Frank Fairlegh

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"Oh, yes! she's always had them the same as usual."

"And are you sure she has never written to me?"

"Not as I know on; I've never had one to send to you since she's took up
with this other chap."

"And pray who or what is this other chap, as you call him, and how comes
he to be staying at Barstone?"

"Well, sir, all as I can tell you about him is, that nigh upon a
fortnight ago Muster Richard come home, looking precious ill and seedy;
and the wery next morning he had a letter from this chap, as I take it.
I brought it to him just as they rung for the breakfast things to be
took away, so I had a chance of stopping in the room. Direc'ly he sot
eyes on the handwriting, he looked as black as night, and seemed all
of a tremble like as he hopened it. As he read he seemed to get less
frightened and more cross; and when he'd finished it, he 'anded it to
the old un, saying, 'It's all smooth, but he's taken it into his head to
come down here. What's to be done, eh? 'Mr. Vernor read it through, and
then said in an under tone,' 'Of course he must come if he chooses'.
He then whispered something of which I only caught the words, 'Send
her away'; to which Richard replied angrily, 'It shall not be; I'll
shilly-shally no longer,--it must be done at once, I tell you, or I give
the whole thing up altogether'. They then went into the library, and I
heard no more; but the wery next day come this here hidentical chap--he
arrived in style too--britzska and post-horses. Oh! he's a reg'lar
swell, you may depend; he looks something like a Spaniard, a
foreigneering style of physiography, only he ain't so swarthy."

~393~~ "Don't you know his name?" inquired I.

"They call him Mr. Fleming, but I don't believe that's his right name;
leastways he had a letter come directed different, but I can't remember
what it was: it was either--let me see--either a hess or a W; I think it
was a hess, but I can't say for certain."

"But what has all this to do with Miss Saville?" asked I impatiently.

"Fair and easy; fair and easy; I'm a-coming to her direc'ly--the world
was not made in a day; you'll know sooner than you likes, I expects, now
sir. Well, I didn't fancy him from the first; he looks more like Saytin
himself than any Christian as ever I set eyes on, except Boneypart,
which, being a Frenchman and a henemy, was not so much to be wondered
at: however, he was wery quiet and civil, and purlite to Miss Clara, and
said wery little to her, while Muster Richard and the old un was by, and
she seemed rather to choose to talk to him, as I thought, innocent-like,
to avoid the t'other one; but afore long they got quite friends
together, and I soon see that he meant business, and no mistake. He's as
hartful and deep as Garrick; and there ain't no means of inweigling and
coming over a woman as he don't try on her: ay, and he's a clever chap,
too; he don't attempt to hurry the thing; he's wery respectful and
attentive, and seems to want to show her the difference between his
manners and Muster Richard's--not worreting her like; and he says sharp
things to make Muster Richard look like a fool before her. I can't help
larfing to mysolf sometimes to hear him,--Muster Dickey's met his match
at last."

"And how does Cumberland brook such interference?"

"Why, that's what I can't make out; he don't like it, that's clear, for
I have seen him turn pale with rage; but he seems afraid to quarrel
with him, somehow. If ever he says a sharp word, Mr. Fleming gives him
a scowling look with his wicked eyes, and Muster Richard shuts up
direc'ly."

"And you fancy Miss Saville appears disposed to receive this man's
advances favourably? Think well before you speak; do not accuse
her lightly, for, by Heaven! if you have not good grounds for your
insinuations, neither your age nor your long service shall avail to
shield you from my anger! every word breathed against her is like a stab
to me." As, in my grief and irritation, I threatened the old man, his
brow reddened, and his eye flashed with all the fire of youth. After a
moment's reflection, however, his mood changed, and, advancing towards
me, he took ~394~~ my hand respectfully, and pressing it between his
own, said:--

"Forgive me this liberty, sir, but I honours you, young gentleman, for
your high spirit and generous feeling; your look and bearing, as you
said them words, reminded me of my dear old master. It can't be no
pleasure to me, sir, to blame _his_ daughter, that I have loved for his
sake, as if she had been a child of my own--but truth is truth;" and
as he uttered these words, the big drops stood in his eyes, unfailing
witnesses of his sincerity. There is something in the display of real
deep feeling, which for the time appears to raise and ennoble those
who are under its influence; and as the old man stood before me, I
experienced towards him a mingled sentiment of admiration and respect,
and I hastily endeavoured to atone for the injustice I had done him.

