CHAPTER VI.
LUCIUS HAGGARD IS BEWILDERED.
John, Earl of Pit Town, was above all things an art-worshipper. He wasnever tired of perambulating the great galleries of Pit Town Castle andadmiring the collection, which it had been his life-long labour of loveto bring together. When his son, the late Lord Hetton, had come to hissudden and dreadful end, the old man had felt the blow severely; whenhis heir, Reginald Haggard, had been snatched away in the pride of hismanhood, it had affected him in a less degree; but he had felt the blowfrom its very suddenness. Ever since Reginald Haggard's wife had come tolive at the Castle, he had ceased to feel that he was alone in theworld, and a deep affection had sprung up between the two. As forHaggard's boys, now bursting into early manhood, he loved them somewhatfor themselves, but still more for the sake of the woman who had been adaughter to him, and the stay and comfort of his waning years. Alwaysorderly and methodical, he had settled the ultimate disposition of hisproperty with justice and discretion. He was immensely wealthy. As wehave said, the entailed property was extremely large, but was exceededin actual money value by the great mineral wealth which was disposableby will. The value of several ordinary estates, too, was locked up inthe vast collection contained in the new galleries.
The future possessor of the Pit Town title would be a lucky man indeedif he got the treasures so laboriously accumulated, during his longlifetime, by old Lord Pit Town. The old man lived by strict rule. He hada curious theory that, barring accidents, the span of human life mightbe ordinarily calculated at sixty-five years; that is, supposing thatone third of the time, or eight hours a day, was given to sleep. Hebelieved, too, that just as the span of life is undoubtedly shortened byindiscretions and excesses, particularly in the matters of diet anddrink; so he considered that span to be indubitably lengthened, if theordinary rules of common prudence were carefully observed. But Lord PitTown went further than this. Continual association with Dr. Wolff hadconverted the old nobleman to an extraordinary and original theory whichwas held by the doctor of philosophy. This theory was a delightfullysimple one. Dr. Wolff was accustomed to sum it up as follows: "The humanbody is a machine, and would go on working for ever did not certainparts of it gradually wear out. It is our duty to make the machine lastas long as possible. When not in use it should be run at the lowest rateof speed, in order to reduce the rapidity of the deterioration." "If Idon't want to wear out my boots," Dr. Wolff would triumphantly remark,"I put on my slippers; therefore, as my body is more precious to me thaneven my new boots, I never unnecessarily wear it out. A certain minimumamount of exercise is undoubtedly necessary to health; let us take thatby all means, but no more. Let us avoid unnecessary exertion of allkinds, physical or mental; let us not ride if we can drive, let us notwalk if we can ride, let us not stand when we can sit, and certainly weshould not sit if we can lie down; above all things we should not remainawake if we can possibly sleep, and even in sleeping we should, ifpossible, refrain from dreams. The valuable machine which we arepossessed of should be run at the lowest possible speed, that it maylast the longer. Strong emotions of all kinds should be just asobnoxious to us as strong drinks. Holding it as an absolute fact that,barring unavoidable accidents, a certain definite amount of wakefulnessis allotted to every man, every opportunity should be seized for runningthe machine at the lowest possible rate by the simplest means; that isto say, to put it shortly, never remain awake without an object, as youare uselessly expending the allotted time of _Life_, that is to say, of_Wakefulness_." But Dr. Wolff and his disciple went further than this:they looked upon sleep as the secret recuperative power of nature. Theyconsidered that in sleep they had discovered the real _vis medicatrixnaturae_. Their curiosity was aroused as to the success of their theory;they were neither of them particularly anxious to become very old men,except that their doing so would tend to prove the correctness of theirviews.
Lord Pit Town himself had already reached an almost patriarchal age; heslept and dozed frequently in the daytime, thus carrying out theprinciples of what the doctor proudly termed the "Wolffian Theory."Under no pretext whatever would any servant at Walls End Castle havedared to awaken either the doctor or the old lord; they were nevercalled in the morning, and in the midst of the most interestingconversations they were both of them in the habit, without the slightestapology, of suddenly closing their eyes and taking a deep draught ofwhat they called nature's recuperative elixir. Everybody in Walls EndCastle knew perfectly well what the servants meant, when they said thateither the old lord or his faithful henchman was engaged; it simplysignified that the two human dormice were carrying out the WolffianTheory.
