ANY tender-hearted reader who may feel anxious concerning the fate of the unjustly suspected Shrimp, will be glad to learn that this hopeful candidate for the treadmill (not to mention a more airy and exalted destiny), escaped his promised castigation, for, the moment we alighted, Freddy Coleman dragged us into the library, and Lawless, in the excitement of relating the morning's adventure, entirely forgot his threatened vengeance. Lawless's account of the affair was, as may well be imagined, rich in the extreme, worth walking barefoot twenty miles to hear, Freddy Coleman declared afterwards; and an equally laborious pilgrimage would have been quite repaid by witnessing the contortions of delight with which the aforesaid Freddy listened to him.
“So you have positively settled the drysalter, and stand pledged to marry my cousin Lucy, if she approve of you on further acquaintance? What will you give me to hand her over to you?”
“Give you, eh? the soundest thrashing you ever had in your life—one that will find you something to think about for the next fortnight, and no mistake. The idea of putting the young woman's affections up to auction! why, you're worse than your old governor, he only wants to sell her to the highest bidder.”
“Well, he's been sold himself this time, pretty handsomely,” replied Freddy; “I only hope it will be a lesson to him for the future.”
“It strikes me he'd be all the better for a few more lessons of the sort, eh? go through a regular 'educational course,' as they call it. Governors nowadays get so dreadfully conceited and dictatorial—they know best—and they will have this—and they won't have that. It's no joke to be a son, I can tell you.—'Latchkey, sir! only let me hear of your daring to introduce that profligate modern invention into my house, and I'll cut you off with a shilling.'”
“'The most unkindest cut of all,'” quoted Freddy. “Worse than 'cut behind' for the small boys, who indulge their locomotive propensities by sitting on the spikes at the backs of carriages, eh?” said Lawless. “Sharp set they must be, very!” put in Freddy. “Well, of all the vile puns I ever heard, that, which I believe to be an old Joe Miller, is the worst,” exclaimed I. “Not to subject myself any longer to such wretched attempts, I shall go and dress for dinner.”
“By way of obtaining re-dress! Well, I hope we shall be better suited when we meet again,” rejoined Freddy, fairly punning me out of the room.
Mr. Frampton returned from town late that evening, but in high health and spirits, having been closeted for some hours with his legal adviser, who had given him clear instructions as to the course he was to pursue to obtain possession of his niece on the following day.
When I retired to my room that night, I was too much excited to sleep, but it was excitement of a pleasurable nature. I lay picturing to myself the next day's scene— the surprise and anger of Mr. Vernor—the impotent fury of Cumberland's disappointed avarice—the grotesque joy of old Peter Barnett—and, above all, the unspeakable delight of rescuing my sweet Clara from a home so unfitted to her gentle nature, and removing her to an atmosphere of kindness and affection; and with such pleasant thoughts wandering through my brain, towards morning I fell into a sound sleep. The sun was shining brightly when I again unclosed my eyes, and, hastily dressing, I hurried down to the breakfast-room, where I found Mr. Frampton already engaged in discussing a very substantial meal.
“Umph! I didn't expect you would have turned lie-abed this morning, of all the days in the year, Master Frank,” was his salutation on my entrance.
“I really am ashamed of myself,” replied I, sitting down to the breakfast-table; “but my thoughts were so busy, and my mind so filled with anticipations of coming happiness, that I did not contrive to get to sleep till quite morning.”
“Umph! serve you right—you never should anticipate anything; depend upon it, it's the surest way to prevent what you wish for coming to pass. When I was in the Mahratta country, I anticipated I was going to marry the Begum of Tincumrupee—splendid woman! kept forty-two elephants for her own special riding, and wore a necklace of pearls as big as hazel nuts. What was the consequence? Instead of fulfilling my expectations, one fine morning she changed her mind, took up with a tawny, and ordered me to be strangled, only I got timely notice of her benevolent intentions, and lost no time in putting myself under the protection of my old crony, Blessimaboo, the Rajah of Coddleafellah. Umph!”
“Let me give you another cup of coffee, since the lady with the unpronounceable name did not succeed in her amiable design of destroying your swallowing powers for ever,” returned I.
“Umph! I won't say No—there's nothing like serving out good rations to your men before they go into action; I've seen campaigning enough to know that.”
