CHAPTER XXII.
In a very gaudily furnished parlor, and in a very gaudy dress, sat alady of some eight or nine and thirty years of age, with many tracesof beauty still to be perceived in a face of no very intellectualexpression. Few persons perhaps would have recognized in her the fairand faulty girl whom we have depicted weeping bitterly over the fateof Sir Philip Hastings' elder brother, and over the terrible situationin which he left her. Her features had much changed: the girlishexpression--the fresh bloom of youth was gone. The light gracefulfigure was lost; but the mind had changed as greatly as the person,though, like it, the heart yet retained some traces of the original.When first she appeared before the reader's eyes, though weak andyielding, she was by no means ill disposed. She had committed anerror--a great and fatal one; but at heart she was innocent andhonest. She was, however, like all weak people, of that plastic claymoulded easily by circumstances into any form; and, in her,circumstances had shaped her gradually into a much worse form thannature had originally given her. To defraud, to cheat, to wrong, hadat one time been most abhorrent to her nature. She had taken no activepart in her father's dealings with old Sir John Hastings, and had sheknown all that he had said and sworn, would have shrunk with horrorfrom the deceit. But during her father's short life, she had beenoften told by himself, and after his death had been often assured bythe old woman Denby, that she was rightly and truly the widow of JohnHastings, although because it would be difficult to prove, her fatherhad consented to take an annuity for himself and her son, rather thanenter into a lawsuit with a powerful man; and she had graduallybrought herself to believe that she had been her lover's wife, becausein one of his ardent letters he had called her so to stifle the voiceof remorse in her bosom. The conviction had grown upon her, till now,after a lapse of more than twenty years, she had forgotten all herformer doubts and scruples, believed herself and her son to be injuredand deprived of their just rights, and was ready to assert hermarriage boldly, though she had at one time felt and acknowledged thatthere was no marriage at all, and that the words her seducer had usedwere but intended to soothe her regret and terror. There was a pointhowever beyond which she was not prepared to go. She still shrunk fromgiving false details, from perjuring herself in regard to particularfacts. The marriage, she thought, might be good in the sight ofheaven, of herself, and of her lover; but to render it good in theeyes of the law, she had found would require proofs that she could notgive--oaths that she dared not take.
Another course, however, had been proposed for her; and now she sat inthat small parlor gaudily dressed, as I have said, but dressedevidently for a journey. There were tears indeed in her eyes; and asher son stood by her side she looked up in his face with a beseechinglook as if she would fain have said, "Pray do not drive me to this!"
But young John Ayliffe had no remorse, and if he spoke tenderly to herwho had spoiled his youth, it was only because his object was topersuade and cajole.
"Indeed, mother," he said, "it is absolutely necessary or I would notask you to go. You know quite well that I would rather have you here:and it will only be for a short time till the trial is over. LawyerShanks told you himself that if you stayed, they would have you intocourt and cross-examine you to death; and you know quite well youcould not keep in one story if they browbeat and puzzled you."
"I would say any where that my marriage was a good one," replied hismother, "but I could not swear all that Shanks would have had me,John--No, I could not swear that, for Dr. Paulding had nothing to dowith it, and if he were to repeat it all over to me a thousand times,I am sure that I should make a blunder, even if I consented to tellsuch a falsehood. My father and good Mrs. Danby used always to saythat the mutual consent made a marriage, and a good one too. Now yourfather's own letter shows that he consented to it, and God knows Idid. But these lawyers will not let well alone, and by trying to mendthings make them worse, I think. However, I suppose you have gone toofar to go back; and so I must go to a strange out of the way countryand hide myself and live quite lonely. Well, I am ready--I am ready tomake any sacrifice for you, my boy--though it is very hard, I mustsay."
As she spoke, she rose with her eyes running over, and her son kissedher and assured her that her absence should not be long. But just asshe was moving towards the door, he put a paper--a somewhat longone--on the table, where a pen was already in the inkstand, saying,"just sign this before you go, dear mother."
"Oh, I cannot sign any thing," cried the lady, wiping her eyes; "howcan you be so cruel, John, as to ask me to sign any thing just nowwhen I am parting with you? What is it you want?
"It is only a declaration that you are truly my father's widow," saidJohn Ayliffe; "see here, the declaration, &c., you need not read it,but only just sign here."
She hesitated an instant; but his power over her was complete; and,though, she much doubted the contents, she signed the paper with atrembling hand. Then came a parting full of real tenderness on herpart, and assumed affection and regret on his. The post-chaise, whichhad been standing for an hour at the door, rolled away, and JohnAyliffe walked back into the house.
