From the workshop of Mr. Stokes, the baronet wandered on to the Grange, and found Mr. Mathews basking in the sun upon the same bench with Mr. King. He announced to them both the interesting news that next Tuesday had been at length fixed upon as the wedding-day.
Mr. King received the intelligence with a great deal of kind neighbourly interest, very cordially wishing the baronet joy, and declaring that they would make the handsomest couple in the county.
But it was quite in vain that the usually polite and observant Mr. Mathews endeavoured to look Sir Charles Otterborne in the face, and wish him joy, as civilly as Mr. King had done.
But the thing was impossible. His brilliant grandson had been amusing him about an hour before with rather a long description of all that he meant to do as soon as he returned from Scotland with Emily; a conversation which would have been, if possible, still more delightful than it really was, had not the young man taken that opportunity of informing him that he found it would be absolutely necessary for him to go to London for a few days previous to the elopement.
“In the first place, Sir,” he said, “the whole scheme would be blown to the devil if I attempted to make any preparations here. Everything must be done in London. Let me alone, Sir,” he added; “I know what I am about, and everything will go right, you may depend upon it.”
So Mr. Mathews did depend upon it; and Mr. Stephen Cornington had, in fact, set off for London that very morning by the early tram.
It was no great wonder, therefore, if Mr. Mathews found himself so much inclined to laugh, upon hearing this very grave, but very erroneous, statement from Sir Charles, as to render him perfectly incapable of replying to him with becoming gravity The peculiarity of his manner, however, escaped the notice of Sir Charles; who was, in fact, too much interested and excited himself by the news he came to communicate, to permit his being very observant of the manner in which it was received.
He left his kind compliments, however, for Mrs. Mathews, and begged that she might be given to understand that he had called at the Grange on purpose to give her the earliest intelligence that the important day was finally fixed for Tuesday next.
Poor Mr. Mathews strove hard to behave as well as he possibly could under the circumstances; but there was something so irresistibly comic in wishing a gentleman joy of having obtained a wealthy heiress as the wife of his son, which wealthy heiress was about to elope in a few hours with his own grandson, that had it not been for the assistance of the large Bandana handkerchief, with which from time to time he concealed his features, Sir Charles must have found out the very extraordinary state of his mind.
The visit, however, did not last long, and very heartily glad was the merry Mr. Mathews when it was over, The last of the visits which Sir Charles proposed to pay that morning was to the Rectory; and here, at least, his news was received with the most perfect good breeding and decorum. Mrs. Price, as usual, looked the very perfection of genteel propriety; Louisa certainly looked very happy, but she looked very tranquil too; and as to the reverend rector himself, it must have been a very sharp-sighted person indeed, who could have discovered anything out of the common way in his demeanour.
“‘Well, neighbour Price,” began the facetious Sir Charles, in his kindest tone of familiarity, “had you not begun to think that our wedding was to be no wedding at all?”
“How so, Sir Charles?” said the rector, with a look as unmeaning as it was in his power to make it.
“How so, man! — why, by reason of no day being fixed for it,” returned the baronet.
“Oh! as to that, Sir Charles, the fixing the day is no very difficult job.”
“You are quite right, there, my good friend, for it did not take us above half a minute to fix it at last. I have just come from Steyton’s, and he commissioned me, as I was coming this way, to tell you that next Tuesday is the day we have fixed upon.”
“Really!” said Mrs. Price, — who truly was as innocent of the Scotch gallop her son was upon, as a new-born babe. “Really! Well, Sir Charles, that is quite right. Tuesday is marrying-day, I believe?”
“And you are to be bridesmaid, Miss Louisa; but that, I daresay, you know already. Emily, I believe, fixed upon you for that office almost as soon as the offer was made; and I daresay, if the truth were told, the dress is not very far from being ready,” said Sir Charles, looking at her with a vast deal of merry intelligence.
Miss Louisa Price blushed and smiled, and hung down her head, but said nothing.
“And now,” he resumed, “I think I must go home, and talk a little to her ladyship about it. If you will believe me, Price, I don’t know at this moment, near as the day is, whether she means being present at the ceremony or not. However, there is still time enough to settle all that. Good morning to you all! I must be off, for there are fifty things still that I want to say to Herbert. I intend to let them stay abroad just as long as they like; and when they come back, I mean that they shall have the whole right wing of the Manor-house fitted up for them And they may receive and give dinners, and do everything they like there. When there is plenty of money, you know, everything is easy. And having said this, he nodded gaily to the family-party and took his leave.
CHAPTER XLVI.
IT was about three hours after Sir Charles had left the carpenter’s shop, before his visits and his pleasant lingering walk brought him within sight of his own lodge-gates on his return.
As he approached the lodge, he perceived a group of three men standing idly together just outside the gate, within the shadow of one of his own noble oaks, which threw its arms over the park paling half across the public road. He was aware that they perceived his approach, and his aristocratic feelings were rather offended by their not moving off when they saw him, — for though there was certainly quite enough room for him to pass, they nevertheless stood in some degree between him and his own gate.
