CHAPTER XIV.
NEWS ABOUT THE OLD MAN OF THE MOUNTAINS.
NEXT morning Margaret Fanshawe was unusually silent at breakfast, exceptto her new friends the squirrels, whose cage she placed on a littletable close by, and who had already begun to attach themselves to her.To them she talked, as she gave them their nuts, a great deal of thatsilvery nonsense which is pleasant to hear as any other pleasant soundin nature. But good old Miss Sheckleton thought her out of spirits.
"She's vexing herself about my conjectures," thought the old lady. "I'msorry I said a word about it. I believe _I_ was a fool, but _she's_ agreater one. She's young, however, and has that excuse."
"_How_ old are you, Margaret?" said she abruptly, after a long silence.
"Twenty-two, my last birth-day," answered the young lady, and looked, asif expecting a reason for the question.
"Yes; so I thought," said Miss Sheckleton. "The twenty-third of June--amidsummer birth-day--your poor mamma used to say--the glow and flowersof summer--a brilliant augury."
"Brilliantly accomplished," added the girl; "don't you think so, Frisk,and you, little Comet? Are you not tired of Malory already, my friends?_My_ cage is bigger, but so am I, don't you see; you'd be happierclimbing and hopping among the boughs. What am _I_ to you, compared withliberty? I did not _ask_ for you, little fools, did I? You came to me;and I will open the door of your cage some day, and give you back to theunknown--to chance--from which you came."
"You're sad to-day, my child," said Miss Sheckleton, laying her handgently on her shoulder. "Are you vexed at what I said to you lastnight?"
"What did you say?"
"About these little things--the squirrels."
"No, darling, I don't care. Why should I? They come from Fortune, andthat little brown boy. They came no more to _me_ than to _you_," saidthe girl carelessly. "Yes, another nut; you shall, you little wonders!"
"Now, that's just what I was going to say. _I_ might just as well havebought them as _you_; and I must confess I coloured my guess a little,for I only mentioned poor Whisk in passing, and I really don't know thathe heard me; and I think if he had thought of getting a squirrel for us,he'd have asked leave to send it to _me_. I could not have objected tothat, you know; and that little boy may be ill, you know; or somethingmay have happened to delay him, and he'll turn up; and you'll have tomake a bargain, and pay a fair price for them yet."
"Yes, of course; I never thought anything else--eventually; and I knewall along you were jesting. I told these little creatures so thismorning, over and over again. If they could speak they would say so.Would not you, you two dear little witches?"
So she carried out her pets with her, and hung their cage among theboughs of the tree that stood by the rustic seat to which she used totake her book.
"Well, I've relieved her mind," thought Miss Sheckleton.
But oddly enough, she found the young lady not sad, but rather cross andfierce all that afternoon--talking more bitterly than ever to hersquirrels, about Malory, and with an angry kind of gaiety, of herapproaching exile to France.
"It is not always easy to know how to please young ladies," thought MissSheckleton. "They won't always take the trouble to know their ownminds. Poor thing! It _is_ very lonely--very lonesome, to be sure;--andthis little temper will blow over."
So, full of these thoughts, Miss Sheckleton repaired to that mysteriousstudy door within which Sir Booth, dangerous as a caged beast, paced hisfloor, and stormed and ground his teeth, over--not his own vices,prodigalities, and madness, but the fancied villanies of mankind--glaredthrough his window in his paroxysms, and sent his curses like mutteredthunder across the sea over the head of old Pendillion--and then wouldsubside, and write long, rambling, rubbishy letters to his attorneys inLondon, which it was Miss Sheckleton's business to enclose and direct,in her feminine hand, to her old friend Miss Ogden, of Bolton Street,Piccadilly, who saw after the due delivery of these missives, and madeherself generally useful during the mystery and crisis of the Fanshaweaffairs.
Outside the sombre precincts of Malory Margaret Fanshawe would not go.Old Miss Sheckleton had urged her. Perhaps it was a girlish perversity;perhaps she really disliked the idea of again meeting or making anacquaintance. At all events, she was against any more excursions. Thusthe days were dull at Malory, and even Miss Sheckleton was weary of herimprisonment.
