Kitabı oku: «Roger Kyffin's Ward», sayfa 14
Chapter Twenty Three.
In Mr Coppinger’s Counting-House
Mr Stephen Coppinger had been for some time in town, leaving his family at Lynderton. It was not a time when a mercantile man could neglect his business. There was a great deal to do, for confidence had been restored in the mercantile world after the mutiny of the fleet had been completely put down.
Silas Sleech was at his desk, and, like the rest of his companions, busily employed.
Mr Kyffin did his best to attend to business, but his mind was greatly disturbed. He could gain no tidings of his ward. All he could learn was that he had left the ship in which he had returned to England, and had gone on board another man-of-war. Too probably she was one of the mutinous fleet. Mr Kyffin heard of many men losing their lives in the scuffles which ensued on board the ships when the loyal part of the crew were struggling to restore the power into the hands of their officers. Too probably Harry, on one side or the other – he hoped on the loyal side – might have lost his life in one of these scuffles. He was sure otherwise that the lad would have written to him. One letter might possibly have miscarried, but he would not have gone so long without writing a second or a third time. He was instituting, in the meantime, all the inquiries in his power, but he could not hear the name of Harry Tryon on board any of the ships. He was not aware, of course, that Harry had changed his name, nor that it was a common custom with seamen in those days to do so, for various reasons. Had he known of the existence of Jacob Tuttle he might have applied to him, and he therefore had not the same means of learning about him which Mabel possessed.
On the arrival of the post one morning at Idol Lane Mr Sleech received a letter from his “respected father.” The ordinary observer would have discovered nothing in the countenance of Silas to indicate its contents. He, however, folding it up, put it in his pocket, and forthwith betook himself to the door of Mr Coppinger’s private room, at which he humbly knocked. On being admitted, he explained to his principal that he had received notice of the illness of his father and one of his sisters, and that his presence, as the eldest son of the family, would be greatly required. He therefore entreated that Mr Coppinger would allow him to set forth without delay for Stanmore.
Mr Coppinger was a kind-hearted man, and would on no account detain him if Mr Kyffin could manage to have his duties performed during his absence.
Silas, thanking his principal, withdrew, and in a humble tone of voice entreated Mr Kyffin to make the necessary arrangements. The head clerk looked hard at Silas, who, though not easily abashed, let his eyes drop before him.
“Yes; if Mr Coppinger gives you leave, I will certainly not detain you,” answered Mr Kyffin.
Silas was in a great hurry to be off. Quickly putting the books at which he had been working in their places, he closed his desk and hurried out of the office. Mr Kyffin looked after him.
“So great a villain never darkened that door before,” he said to himself. “May it be the last time he ever passes through it!”
Under where Silas Sleech’s hat and cloak had hung Mr Kyffin saw a bunch of keys. He had evidently dropped them in his hurry to leave the house.
“I am the fittest person to take charge of these,” said Mr Kyffin to himself, and he forthwith retired with them into Mr Coppinger’s room. He there held a consultation of some length; then once more entering the office, he waited till the hour of closing. The clerks were dismissed. He and Mr Coppinger alone remained in the office. Mr Sleech’s desk was opened with one of the keys. Within was a strange assortment of articles, and among others a small iron box, with Mr Silas Sleech’s name painted outside. There were lottery tickets, and pawnbrokers’ duplicates, and packs of cards – some curiously marked – and dice which had a suspicious tendency to fall with the higher numbers uppermost, and letters from dames of scarcely doubtful character.
“I have suspected as much for long,” said Mr Kyffin, “but I could not well bring the proof home. This, however, will convince you that Silas Sleech is not a trustworthy person.”
“Indeed it does,” exclaimed Mr Coppinger; “but see what this strong box contains. Probably if he leaves such articles as this scattered about, without thinking it necessary to conceal them, the contents of that box are of a more damaging character.”
The box was opened by one of the keys of the bunch.
“Ah!” exclaimed Mr Kyffin, “here is a letter directed to me. It is the one I have long missed from my unfortunate young ward, Harry Tryon. Excuse me, sir, while I read its contents.”
Mr Kyffin ran his eye over the letter.
