Ten Thousand a-Year. Volume 3

"What! in the papers already? Is it about that wretch Titmouse?" she inquired with a languid air of disgust.

"No, indeed, Lady Cecilia, Mr. Titmouse has nothing to do with it," replied Gammon, with a slight inward spasm; and, just as he had succeeded in giving her to understand the cause to which he chose to refer the earl's illness, carriage-wheels were heard, followed in a second or two by a tremendous thundering at the door, which made even Gammon almost start from his chair, and threw Lady Cecilia into a second swoon. It was providential, perhaps, that it had that effect; for had she gone to the windows, and seen her insensible father, with care and difficulty, lifted out of his carriage—his shirt-collar, and a white neck-handkerchief, thrown round his shoulders, partially crimsoned; and in that way, amid a little crowd which had suddenly gathered round, carried into the house, and borne up-stairs to his bed-chamber—it might have had a very serious effect, indeed, upon her Ladyship. Gammon stepped for an instant to the window—he saw the poor old peer in the state I have described, and the sight blanched his cheeks. Leaving her Ladyship in the hands of Miss Macspleuchan, and her attendants, he followed into the earl's bedroom; and was a little relieved, some quarter of an hour afterwards, at finding, that, though the earl was much exhausted with the fatigue of removal, he was in a much more satisfactory state than could have been anticipated. As his Lordship's own physician (who had been summoned instantly on the earl's arrival home) intimated that a little repose was essential to his Lordship, and that no one should remain in the room whose services were not indispensable, Gammon took his departure, after an anxious inquiry as to Lady Cecilia—intending to return before night, personally to ascertain the state of the earl and her Ladyship.

A mighty sigh escaped from the oppressed bosom of Gammon, as soon as, having quitted the house, he found himself in the street alone. He walked for some minutes straight on, irresolute as to whether he should direct his steps—to his own chambers, to the office in Hatton Garden, or to Mr. Titmouse's residence in Park Lane. At length he determined on returning, in the first instance, to his own chambers, and bent his steps accordingly; his mind so absorbed in thought, that he scarcely saw any one he met or passed. Here was a state of things, thought he, which he had brought about! And what must be his own course now? For a moment or two he was in a state of feeling which we may compare to that of a person who, with ignorant curiosity, has set into motion the machinery of some prodigious engine, which it required but a touch to effect—and then stands suddenly paralyzed—bewildered—confounded at the complicated movements going on all around him, and perhaps the alarming noises accompanying them—not daring to move a hair's-breadth in any direction for fear of destruction. He soon, however, recovered himself, and began very seriously to contemplate the perilous position in which he now found himself placed.

Here was Lord Dreddlington, in the first place, involved to a most alarming extent of liability in respect of his connection with one of the bubble companies, into an alliance with which it was Gammon alone who had seduced him. But he quickly lost sight of that, as a very light matter compared with what had subsequently happened, and the prodigious consequences to which it might possibly lead—and that, too, immediately.

This crisis had been precipitated by an accident—an occurrence which he felt that no man could have foreseen or calculated upon. Certainly it might all be traced to his own oversight in leaving the conveyance of his rent-charge—so all-important a document—upon his table, though for only a minute or two's absence; for he had not quitted his chambers more than five minutes before he had re-entered them, finding the Earl of Dreddlington there—of all persons in the world the very last whom Gammon would have wished to be aware of the existence of such an instrument. Who could have imagined—calculated on such an occurrence? Never before had the earl visited him at his own private residence; and to have come just precisely at the very moment—and yet, thought Gammon, almost starting back a step or two—when one came to think of it—what was more likely than that, on seeing the paragraph in the morning paper, his Lordship should have done the very thing he had, and driven down to Mr. Gammon for an explanation? Bah! thought Mr. Gammon, and stamped his foot on the pavement.

[Ay, Satan, it was a very slippery trick indeed, which you had played this acute friend of yours.]

