Frank Fairlegh

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"Which he could have reached by merely stretching out his arm, I
daresay, only he was too idle," interposed I.

"Indeed he could not," replied Fanny quickly, "for he was sitting in
the low easy-chair, and trying to fasten mamma's spectacles on Donald's
nose." (Donald being a favourite Scotch terrier belonging to Harry, and
a great character in his way.) "Well, I had just found the book," she
continued, "and we were going to begin when a note was given to Mr.
Oaklands, which had been brought by a groom from the Hall, with a
message that the gentleman who had left it was waiting at the inn in the
village for an answer. Mr. Oaklands began to read it in his usual quiet
way, but no sooner had he thrown his eye over the first few lines
than his cheeks flushed, his brow grew dark, and his face assumed that
fearfully stern expression which I have heard you describe, but had
never before seen myself. As soon as he had finished reading it he
crushed the paper in his hand, and sprung up, saying hurriedly, 'Is
Frank------?' He then took two or three steps towards the door, and I
thought he was coming to consult you. Suddenly, however, some new idea
seemed to cross his mind, and, stopping abruptly, he strode towards
the window, where he remained for a few moments, apparently buried in
thought. At length he muttered, 'Yes, that will be better, better in
all respects'; and turning on his heel, he was about to quit the room,
leaving his hat on the table, when I ventured to hand it to him, saying,
'You are going without your hat, Mr. Oaklands'. He started at the sound
of my voice, and seeming for the first time to recollect that I was in
the room, he took the hat from me, begging pardon for his inattention,
and adding, 'You must allow me to postpone our Italian lesson
till----till to-morrow, shall we say? I find there is a gentleman
waiting to see me.' He paused as if he wished to say more, but scarcely
knew how to express himself. 'You saw,' he continued, 'that is--you may
have observed that--that in fact there was something in that note which
annoyed me--you need not say anything about it to Mrs. Fairlegh; she
is rather given to alarming herself unnecessarily, I fancy,' he added
~201~~with a faint smile; 'tell Frank I shall not be at home till dinner
time, but that I shall see him in the evening.' He then shook my hand
warmly, and, holding it for a moment in his own, fixed his eyes on my
face with a strange, half-melancholy expression that frightened me,
and once more saying 'good-bye,' he pressed his hat over his brows, and
bounding across the lawn, was out of sight in an instant. His manner
was so very odd, so unlike what it generally is. Dear Frank, what is
the meaning of all this? I am sure there is something going to happen,
something--"

"You silly child," replied I, affecting a careless composure I was
far from feeling, "how you frighten yourself about nothing. Harry has
probably received a threatening letter from a Cambridge dun, and your
lively imagination magnifies it into a--(challenge, I was going to add,
but I substituted)--into something dreadful."

"Is that what you really think?" questioned Fanny, fixing her large blue
eyes upon my face inquiringly.

I am the worst hand in the world at playing the hypocrite, and with
ready tact she perceived at once that I was attempting to deceive her.

"Frank," she resumed, "you have seen but little of me since we were
children together, and deem, possibly, that--I am a weak, silly girl,
unfit to be trusted with evil tidings; but indeed, dear brother, you
do me injustice; the sorrows we have gone through" (and her eyes filled
with tears as she spoke), "the necessity for exertion in order to save
mamma as much as possible, have given me more strength of character and
firmness of purpose than girls of my age in general possess; tell me the
truth, and fear not that power will be given me to bear it, be it what
it may; but, if I think you are trying to hide it from me--and do not
hope to deceive me; your face proves that you are as much alarmed
at what you have heard as I am myself, and probably with far better
reason--I shall be unable to forget it, and it will make me miserable."

"Well then," replied I, "thus far I will trust you. I do fear, from what
you have told me, that Oaklands has received some evil tidings relative
to a disagreeable affair in which he was engaged at Cambridge, the
results of which are not fully known at present, and which, I am afraid,
may yet occasion him much care and anxiety."

"And I had fancied him so light-hearted and happy," said Fanny
thoughtfully; "and is this all I am to know about it then?"

"All that I feel myself at liberty to tell at present," ~202~~replied I;
"recollect, darling, it is my friend's secret, not my own, or you should
hear everything."

"Then you will tell me all your secrets if I ask you?" inquired Fanny
archly.

"Whom should I trust or confide in, if not my own dear little sister?"
said I, stroking her golden locks caressingly. "And now," continued I,
rising, "I will go and see whether I can do any good in this affair; but
when Master Harry is in one of his impetuous moods he gets quite beyond
my management."

