"Well!" thought Beauchamp, when the young sailor was gone--"Well, this is a stupid business enough; and I certainly shall not particularly like being shot for this young rascal's whim; but it can not be helped, and my will being made, it is not so troublesome as it might otherwise have proved. At all events, dear Blanche, I am periling somewhat to fulfill your request, and clear your brother's name and character."
It is wonderful how much this last thought reconciled Henry Beauchamp to an undertaking which he had before looked upon as absurd, and in some sort degrading. Such little collateral associations are strange conjurors; and as Beauchamp thought over the whole matter, and mingled up the idea of Blanche Delaware with every particular which he had before considered in the abstract only, his expedition became bright and chivalrous, and he lay down to sleep, anxious for the coming morning.
The first eight hours after Beauchamp rose, on the following day, were devoted to securing the assistance of the French police, in the undertaking in which he was about to engage; and although this time may appear long, yet every moment of it was employed in removing the many difficulties which, with wise precaution, the French government throw in the way of the arrest of aliens, for crimes committed in a different country.
The previous proceedings, although they had smoothed the way, had not entirely removed all obstacles; and the young Englishman, though backed by the influence of the whole of the English diplomatic agents at Paris, found the time barely sufficient to accomplish the necessary arrangements.
The dull official forms must, of course, have no place here; and it is only necessary to say that, after the necessary orders were given, the French officers of police shrugged up their shoulders at the plan which Beauchamp was obliged to propose in conformity with his engagement to Walter Harrison, declared that Monsieur was perfectly welcome to take the first brunt of the business upon himself, and promised to meet him at the rendezvous a little before the time which the young sailor had named.
All this being at length settled, Beauchamp returned to his hotel, dined, loaded his pistols, took one glass of wine less than usual, for fear of embarrassing his hand, and then sat waiting impatiently for the appointed hour. By the time it arrived, the sky had got out of humor, and it was raining furiously; but still there were a great many Parisians afoot, all pattering along under their pink umbrellas, as merry as crickets; and many a tender salutation did Beauchamp receive, in his way to the house of the jeweler.
He reached the street a few minutes before the time; but the police were at their post, and he found that six powerful men were in readiness to back his exertions. Walter Harrison, had not appeared, and a quarter of an hour elapsed without any sign of his keeping the appointment he had made. The chief of the French police hinted broadly, that beyond doubt he had deceived the English gentleman; and Beauchamp himself began to suspect that the young culprit had repented of his promise.
Before another minute had elapsed, however, the tall, athletic form of the widow's son was seen coming quickly along on the other side of the street, and Beauchamp instantly crossed over and spoke to him.
"All is right, sir," said the sailor. "They are both at home, and even now are engaged in pigeoning a young greenhorn, whom they have inveigled to play with them. If they do not get his money that way, I should not wonder if they cut his throat--so, come along, and let us make haste."
"I am ready," said Beauchamp; "but you promised to write down--"
"Ay, ay! there it is," said the young man, putting a paper into his hand. "Give it to one of those fellows who are of the police, I suppose--but make haste, and come along; for if they do not get the poor lad's money by fair means they will by foul. I heard them talk about throwing something into the Seine, and getting a sack ready--and I do not like such words from such folks--"
"Nor I!" replied Beauchamp; "nor I! You walk on, and we will follow;" and crossing over to the other party, he gave the paper he had received to the commissary who headed them, and then followed as fast as possible upon the steps of the young sailor. Walter Harrison advanced rapidly; and, passing up one of the short streets that lead from the Rue de Rivoli into the Rue St. Honoré, he turned to the right in the latter, and then made his way to one of the smaller streets in the neighborhood of the Rue St. Anne. At length he stopped; and, pointing forward to a house of respectable size and appearance--"That is the house," he said; "if these fellows halt in the passage, they are sure not to lose their game, for there is no back entrance."
Beauchamp explained to the leader of the party the words of the young sailor, and they now drew near the house in a body, keeping profound silence. The men were then carefully stationed round the door; and Beauchamp, with one pistol in his hand, and the other thrust into his bosom, between his coat and waistcoat, followed his guide into the house, the door of which, as is frequent in Paris, stood open as a common entrance to all the different floors.
It were in vain to say that Beauchamp felt no sort of anxiety. The very excitement of the whole business made his heart beat with a quicker pulse than usual; and he listened eagerly, as they ascended the stairs, for any sound that might announce their proximity to the chamber of the murderers. He was not long kept in expectation. At the first door they reached, after passing the _entresol_, the young sailor paused, and rang the bell twice.
As soon as ever he had done so, he whispered to Beauchamp, "I will take this one, whoever it is, that opens the door. You run on, and secure the other in the room beyond. I will follow in a minute."
Almost as he spoke, the door was thrown open, and the coarse face of Tony Smithson, the man who had gone down with him in the stage-coach to Emberton, was exposed to Beauchamp's sight. He had a light in his hand, and the moment he saw that there were two men on the stairs, he would have started back, and retreated; but the young sailor sprang upon him at once, grappled with him tight, and in an instant both rolled together on the floor of the little ante-room. Beauchamp rushed forward to a door which was standing ajar on the other side of the chamber, and whence there issued forth an intolerable smell of brandy-punch, together with the sounds of laughter. He reached it in a moment, but not before the noise of the struggle without had caught the ears of the tenants of the room; for when Beauchamp flung the door wide open, he found the murderer Harding already, with a pistol in each hand, retreating into one corner of the room, from a table covered with bottles, glasses, and bowls, cards, dice, and markers; while the unfortunate wretch, whom we have already seen as the dirty maid of the old miser at Ryebury, now tricked out in all the gay smartness of Parisian costume, stood by the table, with sudden terror and agony in her countenance. The moment her eyes rested on Beauchamp's face, she saw that her fate was sealed, and with a loud scream, she fell, fainting, by the table. Harding, however, with scowling determination in his brow, placed his back in the corner, and pointed the pistol he held directly toward his former master.
Beauchamp paused, and leveled his own weapon at the villain's head, exclaiming sternly, but coolly, "Throw down your arms, sir! You know I never miss my aim!"
Harding paused for a moment, slightly dropping the point of his pistol; and Beauchamp, as they stood face to face, at the distance of half a dozen yards, could see the corners of his mouth draw gradually down, into a sort of sneering smile. The next instant he replied, "I know you never miss your aim. I do; and therefore, this is the best use I can make of my bullet," and he rapidly turned the pistol toward his own head.
