CHAPTER XXVIII.
PHILLIP REDGILL’S UNEXPECTED FORTUNE—HE IS ALONE IN THE WORLD—THE CORONER’S INQUEST OVER HIS FATHER—THE VERDICT—THE VILLAIN PURSUES HIS CAREER OF CRIME—SIR ANDREW’S DAUGHTER FANNY, AND WHAT SHE DID—THE PRANKS OF A KNAVE.
PHILLIP REDGILL’S UNEXPECTED FORTUNE—HE IS ALONE IN THE WORLD—THE CORONER’S INQUEST OVER HIS FATHER—THE VERDICT—THE VILLAIN PURSUES HIS CAREER OF CRIME—SIR ANDREW’S DAUGHTER FANNY, AND WHAT SHE DID—THE PRANKS OF A KNAVE.
This event of his father’s death filled Phillip, apparently, with unbounded grief. He was so much afflicted that, at the coroner’s inquest, the body having been dragged for and recovered, he could scarcely articulate a word.
He averted his face from the corpse, and simply explained that “the mournful accident had happened by his father driving too close to the edge of the bridge; and the first intimation he had of danger was the sudden tilting of the vehicle and the falling of the horses, with his father, into the river.”
The verdict rendered by the coroner’s jury was “accidental drowning.”
The funeral of the much-respected deceased was attended by numbers of well-known merchants and brokers on ’Change, who condoled with Phillip upon his unexpected bereavement.
Old Sir Andrew appeared seated in the first coach as one of the chief mourners, and if the size of a white handkerchief was any index of the extent of his grief, Sir Andrew’s sorrow must have been of very extensive dimensions; for he held the said handkerchief to his face all the way to the cemetery and back, and sighed very often and emphatically.
He did not fail to preach a sermon on the way to Phillip, on the vanity of earthly things—the old hypocrite!—but that youth simply sighed hypocritically, and, if the truth must be told, felt extremely glad that his parentwaslaid in the grave.
“Iknow what old Sir Andrew’s about!” mused Phillip, as they rode home from the funeral; “he can’t foolme! he wants me to marry his daughter, eh? What an idea! I’m not fool enough to think of such a thingnow—ofcoursenot! Marryher?—Such a weazened-faced old maid assheis? NotI, indeed! All the governor’s property ismine, now! I have no more use for old Sir Andrew andhismoney-grubbing lot. I’m rich enough without him, and will marry some dashing belle when my father’s affairs are arranged, and fool Sir Andrew—he’ll see if I don’t!”
The truth is that Phillip had all along desired a marriage with Sir Andrew’s daughter for the sake of money only; but now that he was master of his own actions, and inheritor of all his father’s wealth, he instantly conceived different ideas.
When young Redgill had returned from the funeral, he discovered that Jacob Sloman, Esq., the lawyer, had already arrived to read the will, and, among the uninvited, was old Moss, the Jew.
Alter light refreshment, the company adjourned to the large parlour, where Mr. Sloman was busily engaged in arranging his papers.
Sir Andrew, and a dozen other gentlemen present, intimate friends and relations of the deceased, were loud in their praises of the defunct, and nothing could be said that was too good in honour of his many inestimable qualities.
He was—
“A model father!”
“An exemplary Christian!”
“An honest and irreproachable merchant!”
“Upright citizen!”
“Ornament to commerce!” &c., first one and then another remarked, until at last, Phillip began to imagine, for the first time in his life, that his father must have been much more than an “ordinary” gentleman.
When the will was read all the relations were much surprised to discover that nothing had been left them, and that everything had been bequeathed unreservedly to his only son, “after the payment of all just and honest debts.”
Sir Andrew, although not related, appeared much disappointed, yet, concealing his chagrin at receiving no token of his profound friendship for deceased, gave vent to his feelings by giving long and fatherly advice to the heir.
In truth, Mr. Sloman had scarcely finished reading the will, ere every one found they had important business elsewhere which required their instant attention, and did not stay one moment longer thannecessary, to pay any more compliments to the memory of the “exemplary Christian” and “model father,” whom they had so loudly praised before the last will and testament had been read.
For several weeks Phillip visited but little, and many observed that his grief must be “really genuine,” or he would have appeared in company long before.
Many members of polite society called at his residence and left their cards, and among them not a few intriguing ambitious mothers, who had rather suddenly discovered the vast importance of Mr. Phillip Redgill, and of the unbounded friendship which they had “always” entertained for that “interesting, good-looking” young man.
Sir Andrew, it must be confessed, was not behind any of the “polite” circle in frequently calling upon “his young friend,” and giving him fatherly advice.
Yet he could not help grimly smiling at the “insiduous attempts,” as he termed it, of the many inquisitive, and industrious matrons, who were continually inviting the young man to sojourn with them for a few days, in order to “drive away his deep-seated melancholy,” and “make love to their daughters,” perhaps might have been added.