“The poor lad here gives an explanation of his conduct, and his reasons for quitting London. He weakly yielded to the temptation thrown in his way by Silas Sleech, that is very evident, but in no other respect do I believe that he was criminal. However, we will look over the remainder of these papers, and I trust then we shall have the means of exonerating him still further. What do you think of these papers?” asked Mr Kyffin, holding a sheet up to Mr Coppinger.
On it was written over and over again the name of the firm, as signed by Mr Coppinger himself. Evidently the writer had been endeavouring to imitate Mr Coppinger’s signature. He had done so very successfully. Indeed, another paper was found containing a signature which Mr Coppinger declared to be genuine. It was clearly the copy for the others.
“Now I feel sure,” said Mr Kyffin, “that Silas Sleech forged that paper which he wished it to be supposed Harry had forged, while it’s very possible that he may also have forged Harry’s signature to some of the bills which he showed us when he endeavoured to prove Harry’s guilt.”
“I indeed think your account very likely to be true,” said Mr Coppinger. “I am ashamed at having allowed such a scoundrel as Mr Sleech undoubtedly is, to have remained so long in my office undetected; yet so plausible are his manners, that had this evidence against him not been discovered, I should have been unwilling to believe him guilty.”
“You will not let him escape, surely, sir,” said Mr Kyffin; “justice demands that he should be brought to trial, so that the character of your nephew may be vindicated.”
The two gentlemen examined all the papers thoroughly, making notes of their contents, and then locked them carefully up in the safe in Mr Coppinger’s room. Mr Kyffin having accompanied Mr Coppinger to Broad Street, and supped with him, returned at night to the office, where he occasionally occupied a bedroom. He had been in bed for some time, though not asleep, thinking over Harry’s affairs, when he was aroused by a knocking at the door. He heard the porter go out of his room and admit some one. It immediately struck him that it was Silas Sleech; for as the porter knew nothing of his proceedings, he would naturally, without hesitation, admit him. Rapidly dressing, therefore, he struck a light, and putting the pistol, which he usually carried to and from Hampstead, in his pocket, he proceeded down-stairs. The person who had come in did not go to Mr Sleech’s room; but after a few minutes’ conversation entered the counting-house. Mr Kyffin heard him wish the porter good-night, and say that he should not be long.
“Call me at an early hour, there’s a good fellow, for I have to be off betimes,” he added.
Mr Kyffin waited a minute, and then proceeded down-stairs into the office. A light was burning on the desk. By it he saw Mr Sleech hunting about in all directions, evidently looking for his keys. The search was, of course, in vain. He seemed to think so, for producing a cold iron from his pocket, with as little noise as possible he wrenched open the desk. He seized the light and looked in. Dismay was depicted on his countenance. At that instant Mr Kyffin entered the room.
“Wretched scoundrel, confess your villainies!” he exclaimed. “Was it to betray an honest youth, and to blast his character through a miserable feeling of jealousy and revenge, that you pretended to be his friend? Confess what you have done, or prepare to be given over into the hands of justice.”
On hearing Mr Kyffin’s voice Silas dropped the lid of the desk, and slipping off his stool, went down on his knees, holding up his hands with a look of the most abject terror. “I did not intend to injure him, indeed I did not!” he exclaimed, in a whining voice.
“Oh! Mr Kyffin, you know how long I have toiled for the house, and how our employer’s interests were as dear to me as my own; then how can you accuse me of doing such things as you say I have done?”
“Don’t kneel to me,” answered Mr Kyffin, sternly; “don’t add additional falsehood to your other villainies. Expect no leniency from me. Of all bad characters, I hate a hypocrite the most. I will make no promise, but if you will confess in a court of justice what you have done, I may possibly endeavour to have your punishment mitigated, and no other promise can I make.”
“I will do all you ask, indeed I will,” answered Silas, “only don’t look so fierce; don’t shoot me,” he exclaimed, looking at the pistol which, unconsciously, Mr Kyffin had taken from his pocket.
“I have no intention of shooting you, but again say I will make no promises. Mr Coppinger will decide what is to be done with the man who has robbed him, and so cruelly treated his nephew.”
Saying this, Mr Kyffin returned the pistol to his pocket. The round eyes of Silas had been watching him all the time. He now hung down his head as if ashamed to meet Mr Kyffin’s glance. His eye, however, was glancing upward all the time. Suddenly he made a spring, and rushed towards Mr Kyffin.