Beauchamp heard the lock click as the murderer raised the weapon, and seeing than the clear exculpation of William Delaware, which would be gained by the trial of the real culprit, might be lost by the act about to be committed, he brought the muzzle of his own pistol slightly round, and pulled the trigger. The report rang through the room, and the arm that Harding was raising against his own life, fell powerless by his side. A slight cry of pain escaped from his lips at the same moment, but the fury that the wound stirred up flashed forth from his eyes; and, with the other pistol in his left hand, he rushed forward upon Beauchamp, coolly calculating, even at that terrible moment, that from the unsteadiness of his left hand, he could not revenge himself as he wished, unless he brought the mouth of the weapon close to his adversary. Beauchamp, eager to take him alive, closed with him instantly; the young sailor, hearing the report of fire-arms, left the other ruffian but half tied, and rushing into the room, endeavored to wrench the pistol from Harding's hand, as he strove with the strength of despair and hatred to bring the muzzle close to Beauchamp's head. At the very moment that he seized it, the murderer had in a degree succeeded in taking his aim, and was in the act of pulling the trigger. The flash and report instantly followed and the ball, cutting along Beauchamp's cheek, laid the cheek bone bare, but passed through the hair on his temple without doing him farther injury. Walter Harrison, however, at the same moment relaxed his hold, started back, and catching at one of the chairs with a reeling stagger, sunk down into it, while a torrent of blood spouted forth from his right breast, a little below the collar. Beauchamp, too, heated by the struggle, seized the murderer by the neck, and, with a full exertion of his strength, which was not inconsiderable, dashed him prostrate on the floor, then set his foot upon his chest, and, drawing the pistol from his bosom, commanded him to be still, if he would escape without another wound.
Such was the situation of all parties, when three of the French police, warned by the report of fire-arms that a severe contest was going on above, and thinking they had waited quite long enough, rushed up the stairs and entered the apartments. The first that they found was the man whom Walter Harrison had left, and who was now calmly untying himself, and about to decamp. He, however, was soon better secured, and committed to the charge of the officers below, while the others advanced into the room beyond, and found the young sailor bleeding profusely, while Beauchamp with some difficulty kept his prisoner to the ground, as Harding, aware of the fate that ultimately awaited him, strove, by means of struggles and imprecations, to make his former master shoot him on the spot.
The moment, however, that he beheld the officers of justice, he become perfectly quiet; and it surprised even Beauchamp to see how easily he relapsed into that calm, cold taciturnity which he had formerly displayed. The first care of every one was the young sailor, for whom a surgeon was immediately procured; and, after some difficulty, the bleeding was stopped. The unhappy woman, who had fainted, was then recalled to life, and the wound in the chief culprit's arm was dressed. A process-verbal of all the events was then taken and attested, for the purpose of being transmitted to England, and the three prisoners were removed, though not without a warning from Beauchamp, that it would be necessary to withhold every thing from Harding which might enable him to commit suicide.
"Diantre, monsieur!" cried the commissary, who was a small wit in his way--"you are going to hang him when he gets to England; why should you care if he saves you the trouble by hanging himself here?"
"Simply, sir," replied Beauchamp, who, though he could treat great events with indifference, had a sovereign aversion to jesting upon serious subjects; "simply, because it may be necessary to exculpate the innocent, as well as punish the guilty."
There now only remained Beauchamp, two police officers, who kept possession of the apartments, the surgeon, and the young sailor. The latter was immediately removed to the bed-room he had occupied since his arrival in Paris, and there, by Beauchamp's directions, the surgeon agreed to sit up with him all night.
The lad had never uttered a word since he had received his wound, although Smithson had poured forth a torrent of abuse upon him, which the murderer's situation rendered at least excusable. When he saw Beauchamp's anxiety for his comfort and welfare, however, he said, in a faint voice--"You are very kind, sir--you always were kind; and I am glad I got the shot--that I am; for, do you see, if I had not turned the pistol my way, it would have gone through your head. So that is some comfort, though it would need a many good actions to make up for all the bad ones I have done. But, however, don't trouble yourself about me, for I shan't die, just yet--I am sure of that. All my work is not done, yet. I shan't live long when it is done, even if they do not hang me when I get to England."
"As I assured you before," replied Beauchamp, "there is no chance whatever of such a thing; and I trust you are beginning to think too properly of your own situation to dream of attempting your life."
"Oh, no! I was not thinking of that," replied the young man. "I one time thought that I should be glad almost that they did hang me, just to show those d--d rascals that I had not turned king's evidence against them with any thought of myself. But I think differently now I've got this shot. But, mind, I do not make any bargain. I will go over as a prisoner, and they shall do with me as they like. I'll not flinch--no, no, I'll not flinch!"
Here the surgeon, who did not understand a word that was said, and of course did not like the conversation, laid his hand upon Beauchamp's arm, and gently hinted that perfect quiet was absolutely necessary to any hope of the wounded man's recovery; and that gentleman accordingly left him, with a few kind and consolatory words. He then called the surgeon into one of the other rooms, and making him dress the wound on his cheek, which had been hitherto neglected, he gave him a substantial earnest of after reward, explaining to him that the life of the young man under his care was of the most immense importance as a witness; and begging him, at the same time, to watch every turn which the injury he had received might take, in order that his dying declaration might be drawn up, if recovery were to be found impossible. He then left his address, and returned home; but although extremely fatigued, both by exertion and excitement, he did not lie down to rest till he had seen a courier dispatched to London, bearing the news of the capture of Harding and his accomplices, and begging that, without a moment's delay, officers, properly authorized, might be sent over to convey the prisoners to England.
The messenger was ordered to spare no expense, and to lose no time; and he certainly performed his task with very great rapidity. In the mean while the news of Beauchamp's adventure spread through Paris, as if it had been a country town; and, as it may well be supposed that the hotel in which he lodged was one of the first places in which the story developed itself, Mrs. Darlington received it at her toilet the next morning, and instantly wrote a billet to Mr. Beauchamp, beseeching him to let her see him as soon as he was up. This, folded in the newest fashion, and sealed with the newest seal, reached Beauchamp as he was concluding his breakfast; and, in order to quench the worthy lady's thirst, he at once walked down to her apartments.