It is a nice thing to hit the exact point of reserve and difficulty atwhich an interest of a certain sort is piqued, without danger of beingextinguished. Perhaps it is seldom compassed by art, and a flukegenerally does it. I am absolutely certain that there was no designhere. But there is a spirit of contrariety--a product of pride, of asensitiveness almost morbid, of a reserve gliding into duplicity, aduplicity without calculation--which yet operates like design. Cleve waspiqued--Cleve was angry. The spirit of the chase was roused, as often ashe looked at the dusky woods of Malory.
And now he had walked on three successive days past the old gateway, andon each of them, loitered long on the wind-beaten hill that overlooksthe grounds of Malory. But in vain. He was no more accustomed to waitthan Louis XIV. Now wonder he grew impatient, and meditated the wildestschemes--even that of walking up to the hall-door, and asking to see SirBooth and Miss Sheckleton, and, if need be, Miss Fanshawe. He only knewthat, one way or another, he _must_ see her. He was a young man ofexorbitant impatience, and a violent will, and would control events.
There are consequences, of course, and these subjugators are controlledin their turn. Time, as mechanical science shows us, is an element inpower; and patience is in durability. God waits, and God is might. Andwithout patience we enter not into the kingdom of God, which is thekingdom of power, and the kingdom of eternity.
Cleve Verney's romance, next morning, was doomed to a prosaicinterruption. He was examining a chart of the Cardyllian estuary, whichhangs in the library, trying to account for the boat's having touchedthe bank at low water, at a point where he fancied there was a fathom tospare, when the rustic servant entered with--
"Please, sir, a gentleman which his name is Mr. Larkin, is at the door,and wishes to see you, sir, on partickler business, please."
"Just wait a moment, Edward. Three fathom--two--four feet--by Jove! Soit is. We might have been aground for five hours; a shame there isn't abuoy there--got off in a coach, by Jove! _Larkin_? Has he no card?"
"Yes, sir, please."
"Oh! yes--very good. Mr. Larkin--The Lodge. Does he look like agatekeeper?"
"No, sir, please; quite the gentleman."
"What the devil can he want of me? Are you certain he did not ask for myuncle?"
"Yes, sir--the Honourable Mr. Verney--which I told him he wasn't here."
"And why did not you send him away, then?"
"He asked me if you were here, and wished to see you partickler, sir."
"Larkin--The Lodge; what is he like--tall or short--old or young?" askedCleve.
"Tall gentleman, please, sir--not young--helderley, sir, rayther."
"By Jove! Larkin? I think it _is_.--Is he bald--a long face, eh?" askedCleve with sudden interest.
"Yes, sir, a good deal in that way, sir--rayther."
"Show him in," said Cleve; "I shall hear all about it, now," hesoliloquised as the man departed. "Yes, the luckiest thing in theworld!"
The tall attorney, with the tall bald head and pink eyelids, enteredsimpering, with hollow jaws, and a stride that was meant to be perfectlyeasy and gentlemanlike. Mr. Larkin had framed his costume upon somethinghe had once seen upon somebody whom he secretly worshipped as a greatauthority in quiet elegance. But every article in the attorney'swardrobe looked always new--a sort of lavender was his favourite tint--alavender waistcoat, lavender trowsers, lavender gloves--so that, as thetall lank figure came in, a sort of blooming and vernal effect, inspite of his open black frock-coat, seemed to enter and freshen thechamber.
"How d'ye do, Mr. Larkin? My uncle is at present in France. Sit down,pray--can I be of any use?" said Cleve, who now recoll
ected hisappearance perfectly, and did not like it.
