CHAPTER XXV.
We will go back, if it pleases the reader; for fortunately, ithappens, that, in a work of this character, one can go back. Oh, howoften in human life is it to be wished, that we could do the same!What deeds, done amiss, would then be rectified! What mistakes inthought, in conduct, in language, would then be corrected! What evilsfor the future avoided! What false steps would be turned back! Whatmoral bonds shackling our whole being, would not then be broken! I dobelieve, that, if any man would take any hour out of any period of hislife, and look at it with a calm, impartial, unprejudiced eye, hewould feel a longing to turn back and change something therein: hewould wish to say more, than he had said--or less--to say it in adifferent tone--with a different look--or he would have acteddifferently--he would have yielded--or resisted--or listened--orrefused to listen--he would wish to have exerted himselfenergetically--or to have remained passive--or to have meditated erehe acted--or considered something he had forgotten--or attended to thesmall, still voice in his heart, when he had shut his ears. Something,something, he ever would have altered in the past! But, alas! the pastis the only reality of life, unchangeable, irretrievable,indestructible; we can neither mould it, nor recall it, nor wipe itout. There it stands for ever: the rock of adamant, up whose steepside we can hew no backward path.
We will turn back to where we left Doctor Miles and Beauchamp. Issuingforth from the church, and, passing round Stephen Gimlet's cottage,they found the worthy clergyman's little phaeton standing by the twohorses which Beauchamp had brought from Tarningham Park. Orders weregiven for the four-wheeled and four-footed things to follow slowly;and the two gentlemen walked forward on foot, the younger putting hishand lightly through the arm of the elder, as a man does, when hewishes to bespeak attention to what he is going to say.
"I have been looking at those monuments with some interest, my deardoctor," said Beauchamp, after they had taken about twenty steps inadvance; "and now I am going to make you, in some degree, what, I daresay, as a good Protestant divine, you never expected to become--myfather-confessor. There are several things, upon which I much wish toconsult you, as I have great need of a good and fair opinion andadvice."
"The best that it is in my power to give, you shall have, my youngfriend," answered Doctor Miles; "not that I expect you to take myadvice, either; for I never yet, in the course of a long life, knewabove two men, who did take advice, when it was given. But that is notalways the fault of the giver; and, therefore, mine is ever ready,when it is asked. What is it you have to say?"
"More, I fear, than can be well said in one conversation," answeredBeauchamp; "but I had better begin and tell a part, premising, that itis under the seal of confession, and therefore----"
"Shall be as much your own secret, as if it had not been given to me,"said Doctor Miles; "go on."
"Well, then, for one part of the story," said Beauchamp, with a smileat his old companion's abruptness; "in the first place, my deardoctor, I am, in some sort, an impostor; and our mutual friend,Stanhope, has aided the cheat."
Doctor Miles turned round sharply, and looked in his face for amoment; then nodded his head, as he saw there was no appearance ofshame in the expression, and gazed straightforward again, withoutsaying a word.
"To make the matter short, my good friend," continued his companion,"my name is not Beauchamp at all, nor any thing the least like it."
"_Nom de guerre_," said Doctor Miles; "pray, what may the war beabout?"
"Of that hereafter," said Beauchamp--"for I shall still continue tocall him by the name which he repudiated. You have seen, that I havebeen somewhat anxious to purchase this Moreton Hall property, and amstill anxious to do so, though I have received a little bit of news onthat subject to-day, which may make me very cautious about theexamination of titles, &c. This intelligence is, that the ostensibleproprietor is not the real one; your acquaintance, Mr. Wharton, havingbecome virtually possessed of the property, perhaps, by not thefairest means."
"Humph!" said Doctor Miles; but he added nothing further, andBeauchamp went on.
"Poor Mr. St. Leger Moreton," he said, "was by no means a man ofbusiness, an easy, kind-hearted, somewhat too sensitive person."
"I know, I know," answered Doctor Miles, "I was well acquainted withhim; and if ever man died of a broken heart, which is by no means sounusual an occurrence as people suppose, he did so."
"I believe it," answered Beauchamp; "but, at all events, he was not aman, as you must know, to ascertain, that he was dealt fairly by. Hisson, I am sorry to say, was willing to do any thing for ready money--Isay any thing, for I do not know that act to which he would not haverecourse for any object that he sought to gain."
"You seem to know them all thoroughly," said Doctor Miles, drily; andhe then added in a warmer tone, "I will tell you what, my dear Sir,this Captain Moreton is one of those men who make us ashamed of humannature. Born to a fine estate, the son of an excellent woman andamiable man, though a weak one, he went on corrupting himself andevery one else, from boyhood to youth, and from youth to manhood. Heis the only man I have ever known without one principle of any kind,or one redeeming point. There is but one thing to be said in hisexcuse, namely, that his great aunt, old Miss Moreton, who went toScotland, and left him a small property there of about a thousand ayear, which he dissipated totally in eleven weeks after he got it,spoiled him from his infancy, pampered, indulged, encouraged him inthe most frightful manner. Even his vices became virtues in her eyes;so that there is not much marvel that he became a gambler, a_d?bauch?e_, a duellist, and a scoundrel. People may consider that hiscourage and his talents were redeeming qualities, but I look upon themas none. They were only energies, which carried him on to deeperwickedness and infamy. He is now, I believe, a common sharper andswindler."