"Oh! but you can influence him," exclaimed Fanny, her bright eyes
sparkling with animation; "you can calm his impetuosity with your own
quiet good sense and clear judgment--you can appeal to his high and
generous nature--you can tell him how dear he is to you, how you love
him with more than a brother's love: you can and will do all this--will
you not, dear Frank?"

"Of course I shall do everything that I am able, my dear child," replied
I, somewhat astonished at this sudden outburst; "and now go, and be
quiet, this business seems rather to have excited you. If my mother asks
for me, tell her I am gone up to the Hall."

"What warm-hearted creatures women are!" thought I, as I ran, rather
than walked, through the park; "that little sister of mine, now--no
sooner does she hear that _my_ friend has got into a scrape, of the very
nature of which she is ignorant (a pretty fuss she would be in if she
were aware that it was a duel, of which I am afraid), than she becomes
quite excited, and implores me, as if she were pleading for her life, to
use my influence with Harry to prevent his doing--something, she has not
the most remote notion what. I wish she did not act quite so much from
impulse. It's lucky she has got a brother to take care of her; though it
does not become me to find fault with her, for it all proceeds from her
affection for me; she knows how wretched I should be if anything were
to go wrong with Harry,"--and then I fell into a train of thought as to
what it could be which had so suddenly excited him: something connected
with Wilford, no doubt; but what?--my fears pointed to a challenge,
and my blood ran cold at the thought. He _must_ accept it; neither my
influence, were it increased a hundredfold, nor that of any one else,
could make him apologise; besides, it is not very easy to imagine a
satisfactory apology for horse-whipping a man till he cannot stand. And
what course likely to be of any use could I take? On one point I was
resolved--nothing ~203~~should induce me to become his second. What
would be my feelings in case of a fatal result were I to reflect that I
had made all the arrangements for the murder of the friend I loved
best in the world--that I had actually stationed him opposite the
never-failing pistol of his most bitter enemy, and placed in his hand a
deadly weapon wherewith to attempt the life of a fellow-creature, when
the next moment he might be called upon to answer before the Judge of
all mankind for the deeds which he had done in the flesh? No! I could
not be his second. As my meditations reached this point, I overtook
the groom who had brought the eventful note, and who was leisurely
proceeding on foot towards the Hall with that peculiar gait observable
in men who spend much of their time on horseback, which consists of a
compromise between walking and riding, and is strongly suggestive of
their inability to realise the fact that they have not at all times and
seasons a perpetual horse between their legs.

"Have you seen Mr. Oaklands, Harris?" inquired I, as the man touched his
hat respectfully.

"Yes, sir, I may say I've seen him, and that's all," was the reply. "I
brought him a note to the cottage, and was a waiting for orders, when
he came tearing out, ordered me to get off, sprang into my saddle, and
without stopping for me to let down the stirrups, drove his heels into
'Tom Trot'--that's the new grey horse, sir, if you please--and was out
of sight like old boots."

Not having time to institute an inquiry into the amount of velocity with
which the ancient articles referred to by Mr. Harris were accustomed to
vanish, I asked if he knew who brought the note.

"A groom in a dark, claret-coloured livery, mounted on a splendid
coal-black mare, nearly thorough-bred, but with more bone and substance
about her than you generally see in them sort, and as clean on her pins
as an unbroke colt. Sir John ain't got such a horse in his stables, nor
Mr. Harry neither," was the reply.

This was conclusive evidence; the livery and the mare were alike
Wilford's.

Leaving the groom to conjecture what he pleased, I hurried on, and,
reaching the Hall, inquired of the old butler whether Harry was at home.

"No, sir," was the reply, "they ain't any of them at home. Mr. Harry
came home a horseback about a quarter of an hour ago, and called Mr.
Archer into his own room, and they had a confab, and then Mr. Archer
went out a ~204~~riding on the same horse Mr. Harry came back upon, and
would not take any o' the grooms with him--and afore that Sir John had
ordered the phaeton, and Mr. Henry being come home he asked him to go
with him; so you see, Mr. Fairlegh, they're none of 'em at home, sir."

"I'll go into the library and write a note, Edmonds," said I, as a new
idea entered my head. "You know Sir John is kind enough to let me order
a horse whenever I require one--will you tell Harris to have one saddled
for me in ten minutes' time?"