“I will have my revenge!” he exclaimed, grappling with him.
Mr Kyffin, though advanced in life, was as active as ever. His muscles and nerves had never been unstrung by dissipation, as were those of Silas, who found that he had met almost his match. The young man, however, struggled desperately, as a fierce desire seized him to destroy his opponent. He felt for the pistol in his pocket. With insane satisfaction he grasped it, and was drawing it forth, with a determination of shooting the owner, when he found his arm seized, and directly afterwards he lay on the ground with the sturdy porter and Mr Kyffin standing over him.
Chapter Twenty Four.
A Ball at Stanmore, and what took Place at it
Mr Sleech and his family were enjoying their possession of Stanmore. He had begun to cut down the trees which he and his son had marked, and as many of them were very fine and old, he was delighted to find that they would fetch the full amount he had anticipated. This encouraged him to proceed further.
“I have often heard that trees about houses are not wholesome,” he observed. “The more space we can clear away the better, and really a five-pound note to my mind is better than an old tree, with its boughs spreading far and wide over the ground, and shutting out the sunlight. Nothing will grow under old trees except fungi, and the ground may be much better occupied.”
A sufficient time had now elapsed, in the opinion of Mr Sleech, since the death of Colonel Everard, his predecessor, to allow him to give a party at Stanmore without impropriety. The Misses Sleech were busily employed in sending out invitations. They asked everybody, whether they had called or not. “The chances are they will come,” they observed, “and it will not do to be too particular.” They were rather surprised to find that several of the principal families in the neighbourhood declined. However, their rooms were sure to be filled, there was no doubt of that. The foreign officers had no scruple about coming, and at a distance there were several families with whom Mr Sleech was more or less acquainted, who would be glad to accept the invitation. Miss Sleech, Miss Anna Maria Sleech, and Miss Martha, who were out, were very anxious to have their brother Silas. They agreed to write to get him down. They could not ask Mr Coppinger to allow him to come merely for the sake of a ball; they therefore begged their father from his fertile brain to invent an excuse, which that gentleman had no scruple whatever in doing. The result of that letter has been seen. At the hour he was expected to arrive, the carriage was sent over to meet the coach, but neither in the inside nor on the out was Silas Sleech to be seen.
“Of course he will come to-morrow in plenty of time for the ball,” observed his sisters, consoling themselves. Old Mr Sleech, however, wanted his son’s advice and assistance.
The morning before the intended fête, when workmen were busy in different parts of the house preparing the rooms, placing tents outside the windows, and arranging flowers and taking up the carpets, a carriage drove up to the door. A gentleman stepped out of it in a naval undress. He looked about him with an air of mute astonishment.
“Who is here? what is taking place?” he asked of the servant who opened the door.
“Why, we are going to have a ball to-night,” was the answer. “Who do you want to see?”
“A ball!” exclaimed the stranger. “My aunt and daughter giving a ball! Has Colonel Everard so completely recovered?”
“Why, bless you, Colonel Everard has been dead ever so long, and the Misses Everard are not in the house. My master is Mr Sleech, the owner of Stanmore. If you want to see him I will take in your name.”
“Are you mocking me, man?” exclaimed the stranger. “Where are Madam and Miss Everard?”
“Why, I rather fancy they have gone to live in the town since they were turned out of this,” answered the man, with an impudent look.
“Let me see Mr Sleech immediately, then,” said the stranger, entering the house. “I must learn clearly what has taken place without delay. Where is Mr Sleech?”
“Who wants me?” asked a voice from the study, the door of which faced the entrance. The stranger, advancing with rapid step, entered the room.
“I am Captain Everard, sir,” he said, facing Mr Sleech, who had risen from his chair with a newspaper in his hand. “Let me know, I entreat you, by what means you have come into possession of Stanmore, and tell me did I hear rightly that my uncle is dead?”
“Dead as a door-mat,” answered Mr Sleech, “you may depend on that; and as to how I came into possession of Stanmore, I came in by right of law. I don’t want to hurt your feelings, Captain Everard, but you know that legitimacy takes precedence over illegitimacy. It is not a man’s fault when his mother has forgotten to get the marriage ceremony performed; but her children have to take the consequences. You understand me, I need not be more explicit.”