Mrs. Darlington was as delighted as _bienseance_ would permit her to be, at the sight of Henry Beauchamp, with a black patch on his cheek, which confirmed all the pretty story she had heard before he came; and her questions, though excessively small and quiet, were, like the little hairy savages that scaled Sinbad's ship, innumerable, and attacking him on all sides.
Beauchamp detailed the whole events; and, if he had been a little bored by the lady's interrogatories, the joy and satisfaction which Mrs. Darlington expressed on hearing that the exculpation of Captain Delaware could now be fully made out--the sincere personal gratification she seemed to feel, made up for all, and placed her high in his good graces. The assurance that, among the culprits, one at least of the personages who had set fire to her house was more than probably included, did not seem to interest her half so much as the proofs obtained of William Delaware's innocence; and she returned again and again to the subject, declaring that nothing would be so delightful as to write to dear Blanche, and give her the whole details.
"Pray, are you in possession of her address?" demanded Beauchamp, assuming as indifferent a tone as it was possible for a man in his situation to affect.
"No indeed!" replied Mrs. Darlington; "but she will write to me soon, of course."
Beauchamp was mortified; for he had caught at Mrs. Darlington's words at once, as if they gave the full assurance of discovering the abode of her he loved, without farther search or uncertainty. After musing for a moment, however, he said, "I hope, my dear madam, when you do write, you will offer my best compliments to Miss Delaware--who, I dare say you know, is my cousin--and tell her that I have endeavored, as far as was in my power, to obey the commands with which she favored me. As I doubt not that you will give her the details of all this story, you may assure her in the most positive manner, from me, that her brother's character will at once be cleared of every imputation, and that all who know him will hail his return to England with the utmost joy."
Now Mrs. Darlington perceived, as plainly as woman could perceive, that Henry Beauchamp was in love with Blanche Delaware. She had long ago seen it would be so, and now she saw it was so; but yet, for one half of Europe, she would not have let Beauchamp understand that she saw any thing of the kind. She had known so many excellent arrangements of the sort spoiled outright by some impolitic, good-natured, stupid friend, jesting upon the subject, or insinuating his mighty discoveries, before Cupid was bound hand and foot--which is never the case ere the matter has come to a declaration--that she answered in the most common-place way it is possible to imagine--assured Beauchamp that she would give his message correctly--declared that she doubted not Blanche and her father would travel for a year or two; and then began to speak of the beautiful bonnet brought out by Madame ---- of the Fauxbourg St. Germains.
Beauchamp, though he would have seen through every turning of the good lady's tact, had any body else been concerned, was completely blinded in his own case--like all the rest of the world--and, after having given a scientific opinion upon the _brides de blonde_ and the _bordures_, he rose and took his leave, fully persuaded that Mrs. Darlington was as ignorant of his love for Blanche Delaware as he himself was of millinery.
As rapidly as post-horses and postillions would permit, Beauchamp's courier returned from London, bringing with him the officers who had been in Paris already on the same business, both of whom paid the young gentleman a great many compliments on his skill and proficiency in their particular branch of science; but, as Beauchamp would very well have dispensed with such a flattering testimony of his abilities in thief-catching, we shall not give the somewhat circumlocutory praises of the officers at length.
By this time the operation of extracting the ball had been performed upon the young sailor; and although there appeared no chance of his being able to bear a long journey for some time, yet he was already so far convalescent that no doubt was entertained of his ultimate recovery.
Harding, Smithson, and the woman, Sarah Ings, confined apart, had already shown the difference of the characters in the different manner in which they had borne their situation. The woman wept continually, declaring with loud lamentations that she would tell all she knew, if they would but spare her life. Smithson alternately stormed and raved, or gave way to brutal jests and wild merriment. Harding remained calm, cool, and silent, quite disposed to philosophize upon his situation with any one who would philosophize with him, or to sneer at any who offered him one word of compassion or admonition; but at the same time, a great deal too wary to utter a syllable that might endanger the slight hope of escape which still remained.
After a brief interview with Beauchamp, the officers, with very natural impatience, hastened to visit their prisoners; and R----, who held the principal post, immediately addressed Harding with a great deal of civility. "Oh, Mr. Harding," he said, "I am sorry to see you here!"
"You mistake, sir," said Harding, "I do not remember you at all."
"What! not when you were secretary to Mr. ----, the banker who failed?" said the officer. "Poo! poo! that cock won't fight, Master Harding. Don't you remember going up with me to Mr. Tims's, at Clement's Inn; and how, after a great piece of work, he promised not only to drop proceedings against you, but to get you a good place into the bargain, if you would tell all about the embezzlement of the money; and a good place he did get you I find--pity you didn't keep it when you had got it. Howsoever, that is no business of mine--but you must take part of a shay with me over to England, Master Harding; and I dare say we shall be very good friends on the road."
"Perhaps so!" replied the prisoner; and, after a few more words, the officers proceeded to visit the other male culprit. To him, however, their manner was totally different. "Ha! Tony, my lad!" cried the head officer; "how do you do this many a day? Why? how the devil were you such a soft chap as to get taken in for such a bad job as this--but you had nearly bilked us all, by jingo!"
"Oh, R----," he replied, "Oh, it is a bad job, indeed! But I knew well enough that I was well nigh up to my weight; and that d--d fellow, Harding, persuaded me, you see! But I say, R----, tell me, is that young Harrison like to die? Harding gave him a h--ll of a shot, and d--n him, if he would die, if I would not take to talking, and plead the king's pardon, do you see!"
"No, no!" answered the officer. "No chance of his dying! No, no, Tony It's all up with you! They must hang two of you; and if any one gets off, in course it will be the woman."
At this hopeless picture of his situation, the ruffian first swore and blasphemed for two or three minutes, and then, relapsing into the other extreme, cast himself down and wept like a child.
"Fie, fie, Tony!" cried the officer. "Die game, anyhow; why, I thought you were more varment than that comes to--a man must die somehow, you know--and you have had a long pull at it, my lad--besides, it's all nonsense when one knows that it must be so."
"Ay, that's the job!" said the prisoner. "If one could but think of someway of getting off--"
"Don't you fancy that," replied the officer. "Why, look ye now, Tony, if you could get off for this last job, I'll tell you as a friend, they'd hang you for that burning business; for they've got proof enough against you for that."