“On the strength of which argument I shall cut you another slice of ham,” rejoined I, suiting the action to the word. At length even Mr. Frampton's excellent appetite appeared exhausted, and he declared himself ready to face old Vernor if he should prove as cantankerous as a rhinoceros in hysterics; after which statement we proposed to start on our expedition. During his visit to town on the previous day, Mr. Frampton had purchased a very handsome light travelling carriage, which, with post-horses, was now in waiting to convey us to Barstone. On our way thither, my companion informed me of the particulars of his interview with his legal adviser, and the powers with which he was invested, and which were to be brought to bear upon Mr. Vernor, if, as was to be expected, he should attempt to resist the claim. As the effect of the information thus acquired will appear in the course of this veritable history, I need say no more concerning the matter at present. We then proceeded to lay down the plan of operations, which embraced an innocent little stratagem for more effectually taking “the change” out of Mr. Vernor, as Lawless would have termed it. It was agreed, in pursuance of this scheme, that I should open the conversation, by informing Clara's guardian that, owing to an unexpected change in my fortunes, I was now in possession of means amply sufficient to maintain a wife, and had therefore come to renew my suit for the hand of his fair ward, merely introducing Mr. Frampton as a friend of mine, who was prepared to furnish proof of the truth of my statement, if Mr. Vernor were not satisfied with my bare assertion. According to the way in which he should behave when this communication was made to him, were we to regulate our after conduct. I now learned for the first time that Frampton was not my benefactor's real name, but one which he had adopted when he commenced his wanderings, and which he determined to retain on learning, as he imagined he had done indisputably, that his family was extinct. This accounted for the otherwise strange fact, that Mr. Vernor should have remained in ignorance, up to the present period, of the existence of his ward's uncle. Lady Saville's maiden name, as I had been previously told, was Elliot, and my companion's real title, therefore, was Ralph Elliot. So occupied were we in discussing these interesting topics, that we had reached the gates of Bar-stone Park before our conversation began to flag; but the sight of the old quaintly built lodge, realising, as it did, the object of our visit, raised a host of varying thoughts and feelings too powerful for utterance; and, by mutual consent, we finished our drive in silence.
A servant, whose face was unknown to me, answered the door; and replying in the affirmative to my inquiry whether Mr. Vernor was at home led the way to the library.
“What name shall I say, sir?”
“Merely say, two gentlemen wish to see Mr. Vernor upon business,” was my reply; and in another moment I was once again face to face with Clara's guardian. He looked older and thinner than when I had seen him before, and care and anxiety had left their traces even on his iron frame: he was less erect than formerly, and I observed that, when his eyes fell upon me, his lip quivered, and his hand shook with suppressed irritation. Still his face wore the same cold, immovable, relentless expression as ever; and when he spoke, it was with his usual sarcastic bitterness.
“I cannot imagine under what possible pretext Mr. Fairlegh can expect to be regarded in this house in any other light than as an unwelcome intruder, after his late outrageous conduct,” was the speech with which he received me.
“If you refer, sir, to the well-merited chastisement I inflicted on your nephew, I can only say, that Mr. Cumberland alike provoked the quarrel and commenced the attack; if you have received a true account of the matter, you must be aware it was not until your nephew had struck me more than once with his cane that I returned the blow.”
“Well, sir, we will not discuss the affair any farther, as I presume it was scarcely for the purpose of justifying yourself that you have come hither to-day.”
“You are right, sir,” returned I; “and not to prolong a conversation which appears disagreeable to you, I will proceed at once to the purport of my visit. You have not, I imagine, forgotten the occasion of my former intrusion, as you termed it?”
“No, sir,” he replied angrily, “I have not forgotten the presumptuous hopes you entertained, nor the cool effrontery with which you, a needy man—not to use any stronger term—preferred your suit for the hand and fortune” he added, laying a strong emphasis upon the last word, “of my ward, Miss Saville.”
“That suit, sir, I am now about to renew,” replied I, “but no longer as the needy fortune-hunter you were pleased to designate me. My friend here is prepared to show you documents to prove, if you require it, that I am, at this moment, in possession of an income amply sufficient to support a wife, and that, should my proposal find favour with your ward, I am in a position to offer her an establishment embracing not only the comforts but the refinements of life, and am prepared to make as liberal settlements as can reasonably be required of me: her own fortune I wish to have placed entirely under her own control.”
As I spoke his brow grew dark as night, and rising from his chair, he exclaimed, “I'll not believe it, sir! This is some new trick—I know your scheming talents of old; but, however,” he continued, seeing, no doubt, from my manner, that I was in a position to prove the truth of my assertions, “rich or poor, it makes no difference in my decision; I have but one answer to give—I have other prospects in view, other intentions in regard to the disposal of my ward's hand, and, once for all, I finally and unhesitatingly reject your offer.”
“I believe, sir,” replied I, restraining by an appealing glance Mr. Frampton, whose zeal in my cause was becoming almost ungovernable, and who was evidently burning to be at him, as he afterwards expressed it— “I believe, sir, I am right in imagining Miss Saville is of age, in which case I must insist upon your laying my proposal before her, and on receiving her decision from her own lips.”