The attorney, smiling engagingly, more and more, and placing a verysmooth new hat upon the table, sat himself down, crossing one long legover the other, throwing himself languidly back, and letting one of hislong arms swing over the back of his chair, so that his fingers almosttouched the floor, said--
"Oh?" in a prolonged tone of mild surprise. "They quite misinformed mein town--not at Verney House--I did not allow myself time to call there;but my agents, they assured me that your uncle, the Honourable KiffynFulke Verney, was at present down here at Ware, and a most exquisiteretreat it certainly is. My occupations, and I may say my habits, callme a good deal among the residences of our aristocracy," he continued,with a careless grandeur and a slight wave of his hand, throwing himselfa little more back, "and I have seen nothing, I assure you, Mr. Verney,more luxurious and architectural than this patrician house of Ware, withits tasteful colonnade, and pilastered front, and the distant view ofthe fashionable watering-place of Cardyllian, which also belongs to thefamily; nothing certainly lends a more dignified charm to the scene, Mr.Verney, than a distant view of family property, where, as in thisinstance, it is palpably accidental--where it is at all forced, as inthe otherwise highly magnificent seat of my friend Sir Thomas Oldbull,baronet; so far from elevating, it pains one, it hurts one's taste"--andMr. Jos. Larkin shrugged and winced a little, and shook his head--"Do_you_ know Sir Thomas?--_no_--I dare say--he's quite a new man, SirThomas--we all look on him in that light in our part of the world--a--infact, a _parvenu_," which word Mr. Larkin pronounced as if it werespelled _pair vennew_. "But, you know, the British Constitution, everyman may go up--we can't help it--we can't keep them down. Money ispower, Mr. Verney, as the old Earl of Coachhouse once said to me--and soit is; and when they make a lot of it, they come up, and we must onlyreceive them, and make the best of them."
"Have you had breakfast, Mr. Larkin?" inquired Cleve, in answer to allthis.
"Thanks, yes--at Llwynan--a very sweet spot--one of the sweetest, Ishould say, in this beauteous country."
"I don't know--I dare say--I think you wished to see me on business, Mr.Larkin?" said Cleve.
"I must say, Mr. Verney, you will permit me, that I really have beentaken a little by surprise. I had expected confidently to find youruncle, the Honourable Kiffyn Fulke Verney, here, where I had certainlyno hope of having the honour of finding you."
I must here interpolate the fact that no person in or out of England wasmore exactly apprised of the whereabout of the Verneys, uncle andnephew, at the moment when he determined to visit Ware, with theostensible object of seeing the Hon. Kiffyn Fulke, and the real one ofseeing Mr. Cleve, than was my friend Mr. Larkin. He was, however, as weknow, a gentleman of ingenious morals and labyrinthine tastes. Withtruth he was, as it were, on bowing terms, and invariably spoke of herwith respect, but that was all. There was no intimacy, she was anutterly impracticable adviser, and Mr. Larkin had grown up under a moreconvenient tuition.
"The information, however, I feel concerns you, my dear sir, as nearly,in a manner, as it does your uncle; in fact, your youth taken intoaccount, more momentously than it can so old a gentleman. I would,therefore, merely venture to solicit one condition, and that is, thatyou will be so good as not to mention me to your uncle as havingconveyed this information to you, as he might himself have wished to bethe first person to open it, and my having done so might possibly inducein his mind an unpleasant feeling."
"I shan't see my uncle before the fifteenth," said Cleve Verney.
"A long wait, Mr. Verney, for such intelligence as it falls to my lot tocommunicate, which, in short, I shall be most _happy_ to lay before you,provided you will be so good as to say you desire it on the condition Ifeel it due to all parties to suggest."
"You mean that my uncle need not be told anything about this interview.I don't see that he _need_, if it concerns _me_. What concerns _him_, Isuppose you will tell him, Mr. Larkin."
"Quite so; that's quite my meaning; merely to avoid unpleasant feeling.I am most anxious to acquaint you--but you understand the delicacy of myposition with your uncle--and that premised, I have now to informyou"--here he dropped his voice, and raised his hand a little, like agood man impressing a sublime religious fact--"that your uncle, theHonourable Arthur Verney, is no more."
The young man flushed up to the very roots of his hair. There was alittle pink flush, also, on the attorney's long cheeks; for there wassomething exciting in even making such an announcement. The consequenceswere so unspeakably splendid.