“What do you mean?” exclaimed Captain Everard, leaning on a chair to support himself, for though a strong man, late events had shaken him. He was yet more completely overcome by the news he had just heard.
“Mean, sir, that your father, Lieutenant Everard, of the Royal Navy, brother of the late Colonel Everard, and of my beloved and departed wife, was never married to your French mother; no witnesses are to be found, and no documents exist to prove that any such marriage ever took place. By right of law, therefore, when my excellent brother-in-law, Colonel Everard, departed this life, I, as the representative of his sister – he having no direct heir – became possessed of this very fine and beautiful estate. It is not my fault that your father was not married; it is not your fault; nor could I forego the privileges and advantages which accrue from possessing this estate.”
“You should know, sir, that my father was married. The colonel always believed that he was, and treated me as his heir,” answered Captain Everard, with all the calmness he could command. “But, as you say, the law must decide, and if it decide against me, I must submit. You, by some means, have got into possession; I cannot, therefore, turn you out. I can only judge of the way you have treated those dear to me by the manner in which you have received me.”
The captain drew himself up, and was about to retire from the room.
“Come, we are relations, though you bear the name of Everard by courtesy,” said Mr Sleech, putting out his hand; “I don’t want to quarrel about the matter; your ill-luck is my good fortune; that’s the view of the case I take.”
Captain Everard drew back his hand.
“No, sir, no. I cannot impute wrong motives to you; but, at the same time, I cannot pretend friendship to a person who, without apology, casts a stigma on the names of my father and mother.”
“As you please, as you please,” said Mr Sleech, in an apparently indifferent tone; “I wish to do you good, but I cannot make a silk purse out of a sow’s ear. If you won’t receive my kindness, that’s your look-out, and not mine.”
Captain Everard had always felt an especial dislike to his aunt’s husband; it now, very naturally, increased considerably. Still he spoke calmly.
“I must bid you good-day, sir,” he said. “For my daughter’s sake and my own, you must expect that I will use every means to regain the property which I believe to be rightfully mine.”
“And I will do my best to keep what I have got, and I rather think I shall succeed,” answered the attorney, as the captain left the room without deigning to cast another look upon his relative.
The door had been left open, and the conversation had been heard by several of the servants and workmen. They were mostly creatures of Mr Sleech, for he only patronised those he thought likely to serve him in any way he might require. They had collected in the hall as the captain passed through it – some to gaze at him with curiosity, not unmixed perhaps with pity; others holding their hands to their mouths, as if to hide their laughter.
“I told you what was true, captain, although you did not believe me,” said the man who had admitted him. “I hope you won’t be for doubting a gentleman’s word again when he speaks the truth.”
The captain made no answer to the fellow’s insolence; but, stepping into the post-chaise, ordered the man to drive instantly to Lynderton.
Madam Everard received her nephew with an anxious countenance.
“Where is Mabel?” he exclaimed; “has anything, too, happened to her?”
“She is alive, and I hope well,” answered his aunt. “The poor girl, her feelings have been sorely tried, first by her anxiety about you, and then by the fearful position in which Harry Tryon has been placed.”
She then told him of the mutiny, and of the way in which Harry had been implicated.
“She knows also that he saved your life, and that of course has not tended to decrease her love for him.”
“Harry Tryon saved my life!” exclaimed the captain. “I have not seen him since I met him at Stanmore, that I am aware of.”
“But you knew a young seaman called Andrew Brown; did you not recognise Harry Tryon in him?”
“How extraordinary!” exclaimed the captain. “I several times saw the likeness, but could not believe in the possibility of his having come to sea with me. Yes, indeed, he did save my life in a gallant way, and I longed to hear of the lad again, that I might show my gratitude.”
“I fear that if he suffers, Mabel’s heart will break,” said Madam Everard. “Executions of the misguided men are taking place every day. She has, therefore, had no time to lose, for we know not how soon the unhappy young man may have to share the fate of his companions. My heart sickens at having to utter such words. A week has passed since she left me, and I have not since heard of her. I am very anxious as it is, but I should be still more so were she not under the charge of so trustworthy an attendant as Paul Gauntlett.”
