CHAPTER XLI.
THE LOBBY OF THE HOUSE OF COMMONS.
Mr. Prendergast as he walked out of Spinny Lane, and back to St.Botolph's church, and as he returned thence again to BloomsburySquare in his cab, had a good deal of which to think. In the firstplace it must be explained that he was not altogether self-satisfiedwith the manner in which things had gone. That he would have madealmost any sacrifice to recover the property for Herbert Fitzgerald,is certainly true; and it is as true that he would have omitted nopossible effort to discover all that which he had now discovered,almost without necessity for any effort. But nevertheless he was notaltogether pleased; he had made up his mind a month or two ago thatLady Fitzgerald was not the lawful wife of her husband; and had cometo this conclusion on, as he still thought, sufficient evidence. Butnow he was proved to have been wrong; his character for shrewdnessand discernment would be damaged, and his great ally and chum Mr.Die, the Chancery barrister, would be down on him with unmitigatedsarcasm. A man who has been right so frequently as Mr. Prendergast,does not like to find that he is ever in the wrong. And then, had hisdecision not have been sudden, might not the life of that old baronethave been saved?
Mr. Prendergast could not help feeling this in some degree as hedrove away to Bloomsbury Square; but nevertheless he had also thefeeling of having achieved a great triumph. It was with him as with aman who has made a fortune when he has declared to his friends thathe should infallibly be ruined. It piques him to think how wrong hehas been in his prophecy; but still it is very pleasant to have madeone's fortune.
When he found himself at the top of Chancery Lane in Holborn, hestopped his cab and got out of it. He had by that time made up hismind as to what he would do; so he walked briskly down to StoneBuildings, and nodding to the old clerk, with whom he was veryintimate, asked if he could see Mr. Die. It was his second visit tothose chambers that morning, seeing that he had been there early inthe day, introducing Herbert to his new Gamaliel. "Yes, Mr. Die isin," said the clerk, smiling; and so Mr. Prendergast passed on intothe well-known dingy temple of the Chancery god himself.
There he remained for full an hour, a message in the meanwhile havingbeen sent out to Herbert Fitzgerald, begging him not to leave thechambers till he should have seen Mr. Die; "and your friend Mr.Prendergast is with him," said the clerk. "A very nice gentleman isMr. Prendergast, uncommon clever too; but it seems to me that henever can hold his own when he comes across our Mr. Die."
At the end of the hour Herbert was summoned into the sanctum, andthere he found Mr. Die sitting in his accustomed chair, with his bodymuch bent, nursing the calf of his leg, which was always enveloped ina black, well-fitting close pantaloon, and smiling very blandly. Mr.Prendergast had in his countenance not quite so sweet an aspect. Mr.Die had repeated to him, perhaps once too often, a very well-knownmotto of his; one by the aid of which he professed to have steeredhimself safely through the shoals of life--himself and perhaps someothers. It was a motto which he would have loved to see inscribedover the great gates of the noble inn to which he belonged; andwhich, indeed, a few years since might have been inscribed therewith much justice. "Festina lente," Mr. Die would say to all thosewho came to him in any sort of hurry. And then when men accused himof being dilatory by premeditation, he would say no, he had alwaysrecommended despatch. "Festina," he would say; "festina" by allmeans; but "festina lente." The doctrine had at any rate thriven withthe teacher, for Mr. Die had amassed a large fortune.
Herbert at once saw that Mr. Prendergast was a little fluttered.Judging from what he had seen of the lawyer in Ireland, he would havesaid that it was impossible to flutter Mr. Prendergast; but in truthgreatness is great only till it encounters greater greatness. Marsand Apollo are terrible and magnificent gods till one is enabled tosee them seated at the foot of Jove's great throne. That Apollo, Mr.Prendergast, though greatly in favour with the old Chancery Jupiter,had now been reminded that he had also on this occasion drivenhis team too fast, and been nearly as indiscreet in his own rashoffering.
"We are very sorry to keep you waiting here, Mr. Fitzgerald," saidMr. Die, giving his hand to the young man without, however, risingfrom his chair; "especially sorry, seeing that it is your first dayin harness. But your friend Mr. Prendergast thinks it as well that weshould talk over together a piece of business which does not seem asyet to be quite settled."
Herbert of course declared that he had been in no hurry to go away;he was, he said, quite ready to talk over anything; but to his mindat that moment nothing occurred more momentous than the nature of theagreement between himself and Mr. Die. There was an honorarium whichit was presumed Mr. Die would expect, and which Herbert Fitzgeraldhad ready for the occasion.
