Clara Vaughan, Volume 3 (of 3)

by R. D. Blackmore

  CHAPTER XVIII.

  They put me in the very hammock where that murderer of all my happinesshad slept, and no wonder that I could find no rest there. Soon as Iknew the reason, I was allowed to change, and crept into the littleberth where my innocent pets had lain in each other's arms. Here I sleptmuch better than a king, for I even fancied that it smelt of Lily. Iflittle Lily, as she shall be called, whatever the rogues have christenedher, if my little beauty--for that I am sure she must be--ever comes tolight, when I am in my grave, remember one thing, Clara, you will findher breath and general fragrance just as her mother's were. Such thingsare hereditary, especially among women.

  After a long and stormy passage, and a fortnight spent in repairing atBordeaux, we passed the familiar Essex marshes by night, and were offthe Custom House by the last day of the year. When that tedious workwas over--talk as we please of the douane, our own is as bad as most ofthem--feeling quite out of my latitude, and not a bit like anEnglishman, I betook myself to a tavern near London Bridge. Thereeverything seemed new, and I could not walk the streets without yawinginto the wrong tide. But one old London custom held its ground withtime. Papers a week and a fortnight old still strayed about in thecoffee-room. Being told that the journals of that day were "in hand,"as they always are, I took up a weekly paper of some ten days back toyawn over it till supper time. It was too late for me to think ofdisturbing Peter Green by a sudden arrival, and so I had ordered a bedat this hotel.

  The weekly gazette in my hand was one of those which use the shears withdiligence and method. Under the heading "Provincial News," I found thefollowing paragraph:--

  "SEASONABLE BENEVOLENCE.--We understand that in these times of severeand unmerited pressure upon the agricultural interest--the trueback-bone of old England--the head of one of our most ancient andrespected county families has announced his intention of remitting toall his tenantry no less than twenty per cent. upon their rentals. Hehas also bespoken a lavish and most princely repast--shall we saydinner--to be provided on Christmas eve for every man, woman, and childupon his large domain. When we announce that mine host of the Elephantis to be major domo, and our respected townsman George Jenkins, whopurchased as our readers are aware the gold medal ox at Smithfield, isto cater for the occasion, need we say anything more? At the risk ofgratuitous insult to the intelligence of the county, we must subjointhat the honoured gentleman to whom we allude is Henry ValentineVaughan, Esquire, of Vaughan Park. Is not such a man, therepresentative of time-honoured sentiments, and who to a distinguisheddegree adds the experience of continental travel, is not such a man, weask, a thousand times fitter to express in the Senate the opinions andwishes of this great county, than the scion, we had almost said spawn,of the Manchester mushrooms, whom a Castle that shall be nameless isattempting to foist on the county? We pause for a reply.--_GloucesterArgus_."

  My dear brother's distinguished degree was that of B.A. after a narrowescape from pluck. Clara, don't look offended. Your father had verygood abilities, but spent most of his Oxford time in pigeon matches atthe Weirs, and expeditions to Bagley wood, which later in life he wouldhave looked upon as felonious.

  This paltry puff would never have been reprinted by a London journal ofeminence and influence, but for the suggestion at the end, whichhappened just to hit the sentiments of the more exalted editor. Nowthis weekly paper was sure to circulate among refugees from thecontinent, by reason of its well-known antipathy towards them; and therehappened to be in this very number a violent tirade against ourGovernment for displaying what we delight to call the mighty AEgis ofEngland. I saw the danger at once, and my heart turned sick within me.My gay and harmless brother in the midst of his Christmas rejoicings,and a stealthy murderer creeping perhaps at that very moment towardshim.

  But even if it were so, was there not some chance of Lepardo discoveringhis mistake, when in the neighbourhood where the Vaughans were so wellknown? Yes, some chance there was, but very little. Bound upon such anerrand he would not dare to show himself, or to make any inquiries, evenif they seemed needful. And the mention by that cursed gossip of what hecalled "continental travel"--your father's wedding tour--would banishall doubt of identity, had any been entertained. Even supposing thatcold-blooded fiend should meet my poor brother, face to face, in theopen daylight, it was not likely that he would be undeceived. Lepardoand I had met only once, and then in hot encounter. My brother was likeme in figure, in face, and in voice; and though I was somewhat tallerand much darker of complexion, the former difference would not attractattention, unless we stood side by side; the latter would of course beattributed to the effects of climate. From the gamekeeper's evidence, Iam now inclined to believe that Lepardo, while lurking in the lowercoppice, among the holly bushes, must have cast his evil eyes on yourpoor father's face, and convinced himself that he beheld his enemy.