Captain Everard had been so anxious to hear about his daughter that he had not hitherto inquired of Madam Everard further particulars regarding the circumstances which had compelled her and his daughter to leave Stanmore. They were briefly told.
“I must see Wallace,” he said, “and ascertain whether any certificate of my father’s marriage exists.”
While he was speaking the servant entered, to say that two gentlemen were at the door, and the Baron de Ruvigny and Captain Rochard were announced. The latter in his delight, as he entered, seized Captain Everard in his arms.
“My dear friend, I am overjoyed to meet you!” he exclaimed. “What have I heard? Ah! it is too true that you have been deprived of your estate; but though the sun be hidden by a thick cloud, it is sure to burst forth again. Be not troubled about it; I have longed to show how deeply grateful I feel to you for saving my life. Your daughter has told me that you require evidence of your father’s marriage to my relative, and I trust that, even now, though so many years have passed, it may be obtained. It shall be my care, at every risk, to search for it. You could not possibly travel in my distracted country. There may be danger for me, but less danger than there would be for you. If I do not return you will know that I have fallen, and you must then get some one to supply my place. Believe me, though, that it will be my joy and satisfaction to serve you.”
“I trust you, count; I feel sure that you will not fail to do your utmost for me.”
It was with somewhat painful feelings, not unmixed with contempt, that Madam Everard watched the carriages proceeding down the street towards Stanmore, on the evening of the ball. The spinster ladies had either to walk or to club together to hire the only public vehicle in the place, which was constantly kept moving backwards and forwards, from the first moment at which they could with decency appear at the hall, till a late hour in the evening. Miss Sleech, and Miss Anna Maria Sleech and her sisters, of all ages, were dressed out in what they conceived the height of fashion to receive their guests. A few ladies in pattens and high hoods, attended by their maid-servants with umbrellas and lanterns, arrived at an early hour. The Misses Sleech were not afraid of them, as they were their old acquaintances, and they now treated them with that condescending kindness which they felt was due from themselves in their position. Their dresses were admired; the roses on their cheeks and the patches which they had stuck on their faces. They had time also to exhibit the decorations, and the alterations which they had made in the rooms. Mr Sleech, in small clothes and pumps, his hair freshly powdered, a huge frill to his shirt, and the neck-cloth of many turns round his throat, with a coat, put on for the first time, with a high collar, almost hiding his ears, stood ready to make his bows to those he considered worthy of receiving them. For a few minutes he stood practising flourishes with his cocked hat, having received lately a few private lessons from his daughter’s dancing-master, to fit him, as he hoped, for his exalted situation. One thing only was wanting to fill up his cup of happiness, his satisfaction, and pride. He could not help wishing that the eldest scion of his house – the heir of Stanmore – had been present. Even now he thought it possible he might come. At length some guests of greater distinction began to arrive. The officers of the foreign legion of course came, although they were perfectly well aware of the difference between the old and new families; but there was no reason why they should lose an evening’s entertainment. The Misses Coppinger also came with an aunt, a Mrs Simmons, who always went out as their chaperone. They were not aware of the connection between their host and their father’s clerk. It is just possible, had they been so, they might have declined the invitation, that gentleman not standing in any way high in their estimation. Before long, Admiral Wallace hobbled in, his voice sounding loud and cheery through the half-filled rooms, as Mr Sleech bowed and salaamed to him with due respect, and the Misses Sleech performed the courtesies they had learned from M. Millepied, their dancing-master.
“Well, Sleech, you have done the thing well,” cried the admiral. “I little thought to see anybody else than an Everard in this house. However, the world’s turned upside down; rogues get into honest men’s places, and honest men come to the wall – that’s the way affairs go at present.”
“I am obliged to you for the compliment, Sir James,” answered Mr Sleech, again bowing, and not knowing whether to take offence.
“I don’t mean to call you a rogue, Sleech, of course,” answered the admiral, intending to exculpate himself. “Never think of calling a man a rogue in his own house, whatever I may think about the matter.”
