_ PART II CHAPTER LX. MR. SCARBOROUGH IS BURIED
When Mr. Scarborough died, and when he had been buried, his son Mountjoy was left alone at Tretton, living in a very desolate manner. Till the day of the funeral, Merton, the doctor, had remained with him and his aunt, Miss Scarborough; but when the old squire had been laid in his grave they both departed. Miss Scarborough was afraid of her nephew, and could not look forward to living comfortably at the big house; and Dr. Merton had the general work of his life to call him away. "You might as well stay for another week," Mountjoy had said to him. But Merton had felt that he could not remain at Tretton without some especial duty, and he too went his way.
The funeral had been very strange. Augustus had refused to come and stand at his father's grave. "Considering all things, I had rather decline," he had written to Mountjoy. Other guests--none were invited, except the tenants. They came in a body, for the squire had been noted among them as a liberal landlord.
But a crowd of tenants does not in any way make up that look of family sorrow which is expected at the funeral of such a man as Mr. Scarborough. Mountjoy was there, and stood through the ceremony speechless, and almost sullen. He went down to the church behind the body with Merton, and then walked away from the ground without having uttered a syllable. But during the ceremony he had seen that which caused him to be sullen. Mr. Samuel Hart had been there, and Mr. Tyrrwhit. And there was a man whom he called to his mind as connected with the names of Evans & Crooke, and Mr. Spicer, and Mr. Richard Juniper. He knew them all as they stood there round the grave, not in decorous funeral array, but as strangers who had strayed into the cemetery. He could not but feel, as he looked at them and they at him, that they had come to look after their interest,--their heavy interest on the money which had been fraudulently repaid to them. He knew that they had parted with their bonds. But he knew also that almost all that was now his would have been theirs, had they not been cheated into believing that he, Mountjoy Scarborough, was not, and never would be, Scarborough of Tretton Park. They said nothing as they stood there, and did not in any way interrupt the ceremony; but they looked at Mountjoy as they were standing, and their looks disconcerted him terribly.
He had declared that he would walk back to the house which was not above two miles distant from the graveyard, and therefore, when the funeral was over, there was no carriage to take him. But he knew that the men would dog his steps as he walked. He had only just got within the precincts of the park when he saw them all. But Mr. Tyrrwhit was by himself, and came up to him. "What are you going to do, Captain Scarborough," he said, "as to our claims?"
"You have no claims of which I am aware," he said roughly.
"Oh yes, Captain Scarborough; we have claims, certainly. You've come up to the front lately with a deal of luck; I don't begrudge it, for one; but I have claims,--I and those other gentlemen; we have claims. You'll have to admit that."
"Send in the documents. Mr. Barry is acting as my lawyer; he is Mr. Grey's partner, and is now taking the leading share in the business."
"I know Mr. Barry well; a very sharp gentleman is Mr. Barry."
"I cannot enter into conversation with yourself at such a time as this."
"We are sorry to trouble you; but then our interests are so pressing. What do you mean to do, Captain Scarborough? That's the question."
"Yes; with the estate," said Mr. Samuel Hart, coming up and joining them. Of the lot of men, Mr. Samuel Hart was the most distasteful to Mountjoy. He had last seen his Jew persecutor at Moscow, and had then, as he thought, been grossly insulted by him. "What are you hafter, captain?" To this Mountjoy made no answer, but Hart, walking a step or two in advance, turned upon his heels and looked at the park around him. "Tidy sort of place, ain't it, Tyrrwhit, for a gentleman to hang his 'at up, when we were told he was a bastard, not worth a shilling?"
"I have nothing to do with all that," said Mountjoy; "you and Mr. Tyrrwhit held my acceptances for certain sums of money. They have, I believe, been paid in full."
"No, they ain't; they ain't been paid in full at all; you knows they ain't." As he said this, Mr. Hart walked on in front, and stood in the pathway, facing Mountjoy. "How can you 'ave the cheek to say we've been paid in full? You know it ain't true."
"Evans & Crooke haven't been paid, so far," said a voice from behind.
"More ain't Spicer," said another voice.
"Captain Scarborough, I haven't been paid in full," said Mr. Juniper, advancing to the front. "You don't mean to tell me that my five hundred pounds have been paid in full? You've ruined me, Captain Scarborough. I was to have been married to a young lady with a large fortune,--your Mr. Grey's niece,--and it has been broken off altogether because of your bad treatment. Do you mean to assert that I have been paid in full?"
"If you have got any document, take it to Mr. Barry."
"No, I won't; I won't take it to any lawyer. I'll take it right in before the Court, and expose you. My name is Juniper, and I've never parted with a morsel of paper that has your name to it."
"Then, no doubt, you'll get your money," said the captain.
"I thought, gentlemen, you were to allow me to be the spokesman on this occasion," said Mr. Tyrrwhit. "We certainly cannot do any good if we attack the captain all at once. Now, Captain Scarborough, we don't want to be uncivil."
