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Chapter Twenty Eight
Mr Hampton is Uneasy
Mr Hampton was the first to break the silence.
“Mr George Harrington is at present absent from home.”
“I beg your pardon,” was the retort, in firm, convincing tones; “Mr George Harrington is here present, and eager to be confronted with this man.”
“As soon as he returns, sir, you and he will doubtless meet; and, as a matter of course, I presume you will lay claim to the estate?”
“I am not thinking of the estate now, sir. I want to meet this man – I want to be brought face to face with him. I’ll soon bring him to his knees, and make him confess. The villain! – the murderous wretch! I – I beg pardon, ladies. You do not know the truth. This man, Dan Portway, struck me down, and, believing me dead, has imposed upon you all.”
“There! I knew it all the time,” cried Mrs Hampton emphatically.
“My dear Rachel!”
“Oh, don’t talk to me, Phineas. I knew he couldn’t be our George Harrington. A nasty, low-minded, drinking wretch, whose presence I would not have tolerated for a minute if it had not been for Gertrude here. I knew it all the time; something seemed to say to me, as soon as I set eyes upon him, ‘This man is a cheat.’”
“My dear madam,” cried their visitor, smiling, “now you have set eyes on me I hope there is no such whisper to your inner self.”
“Indeed there is not, sir.”
“My dear Rachel?” cried the lawyer firmly, “this is extremely indiscreet. We are face to face with a very great difficulty.”
“No difficulty at all. Wait till the wretched man comes back, and then send him about his business.”
“You are talking like an inconsistent child, Rachel,” said the lawyer sternly. “Mr George Harrington – ”
“The assumed Mr George Harrington,” interposed the new-comer.
“I beg your pardon, sir; until we have the most incontrovertible proofs of the truth of what you advance, this is Mr George Harrington to us; and you seem to forget the old adage: ‘Possession is nine points of the law.’”
“Oh, no, I do not,” said the young man quickly; “and I do not forget that, little as I know of the law, I have you and the other executor to call to account for improperly disposing of my estate.”
With a wholesome horror of the legal tedium of the profession to which he belonged, and startled at the prospect a lawsuit opened out, the old man sank back in his chair, and, for the moment completely taken aback, stared at his verbal assailant.
“Pray do not misjudge Mr Hampton,” said Gertrude coming to his help. “He was my grandfather’s most trusted friend, and he has acted throughout with the strictest impartiality. If he has been mistaken – which we do not know yet,” she said, colouring deeply beneath the young man’s admiring gaze, “he will, I am sure, do everything that is right.”
“I am sure he will, quite sure.”
“This is a terrible position in which we are all placed,” continued Gertrude, with quiet, matter-of-fact courtesy.
“Yes, a very terrible position, my dear,” said the old lawyer, full of gratitude for the way in which she had come to his help when, to his annoyance, he had been completely nonplussed; “and this gentleman must do nothing rash.”
“Will it be rash to seize this scoundrel, and break his neck?”
“Certainly, sir,” said the old man, with the comic gravity of one who takes everything as the French say, au pied de la lettre. “You are in England now and not in the Far West, where your most famous Justice is Judge Lynch.”
“I wish he had hold of this man.”
“Yes, exactly, my dear sir; but listen to simple, matter-of-fact reason. You see, of course, how the executors are placed.”
“Oh, yes, I see,” said the young man, who was watching Gertrude all the time.
“Prove your position then, my dear sir, and rely upon it you shall have justice.”
“Am I to understand by these words that the executors will offer no opposition?”
“I am sorry to say, sir, that the executors are powerless. They have, as they believed, done their duty conscientiously and well. Your actions for the moment, it seems to me, will be two. One for ejectment against Mr George Harrington.”
“Against the impostor, sir.”
The lawyer made a deprecatory motion.
“The other against the unfortunate executors. Perhaps I am wrong, but all this is so sudden that I must confess to being a little off my regular balance.”
“Look here, sir,” cried the young man bluffly. “I have passed my life among tough, lawless men; but there are plenty out West who are true, rough nature’s gentlemen. My father was one of these, and I’ve tried to follow out his teachings. I suppose I shall have to do what you say – go to law; but if it is made plain to me that you and your fellow executor have done your duty as gentlemen, and have unwittingly been imposed upon, why I’d sooner give up everything than come down upon you.”
“Thank you, sir, thank you,” said the old man in a low tone; “thank you for myself and for Doctor Lawrence.”
“Doctor Lawrence!” cried the young man with animation; “ah, I know him by name.”
“And I say thank you, too, Mr George Harrington,” began Mrs Hampton.