Happily for both parties, the conversation was cut short by the entrance of General and Mrs Perkins, whose tall figures completely overwhelmed that of the somewhat diminutive lawyer. Again he bowed as before, now to the lady, now to the gentleman, who returned his salutations in a somewhat cold manner, and passed on, looking round the rooms with inquisitive glances, and making remarks as they passed along. The Misses Sleech curtseyed as before. Mrs Perkins returned their salutes with one of her stiffest bows. Now the people came trooping in more rapidly, and the music at length struck up, to call the dancers into the ball-room, where M. Millepied had been engaged as master of the ceremonies. Bowing to the guests, he assumed his responsible office. Still Mr Sleech looked round in vain for those he would most have delighted to see. There were several whose names he would not have valued much at the back of a bill, and not a few ladies whose characters would certainly have ill borne any very minute examination. Still he hoped that they would not be observed in the crowd, or attempt to make themselves conspicuous. Vain hope. Their names were quickly buzzed about, and they took good care to be seen dancing with the most dashing of the officers, while they paid constant and especial attention to the Misses Sleech.
At length a real English countess arrived.
She had lately come to Lynderton, and knew very little of the politics of the place, but having received the Misses Sleech’s card and an invitation to Stanmore, which she knew to be the principal house in the neighbourhood, her ladyship had accepted the invitation. It is possible that she might have been surprised at the appearance of Mr Sleech and his family, but was certainly too well-bred to exhibit her opinion. She passed on with her daughters, hoping to take up a retired position, where she could observe what was going on without herself attracting attention. Mr Sleech, however, was far too delighted at the honour done him to allow her to carry out her intention, and every instant he was coming up and making one of his flourishing bows, either with offers of refreshment, or with a request of being allowed the honour of introducing most eligible partners to Lady Mary and Lady Grace. They, however, from the first, declined dancing, after which, even had they desired it, they could not, without offending those who had first offered, have accepted other partners.
Mr Sleech was on his way, for about the twentieth time, to the countess, when his eldest daughter came up to him, and, in a hurried voice, said that a person wished to see him on important business.
“Tell him to come in, then; I cannot come out to see him. If he has got any message to deliver he must deliver it here,” answered Mr Sleech, scarcely knowing what he was saying.
His daughter hurried off. Soon afterwards a man was seen in a horseman’s suit passing among the gaily-dressed throng towards the master of the house.
“Who do you come from?” asked Mr Sleech, eyeing him narrowly.
“From Mr Coppinger,” answered the messenger. “It is about a matter of importance, and he told me to see you immediately.”
“What is it? Is it about my son?” asked Mr Sleech, in a nervous voice.
“I believe so; but that will tell you,” said the man, delivering the letter he held in his hand. Mr Sleech, in his eagerness, tore it open, forgetting at the moment by whom he was surrounded. His eyes ran rapidly over the paper. With unrepressed anger he broke silence, exclaiming —
“My son accused of forgery! It is a lie. Mr Coppinger is a base liar; I will bring an action against him for defamation of character.”
The Misses Coppinger, unfortunately, were standing near at the time, and were very naturally indignant at hearing their father thus spoken of.
“The letter says true enough, I have no doubt,” observed Mr Gilby, who had been dancing with one of the young ladies. “If the son he speaks of is Silas Sleech, a more arrant rogue does not exist. I am very certain that he led that young Harry Tryon purposely into all sorts of scrapes, and drove him off at last to sea. Poor fellow! I don’t think I told you what I know about him.”
His remarks were cut short by the confusion which ensued in consequence of Mr Sleech’s behaviour. The letter he had received, although sent in kindness, had completely overcome him. Had he been in his usual state of composure he would probably have put it in his pocket, and kept its contents secret; but being already excited, having paid constant visits to the refreshment-room in order to keep up his spirits, it drove him beside himself. In vain his friends tried to pacify him. He rushed round the room, exclaiming again, “It is a lie! It is a base lie! My son a rogue! The heir of Stanmore accused of forgery! It is impossible; it is impossible! I defy any one to prove it.”
Thus the wretched man went on proclaiming his son’s infamy and his own disgrace. Several of the guests, who had been somewhat unwilling to come, on this ordered their carriages. Even the most heartless felt that they could not with propriety remain, and thus the greater part of the company followed the example of the first.
The Misses Coppinger and their aunt got away immediately, attended by Mr Gilby; and in a short time the gaily-bedecked and highly-lighted rooms were deserted by all the guests, while his children could with difficulty get their father to his room, still but little pacified. The people said, not without reason, that the balls at Stanmore were destined to have a disastrous termination.
