But what was most agreeable to Apphia, and reconciled her more than anything else to her new position was, that all intimacy had ceased between her mother and the Sales. Malpas waited until Mrs. Mervyn’s funeral had taken place before presenting himself at the Anchorite’s, but when he did come, Mr. Comberbach (as the butler subsequently informed me) had the pleasure of saying that her ladyship was not at home to him, and of adding that he needn’t give himself the trouble to call again, for her ladyship never would be at home to him — neither would Miss Apphia. Deeply mortified, as may be supposed, Malpas retired, but he attributed the rebuff he had met with, no doubt, to the scandal occasioned by the charge which I had brought against him. On the next day, Doctor and Mrs. Sale drove over to try and explain matters, but with very indifferent success. Lady Amicia gave them at once to understand that a person on whom such grave suspicions rested, as was the case with their son, was wholly unsuited to her daughter, and the match must be peremptorily broken off. Doctor Sale vainly employed all the specious arguments in his power — and Mrs. Sale used true maternal pleadings — Lady Amicia continued inflexible. But though my opponent was thus removed, my own cause did not seem to be materially advanced by his defeat.
Poor John’s love affairs were in a more desperate state than mine. Ora’s disappointment was excessive when she found that he would not stretch out his hand to grasp the prize offered him. She could not believe in such absurdity and nonsense, and tried to rally him out of his determination. In vain.
Then she pouted, grew piqued, and at last fairly quarrelled with him. As to kind-hearted Miss Hazilrigge, she sided in this instance with her niece. She was sorry for John, but provoked at his stupidity. And I did not wonder at her being so. I felt provoked with him myself. And if he should lose Ora altogether for his folly, I am sure not one young lady in a hundred would sympathise with him. Not be a nobleman when he might, but prefer remaining a poor curate, besides giving up a beautiful heiress! Was there ever such a crazy being?
Since the Anchorite’s had passed into Lady Amicia’s hands I had never been near the place, neither had I heard directly from Apphia, but I had received many kind messages from her, conveyed through John, to whom she wrote constantly. During the whole of the period I am thus hastily surveying, I had remained in the country, in accordance with the advice of Major Atherton and Cuthbert Spring. After Malpas’s examination before the magistrates, we all returned to Owlarton Grange, and on the following day the two gentlemen I have mentioned were closeted with me for some time, and at last the major said, in reply to some rather too hasty remark of mine:
“You must have a little patience, my young friend. Mr. Spring and I have thought the matter well over, and I trust that in a short time we may be able to settle everything satisfactorily for you.”
“Say in a month major,” Cuthbert Spring cried. “I am pretty sure that by that time all may be accomplished. And with the conviction that his friends are at work for him, I think this eager young gentleman may be well content to keep quiet for so short a period, and get into no fresh scrapes — if he can help it,” he added, with a laugh.
“Well, gentlemen,” I replied, “I can only say that I am infinitely obliged to you. Act as you please. You shall have no interference from me; and I will do my best not to get into any fresh scrape.”
“Enough!” the major cried. “In a month’s time we hope to have a good account to render you. Remember, you are to be perfectly quiet, or you may mar our projects.”
I gave them a fresh assurance on this head, and our colloquy then ended. Later on in the same day the two gentlemen left Owlarton Grange for Cottonborough, where the major told me he should take up his quarters with his friend. While taking leave of me, Cuthbert Spring recommended me to pass as much of my time as I could at the Grange.”
“You are always welcome, I know,” he said, “and you will find the society here agreeable. I do not wish you to play the spy upon our worthy but eccentric host, but if you observe anything very unusual about him, drop me a line.”
I promised compliance with the request.
Major Atherton also took leave of me very kindly, but he rather surprised me by requesting, almost in the same terms as Cuthbert Spring, that if Old Hazy indulged in any unusual eccentricities, I would let him know.
I again promised compliance, though I wondered what they wanted, and began to fancy they must apprehend that the old gentleman was going out of his mind.
