CHAPTER XXV. THE MESSENGER SPEEDS.
Towards the afternoon of the following day, an elderly gentleman wasseated in the coffee-room of an hotel at Southampton, engaged in writinga letter, while the waiter in attendance was employed on the wiresthat fettered the petulant spirit contained in a bottle of Schweppe'ssoda-water. There was something in the aspect of the old gentleman, andin the very tone of his voice, that inspired respect, and the waiter hadcleared the other tables of their latest newspapers to place beforehim. He had only just arrived by the packet from Havre, and even thenewspapers had not been to him that primary attraction they generallyconstitute to the Englishman returning to his bustling native land,which, somewhat to his surprise, has contrived to go on tolerably wellduring his absence.
We use our privilege of looking over his shoulder while he writes:--
Here I am, then, dear Lady Mary, at Southampton, and within an easydrive of the old Hall. A file of Galignani's journals, which I found onthe road between Marseilles and Paris, informed me, under the head of"fashionable movements," that Percival St. John, Esquire, was gone tohis seat at Laughton. According to my customary tactics of marching atonce to the seat of action, I therefore made direct for Havre, insteadof crossing from Calais, and I suppose I shall find our young gentlemanengaged in the slaughter of hares and partridges. You see it is a goodsign that he can leave London. Keep up your spirits, my dear friend. IfPerce has been really duped and taken in,--as all you mothers are so aptto fancy,--rely upon an old soldier to defeat the enemy and exposethe ruse. But if, after all, the girl is such as he describes andbelieves,--innocent, artless, and worthy his affection,--oh, then Irange myself, with your own good heart, upon his side. Never will Irun the risk of unsettling a man's whole character for life by wantonlyinterfering with his affections. But there we are agreed.
In a few hours I shall be with our dear boy, and his whole heartwill come out clear and candid as when it beat under his midshipman'strue-blue. In a day or two I shall make him take me to town, tointroduce me to the whole nest of them. Then I shall report progress.Adieu, till then! Kind regards to your poor sister. I think we shallhave a mild winter. Not one warning twinge as yet of the old rheumatism.Ever your devoted old friend and preux chevalier,
H. GREVILLE.
The captain had completed his letter, sipped his soda-water, and wasaffixing to his communication his seal, when he heard the rattle of apost-chaise without. Fancying it was the one he had ordered, he wentto the open window which looked on the street; but the chaise containedtravellers, only halting to change horses. Somewhat to his surprise,and a little to his chagrin,--for the captain did not count on findingcompany at the Hall,--he heard one of the travellers in the chaise askthe distance to Laughton. The countenance of the questioner wasnot familiar to him. But leaving the worthy captain to question thelandlord, without any satisfactory information, and to hasten the chaisefor himself, we accompany the travellers on their way to Laughton. Therewere but two,--the proper complement of a post-chaise,--and they wereboth of the ruder sex. The elder of the two was a man of middle age, butwhom the wear and tear of active life had evidently advanced towards thestate called elderly. But there was still abundant life in his quick,dark eye; and that mercurial youthfulness of character which in somehappy constitutions seems to defy years and sorrow, evinced itself ina rapid play of countenance and as much gesticulation as the narrowconfines of the vehicle and the position of a traveller will permit. Theyounger man, far more grave in aspect and quiet in manner, leaned backin the corner with folded arms, and listened with respectful attentionto his companion.
"Certainly, Dr. Johnson is right,--great happiness in an Englishpost-chaise properly driven; more exhilarating than a palanquin. 'Postequitem sedet atra cura,'--true only of such scrubby hacks as old Horacecould have known. Black Care does not sit behind English posters, eh,my boy?" As he spoke this, the gentleman had twice let down the glass ofthe vehicle, and twice put it up again.
"Yet," he resumed, without noticing the brief, good-humoured reply ofhis companion,--"yet this is an anxious business enough that we areabout. I don't feel quite easy in my conscience. Poor Braddell'sinjunctions were very strict, and I disobey them. It is on yourresponsibility, John!"
"I take it without hesitation. All the motives for so stern a severancemust have ceased, and is it not a sufficient punishment to find in thathoped-for son a--"
"Poor woman!" interrupted the elder gentleman, in whom we begin torecognize the soi-disant Mr. Tomkins; "true, indeed, too true. How wellI remember the impression Lucretia Clavering first produced on me; andto think of her now as a miserable cripple! By Jove, you are right, sir!Drive on, post-boy, quick, quick!"
There was a short silence.
The elder gentleman abruptly put his hand upon his companion's arm.
"What consummate acuteness; what patient research you have shown! Whatcould I have done in this business without you? How often had thatgarrulous Mrs. Mivers bored me with Becky Carruthers, and the coral, andSt. Paul's, and not a suspicion came across me,--a word was sufficientfor you. And then to track this unfeeling old Joplin from place toplace till you find her absolutely a servant under the very roof of Mrs.Braddell herself! Wonderful! Ah, boy, you will be an honour to the lawand to your country. And what a hard-hearted rascal you must think me tohave deserted you so long."
"My dear father," said John Ardworth, tenderly, "your love nowrecompenses me for all. And ought I not rather to rejoice not to haveknown the tale of a mother's shame until I could half forget it on afather's breast?"
"John," said the elder Ardworth, with a choking voice, "I ought to wearsackcloth all my life for having given you such a mother. When I thinkwhat I have suffered from the habit of carelessness in those confoundedmoney-matters ('irritamenta malorum,' indeed!), I have only oneconsolation,--that my patient, noble son is free from my vice. You wouldnot believe what a well-principled, honourable fellow I was at your age;and yet, how truly I said to my poor friend William Mainwaring oneday at Laughton (I remember it now) 'Trust me with anything else buthalf-a-guinea!' Why, sir, it was that fault that threw me into lowcompany,--that brought me in contact with my innkeeper's daughter atLimerick. I fell in love, and I married (for, with all my faults, I wasnever a seducer, John). I did not own my marriage; why should I?--myrelatives had cut me already. You were born, and, hunted poor devil asI was, I forgot all by your cradle. Then, in the midst of my troubles,that ungrateful woman deserted me; then I was led to believe that it wasnot my own son whom I had kissed and blessed. Ah, but for that thoughtshould I have left you as I did? And even in infancy, you had thefeatures only of your mother. Then, when the death of the adulteressset me free, and years afterwards, in India, I married again and hadnew ties, my heart grew still harder to you. I excused myself by knowingthat at least you were cared for, and trained to good by a betterguide than I. But when, by so strange a hazard, the very priest whohad confessed your mother on her deathbed (she was a Catholic) cameto India, and (for he had known me at Limerick) recognized my alteredperson, and obeying his penitent's last injunctions, assured me that youwere my son,--oh, John, then, believe me, I hastened back to Englandon the wings of remorse! Love you, boy! I have left at Madras threechildren, young and fair, by a woman now in heaven, who never wrongedme, and, by my soul, John Ardworth, you are dearer to me than all!"
The father's head drooped on his son's breast as he spoke; then, dashingaway his tears, he resumed,--
"Ah, why would not Braddell permit me, as I proposed, to find for hisson the same guardianship as that to which I intrusted my own? But hisbigotry besotted him; a clergyman of the High Church,--that was worsethan an atheist. I had no choice left to me but the roof of thatshe-hypocrite. Yet I ought to have come to England when I heard ofthe child's loss, braved duns and all; but I was money-making,money-making,--retribution for money-wasting; and--well, it's no userepenting! And--and there is the lodge, the park, the old trees! PoorSir Miles!"