This last argument seemed completely to dispel all Mr. Anthony Smithson's objections to being hanged; and after two or three exhortations to those virtues that Bow-street officers expect from thieves, the two children of Mercury went on to visit the female prisoner. As, however, we have fully as great a disgust to scenes of low vice and misery as our readers can have, and only introduce them where compelled to do so in accordance with truth, we shall leave the officers to conduct their prisoners to England, and proceed to notice the events which occurred to Henry Beauchamp.
That gentleman then set off from Paris with all speed, as soon as he had seen the prisoners safely consigned to the Bow-street officers. He well knew that such adventures as those in which he had lately been engaged could not fail to find their way into the mouth of rumor; and for many reasons he wished to reach London ere that lady was ready to go a trumpeting before him, like the man with the box on his back, who walks before Punch.
He succeeded tolerably well; so that the fact of Henry Beauchamp being living instead of dead, upon dry land instead of under the sea, was not known to above fifty thousand people when he arrived in London. Out of this number about a thousand had congratulated Lord Ashborough on the resuscitation of his nephew; but the noble lord had so impressed upon his mind that his nephew was dead, that he would not believe a word of the story, gravely saying, that he would give it implicit credence as soon as he heard it from any one who would say that they had seen Henry Beauchamp with their own eyes.
As none of those could be met with, and as the story could be traced to no authentic source, Lord Ashborough held fast his conviction; and, up to the hour of Beauchamp's arrival, continued in the same belief.
It was late at night, or rather early in the morning, when Beauchamp did once more reach the capital; and as he imagined that he was not likely to find any thing prepared for his accommodation in the house of a dead man, he directed the post boys to drive to a hotel, rather than his own dwelling. It was later the next morning when he rose than he had purposed over night; but nevertheless, as soon as he was up, he set forth for Lord Ashborough's, and walked immediately into the drawing-room, where, although the earl himself had breakfasted and gone out, Beauchamp had soon the pleasure of holding his sister in his arms.
Although Maria Beauchamp was not in the least surprised to see him, as she had long before received convincing assurances of his safety--and though she was as light a hearted girl as ever danced through life, unconscious of its sorrows--yet when she first met her brother, after all the dangers he had encountered, the tears rose up in her eyes, from the more vivid impression which his presence produced upon her mind of the loss she would have suffered had the report of his death been true.
The conversation between Henry and Maria Beauchamp was long, and to them highly interesting; and had the world ever been known to forgive those who write dialogues between brothers and sisters, it should have been here transcribed for general edification. In the course of it, Maria made herself acquainted with a great many of the secrets of her brother's heart, and, in return, gave him a far more clear and minute insight into all the views and designs of Lord Ashborough and his worthy agent, Mr. Peter Tims, than Beauchamp had imagined so gay and careless a girl could have been shrewd enough to obtain. From her quick-sightedness in all those particulars, however, in which the interests of William Delaware were concerned, Beauchamp concluded--a result which his sister certainly neither wished nor anticipated--that the surmise of his good lawyer, Mr. Wilkinson, was not so far wrong as he had at first imagined; and he paused, musing with a smile over all the events that yet might be in the wheel of fortune.
The anatomy of a smile is sometimes a curious thing, and that which then played upon Beauchamp's lip was not without its several parts and divisions. In the first place, the idea of his gay, smart, and dashing sister falling in love with a frank, straightforward, simple-hearted sailor, who had neither rank nor fortune to offer her, made him smile. In the next place, he felt the slightest possible shade of disappointment at the idea of Maria Beauchamp not marrying the marquis of this, or the earl of that; and the very absurdity of such a feeling in his bosom, of all the bosoms in the world, made him smile at himself; and the two smiles blended together. The third part of the smile, and which was the purest part too, proceeded from many a sweet feeling and bland hope which rose up when he suffered his mind's eye to gaze on into futurity, and thought of the varied sorts of happiness it might be in the power of him and his to bestow on a noble and generous race, weighed down by long misfortunes.
As soon as all these feelings had had their moment and were gone, and he had given his sister an account of his wondrous accidents by flood and field--Beauchamp wrote a brief note to his uncle, informing him of his return, and then
"Nil actum reputans si quid superesset agendum."
he set forth with all speed to his lawyer's chambers, in order to carry on the whole proceedings in exculpation of William Delaware, as rapidly as possible.
In regard to his conversation with Mr. Wilkinson, it may be only necessary to notice, that Beauchamp found, that with prompt and judicious zeal, that gentleman, on discovering that some thoughts were really entertained at the Admiralty of inflicting a signal disgrace upon Captain Delaware for his evasion, had waited personally on the First Lord, and had laid before him that part of his client's deposition which admitted, in the clearest manner, that the money had been placed by Beauchamp himself in the young officer's room; thus showing, that the chief circumstance of suspicion was taken from the evidence. He farther informed him that Beauchamp had discovered the real murderers, and was at that moment in pursuit of them; and he ended by beseeching him to pause ere he took any step in the proceedings which rumor declared to be in agitation.
He was met, in every respect, with frank and gentlemanly courtesy, and was assured that nothing could be more gratifying to his majesty than to find just cause for suspending that expression of his indignation against any officer in his service which the stern voice of justice could alone compel him to publish.
So far every thing was satisfactory. "And now," said Beauchamp, "all that remains to be done for the present, is to open the eyes of my uncle to the conduct of this base attorney of his."
"Spare us! spare us! Mr. Beauchamp, I beg," said Mr. Wilkinson. "But, without attempting to defend attorneys, who, as a body, have got a bad name, not so much, I believe, from having more rogues among them than are to be found in other professions, but from having greater opportunities of roguery, allow me to say that I am afraid you will find it a difficult thing to open your uncle's eyes."
"Why, why, my dear sir?" demanded Beauchamp; "we can prove the facts. Tell me why?"
"Oh, for many reasons," answered Mr. Wilkinson, musing, and perhaps not exactly liking to state the real basis of his opinion. "The fact is, it is like eating garlic, Mr. Beauchamp, or drinking spirits, or taking any other of those things which a man nauseates at first, but gets very fond of by degrees--when a person grows fond of a rogue he gradually gets to like him beyond any one else, and soon finds he can not do without him."
Beauchamp smiled, though there was a slight sort of mistiness about the conclusion of Mr. Wilkinson's illustration which he did not exactly like. However, he pressed him no farther and having learned that Lord Ashborough was carrying on a suit against Sir Sidney Delaware in regard to the annuity, with somewhat sharper measures than the generality of the profession considered reputable, he obtained the bill for ten thousand pounds which Mr. Tims had presented in lieu of the money due from the earl, and then returned to his uncle's dwelling.
