CHAPTER VIII.
THE HOLLOW BEECH TREE.
Curiosity is not, as is popularly supposed, the private and peculiarfailing of the female sex. Most men tear up their letters ere theyconsign them to the waste-paper basket; the wiser and more suspiciousportion of the human race burn them. If Bluebeard had confided the keyof the Blue closet to any one of his servants, we may rely upon it thatthey would have been just as certain to have investigated the contents,as the nameless, but indiscreet, lady, whose sister's name was Ann.
Mr. Capt was a very superior servant, but like most servants he wasinnately curious. The little red morocco box, which he had never seenopened, which had always accompanied his deceased master on his numerousjourneys, and which was habitually kept in his master's iron safe, hadalways puzzled him. It's not very much to be wondered at, then, thatwhen Mr. Capt saw the box upon the table in Mrs. Haggard's boudoir, withits key standing invitingly in the lock, he should seize the opportunityto take a peep at its contents. When Capt saw what those contents were,being an unscrupulous man, he hesitated not an instant in becoming theirpossessor. With men such as Capt, _chantage_, as the French call it, isa favourite mode of obtaining wealth. We know how Capt had blackmailedLucy Warrender for years, and how he was a past-master in the art. Weknow, too, that Capt meditated a still grander _coup_. The secret hepossessed had been a little fortune to him during poor Lucy's lifetime,and, like the shares of a successful mine, Mr. Capt's secret haddeveloped in value with astonishing rapidity. But Capt was a timid aswell as a cautious man; he had a holy horror of the terrors of the law.The secret he had to sell was a valuable one, it is true, but the chainof proof was incomplete. Capt could show that the ladies had gone toAuray in a mysterious manner. Capt could swear that Miss Warrender,under the threat of exposure, had made no secret to him that she was themother of the boy Lucius; but who Lucius's father was, had been to Mr.Capt an impenetrable mystery. And as Mr. Capt rubbed his hands at thethought of the disclosures he could make and their great pecuniaryvalue, his smile of delight would fade at the reflection, that thoughall he swore might be perfectly true, yet, like the inspired Cassandra,he might fail to find anybody to believe him. Great then was Capt'sdelight at getting possession of the miniature which represented LucyWarrender in her Watteau costume, for it opened up to him the means ofplacing his own evidence beyond a doubt, by adding to it the probablyunwilling testimony of Lord Spunyarn, a witness who would be abovesuspicion. His master's monogram upon the portrait case, followed bythe single word "Rome" and the date, brought back all the factsdistinctly to his mind. He remembered actually looking on with his owneyes, disguised as he was as a Roman warrior, upon the _fracas_ betweenHaggard and the unfortunate Mons. Barbiche at Papayani's ball; he hadseen the blue domino upon Haggard's arm, and he had gazed withcuriosity, striving to penetrate the secrecy of the very mask which wasnow in his possession. Probably, he thought, Lord Spunyarn was Haggard'sconfidant in the whole matter, but when he read the packet of lettersall doubt was set at rest, and Mr. Capt felt that the honour of a noblefamily was his to traffic with, and that all that remained was to lookout for the best bargain. Mr. Capt then secreted his prey at once.Secure now in the possession of the power of proving what he had totell, he had but to take his merchandise to the best market and disposeof it to the highest bidder. Unfortunately for the valet, there wereonly a few possible purchasers for the valuable commodity he had tosell. There was the old lord, but Capt doubted whether Lord Pit Townmight feel disposed to invest his money in proving the eldest son of hisown deceased heir to be a bastard. As for Mrs. Haggard, dealings withher were out of the question, for she was prostrated by the stroke ofparalysis. Then Capt's mind reverted to old Warrender, but he thoughtwith horror of the collection of antiquated horsewhips which hung in theentrance-hall of The Warren, and he remembered that Squire Warrender,though a very old man now, had a vigorous arm, and that he was a justiceof the peace. The other possible purchasers that remained were the twoyoung men, but unfortunately both were under age, and, therefore,comparatively penniless; so Mr. Capt, reluctantly enough, was compelledto defer negotiations to Lord Pit Town's death, or, at all events,until Lucius Haggard's majority, and he determined whichever of thoseevents might happen first, that he would then realize his property atonce.
Capt had reluctantly made up his mind to wait; he carefully packed upthe contents of the little box which he had purloined, including thebrilliant earrings, for he feared to dispose of them, though they werevery valuable, lest he might be accused of, and punished for, a robbery.Besides the earrings were a part of the proofs. It was quite a neatlittle parcel he made, and he carefully covered the whole withwaterproof canvas, lest the valuable contents of the packet might bedamaged by weather. Mr. Capt had determined to place his property in atemporary hiding place, for he argued rightly that Lord Spunyarn, assoon as he was aware of the robbery that had been committed, would leaveno stone unturned to regain possession of the deposit he had socarelessly guarded.