At least, Sir Andrew imagined so, and did not fail to inform his wife and daughter, who threw up their hands and eyes in holy horror at the “worldliness and unscrupulousness of certain parties!”
The true reason for Phillip’s non-appearance in society arose, not so much from “genuine grief,” or “deep-rooted melancholy,” at what all termed “the sad and lamentable bereavement,” as from anxiety to ascertain the true state of his father’s affairs.
In truth, he so much chafed under his confinement in the old house, and seemed so tremulous, that he never visited his father’s apartments without a thrill of horrible excitement, and would often jump out of bed at night, as if suddenly alarmed by dreadful apparitions.
He daily imbibed large draughts of brandy, and this resort seemed to cheer him.
But the practice grew upon him hourly, so that the brandy lost much of its customary effect, and he accordingly drank deeply to sustain his drooping spirits.
Not being one of the executors himself, he knew but little of his father’s indebtedness; but when he questioned old Moss, the money-lending Jew, on one occasion, regarding that point, the old Israelite said that “he would plainly tell him,” and remarked very solemnly—
“When all debts are paid, your father’s estates are not worth one penny! He was generally considered to be worth more than he really was. He sustained many losses, and kept afloat on credit! If the ‘Racehorse’ and ‘Eclipse’ safely arrive, there will be a little something for you, perhaps, when the cargoes are sold; but if they do not, there will not be a penny to spare. But, worse than all, many of us creditors, Phillip, will have to bite our fingers!”
It is unnecessary to say that this piece of confidential information surprised the young man considerably.
But not so much as might have been expected; for, from a careful study of his father’s books, he had arrived at something like the same conclusion himself.
“Well, there’s no help for it,” thought he, drinking deeply of the brandy, “It will be a month, at least, before lawyer Sloman and the executors can present a balance sheet—I’ll marry Sir Andrew’s daughter, Fanny!”
Phillip’s first visit to Sir Andrew after the funeral was of the most interesting nature.
The mother, “my lady,” embraced him as a son.
Sir Andrew shook him cordially by the hand, and heartily welcomed him once more beneath his roof.
But both parents soon vacated the apartment in favor of their daughter, whose rustling silk could plainly be heard approaching upon the stairs.
The meeting between the affianced was solemn and tender.
Fanny struck a captivating attitude upon entering the room, tottered slightly towards the sofa, holding a handkerchief to conceal her tears!
Phillip rushed forward to break her fall, clasped her round the waist, kissed her with great gallantry, and, amid many ejaculations of “Phillip, dear!” and “Fanny, my beloved!” the couple passed several hours in delightful child’s play.
Fanny’s irresistible toilet, made up as it was for the most part of paints, flowers, false hair, puff combs, hoops, and silk, played so powerfully upon the sensitive and innocent heart of Phillip Redgill, that as he gazed upon her bewitchingly enamelled features—as her fair head leaned lovingly and confidingly upon his manly breast, he determined to allow of little delay in marrying.
And this resolution he whispered fondly into the not unwilling ear of his loved one, who blushed and sighed, and put her lace-worked handkerchief to her eyes, and appeared absorbed in deep emotion and crimson confusion.
When consulted upon this matter that same evening in his library, Sir Andrew sat in his easy chair with much affected state, and played with his watch-chain and keys in a smiling, self-complacent manner.
“I couldn’t entertain any such project for the present; at least, not for one year, out of respect to Mr. Redgill, senior’s, memory, by which time you will have fully wound up your affairs, and perhaps think more seriously upon the point, Phillip.”
The coldness and calculation of old Sir Andrew simply had the effect of redoubling the ardour of the lovers, who sighed and condoled together on the proverbial “cruelty of parents” with much melo-dramatic tenderness.
Fanny did not confess it to her lover, but told “mamma” in confidence that she thoughtthreemonths would be sufficiently long to postpone the event.
“For, who knows what may happen, mamma dear? I can’t get such a chance as dear Phillip every day. He is young, handsome, rich, and much courted.Whoknowswhatmight happen in twelve months?”
Phillip, on the other hand, had his own motives for hastening the marriage, and sought every opportunity to visit and make love to his affianced.
His eloquence and importunities were so impressive that he found the fair Fanny daily yielding to his arguments.
And, knowing that she possessed a great vein of romance in her disposition, he played upon it so effectually that she finally consented to a clandestine marriage.
“We can easily procure a ‘licence’ and get married a few miles out in the country without the old folks knowing anything about it, and then we can avow the act whenever we see that your cruel father will relent.”
In accordance with this plan Phillip procured a marriage licence.
Fanny met him, and, after two hours’ ride, they alighted at a small country town, and were privately married.