Lord Ashborough was now at home; and although Miss Beauchamp had broke the news of her brother's return, and added a number of reasons and apologies for his not having sooner communicated the fact of his safety, the earl was still both agitated and offended, and his reception of Beauchamp showed a strange mixture of pride, and irritation, and pleasure.
"And pray, Henry, may I ask--" he said, after their first salutations were over--"may ask, I say--for your movements and their causes may both require the same diplomatic secrecy which you have of late so skillfully displayed--may I ask, I say, why you were pleased to conceal your existence from your nearest relations? Your sister has, indeed, already favored me with so many reasons, that I confess I have become puzzled and bewildered by the number, and would fain hear your own motives from your own lips."
Beauchamp was not a man to make any excuse to any one, if he had not a true one ready at his hand. In the present instance, he thought it best to tell Lord Ashborough the simple truth, and then leave him to receive it as an excuse or not, as he might think best; taking care, at the same time, to word it with all due respect and kindness, in deference to the affection which he knew his uncle felt toward him.
"The fact is, my dear sir," he answered, "for the first fortnight or three weeks after you had fancied me drowned, I was not at all aware of such a report. I was first detained at a cottage, with a dislocated ankle, and next ill of a fever at Hartford Bridge; and at the time I learned the rumor of my own death I was under the absolute necessity of going to Paris, in order to pursue the miscreants who committed the horrid murder, of which you have heard, at Ryebury. As I was the only person who could prove the facts against them, or lead to their apprehension, the rumor of my death I knew would throw them off their guard; and therefore it was necessary to leave it uncontradicted. Besides--"
"But, surely," interrupted Lord Ashborough, who, though strongly inclined to inquire farther concerning the murderers, was resolved to press Beauchamp home in the first instance. "But surely you could have trusted to my discretion in the business."
"Undoubtedly, my lord!" replied Beauchamp; "and I need not tell you that, under any ordinary circumstances, you would have been the very first person to whom I should have communicated my situation, and whom I should have consulted in what I was undertaking."
Lord Ashborough bowed his bead with a placable smile, and Beauchamp continued--"But I could only have done so by writing to you, or by coming to see you. The latter, of course, was out of the question; for I was not willing to trust my secret to your host of servants, and to write was equally impossible, as there were circumstances to explain which could only be done personally."
"How so? Why so?" demanded the earl.
"That is what I was about to explain," answered Beauchamp. "The fact is, that the man of all others whose greatest interest it was to foil me in endeavoring to bring the murderers to justice--with the exception, of course, of the murderers themselves--is your confidential man of business and lawyer, Mr. Peter Tims."
Lord Ashborough started; for though this carried him back again to the subject of the murderers, it was not exactly in the way he best liked. "You are mistaken, Henry," he said; "quite mistaken! No man has been more anxious in thought, or more strenuous in exertion, than Mr. Tims, to bring the murderers of his uncle to justice--you forget their near relationship, and he is a great deal too--too--too--"
Lord Ashborough would fain have added, "Too honest a man!" but the words stuck in his throat, and, as he paused, Beauchamp finished the sentence for him--"Too great a rogue, my lord, he most certainly is, ever to think of relationship where interest is concerned. I found that out some time ago, ere I took the step of removing my affairs from his hands to those of Messrs. Steelyard and Wilkinson."
Lord Ashborough drew himself up--"I believe, sir," he said, "that I have not acquired the character in the world of a man who is likely to employ a rogue, either from folly or knavery. But, as you have brought a serious accusation against my ordinary man of business, I shall of course expect you to substantiate it fully."
"That I will do completely to your lordship's satisfaction," replied Beauchamp; "and indeed, I trust you will believe me, my dear uncle, when I assure you, that the certainty of this man having, by a gross misrepresentation of facts, involved you in circumstances, which will be very painful to you when you learn all the details, is the great inducement which makes me accuse your agent at once to yourself, before I take such measures as must expose him to the world."
Beauchamp paused; but his intimate acquaintance with his uncle's character had given him a sort of intuitive insight into what was passing in his mind, and had revealed a great many secrets which, as his nephew, he would rather not have learned, but which of course he acted upon in his transactions with the noble earl. In the present instance, he clearly perceived that Lord Ashborough's vanity was getting irritable at the very idea of having been cheated, and that, at the same time, curiosity and anxiety were both striving hard to keep vanity down till they were satisfied; but that vanity being the strongest, was likely to have her own way. Under these circumstances, Beauchamp thought it would be best to throw in a little soothing matter to quiet the more restive animal of the three, and keep her from kicking. He therefore added, after a very brief pause, "I know, my lord, that the plans of this man, which could deceive even your sagacity, must have been very deeply and artfully laid; and unless"--he added, anxious not to assume superior wisdom--"and unless accident and his own imprudence had thrown into my hands the means of establishing his knavery beyond a doubt, I should not have ventured to make such a charge as I have brought against him. I know, however, that you are too candid not to yield to conviction; and my purpose is to request that you would call him to your presence, and suffer me to ask him a question or two before you."
"Of course, Henry," replied the earl, "I am not only willing, but anxious in the highest degree to give up my mind entirely to truth; for, besides the great personal interest which I have in the honesty of a man to whom I confide so much as to this Mr. Tims, the abstract love of severe and impartial justice also, requires that I should hear any evidence that can be brought in support of so grave a charge, so boldly made. But tell me," he continued, feeling that there were particular points on which he would not particularly like to have his agent questioned in his presence; "tell me, do the questions you intend to put refer to any affairs of mine, or to affairs of your own!--for I know you have several times employed this Mr. Tims. If to mine, I must say nay, most decidedly; for I can permit no one either to investigate or interfere with business which I am competent to manage myself."
"My questions will refer entirely to business of my own, my lord," replied Beauchamp. "With yours, I should never presume to meddle, though I feel perfectly convinced that you would not have proceeded at law against Sir Sidney Delaware for a sum that had been already paid to your agent, had you not been persuaded by an infamous villain that, the money received did not constitute a legal payment, inasmuch as he affirmed that it was the fruits of a robbery."