"But the thing is done; and what am I now to do? What can I do? First of all, there's Titmouse—where is that little miscreant at this moment? Will he follow his wife to Grosvenor Square? Will the earl have recovered, before I can see Titmouse, sufficiently to recollect what has happened? Will they allow him to be admitted into the sick-chamber? Suppose his presence should remind the earl of what he has this day heard? Suppose he should recover his senses—what course will he take? Will he acquaint his daughter that she is married to a vulgar bastard—oh, frightful!—she and he the two proudest persons, perhaps, living! Will they spurn him from them with loathing and horror?—expose the little impostor to the world?—and take God knows what steps against me, for the share I have had in the matter?—Oh, impossible!—inconceivable! They can never blazon their own degradation to the world! Or will Lord Dreddlington have discretion and self-command sufficient to keep the blighting secret to himself? Will he rest satisfied with my statement, or insist on conclusive proof and corroboration? Will he call for vouchers—ah!" here he ground his teeth together, for he recollected the trick which Titmouse had played him in destroying the precious documents already spoken of. "If the little wretch do not hear of what has happened from any one else, shall I tell him that I have communicated his secret to Lord Dreddlington? Fancy him and his wife meeting after they know all!—or him and the earl! Suppose the earl should die—and without having disclosed this secret to any one? Oh, oh! what a godsend would that be! All straight then, to the end of the chapter!—How near it was this morning!—If I had but suffered those two boobies to wrangle together till it was too late!"—A little color came into Mr. Gammon's cheek at this point—as if he felt that perhaps he was then going a trifle too far in entertaining such very—decisive—wishes and regrets: still he could not dismiss the reflection; nay, what was more probable than that so desperate a shock, suffered by a man of his advanced years, might be only the precursor of a second and fatal fit of apoplexy?—Dr. Bailey had expressed some fears of that sort to-day, recollected Gammon!

If Mr. Gammon had seen the watchful eyes at that moment settled upon him, by two persons who were approaching him, and who passed him unobserved; and could have dreamed of the errand which had brought those two persons into that part of the town—it might have set his busy brain upon quite a new track of harassing conjecture and apprehension. But he was far too intently occupied with his thoughts to notice any one, as he walked slowly down Holborn; and some five minutes afterwards, having got to within a hundred yards of Saffron Hill, he was startled out of his meditations by hearing a voice calling out his name—and looking towards the middle of the street, whence the sound came, beheld Mr. Titmouse, beckoning to him eagerly, out of a hackney-coach, which was slowly driving up Holborn, and at Titmouse's bidding drew up to the curb-stone.

"Oh—I say! Mr. Gammon!—'pon my life—here's a precious mess!—Such a devil of a row!"—commenced Titmouse, alarmedly, speaking in a low voice through the coach window.

"What, sir?" inquired Gammon, sternly.

"Why, eh? heard of it? Lady Cicely"–

"I have heard of it, sir," replied Gammon, gloomily—"and I have, in my turn, something of far greater consequence to tell you.—Let the coachman turn back and drive you to my chambers, where I will meet you in a quarter of an hour's time."

"Oh Lord! Won't you get in and tell me now?—Do, Mr. Gam"–

"No, sir!" replied Gammon, almost fiercely, and walked away, leaving Titmouse in a pretty fright.

"Now, shall I tell him, or not?" thought Gammon: and after some minutes' anxious consideration, determined upon doing so—and on threatening him, that if he did not change his courses, so far as money went, he—Gammon—would instantly blast him, by exposure of his real character and circumstances to the whole world. What might be the actual extent of his embarrassments, Gammon knew not, nor was he aware of the fact, that Titmouse was at that moment getting into the hands of swindling money-lenders. In point of dress and manners, he was the same that he had ever been, since fortune had given him the means of dressing according to his fancy, and the fashion; but any one looking at his face, could see in the slightly bloodshot eye, its jaded expression, and the puffy appearance of his face, the results of systematic excess and debauchery. When Gammon joined him at his chambers, and told him the events of the day, Titmouse exhibited affright, that to any other beholder than one so troubled as Gammon, would have appeared ludicrous; but as that gentleman's object was to subdue and terrify his companion into an implicit submission to his will, he dismissed him for the day, simply enjoining him to keep away from Grosvenor Square and Park Lane till an early hour in the ensuing morning—by which time events, which might have happened in the interval, might determine the course which Gammon should dictate to Titmouse. At that time Gammon was strongly inclined to insist on Titmouse's going to the Continent for a little while, to be out of harm's way; but, in fact, he felt dreadfully embarrassed to know how to dispose of Titmouse—regarding him with feelings somewhat, perhaps, akin to those with which Frankenstein beheld his monster.