"I hardly know how to describe what has taken place this morningsince I saw you," said Mr. Prendergast, whose features told plainlythat something more important than the honorarium was now on thetapis.
"What has taken place?" said Herbert, whose mind now flew off toCastle Richmond.
"Gently, gently," said Mr. Die; "in the whole course of my legalexperience,--and that now has been a very long experience,--I havenever come across so,--so singular a family history as this of yours,Mr. Fitzgerald. When our friend Mr. Prendergast here, on his returnfrom Ireland, first told me the whole of it, I was inclined to thinkthat he had formed a right and just decision--"
"There can be no doubt about that," said Herbert.
"Stop a moment, my dear sir; wait half a moment--a just decision, Isay--regarding the evidence of the facts as conclusive. But I wasnot quite so certain that he might not have been a little--prematureperhaps may be too strong a word--a little too assured in takingthose facts as proved."
"But they were proved," said Herbert.
"I shall always maintain that there was ample ground to induce me torecommend your poor father so to regard them," said Mr. Prendergast,stoutly. "You must remember that those men would instantly have beenat work on the other side; indeed, one of them did attempt it."
"Without any signal success, I believe," said Mr. Die.
"My father thought you were quite right, Mr. Prendergast," saidHerbert, with a tear forming in his eye; "and though it may bepossible that the affair hurried him to his death, there wasno alternative but that he should know the whole." At this Mr.Prendergast seemed to wince as he sat in his chair. "And I am sure ofthis," continued Herbert, "that had he been left to the villanies ofthose two men, his last days would have been much less comfortablethan they were. My mother feels that quite as strongly as I do." Andthen Mr. Prendergast looked as though he were somewhat reassured.
"It was a difficult crisis in which to act," said Mr. Prendergast,"and I can only say that I did so to the best of my poor judgment."
"It was a difficult crisis in which to act," said Mr. Die, assenting.
"But why is all this brought up now?" asked Herbert.
"Festina lente," said Mr. Die; "lente, lente lente; always lente. Themore haste we make in trying to understand each other, with the lessspeed shall we arrive at that object."
"What is it, Mr. Prendergast?" again demanded Herbert, who was nowtoo greatly excited to care much for the Chancery wisdom of the greatbarrister. "Has anything new turned up about--about those Molletts?"
"Yes, Herbert, something has turned up--"
"Remember, Prendergast, that your evidence is again incomplete."
"Upon my word, sir, I do not think it is: it would be sufficient forany intellectual jury in a Common Law court," said Mr. Prendergast,who sometimes, behind his back, gave to Mr. Die the surname ofCunctator.
"But juries in Common Law courts are not always intelligent. Andyou may be sure, Prendergast, that any gentleman taking up the caseon the other side would have as much to say for his client as yourcounsel would have for yours. Remember, you have not even been toPutney yet."
"Been to Putney!" said Herbert, who was becoming uneasy.
"The onus probandi would lie with them," said Mr. Prendergast. "Wetake possession of that which is our own
till it is proved to belongto others."
"You have already abandoned the possession."
"No; we have done nothing already: we have taken no legal step; whenwe believed--"
"Having by your own act put yourself in your present position, Ithink you ought to be very careful before you take up another."
"Certainly we ought to be careful. But I do maintain that we may betoo punctilious. As a matter of course I shall go to Putney."
"To Putney!" said Herbert Fitzgerald.
"Yes, Herbert, and now, if Mr. Die will permit, I will tell youwhat has happened. On yesterday afternoon, before you came to dinewith me, I received that letter. No, that is from your cousin, OwenFitzgerald. You must see that also by-and-by. It was this one,--fromthe younger Mollett, the man whom you saw that day in your poorfather's room."
Herbert anxiously put out his hand for the letter, but he was againinterrupted by Mr. Die. "I beg your pardon, Mr. Fitzgerald, for amoment. Prendergast, let me see that letter again, will you?" Andtaking hold of it, he proceeded to read it very carefully, stillnursing his leg with his left hand, while he held the letter with hisright.
"What's it all about?" said Herbert, appealing to Prendergast almostin a whisper.
"Lente, lente, lente, my dear Mr. Fitzgerald," said Mr. Die, whilehis eyes were still intent upon the paper. "If you will takeadvantage of the experience of gray hairs, and bald heads,"--hisown was as bald all round as a big white stone--"you must put upwith some of the disadvantages of a momentary delay. Suppose now,Prendergast, that he is acting in concert with those people in--whatdo you call the street?"
"In Spinny Lane."
"Yes; with his father and the two women there."
"What could they gain by that?"
"Share with him whatever he might be able to get out of you."