"Certainly, Mr. Fairlegh; we all of us have Sir John's orders to attend
to you, sir, the same as to Mr. Henry, and you're a young gent as it's a
pleasure to serve too, if you'll excuse me taking the liberty of telling
you so," replied the good old man, as he showed me into the library.

The idea which had come into my head (and it was more for the sake of
doing _something_ that I determined on it, than from any great hope
I entertained of its proving of much avail) was to ride over to
Hillingford, and consult Freddy Coleman on the subject. Perhaps his
clear head and quick wit might enable him to devise some scheme by
which, without betraying Harry's confidence, or bringing the slightest
imputation on his honour, this duel might be prevented. What else could
I do? It was quite clear to me that the note Harry had received was a
challenge from Wilford, and that the gentleman waiting at the inn was
some one whom he had prevailed upon to act as his second, probably
Wentworth. Harry's first impulse had evidently been to come to me, and
ask me to be his second; but, doubtless, guessing the distaste I should
have to the office, and reflecting on the difficulties in which, if
anything serious were to ensue, I might be involved, he had determined
on asking Archer instead. Archer, by instantly setting off on horseback
alone, had clearly agreed to his request, and was gone to make the
necessary arrangements; and Harry had gladly accompanied Sir John, in
order to be out of the way, and so avoid my questions and any attempts I
might have made to induce him to alter his purpose. Were I to inform
Sir John on his return, it would be an unpardonable breach of confidence
towards Harry; were I to give notice to the authorities, so as to enable
them to take measures for preventing the duel, it would always be said
by Wilford that I did so with Harry's connivance, because he was afraid
to meet him: thus my hands were tied in every way, and, as I said
before, I could think of nothing better than to ride over and consult
Coleman, whose powers of ~205~~getting out of a scrape I had seen pretty
well tested in the affair of the bell-ringing. I therefore scrawled a
hasty note to my mother, telling her that I was going to take a long
ride, and she had better not wait dinner for me; and leaving a message
for Oaklands with the servant who announced the horse, that I should see
him in the evening, flung myself into the saddle, rode quietly till
I was out of sight of the house, and then started at a gallop for
Hillingford. Unwilling to meet any of the Coleman family, I left my
horse at the inn, and, pulling my hat over my brows, to avoid, if
possible, being recognised by their servant, rang the bell, and desired
him to tell Mr. Frederic that a gentleman wanted to speak with him on
particular business.

CHAPTER XXVI -- COMING EVENTS CAST THEIR SHADOWS BEFORE

"If you think your mystery in stratagem can bring this instru-
ment of honour again into his native quarter, be magnanimous
in the enterprise, and go on; I will grace the attempt for a
worthy exploit if you speed well in it."

"Now I see the bottom of your purpose."

"You see it lawful then."

"I love him, sir,
Dearer than eyesight, space and liberty,
Beyond what can be valued rich or rare,
No less than life, with grace, health, beauty, honour;
A love that makes breath poor, and speech unable--"

"Adieu! these foolish drops do somewhat drown my manly
spirit."
--_Shakspeare_.

"FREDDY, can I have half an hour's private conversation with you?" asked
I, as soon as we had exchanged salutations.

"To be sure you can; but," he added, catching a glimpse of the anxious
expression of my face, "there is nothing wrong, is there?"

I made a gesture indicative of silence, and he opened a door into a sort
of lawyer's office, saying, in a low voice:--

"Come in here, we shall not be interrupted; the governor's in London,
and the women are out walking". "So much the better," replied I, "for
the business I am come upon is strictly private, and will not brook
delay." I then told him as concisely as possible the whole affair
~206~~from beginning to end; he listened attentively to my recital,
merely asking a question now and then to elucidate any particular point
he did not clearly understand. I fancy he made a gesture of surprise
when I first mentioned Wilford's name, and when I had concluded, he
asked,

"Wilford, you say, this man's name is? What is his Christian name?"

"Stephen."

"And he's a young fellow?"

"About three or four and twenty."

"And you want to prevent his being able to shoot Harry Oaklands at five
o'clock to-morrow morning?"

"I do not know the hour, but I conclude the meeting will probably
take place to-morrow morning. Wilford would not wish to remain in the
neighbourhood longer than necessary, lest he should attract attention."

Coleman mused for some minutes, and then muttering as though he were
thinking aloud--

"It might be done, so; yes, that would do. I suppose," he said, at
length addressing me, "if Master Wilford were taken into custody on a
magistrate's warrant at half-past four a.m., that would suit your ideas
very nicely? I can so arrange the matter that Wilford will never be able
to trace the laying the information to our door."