CHAPTER VIII

But to return to Lord Dreddlington. The remedies resorted to so speedily after his seizure at Mr. Gammon's chambers, had most materially counteracted the effects of the terrible shock which he had sustained, and which, but for such interference, would in all probability have proved fatal in its consequences. Shortly after his removal to his own house, he sank into tranquil and safe sleep, which continued, with a few interruptions, for several hours—during which his brain recovered itself, in a considerable measure, from the sudden and temporary pressure which it had experienced. Towards seven o'clock in the evening, there were sitting, on one side of the bed Miss Macspleuchan, and on the other the Lady Cecilia—who also had rallied from the shock which she had sustained, and now, occasionally shedding tears, sat gazing in melancholy silence at the countenance of her father. She was certainly a miserable young woman,—was Lady Cecilia,—ignorant though she might be of the real extent of disaster consequent upon her alliance with Titmouse, whom she had long hated and despised, on all occasions avoiding his company. Their almost total estrangement was quite notorious in society!

His Lordship's physician had quitted the chamber for a few minutes, to make arrangements for continuing with him during the night; and neither Miss Macspleuchan nor Lady Cecilia had spoken for some time. At length the earl, who had become rather restless, faintly muttered at intervals to himself the words—

"Bubble—villain—Blackwall"–

"You see," whispered Miss Macspleuchan, "what he's thinking of. He dined with those people, you know." Lady Cecilia nodded in silence. Presently his Lordship resumed—

"Account closed!—Call on Mr. Gammon—Is Mr. Gammon at home?"–

The current of his recollections had now brought him to the point of danger; and after pausing for a moment, a troubled expression came over his face—he was evidently realizing the commencement of the terrible scene in Mr. Gammon's room—then he seemed to have lost the train of his thoughts for a while, as his features slowly resumed their previous placidity; but the troubled aspect presently returned: his lips were suddenly compressed, and his brow corrugated, as if with the emotion of anger or indignation.

"Monstrous! Two thousand pounds?" He spoke these words in a much stronger voice than those preceding.

"Oh, dear!—I should have thought his Lordship had lost much more than that," whispered Miss Macspleuchan, in a low tone.

"Insist!—Titmouse—Titmouse"—his lips slightly quivered, and he paused for a while. "Shocking! What will she"–an expression of agony came over his face.

"Poor papa! He's evidently heard it all!" whispered Lady Cecilia, faintly.

"Hush!" exclaimed Miss Macspleuchan, raising her finger to her lips—adding presently, "if he goes on in this way, I shall go and bring in Dr. Whittington."

"Cecilia!—Cecilia!"—continued the earl; and suddenly opening his eyes, gazed forward, and then on each side, with a dull confused stare. Then he closed them, muttering—"I certainly thought Mr. Gammon was here!" Shortly afterwards he opened them again; and his head being inclined towards the side where Lady Cecilia was sitting, they fell upon, and seemed to be arrested by her countenance. After gazing at her for some moments very, very sorrowfully, he again closed his eyes, murmuring—"Poor Cecilia!"

"I really think, my dear, you 'd better leave the room," faltered Miss Macspleuchan; imagining, from the state of her own feelings, that those of Lady Cecilia would be overpowering her—for nothing could be more soul-touching than the tone in which the earl had last spoken.

"No; he's asleep again," replied Lady Cecilia, calmly,—and for a quarter of an hour all was again silent. Then the earl sighed; and opening his eyes, looked full at Lady Cecilia, and with a more natural expression.

"Kiss me, Cecilia," said he, gently; and raising both his arms a little, while she leaned forward and kissed his forehead, he very feebly placed them round her, but they almost immediately sank on the bed again, as if he had not strength to keep them extended.

"We will live together, Cecilia, again," murmured the earl.

"Dear papa, don't distress yourself; if you do, I really must go away from you."

"No, no; you must not, Cecilia," murmured the earl, sadly and faintly, and shaking his head.

"Have you seen him to-day?" he presently asked with a little more energy, as if he were becoming more and more thoroughly awake, and aware of his position; and there was a marked difference in the expression of his eye—partly perplexed, partly alarmed.