"Uncivil be blowed!" said Mr. Hart; "I want to get my money, and mean to 'ave it. I agreed as you was to speak, Mr. Tyrrwhit; but I means to be spoken up for; and if no one else can do it, I can do it myself. Is we to have any settlement made to us, or is we to go to law?"
"I can only refer you to Mr. Barry," said Mountjoy, walking on very rapidly. He thought that when he reached the house he might be able to enter in and leave them out, and he thought also that if he kept them on the trot he would thus prevent them from attacking him with many words. Evans & Crooke were already lagging behind, and Mr. Spicer was giving signs of being hard pressed. Even Hart, who was younger than the others, was fat and short, and already showed that he would have to halt if he made many speeches.
"Barry be d----d!" exclaimed Hart.
"You see how it is, Captain Scarborough," said Tyrrwhit; "Your father, as has just been laid to rest in hopes of a a happy resurrection, was a very peculiar gentleman."
"The most hinfernal swindler I ever 'eard tell of!" said Hart.
"I don't wish to say a word disrespectful," continued Tyrrwhit, "but he had his own notions. He said as you was illegitimate,--didn't he, now?"
"I can only refer you to Mr. Barry," said Mountjoy.
"And he said that Mr. Augustus was to have it all; and he proved his words,--didn't he, now? And then he made out that, if so, our deeds weren't worth the paper they were written on. Isn't it all true what I'm saying? And then when we'd taken what small sums of money he chose to offer us, just to save ourselves from ruin, then he comes up and says you are the heir, as legitimate as anybody else, and are to have all the property. And he proves that too! What are we to think about it?"
There was nothing left for Mountjoy Scarborough but to make the pace as good as possible. Mr. Hart tried once and again to stop their progress by standing in the captain's path, but could only do this sufficiently at each stoppage to enable him to express his horror with various interjections. "Oh laws! that such a liar as 'e should ever be buried!"
"You can't do anything by being disrespectful, Mr. Hart," said Tyrrwhit.
"What--is it--he means--to do?" ejaculated Spicer.
"Mr. Spicer," said Mountjoy, "I mean to leave it all in the hands of Mr. Barry; and, if you will believe me, no good can be done by any of you by hunting me across the park."
"Hare you a bastard, or haren't you?" ejaculated Hart.
"No, Mr. Hart, I am not."
"Then pay us what you h'owes us. You h'ain't h'agoing to say as you don't h'owe us?"
"Mr. Tyrrwhit," said the captain, "it is of no use my answering Mr. Hart, because he is angry."
"H'angry! By George, I h'am angry! I'd like to pull that h'old sinner's bones h'out of the ground!"
"But to you I can say that Mr. Barry will be better able to tell you than I am what can be done by me to defend my property."
"Captain Scarborough," said Mr. Tyrrwhit, mildly, "we had your name, you know. We did have your name."
"And my father bought the bonds back."
"Oh laws! And he calls himself a shentleman!"
"I have nothing farther to say to you now, gentlemen, and can only refer you to Mr. Barry." The path on which they were walking had then brought them to the corner of a garden wall, through which a door opened into the garden. Luckily, at the moment, it occurred to Mountjoy that there was a bolt on the other side of the gate, and he entered it quickly and bolted the door. Mr. Tyrrwhit was left on the other side, and was joined by his companions as quickly as their failing breath enabled them to do so. "'Ere's a go!" said Mr. Hart, striking the door violently with the handle of his stick.
"He had nothing for it but to leave us when we attacked him altogether," said Mr. Tyrrwhit. "If you had left it to me he would have told us what he intended to do. You, Mr. Hart, had not so much cause to be angry, as you had received a considerable sum for interest." Then Mr. Hart turned upon Mr. Tyrrwhit, and abused him all the way back to their inn. But it was pleasant to see how these commercial gentlemen, all engaged in the natural course of trade, expressed their violent indignation, not so much as to their personal losses, but at the commercial dishonesty generally of which the Scarboroughs, father and son, had been and were about to be guilty.
Mountjoy, when he reached the house of which he was now the only occupant besides the servants, stood for an hour in the dining-room with his back toward the fire, thinking of his position. He had many things of which to think. In the first place, there were these pseudo-creditors who had just attacked him in his own park with much acrimony. He endeavored to comfort himself by telling himself that they were certainly pseudo-creditors, to whom he did not in fact owe a penny. Mr. Barry could deal with them.