“She is of age, sir, but her late father, knowing how liable girls are, from their warm feelings, and ignorance of the ways of the world, to become the prey of designing persons, wisely inserted a clause in his will, by which it is provided, that in case of her marrying without my consent, her fortune shall pass into my hands, to be disposed of as I may consider advisable. I need scarcely add, that in the event of her marrying Mr. Fairlegh, she will do so without a farthing.”
“Umph! eh? perhaps not, sir—perhaps not; you seem to me to look upon this matter in a false light, Mr. Vernor—Umph! a very false light; and not to treat my young friend with the degree of courtesy which he and every other honourable man has a right to expect from any one calling himself a gentleman. Umph! Umph!”
“Really I cannot be expected to discuss the matter farther,” replied Mr. Vernor, with greater irritation of manner than he had yet suffered to appear. “I have not formed my opinion of Mr. Fairlegh hastily, nor on insufficient grounds, and it is not very probable that I shall alter it on the representations of a nameless individual, brought here for the evident purpose of chorusing Mr. Fairlegh's assertions, and assisting to browbeat those who may be so unfortunate as to differ from him. You must find such a friend invaluable, I should imagine,” he added, turning towards me with a supercilious smile. “Umph! nameless individual, sir—nameless individual, indeed! Do you know who you are talking to?” Then came the aside, “Of course he does not, how should be? Umph!”
“I think you must by this time see the folly of attempting to prolong this absurd scene, Mr. Fairlegh,” said Mr. Vernor, addressing me, without noticing Mr. Frampton's observation otherwise than by a contemptuous glance; “I presume we have come to the last act of this revival of the old comedy, 'A Bold Stroke for a Wife,' and I think you are pretty well aware of my opinion of the performance.”
“Umph! eh?—I fancy you'll find there's another act before the play is ended yet, sir,” returned Mr. Prampton, who was now thoroughly roused; “an act that, with all your cunning, you are not prepared for, and that even your unparalleled effrontery will be insufficient to carry you through unmoved. You say, sir, that by the will of the late Sir Henry Saville, his daughter's inheritance descends to you in the event of her marrying without your consent. May I ask whether there is not a certain contingency provided for, which might divert the property into another channel? Umph!”
“Really, sir, it is long since I looked at the will,” exclaimed Mr. Vernor, for the first time dropping his usual tone of contemptuous indifference, and speaking quickly and with excitement—“May I inquire to what you refer?”
“Was there not a clause to this effect, sir?” continued Mr. Frampton sternly; and, producing a slip of paper, he read as follows:—
“'But whereas it was the firm belief and conviction of the aforesaid Clara Rose Elliot, afterwards Lady Saville, my late lamented wife, that her brother Ralph Elliot, supposed to have perished at sea, had not so perished, but was living in one of our colonies, I hereby will and direct, that in the event of the said Ralph Elliot returning to England, and clearly proving and establishing his identity, three hundred pounds per annum shall be allowed him out of my funded property, for his maintenance during the term of his natural life; and I further will and direct, that in the event of my daughter, Clara Saville, by disobedience to the commands of her guardian, Richard Vernor, forfeiting her inheritance as, by way of penalty, I have above directed, then I devise and bequeath the before mentioned funded property, together with Barstone Priory and the lands and rents appertaining thereunto, to the aforesaid Ralph Elliot, for his absolute use and behoof '.”
As he listened to the reading of this portion of the will, Mr. Vernor's usually immovable features assumed an expression of uneasiness which increased into an appearance of vague and undefined alarm; and when Mr. Frampton concluded, he exclaimed hurriedly, “Well, sir, what of that? The man has been drowned these forty years.”
“Umph! I rather think not,” was the reply, “I don't look much like a drowned man, do I? Umph!”
So saying, he strode up to Mr. Vernor, and, regarding him with a stern expression of countenance, added: “You were pleased in your insolence, just now, to term me a 'nameless individual'; these papers,” he continued, producing a bundle, “will prove to you that Ralph Elliot was not drowned at sea, as you imagine, but that the nameless individual whom in my person you have treated with unmerited insult, is none other than he”.
“It is false!” exclaimed Mr. Vernor, turning pale with rage. “This is all a vile plot, got up in order to extort my consent to this marriage. But I'll expose you—I'll—”
At this moment the library door was thrown violently open, and old Peter Barnett, his face bleeding and discoloured, as if from fighting, and his clothes torn and muddy, rushed into the centre of the apartment.