"No, papa—I left the moment it happened, and came here; and have been here ever since. Do, dear papa, be calm!" added Lady Cecilia, with perfect composure.

"There!—I am gone blind again," exclaimed the earl, suddenly, and raised his trembling hands to his eyes.

"So you knew it all?" said he, presently, tremulously removing his hands, and looking up, as if the momentary obscuration of his sight had ceased.

"Oh yes, papa, of course! How could I help it? Try to go to sleep again, dear papa." There was a faint dash of petulance in her manner.

They were at terrible cross purposes.

His eye remained fixed steadily on that of his daughter. "Is it not horrible, Cecilia?" said he, with a shudder.

"Dear papa, I don't know what you mean," replied Cecilia, quite startled by the tone of his voice, and the look of his eye. There was nothing wild or unnatural about it. The eye seemed that of a man in his full senses, but horrified by some frightful recollection or other.

"I thought it would have killed her," he muttered, closing his eyes, while a faint flush came over his face, but that of Lady Cecilia turned deadly pale.

"Don't speak again, dear," whispered Miss Macspleuchan, herself a little startled by the earl's manner—"he's wandering—he'll go to sleep presently."

"Yes, in my grave, madam," replied the earl, solemnly, in a hollow tone—at the same time turning towards Miss Macspleuchan an eye which suddenly blanched her face—"but even there I shall not forget!" She gazed at him in silence, and apprehensively, trembling from head to foot.

There ensued a pause of a minute or two.

"Oh, Cecilia!" said the earl, presently, shaking his head, and looking at her with the same terrible expression which had so startled her before—"that I had first followed you to your grave!"

"My dear papa, you are only dreaming!"

"No, I am not. Oh! how can you, Cecilia, be so calm here, when you know that you have married a"–

Lady Cecilia glanced hurriedly at Miss Macspleuchan, who, having risen a little from her chair, was leaning forward in an agitated manner, and straining her ear to catch every word—

"What are you talking about, papa?" gasped Lady Cecilia, while her face became of a deadly whiteness.

"Why, I thought you knew it all," said the earl, sustained and stimulated by the intensity of his feelings—"that this Titmouse—is—Mr. Gammon has acknowledged all—an infamous impostor—an illegitimate"–

Miss Macspleuchan, with a faint shriek, rang the bell at the bed-head violently; but before she or any one else could reach her, Lady Cecilia had fallen heavily on the floor, where she lay unconsciously, her maid falling down over her as she rushed into the room, alarmed by the sudden and violent ringing of the bell. All was confusion and horror. Lady Cecilia was instantly carried out insensible; the earl was found to have been seized with a second fit of apoplexy. Dr. Bailey was quickly in attendance, followed soon after by an eminent accoucheur, whom it had been found necessary to send for, Lady Cecilia's illness having assumed the most alarming character conceivable. When Miss Macspleuchan had in some measure recovered from her distraction, she despatched a servant to implore the instant attendance of the Duke and Duchess of Tantallan, unable to bear the overwhelming horror occasioned to her by the statement of the Earl of Dreddlington; and which, whether so astounding and frightful a statement was founded in fact or not, and only a delusion of the earl's, was likely to have given the unfortunate Lady Cecilia her death-blow.

Both the duke and duchess—the nearest relatives of the earl then in London (the duke being his brother-in-law)—were, within half an hour, at Lord Dreddlington's and made acquainted with the fearful occasion of what had happened. The duke and duchess were quite as proud and haughty people as Lord Dreddlington; but the duke was a little—and only a little—the earl's superior in point of understanding. When first told of the earl's disclosure, he was told as if it were an ascertained fact; and his horror knew no bounds. But when he came to inquire into the matter, and found that it rested on no other foundation than the distempered wanderings of a man whose brain was at the time laboring under the effects of an apoplectic seizure, he began to feel a great relief; especially when Miss Macspleuchan could mention no single circumstance corroboratory of so amazing and frightful a representation. At her suggestion, the duke, unable to render any personal service to the earl, who was in the hands of the physicians, hurried home again, and sent off a special messenger to Mr. Gammon, whose address Miss Macspleuchan had given him, with the following note:—

"The Duke of Tantallan presents his compliments to Mr. Gammon, and most earnestly begs that he will, without a moment's delay, favor the duke with a call in Portman Square, on business of the last importance.