“My dear Rachel,” said the old lawyer reprovingly, “you are making an admission.”
“Of course I am. I said Mr George Harrington, because I believe firmly that we have been imposed upon. I am glad to see you back again, George,” she continued, holding out her hand; “and you may depend upon having my help. There, there, there, Phineas, don’t look at me like that,” she continued, as the young man grasped her hand. “You feel the same as I do in your human heart, though you cannot in your legal mind. My making an admission does not injure your position behind your books. I say we have been tricked, and the sooner we repent in sackcloth and ashes the better.”
“Come,” cried the young man, “here’s sunshine through the clouds. I have your support, madam, and that of our dear old granny here.”
“Yes, yes,” said the old housekeeper, who had wept herself nearly blind, and quite dry. “It’s him, Mr Hampton. Oh, I’m sure it’s him.”
“That’s right, old lady; and now I want to enlist another’s sympathy in my cause. Miss Bellwood – Gertrude – I came here to-night to claim my heritage, and to see the lady who would, in all probability, be my wife. You will shake hands?”
He held out his brown, sinewy hand and gazed in the troubled eyes before his, as the poor girl stood trembling by Mrs Hampton’s side, while the rest looked on curiously.
For one moment she shrank and hesitated, then, as if unable to resist the influence of the eyes which held hers, she slowly raised her hand, to have it clenched with a firm, strong pressure, before it was raised to the holder’s lips to be reverently kissed and then let fall.
“This is really very much out of order,” said Mr
Hampton querulously. “I ought not to sit here and – ”
“Allow it, sir? Well, perhaps not. There, it is growing late. I will not inflict my presence upon you longer; and you may rely upon it, ladies, that everything shall be done so as to cause you as little anxiety as possible.”
“I am glad to hear you say that,” cried Mr Hampton. “When can I meet this man, sir?”
“Really, I cannot say. At present I am under the impression that he has gone to Paris, and he may not be back for some days.”
“Then why should I not turn the tables on him, and take possession here?”
“It cannot be done, sir,” said the old man firmly.
“But suppose I insist.”
“If you are the true George Harrington, sir, you will act as a gentleman should, and take proper steps to make good your claim.”
“Ah! now you disarm me. There: I will go now. Miss Bellwood, Mrs Hampton, whatever happens in the future you may believe in me. Good-night.”
He shooks hands again.
“Mr Hampton, I shall come in the morning and have a long talk with you.”
“You are staying in town?”
“I shall stay in town at Jay’s Hotel, Surrey Street.”
“Then you will be close to my chambers in Lincoln’s Inn. I will be there, and expect you at twelve.”
“And when shall I see Doctor Lawrence?”
“At twelve to-morrow, at my place.”
“Good-night, then; you, too, will shake hands.”
“As soon as you prove yourself to be George Harrington.”
“Quite right, sir. Good-night. You will show me the way out, granny.”
“And with a sorrowful heart, my dear,” said the old woman. “To think of my having to turn you away from your own old home.”
“Only for a while, old lady,” said the young man; and passing his arm round her he left the room.
No one moved till the gate had been heard to clang, when, without word or look, Gertrude turned and hurried up to her chamber, to fling herself upon her knees, sobbing violently.
“And I have promised to be his wife,” she moaned. “What shall I do? What shall I do?”
“Well, Phineas,” said Mrs Hampton, after she had stood looking frowningly at her husband for some time as he sat tapping the table, “what have you to say to all this?”
“Eh? Nothing.”
“But you see that was the real man.”
“No, I don’t. He must prove it.”
“But this other one.”
“Is to us Mr George Harrington.”
“But when he comes back from Paris what will he say?”
“I’m beginning to think, Rachel, that he has gone.”
“Well, we know he has gone.”
“But I mean for good.”
“He couldn’t. It’s not in him. Gone for bad, you mean.”
“I mean gone, never to come back.”
“Good gracious, Phineas! Do you think he knows?”
“It is impossible to say; but he has had ten thousand pounds in hard cash.”
“The wretch!”
“And I suppose I shall have to be answerable for the amount to the rightful heir.”
“Why, Phineas, it would half ruin you if you had to pay.”
“Yes,” said the old man dolefully.
“But you think this is the right man?”
“Yes, Rachel; and I’m afraid I have got myself in a dreadful mess.”
Chapter Twenty Nine
“There it is Again.”
“My dear Gertrude, I did not oppose you after you had made up your mind to carry out your guardian’s wishes; but I’m so pleased with the way in which things have turned out that I hardly know what to say.”
“But you forget, Mrs Hampton; you forget that I have promised to be that man’s wife.”