ON the sudden appearance of old Peter in the deplorable condition described in the last chapter, we all sprang to our feet, eager to learn the cause of what we beheld. We were not long kept in suspense, for as soon as he could recover breath enough to speak, he turned to Mr. Vernor, saying, in a voice hoarse with sorrow and indignation:—“If you knows anything of this here wickedness, as I half suspects you do, servant as I am, I tells you to your face, you're a willain, and I could find in my heart to serve you as your precious nephew (as you calls him) and his hired bullies have served me”.
“How dare you use such language to me?” was the angry reply. “You have been drinking, sirrah; leave the room instantly.”
“Tell me, Peter,” exclaimed I, unable longer to restrain myself, “what has happened? Your mistress—Clara—is she safe?”
“That's more than I knows,” was the reply; “if she is now, she won't be soon, without we moves pretty sharp; for she's in precious unsafe company. While we was a-looking after one thief, we've been robbed by t'other: we was watching Muster Wilford, and that young scoundrel Cumberland has cut in and bolted with Miss Clara!”
“Distraction!” exclaimed I, nearly maddened by the intelligence; “which road have they taken? how long have they been gone?”
“Not ten minutes,” was the reply; “for as soon as ever they had knocked me down, they forced her into the carriage, and was off like lightning; and I jumped up, and ran here as hard as legs would carry me.”
“Then they may yet be overtaken,” cried I, seizing my hat; “but are you sure Wilford has nothing to do with it?”
“Quite certain,” was the answer; “for I met him a-going a-shooting as I cum in, and he stopped me to know what was the matter: and when I told him, he seemed quite flustered like, and swore he'd make Cumberland repent it.”
“Mad, infatuated boy!” exclaimed Mr. Vernor; “bent on his own ruin.” And burying his face in his hands, he sank into a chair, apparently insensible to everything that was passing.
“Now, Peter,” I continued, “every moment is of importance; tell me which road to take, and then get me the best horse in the stable, without a moment's delay. I will bear you harmless.”
“I've thought of all that, sir,” rejoined Peter Barnett. “It's no use your going alone; there's three of them besides the postboys. No! you must take me with you; and they've knocked me about so, that I don't think I could sit a horse, leastways not to go along as we must go, if we means to catch 'em. No! I've ordered fresh horses to your carriage, it's lighter than the one they have got, and that will tell in a long chase; you must take me to show you the way, Muster Fairlegh.”
“Well, come along, then. Mr. Frampton, I'll bring you your niece in safety, or this is the last time we shall meet, for I never will return without her.”
“Umph! eh? I'll go with you, Frank; I'll go with you.”
“I would advise you not, sir,” replied I; “it will be a fatiguing, if not a dangerous expedition.”
“Ain't I her uncle, sir? umph!” was the reply. “I tell you I will go. Danger, indeed! why, boy, I've travelled more miles in my life, than you have inches.”
“As you please, sir,” replied I; “only let us lose no time.” And taking his arm I hurried him away.
Glancing at Mr. Vernor as we left the library, I perceived that he still remained motionless in the same attitude. As we reached the hall-door, I was glad to find that Peter's exertions had procured four stout horses, and that the finishing stroke was being put to their harness as we came up.
“Who is that?” inquired I, as my eye caught the figure of a horseman, followed by a second, apparently a groom, riding rapidly across the park.
“That's Mr. Fleming, sir,” replied one of the helpers; “he came down to the stable, and ordered out his saddle-horses in a great hurry; I think he's gone after Mr. Cumberland.”
“What are we waiting for?” exclaimed I, in an agony of impatience. “Peter!—Where's Peter Barnett?”
“Here, sir,” he exclaimed; making his appearance the moment after I had first observed his absence. “It ain't no use to start on a march without arms and baggage,” he added, flinging a wrapping greatcoat (out of the pocket of which the butts of a large pair of cavalry pistols protruded) into the rumble, and climbing up after it.
“Now, sir,” exclaimed I; and half-lifting, half-pushing Mr. Frampton into the carriage, I bounded in after him: the door was slammed to, and, with a sudden jerk, which must have tried the strength of the traces pretty thoroughly, the horses dashed forward, old Peter directing the postboys which road they were to follow. The rocking motion of the carriage (as, owing to the rapid pace at which we proceeded, it swung violently from side to side) prevented anything like conversation, while, for some time, a burning desire to get on seemed to paralyse my every faculty, and to render thought impossible. Trees, fields and hedges flew past in one interminable, bewildering, ever-moving panorama, while to my excited imagination we appeared to be standing still, although the horses had never slackened their speed from the moment we started, occasionally breaking into a gallop wherever the road would permit. After proceeding at this rate, as nearly as I could reckon, about ten miles, old Peter's voice was heard shouting to the postboys, and we came to a sudden stop. “What is it?” inquired I eagerly; but Peter, without vouchsafing any answer, swung himself down from his seat, and ran a short distance up a narrow lane which turned off from the high road, stopped to pick up something, examined the ground narrowly, and then returned to the carriage, holding up in triumph the object he had found, which, as he came nearer, I recognised to be a silk handkerchief I had seen Clara wear.