  Flurried and frightened, I looked at the date of the paper. It wastwelve days old. Possibly I might yet be in time, for most likely themurderer would set out on foot, according to Corsican practice, with thetravel-stone bound on his knee. Even if he had travelled in modernfashion, he would probably lurk and lie in ambush about the house,enduring hunger and cold and privation, until his moment came. Could Ileave for Gloucester that night? No, the last train would have started,before I could get to Paddington. So I resolved to go by the morningexpress, which would take me to Gloucester by middle day.

  After a sleepless night, I was up betimes in the morning, and wentthrough the form of breakfast while the cab was sent for. Presently awaiter came in with the morning papers, the papers of New Year's-day,1843. What I saw and what my feelings were, you, my poor child, can toowell imagine. That day I could not bear to go. It was cowardly of me,and perhaps unmanly; but I could not face your mother's grief and thedesolate household. Therefore I persuaded myself that I had dischargedmy duty, by visiting all the London police stations, and leaving thebest description I could give of Lepardo. The following day I leftLondon, and arrived, as perhaps you remember, long after dark, andduring a heavy fall of snow. There at the very threshold I began amisswith you, for I outraged your childish pride by mistaking you for thehousekeeper's daughter. With a well-born child's high self-esteem, andmaking no allowance for the dim light, you believed it to be a shamintended to mortify you; and it poisoned your heart towards me. But youwere wholly mistaken. My mind was full of your mother and of theterrible blow to her; to you, whom I had never seen, and scarcely evenheard of, I never gave a thought; except the mistaken one that you werenot old enough to be sensible of your loss. Little did I imagine what afount of resolute will, and deep feeling, found a vent in the kicks andscreams of the large-eyed minnikin, that would not be ordered away.

  You are entitled, Clara, to know all that I have done towards thediscovery of your father's assassin, and all that I can tell to aid yourown pursuit. The hair found in your mother's grasp was beyond a doubtLepardo's; that laid upon your father's bosom was, of course, my Lily's.It was to show that her supposed seduction had been expiated. The onething that most surprised me was that the murderer left no token, nosymbol of himself. In a Vendetta murder they almost always do, as amark of triumph and a gage to the victim's family. Hence I believed thatSignor Dezio was not killed in Vendetta, but by his nephew for gain.How Lepardo got into the house I have no idea, or rather I had none,until you told me of the secret passage, and Mrs. Daldy's entrance.Till then I always thought that he had clambered up, as he did at Vedutatower. But unless there was a traitor in the household, he must havebeen there more than once, to have known so well your father's sleepingroom.

  It would have been waste of time for me to concern myself about thecounty police. That body of well-conducted navvies--Lepardo would haveoutwitted them, when he was five years old. Neither did I meddle withthe coroner and his jury, but left them to their own devices andindigenous intellect. These displayed themselves in much puzzle-headedcross-questioning, sagacious looks, and nods, and
winks of acutereservation. It was, as most often it is, a bulldog after a hare.Lepardo might safely have been in the midst of them, asked for a chair,and made suggestions. as "amicus curiae."

  But with the London police it was somewhat different. They showed somelittle acumen, but their fundamental error is this--they pridethemselves on their intelligence. No man of any real depth ever doessuch a thing as this. He knows very well that whatever he is, there arehalf a million more so; that the age of exceptional intellects expired,at least in this country, with Mr. Edmund Burke, and is not likely torise from the dead. Now we are all pretty much good useful clods on alevel: education, like all good husbandry, tends to pulverisation; andif the collective produce is greater, let us be at once thankful andhumble.

  The London police, being proud of their intelligence, declared thatthere could be no doubt about their catching the criminal. They laughedat my belief that he might walk through the midst of them, while theywould touch their hats to him, and beg him to look after hishandkerchief. At one time, I think, they were really on his track, andI went to London, and stayed there, and did my best to help them. Butthey were all too late; Lepardo, if he it were, had left for Paris theweek before. To Paris I followed, but found no trace of him there.Then I went on to Corsica, thinking it likely that he would return tohis old piratical ways. Moreover, I wanted to see how my children'sestates were managed, and to revisit St. Katharine's.

  All was calm and peaceful. Lily's grave and her father's were blendedin one rich herbage. There all the bloom of my life was drooping, likethe yellow mountain-rose, whence if a single flower be plucked, all theother blossoms fall.