In sleep they were both accustomed to seek refuge from disturbinginfluences of all kinds. On the second day of Mrs. Dodd's visit to theCastle she had seized the opportunity of improving the occasion, whenshe suddenly came upon the old lord and the philosopher, each of whomwas seated in an easy chair, silently drinking in the beauties of thecelebrated Pit Town Turner, which formed one of the gems of the newgalleries.
"I hope I'm not intruding," the energetic lady remarked, as she burst inupon the scene of tranquil enjoyment; "I don't disturb you, Lord PitTown?" she said.
"Certainly not, dear madam; nothing disturbs me. I allow nothing todisturb me now."
"No, nothing disturbs us; nothing short of an earthquake, _FrauPrediger_; it is against our principle, you know, and that is why wedon't rise at your approach," chimed in the doctor of philosophy; andthe eyes of the two gentlemen by common accord left Mrs. Dodd andreturned to their meditative contemplation of the great landscape.
Mrs. Dodd was astonished but not abashed; she had never known what itwas to be abashed in the whole course of her life. "Their conduct isvery peculiar," she thought. "That German man, if he had the instinctsof a gentleman, should at least rise and explain the pictures to me; asfor the old lord, I suppose he's in his second childhood. I wonder what'_Frau Prediger_' means?" "Ah, Lord Pit Town," she said, apostrophisingthe old nobleman and utterly ignoring the obnoxious Wolff, "I mustconfess to a feeling of sadness when I look at all these beautifulthings, and when I think how much might have been done with the vastsums that they must have cost," and she put up her eye-glass and readthe descriptive label affixed to the frame of the great Turner. "So thatis the celebrated picture," she continued, "and did it really cost fourthousand pounds? Oh, Lord Pit Town," she went on, in the tone she mighthave used to a little child detected red-handed in some act of juveniledepravity, "when we think how much might have been done with fourthousand pounds, when we read in the statistics of the Society for theConversion of the Jews that it costs little more than four thousandpounds to convert one of that proverbially stiff-necked race, one cannotlook at that picture without emotion."
She waited for a moment for the old lord to excuse himself; she lookedfrom the picture to the venerable nobleman; his eyes were tightly shut;he was evidently taking a deep draught of the recuperative elixir. Thenshe turned in search of sympathy to the man who had called her "_FrauPrediger_;" he too was employed in exactly the same manner. For thefirst time in her life Mrs. Dodd found herself absolutely and distinctlyignored; she was to these two dreadful men as if she did not exist; itwas too much, she turned and fled. As the vicar's wife flung out of thegallery, the two enthusiasts reopened their eyes and resumed theircontemplation of Turner's masterpiece. From this little incident it maybe seen that the old lord and his companion were not easily disturbed inthe even tenor of their tranquil lives.
Lord Spunyarn's feelings after the stormy interview with young LuciusHaggard were not to be envied. He hated to meddle and to make. It'squite true that he had been forced into his present position byHaggard's dying communication, and it was by no fault of his own that hesuddenly found himself mixed up in the exceedingly intricate familyaffairs of other people. It was an unpleasant position; he had seen withhis own eyes the links of evidence which completed the chain of proofthat plainly demonstrated the truth of what his old friend had told himon his death-bed. How
and by whom the contents of the little red box hadbeen mysteriously spirited away he was unable to imagine; certainly notby his friend's widow, for Mrs. Haggard, he knew, was the soul ofhonour; certainly Lucius could have had no hand in the abstraction. Itseemed to Spunyarn's mind imperative upon him to communicate the wholematter to the old earl, and so shift the entire responsibility upon theshoulders of the head of the family. Possibly the old lord, as thepossessor of unbounded wealth, might be able to make arrangementssatisfactory to himself and to the naturally conflicting interests ofthe two young men. In any case an open scandal must be avoided, and thePit Town title and estates, whatever might become of the old lord'smoney, must not be diverted from the legitimate heir. How he wished thathe had never accepted that autumn invitation to Pit Town Castle! He knewfull well that young Lucius Haggard would not relinquish one tittle ofwhat he considered his rights. It was difficult to escape from the hornsof the dilemma. It was quite certain that Mrs. Haggard would not move inthe matter, and to let Lucy Warrender's child rob George Haggard of hisbirthright seemed to him a crime. The only other alternative being ascandalous trial in open court and the dragging of the whole matterbefore the public. As a man of the world, Lord Spunyarn was quite awarethat a secret ceases to be a secret when there are too many depositoriesof it; for this reason he could not even consult the legal advisers ofthe family. He felt that George Haggard must be told sooner or later:that was a plain duty. He felt, too, that it were better that the boyshould learn the secret from him, but the communication of the matter tothe old lord was still more imperative, and that communication must bemade at once, for Spunyarn well knew that the life of the fragile oldnobleman hung by a thread, and that there was no exaggeration in LuciusHaggard's statement that Lord Pit Town might go off at any moment. Fromwhat Spunyarn knew of George Haggard and his mother, he felt, in theevent of the old earl's death, that it was more than probable thatLucius Haggard would be allowed to succeed to everything, contrary toall the dictates of human justice. At this thought all Spunyarn's classinstincts violently revolted.