Lord Ashborough turned a little pale; but he had canvassed the matter so often with Mr. Tims, and considered all the contingencies so accurately, that he was prepared at every point for defense. "Nay, Henry, nay," he said, assuming a benignant smile--"Nay; I see which way your prejudices lead you. The most connected evidence would not convince either yourself or your sister of that unhappy young man's guilt--but even taking the converse of the matter, and supposing that he has been accused erroneously, still you do great injustice to the poor little lawyer, who surely commits no great crime in believing a man to be guilty, against whom a coroner's jury, after calm investigation and mature deliberation, have given a verdict of willful murder."
"In the first place, my lord," replied Beauchamp coolly, "in regard to William Delaware, as I know your lordship would be as much delighted to see his innocence clearly established as any one--"
"Oh, certainly, certainly!" interrupted the earl, with all the energy that a man adds to a falsehood in order to make it weigh as much as truth. "Certainly--let justice be done, and let the innocent be cleared!"
"Well, then," added Beauchamp, with the slightest possible touch of causticity in his manner, "you will be delighted to hear, that there remains not the slightest doubt of William Delaware's innocence. In the first place, I myself was encountered by the murderers at the very door of the dead man's house; was carried off by them, after being knocked down and stunned; which facts I can distinctly prove against at least two of them. In the next place I have the confession of one in my writing-desk; and, in the third place, three of them are by this time at Dover, on their way to trial. The fourth is in Paris, but in safe hands, too, and will come over to give his testimony as king's evidence."
Lord Ashborough again turned pale; and while he declared that he trusted most sincerely it would prove as his nephew anticipated, he rang the bell, and, in an under tone, bade the servant bring him some of the drops to which we have before seen him apply.
Beauchamp's next sentences, however, were in some degree a relief, for they afforded a fair hope of being able to cast all the blame upon Mr. Tims, should it be rendered necessary by any after-disclosures. "So much for that matter, my lord," added his nephew; "and of course I can not blame Mr. Tims for not divining all the evidence that might ultimately be collected to exculpate Captain Delaware. But what I intend to establish is, that at the very time that he, Mr. Tims, was retaining--under the pretense that the money was a part of his uncle's property--a sum which of right belonged to you, having been paid in redemption of the Emberton annuity--that at the very time he was urging you on, to proceed severely against a family which he taught you to believe was criminal--that while he was doing all this, he was perfectly well aware that the money did not belong to his uncle; that it had never been the fruits of robbery; and that I must have placed it in the chamber of Captain Delaware, as that gentleman himself asserted."
"If you can prove that, Henry," replied his uncle, "I will admit that I have been most grossly deceived, and will abandon the fellow forever; but I should like to hear what evidence you can bring forward in corroboration of these assertions."
"You shall hear, my lord, to-morrow, if you will order him to be here after breakfast," replied Beauchamp. "You must confront the accuser and the accused, before you judge--and in the mean time, as I intend to dine with you, I will go and dress, for it is growing late."
The Earl of Ashborough was a good deal disturbed, as the reader who remembers all the transactions which had before occurred, may easily imagine. His nephew's return had certainly been a very joyful event; but it was not unaccompanied by many drawbacks. Thus there was the probable overthrow of all his schemes against the Delawares, a considerable loss of money, which was painful to the noble earl just in proportion as his fortune was immense; and last, not least, there was a chance--a strong chance--of certain unpleasant imputations lighting on his character, and of certain disclosures being made in regard to his plans, which he would rather have died to avoid than live to see.
The hatred which had rooted itself so deeply in his heart against Sir Sidney Delaware, had lost none of its freshness--the spirit of revenge kindled long ago, and fed with a thousand slight circumstances through a long lapse of years, had lost none of its intensity; but still, for the time, the fear of shame and dishonor was paramount, and the earl cursed the day in which he had been tempted to risk one rash step in pursuit of vengeance.
He determined, however, to lay the whole blame upon Mr. Tims, and if Beauchamp could prove the lawyer had reason to know that Captain Delaware was innocent, to affect vast indignation at his conduct; and to cast him off with all those signs of abhorrence and contempt which would exculpate himself in the eyes of the world from any participation in his evil designs. Of the pecuniary loss, too, which he was likely to suffer by the whole affair, he resolved to make the most, as a proof that he had been himself deceived and plundered; and by exclaiming loudly against the perfidy of his agent, to cast a dark shade of suspicion upon every assertion that Mr. Tims might make, as springing from the mere malice of a discharged agent. There was one subject of self-gratulation in Lord Ashborough's breast, which was doubly sweet, as it flattered his ideas of his own wisdom, and afforded the best point in his situation with regard to Mr. Tims. This was the fact of never having committed himself on paper, in regard to the family of Sir Sidney Delaware, or his purposes of revenge against them, and he resolved to make the most of that also.
After long consideration of all these particulars, he believed that he could luckily act toward his lawyer exactly as if he himself had been perfectly pure and spotless in the whole transaction. He accordingly sent off a note to Mr. Tims, requesting his presence at eleven o'clock on the following day, having determined that, in the first instance, he would give the attorney every sort of gentlemanly support in his encounter with Beauchamp; but that, if he found Beauchamp's charge could be made good against the lawyer, he would instantly throw him off, dismiss him from his employment, and treat him with proud and indignant contempt.
All these thoughts occupied him some time, and it was late before he entered the drawing-room, where his nephew and niece were already waiting; but the space thus employed had fully restored his equanimity, and the dinner passed over with a degree of cheerfulness and ease on his part, which Beauchamp had almost doubted that his uncle would be able to maintain. The evening was equally tranquil; his wandering nephew's adventures seemed to afford Lord Ashborough fully as much matter of interest and amusement as it did to Miss Beauchamp, and their party broke up late, after a pleasant and a tranquil night.
The next morning, the earl perhaps felt a little nervous; but he had that most blessed quality, which was very probably the subject of the Scotch pedlar's aspirations, when he added to his prayers, "God send us a good conceit of ourselves;" and being very far from ever thinking that he could, by any chance, have acted grossly amiss, he soon recovered from his more serious apprehensions of the world's censure, though he admitted that occasionally mankind did put a misconstruction on the most virtuous conduct; but he trusted that his own character was too well established to permit of such a result.