"I have let you go on, doctor," said Beauchamp, "because you have notsaid one word that is not just; but yet I must tell you, that thisgentleman is my first cousin, and, unfortunately, heir to my estatesand name."
Doctor Miles halted suddenly, and looked at his companion with somesurprise.
"This takes me unprepared," he said; "I never heard of his having morethan one cousin, namely, the present Lord Lenham; and he, Iunderstood, was travelling in India for pleasure--a curious place togo for pleasure--but all men have their whims."
"It was not exactly a whim that led me thither, my dear doctor," saidBeauchamp; "from the time I was twenty-one years of age up to thepresent hour, I have been a wanderer over the face of the earth,expiating in bitterness of heart one early error. I have not time now,and, I may say also, I have not spirits at the present moment to enterinto the long detail of my past history. Let it suffice for thepresent to say, that a species of persecution, very difficult to avoidor bear, made me for many years a stranger to my native country. Ivisited every part of Europe and America, and then thought I wouldtravel in the East, visiting scenes full of interest both from theirnovelty, in some respects, and from the vast antiquity to which theirhistory and many of their monuments go back. As I found that all mymovements were watched for the purpose of subjecting me to annoyance,I thought my residence in India a favourable opportunity for droppingmy title and assuming another name, and have ever since gone by thatof Beauchamp. During these wanderings my income has far exceeded myexpenditure; a large sum of money has accumulated, and, on my returnto England, I was advised to invest it in land. My attention was firstdirected to this estate, which I am desirous of purchasing, by findinga letter at my agents from my cousin Captain Moreton, expressing greatpenitence for all that has passed, professing a desire to retrieve hiserrors, lamenting the loss of the family property, and asking for aloan of five thousand pounds.
"I hope you did not give it him," cried Doctor Miles. "His penitenceis all feigned; his reformation false; the money would go at thegambling-table in a week. I am not uncharitable in saying so, for Ihave had the opportunity of ascertaining within this month, that theman is the same as ever."
"So I found on making inquiries," rejoined
Beauchamp, "andconsequently I refused decidedly. This refusal brought a most insolentand abusive letter, of which I took no notice; but having receivedintimation that the man is married, I made up my mind to the followingcourse: to purchase this property, and, if he have any children, tomake it the condition of my giving him pecuniary assistance, that heshall give up one of them to be educated entirely by myself. Havinginsured that all shall be done to make that child a worthy member ofsociety, I would settle the Moreton estate upon it, and thus, at allevents, leave one of my name in a situation to do honour to it."
"A kind plan, and a good one," said Doctor Miles; "but yet people willcall it a whimsical one, and wonder that you do not marry yourself andtransmit your property and name to children of your own."
A bright and cheerful smile came upon Beauchamp's face.
"Hitherto, my dear doctor," he said, "that has been impossible. Theobstacles, however, are now removed--at least, I believe so; and,perhaps, some day I may follow the course you suggest, but that willmake no difference in regard to my intention. If I have children of myown, they will have more than enough for happiness, and havingconceived a scheme of this kind, I never like to abandon it. I willtherefore purchase this property, if it can be ascertained that Mr.Wharton's title is perfectly clear; but perhaps you, as the clergymanof two parishes here, can obtain proofs for me, that all thecollateral heirs to the estate, under the entail made by Sir CharlesMoreton, are extinct beyond all doubt. Under those circumstances, thesale by my uncle and his son would be valid."
"Wharton would not have bought it without he was sure," said DoctorMiles.
"The sum actually paid was very small," replied Beauchamp, in apeculiar tone, "all the rest went to cover a debt, real or pretended,of Mr. Wharton's own, but here we are at the gates of the park, and soI must bring our conference to an end. To-morrow or the next day Iwill tell you more of my personal history, for there are othersubjects on which I must consult you. Do you know who this is ridingup so fast?"
"A fool," said Doctor Miles; and almost as he spoke, a young,fresh-coloured man, dressed in a green coat and leather breeches, andmounted on a splendid horse, with a servant behind him, cantered up,and sprang to the ground.
"I don't know--ah--whether I have the honour of speaking to Mr.Beauchamp--ah," he said, in a self-sufficient tone.
Beauchamp bowed his head, saying, "The same, Sir."
"Then, Sir--ah--my name is Granty--ah--and you see--ah--I havebeen referred to you--ah--as the friend of a certain CaptainHayward--ah--in reference to a little affair--ah--between him and myfriend Harry Wittingham--ah--whom he threatened to horsewhip--ah."