But then his conscience reminded him that they had, in truth, been cheated,--cheated by his father for his benefit. For every pound which they had received they would have claimed three or four. They would no doubt have cheated him. But how was he now to measure the extent of his father's fraud against that of his creditors? And though it would have been right in him to resist the villany of these Jews, he felt that it was not fit that he should escape from their fangs altogether by his father's deceit. He had not become so dead to honor but that _noblesse oblige_ did still live within his bosom. And yet there was nothing that he could do to absolve his bosom. The income of the estate was nearly clear, the money brought in by the late sales having all but sufficed to give these gentlemen that which his father had chosen to pay them. But was he sure of that income? He had just now asserted boldly that he was the legitimate heir to the property; but did he know that he was so? Could he believe his father? Had not Mr. Grey asserted that he would not accept this later evidence? Was he not sure that Augustus intended to proceed against him? and was he not aware that nothing could be called his own till that lawsuit should have been decided? If that should be given against him, then these harpies would have been treated only too well; then there would be no question, at any rate by him, as to what _noblesse oblige_ might require of him. He could take no immediate step in regard to them, and therefore, for the moment, drove that trouble from his mind.
But what should he do with himself as to his future life? To be persecuted and abused by these wretched men, as had this morning been his fate, would be intolerable. Could he shut himself up from Mr. Samuel Hart and still live in England? And then could he face the clubs,--if the clubs would be kind enough to re-elect him? And then there came a dark frown across his brow, as he bethought himself that even at this moment his heart was longing to be once more among the cards. Could he not escape to Monaco, and there be happy among the gambling-tables? Mr. Hart would surely not follow him there, and he would be free from the surveillance of that double blackguard, his brother's servant and his father's spy.
But, after all, as he declared to himself, did it not altogether turn on the final answer which he might get from Florence Mountjoy? Could Florence be brought to accede to his wishes, he thought that he might still live happily, respectably, and in such a manner that his name might go down to posterity not altogether blasted. If Florence would consent to live at Tretton, then could he remain there. He thought it over as he stood there with his back to the fire, and he told himself that with Florence the first year would be possible, and that after the first year the struggle would cease to be a struggle. He knew himself, he declared, and he made all manner of excuses for his former vicious life, basing them all on the hardness of her treatment of him. He did not know himself, and such assurances were vain. But buoyed up by such assurances, he resolved that his future fate must be in her hands, and that her word alone should suffice either to destroy him or to save him.
Thinking thus of his future life, he resolved that he would go at once to Cheltenham, and throw himself, and what of Tretton belonged to him, at the girl's feet. Nor could he endure himself to rest another night at Tretton till he had done so. He started at once, and got late to Gloucester, where he slept, and on the next morning at eleven o'clock was at Cheltenham, out on his way to Montpellier Terrace. He at once asked for Florence, but circumstances so arranged themselves that he first found himself closeted with her mother. Mrs. Mountjoy was delighted, and yet shocked, to see him. "My poor brother!" she said; "and he was buried only yesterday!" Such explanation as Mountjoy could give was given. He soon made the whole tenor of his thoughts intelligible to her. "Yes; Tretton was his,--at least he supposed so. As to his future life he could say nothing. It must depend on Florence. He thought that if she would promise to become at once his wife, there would be no more gambling. He had felt it to be incumbent on him to come and tell her so."
Mrs. Mountjoy, frightened by the thorough blackness of his apparel and by the sternness of his manner, had not a word to say to him in opposition. "Be gentle with her," she said, as she led the way to the room in which Florence was found. "Your cousin has come to see you," she said; "has come immediately after the funeral. I hope you will be gracious to him." Then she closed the door, and the two were alone together.
"Florence!" he said.
"Mountjoy! We hardly expected you here so soon."
"Where the heart strays the body is apt to follow. I could speak to no one, I could do nothing, I could hope and pray for nothing till I had seen you."
"You cannot depend on me like that?" she answered.
"I do depend on you most entirely. No human being can depend more thoroughly on another. It is not my fortune that I have come to offer you, or simply my love, but in very truth my soul."
"Mountjoy, that is wicked!"
"Then wicked let it be. It is true. Tretton, by singular circumstances, is all my own, free of debt. At any rate, I and others believe it to be so."
"Tretton being all your own can make no difference."
"I told you that I had not come to offer you my fortune." And he almost scowled at her as he spoke. "You know what my career has hitherto been, though you do not perhaps know what has driven me to it. Shall I go back, and live after the same fashion, and let Tretton go to the dogs? It will be so unless you take me and Tretton into your hands."
"It cannot be."
"Oh, Florence! think of it before you pronounce my doom."
"It cannot be. I love you well as my cousin, and for your sake I love Tretton also. I would suffer much to save you, if any suffering on my part would be of avail. But it cannot be in that fashion." Then he scowled again at her. "Mountjoy, you frighten me by your hard looks;--but though you were to kill me you cannot change me. I am the promised wife of Harry Annesley; and for his honor I must bid you plead this cause no more." Then, just at this moment there was a ring at the bell and a knock at the door, each of them somewhat impetuous, and Florence Mountjoy, jumping up with a start, knew that Harry Annesley was there. _