With this proud consciousness--we can not say of virtue--but at least of an established reputation, which often does quite as well, the earl proceeded after breakfast to his library, accompanied by his nephew, and, ringing the bell, desired to know whether Mr. Tims had arrived. The servant replied in the negative; and, after having ordered the lawyer to be admitted when he did appear, he turned to Beauchamp, observing that the fellow had grown somewhat negligent of late, since he had succeeded to his uncle's fortune.
The earl had scarcely concluded his sentence, when Mr. Tims himself appeared at the door, bowing low, with habitual reverence for Turkey carpets and ormolu, even before he was completely in the room. On seeing Beauchamp, which he did the very next moment--as that gentleman had placed himself at the bay window, and turned round on hearing the door open--Mr. Tims had nearly fallen prostrate on the floor; and pale, pale, pale, did he become, with the exception of the red climax to his nose, which remained of its own ruby hue, while all around grew, white. His impudence, however, which was a very phœnix, and was ever renewed from its own ashes, came instantly to his aid; and, advancing with a smile of simpering joy, he exclaimed, "Goodness, Mr. Beauchamp! I am surprised, sir, and delighted to see you. We all thought you drowned!"
"Of your surprise, Mr. Tims," replied Beauchamp, "I have no doubt; of your delight, I am not quite so sure; and as to my being drowned, I know every one believed it, and no one more thoroughly than yourself, Mr. Tims."
"I beg pardon, sir!--I beg pardon!--but you seem offended," said Mr. Tims, assuming the aspect of injured innocence. "I meant no offense, sir--my lord, have I said any thing offensive?"
"No, Mr. Tims! No!" replied Lord Ashborough. "Be so good as to take a seat, sir; I am inclined to believe that my nephew misconceives you; but he will explain himself, for it is on his business I sent for you."
"Oh, is that the case!" exclaimed the lawyer, who began to feel somewhat perplexed at his situation. "If your lordship had let me know that such was your purpose, I might have come prepared."
"I acted, Mr. Tims, as I thought best," answered the peer, coldly; "and I confess I do not see what need you could have for preparation."
"Why, I do think, sir, all things considered," replied the lawyer--"I do think your lordship might have given me intimation, as the business in which I am engaged on your lordship's account--"
"Has nothing on earth to do with my nephew, nor my nephew with it, Mr. Tims!" replied Lord Ashborough, sternly. "We will keep to the point, sir, if you please. Henry, you said you had some questions to ask this person; you had better ask them."
"Person!" muttered Mr. Tims, fidgeting on his chair. "Person!" but he had soon more serious matter to think of; for Beauchamp, approaching the table, sat down at the side next the window, and taking out his pocket-book, spoke in a calm, mild tone, which had grown infinitely more moderate than at first, as he saw the terrible agitation under which the unhappy man labored.
"Now, Mr. Tims," he said, "I neither want to puzzle you nor to annoy you, by what I am going to ask; but there are certain matters on which you must give a full explanation, both for my satisfaction and my uncle's--"
"No, no, Henry, pardon me!" interrupted the earl; "the business is yours alone--I am perfectly satisfied for my part--I have heard a charge, but no proof; and, consequently, I should be doing injustice to Mr. Tims were I to be dissatisfied."
"My lord, the business is certainly mine," replied Beauchamp; "but it is also yours to the extent of at least ten thousand pounds, if not more--but to the point. My first question is, Mr. Tims, how you came to detain, upon the pretense that it had been stolen from your uncle, the sum of twenty-five thousand pounds, paid by Sir Sidney Delaware to you, as Lord Ashborough's agent, when, at the time you detained it upon that pretext, you perfectly well knew that it had not been stolen, and that it had been put in Captain Delaware's room by me?"
"But I never knew any such thing, sir!" replied Mr. Tims. "I believed, as every body else believed, that Captain Delaware, when he murdered my poor unhappy uncle, had stolen those notes; and permit me to say, sir," he added, assuming a slight touch of bluster--"permit me to say, I had better cause to believe such to be the case, than you have to accuse me of actions I should despise, sir. What reason had I to suppose you placed the money there?"
"Nay, nay, Mr. Tims," said Beauchamp, calmly, "do not lose your temper; remember, sir, passion may throw you off your guard, and you will yet have occasion for all your wit in your exculpation. You ask what reason you had to suppose I placed the money in Captain Delaware's room; I will tell you, Mr. Tims. First, because, among your uncle's papers, you found an acquittance in my handwriting for the sum of fifteen thousand pounds, received by him on my account from Messrs. Steelyard and Wilkinson--"
"But, sir! But, sir!" cried Mr. Tims.
"Do not interrupt me, sir," said Beauchamp. "Next, I say, because you found a note of hand signed by me for the sum of ten thousand pounds, advanced to me by your uncle, and dated on the very day on which he was murdered, poor man!"
"But listen to me, Henry," said Lord Ashborough. "All this does not show that Mr. Tims knew that these several sums had been appropriated by you in the somewhat Quixotical manner that, as it proves, they were employed."
"It is, at least, a strong presumption that he might have known it if he had liked," replied Beauchamp; adding, with a smile, "especially when he knew me to be of a Quixotical disposition, and when William Delaware himself pointed me out as the only person likely to have placed them there--but you must remember, also, that the sum was precisely the same, and that, knowing I had received it--"
"I must once more interrupt you, Mr. Beauchamp," said the lawyer, with a dignified air; "but you are, and have been assuming as facts what are not facts. I _did not_ know that you had received that sum--I found no document--at least, I have as yet found no document among my late uncle's papers, which refers to the sum of fifteen thousand pounds received on your account, and handed over to you in due course; and therefore, sir, the basis of your argument is erroneous, although--as my noble patron declares, with his usual candor and perspicuity--even were it all true--had I discovered by the papers of which you speak, that my uncle had paid you the precise sum, still I had no proof that there was any connection between that fact and the payment made to me at Emberton Park."
"There was a strong presumption, at least, Mr. Tims," replied Beauchamp, who had listened with the utmost calmness; "and I certainly can not prove that you have found the document referring to the fifteen thousand pounds, _as yet_. Allow me to compliment you on the introduction of those two words--I certainly can not prove that you have found my acquittance to your uncle."
"Well, then, Henry," said the earl, with a benign smile to Mr. Tims, "I think your evidence halts."
"Your pardon, my lord," replied Beauchamp; "I am only disposing of one part of the subject first--you may not have found it, Mr. Tims, _as yet_; but let me tell you, sir, that you must find it, or account to my solicitors for fifteen thousand pounds received by your late uncle on my account."