When there, he walked up and down the room for some time, with animpatient thoughtfulness, if I may use the term, in his looks, whichhad little to do with his mother's departure. He was glad that she wasgone--still gladder that she had signed the paper; and now he seemedwaiting for something eagerly expected.
At length there came a sound of a quick trotting horse, and JohnAyliffe took the paper from the table hastily, and put it in hispocket But the visitor was not the one he expected. It was but aservant with a letter; and as the young man took it from the hand ofthe maid who brought it in, and gazed at the address, his cheekflushed a little, and then turned somewhat pale. He muttered tohimself, "she has not taken long to consider!"
As soon as the slipshod girl had gone out of the room, he broke theseal and read the brief answer which Emily had returned to hisdeclaration.
It would not be easy for an artist to paint, and it is impossible fora writer to describe, the expression which came upon his face as heperused the words of decided rejection which were written on thatsheet; but certainly, had poor Emily heard how he cursed her, how hevowed to have revenge, and to humble her pride, as he called it, shewould have rejoiced rather than grieved that such a man had obtainedno hold upon her affection, no command of her fate. He was still inthe midst of his tempest of passion, when, without John Ayliffe beingprepared for his appearance, Mr. Shanks entered the room. His facewore a dark and somewhat anxious expression which even habitualcunning could not banish; but the state in which he found his youngclient, seemed to take him quite by surprise.
"Why what is the matter, John?" he cried, "What in the name of fortunehas happened here?"
"What has happened!" exclaimed John Ayliffe, "look there," and hehanded Mr. Shanks the letter. The attorney took it, and with his keenweazel eyes read it as deliberately as he would have read an ordinarylaw paper. He then handed it back to his young client, saying, "Therespondent does not put in a bad answer."
"Damn the respondent," said John Ayliffe, "but she shall smart forit."
"Well, well, this cannot be helped," rejoined Mr. Shanks; "no need ofputting yourself in a passion. You don't care two straws about her,and if you get the property without the girl so much the better. Youcan then have the pick of all the pretty women in the country."
John Ayliffe mused gloomily; for Mr. Shanks was not altogether rightin his conclusion as to the young man's feelings towards Emily.Perhaps when he began the pursuit he cared little about its success,but like other beasts of prey, he had become eager as he ran--desirehad arisen in the chase--and, though mortified vanity had the greatestshare in his actual feelings, he felt something beyond that.
While he mused, Mr. Shanks was musing also, calculating resultsand combinations; but at length he said, in a low tone, "Is shegone?--Have you got that accomplished?"
"Gone?--Yes.--Do you mean my mother?--Damn it, yes!--She is gone, tobe sure.--Didn't
you meet her?"
"No," said Mr. Shanks; "I came the other way. That is lucky, however.But harkee, John--something very unpleasant has happened, and we musttake some steps about it directly; for if they work him well, thatfellow is likely to peach."
"Who?--what the devil are you talking about?" asked John Ayliffe, withhis passion still unsubdued.
"Why, that blackguard whom you would employ--Master Tom Cutter,"answered Mr. Shanks. "You know I always set my face against it, John;and now--"
"Peach!" cried John Ayliffe, "Tom Cutter will no more peach than he'llfly in the air. He's not of the peaching sort."
"Perhaps not, where a few months' imprisonment are concerned,"answered Mr. Shanks; "but the matter here is his neck, and that makesa mighty difference, let me tell you. Now listen to me, John, anddon't interrupt me till I've done; for be sure that we have got into avery unpleasant mess, which we may have some difficulty in getting outof. You sent over Tom Cutter, to see if he could not persuade youngScantling, Lord Selby's gamekeeper, to remember something about themarriage, when he was with his old father the sexton. Now, how he andTom manage their matters, I don't know; but Tom gave him a lick on thehead with a stick, which killed him on the spot. As the devil wouldhave it, all this was seen by two people, a laborer working in a ditchhard by, and Scantling's son, a boy of ten years old. The end of itis, Tom was instantly pursued, and apprehended; your good uncle, SirJohn, was called to take the depositions, and without any remandwhatever, committed our good friend for trial. Tom's only chance is toprove that it was a case of chance-medley, or to bring it undermanslaughter, as a thing done in a passion, and if he thinks thatbeing employed by you will be any defence, or will show that it was asudden burst of rage, without premeditation, he will tell the wholestory as soon as he would eat his dinner."