Mr. Larkin saw a vision of permanent, confidential, and lucrativerelations with the rich Verney family, such as warmed the cool tide ofhis blood, and made him feel for the moment at peace with all mankind.Cleve was looking in the attorney's eyes--the attorney in his. There wasa silence for while you might count three or four. Mr. Larkin saw thathis intended client, Cleve--the future Viscount Verney--was dazzled, anda little confounded. Recollecting himself, he turned his shrewd gaze onthe marble face of Plato, who stood on his pedestal near the window, anda smile seraphic and melancholy lighted up the features and the sad pinkeyes of the godly attorney. He raised them; he raised his great hand inthe lavender glove, and shook his long head devoutly.
"Mysterious are the dealings of Providence, Mr. Verney; happy those whoread the lesson, sir. How few of us so favoured! Wonderful are hisways!"
With a little effort, and an affectation of serenity, Cleve spoke--
"No very great wonder, however, considering he was sixty-four in Maylast." The young man knew his vagabond uncle Arthur's age to an hour,and nobody can blame him much for his attention to those figures. "Itmight not have happened, of course, for ten or twelve years, but itmight have occurred, I suppose, at any moment. How did it happen? Do youknow the particulars? But, is there--is there no" (he was ashamed to sayhope) "no chance that he may still be living?--is it quite certain?"
"Perfectly certain, _perfectly_. In a family matter, I have always madeit a rule to _be_ certain before speaking. No trifling with sacredfeelings, that has been my rule, Mr. Verney, and although in this casethere are mitigations as respects the survivors, considering the life ofprivation and solitude, and, as I have reason to know, of ceaselessself-abasement and remorse, which was all that remained to your unhappyrelative, the Honourable Arthur Verney, it was hardly to be desired thatthe event should be very much longer deferred."
Cleve Verney looked for a moment on the table, in the passing contagionof the good attorney's high moral tone.
Cleve just said "_yes_," in a low tone, and shook his head. Butrallying, he remarked--
"You, of course, know how the title is affected by this event--and theestates?" And as he raised his eyes, he encountered the attorney's fixedupon him with that peculiar rat-like vigilance, concentrated anddangerous, which, as we know, those meek orbs sometimes assume when hisown interests and objects were intensely present to his mind.
Cleve's eye shrank for a second under the enigmatic scrutiny which asinstantly gave way, in turn, before _his_ glance.
"Oh, certainly," said the attorney, "the public know always something ofgreat houses, and their position; that is, _generally_, ofcourse--details are quite another affair. But everyone knows the trulymagnificent position, Mr. Verney, in which the event places your uncle,and I may say you. At the same time the House of Lords, _your_ house, Imay call it now, are, very properly, particular in the matter ofevidence."
"Our consul, I suppose," said Cleve----
"If he were cognisant of all the points necessary to put in proof, thecase would be a very simple one indeed," said Mr. Larkin, with a sadsmile, slowly shaking his tall head.
"Where, Mr. Larkin, did my poor uncle die?" inquired Cleve, with alittle effort at the word "uncle."
"In Constantinople, sir--a very obscure quarter. His habits, Mr. Verney,were very strange; he lived like a rat--I beg pardon, I should say a_rabbit_ in a burrow. Darkness, sir, obscurity--known, I believe,personally to but two indivi
duals. Strange fate, Mr. Verney, for oneborn to so brilliant an inheritance. Known to but two individuals, oneof whom died--what a thing life is!--but a few months before him,leaving, I may say, but one reliable witness to depose to his death;and, for certain reasons, that witness is most reluctant to leaveConstantinople, and not very easily to be discovered, even there. Yousee, Mr. Verney, now, probably, something of the difficulty of the case.Fortunately, I have got some valuable information, confidential, I maysay, in its nature, and with the aid of a few valuable local agents,providentially at this moment at my disposal, I think the difficulty maybe quite overcome."
"If old Arthur Verney is dead, I'll find proof of the fact," said Cleve;"I'll send out people who will know how to come at it."