"Forgive me, Peter!" exclaimed I; "I did not mean what I said,--sorrow
and annoyance made me unjust to you, but you will forgive it?"

"No need of that, sir," was the reply; "I respects you all the more for
it. And now, in answer to your question, I will go on with the little
that remains to tell, and you can judge for yourself. Miss Clara, then,
avoids Mr. Richard more than hever, and talks kind and pleasant like
with this Mr. Fleming--walks out with him, sometimes alone--rides with
him--don't seem so dull and mopish like since he's been here, and
has never hanswered your letters since she took up with him." As he
concluded his catalogue of proofs, I threw myself into a chair, and
sat with my hands pressed tightly on my brow for some minutes; my brain
seemed on fire.

At length, starting up abruptly, I exclaimed: "This is utterly
unbearable! I must have certainty, Peter; I must see her at once. How is
that to be done?"

"You may well ask," was his reply; "better wait till I can find an
opportunity, and let you know."

"Listen to me, old Peter," continued I, laying my hand on his shoulder;
"there is that within me this day which can overcome all obstacles--I
tell you I must see her, and I WILL!".

"Well, well, don't put yourself into a passion; the only chance as I
knows of is to ketch Miss Clara out walking; and then ten to one Mr.
Fleming will be with her."

"Let him!" exclaimed I; "why should I avoid him? I have not injured
him, though he may have done me foul and bitter wrong; it is for him to
shrink from the encounter."

~395~~ "I know what the end of this will be," returned Peter Barnett;
"you'll quarrel; and then, instead of off coats and having it out like
Britons, there'll be a purlite hinvitation given, as kind and civil
as if you was a-hasking him to dinner, to meet as soon as it's light
to-morrow morning, and do you the favour of putting a brace of bullets
into you."

"No, Peter, you do not understand my feeling on this subject; should
you be right in your suspicions (and, although my faith in your young
mistress is such that nothing but the evidence of my own senses can
avail to shake it, I am fain to own circumstances appear fully to
warrant them)--should these suspicions not prove unfounded, it is
_her_ falsehood alone that will darken the sunshine of my future life.
Fleming, or any other coxcomb who had taken advantage of her fickleness,
would be equally beneath my notice. But enough of this; where shall I be
most likely to meet her?"

"You knows the seat in the shrubbery walk under the old beeches, where
you saw Miss Clara the first time as ever you cum here?"

"Only too well," answered I, as the recollection of that morning
contrasted painfully with my present feelings.

"Well, you be near there about eleven o'clock; and if Miss Clara don't
walk that way, I'll send down a boy with hinformation as to the henemy's
movements. Keep out of sight as much as you can."

"It shall be done," replied I.

Old Peter paused for a moment; then, raising his hand to his forehead
with a military salute, turned away and left me.

Eight o'clock struck; a girl brought me in breakfast; nine and ten
sounded from an old clock in the bar, but the viands remained untasted.
At a quarter past ten I rang the bell, and asked for a glass of water,
drained it, and, pressing my hat over my brow, sallied forth. The
morning had been misty when I first started, but during my sojourn at
the inn the vapours had cleared away, and as, by the assistance of
an old tree, I climbed over the paling of Barstone Park, the sun was
shining brightly, wrapping dale and down in a mantle of golden light.
Rabbits sprung up under my feet as I made my way through the fern and
heather; and pheasants, their varied plumage glittering in the
sunlight, ran along my path, seeking to hide their long necks under
some sheltering furze brake, or rose heavily on the wing, scared at the
unwonted intrusion. At any other time the fair scene ~396~~ around me
would have sufficed to make me light-hearted and happy, but in the state
of suspense and mental torture in which I then was, the brightness of
nature seemed only to contrast the more vividly with the darkness of
soul within. And yet I could not believe her false. Oh, no! I should see
her, and all would be explained; and as this thought came across me, I
bounded eagerly forward, and, anxious to accelerate the meeting, chafed
at each trifling obstacle that opposed itself to my progress. Alas! one
short hour from that time, I should have been glad had there been a lion
in my path, so that I had failed to reach the fatal spot.