  Count Gaffori received me kindly. His daughter was married and had twochildren, who played where Lily's boy and girl should by rights beplaying. I could not bear it, and came away, having nothing now to carefor. Wherever I went the world seemed much of a muchness to me; and tomy own misfortunes the blood of my brother was added. I found the"Lilyflower" still under worthy Petro, and returned in her to England,and she still is mine. Petro would not come; he was too true a Corsicanto leave the beloved island now his hair was grey. So I set him up atCalvi with a vessel of his own, and now and then I receive a letter fromgood Marcantonia. They have promised to watch for the reappearance ofour fearful enemy; and Petro has sworn to shoot him, if ever he gets achance.

  After my return to England, I set to work with all my energy to improvethis property. In this, if in nothing else, I have thoroughlysucceeded. Much opposition I had to encounter; for the tenants regardedme as a mere interloper, and their hearts were with you and your mother.When I call them together to-morrow, as I intend to do, abandon all myright, title, and interest, and declare you their Signora, it is my firmbelief that they will hardly think me worth cursing before they worshipyou. This old retainership is a thing to be proud and yet ashamed of.It is a folly that makes one glory in being a fool. Why, after you leftfor Devonshire (much, as you know, against my will), I could not rideout without being insulted, and even the boys called me "Jonathan Wild."But this was due, in some measure, to your father's gay geniality, andhearty good-will to all men, contrasted with my satiric and moodyreserve. Neither were your youth, and sex, and helplessness, lost uponthat chivalrous being--if he only knew his chivalry--the sturdy Englishyeoman.

  Why did I let you go? Well, I believe it was one of the many mistakesof my life; but I had a number of reasons, though personal dislike ofyou was not, as you thought, one of them. No, my child, I have neverdisliked you; not even on the night when you came and denounced me, withthe dagger in your hand. I must indeed have been worse than I am, if Icould have nourished ill-will against a young thing, whom I had made anorphan. By some instinct, you knew from the first that the deed wasmine, although I was not the doer. I would have loved you, if you wouldhave let me, my heart yearned so over children. But of my reason forletting you go, the chiefest perhaps--setting aside that I could notstop you--was this consideration. For years I had longed, and craved inmy heart of hearts, to tell your mother all, and obtain her gentleforgiveness. But any allusion--no matter how veiled and mantled--to thestory of her loss threw her, as you know well, into a most peculiarstate, wherein all the powers of mind and body seemed to be quitesuspended. With a man's usual roughness of prescription for the moredelicate sex, I believed firmly that total change of living, and air,and place, and habits, would relax this wonderful closure, secure myforgiveness, and re-establish her health. The shock I received at herdeath was almost as terrible as when my brother died. When I stoodbeside you at her grave, I was come with the full intention of tellingyou all my story, and begging you to return with me, and live once morein your father's house. But your behaviour to me was so cold andcontemptuous, that I forgot my crushing debt to you; and humiliationbecame, for the moment, impossible. I meant, however, to have writtento you that evening, before you should leave the village; but (as younow are aware) that very evening, I was smitten helpless. Partiallyrecovering, after months of illness, I was deeply distressed to findthat you had left your good friends in Devonshire, and were gone, myinformants could not say whither. Neither had I learned yourwhereabouts up to the time of my last illness, when I was makinginquiries, of which your enemy reaped the benefit. For the rest, youknow that I never meant to rob you of your inheritance, though bigotednonsense enables me. To-morrow, please God, I will put it out of mypower to do so. Mrs. Daldy's motive you have long since perceived.Failing my children, and the attainted Lepardo, her son is the heir toall the lands of the Della Croce. She has held me much in her power, byher knowledge of parts of my history. Henry's baptismal entry, as wellas that of my marriage, was in the packet she stole. One word more, mydarling--and from an old man, who has wandered and suffered much, youwill not think it impertinent. Leave your revenge to God. In Hisway--which we call wonderful, because the steps are unseen--He willaccomplish it for you, as righteousness demands. Any interference ofours is a worm-cast in His avenue. Though I am stricken and dying, He,if so pleases Him, will bring me my children before I die, that I maybless Him, and tell my Lily."

  I fell upon the old man's neck--old he was, though not in years--and asI wept I kissed him. How could I have wronged him so, and how could Ikeep myself from loving one so long unhappy? If sorrow be the sponge ofsin, his fault was wiped away.

  CLARA VAUGHAN

  BOOK V.