“I didn't think my old eyes could have seen so quickly,” was his observation as he approached; “we was almost over-running the scent, Muster Fairlegh; and then we should 'a been ruined—horse, fut, and artillery. Do you know what this is?”
“Clara's handkerchief! It was round her neck when I met her two days ago.”
“Ay! bless her!” was the old man's reply. “And she's been clever enough to drop it where they turned off here, to let us know which way they have taken her. Lucky none of 'em didn't see her a-doin' it.”
“How fortunate you observed it! And now where does this lane lead to?”
“Well, that's what puzzles me,” returned Peter, rubbing his nose with an air of perplexity. “It don't lead to anything except old Joe Hardman's mill. But they're gone down here, that's certain sure, for there was that handkerchief, and there's the mark of wheels and 'osses' feet.”
“Well, if it is certain they have gone that way,” continued I, “let us lose no time in following them. How far off is this mill?”
“About a couple of miles out of the road, sir,” replied one of the postboys.
“Get on then,” said I; “but mind you do not lose the track of their wheels. It's plain enough on the gravel of the lane.”
“All right, sir,” was the reply; and we again dashed forward.
As we got farther from the high road, the ruts became so deep that we were obliged to proceed at a more moderate pace. After skirting a thick wood for some distance, we came suddenly upon a small bleak desolate-looking common, near the centre of which stood the mill, which appeared in a somewhat dilapidated condition. A little half-ruinous cottage, probably the habitation of the miller, lay to the right of the larger building; but no signs of Carriage or horses were to be perceived, nor, indeed, anything which might indicate that the place was inhabited.
As we drew up at the gate of a farmyard, which formed the approach both to the mill and the house, Peter Barnett again got down, and having carefully examined the traces of the wheel-marks, observed, “they've been here, that I'll take my Bible oath on. The wheel-tracks go straight into the yard. But there's some fresh marks here I can't rightly make out. It looks as if a horse had galloped up to the gate and leaped hover it.”
“Wilford!” exclaimed I, as a sudden idea came into my head. “We have not got to the truth of this matter yet, depend upon it. There is some collusion between Wilford and Cumberland.”
“Umph! rascals!” ejaculated Mr. Frampton. “But 'they shall both hang for it, if it costs me every farthing I possess in the world.”
“It's Mr Fleming's black mare as has been hover 'ere,” said one of the postboys, who, I afterwards learned, was a stable-helper at Barstone, and had volunteered to drive in the sudden emergency. “I knows her marks from any hother 'orse's. She's got a bar-shoe on the near fore-foot.”
“Is there nobody here to direct us?” asked I. “Let me out. Who is this miller, Peter?” I continued, as I sprang to the ground.
“Well, he's a queer one,” was the reply. “Nobody rightly knows what to make of him. He's no great good, I expects; but good or bad, we'll have him out.”
So saying, he opened the gate, and going to the cottage-door, which was closed and fastened, commenced a vigorous assault upon it. For some time his exertions appeared productive of no result, and I began to imagine the cottage was untenanted.
“We are only wasting our time to no purpose,” said I. “Let us endeavour to trace the wheel-marks, and continue our pursuit.”
“I'm certain sure there's some one in the house,” rejoined old Peter, after applying his ear to the keyhole; “I can hear 'em moving about.”
“We'll soon see,” replied I, looking round for some implement fitted for my purpose. In one corner lay a heap of wood, apparently part of an old paling. Selecting a stout post which had formed one of the uprights, I dashed it against the fastenings of the door with a degree of force which made lock and hinges rattle again. I was about to repeat the attack, when a gruff voice from within the house shouted, “Hold hard there, I'm a-coming,” and in another minute the bolts were withdrawn, and the door opened.
“What do you mean by destroying a man's property in this manner?” was the salutation with which we were accosted.
The speaker was a short thick-set man, with brawny arms, and a head unnaturally large, embellished by a profusion of red hair, and a beard of at least a week's growth. The expression of his face, surly in the extreme, would have been decidedly bad, had it not been for a look of kindness in the eye, which in some degree redeemed it!
“What do you mean by allowing people to stand knocking at your door for five minutes, my friend, without taking any notice of them? You obliged us to use summary measures,” replied I.
“Well, I wor a-laying on the bed when you cum. I slipped down with a sack of flour this morning, and hit my head, so I thought I'd turn in and take a snooze, do you see;” and as he spoke he pointed to his face, one side of which I now perceived was black and swollen, as if from a blow.