With my mind fixed on the one object of meeting Clara, I forgot the old
man's recommendation to keep out of sight; and flinging myself at full
length on the bench, I rested my head upon my hand, and fell into a
reverie, distorting facts and devising impossible contingencies to
establish Clara's innocence. From this train of thought I was aroused
by a muffled sound as of footsteps upon turf, and in another moment,
the following words, breathed in silvery accents, which caused my every
pulse to throb with suppressed emotion, reached my ear:--

"It is indeed an engagement of which I now heartily repent, and from
which I would willingly free myself; but--"

"But," replied a man's voice, in the cold sneering tone of which,
though now softened by an expression of courtesy, I had almost said
of tenderness, I instantly recognised that of Stephen Wilford,--"but,
having at one time encouraged the poor young man, your woman's heart
will not allow you to say 'No' with sufficient firmness to show that he
has nothing further to hope."

"Indeed it is not so," replied the former speaker, who, as the reader
has doubtless concluded, was none other than Clara Saville; "you
mistake me, Mr. Fleming; if a word could prove to him that his suit was
hopeless, that word should soon be spoken."

"It is not needed!" exclaimed I, springing to my feet, and suddenly
confronting them; "that of which the tongue of living man would have
failed to convince me, my ears have heard, and my eyes have seen! It is
enough. Clara, from this moment you will be to me as if the grave had
closed over you; yet not so, for then I could have loved your memory,
and deemed that an angel had left this false and cruel world to seek one
better fitted to her bright and sinless nature!--Farewell, Clara! may
you be as happy as the recollection (which will haunt you at ~397~~
times, strive as you may to banish it), that by your falsehood you have
embittered the life of one who loved you with a deep and true affection,
will permit!" and overcome by the agony of my feelings, I leaned against
the bench for support, my knees trembling so that I could scarcely
stand.

When I appeared before her so unexpectedly, Clara started back and
uttered a slight scream; after which, apparently overwhelmed by my
vehemence, she had remained perfectly silent; whilst her companion, who
had at first favoured me with one of his withering glances, perceiving
that I was so completely engrossed as to be scarcely conscious of his
presence, resumed his usual manner of contemptuous indifference. He was,
however, the first to speak.

"This gentleman, whom I believe I have the pleasure of recognising,"
and here he slightly raised his hat, "appears, I can scarcely suppose,
a friend, but, at all events, an intimate of yours, Miss Saville; if you
wish me--that is, if I am at all _de trop_----" and he stepped back a
pace or two, as if only awaiting a hint from her to withdraw, while with
his snake-like glance riveted upon her features, he watched the effect
of his words.

"No, pray do not leave me, Mr. Fleming," exclaimed Clara hurriedly; "Mr.
Fairlegh must see the impossibility of remaining here. I am momentarily
expecting Mr. Cumberland and my guardian to join us."

"I leave you," replied I, making an effort to recover myself; "I seek
not to pain you by my presence, I would not add to your feelings of
self-reproach by look or word of mine;" then, catching Wilford's glance
fixed upon me with an expression of gratified malice, I continued, "For
you, sir, I seek not to learn by what vile arts you have succeeded thus
far in your iniquitous designs; it is enough for me that it should have
been possible for you to succeed; my happiness you have destroyed; but I
have yet duties to perform, and my life is in the hands of Him who
gave it, nor will I risk it by a fruitless quarrel with a practised
homicide."

