Authors: George W. M. Reynolds,James Malcolm Rymer
"You
might well do so," said the doctor.
"You
see," added Henry, "that from here the fullest view you have of any
of the windows of the house is of that of Flora's room, as we have always
called it, because for years she had had it as her chamber; and, when all the
vegetation of summer is in its prime, and the vine which you perceive crawls
over this summer-house is full of leaf and fruit, the view is so much hindered
that it is difficult, without making an artificial gap in the clustering
foliage, to see anything but the window."
"So
I should imagine," replied Mr. Chillingworth.
"You,
doctor," added Henry, "who know much of my family, need not be told
what sort of man my father was."
"No,
indeed."
"But
you, Admiral Bell, who do not know, must be told, and, however grievous it may
be to me to have to say so, I must inform you that he was not a man who would
have merited your esteem."
"Well,"
said the admiral, "you know, my boy, that can make no difference as
regards you in anybody's mind, who has got the brains of an owl. Every man's
credit, character, and honour, to my thinking, is in his own most special
keeping, and let your father be what he might, or who he might, I do not see
that any conduct of his ought to raise upon your cheek the flush of shame, or
cost you more uneasiness than ordinary good feeling dictates to the errors and
feelings of a fellow creature."
"If
all the world," said Henry, "would take such liberal and
comprehensive views as you do, admiral, it would be much happier than it is;
but such is not the case, and people are but too apt to blame one person for
the evil that another has done."
"Ah,
but," said Mr. Chillingworth, "it so happens that those are the
people whose opinions are of the very least consequence."
"There
is some truth in that," said Henry, sadly; "but, however, let me
proceed; since I have to tell the tale, I could wish it over. My father, then,
Admiral Bell, although a man not tainted in early life with vices, became, by
the force of bad associates, and a sort of want of congeniality and sentiment
that sprang up between him and my mother, plunged into all the excesses of his
age."
"These
excesses were all of that character which the most readily lay hold strongly of
an unreflecting mind, because they all presented themselves in the garb of
sociality.
"The
wine cup is drained in the name of good fellowship; money which is wanted for
legitimate purposes is squandered under the mask of a noble and free
generosity, and all that the small imaginations of a number of persons of
perverted intellects could enable them to do, has been done from time to time,
to impart a kind of lustre to intemperance and all its dreadful and criminal
consequences.
"My
father, having once got into the company of what he considered wits and men of
spirit, soon became thoroughly vitiated. He was almost the only one of the set
among whom he passed what he considered his highly convivial existence, who was
really worth anything, pecuniarily speaking. There were some among them who might
have been respectable men, and perchance carved their way to fortune, as well
as some others who had started in life with good patrimonies; but he, my
father, at the time he became associated with them, was the only one, as I say,
who, to use a phrase I have heard myself from his lips concerning them, had got
a feather to fly with.
"The
consequence of this was, that his society, merely for the sake of the animal
gratification of drinking at his expense was courted, and he was much
flattered, all of which he laid to the score of his own merits, which had been
found out, and duly appreciated by these
bon
vivants
, while he considered that the grave admonitions of his real friends
proceeded from nothing in the world but downright envy and malice.
"Such
a state of things as this could not last very long. The associates of my father
wanted money as well as wine, so they introduced him to the gaming-table, and
he became fascinated with the fearful vice to an extent which predicted his own
destruction and the ruin of every one who was in any way dependent upon him.
"He
could not absolutely sell Bannerworth Hall, unless I had given my consent,
which I refused; but he accumulated debt upon debt, and from time to time
stripped the mansion of all its most costly contents.
"With
various mutations of fortune, he continued this horrible and baneful career for
a long time, until, at last, he found himself utterly and irretrievably ruined,
and he came home in an agony of despair, being so weak, and utterly ruined in
constitution, that he kept his bed for many days.
"It
appeared, however, that something occurred at this juncture which gave him
actually, or all events awakened a hope that he should possess some money, and
be again in a position to try his fortune at the gaming-table.
"He
rose, and, fortifying himself once more with the strong stimulant of wine and
spirits, he left his home, and was absent for about two months.
"What
occurred to him during that time we none of us ever knew, but late one night he
came home, apparently much flurried in manner, and seeming as if something had
happened to drive him half mad.
"He
would not speak to any one, but he shut himself up the whole of the night in
the chamber where hangs the portrait that bears so strong a resemblance to Sir
Francis Varney, and there he remained till the morning, when he emerged, and
said briefly that he intended to leave the country.
"He
was in a most fearful state of nervousness, and my mother tells me that he
shook like one in an ague, and started at every little sound that occurred in
the house, and glared about him so wildly that it was horrible to see him, or
to sit in the same apartment with him.
"She
says that the whole morning passed on in this way till a letter came to him,
the contents of which appeared to throw him into a perfect convulsion of
terror, and he retired again to the room with the portrait, where he remained
some hours, and then he emerged, looking like a ghost, so dreadfully pale and
haggard was he.
"He
walked into the garden here, and was seen to sit down in this summer-house, and
fix his eyes upon the window of that apartment."
Henry
paused for a few moments, and then he added,—
"You
will excuse me from entering upon any details of what next ensued in the
melancholy history. My father here committed suicide. He was found dying, and
all I he words he spoke were, 'The money is hidden!' Death claimed his victim,
and, with a convulsive spasm, he resigned his spirit, leaving what he had
intended to say hidden in the oblivion of the grave."