“That's a lie, Joe! and you knows it,” said Peter Barnett abruptly.
“You speaks pretty plainly at all events, Master Barnett,” was the reply, but in a less surly tone than he had hitherto used.
The man was clearly an original; and it was equally evident that Peter knew how to deal with him, and that I did not. I therefore called the former on one side, and desired him, if bribing was of any use, to offer the miller fifty pounds, if through his information we were enabled to overtake the fugitives. Upon this a conversation ensued between the pair, which appeared as if it would never come to a termination; but just as my patience was exhausted, and I was about to break in upon them, Peter informed me that if I would engage to pay Hard-man fifty pounds, and to protect him from Wilford's anger, he would tell me everything he knew, and put me on the right track. To this I agreed, and he proceeded to give me the following account:—
In the course of the previous day, a vagabond of his acquaintance, who called himself a rat-catcher, but was a professional poacher and an amateur pugilist, came to him, and told him that a gentleman who had a little job in hand wanted the use of the cottage, as it was a nice out-of-the-way place, and that, if he would agree, the gent would call and give him his instructions. He inquired of what the job consisted; and on being told that a girl was going to run away from home with her sweetheart—that being, as he observed, merely an event in the course of nature—he agreed. In the evening he was visited by Wilford, and a man who was addressed as Captain. They directed him to have a room in the cottage ready by the next morning for the reception of a lady; and at the same time a sealed paper was handed to him, which he was directed to lock up in some safe place, and in the event of the lady and her maid-servant being given into his custody unharmed, he was to deliver up the paper to a gentleman who should produce a signet ring then shown him. This being successfully accomplished, he and his friend the poacher were alike to prevent the lady's escape, and protect her against all intrusion, till such time as Wilford should arrive to claim her; for which services the worthy pair were to receive conjointly the sum of twenty pounds.
In pursuance of these instructions, he had locked up the paper, and prepared for locking up the lady. About half an hour before we made our appearance, a carriage had arrived with four smoking posters; it contained two females inside; the Captain and a gentleman (whom the miller recognised as Mr. Cumberland of Barstone Priory) were seated in the rumble, while his friend the poacher was located on a portmanteau in front.
Cumberland and his companion alighted, and the former immediately asked for the paper, producing the ring, and saying that the plan had been changed, and that the lady was to go on another stage. Joe Hardman, however, was not, as he expressed it, “to be done so easy,” and positively refused to give up the paper till the lady was consigned to his custody. A whispered consultation took place between Cumberland and the Captain, the carriage door was opened, and the lady and her maid requested to alight. Joe then ushered them into the room prepared for them, the windows of which had been effectually secured, locked them in, and leaving the poacher on guard, hastened to get the paper, which, on receiving the ring, he delivered up to Cumberland. No sooner, however, had Cumberland secured the document than he made a signal to the Captain; they both threw themselves upon Hardman, and endeavoured to overpower him. He resisted vigorously, shouting loudly to the poacher for assistance, an appeal to which that treacherous ally responded by bestowing upon him a blow which stretched him on his back, and damaged his physiognomy in the manner already described. Having put him hors de combat, they took the key from him, released the lady, forced her and her maid to re-enter the carriage, and drove off, leaving him to explain her absence as best he might.
They had not been gone more than ten minutes when Wilford and his groom rode up at speed, and on learning the trick which had been played upon him swore a fearful oath to be avenged on Cumberland, and after ascertaining which direction they had taken, followed eagerly in pursuit.
He added, that his chief inducement for making this confession, was his conviction that something dreadful would occur unless timely measures were taken to prevent it. He declared Cumberland's manner to have been that of a man driven to desperation; and he had noticed that he had pistols with him. Wilford's ungovernable fury, on being informed how he had been deceived, was described by Hardman as enough to make a man's blood run cold to witness. Having, in addition, ascertained the route they had taken, and the means by which we should be likely to trace them, we returned to the carriage,—my heart heavy with the most dire forebodings,—and inciting the drivers, by promises of liberal payment, to use their utmost speed, we once again started in pursuit.