     "Portman Square,

Wednesday Evening, 9 o'clock."

A huge servant of the duke's—with powdered hair, silver epaulettes, dark crimson coat, and white breeches, having altogether a most splendid appearance—created something like a sensation in the immediate neighborhood of Thavies' Inn, by inquiring, with a very impatient and excited air, for "Thavies' Inn," and a "gentleman of the name of Gammon" who was very naturally supposed to be honored by some special and direct communication from the king, or at least some member of the royal family. Gammon himself, who was in the act of opening his door to go out and make his promised call of inquiry in Grosvenor Square—was flustered for a moment, on finding himself stepping into the arms of such an imposing personage; who said, as he gave him the letter, on finding him to be Mr. Gammon—"From the Duke of Tantallan, sir. His Grace, I believe, expects you immediately, sir."

Mr. Gammon hastily opened the letter, and having glanced at the contents—"Give my compliments to his Grace, and say I will attend him immediately," said he. The man withdrew, and Gammon returned into his chamber, and sat for a few moments in the darkness—he having just before put out his lamp. He burst into a cold sweat—"What's in the wind now!" said he to himself. "Ah, why did I not ask the fellow?"—and starting from his seat, he rushed down-stairs, and succeeded in calling back the duke's servant just as he was turning out of the inn—"Do you happen to have been into Grosvenor Square to-day?—And do you know how the Earl of Dreddlington is?" inquired Gammon, anxiously.

"Yes, sir; his Lordship, and the Lady Cecilia Titmouse, are both dangerously ill. I believe his Lordship, sir, has had a stroke—they say it's the second he's had to-day—and her Ladyship is taken in labor, and is in a shocking bad way, sir. The duke and duchess were sent for in a dreadful hurry about an hour ago."

"Dear! I'm sorry to hear it! Thank you," replied Gammon, hastily turning away a face which he felt must have gone of a ghastly paleness.

"It may be only to inquire about the Artificial Rain Company"—said Gammon to himself, as, having procured a light, he poured himself out a large glassful of brandy, and drank it off, to overcome a little sense of faintness which he felt coming rapidly over him. "The duke is a shareholder, I think. Not at all unlikely!—And as for Lady Cecilia's illness—nothing so extraordinary about it—when one considers her situation—and the shock occasioned by the earl's sudden and alarming illness. But I must take a decided course, one way or another, with the duke!—Suppose the earl has disclosed the affair to Lady Cecilia—and it has got to the duke's ears?—Good heavens! how is one to deal with it? Suppose I were to affect total ignorance about the matter—and swear that it is altogether a delusion on the part of the earl?—That would be rather a bold stroke, too!—Suppose the earl to die of this bout—ah! then there 's an end of the thing, and all's well, provided I can manage Titmouse!—A second fit of apoplexy within twelve hours—that looks well—humph!—If the earl have mentioned the affair—and distinctly and intelligibly—how far has he gone?—Did he name the rent-charge?—Ah!—well, and suppose he did? What's easier than also to deny that altogether? But suppose Titmouse should be tampered with, and pressed about the business? Perdition!—all is lost!—Yet they would hardly like to defy me, and trumpet the thing abroad!—Then there's the other course—to own that I am in possession of the fatal secret—that I became so only recently; avow the reason of my taking the rent-charge; and insist upon retaining it, as the condition of my secrecy? That also is a bold stroke: both are bold!—Yet one of them I must choose!—Then, suppose the earl to recover: he will never be the same man he was—that I find is always the case—his mind, such as it is, will go nearly altogether!—But if he recover only a glimmering even of sense—egad! 't will require a little nerve, too, to deny the thing to his face, and swear that the whole thing is the delusion of a brain disordered by previous fright!—And suppose Lady Cecilia dies?—and leaves no issue?—and then Lord Dreddlington follows her—by Heaven, this hideous little devil becomes Lord Drelincourt at once!!"

This was the way in which Mr. Gammon turned the thing over in his disturbed mind, as he walked rapidly towards Portman Square; and by the time that he had reached the duke's house, he had finally determined on the course he should pursue. Though his face was rather pale, he was perfectly self-possessed and firm, at the moment of his being shown into the library, where the duke was walking about, impatient for his arrival.