And here it may be asked whether the matrimonial arrangement between Cuthbert Spring and Miss Hazilrigge had approached any nearer to a conclusion? Apparently not. Soon after the old bachelor’s departure, I happened to be left alone with Miss Hazilrigge, and took the opportunity of inquiring whether Mr. Spring had made up his mind to leave Cottonborough.
“I really can’t tell,” she replied. “Whenever I press the question, he returns an evasive answer, but he has promised to come to a positive decision within a month. I have given him clearly to understand that I will never leave the country; so the affair will then be settled, one way or the other.”
“Everything, it appears, will be settled in a month,” I thought, struck with the coincidence of the time.
As counselled by the two friends to whom I had confided the management of my affairs, I passed the greater part of my time at the Grange. I endeavoured to accommodate matters between Ora and John, but did not find the task very easy of accomplishment. She could not be made to understand that John’s reluctance to move out of his present sphere arose partly from extreme humility of character, and partly from a delicate state of health, which made him shrink from mixing with society. Whatever his own feelings might be, she declared, he was bound to sacrifice them for her. He might prefer to remain a poor curate, and if such were his choice he might continue in a state of single-blessedness so far as she was concerned, for a poor curate she did not intend to marry. She would give him a month to decide. And if at the end of that time he retained his present opinions, she would think no more of him.
So John’s fate was to be decided in a month — a term, it seemed, assigned to us all.
Poor John’s cottage was no longer the cheerful abode that it had been before his sister’s departure. It was brightened by no female presence — and there was no ministering angel at hand to watch over and nurse him. Yet he uttered no murmur, but discharged his duties zealously as ever. He now and then walked over with me to the Grange, but as Ora now received him with great coldness he derived little pleasure from these visits.
And how was Malpas going on all this while? Did he seem affected by the critical position in which he stood? Not in the least, — so far as I could learn. But, in truth, I knew very little about him. An occasional rumour of his proceedings reached the Grange, and the last thing I heard of him was that he had made a match for five hundred guineas with a certain Captain Brereton, a young gentleman quite as much addicted to sporting pursuits as himself, and that they were to ride a steeplechase together between Ashley and Nethercrofts. This match, which had excited great interest among the gentry of the neighbourhood, was on the eve of coming off. I rode over to Marston on the very day before it was to take place, and found everybody talking about it.
But before explaining what took me to Marston, it will be necessary to make some mention of Old Hazy, whose proceedings had begun to attract my attention.
The old gentleman often expressed regret at the loss of the Thaumaturgus. No one had ever suited him so well. Despite the many proofs he had received of the rascal’s mal-practices, he still clung to him, and made excuses for him. According to Old Hazy’s showing, Doctor Hooker was an injured man; and so infatuated was the credulous old gentleman, that I felt that the rogue would be able to impose upon him again if he only got the opportunity.
Rather to my surprise, Major Atherton did not write to me at all, the correspondence from Cottonborough being conducted by Cuthbert Spring. One day there came a letter from Mr. Spring, stating that though the police ha
d now been actively employed for more than three weeks, they had failed in discovering Simon Pownall’s retreat. On reading this letter to Old Hazy, I observed a singular smile cross his countenance, ‘ and he remarked—” Ah! they’ll never catch Doctor Hooker.”
“I shouldn’t care if the rascal did get off,” I said, “provided he left the will behind him.”
“Give yourself no concern about that,” he observed; “the will will turn up soon. I am sure of it. There are more ways than one of discovering lost treasure,” he added, significantly.
“And I flatter myself that I am quite as likely to hit upon the right plan as Cuthbert Spring or Major Atherton.”
