay.”
“Then you think danger is imminent?” I said.
“Nothing must be neglected,” he replied, equivocally. “ As to your seeing Mrs. Mervyn again to-day, it is out of the question. Until this matter of business is settled I do not wish her to be disturbed. Besides, the Sales are expected here immediately, and it may be disagreeable to you to meet them. You will find a friend at my house whom you will be pleased to meet, and I shall expect to see you both on my return. Good-by, for the present.”
With this he left me, and as it appeared certain that I should gain nothing by remaining longer where I was, but in all probability might expose myself to annoyance, I acted upon his advice, and went down stairs at once, with the intention of quitting the house.
“I found Mr. Comberbach in the hall, in a very despondent state indeed. Molly Bailey had brought word that his mistress was worse. Fabyan Lowe had been sent off in haste for Mr. Tester — a proof to Comberbach that the doctor thought her end approaching. “Heaven grant she means to make a change in her will!” the butler cried; “and if so, I hope the lawyer won’t be too late. I wish I was permitted to advise her. I know who should have the largest share of her property — and who the least.” In taking leave of him, I told him I should be there again on the morrow; on which he answered, in a very doleful tone, “All will be over before that, I fear, sir.”
On arriving at Cottonborough, I repaired at once to Dr. Foam’s residence, which was in the centre of the town. After explaining my business to the servant, he told me that another gentleman was waiting for the doctor, and ushering me into the room where this person was, I found, to my great surprise, that it was no other than John Brideoake.
CHAPTER IX.
IN WHICH JOHN BRIDEOAKE IS MADE ACQUAINTED WITH HIS FAMILY HISTORY BY DOCTOR FOAM.
JOHN informed me that he had seen Doctor Foam on the previous evening, after taking Apphia to the Anchorite’s, and the worthy physician had urged him so strongly to remain over the following day, alleging that he had an important communication to make to him, that he could not refuse; and he had now come to keep his appointment with the doctor.
“I am glad you stayed, on all accounts, John,” I said. “Mrs. Mervyn is., in an exceedingly critical state, and it may be necessary for you to consider what must be done, under such circumstances, with Apphia.”
And I then proceeded to relate to him all that had occurred at the Anchorite’s that morning. He listened to me with great attention, and expressed infinite concern that Mrs. Mervyn had been unable to carry out her kind intentions.
We were still occupied with this subject when Doctor Foam made his appearance. He at once relieved my anxiety respecting Mrs. Mervyn by stating that she was somewhat better, and hoped that all immediate danger was over. However, he should see her again in a few hours, he said, and should then be better able to judge. Then turning to John Brideoake, he observed:
“I will now explain my object in begging you to come to me this morning. I am glad that Mervyn Clitheroe is also present, as it is desirable he should hear what I have to communicate. Be seated, I beg of you, for I have much to say. You are little acquainted with your family history, I think? — indeed, I know you are not.”
“You are right, sir; I am entirely unacquainted with it,” John replied. “My mother has kept me completely in the dark both as to my father’s position in the world and her own. As I have heretofore intimated to Mervyn, I am by no means satisfied that I am really entitled to the very name I bear.”
Dr. Foam smiled. —
“The time is come when you must be let into the secret,” he said; “and though I have no authority from your mother for making the disclosure, I am in no way bound to withhold it. It will doubtless surprise you to hear that you are of the same family as the mistress of the Anchorite’s, and, consequently, a connection of your friend Mervyn Clitheroe.”
“This is gratifying intelligence indeed!” I exclaimed.
“I must request your particular attention to my recital, or it may not be comprehensible,” Doctor Foam pursued. “Stuart Mervyn, who suffered for his participation in the unfortunate rising of ‘45, had two children — Fulke, father of the present Mrs. Mervyn, and Honoria. The latter was secretly married to a young nobleman devoted to the Jacobite cause, and who, as well as Stuart Mervyn, perished on the scaffold.”
“You refer to the unfortunate Lord Wilburton, I conclude, doctor?” I remarked. “I always understood that Honoria Mervyn’s connection with that nobleman was not particularly creditable to her. I am glad to learn from you that her reputation is untarnished.”
“Indisputable proof of her marriage with Lord Wilburton exists,” Doctor Foam said.
“I do not see how this concerns me,” John observed.