At length, however, they did move, and moved altogether, — but it was not out of his way, but directly towards him.
“Beg your pardon, Sir Charles,” said the foremost of the three, slightly touching his hat, “but, I’m sorry to say I have got a bit of a retainer against you, Sir, and if the money can’t be paid down, you must please to come with me.”
Sir Charles for a moment looked vehemently excited, and vehemently red; but he quickly recovered his self-command, and said, without any appearance of irritation, but with something like a sneer on his lips, “Certainly, my good fellow, I must go with you, if the gentry who have employed you are so hard-pressed that they cannot wait a few days longer for their money.”
“They can’t, no how, Sir Charles,” returned the official.
“At any rate they are acting just now WITH great folly, as well as with great incivility,” returned the prisoner. “However, I am quite ready to go with you.”
But he bit his nether lip almost through as he pronounced the words.
“Sir Charles will choose to have out the carriage, I suppose:” said one of the other men.
“Why, yes, — I shall prefer it, in preference to walking to the county jail in your company,” said the unfortunate debtor.
“Shall I step forward to order it, Sir Charles?” said one of the men.
“Just as you please,” was the reply; “but I shall step forward myself, also. I cannot leave my house without taking a portmanteau and dressing-case with me.”
“Well, Sir Charles, for the honour of the family, I will not contradict you; but it is being rather more obliging than I have any right to be.”
The baronet said nothing in reply, but strode onward towards the house. Instead of approaching the principal entrance, however, he turned off towards a side door that opened upon a small hall, which led to his study. This door was already open, and one of his own servants was standing at it.
It was instantly evident, from the first glance of this man’s eye, that he recognised the persons by whom his master was accompanied, — and, moreover, that he understood their errand.
/> “I shall want you immediately to take a note for me to Weldon Lodge, William,” said Sir Charles, addressing him; and then, with a rapid step, he passed on to his study, followed by the three unwelcome visitors, as well as by his own servant.
Sir Charles immediately sat down at his desk, and began writing a letter.
“Shall I order the carriage to come round, Sir Charles?” said the man in authority.
“If it is a part of your duty, pray do it,” replied Sir Charles, making him a sort of comic bow. “And now I think of it,” he continued, “you may not only order it, but you may order it to carry my note to Mr. Steyton. He will, I have no doubt, return with it, and by that means this very foolish business will be the more speedily brought to a conclusion.”
The three officials held a consultation together upon the propriety of complying with this proposal.
“It is a pity that you did not bring a few more hands with you,” said Sir Charles, looking at them with unutterable contempt. “Are you afraid that if you allow me too much time, I shall vanish away from you? Your employer has chosen his time oddly enough. — But I am not going to run away, — and even if I made the attempt, I should have but a poor chance with three such brave fellows to run after me.”
The note he had been writing was finished, folded, sealed, and directed with great rapidity; and he now delivered it to William, telling him to go with the carriage as soon as it was ready, and deliver it with his own hand to Mr. Steyton, with as little delay as possible. The man left the room instantly, and the carriage wheels were in the next moment heard rolling over the gravel. Neither was any time lost on its return, — for almost before it could be expected, the same sound was heard again.
Sir Charles had seated himself during the interval in his usual arm-chair, while the three men stood grouped together, awkwardly enough, just within the door. To judge from the serenity of his countenance, it really seemed as if the master of the mansion had actually forgotten the presence of his unwelcome guests, for he was employing himself with great seeming composure in reading over again the three letters from his London correspondents, which were given in the last chapter; nay, more, ho smiled as he replaced them in his desk; and then, during the short interval which remained before the return of the carriage, he took up the newspaper of the morning, and placing himself in a very comfortable attitude, appeared to read it with great attention.
His letter to Mr. Steyton had contained only a few lines, which ran thus: —
“MY DEAR STEYTON, — A very stupid mistake on the part of my managing man, about the payment of a bill which I thought wanted correction, has produced this morning the agreeable vagary of an arrest. I shall be much obliged by your lending me your name as security for a day or two, in which time I shall be perfectly well able to get it settled. And I am sure you will agree with me that your Emily’s father-in-law must not come forth from a sponging-house, in order to be present at her wedding.
“Yours most faithfully,
“CHARLES OTTERBORNE.”
The answer to it was not much longer. It was thus worded: —
“SIR CHARLES, — Did matters stand between us as they once did, and as you seem to fancy they do still, I might think your demand upon me rather less unreasonable than it appears at present. I have no wish to quarrel with any of your family, but neither have I any wish to stand security for them. Since you called here we have found a letter in my daughter Emily’s work-box, informing me, that in order to get rid of all her other admirers, she has eloped with Mr. William Price. I cannot help feeling that it is possible she might have done worse.
“Yours,
“THOMAS STEYTON.”