Nature had provided Mr. Capt with a hiding-place suitable in every wayto his designs. In the most secluded portion of the park, whither he wasaccustomed to resort to meditate and smoke his master's cigars insecret, was a very picturesque beech. At about the height of a man inthe trunk of this vigorous young tree was a hole some eighteen inchesdeep, just large enough to admit a man's hand. Into this naturalhiding-place Mr. Capt remembered to have once himself thrust his fingersfrom curiosity. It was not without some hesitation that he placed hisproperty in the cavity, and to make assurance doubly sure he covered thepacket with a few dead leaves and closed the mouth of the hole with abig stone, upon which he artistically placed a little layer of livingmoss, carefully smoothing down the edges of the tuft with his fingers.And then Mr. Capt became once more a waiter upon Providence.
The explosion which Mr. Capt had expected took place. The suddensummoning of the family lawyer, and the striking down of Mrs. Haggard byparalysis, had sufficiently informed him of the fact. He felt certainthat a vigorous perquisition would ensue, and it was with considerablesatisfaction, that he reflected that he had been beforehand in thematter, and that he had placed, what he looked upon as his property, insafety.
The interview between Lord Pit Town and his solicitor was a long one.The old lord was naturally much agitated. As was to be expected, heplaced himself unreservedly in the hands of his legal adviser, and hedetermined not to move in the matter.
"You seem to think, Brookes," he said, "that there is nothing to be donein this thing."
"Certainly not, my lord," Mr. Brookes replied. "The late Mr. ReginaldHaggard's widow, should she recover possession of her faculties, whichher medical adviser has informed me is extremely doubtful, would be ableassuredly to give us the solution of the mystery; till then, or till herdeath, it is my opinion that we can take no action whatever. It iscertainly not for us to throw any doubt upon the legitimacy of the youngman, whom you must perforce continue to look upon as your lawful heir.Of Lucius Haggard's silence for his own sake, we may be certain. LordSpunyarn we may trust, while Mrs. Haggard herself will assuredly revealnothing until her health is in some measure restored, and then onlyprobably under considerable pressure from you, if you should, under thecircumstances, consider such a course advisable. If there really was asecret, Lord Pit Town, we can rely upon the discretion of a woman whohas kept it for twenty years. But after all it seems to me that it isonly the distant branches of the family who suffer in losing a remotecontingent succession; even if the extremely unlikely history whichLord Spunyarn gave me is a fact, and true in all its details, LuciusHaggard is still Reginald Haggard's son. It seems to me that it is notfor us to stir up the question of his legitimacy. Possibly your lordshipmight feel inclined to put pressure upon him, and make him covenant notto marry in his younger brother George's lifetime, and so the title andentailed estates would eventually pass to George Haggard or his heirs."
"That is, of course, supposing the story to be true," quavered the oldlord.
"I
t is impossible, my lord, in the absence of the documents, for us totake any notice of the story. I may attempt, if you wish it, to obtaininformation. I might sound the late Mr. Haggard's valet, though I thinkit would be extremely bad policy to do so. As for George Haggard, mylord, he is his father's heir, and you and I, my lord, know that thepresent disposition of your lordship's property will amply compensatehim for the loss of the Pit Town title and the Walls End estates, evenif they were really his by right."
"Yes, Brookes, I suppose things must take their course."
His lordship's remark showed that he accepted Mr. Brookes' point ofview. The lawyer communicated the old man's decision to Lord Spunyarn,but the matter itself was never mentioned between Lord Pit Town and theexecutor of his late heir.
Young Lucius Haggard for the last few days had had plenty of food forreflection. The agony of mind which he had suffered when Lord Spunyarnhad broken to him the strange story of his birth was more thancounterbalanced by the disappearance of the proofs and the opportuneillness of his father's widow. He found himself once more the heirapparent, and so temporary had been his degradation that it seemed but afevered dream. Whether the story was true or false, probably no onewould ever know. The more he thought of the matter, the more youngLucius Haggard congratulated himself on having controlled his feelingsafter his first natural burst of passionate indignation. He had notalienated Lord Spunyarn, he had not quarrelled with any one; hisconduct, under the most trying circumstances, had been such as to meritthe respect of all concerned. Though he had not yet won the rubber, hehad decidedly scored the first game.