The look of concentrated hatred with which he regarded me during this
speech, changed again to scornful indifference, as he replied, with a
contemptuous laugh, "Really, sir, you are labouring under some singular
delusion; I have no intention of quarrelling; you appear to raise
phantoms for the pleasure of combating them. However, as far as I can
comprehend the affair, you are imputing to me an honour belonging rather
to my friend ~398~~ Cumberland; and here, in good time, he comes to
answer for himself. Cumberland, here's a gentleman mistaking me for you,
I fancy, who seems labouring under some strange delusions about love
and murder; you had better speak to him." As he concluded, Cumberland,
attended by a gamekeeper leading a shooting pony, came up, looking
flushed and angry.

"I should have been here sooner," he said, addressing Wilford, "but
Browne told me he had traced poachers in the park; the footsteps can be
otherwise accounted for now, I perceive." He then made a sign for
the keeper to approach, and, turning towards me, added, "You are
trespassing, sir".

His tone and manner were so insolent and overbearing, that my blood
boiled in my veins. Unwilling, however, to bring on a quarrel in such
a presence, I restrained my indignation, and replied, "I know not what
devil sent you here at this moment, Richard Cumberland; I have been
sorely tried, and I warn you not to provoke me further".

"I tell you, you are trespassing, fellow; this is the second time I have
caught you lurking about; take yourself off instantly, or--" as he spoke
he stepped towards me, raising his cane with a threatening gesture.

"Or what?" inquired I, at length thoroughly roused; and, drawing myself
up to my full height, I folded my arms across my chest, and stood before
him in an attitude of defiance.

As I did so, he turned deadly pale, and for a moment his resolution
seemed to fail him; but catching the sound of Wilford's sneering laugh,
and relying on the assistance of the gamekeeper, who, having tied the
pony to a tree, was fast approaching the scene of action, he replied,
"Or receive the chastisement due to such skulking vagabonds!" and
springing upon me, he seized my collar with one hand, while with the
other he drew the cane sharply across my shoulders.

[Illustration: page398 A Striking Position]

To free myself from his grasp by a powerful effort was the work of a
moment, while almost at the same time I struck him with my full force,
and, catching him on the upper part of the nose, dashed him to the
ground, where he lay motionless, and apparently stunned, with the blood
gushing from his mouth and nostrils.~399~~

CHAPTER XLIX -- MR. FRAMPTON MAKES A DISCOVERY

"In a tandem I see nothing to induce the leader to keep his
course straightforward, but an address on the part of the
charioteer as nearly as can be supernatural.... And, for my
own part, I think leaders of tandems are particularly apt to
turn short round. And the impudence with which they do it,
in some instances, is past all description, staring all the
while full in the faces of those in the carriage, as much as
to say, 'I must have a peep at the fools behind that are
pretending to manage me'."
--_Thinks I to Myself_.

"But he grew rich, and with his riches grew so
Keen the desire to see his home again,
He thought himself in duty bound to do so.
Lonely he felt at times as Robin Crusoe."
--_Beppo_.

ALL that passed immediately after the events I have described left but
a succession of vague and confused images on my memory. I have some dim
recollection of seeing them raise Cumberland from the ground, and of
his showing symptoms of returning animation; but I remember nothing
distinctly till I again found myself a tenant of the little sanded
parlour in the village inn. My first act was to ring for a basin of cold
water and a towel, with which I well bathed my face and head; in some
degree refreshed by this process, I sat down and endeavoured to collect
my scattered senses.