"The man would never accuse himself of bigamy for that. Besides, youshould have seen the women, Die."
"Seen the women! Tsh--tsh--tsh; I have seen enough of them, young andold, to know that a clean apron and a humble tone and a down-turnedeye don't always go with a true tongue and an honest heart. Women arenow the most successful swindlers of the age! That profession at anyrate is not closed against them."
"You will not find these women to be swindlers; at least I thinknot."
"Ah! but we want to be sure, Prendergast;" and then Mr. Die finishedthe letter, very leisurely, as Herbert thought.
When he had finished it, he folded it up and gave it back to Mr.Prendergast. "I don't think but what you've a strong prima faciecase; so strong that perhaps you are right to explain the wholematter to our young friend here, who is so deeply concerned in it.But at the same time I should caution him that the matter is stillenveloped in doubt."
Herbert eagerly put out his hand for the letter. "You may trust mewith it," said he: "I am not of a sanguine temperament, nor easilyexcited; and you may be sure that I will not take it for more than itis worth." So saying, he at last got hold of the letter, and managedto read it through much more quickly than Mr. Die had done. As he didso he became very red in the face, and too plainly showed that he hadmade a false boast in speaking of the coolness of his temperament.Indeed, the stakes were so high that it was difficult for a young manto be cool while he was playing the game: he had made up his mind tolose, and to that he had been reconciled; but now again every pulseof his heart and every nerve of his body was disturbed. "Was neverhis wife," he said out loud when he got to that part of the letter."His real wife living now in Spinny Lane! Do you believe that Mr.Prendergast?"
"Yes, I do," said the attorney.
"Lente, lente, lente," said the barrister, quite oppressed by hisfriend's unprofessional abruptness.
"But I do believe it," said Mr. Prendergast: "you must alwaysunderstand, Herbert, that this new story may possibly not be true--"
"Quite possible," said Mr. Die, with something almost approaching toa slight laugh.
"But the evidence is so strong," continued the other, "that I dobelieve it heartily. I have been to that house, and seen the man, oldMollett, and the woman whom I believe to be his wife, and a daughterwho lives with them. As far as my poor judgment goes," and he madea bow of deference towards the barrister, whose face, however,seemed to say, that in his opinion the judgment of his friend Mr.Prendergast did not always go very far--"As far as my poor judgmentgoes, the women are honest and respectable. The man is as greata villain as there is unhung--unless his son be a greater one;but he is now so driven into a corner, that the truth may be moreserviceable to him than a lie."
"People of that sort are never driven into a corner," said Mr. Die;"they may sometimes be crushed to death."
"Well, I believe the matter is as I tell you. There at any rate isMollett's assurance that it is so. The woman has been residing in thesame place for years, and will come forward at any time to prove thatshe was married to this man before he ever saw--before he went toDorsetshire: she has her marriage certificate; and as far as I canlearn there is no one able or willing to raise the question againstyou. Your cousin Owen certainly will not do so."
"It will hardly do to depend upon that," said Mr. Die, with anothersneer. "Twelve thousand a year is a great provocative to litigation."
"If he does we must fight him; that's all. Of course steps will betaken at once to get together in the proper legal form all evidenceof every description which may bear on the subject, so that shouldthe question ever be raised again, the whole matter may be in anutshell."
"You'll find it a nutshell very difficult to crack in five-and-twentyyears' time," said Mr. Die.
"And what would you advise me to do?" asked Herbert.
That after all was now the main question, and it was discussedbetween them for a long time, till the shades of evening came uponthem, and the dull dingy chambers became almost dark as they satthere. Mr. Die at first conceived that it would be well that Herbertshould still stick to the law. What indeed could be more conduciveto salutary equanimity in the mind of a young man so singularlycircumstanced, than the study of Blackstone, of Coke, and of Chitty?as long as he remained there, at work in those chambers, amusinghimself occasionally with the eloquence of the neighbouring courts,there might be reasonable hope that he would be able to keep his mindequally poised, so that neither success nor failure as regarded hisIrish inheritance should affect him injuriously. Thus at least arguedMr. Die. But at this point Herbert seemed to have views of his own:he said that in the first place he must be with his mother; and then,in the next place, as it was now clear that he was not to throw upCastle Richmond--as it would not now behove him to allow any one elseto call himself master there,--it would be his duty to reassume theplace of master. "The onus probandi will now rest with them," hesaid, repeating Mr. Prendergast's words; and then he was ultimatelysuccessful in persuading even Mr. Die to agree that it would bebetter for him to go to Ireland than to remain in London, sipping thedelicious honey of Chancery buttercups.