Since the very startling communication which had been made to him,Lucius Haggard had thought of nothing else. To be suddenly told that oneis a bastard is bad enough even for an ordinary mortal, but to a youthwho has considered himself _porphyro-genitus_ to be informed that he isbut of common clay after all, and, worse than that, base-born, isterrible indeed. Since he had heard the story, young Lucius had beenunable to obtain even a sip of the doctor's recuperative elixir. Hebelieved the tale--he couldn't doubt it--for he knew that the woman whohad been a mother to him could not lie. So Lucius Haggard believed thestory, and his only consolation was that the proofs were missing.Possession is nine points of the law he very well knew, and he thankedhis stars that the _onus probandi_, fortunately for him, lay with thosewhom he already looked upon as "the other side." But he could not rest,for the mysterious contents of the box, whatever they had been, might bediscovered at any moment, and, like Damocles, he trembled at thesuspended sword.
"You're not looking well, sir," said Mr. Capt, as he appeared with thedressing materials in the morning. "Won't you lie a little whilelonger?" said the valet. "I can bring up your breakfast, sir."
"I'm all right, Capt. I've only had a bad night," and then the valetdrew the curtains, and the young fellow looked once more upon thewell-timbered landscape which till yesterday he had regarded as all hisown. And then he gave a long sigh, which came from the very bottom ofhis heart.
"The light seems to hurt your eyes, sir," said the valet, as he shutout what had now become a hateful picture.
"I think you're right, Capt, I'll have an extra hour's sleep; you canleave me, and when I want my breakfast I'll ring for it," and LuciusHaggard turned his face to the wall as the valet left the room. But hedidn't attempt to sleep; he began once more to turn over the matter inhis mind and to meditate upon the best course of action to pursue.Should he have an interview with the possessor of his father's heritage,the heir to what he had once looked upon as his own birthright? He wellknew young George Haggard's generosity. Should he make a clean breast ofthe whole matter to George, and propose that come what might, they twoshould share and share alike by mutual consent? Of course such acontract would not be legally binding, as he well knew, but he felt thatshould George consent to such an arrangement, he, the more astute, couldbreak the contract whenever he saw fit. If he could only get hold ofthose papers, or whatever they were, and destroy them, his positionwould become almost impregnable; he would still remain practically LordPit Town's heir. Should the old man be talked over, even he, could notkeep him out of the title and the entailed property. Could it be that inher love and affection for him, or in a horror of a scandal beingattached to her name or to her dead husband's, that Mrs. Haggard haddestroyed what the little red box had once contained? No, he couldn'thope that. To whose interest was it that the proofs, whatever they were,should disappear? To his, and to his alone. But surely no one wouldcommit so stupendous an act of villainy merely to benefit him, or towrong the man whom he still called his brother? Would Spunyarn lay thewhole matter before the old lord? And if he did so would Lord Pit Towntake the tale for gospel without proof--proof, the very existence ofwhich was now problematical? Should he at once go to the earl and poseas the outraged victim of a base conspiracy, with the hope of enlistingthe powerful support of the head of the family? The more he thought overall these things, the more was he overwhelmed with a sense of his ownimpotence. If he could only get hold of what the box had contained anddestroy it, he would be comparatively safe; for he felt that even werehe to peaceably come into the possession of what he had once consideredhis own, what