On that same day another circumstance occurred, which confirmed the suspicions aroused within me by the old gentleman’s observations. For a long period — ever since the disappearance of the Thaumaturgus, in fact — no nocturnal disturbance had occurred at Owlarton Grange; but Mr. Ponder now imparted to me in confidence that he had heard mysterious sounds in the haunted chamber, and he was afraid Jotham Shocklach was about to resume his midnight knockings. At this time, though I passed the greater part of the day at the Grange, I invariably slept at the mill; but after what I had just heard from Ponder, I thought I would try the effect upon Old Hazy of a proposal to occupy the haunted room that night. As I expected, he did not like it at all, made several absurd excuses, and ended by saying that I could have the room to-morrow — but not that night. I felt sure then that my suspicions were correct, but determined to satisfy myself before taking any decided steps.
I took leave of the old gentleman at the usual hour in the evening, but instead of starting for the mill, I remained in the garden, and concealing myself in the yew-tree alley, did not issue from this retreat till I judged that the inmates of the house had retired to rest. I then came out upon the lawn, and took up a position commanding the large bay-window of the haunted chamber. The night was perfectly dark, so it was not likely I should be perceived. All the lights in the house seemed to be extinguished, and apparently no one was astir.
This state of things continued for more than half an hour, until I heard a clock strike the hour of midnight. Scarcely had the sound ceased, than the window at which I was gazing became suddenly illuminated. Unluckily, the thick curtains, which I have already mentioned in my description of the room, were partially drawn across the deep embrasure, so I could not distinguish what was passing inside. But careful watching soon convinced me that there were two persons in the chamber. One of them, unquestionably, was Old Hazy; and the other, or I was greatly mistaken, was the Thaumaturgus.
But as I could not leave the matter in doubt, I considered how I could ascertain the point without giving the alarm. There was no ladder at hand to aid my investigation as on a former occasion, but I soon found that, by taking advantage of the branches of a large pear-tree which had been trained against the wall, I could reach the window, and I at once put the idea into execution. Proceeding with great caution, I quickly ascended so high that by grasping a branch of the pear-tree with my right hand, and planting the point of my foot on the window-sill, I was enabled to peep into the room. Still the thick curtain defied my scrutiny. But though I could not see, I could hear; and the voice which reached me was that of Pownall. The rascal was evidently concluding some arrangement with his dupe.
“Well, then,” he said, “I am to have the money to-morrow night, provided I put you in possession of all my magical treasures—”
“Not forgetting the will,” Old Hazy interrupted. “You mustn’t omit that.”
“Oh! yes, you may count upon the will,” Simon rejoined. “I shan’t be sorry to be rid of it. But mind! you are not to deliver it to young Clitheroe until a month after I am gone. You will pledge your word to that effect?”
“I will,” the old gentleman rejoined. “To-morrow night, at the same hour, we will meet again for the last time — but not here — in the summer-house. If you are ready to fulfil your part of the bargain, I will fulfil mine.”
“Oh! you needn’t be afraid of me,” Simon rejoined. “I’m sure to be ready. I’m only too anxious to be off. Though I oughtn’t to say so, for you have afforded me a secure asylum.”
“Yes, yes, they never thought of looking for you here,” the old gentleman replied with a laugh. “I am not quite sure that I am right in affording you a hiding-place, but I couldn’t betray a professor of the occult sciences.”
“Of course not,” Simon rejoined. “But as I was saying, I want to be off. The wound in my side caused by the pistol-shot is quite healed, and I feel strong enough for the voyage I contemplate to the New World. Ah! if that ball hadn’t glanced off my ribs, all would have been up with me. Captain Sale thought he had laid me low, and fancied he had buried his secret in the dyke; but it will rise up against him when he least expects it. Even now he persuades himself that I will make terms with him, but I will never do so. That will shall never come into his hands. Money shan’t buy it him. I will only use it as an instrument of revenge. It will hit more sharply than his pistol-shot. He tried to take my life, and though I won’t take his life in return, I’ll ruin him.”
There was a short pause, during which he no doubt perceived that he had gone too far, and that this injudicious manifestation of his vindictive feelings had startled his companion, for he added, by way of mollifying the old gentleman: “But such sentiments as these are unworthy of a philosopher, and must be repressed. I will strive to bear no man malice — not even Captain Sale.”