“Well, what of that, my dear?”
“What of that?”
“Yes; you are a woman, aren’t you?”
“Of course, but – ”
“Well, say you won’t have him. Nobody can force you to. What’s the good of being a woman if you can’t have your own way about the man you marry?”
“Hark!” cried Gertrude, “the bell!” and she turned quite pale. “It must be he.”
“Which he?” cried the old woman shortly. “Can’t be our Mr George Harrington, because he was to go to Lincoln’s Inn about this time. And I don’t believe it is likely to be the other. He’ll never come back at all. Oh, the pest?”
Mrs Denton looked from one to the other with a satisfied air, as she handed the letter she brought in to Gertrude, her air suggesting that she expected to be spoken to; but as nothing was said, she shrugged her shoulders and left the room.
“From Saul Harrington,” said Gertrude, opening the letter with trembling hands.
It was dated the previous day from a well-known hotel in Paris, and very brief.
He hoped his dear little cousin would be glad to hear he had reached Paris all right, and was having lovely weather. He said that the gay city was full of temptations, but he was going to resist them all, and leave in forty-eight hours for Chamounix, which he should make his headquarters till he went on to the Tyrol.
“Tell George,” he continued, “that I consider he has lost his manliness in pinning himself to your apron till the happy day. He had far better join me out here for a good tramp. If he likes to alter his mind he can easily catch up to me, and I faithfully promise to send him bark in ample time for a certain event. Under the circumstances I shall probably not return till after you are married, so forgive my absence. I wish you every happiness.”
“Then that man has not joined him yet, my dear.”
“No, Mrs Hampton. Is it not very strange?”
“Very, my dear.”
“Why do you speak like that? It is as if you had some hidden meaning.”
“I only think that he did not go and join him.”
Gertrude looked at her rather curiously, and then said in an eager way:
“It would be easy to find out if he has joined him since.”
“By telegraphing. Are you going to do this?”
Gertrude shook her head.
“Would you like me to send a message?”
“Yes – no – I hardly know what to say.”
Mrs Hampton stuck her ball of wool on the point of the shining knitting-pin she held, and spun it round for a few times.
“It would be satisfactory for everybody to know,” she said at last. “Ring the bell, my dear, and I’ll send a message.”
The message was despatched, and after a long discussion as to the probabilities of reaching Saul Harrington before he left for Switzerland, and how soon an answer might be expected, they settled down to the daily routine of their lives. One duty now was Gertrude’s nursing of the injured dog, who seemed, as he lay on the soft hay bed in the stable, very near his end. He lay for hours together without stirring, till he heard his mistress’ step, and then he uttered a low whine, and feebly raised his head as his eyes sought hers before he lowered his muzzle again, as if it was too heavy for the strength he had left.
Gertrude let many a tear fall upon the poor brute’s head as she patted it gently and bandaged the wound, the dog submitting to what must have been a painful operation without so much as a whine, till the time came when he could get his head in his mistress’ lap, and sink into a kind of stupor more than sleep.
That day wore by, and there was no answer to the telegram. Then came the dinner hour, and with it the old lawyer, but not alone, Doctor Lawrence having once more accompanied him down to The Mynns.
Their looks spoke volumes, but little was said till they were seated over the dessert; when, in response to one of Gertrude’s inquiring looks, the Doctor leaned towards her, took her hand, and said gravely:
“My dear child, I have said nothing, because I seem to have nothing to say.”
“But tell me what you think,” said Gertrude imploringly.
“Well, my dear, I think – but it must not influence us in any degree – that this young man really is George Harrington.”
Gertrude tried to stifle the emotion she felt, as the doctor went on:
“It is a puzzling business, my dear. We have had a very long interview at Hampton’s chambers, and he certainly has impressed me strangely. Our friend here is like a rock, and he has been piling on to my head stories of impostures, and cases where pretenders have come forward, till I am completely bewildered.”
“Then if he is not the true George Harrington, let George Harrington himself come forward and say so. Why doesn’t he come back, instead of running off in this mysterious way?”
Mrs Hampton looked quite fiercely to right and left as she delivered herself of this speech.
The old lawyer seemed to decline to take up the cudgels; he only tapped softly on the table. But Mrs Hampton’s tongue was unloosed, and she turned the flow of her eloquence upon the doctor.
“I say this is the right man,” she cried; “everything goes to prove it. I have not said anything about this before, but I have noticed a great deal since I have been here, and I kept my lips sealed because I felt that I might be doing wrong in speaking, and, besides, I had no right.”