"You must be well advised, and very cautious, Mr. Verney--in fact, I maytell you, you can't be _too_ cautious, for I happen to know that acertain low firm are already tampering with the witness."
"And how the devil can it concern any firm to keep us--my uncle KiffynVerney out of his rights?" said Mr. Cleve Verney, scornfully.
"Very true, Mr. Verney, in one sense, _no_ motive; but I am older in thesad experience of the world than you, Mr. Verney. At your age I _could_not believe it, much later I _would_ not. But, ah! Mr. Verney, in thelong-run, the facts are too strong for us. Poor, miserable, fallen humannature, it is capable of _anything_. It is only too true, and too_horrible_. It sticks at _nothing_, my dear Mr. Verney, and their objectis to command the witness by this means, and to dictate terms to you--infact, my dear Mr. Verney, it is shocking to think of it--to _extortmoney_."
"I hope you over-estimate the difficulty. If the death _has_ occurred Iwager my life we'll _prove_ it, and come what will I hope my uncle willnever be persuaded to give those scoundrels a shilling."
"Certainly not--not a shilling--not a farthing--but I have taken prompt,and I trust decisive steps to check-mate those gentlemen. I am not atliberty, just at present, to disclose all I know; I don't say that Icould exactly undertake the management of the case, but I shall be veryhappy to volunteer all the assistance in my power; and as I say, someaccidental circumstances place me in a position to undertake that youshall not be defeated. A break down, I may mention, would be a moreserious matter than you seem to suppose; in fact, I should prefer theHonourable Arthur Verney's living for twelve years more, with clearproof of his death at the end of that time, than matters as they standat present, with a failure of the necessary proof."
"Thank you very much, Mr. Larkin; my uncle, I am sure, will also be_very_ much obliged. I understand, of course, the sort of difficulty youapprehend."
"It's not conjectural, Mr. Verney, I wish it were--but it's past _that_;it _exists_," said the attorney, sadly.
"Well, I can only say, we are very much obliged," said Cleve, quitehonestly. "I shan't forget your wish, that I should not mention ourconversation to my uncle, and if you should learn anything further----"
"_You_ shall certainly hear it, Mr. Verney. I must now take my leave.Sweet day, and a beauteous country! How blest are you, Mr. Verney, in yoursituation! I allude to your scenery, and I may add, the architecturalmagnificence of this princely residence. What a row of windows as Iapproached the house! What a number of bed-rooms you must have! Hardly somany, let us hope, as there are mansions, Mr. Verney, in that house towhich we humbly trust we are proceeding." Mr. Larkin, who, on his way hadcalled professionally upon a subscriber to the Gylingden Chapel--an"eminent Christian"--and talked accordingly--perceived that his meat was alittle too strong for a babe of Mr. Verney's standing, and concluded morelike an attorney of this world.
"Splendid and convenient residence, and in all respects suitable, Mr.Verney, to the fine position of usefulness, and, I may say, splendour,to which you are about being called," and he smiled round upon thebook-cases and furniture, and waved his hand gently, as if in the act ofdiffusing a benediction over the chairs and tables.
"Won't you take something, Mr. Larkin, before you go?" asked Cleve.
"No--thanks--no, Mr. Verney--many thanks. It is but an hour since I hadmy modest _dejeuner_ at that sweet little inn at Llwynan."
So on the door-steps they parted; the attorney smiling quitecelestially, and feeling all a-glow with affability, virtue, and ageneral sense of acceptance. In fact he was pleased with his morning'swork for several reasons--pleased with himself, with Cleve Verney, andconfident of gliding into the management of the Verney estates, and ingreat measure of the Verneys themselves; now seeing before him in thegreat and cloudy vista of his future, a new and gorgeous castle in theair. These _chateaux_, in the good man's horizon had, of late, beenmultiplying rapidly, and there was now quite a little city of palaces inhis perspective--an airy pageant which, I think, he sometimes mistookfor the New Jerusalem, he talked and smiled so celestially when it wasin view.