a life of doubt and terror would be unquestionably his, solong as those proofs, those dreadful proofs, existed. If the wholestrange story were but a fabrication after all--even that was possible.Reginald Haggard was his father; both Lord Spunyarn and Mrs. Haggard hadagreed in this. He had always stood much in awe of his father, and hadnever given him cause of offence. It was strange that, knowing him to bea bastard, his father should have treated him in all things as hislegitimate heir. Why had his father failed to provide for him in anyway by will? For the apparently simple reason that he looked upon him asthe old lord's natural successor. If it were true that he was but abase-born child, then his father must have been aware of the fact, andhe and Mrs. Haggard must have been co-conspirators in an ignoble plot.What possible object could Reginald Haggard have had, and by whatpossible means could he have induced his wife to be his accomplice in soabominable a crime? As he looked back upon the long years of affectionthat the woman, who until to-day he had called his mother, had lavishedupon him, he became the more bewildered. Could it be possible that thewhole matter was but a hallucination of his mother's, caused by herrecent bereavement? That supposition wouldn't hold water for a moment,for the philanthropic but notoriously hard-headed Spunyarn had actuallyseen the proofs, and Spunyarn was an honourable man; and he wellremembered that Spunyarn himself had asserted his power of supplying themissing links in the chain. Was it possible after all that themysterious contents of the little red box would never be discovered andthat he might be still the old man's heir for want of legal proof to thecontrary? Such a solution was the best that could be hoped for. He feltmore than ever powerless, as he reflected that his future lot remainedin the hands of Mrs. Haggard, the woman who in his rage and despair hehad insulted by base suspicion and met by an open defiance. That was amistake, he saw it now but too clearly. But the mistake was notirreparable. Gradually the policy he should pursue became more and moreclearly marked out in his troubled mind. "I will not quarrel with them,"he thought; "I will express my readiness to do what is right, and shouldthe contents of the box be ever forthcoming, then I must trust to theirgenerosity. That is the simplest and safest way, the only wise courseand the only prudent one; she may after all be bound to secrecy," hethought.
And then he rang for his breakfast, and afterwards proceeded tointerview his father's friend. He found Lord Spunyarn in what had beenc
alled Reginald Haggard's own room. When Lucius entered it, LordSpunyarn was engaged with a mass of papers.
"Spunyarn," he said abruptly, "I owe you an apology; I behaved badlyyesterday. Forgive me," he continued, as he held out his hand, "Ibehaved badly enough to you," he went on, "but I behaved worse to mymother, for I must call her my mother still," he added in a brokenvoice.
Spunyarn rose and took the offered hand. "Say no more, Lucius, I'm gladyou thought better of it. After all it was a terrible position for you,my poor boy, a terrible position for us all," he continued, "and for herespecially."
"There's one thing I have to say to you, Lord Spunyarn," said Lucius,and the crafty young fellow spoke the words gracefully and trippingly;"in this matter I can only place my interests and my honour unreservedlyin your hands. You were my father's friend, Lord Spunyarn, and you arehis widow's and mine. It is for you, then, to say what is to be done."
"One thing must be done, Lucius; the honour of the family and of thedead," he added solemnly, "must be respected."
"That of course," said the young fellow, as he seated himself and fixedhis eyes upon the carpet.
"You will ask for nothing but what is just, Lucius; you would not wishto see your brother wronged?"
"Surely not, Lord Spunyarn, surely not."