As time rolled on, Reginald Haggard's widow made no perceptible progresstowards recovery. The speechlessness continued; she was still unable toarticulate. At first she frequently attempted to speak, but graduallyceased her efforts, as she found that it was practically impossible toexpress herself. When she tried to write, although the fingers couldgrasp the pen, she was unable to produce written characters, but sheappeared to hear and to understand perfectly. Her memory, too, seemedto have failed her, for she no longer attempted to express her grief ather husband's death. She had lost to a certain extent also the power ofmotion, and was confined to her couch. With this exception, her bodilyhealth remained good, and there was no visible change in her appearance.
No intimation of the supposed discovery of a family mystery had beenmade to old Squire Warrender, not that there was any doubt as to hisdiscretion, but simply because there was nothing to be gained bydisturbing the old man's mind with so terrible a communication. SquireWarrender had hurried to the Castle to visit his daughter when he firstheard of her seizure; but as the fears of an immediate fatal terminationgradually wore off, the old squire had returned to King's Warren. Butthe two young men, as was natural, still remained at the Castle in closeattendance upon their mother; George, from natural affection, whileLucius, though he longed to taste the sweets of his newly-acquiredliberty, felt that it was to his interest to remain upon the spot in theunlikely contingency of Mrs. Haggard regaining her faculties.
While the minds of many of the inhabitants of Walls End Castle had beendisturbed in the manner narrated, the quiet little parish of King'sWarren had been shaken out of its ordinary state of somniferoustorpidity. To use Mrs. Dodd's words, "the government of the country hadat last become awakened to the important services rendered to the Churchby my dear father." The fact is, that a bishopric had fallen in, andthat the Prime Minister, a notorious talker and time-server, and a veryold servant of Her Majesty, was extremely anxious to perpetrate a greatand glorious job. But the Prime Minister was a wise man; he knew verywell that in trying to please everybody he would satisfy no one, and sohe meant to please himself, and to appoint to the vacant see an oldcollege chum of his own, a learned but harmless enthusiast, now a Don,who had once in his life perpetrated a very abstruse work upon the Greekparticle. The first thing that the Prime Minister did was to lend anapparently willing ear to the suggestions of the various busybodies whounder such circumstances always favour unfortunates in his position withtheir disinterested ideas upon the subject. Deputations from the tworival missionary societies waited upon him, lords temporal and lordsspiritual had private interviews with him, and the heads of his partyexpressed their opinions to him freely but confidentially; he promisedto give their suggestions what he called his earnest consideration, andthen he bowed them out. But the Prime Minister was a man who invariablykilled two birds with one stone. "I will obtain some cheap popularity,"he thought, "and several good rounds of universal applause, by amaster-stroke. I will _offer_ the bishopric to a simple parishclergyman." In the clerical world, to use a profane phrase, there wereat least half-a-dozen favourites in the betting, and as many darkhorses. When the _Thunderer_ appeared with an inspired article upon thefitness of a successful parish clergyman for the more onerous positionof a bishop, great was the humming and disturbance in the clerical hive.Profound was the disappointment in the minds of the drones anddignitaries. Men who were performing archidiaconal functions heaped dustand ashes on their heads, crying aloud that the interests of the Churchwere being sacrificed to obtain an ephemeral popularity. But the breastsof the working bees throbbed with excitement; the vicars of parishes whohad been long in harness, and had never met with the expensivemisfortune of being haled by their bishop, or the terrible aggrievedparishioner, under the Church Discipline Act, before that greatest ofall clerical bogies, Lord Penzance, and who would never have thought ofundergoing six months' imprisonment for conscience' sake; men who knew agood glass of wine when they saw it; men who were apostles of the BlueRibbon Army, fathers of large families of sons and daughters blessed inhaving their quivers full of them, and Celibates wedded to the Churchalone; all these men were racked by ambitious hopes. In the meanwhilethe Prime Minister was occupied in putting salt on his sparrow's tail:that rare clerical bird so fast becoming extinct in the present day,_rara avis in terris nigroque simillima cygno_, who should be willing toreply to him _nolo episcopari_. The Prime Minister was looking round fora man of straw, and after some search he found him in the person of theReverend John Dodd.
The _Thunderer_ had said that "the little leaven that was needed in thehierarchy of the Church of England, that it might leaven the wholelump, was a parochial clergyman who had unostentatiously laboured in theclerical vineyard, a man who could rule his see as he had ruled hisparish," and after a long diatribe, the article concluded with thesepregnant words: "Such a man the noble lord at the head of affairs hasfound in the well-known vicar of King's Warren, the Reverend John Dodd."And then it compared the Reverend John Dodd to the "Man of Ross," in itsusual graceful and pointed manner.
Verbal communications, like dead men, tell no tales.