"But how can you avoid that?" inquired I.

"Why, if you must know," replied Freddy, "I am acquainted with a man
who would give a hundred pounds any day to stop our friend Stephen from
fighting a duel."

"What, do you know Wilford then?" asked I.

"_Ray-ther_," was the reply, accompanied by a very significant
wink--"just a _very few_--I should say we're not entire strangers,
though I have never enjoyed the honour of much personal intercourse with
him; but I do not so deeply regret that, as, from your account, it seems
rather a dangerous privilege."

"How in the world do you know anything about him?"

"Oh! it's a long story, but the chief points of it are these:
The aforesaid Mr. Wilford, if he can continue to exist till he is
five-and-twenty, comes into five thousand pounds a year; but if we don't
interfere, and Harry Oaklands has the luck to send a bullet into him
to-morrow morning, away it all goes to the next heir. Wilford is now
three-and-twenty, and the trustees make him a liberal allowance of eight
hundred pounds per annum, on the strength of which he spends between two
thousand pounds and three thousand pounds: of course, in order ~207~~to
do this, he has to raise money on his expectancies. About two months
ago he wanted to sell the contingent reversion of a large estate in
Yorkshire, from which the greater part of his future income is to be
derived; and a client of ours thought of buying it--ergo, we were set to
work upon the matter: whilst we were investigating his right, title, and
all that sort of thing, lo and behold! a heavy claim, amounting to some
thousands, is made upon the property--by whom, do you think, of all
people in the world?--none other than our old acquaintance, Richard
Cumberland!"

"Good heavens!" exclaimed I, "how strange!"

"Cumberland," continued Freddy, "has become somehow connected with a
lot of bill-brokers,--low stock-jobbers,--in fact, a very shady set of
people, with whom, however, in our profession, we cannot avoid being
sometimes brought into contact; he appears, indeed, himself to be a sort
of cross between black-leg and money-lender, improved by a considerable
dash of the gambler, and presenting altogether a very choice specimen of
the thorough and complete blackguard. Somehow or other he contrives to
have cash at command, and, instead of being pigeoned, has now taken to
pigeoning others; and, to give the devil his due, I fancy he does a very
pretty stroke of business in that line. He is a good deal improved in
manner and appearance since you remember him; and among people who don't
know him very intimately, he affects the man about town: in short, he is
quite at the top of his profession. Wilford became acquainted with him
at one of the Newmarket meetings, lost money to him, and borrowed money
of him, giving him as security a contingent charge upon the estate of
double the amount--ergo, don't you see, if Wilford should by any chance
get his quietus from Harry's pistol, he won't live to come into his
property, in which case Master Dicky Cumberland is minus some thousands.
Now, if I contrive to give him a hint, depend upon it he stops the duel.
I will caution him not to let my name appear--he will not hear yours; so
in this way I think we may manage the affair, and defy the old gentleman
himself, though he's a very cunning lawyer, to trace it to us."

"Well," said I, "as I see no other means of saving Oaklands' life--for
this Wilford is a noted duellist, and no doubt thirsts to wash out the
insult he has received in blood--I suppose we must do it; but it is an
underhand proceeding which I do not at all like."

"There you go with your chivalric, high-flown, romantic ~208~~notions,
you would stand coolly by, and see the best friend you have in the world
butchered before your eyes, rather than avail yourself of a splendid
chance of saving him, which Fortune has thrown in your way, because,
forsooth, it involves a little innocent manoeuvring!--for heaven's sake,
my dear boy, get off your stilts, and give common sense fair play."

"I can only repeat what I have just said," replied I; "I will do it,
because I believe it is the only thing to save Harry; but I do not like
it, and never shall."

"I cry you mercy, Signor Francisco dc Fairlegh, the veritable Don
Quixote of the nineteenth century," laughed Freddy; "and now, most
chivalrous sir, where do you imagine it probable that this evil
_faiteur_, this man of powder and pistols, hangs out?"

"He is most likely at the inn at Carsley, a village on the London road,
about four miles from us," replied I; "I don't know of any other place
in the neighbourhood where he could be lodged. But I'll tell you what
I'll do--the name of the inn is the White Horse--if I should prove
wrong in fancying he is there, I will send a message to that inn to say
where he may be found."