AFTER proceeding about a mile, at a pace which consorted ill with the fever of impatience that tormented me, we came once again upon the high road; and having got clear of ruts and mud-holes, were enabled to resume our speed. Half-an-hour's gallop advanced us above six miles on our route, and brought us to the little town of M—. Here we were compelled to stop to change our smoking horses, and had the satisfaction of learning that a carriage, answering to old Peter's description of the one we were in pursuit of, had changed horses there about twenty minutes before our arrival, and that a gentleman and his groom had since been observed to ride at speed through the town, and to follow the course taken by the carriage without drawing bridle. Whilst making these inquiries, four stout posters had been attached to our vehicle, and we again dashed forward. Another half-hour of maddening suspense followed, although the postboys, stimulated by the promise of reward, exerted themselves to the utmost, till the carriage swung from side to side with a degree of violence which rendered an overturn by no means an improbable contingency. No signs of the fugitives were to be discerned, and I was beginning to speculate on the possibility of their having again attempted to deceive us by turning off from the high road, when an exclamation from Peter Barnett (who, from his exalted station, was able to command a more extended view than ourselves) attracted my attention. We were at the moment descending a hill, which from its steepness obliged the postilions to proceed at a more moderate pace. Thrusting my head and shoulders out of one of the front windows, and raising myself by my hands, I contrived to obtain a view of the scene which had called forth Peter's ejaculation. Rather beyond the foot of the hill, where the ground again began to ascend, a group of persons, apparently farming labourers, were gathered round some object by the wayside, while almost in the centre of the road lay a large dark mass, which, as I came nearer, I perceived to be the dead carcase of a horse; another horse, snorting with terror at the sight of its fallen companion, was with difficulty prevented from breaking away by a groom, who, from his dark and well-appointed livery, I immediately recognised as a servant of Wilford's.
With a sensation of horror, such as I do not remember ever before to have experienced, I shouted to the postboys to stop, and, springing out, hastened to join the crowd collected by the roadside. They made way for me as I approached, thereby enabling me to perceive the object of their solicitude. Stretched at full length upon the grass, and perfectly motionless, lay the form of Wilford; his usually pale features wore the livid hue of death, and his long black hair was soaked and matted with blood, which trickled slowly from a fearful contused wound towards the back of the head. His right shoulder, which was crushed out of all shape, appeared a confused mass of mud and gore, while his right—his pistol arm—lay bent in an unnatural direction, which showed that it was broken in more places than one. He was perfectly insensible, but that he was still alive was proved, as well by his hard and painful breathing, as by a low moan of agony to which he occasionally gave utterance. “How has this happened?” inquired I, turning away with a thrill of horror.
“Well, as I make out, the mare crushed him when she fell upon him; but he knows best, for he saw it all,” replied one of the countrymen, pointing to the groom, who now came forward.
On questioning the servant, I learned that Wilford, before he went out shooting that morning, had ordered his saddle-horses to be ready for him at a certain hour, adding, that the black mare, of which mention has been so often before made in this history, was to be saddled for his own riding. Immediately after Peter Barnett had returned with the news of Miss Saville's abduction, Wilford had called for his horses in great haste, told the servant to follow him, and ridden off at speed, through fields and along by-lanes, till he arrived at Hardman's mill. There he was made acquainted (as I knew from the miller's confession) with the deception which had been practised upon him, and, muttering imprecations against Cumberland, he started in pursuit, riding at such a pace that the groom, although well mounted, had the greatest difficulty in keeping up with him. At length they caught sight of a carriage with four horses descending the steep hill already mentioned, and proceeding at a rate which proved that time was a more important consideration than safety to those it contained. Regardless of the dangerous nature of the ground, Wilford continued his headlong course, and overtook the fugitives just at the bottom of the hill. Riding furiously up to the side of the vehicle, he shouted to the drivers to stop, in a voice hoarse with passion. Intimidated by his furious gestures, and uncertain whether to obey or not, the postboys, in their irresolution, slackened their speed, when Cumberland, urged apparently to desperation, leaned out of the window with a cocked pistol in his hand, ordered the drivers to proceed, and turning to Wilford, desired him to give up the pursuit, or (levelling the pistol at him as he spoke) he would blow his brains out. Wilford, taking no notice of the threat, again shouted to the postilions to stop, and was about to ride forward to compel their obedience, when Cumberland, after hesitating for a moment, suddenly changed the direction of the pistol, and aiming at the horse instead of the rider, fired.
Simultaneously with the report, the mare plunged madly forward, reared up till she stood almost erect, pawed the air wildly with her fore-feet, and then dropped heavily backwards, bearing her rider with her, and crushing him as she fell. The ball had entered behind the ear, and passing in an oblique direction through the brain, had produced instant death. Without waiting to ascertain the effect of his shot, Cumberland again compelled the postboys to proceed, and by the time the groom reached the scene of action the carriage was rapidly getting out of sight. The servant being unable to extricate his master from the fallen horse, was about to ride off for assistance, when some labourers, attracted by the report of the pistol, had come up, and by their united efforts had succeeded in freeing the sufferer, but only, as it seemed, to die from the serious nature of the injuries he had sustained.