The Prime Minister didn't write a letter to the Reverend John Dodd, hedidn't even send him a halfpenny post-card, offering him the bishopric;but he did dispatch a trusted emissary. We must remember that theMinister had been credibly informed that the Reverend John Dodd wasabsolutely the only respectable clergyman in the Church of England, inthe full possession of his mental faculties, who would be certain todecline the honours of consecration. Certain Roman emperors have earnedour respect by refusing to accept divine honours, and the Prime Ministerheard with delight that the Reverend John Dodd was a man of the sameheroic kidney. We have met the emissary before, it was the same oldclerical friend of the Reverend John's, who had on a previous occasion,as his archdeacon, warned him to set his house in order on theappointment of a new bishop, a king who knew not Joseph. He it was, whohad recommended to his friend Dodd that eminently reliable clericalcharwoman, the Reverend Barnes Puffin. The Reverend Barnes Puffin haddone his work well, things had gone on smoothly ever since in the parishof King's Warren; and many a time and oft had the stout vicar, like themask'd Arabian maid in the "Light of the Harem," exclaimed, "Oh, ifthere be an Elysium on earth, it is this, it is this." I don't believethat the vicar of King's Warren would have changed places with theMikado of Japan. The two clergymen had their interview; at which Mr
s.Dodd, to her great indignation, did not assist. Never before in his lifehad the Reverend John kept a secret so long from the knowledge of thewife of his bosom, the fair Cecilia; until the next morning atbreakfast, he may be said to have continuously wrestled with her in thespirit. In vain did Mrs. Dodd alternately beg, command, and even entreathim with briny tears, to communicate to her what had taken place in thatsecret interview. All she could extract from him was, that she shouldknow all about it at breakfast time. She even tried guessing, but eachguess was more wildly improbable, and wider of the mark than the last;her final suggestion was a rather barbed arrow though.
"John," she said in a hissing whisper, with a vicious nudge, to the poorvicar, who was vainly seeking sleep for the twentieth time. "You maykeep it from me if you will, John, but I've guessed your dreadfulsecret. Yes," she added with a succession of sobs, "I've guessed it atlast; the boo-boo-bishop is going to sequestrate your living on theground of your weakened intellect." But Dodd only chuckled, or rather"chortled," in his amusement, as he buried his face in his pillow.
The next morning Mrs. Dodd, as was her custom, entered thebreakfast-room first. She took up the _Thunderer_, and she performed hernatural duty as a woman, and went carefully through the list of births,deaths and marriages; and then she came upon the inspired article towhich we have alluded. At first the paper dropped from her fingers, andthen her face was illumined by a smile of triumph. The neatparlour-maid was just placing the hissing urn upon the table.
"Jane," said Mrs. Dodd, "in future when addressing your master, be goodenough to say, 'my lord.' You can inform the others of what I wishdone."
The girl dropped Mrs. Dodd a low courtesy, stared at her, and thenstammered out, "Yes, my lady."
So grateful was this speech to Mrs. Dodd's feelings that she hadn't theheart to correct the girl; she merely smiled blandly and smoothed hercap ribbons.
The Reverend John Dodd entered the room at the moment; he sniffed andrubbed his hands, for ambrosial odours from the kitchen reached hisnostrils. His wife sprang to her feet, and rushing into his arms afterthe manner of long-lost daughters upon the stage, she buried her face inhis M.B. waistcoat. "John, dear John," she said through her tears ofjoy, as she gazed up at his great round smiling visage, "let me be thefirst to congratulate you on your well-deserved honours." She snatchedup the newspaper and waved it wildly in the air. "I've read it all,John, and they've put it _so_ nicely. Little did I dream last night whenI spoke to you so irreverently, for I shall revere you now, John, that Iwas speaking to a bishop. Oh, John," she continued, clapping her handsin a girlish manner, "'tis such a becoming dress, and so, sodelightfully exclusive."
"Calm yourself, Cecilia," said Dodd, who feared the shock would be toomuch for her. "Calm yourself, Cecilia, dear. I'm plain Jack Dodd still;they did offer it me yesterday, but I refused it."
"And you can stand there, Mr. Dodd, and tell me this dreadful thing. Oh,Mr. Dodd," she said with withering sarcasm, "I thought just now that Iwas the wife of a bishop. Alas, I learn from your lips the terribletruth, the truth which my poor father so often impressed upon me, thatI am only married to a fool," and she rushed from the room.
I suppose that the parson was after all a callous stony-hearted man, forthough he breakfasted alone, he devoured the entire dish of stewedkidneys, which the parlour-maid had placed upon the table with a lowobeisance.