“You will perceive it anon,” the doctor rejoined. “At the time of Lord Wilburton’s arraignment and condemnation for his share in the rebellion, his unhappy lady was in expectation of becoming a mother, and she died on the very day, and I believe on the very hour, that her lord’s head fell upon the block. She died in giving birth to a son, who subsequently bore the name of Gerard Wilburton. Attainted of high treason, Lord Wilburton’s honours and estates were necessarily forfeited, and his marriage with Honoria Mervyn never having been acknowledged, nothing was done for the offspring of a supposed illicit connection. I shall not pause to trace the history of Gerard Wilburton, but will merely state that he married, and left a son, Scrope. A remarkably handsome fellow was this Scrope; and although he had neither wealth nor title to recommend him, he won the affections of the youngest daughter of a noble house — the Lady Amicia Leyland, fourth daughter of the Earl of Rossendale. This young lady eloped with him, and they were married on the borders of Scotland, and the marriage was so displeasing to the proud earl, her father, that he refused to see her again, and left the pair to starve. And well-nigh starve they did, for having little means of support, they were reduced to absolute penury. Six years after this marriage the grandson of the unfortunate Lord ‘Wilburton died, leaving a widow and two children wholly unprovided for. But destitute as was Lady Amicia’s condition, her pride supported her. She would have died rather than apply to her proud family for assistance. ‘They had disowned her,’ she said, ‘and unless recalled she would never go near them.’ Fancy a lady who in
herited all the pride of one of the loftiest peers or the realm reduced to such a miserable state as I have described! But Lady Amicia Wilburton would never drag her title through the mire, she declared, and took a humbler designation. Now, sir,” the doctor continued, addressing John, “ the last Lord Wilburton was your great-grandsire, and if the title were restored you would bear it. Lady Amicia Wilburton is your mother.”
John made no reply, but seemed lost in thought.
“You must not forget that your great-grandame, Honoria, Lady Wilburton, was Mrs. Mervyn’s aunt, and this fact will explain to you why the mistress of the Anchorite’s (when made aware by me of the real circumstances of the case) should have taken so much interest in the so-called Mrs. Brideoake. I found all particulars of the secret marriage between Lord Wilburton and Honoria Mervyn detailed in the Jacobite correspondence entrusted to me some years ago by Mrs. Mervyn; and I subsequently obtained positive proofs of it for Lady Amicia, together with evidences of the undoubted lieneal descent of Scrope Wilburton, your father, from the unfortunate Jacobite peer.”
“I well recollect the circumstance you mention, doctor,” I said; “and I felt certain at the time that you had made some singular discovery in that Jacobite correspondence. But I suppose Mrs. Brideoake, or, as I ought now to call her, Lady Amicia Wilburton, prevailed upon you to keep it a secret.”
“You are right — she did,” he replied.
During the foregoing recital I had narrowly watched John Brideoake’s countenance, but, though deeply interested, he manifested no elation. When Doctor Foam finished, he rose from his seat, and taking a turn or two about the room, as if weighing over what he had heard, approached the doctor, and pausing before him, said:
“You have made all clear as regards my family history, sir But my mother’s conduct appears wholly unaccountable.”
“Her conduct is intelligible enough,” Doctor Foam rejoined, “if the peculiarities of her character are taken into consideration. Pride — unyielding pride — has been the mainspring of all her actions, except in the case of her marriage. Her father, the old Earl of Rossendale, is as proud as Lucifer, and so is her brother, Lord Leyland — so are all the house. Their reproaches on Lady Amicia’s ill-assorted marriage, as they termed it, galled her deeply. The first few years of her wedded life were passed abroad. She then returned with her husband to England, and for some time lived in great distress in the neighbourhood of London; but no pressure of circumstances could induce Lady Amicia to apply to her father. After the birth of Apphia the unfortunate pair removed to Hull, with the intention of proceeding to Edinburgh, but they never reached the latter place, for the seeds of consumption, long sown in Scrope Wilburton, now declared themselves, and in a few weeks he was gone. Then ft was that, with the scantiest resources possible, poor Lady Amicia had to provide for herself and her children. But even though thus reduced, she never for a moment thought of humbling herself to her father. Her hopes of reinstatement rested on her son—”
“I see it all now!” John cried. “Go on, sir.”
“Her hopes of reinstatement, as I have said, rested on her son. Even as a child he gave evidences of ability that led her to expect great subsequent distinction in him. After some debate she came to this town, where she knew there is an excellent free-school, rich in exhibitions and scholarships to both universities, one or more of which the youth might obtain, and so the door to future eminence would be opened to him.”
“I feel for her disappointment,” John cried, vainly striving to repress his emotion.
“Do not repine,” Doctor Foam said. “You did all your strength enabled you to do — too much, in fact. It was about this time, if you remember, that in attending you at Doctor Lonsdale’s request, I saw your mother. I at once recognised her, for I had often seen her before at Lord Rossendale’s seat, Buckrose, in Yorkshire, when she was the admired and haughty beauty, Lady Amicia Leyland. You may imagine my surprise at meeting her again under such strangely-altered circumstances. She imposed silence upon me by a look, and sympathising with her misfortunes, I obeyed the injunction. Subsequently, on imparting to her the discovery I had made in the Jacobite correspondence, I offered to introduce her to her connection, Mrs. Mervyn. But her pride stood in her way, and she at first haughtily declined my well-meant proposal. In the end, however, as you know, her scruples were overruled, and she consented to become an inmate of the house. Then apparently new schemes of ambition dawned upon her. Disappointed in her son, upon whom her hopes of restoration to dignity and power had been fixed, she turned to her daughter. Doting upon Apphia, Mrs. Mervyn promised to give her half her property if she married according to her inclinations. You, Mervyn Clitheroe, were out of the way — you had given offence to Lady Amicia, and had made her your enemy — and you had been supplanted by Malpas Sale. By what arts Malpas had contrived to get into her ladyship’s good graces I cannot say; but that he was successful, you have seen. The marriage was agreed upon — all was settled — when you returned, and it was broken off. But Lady Amicia still holds to Malpas, and will not give him up.” —
“A strange and most deplorable infatuation,” John said.