“I am glad to hear you say so,” Old Hazy replied. “But you have never explained to me how you escaped that night. How did you contrive to get out of the dyke?”
“It was a wonderful escape, to be sure, sir,” Pownall replied; “indeed, it would almost appear that I was born neither to be shot nor drowned. Luckily for me when I fell into the dyke my head remained above water, for I couldn’t stir for some minutes. When I could use my limbs once more, I crawled slowly along the bottom of the trench, until at last I reached a pool, where I crept out, and in doing so lost one of my shoes—”
“Which we found, together with your neckerchief,” Old Hazy remarked. “Pray go on.”
“After resting myself for some time upon the bank, I mustered up strength enough to carry me across the moor, staggering on till I reached the Chester road, where, as good luck would have it, a waggon chanced to be passing at the time on its way to Cottonborough through Northwich. I told the waggoner I had missed my way across the forest and had got into a bog, and, my appearance confirming the statement, the man believed me, took compassion upon me, and allowed me to get into the back of his wain, and rest myself amidst the straw. He left me at a little roadside inn about a mile from Marston, whence I despatched a messenger with a note to Chetham Quick, who came to me at once.”
“Chetham Quick could safely swear, then — as he did in giving his evidence — that he knew you were alive,” Old Hazy remarked; “but he declared you were unhurt.”
“Chetham would swear black is white if he thought anybody would believe him,” Pownall replied. “The doubledealing rascal is in Captain Sale’s pay. However, I won’t say anything against him, for he behaved kindly enough to me on that occasion — concealed me in a place of security — dressed my wound — gave me restoratives — supplied me with clothes, money, and whatever else I required. In return, he wanted me to give up the will to Captain Sale. But that wouldn’t do. So I took French leave of him a few nights ago, and came to you. And now, sir, I think we had better separate. I am fearful of being discovered. To-morrow at midnight — in the summer-house — all shall be concluded. Then I’ll trouble you no longer.” And I could tell from the sound that he was moving off.
“You can find your way in the dark?” Old Hazy demanded.
“As easily as a cat,” the Thaumaturgus replied.
Listening attentively, I then heard the trap-door let down, and knew which way he had gone. I waited for a moment or two longer, until the closing of the door told me th
at the chamber was deserted, and then descended.
This was the business that took me to Marston.
CHAPTER XVII.
FORTUNE AT LAST FAVOURS ME.
NEXT morning I rode to Marston, as I have stated, and despatched Ned Culcheth to Cottonborough with a letter to Major Atherton, acquainting him with the discovery I had made, and begging him to come over that evening with Cuthbert Spring. I requested them to meet me at the mill at ten o’clock, and to bring an officer with them. I felt sure they would not disappoint me.
Before starting for Marston I had taken the precaution of making arrangements with Ponder and Stephen Blackden that Pownall could not escape; though indeed I had little uneasiness on that score, for I felt sure the rascal would keep his appointment with Old Hazy. No doubt we could have discovered his hiding-place, but the grand object was to secure the will, and this might have been defeated by any precipitate measures.
On my return, I thought it best to prepare Miss Hazilrigge and Ora for what might occur at night, and very much surprised they both were by my relation. Many odd and unaccountable things as her brother had done, Miss Hazilrigge said, this was the oddest and most unaccountable of all. This juggling Pownall had bewitched him. “However,” she said, “I am rejoiced that the rascal is likely to be caught at last, and I sincerely hope that the ridiculous position in which my brother will find himself placed will serve him as a lesson for the rest of his life.”
The kind lady then expressed her willingness to act in any way that I might direct her, and I recommended that nothing whatever should be done to excite the old gentleman’s suspicions. She promised to keep watch over the household. Ponder, Old Finch, and Stephen Blackden had already been taken into my confidence, and could be safely relied upon, but none of the others were to be let into the secret.
The Works of William Harrison Ainsworth Page 490