"If he threatened," answered Beauchamp, in a calm tone, "he is a verylikely man to fulfil his words--but I think, Sir, we had better speakupon this subject alone, as Captain Hayward has put me in possessionof his views. This is my friend, Doctor Miles, a clergyman."
"Oh, yes, I know Doctor Miles--ah," said Mr. Granty, "a very goodfellow, aren't you, Miles--ah?"
"No, Sir, I am not," answered Doctor Miles; "but now, Mr. Beauchamp, Iwill leave you, as you seem to have some pleasant conversation beforeyou;" and shaking Mr. Beauchamp by the hand without any furtherapparent notice of what he had heard, Doctor Miles walked to the sideof his carriage and got in, honouring Mr. Granty with the sort ofcold, stiff bow that a poker might be supposed to make if it weretaught to dance a minuet. But Doctor Miles had noticed all that hadpassed, and did not forget it.
And now, dear reader, we will put our horses into a quicker pace, leapover all the further conversation between Mr. Beauchamp and Mr.Granty, and also an intervening space of two days, merely premisingthat, during that period, from a great number of knots on the tangledstring of events, neither Mary Clifford nor Isabella Slingsby had anyopportunity of speaking to Mr. Beauchamp for more than two minutes inprivate. Those two minutes were employed by Miss Clifford, to whoselot they fell, in telling him, with a hesitating and varying colour,that she very much wished for a short conversation with him. Beauchampwas surprised, but he answered with courtesy and kindness, and wishedher to proceed at once. Sir John Slingsby was upon them the nextmoment, however, and the matter was deferred.
Thus went the two days I have mentioned, but on the morning of thethird, just about half-past five, when every body but skylarks aresupposed to be asleep, Mr. Beauchamp and our friend Ned Haywardentered the small meadow just under the trees by the palings ofTarningham Park, on the side next to Tarningham, near the spot wherethe river issued forth into the fields on its onward progress. Theywere followed by a man, carrying a mahogany case, bound with brass,and a gentleman in a black coat, with a surgical air about him; forstrange human nature seldom goes out to make a hole in another pieceof human nature, without taking precautions for mending it as soon asmade.
Beauchamp took out his watch and satisfied himself that they were totheir time, spoke a few words to the surgeon, unlocked the mahoganybox, looked at some of the things it contained, and then walked up anddown the field with Ned Hayward for a quarter of an hour.
"This is too bad, Hayward," he said, at length; "I think we might verywell now retire."
"No, no," said Hayward, "give him law enough, one can never tell whatmay stop a man. He shall have another quarter of an hour. Then if hedoes not come, he shall have the horsewhipping."
Ten minutes more passed, and then two other gentlemen entered thefield, with a follower, coming up at a quick pace, and with heatedbrows.
"Beg pardon, gentlemen--ah," said Mr. Granty, advancing; "but we havehad the devil's own work--ah--to get the tools--ah. My friendWittingham was knocked down by a fellow--ah--that he was sending forcash, so that I had to furnish--ah--"
"Never mind all this," said Beauchamp, "you are now here, though youhave kept my friend waiting. We had better proceed to business atonce, as I have had a hint that from a slight indiscretion on yourpart, Sir, in mentioning this matter before a clergyman, inquirieshave been made which may produce inconvenient results."
Mr. Granty was somewhat nettled; but neither Beauchamp nor Haywardattended to any of his 'ahs;' the ground was measured, the pistolsloaded, the two gentlemen placed on their ground, and then came theunpleasant "one--two--three." Both fired instantly, and the nextmoment Harry Wittingham reeled and dropped. Beauchamp thought he sawNed Hayward waver slightly, more as if the pistol had recoiledviolently in his hand than any thing else; but, as soon as hisantagonist fell, the young officer ran up to him, stooped and raisedhis head.
The surgeon came up directly and opened the wounded man's coat andwaistcoat as he lay with his face as pale as ashes. At the samemoment, however, there was a cry of "Hie, hie," and turning round,Beauchamp saw the poor little pot-boy, Billy Lamb, scampering acrossthe field as hard as he could go.
"Run, run," cried the boy; "there are the magistrates and theconstables all coming up--run over by the style there; I brought thechaise to the end of the lane.
"I can't go," said Ned Hayward, "till I hear what is to come of this."
"You had better go," said the surgeon, looking up; "it does not seem tome to be dangerous, but you may get into prison if you stay. No, ithas shattered the rib, but passed round. He will do well, I think.Run, run; I can see the people coming."
Beauchamp took Ned Hayward's arm and drew him away. In two minutesthey had reached the chaise and were rolling on; but then Ned Haywardleaned back somewhat languidly, and said,
"I wish, Beauchamp, you would just tie your handkerchief tight roundmy shoulder here, for it is bleeding more than I thought, and I feelsickish."
"Good Heavens! are you hurt?" exclaimed Beauchamp, and opening hiswaistcoat, he saw that the whole right side of his shirt was steepedin blood.