I had succeeded in my immediate object, and suspense was at an end. I
had obtained certain proof of Clara's falsehood; with her own lips I
had heard her declare that she repented her engagement, and wished to
be freed from it; and the person to whom she had confided this was a
man whose attentions to her were so marked that even the very servants
considered him an acknowledged suitor. What encouragement could be more
direct than this? Well, then, she was faithless, and the dream of my
life had departed. But this was not all; my faith in human nature was
shaken--nay, destroyed at a blow. If _she_ could prove false, whom could
I ever trust again? Alas! the grief--the bitter, crushing grief--when
the consciousness is forced upon us that one with whom we have held
sweet interchange of thought and feeling--with whom we have been linked
by all the sacred ties of mutual confidence--with whose sorrows we have
sympathised, and ~400~~ whose smiles we have hailed as the freed captive
hails the sunshine and the dews of heaven--that one whom for these
things we have loved with all the deepest instincts of an earnest and
impassioned nature, and for whose truth we would have answered as for
our own, is false and unworthy such true affection--oh! this is bitter
grief indeed! Deep sorrow, absorbing all the faculties of the soul,
leaves no room for any other emotion; and in the one idea, that Clara
Saville--Miss Clara Saville, whom my imagination had depicted the simple,
the loving, the true-hearted--was lost to me for ever, I forgot for
somc time the existence of Wilford or the fact that in my anger I had
stricken down and possibly seriously injured Cumberland. But as the
first agony of my grief began to wear off, I became anxious to learn
the extent of the punishment I had inflicted on him, and accordingly
despatched a boy to Peter Barnett, requesting him to send me word how
matters stood.

During his absence it occurred to me that, as Wilford had been
introduced to her under a feigned name, Clara must be utterly ignorant
of the evil reputation attaching to him, and that--although this did,
not in any way affect her heartless conduct towards me--it was only
right that she should be made aware of the true character of the man
with whom she had to deal; therefore, painful as it was to hold any
communication with her after what had passed, 1 felt that the time might
come when my neglect of this duty might afford me cause for the most
bitter self-reproach. Accordingly, asking for pen, ink, and paper, I sat
down and wrote the following note:--

"After the occurrences of this morning, I had thought never, either by
word or letter, to hold further communication with you; by your own act
you have separated us for ever; and I--yes, I can say it with truth--am
glad that it should be so--it prevents all conflict between reason and
feeling. But I have what I deem a duty to perform towards you--a duty
rendered all the more difficult, because my motives are liable to cruel
misconstruction; but it is a duty, and therefore must be done. You
are, probably, as little aware of the true character of the man calling
himself Fleming as of his real name; of him may be said, as of the
Italian of old, that 'his hate is fatal to man, and his love to woman';
he is alike notorious as a duellist and a libertine. My knowledge of him
arises from his having in a duel wounded, almost unto death, the dearest
friend I have on earth, who had saved an innocent girl from adding to
his list of victims. If you ~401~~ require proof of this beyond my word,
ask Mr. Stephen Wilford--for such is really his name--in your guardian's
presence, whether he remembers Lizzie Maurice and the smart of Harry
Oaklands' horsewhip. And now, having warned you, your fate is under your
own control. For what is past I do not reproach you; you have been an
instrument in the hands of Providence to wean my affections from this
world, and if it is His good pleasure that, instead of a field for high
enterprise and honest exertion, I should henceforth learn to regard it
as a scene of broken faith and crushed hopes, it is not for me to rebel
against His will. And so farewell for ever!--F. F."

I had not long finished writing the above when the boy returned,
bringing the following missive from old Peter:--

"Honoured Sir,

"The topper as you've give Muster Richard ain't done him no more harm,
only lettin' hout a little of his mad blood, and teachin' 'im when he
speaks to a gemman to haddress 'im as sich; 'is face is swelled as big
as too, and he'll 'ave a sweet pair of black hyes to-morrer, please
goodness, which is a comfort to reflect on. Touchin' uther matturs, I've
got scent of summut as may make things seeme not so black as we thort,
but it's honly in the hegg at present, and may never come to a chickin,
so don't go settin' too much on it; but if you've nothin' better to do,
ride over agen the day arter to-morrer, by which time I may have more to
communicate, "Your humbel servent to command,

"Peter Barnett."

I pondered for some minutes on what this enigmatical document might
portend; but a little reflection served to convince me that neither
Peter nor any one else could discover aught affecting the only feature
of the whole affair which deeply interested me; on that point I had
obtained the information of my own senses, and there was nothing more to
hope or fear. I had learned the worst; the blow had fallen, and it only
remained for me to bear it with what fortitude I might. Accordingly I
enclosed my note to Clara in one to Peter Barnett, telling him I could
see no reason for coming there again, and that in all probability I
should not take the trouble of doing so, adding that if he had anything
new to communicate he had better do so in writing; and then, ordering my
horse, I rode slowly home, feeling more ~402~~ thoroughly miserable than
I had ever done before in the whole course of my life.

