Roger Kyffin's Ward

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.

Chapter Twenty Five.

A Journey, and what Befell the Travellers. – A Visit to Windsor, and its result

The days were long, the weather was fine, and Mabel and her companion hoped by starting at dawn to reach London at an early hour on the third day of their journey. They were crossing Hounslow Heath, a part of the country, in those days especially, and even in later years, notorious for the number of robberies committed on travellers. In the far distance were seen dangling in the air two objects, the wretched remnants of humanity, suspended in chains, intended as a warning to evil-doers, but having about as much effect as scarecrows have generally on bold birds who have discovered that they can do them no harm. Mabel turned away her eyes to avoid the hideous spectacle. Paul said nothing, but pulled out his pistols one by one, carefully surveying their locks. Then restoring them to their holsters, he continued trotting on at a rapid pace behind his young mistress.

“We shall be in town, Miss Mabel, long before your godfather sits down to his early dinner, I hope,” observed Paul. “You might spare Beauty a little, for we shall have some steep bits of road soon, and a steady pace will bring us to our journey’s end, maybe, as soon as a rapid one.”

As Paul spoke he caught sight of three men crouching down under some bushes a short distance ahead. Had he been alone, he would have dashed forward and easily have eluded them, should they prove to be footpads, as he thought likely. He was afraid, however, should Mabel make the attempt, that they might succeed in stopping her horse, and then, if going at full speed, he would be less able to take steady aim, or to defend her. At the same time, he did not wish to alarm her before it was necessary. She, however, directly afterwards caught sight of the same objects. They were not left long in doubt as to the intention of those they saw, for as they approached, live men sprang up, and rushing forward seized Mabel’s rein. Paul, drawing a pistol, fired. One of his assailants fell, but this did not deter the others from their purpose. While one of the ruffians held Mabel’s horse, the other three attacked him, endeavouring to pull him from his saddle. Before they had time to seize his arm, he drew another pistol. He fired, but it flashed in the pan. He endeavoured to reprime it, but having no time to do so, he seized it by the muzzle, and began to lay about him with right good will, striking one fellow on the head and another on the shoulder, and compelling them to let go their hold, at the same time shouting at the top of his voice, “To the rescue! to the rescue! Off with you, villains!” and similar cries, which were not without the effect of distracting the attention of his assailants. Still, as they were three to one, and had also firearms, though they had not hitherto used them, it was too evident that they must ultimately succeed in their purpose. Still undaunted, however, the old soldier fought on, continuing to strike with a rapidity which astonished his assailants. One, however, more savage than the others, springing back, drew a pistol from his belt, and was levelling it at Paul, when his eye caught sight of two men, who, at that instant had jumped out of a gravel-pit a little way ahead, and were rushing towards them, flourishing thick sticks which they held in their hands.

“Don’t let the fellows sheer off, Paul, and we will make prizes of the whole,” shouted one of the new comers, springing forward and bringing his thick stick down on the head of one of Paul’s assailants. The fellow dropped as if shot, when the other three men, seeing that their opponents were even in number, let go the horses’ reins and took to flight.

The men who had so opportunely arrived were dressed as sailors. In the most active of them Paul recognised his old acquaintance, Jacob Tuttle. The other was a stranger.

“Well, this is fortunate!” exclaimed Jacob, in astonishment. “Why, Mr Gauntlett, I little thought to see you and Miss Mabel out here. Why, please miss, you are the very lady I was coming all the way to Lynderton to see. Only yesterday I could get leave from my ship to come ashore, and started away up to London, where we stopped a few houts, and then came along south-west, keeping a course for Lynderton.”