"It'll have to be done, I suppose, sooner or later, and perhaps it'sbetter done now. I don't think I could rake up all the miserable storyin your mother's presence, Lucius, but you have a right to hear it. Agood deal of the sad little drama was enacted before my very eyes. Ionce loved your mother, Lucius, your real mother, and I wanted to makeher my wife. Lucius, don't ask me to name her--she is dead, poor girl.Try to think of your mother, Lucius, as the life-long victim of agirlish folly, as one who paid very dearly for her fault. Let us speakof her no more. I will tell you all you need know. I must tell you, oryou would not be able to take in the situation. Just before you wereborn, Lucius, your mother, who was a dear friend of the much-wrongedwoman who sacrificed herself for you, feeling that her condition couldbe no longer concealed, appealed to your father's wife to save her fromthe consequences of her fault. Remember, Lucius, that Mrs. Haggard hadno inkling of the truth that her friend's lover was her own husband. Shenever knew it, poor thing, till he was in his grave. If she chose tomake the great sacrifice demanded of her, it was in her power to saveher friend's reputation, and your mother, Lucius, was her dearestfriend. She made the sacrifice, but when she made it she little knew theprice she would have to pay, for in sacrificing herself, she sacrificedthe rights of her own then unborn son; and for twenty years that poorwoman supposed that she was deceiving, tricking and wronging yourfather. But it was not so, Lucius, for your father was aware of thewhole conspiracy from the very first. Your mother's letters proved that,and the box contained further evidence, which rendered doubt upon thesubject impossible. But when my poor friend was on his death-bed, Mrs.Haggard could be silent no longer. She, the woman who had sacrificed herwhole life for the sake of a girlish friendship, on his death-bed, askedthe forgiveness of the man who had wronged her. Then, and then only,with his dying breath, your father revealed to her that he had been aconsenting party to the fraud and aware of it from the first. And thenshe forgave him, Lucius. What was she to do, poor thing? At yourfather's dying request, I, as his executor, having come into possessionof the secret, handed the proofs to my friend's widow."
"And you saw those proofs, Lord Spunyarn?"
"Yes, I saw them, Lucius."
The young man rose. "Then, Lord Spunyarn," he said, "there is but onecourse open to me. As a man of honour I place myself freely and fully inyour hands. Whatever you think is the right course to pursue, thatcourse I will follow; for I feel, as you told me yesterday, that I haveno rights. My very presence here as my father's bastard, is an insult toher whom, I would to heaven, I could still call my mother, and to thehead of the family. I can say no more than this, Lord Spunyarn--I placemyself in your hands."
Spunyarn took the young fellow by the hand affectionately. "Lucius,"said he, "you are behaving nobly. But the dilemma is none the less; theproofs, unfortunately, have disappeared. I know full well that you willnever have cause to regret your generosity. Pray God that we may yet beable to avoid a public scandal. I have sent for Brookes; he is, as youknow, the old lord's lawyer, and to him we must come sooner or later. Ifwe could only get the contents of the box once more into our possession,all would be simple enough; but the proofs have disappeared, perhaps forever; and my poor friend's wife, Lucius, is smitten by a terribleaffliction; they found her speechless this morning, and the familypractitioner tells me she may never recover. God knows," he added with agroan, "perhaps the hand of heaven has closed her mouth for ever."
"You don't say that she is ill, Lord Spunyarn, perhaps dying?" cried theyoung man in an awe-stricken whisper, as he repressed his exultationwith an effort. "Let me see her at once. Poor mother!" he added with asigh.
I verily believe that should fortune desert young Lucius Haggard he neednever really starve, for his talents as a light comedian shouldcertainly be worth several guineas a week to him.
"Spunyarn," said Lucius after a pause, "who can have taken these papers?Have you any suspicion?"
"It's a mystery I cannot penetrate," he replied. "Brookes may be able toget at the bottom of it, however; I hope and trust so."
"Can it be possible," said Lucius, "that my mother destroyed the papersherself, or has secreted them?"
"I hardly think so; she seemed as much astonished as I was, when wefound them gone. Besides, why should she destroy them? Lucius, shetrusted you; and she judged you rightly, my boy; you have chosen theonly honourable and manly course. No man has cause to regret runningstraight in this world. You will never have reason to repent of it,Lucius."
"Do you think no one outside the family, Lord Spunyarn, by anypossibility can be in possession of the key to the secret?"
"No one. Besides it interests no one, save my dear old friend, yourbrother, and yourself."
"Yes, I suppose after all George is my brother, in a sort of way,still."
"George will never forget that he is your brother, Lucius."
There was a pause.
"Let us go to her," said Lucius Haggard with a sigh.
The elder man consented, and they left the room.