The perusal of this note produced the first very strong symptom of emotion which Sir Charles had yet manifested; he turned deadly pale, and for a moment his eyes were closed, and something like a shudder seemed to pass through his whole frame. Put he very speedily roused himself, and turning to the three men who appeared to be expecting the result of the embassy, he said, with more civility than he had previously used towards them, “I am sorry to have kept you waiting for nothing. It does not suit Mr. Steyton, it seems, to afford me the assistance I asked for. I must therefore go with you. Would you like to take any refreshment, while my servant is putting up a few necessaries?”
“No, Sir Charles, thank you kindly, but we’ll bide as we be.” And a something like a look of intelligence which was exchanged between the speaker and his companions, suggested the idea of a watch and ward that was not to give way even before the famous home-brewed ale of Manor-house.
“Nay, my good fellows,” said the baronet with a sort of melancholy smile, “you need not be afraid that I should run away from you. Such an attempt might give you a little more trouble, but it could not possibly do me any good. I must get through this business as well as I can, but it won’t be by running away.”
He then rang the bell — and William, who had left the room after delivering Mr. Steyton’s note, answered it.
“It is necessary that I should go with these persons, William,” said he, in a quiet, though somewhat of a stern manner; “but I believe that they will not object to wait for a few minutes longer while you put up in one of the small portmanteaus a few necessaries for me. You may bring all the things in here if you will, and then I shall see myself what I shall most want.”
This command met with no opposition from the men in whose custody he was now placed, and his servant left the room to obey his orders.
In a very few minutes he returned bringing linen, and various other commodities in his arms. “More than enough, more than enough, William!” exclaimed Sir Charles, giving a cursory glance to the various articles with which the man covered the table and chairs. “And now then for the small portmanteau. You will find two or three in there,” he added, pointing to the half-open door of a small room, or almost closet, which was the receptacle of boots, spurs, riding-whips, and masculine gear of various kinds.
The man obeyed, and brought forth a small portmanteau.
“Will this do, Sir Charles?” said his servant.
“Yes, yes! it will do very well, I daresay. Put everything in for me, will you?” was the reply of his master.
But long before “everything” was put in, it became evident that there was not room enough to contain all that was required. “There are half a dozen of them of different sizes in there!” exclaimed Sir Charles, fretfully. “Bring out another, do.”
And another, considerably longer, was then brought, and the packing process recommenced. But when it seemed to be very nearly completed, Sir Charles discerned that the key was wanting. William declared that the key was in the lock when he brought it out. “Then you have dropped it since!” cried Sir Charles, his temper seeming to give way under these minor vexations. “By heaven! all this preparation is worse than the thing itself. Look for the key on the carpet, can’t you?”
And both master and man groped under the chairs, and tables — the three officials obligingly joining in the hunt.
During the minute or two that this lasted, Sir Charles, in seeking the lost key, had moved from the spot where he had stood when the packing began, and was now pushing about a chair or two which stood close beside the closet-door; and in the next moment he had slipped through this closet-door himself, which was rapidly and vehemently closed, and almost at the same moment it was both locked and bolted very audibly within.
“Is there any outlet from that room?” demanded the unfortunate men who had it in charge to arrest Sir Charles Otterborne.
“No!” replied William, you need not frighten yourself about his getting out that way, for” — But before the consolatory assurance could be fully uttered, they were made very fearfully to understand that there might be more ways than one by which an arrested debtor might make his escape, for the report of a pistol was heard so close beside them, that each man looked at his neighbour as if he expected to see him fall.
Of course not a moment was lost in br
eaking open the door; but the fatal work had been performed by no weak or wavering hand. The skull had been literally shattered to atoms, and the death which followed, must have been instantaneous.
CHAPTER XLVII.
THAT her son had not left the house and the kingdom, was the first consolatory circumstance which suggested itself to the terrified Lady Otterborne, when the frightful catastrophe was made known to her. The report of the pistol had startled her, but greatly less than it would have done had she been better acquainted with the desperate state of her husband’s affairs.
But having a sort of quiet old-fashioned persuasion that thirty thousand pounds was a large sum, and well knowing that her dissolute husband had a perfectly unchecked control over the legacy to that amount which had so unexpectedly come to her, she perfectly comprehended why, and how it was that Sir Charles had managed to be so much in London, although she had steadily refused to have a house there; but it certainly had never occurred to her that the uncontrolled possession of this sum had not sufficed to keep her unprincipled husband out of debt, and beyond the danger of a catastrophe so appalling as the sound of that pistol shot announced.
It was the entrance of her maid therefore, looking herself as pale as a corpse, that first gave a fatal shape to the vague feeling of terror which that sound produced.
Whenever some decidedly preponderating affection has possession of us, we are all apt, I believe, to suffer every vague alarm to point in that direction. Had Lady Otterborne been the mother of many children, her first thought would probably have been that some dreadful accident had befallen some among them; but now, on seeing the ghostly face of her attendant, the first sound she uttered was the name of “Herbert!”
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