"That
was an odd affair," said the admiral.
"It
was, indeed. We have all pondered deeply, and the result was, that, upon the
whole, we were inclined to come to an opinion that the words he so uttered were
but the result of the mental disturbance that at such a moment might well be
supposed to be ensuing in the mind, and that they related really to no foregone
fact any more than some incoherent words uttered by a man in a dream might be
supposed to do."
"It
may be so."
"I
do not mean," remarked Mr. Chillingworth, "for one moment to attempt
to dispute, Henry, the rationality of such an opinion as you have just given
utterance to; but you forget that another circumstance occurred, which gave a
colour to the words used by your father."
"Yes;
I know to what you allude."
"Be
so good as to state it to the admiral."
"I
will. On the evening of that same day there came a man here, who, in seeming
ignorance of what had occurred, although by that time it was well known to all
the neighbourhood, asked to see my father.
"Upon
being told that he was dead, he started back, either with well acted or with
real surprise, and seemed to be immensely chagrined. He then demanded to know
if he had left any disposition of his property; but he got no information, and
departed muttering the most diabolical oaths and curses that can be imagined.
He mounted his horse, for he had ridden to the Hall and his last words were, as
I am told—
"'Where,
in the name of all that's damnable, can he have put the money!'"
"And
did you never find out who this man was?" asked the admiral.
"Never."
"It
is an odd affair."
"It
is," said Mr. Chillingworth, "and full of mystery. The public mind
was much taken up at the time with some other matters, or it would have made
the death of Mr. Bannerworth the subject of more prolific comment than it did.
As it was, however, a great deal was said upon the subject, and the whole
comity was in a state of commotion for weeks afterwards."
"Yes,"
said Henry; "it so happened that about that very time a murder was
committed in the neighbourhood of London, which baffled all the exertions of
the authorities to discover the perpetrators of. It was the murder of Lord
Lorne."
"Oh!
I remember," said the admiral; "the newspapers were full of it for a
long time."
"They
were; and so, as Mr. Chillingworth says, the more exciting interest which that
affair created drew off public attention, in a great measure, from my father's
suicide, and we did not suffer so much from public remark and from impertinent
curiosity as might have been expected."
"And,
in addition," said Mr. Chillingworth, and he changed colour a little as he
spoke, "there was an execution shortly afterwards."
"Yes,"
said Henry, "there was."
"The
execution of a man named Angerstein," added Mr. Chillingworth, "for a
highway robbery, attended with the most brutal violence."
"True;
all the affairs of that period of time are strongly impressed upon my
mind," said Henry; "but you do not seem well, Mr.
Chillingworth."
"Oh,
yes; I am quite well—you are mistaken."
Both
the admiral and Henry looked scrutinizingly at the doctor, who certainly
appeared to them to be labouring under some great mental excitement, which he
found it almost beyond his power to repress.
"I
tell you what it is, doctor," said the admiral; "I don't pretend, and
never did, to see further through a tar-barrel than my neighbours; but I can
see far enough to feel convinced that you have got something on your mind, and
that it somehow concerns this affair."
"Is
it so?" said Henry.
"I
cannot if I would," said Mr. Chillingworth; "and I may with truth
add, that I would not, if I could, hide from you that I have something on my
mind connected with this affair; but let me assure you it would be premature of
me to tell you of it."
"Premature
be d——d!" said the admiral; "out with it."
"Nay,
nay, dear sir; I am not now in a position to say what is passing through my
mind."
"Alter
your position, then, and be blowed!" cried Jack Pringle, suddenly stepping
forward, and giving the doctor such a push, that he nearly went through one of
the sides of the summer-house.
"Why,
you scoundrel!" cried the admiral, "how came you here?"
"On
my legs," said Jack. "Do you think nobody wants to know nothing but
yourself? I'm as fond of a yarn as anybody."
"But
if you are," said Mr. Chillingworth, "you had no occasion to come
against me as if you wanted to move a house."
"You
said as you wasn't in a position to say something as I wanted to hear, so I
thought I'd alter it for you."
"Is
this fellow," said the doctor, shaking his head, as he accosted the admiral,
"the most artful or stupid?"
"A
little of both," said Admiral Bell—"a little of both, doctor. He's a
great fool and a great scamp."
"The
same to you," said Jack; "you're another. I shall hate you presently,
if you go on making yourself so ridiculous. Now, mind, I'll only give you a
trial of another week or so, and if you don't be more purlite in your d—n
language, I'll leave you."
Away
strolled Jack, with his hands in his pockets, towards the house, while the
admiral was half choked with rage, and could only glare after him, without the
ability to say a word.
Under
any other circumstances than the present one of trouble, and difficulty; and
deep anxiety, Henry Bannerworth must have laughed at these singular little
episodes between Jack and the admiral; but his mind was now by far too much
harassed to permit him to do so.
"Let
him go, let him go, my dear sir," said Mr. Chillingworth to the admiral,
who showed some signs of an intention to pursue Jack; "he no doubt has
been drinking again."
"I'll
turn him off the first moment I catch him sober enough to understand me,"
said the admiral.
"Well,
well; do as you please; but now let me ask a favour of both of you."
"What
is it?"
"That
you will leave Bannerworth Hall to me for a week."
"What
for?"
"I
hope to make some discoveries connected with it which shall well reward you for
the trouble."