"And you will assume the title, I suppose?" said Mr. Die.
"Not at any rate till I get to Castle Richmond," he said, blushing.He had so completely abandoned all thought of being Sir HerbertFitzgerald, that he had now almost felt ashamed of saying that heshould so far presume as to call himself by that name.
And then he and Mr. Prendergast went away and dined together, leavingMr. Die to complete his legal work for the day. At this he wouldoften sit till nine or ten, or even eleven in the evening, withoutany apparent ill results from such effects, and then go home to hisdinner and port wine. He was already nearly seventy, and work seemedto have no effect on him. In what Medea's caldron is it that thegreat lawyers so cook themselves, that they are able to achieve halfan immortality, even while the body still clings to the soul? Mr.Die, though he would talk of his bald head, had no idea of givingway to time. Superannuated! The men who think of superannuation atsixty are those whose lives have been idle, not they who have reallybuckled themselves to work. It is my opinion that nothing seasons themind for endurance like hard work. Por
t wine should perhaps be added.
It was not till Herbert once more found himself alone that he fullyrealized this new change in his position. He had dined with Mr.Prendergast at that gentleman's club, and had been specially calledupon to enjoy himself, drinking as it were to his own restoration inlarge glasses of some special claret, which Mr. Prendergast assuredhim was very extraordinary.
"You may be as satisfied as that you are sitting there that that's34," said he; "and I hardly know anywhere else that you'll get it."
This assertion Herbert was not in the least inclined to dispute. Inthe first place, he was not quite clear what 34 meant, and then anyother number, 32 or 36, would have suited his palate as well. But hedrank the 34, and tried to look as though he appreciated it.
"Our wines here are wonderfully cheap," said Mr. Prendergast,becoming confidential; "but nevertheless we have raised the price ofthat to twelve shillings. We'll have another bottle."
During all this Herbert could hardly think of his own fate andfortune, though, indeed, he could hardly think of anything else.He was eager to be alone, that he might think, and was nearlybroken-hearted when the second bottle of 34 made its appearance.Something, however, was arranged in those intercalary moments betweenthe raising of the glasses. Mr. Prendergast said that he would writeboth to Owen Fitzgerald and to Mr. Somers; and it was agreed thatHerbert should immediately return to Castle Richmond, merely givinghis mother time to have notice of his coming.
And then at last he got away, and started by himself for a night walkthrough the streets of London. It seemed to him now to be a monthsince he had arrived there; but in truth it was only on the yesterdaythat he had got out of the train at the Euston Station. He had comeup, looking forward to live in London all his life, and now hisLondon life was over,--unless, indeed, those other hopes should comeback to him, unless he should appear again, not as a student in Mr.Die's chamber, but as one of the council of the legislature assembledto make laws for the governance of Mr. Die and of others. It wassingular how greatly this episode in his life had humbled him in hisown esteem. Six months ago he had thought himself almost too good forCastle Richmond, and had regarded a seat in Parliament as the onlyplace which he could fitly fill without violation to his nature.But now he felt as though he should hardly dare to show himselfwithin the walls of that assembly. He had been so knocked about bycircumstances, so rudely toppled from his high place,--he had foundit necessary to put himself so completely into the hands of otherpeople, that his self-pride had all left him. That it would in factreturn might be held as certain, but the lesson which he had learnedwould not altogether be thrown away upon him.
At this moment, as I was saying, he felt himself to be completelyhumbled. A lie spoken by one of the meanest of God's creatures hadturned him away from all his pursuits, and broken all his hopes; andnow another word from this man was to restore him,--if only thatother word should not appear to be the greater lie! and then thatthere should be such question as to his mother's name and fame--asto the very name by which she should now be called! that it shoulddepend on the amount of infamy of which that wretch had been guilty,whether or no the woman whom in the world he most honoured wasentitled to any share of respect from the world around her! That shewas entitled to the respect of all good men, let the truth in thesematters be where it might, Herbert knew, and all who heard the storywould acknowledge. But respect is of two sorts, and the outer respectof the world cannot be parted with conveniently.
He did acknowledge himself to be a humbled man,--more so than he hadever yet done, or had been like to do, while conscious of the losswhich had fallen on him. It was at this moment when he began toperceive that his fortune would return to him, when he became awarethat he was knocked about like a shuttlecock from a battledore, thathis pride came by its first fall. Mollett was in truth the greatman,--the Warwick who was to make and unmake the kings of CastleRichmond. A month ago, and it had pleased Earl Mollett to say thatOwen Fitzgerald should reign; but there had been a turn upon thecards, and now he, King Herbert, was to be again installed.