"Exactly," returned Freddy, entering the White Horse, Carsley, in his
tablets; "now I think I know all about it, and it shall not be my fault
if this duel comes off to-morrow morning. Good-bye, old fellow! I wish
you did not look quite so grumpy about it, but it's all those mediaeval
prejudices of yours. I daresay you'd think it a much more manly way of
stopping the business to electrotype yourself in brass and steel, throw
yourself across a cart-horse plated to match, and shouting, 'Fairlegh
to the rescue!' run a long pole, pointed with iron, through Wilford's
jugular. Now, I consider mine much the most philosophical way of doing
the trick; in fact, conducting a dodge of this kind always affords me
intense satisfaction, and puts me into the highest possible
spirits. Have you ever seen the war dance, in which the
Hotto-potto-cum-from-the-wash-ki Indians usually indulge before they set
out on an expedition?--A quarter to three," he continued, pulling out
his watch, "the coach to London passes in five minutes, I shan't have
time to show it you--it begins so." Thus saying, he flung himself into a
perfectly indescribable attitude, and commenced a series of evolutions,
more nearly resembling the contortions of a dancing bear, than any other
Terpsichorean exhibition with which I was acquainted. Having continued
this until he had made himself very ~209~~unnecessarily hot, he wound
up the performance by flinging a summerset, in doing which he overturned
himself and the coal-scuttle into a box of deeds; whereby becoming
embarrassed, he experienced much difficulty in getting right end
upwards again. "There," he exclaimed, throwing himself into an
arm-chair commonly occupied by his father's portly form--"There! talk of
accomplishments--show me a fashionable young lady who can do that,
and I'll say she _is_ accomplished. It's rather warm work, though," he
continued, wiping his brow, "unless one wears the appropriate costume,
which, I believe, consists of a judicious mixture of red and yellow
paint, three feathers, and the scalp of your opposite neighbour.
Pleasant that," he added, pointing to the reversed coal-scuttle--"that's
a new addition, not of 'Coke upon Littleton,' but of Coal upon--what's
the suit? aye, Buffer _versus_ Stoker. I shall have to make out a case
of circumstantial evidence against the cat, or I'm safe for a rowing
from the governor. Good-bye, old boy! don't fancy I'm mad; I'm not
the fool I seem, though I confess appearances are against me just at
present. There's the coach, by Jingo, three bays and a grey--no chance
of the box--is this a hat? off we go." So saying, he shook my hand
warmly, bounded down the steps, and the next moment was rattling away
towards London as fast as four horses could hurry him.

It was with a heavy heart, and a foreboding of coming evil, that
I mounted my horse, and slowly retraced my way towards Heathfield.
Coleman's exuberant spirits, which, I believe, were partly assumed with
a view to cheer me by diverting my attention from the painful subject
which engrossed it, had produced an effect diametrically opposite to
that which he had intended, and I felt dissatisfied with the step I
had taken, doubtful of the success of his mission, anxious to a degree,
which was absolutely painful, about the fate of Harry, and altogether
thoroughly miserable. I reached home in time for dinner, during which
meal my abstracted manner and low spirits were so apparent as to set my
mother speculating on the chances of my having over-heated myself and
"got a chill," whilst Fanny's anxious questioning glances, to which I
was well aware I could furnish no satisfactory reply, produced in me a
degree of nervous excitement which was unbearable, and, the moment the
cloth was withdrawn, I left the room and rambled forth into the wildest
parts of the park. The quiet peaceful beauty of the scene, and the
refreshing coolness of the ~210~~evening air, had, in a great measure,
calmed the excitement under which I laboured, and I was turning my steps
towards the Hall when I met Oaklands and Archer, who, finding I was not
at the cottage, had come in search of me. Half an hour's conversation
served to render all my previous conjectures matters of certainty. The
challenge had been given and accepted, Wentworth was to be Wilford's
second, and he and his principal were staying at the inn at Carsley.

The spot chosen for the scene of action was a plot of grass-land
situated about half-way between Carsley and Heathfield, so as to be
equally accessible to both parties; the time appointed was five o'clock
the following morning. Archer was to act as Oaklands' second; everything
had been managed with the greatest caution, and they did not believe a
single creature, excepting themselves, had the slightest suspicion that
such an event was likely to take place. They had resolved not to tell me
till everything was settled, as they feared my opposition. Having thus
taken me into their confidence, Archer left us, saying, that "probably
Oaklands might like to have some private conversation with me, and he
would join us again in half an hour". Rejoiced at this opportunity,
I entered at once upon the subject which most interested me, and used
every argument I could think of to induce Harry not to return Wilford's
fire.