“Umph! eh!—the man's a dead man, or next door to it,” exclaimed Mr. Frampton, who had joined me while the groom was giving the above recital. “Nevertheless, we must do what we can for him, scoundrel as he is. How's a doctor to be obtained. Umph?”
“Where does the nearest surgeon live?” asked I.
“There ain't none nearer than M——” was the reply, naming the town through which we had passed.
“I must leave you to settle this matter,” continued I; “too much time has already been lost for me to attempt to overtake Cumberland with the carriage; I must follow them on horseback. Take off the leaders and shift the saddle on to the led horse; he seems the freshest.”
“Umph! go and get shot, like the wretched man here,” put in Mr. Frampton. “You shan't do it, Frank.”
“With his fate before me, I will be careful, sir,” replied I; “but think of Clara in the power of that villain! Your niece must be rescued at all hazards; still, even for her sake, I will be cautious.—Is that horse ready?”
“If you please, sir,” said one of the postilions, a quick, intelligent lad, who, while we were speaking, had removed the saddle from the dead mare to the back of the off leader, “if you will take me with you, I can show you how to stop them.” He then explained, that about five miles farther on there was a turnpike at the top of a long hill, which a heavy carriage must ascend slowly, and that he knew a short cut across some fields, by means of which, if we made the best of our way, we might reach the turnpike in time to close the gate before those of whom we were in pursuit should arrive. This plan appeared so sensible and comparatively easy of execution, that even Mr. Frampton could offer no objection to it, and, mounting our horses, we again resumed the chase.
And now, for the first time since I had heard of Clara's abduction, did I at all recover my self-command, or venture to hope the affair would be brought to a favourable issue. But the change from inaction to vigorous exertion, and the refreshing sensation of the cool air as it whistled round my throbbing temples, tended to restore the elasticity of my spirits, and I felt equal to any emergency that might arise. After following the high road for about a mile, we turned down a lane on the right, and leaving this when we had proceeded about half a mile farther, we entered a large grass field, which we dashed over in gallant style, and making our way across sundry other fields, and over, through, and into (for the post-horses, though not by any means despicable cattle in their degree, were scarcely calculated for such a sudden burst across country as that to which we were treating them) the respective hedges and ditches by which they were divided, we regained the high road, after a rattling twenty minutes' gallop. The point at which we emerged was just at the top of a very steep hill, up which the road wound in a serpentine direction.
“Are we before them, do you think?” inquired I of my companion, as we reined in our panting steeds.
“I'm sure as we must be, sir, by the pace we've come. I didn't think the old 'osses had it in 'em; but you does ride slap hup, sir, and no mistake—pity as you ain't on the road, your honour.”
“If I pass behind those larch trees,” asked I, smiling at the postboy's compliment, “I can see down the hill without being seen, can I not?”
His reply being in the affirmative, I advanced to the spot I had indicated, and, to my delight, perceived a carriage and four making its way up the hill with as great rapidity as the nature of the ground rendered possible. Turning my horse's head, I rejoined my companion, and we rode on to the turnpike.
Half a dozen words served to convey my wishes to the turnpike-man, as many shillings rendered him my firm friend, and half the number of minutes sufficed to close and effectually bolt and bar the gate.
The postboy having by my orders tied up the horses to a rail on the other side of the gate, we all three entered the turnpike-house, where, with breathless impatience, I awaited the arrival of the carriage. In less time than even I had imagined possible, the sound of horses' feet, combined with the rattle of wheels, and the shouting of the drivers, when they perceived the gate was shut, gave notice of their approach.
“Wait,” exclaimed I, laying my hand on the boy's arm to restrain his impetuosity, “wait till they pull up, and then follow me, both of you; but do not interfere unless you see me attacked, and likely to be overpowered.”
As I spoke, the horses were cheeked so suddenly as to throw them on their haunches, and, amidst a volley of oaths at the supposed inattention of the turnpike-man, one of the party (in whose coarse bloated features and corpulent figure I at once recognised my ci-devant acquaintance of the billiard-room, Captain Spicer) jumped down to open the gate. This was the moment I had waited for, and bounding forward, followed by my satellites, I sprang to the side of the carriage. A cry of joy from Clara announced that I was recognised, and with an eager hand she endeavoured to let down the glass, but was prevented by Cumberland, who was seated on the side nearest the spot where-! was standing. In an instant my resolution was taken: wrenching open the carriage door, and flinging down the steps, I sprang upon him, and seizing him by the coat-collar before he had time to draw a pistol, I dragged him out head foremost, an I, giving way to an ungovernable impulse of rage, shook him till I could hear all the teeth rattle in his head, and threw him from me with such violence that he staggered and fell. In another moment Clara was in my arms.