He walked down all alone through St. James's Street, and by Pall Malland Charing Cross, feeling rather than thinking of all this. Thosedoubts of Mr. Die did not trouble him much. He fully believed that heshould regain his title and property; or rather that he should neverlose them. But he thought that he could never show himself about thecountry again as he had done before all this was known. In spite ofhis good fortune he was sad at heart, little conscious of the goodthat all this would do him.
He went on by the Horse Guards and Treasury Chambers into ParliamentStreet, and so up to the new Houses of Parliament, and sauntered intoWestminster Hall; and there, at the privileged door between the lampson his left hand, he saw busy men going in and out, some slow anddignified, others hot, hasty, and anxious, and he felt as though theregions to and from which they passed must be far out of his reach.Could he aspire to pass those august lamp-posts, he whose very namedepended on what in truth might have been the early doings of a lowscoundrel who was now skulking from the law?
And then he went on, and mounting by the public stairs and anteroomsfound his way to the lobby of the house. There he stood with his backto the ginger-beer stall, moody and melancholy, looking on as men inthe crowd pushed forward to speak to members whom they knew; or, asit sometimes appeared, to members whom they did not know. There wassomewhat of interest going on in the house, for the throng was thick,and ordinary men sometimes jostled themselves on into the middle ofthe hall--with impious steps; for on those centre stones none butlegislators should presume to stand.
"Stand back, gentlemen, stand back; back a little, if you please,sir," said a very courteous but peremptory policeman, so moving thethrong that Herbert, who had been behind, in no way anxious for aforward place, or for distinguishing nods from passing members, foundhimself suddenly in the front rank, in the immediate neighbourhood ofa cluster of young senators who were cooling themselves in the lobbyafter the ardour of the debate.
"It was as pretty a thing as ever I saw in my life," said one, "andbeautifully ridden." Surely it must have been the Spring Meeting andnot the debate that they were discussing.
"I don't know much about that," said another, and the voice soundedon Herbert's ears as it might almost be the voice of a brother. "Iknow I lost the odds. But I'll have a bottle of soda-water. Hallo,Fitzgerald! Why--;" and then the young member stopped himself, forHerbert Fitzgerald's story was rife about London at this time.
"How do you do, Moulsey?" said Herbert, very glumly, for he did notat all like being recognized. This was Lord Moulsey, the eldestson of the Earl of Hampton Court, who was now member for the RiverRegions, and had been one of Herbert's most intimate friends atOxford.
"I did not exactly expect to see you here," said Lord Moulsey,drawing him apart. "And upon my soul I was never so cut up in my lifeas when I heard all that. Is it true?"
"True! why no;--it was true, but I don't think it is. That is tosay--upon my word I don't know. It's all unsettled--Good evening toyou." And again nodding his head at his old friend in a very sombremanner, he skulked off and made his way out of Westminster Hall.
"Do you know who that was?" said Lord Moulsey going back to his ally."That was young Fitzgerald, the poor fellow who has been done outof his title and all his property. You have heard about his mother,haven't you?"
"Was that young Fitzgerald?" said the other senator, apparently moreinterested in this subject than he had even been about the prettyriding. "I wish I'd looked at him. Poor fellow! How does he bear it?"
"Upon my word then, I never saw a fellow so changed in my life. Heand I were like brothers, but he would hardly speak to me. Perhaps Iought to have written to him. But he says it's not settled."
"Oh, that's all gammon. It's settled enough. Why they've given up theplace. I heard all about it the other day from Sullivan O'Leary. Theyare not even making any fight. Sullivan O'Leary says they are thegreatest fools in the world."
"Upon my word I think yo
ung Fitzgerald was mad just now. His mannerwas so very odd."
"I shouldn't wonder. I know I should go mad if my mother turned outto be somebody else's wife." And then they both sauntered away.
Herbert was doubly angry with himself as he made his way downinto the noble old hall,--angry that he had gone where there wasa possibility of his being recognized, and angry also that hehad behaved himself with so little presence of mind when he wasrecognized. He felt that he had been taken aback, that he had beenbeside himself, and unable to maintain his own dignity; he had runaway from his old intimate friend because he had been unable to bearbeing looked on as the hero of a family tragedy. "He would go backto Ireland," he said to himself, "and he would never leave it again.Perhaps he might teach himself there to endure the eyes and voices ofmen around him. Nothing at any rate should induce him to come againto London." And so he went home to bed in a mood by no means so happyas might have been expected from the result of the day's doings. Andyet he had been cheerful enough when he went to Mr. Die's chambers inthe morning.