“Strange indeed, and deplorable as strange!” Doctor Foam cried; “but her ladyship is as wilful and determined as she is haughty. She is a warm partisan, as Malpas has found; but a bitter enemy, as you, Mervyn, have discovered to your cost. Her dislike to you has become a rooted antipathy.”
“How have I offended her?” I cried. “I cannot tax myself with showing her any disrespect.”
“No doubt it was unintentional on your part,” Doctor Foam replied; “but some offence must have been given, and she has keenly resented it. She also conceives that her children have been guilty of gross disobedience to her.”
“Never, I solemnly declare, save when she has passed the limits of parental rule, have either of her children resisted her authority,” John rejoined.
“Well, sir, you now know the precise position in which you stand,” Doctor Foam said, after a short pause. “Let me state in addition, that I am firmly persuaded that your grandfather, Lord Rossendale, and your uncle, Lord Leyland, have influence enough to procure the restoration of your title.”
“But at this moment, I suppose, neither of their lordships are aware of my existence,” John said; “and I am not likely to remind them of it. Honours have no attraction for me, doctor, and if offered, I should reject them. I love a simple and retired life, and covet no distinction.”
“Then you have no pride — no ambition, like your mother?” Doctor Foam said.
“None whatever,” he replied, “surprising as it may appear to you.”
“Still, though you look down with philosophic contempt on dignities and honours, you may desire to be placed in an easy position,” Doctor Foam said. “I must now put your scruples to the test. Learn then that it is good Mrs. Mervyn’s intention to make a will in your favour; this will be done on my assurance that the old Jacobite title shall be revived in your person.”
John shook his head, and was about to speak, but Doctor Foam interrupted him.
“Hear me out,” he said. “This is no fanciful notion. I am confident that if this property comes to you, a reversal of the attainder can be procured, and that you will regain the honours of your ancestors.”
“I should not wear them well,” John replied, firmly. “I want nothing. If you have any influence with Mrs. Mervyn, urge her to pass me over altogether, and leave the property to my sister and Mervyn.”
“This must not be, John,” I said. “You owe it to the noble race from whom you are descended, and whose escutcheon has been thrown down, to restore their name to its original eminence.”
“You fail to convince me,” he rejoined, shaking his head.
“But there is one argument which I can employ,” I said, drawing near to him, and speaking in a low tone, “and which ought to weigh with you. Once Lord Wilburton, Ora is yours.”
A deep flush overspread his pallid features. A sever
e struggle was evidently going on in his breast.
“Possessed of this property, you can make an adequate provision for your mother, and above all, for your sister,” Doctor Foam said; “and can bestow the hand of the latter on whomsoever you please.”
“In the event now contemplated, that deed of settlement will not be acted upon, I presume, doctor?” I said.
“It will not be acted upon,” he replied; “and for the best possible reason — because it is no longer in existence. Mr. Tester recommended its destruction; and destroyed it was accordingly, in Mrs. Mervyn’s presence. Now, sir,” he added to John, “I await your decision?”
“I consent,” he replied. “I feel that I have no right to refuse an offer which may be advantageous to others, though it may entail discomfort upon myself.”
“Wisely resolved,” Doctor Foam cried. “Dear Mrs. Mervyn’s last moments will be cheered by the conviction that an old title, lost in the Jacobite cause, may through her instrumentality be revived in the person of her relative. Poor lady! she is as much devoted to the good cause as ever. She has been brought up in Jacobite principles, and has maintained them through life, and in Jacobite principles she will die. And now as to the completion of the proposed arrangement. Mr. Tester is at present occupied in preparing the will for which he has received Mrs. Mervyn’s instructions. It will be ready this afternoon, and at six o’clock he and I shall proceed to the Anchorite’s. It will be proper for you to accompany us,” he added to John; “Mrs. Mervyn may desire to see you. Till then, adieu! Having other matters to attend to, I must perforce dismiss you.”
CHAPTER X.
JOHN AND I REVISIT OUR OLD SCHOOL, AND PASS A FEW HOURS IN THE CHETHAM LIBRARY — ILL TIDINGS.
As we emerged from Doctor Foam’s house, the din and confusion of the crowded street almost distracted John, who was in a state of great nervous excitement.
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