The next morning was so fine that all kinds of pleasurable schemes were
proposed and acceded to. Oaklands and Fanny rode out together in all
the unrestrained freedom of an engaged tete-a-tete. The new dog-cart
had arrived, and the chestnuts were to make their _debut_; consequently,
Lawless spent the morning in the stable-yard, united by the closest
bonds of sympathy with the head-groom and an attendant harness-maker,
the latter being a young man whose distinguishing characteristics were a
strong personal savour of new leather, hands gloved in cobbler's wax and
harness-dye, and a general tendency to come off black upon everything he
approached. Sir John and the rest of the party were to fill a britchska,
and the place of rendezvous was the ruins of an old abbey about eight
miles distant.

Feeling quite unfit for society, I had excused myself on the plea (not
altogether a false one) of a bad headache, and having witnessed their
departure from the library window, I drew an easy-chair to the fire, and
prepared to enjoy the luxury (in my then state of feeling an unspeakable
one) of solitude. But I was not fated to avail myself of even this small
consolation, for scarcely ten minutes had elapsed when the library door
was opened, and Mr. Frampton made his appearance.

"Umph! eh! umph!" he began; "I've been seeing that young fool Lawless
start in his new tandem, as he calls it. A pretty start it was too;
why, the thing's as high as a stage-coach--ought to have a ladder to get
up--almost as bad as mounting an elephant! And then the horses, fiery
devils! two men at each of their noses, and enough to do to hold 'em
even so! Well, out comes Master Lawless, in a greatcoat made like a
coal-sack, with buttons as big as five-shilling pieces, a whip as long
as a fishing-rod in his hand, and a cigar in his mouth. 'There's a
picture!' says he. 'A picture of folly,' says I; 'you're never going to
be mad enough to trust yourself up there Behind those vicious brutes?'
'Come, governor, jump in, and let's be off,' was all the answer I got.
'Thank ye,' says I; 'when you see me jumping in that direction, pop me
into a strait-waistcoat, and toddle me off to Bedlam.' 'Eh! won't you
go? Tumble in then, Shrimp!' 'Please, sir, it's so high I can't reach
it.' 'We'll soon see about that!' cries Lawless, flanking him with the
long whip. Well, the little wretch scrambled up somehow, like a monkey;
and as soon as he was ~403~~ safely landed, what does he do but lean
back, fold his arms, and winking at one of the helpers, squeak out, 'Oh,
crickey! ain't this spicy, just!' 'You're never going to take that poor
child?' says I; 'only think of his anxious mother! 'Well, sir, if you'll
believe it, they every one of 'em burst out laughing--helpers, brat and
all--as if I'd said something very ridiculous. 'Never mind, governor,'
says Lawless; 'depend upon it, his mother knows he's out,' and catching
hold of the reins, he clambers up into his seat, shouting, 'Give 'em
their heads! Stand clear! Chut! chut! 'As soon as the brutes found
they were loose, instead of starting off at a jog-trot, as reasonable,
well-behaved horses ought to do, what do you suppose they did? The beast
they tied on in front turned short round, stared Lawless in the face,
and stood up on its hind legs like a kangaroo, while the other animal
would not stir a peg, but, laying down his ears, gave a sort of a
screech, and kicked out behind. 'Pretty, playful things,' said Lawless,
flipping the ashes off the end of his cigar. 'Put his head straight,
William. Chut! chut! 'But the more he chutted the more they wouldn't go,
and began tearing and rampaging about the yard till I thought they'd be
over me, so I scrambled up a little low wall to get out of their way,
missed my footing, and tumbled over backwards on to a dung-heap, and
before I got up again they were off; but if that young jackanapes don't
break his neck some of those days, I'm a Dutchman! Umph! umph!"