"I'll go over to him directly, and tell him to hold his tongue," criedJohn Ayliffe, now fully awakened to the perils of the case.
"Pooh, pooh! don't be a fool," said Mr. Shanks, contemptuously. "Areyou going to let the man see that you are afraid of him--that he hasgot you in his power? Besides, they will not let you in. No, the waymust be this. I must go over to him as his legal adviser, and I candress you up as my clerk. That will please him, to find that we do notabandon him; and we must contrive to turn his defence quite anotherway, whether he hang for it or not. We must make it out that Scantlingswore he had been poaching, when he had done nothing of the kind, andthat in the quarrel that followed, he struck the blow accidentally. Wecan persuade him that this is his best defence, which perhaps it isafter all, for nobody can prove that he was poaching, inasmuch as hereally was not; whereas, if he were to show that he killed a man whileattempting to suborn evidence, he would speedily find himself under acrossbeam."
"Suborn evidence," muttered John Ayliffe to himself; for though readyto do any act that might advance his purpose, he did not like to hearit called by its right name.
However that might be, he agreed to the course proposed by theattorney, and it was determined that, waiting for the fall of night,they should both go over to the prison together, and demand admittanceto the felon's cell. The conversation then reverted to Emily'sdistinct rejection of the young man's suit, and long did the twoponder over it, considering what might be the effect upon the plansthey were pursuing.
"It may hurry us desperately," said Mr. Shanks, at length, "unless wecan get her to hold her tongue; for depend upon it, as soon as SirPhilip hears what we are doing, he will take his measures accordingly.Don't you think you and Mrs. Hazleton together can manage to frightenher into silence? If I were you, I would get upon my horse's backdirectly, ride over, and see what can be done. Your fair friend therewill give you every help, depend upon it."
John Ayliffe smiled. "I will see," he said. "Mrs. Hazleton is verykind about it, and I dare say will help, for I am quite sure she hasgot some purpose of her own to serve."
The attorney grinned, but made no answer, and in the space of aquarter of an hour, John Ayliffe was on the road to Mrs. Hazleton'sdwelling.
After quarter of an hour's private conversation with the lady of thehouse, he was admitted to the room in which Emily sat, unconscious ofhis being there. She was displeased and alarmed at seeing him, but hiswords and his conduct after he entered, frightened and displeased herstill more. He demanded secrecy in a stern and peremptory tone, andthreatened with vague, but not ill-devised menaces, to be the ruin ofher father and his whole house, if she breathed one word of what hadtaken place between them. He sought, moreover, to obtain from her apromise of secrecy; but that Emily would on no account give, althoughhe terrified her greatly; and he left her still in doubt as to whetherhis secret was safe or not.
With Mrs. Hazleton he held another conference, but from her hereceived better assurances. "Do not be afraid," she said; "I willmanage it for you. She shall not betray you--at least for a time.However, you had better proceed as rapidly as possible, and if themeans of pursuing your claim be necessary--I mean in point ofmoney--have no scruple in applying to me."
Putting on an air of queenly dignity, Mrs. Hazleton proceeded insearch of Emily, as soon as the young man was gone. She found her intears; and sitting down by her side, she took her hand in a kindlymanner, saying, "My dear child, I am very sorry for all this, but itis really in some degree your own fault. Nay, you need not explain anything. I have just had young Ayliffe with me. He has told me all, andI have dismissed him with a sharp rebuke. If you had confided to melast night that he had proposed to you, and you had rejected him, Iwould have taken care that he should not have admittance to you.Indeed, I am surprised that he should presume to propose at all,without longer acquaintance. But he seems to have agitated andterrified you much. What did he want?"
"He endeavored to make me promise," replied Emily, "that I would nottell my father, or any one, of what had occurred."
"Foolish boy! he might have taken that for granted," replied Mrs.Hazleton, forgetting for an instant what she had just said. "No womanof any delicacy ever speaks of a matter of this kind, when once shehas taken upon herself to reject a proposal unconditionally. If shewishes for advice," continued the lady, recollecting herself, "orthinks that the suit may be pressed improperly, of course she's freeto ask counsel and assistance of some female friend, on whom she candepend. But the moment the thing is decided, of course, she is silentfor ever; for nothing can be more a matter of honorable confidencethan an avowal of honorable love. I will write him a note, and tellhim he is in no danger, but warn him not to present himself hereagain, so long as you are with me."
Emily made no answer, trying to decide in her own mind whether Mrs.Hazleton's reasoning was right; and that lady, choosing to take herassent for granted, from her silence, hurried away, to give her noopportunity for retracting.