Mr. Tims turned very red; for he saw that he was nearer to the horns of that ugly beast, a dilemma, than he had imagined. Still, however, he thought that he had triumphantly opposed Beauchamp's charge, and therefore he replied, with a very tolerable degree of coolness, "I will search for the papers, sir, and of course act according to the best of my judgment afterward."
"And in the mean time, Mr. Tims," continued Beauchamp, "we will speak of the ten thousand pounds which I received from your uncle. I think you acknowledge, or at least tacitly admit, that you found my note of hand for that amount among your uncle's papers--indeed, it was only extraordinary that you should overlook the acquittance, which was pinned to the note, and which you must have separated from it before you got it stamped, and presented it to my solicitors, in payment of the sum of ten thousand pounds due to me by Lord Ashborough, as the balance of our guardianship account."
Mr. Tims's face grew red, and white, and yellow, and blue, by turns. Never was there such a prismatic complexion as Beauchamp's last speech produced.
Lord Ashborough watched them all, and then demanded. "Did you presume, sir, to stop money which I commissioned you to pay, in the way to which Mr. Beauchamp alludes?"
Mr. Tims was _aux abois_, and consequently he turned upon the weakest of his pursuers. "I did, indeed, my lord," he said, in a significant tone--"I did it for the best, both in accordance with your lordship's views and interests, and my own poor judgment; and I am perfectly ready to explain my motives either to your lordship alone, or in the presence of your nephew."
Lord Ashborough changed color also; and bowing his head haughtily, he said, "that is unnecessary, Mr. Tims, we will speak of all that concerns myself hereafter."
"Oh, just as your lordship pleases!" said the lawyer--"I have nothing to conceal."
"I am glad to hear it," said Beauchamp, willing to spare his uncle any unpleasant discussion, "I am glad to hear it, sir; for now we come to the most inexplicable part of the whole transaction. I say inexplicable, because it is quite so to me, how a man of your sagacity could commit such an oversight as, at the very time he was accusing an innocent person of murder--at the very time he was retaining in his hands twenty-five thousand pounds unjustly, on the plea that they had been stolen--at the very time he was carrying on two ruinous suits at law against an honorable man for money which had been already paid--I say, that it is inexplicable to me, how, at the very time he was doing all this, he should commit such an oversight as to present to my solicitors this note of hand, on the back of which is written, in my own writing, the numbers and dates of all the notes I received from his uncle, and which are the numbers and dates of the very notes that he was at that time attempting to show were stolen. Look at it, my lord, and read:--'Numbers and dates of notes received from Mr. Tims of Ryebury'--and conceive how avarice must have taken hold of a man, ere he could commit such an egregious blunder. Why, Mr. Tims, could you not wait a few days--a week, a fortnight, even a month--to make sure that the fishes had me safe, before you presented this note? By Heaven, I should have thought such a thing impossible, had I not often, or rather always seen, that, by what would seem a law of Providence, the most egregious rogues are always sure to leave some door open to detection."
Mr. Tims had remained as one struck dumb--not that he had overlooked the fact which Beauchamp now brought forward; for he had remarked it from the first, and knew that it might speak strongly against him; but the desire of retaining the ten thousand pounds had blinded his eyes to one-half the consequences, and diminished his estimation of the other--had made him confidently believe that Beauchamp was really drowned, and that if he were not, he would never remember the memorandum he had made on the night which gave birth to so many events. The folly of his conduct, however, now appeared to him in the most forcible manner, and for the moment completely overpowered him. Quirks, quibbles, evasions, impudence itself, all deserted him, till, by the most fortunate chance in the world, Beauchamp pronounced the word rogue, which instantly called anger to his aid.
"Rogue, sir! Rogue!" he exclaimed, starting up, while the whiteness of consternation was succeeded in his countenance by the rubicundity of wrath, "Rogue, sir! The word is actionable! Did you call me a rogue!"
It was too much for human patience. "Yes, sir!" replied Beauchamp, "I did! and I do! I call you a rogue, because I have proved you one! I look upon you as a contemptible blackguard, as I have long done; and if you stare in my face with that air one moment more, I will kick you from that door into Grosvenor-square--and the passage is a long one!"
Mr. Tims instantly dropped his eyes to the ground, and Lord Ashborough interfered. "You are too warm, Henry!" he said, seeing evidently that Mr. Tims must be given up, said therefore that he might as well assume the character of the dignified, unimpassioned judge. "You are too warm! but you have made out your charge most completely. Mr. Tims, you are no longer my solicitor. You must have known, sir, that this Captain Delaware, whatever faults he may have, and whatever crimes he may have committed, had not obtained the notes in question by robbing your uncle--you must have known it, sir--you could not help knowing it; and I conceive that your having deceived me into taking a great many steps which might bring my character into disrepute, if it were not, thank God pretty well established--I say, I conceive your having done so, to be more base and criminal than even the sort of frauds you have committed in regard to the different sums of money--which, depend upon it, shall be strictly investigated."
Loud insolence not having proved at all successful, Mr. Tims now resorted to dogged impudence. "Your lordship may find cause, upon a little reflection," he said, moving gradually toward the door, "to make your measures toward me somewhat more lenient than you propose. I should be sorry to injure your lordship's well _established character_; but, of course, if I am attacked, I must defend myself; and I will take care that my defense shall be public enough. There are two or three little transactions, which your lordship will think over, and determine upon having laid open or not, as you please."
"Do you hear the fellow's insolence?" demanded the earl, turning with a half-smile toward his nephew. "Mr. Tims," he added, "you are scarcely worthy of contempt. I fear no true statement of any thing I have done; and I shall take care, if you make any false one, that you shall be severely punished. You have deceived me, sir, grossly; you have represented people to me as criminal, who were really innocent; and you have labored to stir up my indignation against them for your own base purposes. Do not answer me, sir, but quit the room and the house; and I shall take care that your accounts be called for, and examined by one who will look into them thoroughly."
Thus saying, the earl, with a proud and dignified wave of the hand, pointed to the door. Mr. Tims would fain have added a few words more; but Lord Ashborough waved him forth again; and there was also a cloud lowering upon Henry Beauchamp's brow, which boded no very pleasant results from farther insolence; so that, upon second thoughts, Mr. Tims judged it best to make his exit tranquilly. This he was suffered to do; and the door closed upon him forever.