“What have you observed, then?” said the lawyer, turning upon her sharply.
“That time after time, while he was professing to be so sober, our Mr George Harrington sat drinking with Saul half, and sometimes all the night. Three times over did old Mrs Denton come to me, pretending it was to help her about some domestic matter, over which she did not want to trouble Gertrude here, and it was to show me Mr George Harrington asleep in the study, where he had been all night. Ah! here she is. Mrs Denton, how many times did you find the gentleman – bah! – the man who came and said he was Mr Harrington – asleep in his chair in the study.”
“Six, ma’am,” said the old housekeeper. “No: it was eight.”
“Now, don’t exaggerate, Denton. It was only three.”
“I beg your pardon, ma’am; I only came to you three times. There were five other times when I woke him, and got him up to bed myself, so stupid and confused that he could only ask where Mr Saul was. They had been sitting in the study together when I went to bed, and he must have let Mr Saul out himself and then gone back and fallen asleep in his chair. A telegram, miss.”
Gertrude eagerly took the message, tore open the envelope, read, and passed it to Mrs Hampton who also read it anxiously.
“What do you mean? George did not come with me. He refused in your presence. Just off to Switzerland. Wire to Glacier Hotel, Chamounix.”
“You need not wait, Denton,” said Gertrude.
“No, miss; but might I make so bold: is there any news of – of the gentleman who said he was Mr George?”
“No, Denton; none at all.”
“And might I ask when Mr George is coming again?”
Gertrude looked at the old lawyer, who only looked close as one of his own tin boxes, so she transferred her gaze to the doctor, who fidgeted about beneath the inquiring eyes.
Gertrude rose from the table, laid her hand upon the old woman’s arm, and led her from the room.
“Denton – dear old nurse,” she said affectionately, “you must be patient and wait. We are all in a terrible state of perplexity; do not increase it by asking questions.”
The old woman caught her hand and kissed it affectionately.
“Not another word will I say, my dear, till you speak to me. But, Miss Gertie, I know I’m right. This last one is Master George. Why, my darling, you can see it in his eyes and in his fine manly way to me – the poor old woman who nursed him as a child.”
“Yes, yes, Denton; but please say no more now.”
“Only one word, my dear, and it’s about you. If the other comes back and wants you to side with him, and be his wife, don’t listen to him. You shall not. I’d sooner kill him than he should ever take you in his arms.”
“Denton!”
“I’ve done, my dear. It was only my love for the little girl I helped to bring up that made me speak. Don’t be angry with me, dear. I forget sometimes that I’m only a servant. That’s right. If you only smile at me like that you make me feel so happy again.”
Gertrude returned to the dining-room, to find that a discussion was going on, and the doctor speaking.
“Then you feel it is our duty to remain silent?”
“Most decidedly. Whatever your feelings may be you must recollect that we have accepted this gentleman as James Harrington’s heir. The pretender – ”
“Pretender!” echoed Mrs Hampton.
“Yes. I must call him so, my dear. The pretender must make good his claim.”
“Then we can do nothing till Mr George Harrington Number one comes back?”
“Nothing.”
“And you have a latent feeling that we shall not see him again?”
“A feeling that the telegram has strengthened. It seems to me that if – mind, I say if – he is an impostor, he may have had a hint that the genuine George Harrington was, after all, alive and coming back. He had foresight enough to possess himself of a large sum of money, and with this he has escaped. Good Heavens! There it is again.”
Dr Lawrence had started from his seat, as once more a long, low howl seemed to come from close at hand.
“It is only Bruno,” said Gertrude. “Poor fellow! he must have made his way out of the stable. Don’t stir, I’ll send him back.”
She ran out of the room, to find Denton coming to meet her.
“Bruno, my dear. He has managed to get over into the house.”
“Where is he?”
“I don’t know, my dear; I only heard him howl.”
A short search was sufficient, and the dog was found in the study, standing on the hearthrug, though his legs seemed hardly able to bear his weight, and sniffing and looking about in a curiously uneasy way.
Gertrude’s coming was sufficient to take his attention directly, and he suffered himself to be led back to his quarters.
“I seem very rude,” was on Gertrude’s lips as she reached the dining-room door, but the words were not spoken, for she stood, chained, as it were, to the spot, listening to the doctor’s words.
“No, Hampton,” he said, “we medical men know too much of nature to be superstitious; but I have known cases where a dog has seemed to have a strange presage of death.”
A sudden giddiness seized upon the trembling girl, as the thought occurred to her: Suppose these two young men should meet. What would be the consequence? Would it mean death, and to which?
Gertrude’s heart seemed to stand still.
