The Pit Town Coronet Volume Iii Part 7

So far from suspecting a communication of an unpleasant nature, young Lucius Haggard, his face wreathed in antic.i.p.atory smiles, was impatiently drumming upon the window-pane in the library with his finger-tips. It seemed to him that this formal interview with his mother and his father's executor could have but one object, namely, to announce to him that a suitable provision was to be made for the heir to the Pit Town t.i.tle during the short time that must necessarily elapse ere he should come into his heritage. But his antic.i.p.ations were considerably damped by Lord Spunyarn's first words. The elder man placed his hand affectionately upon the young fellow's shoulder.

"Lucius, my poor boy," he said, "prepare yourself for a surprise, and a great disappointment," he added ominously.

The happy smile of antic.i.p.ation left the young fellow's face as he heard the words.

"Well, Lord Spunyarn," he said, "when my father cut me off without even the proverbial s.h.i.+lling, I thought he had done the worst he could for me."

Lord Spunyarn took no notice of the remark.

"My poor fellow," he said, "steel yourself to hear what I have to tell you. I will tell you now," he added, "to spare your poor mother the pain and horror of having the sad story repeated in her presence. Lucius," he said solemnly, "you are no longer the heir to the Pit Town t.i.tle, and all that goes with it."

"Good heavens!" cried the young man as he sank into a chair, "it can't be true. Did Hetton contract a secret marriage, and is there a son? Does the old man know of it?"

"It isn't that, Lucius. Compose yourself," Spunyarn added after a short pause, "and listen to what I have to tell you. This thing concerns you and your brother only. Lucius, bear it like a man, but, my poor boy, you are illegitimate."

"Did my mother dare----" he began, but Spunyarn stopped him with a gesture.

"Lucius," he said severely, "the lady who has allowed you to call her mother from the time you were a little child, did so out of kindness; speak no ill word of her, my boy, for to her you owe everything, to her love, and to her forbearance."

"Great G.o.d! Lord Spunyarn, it can't be true, there is some base plot in the matter. Who is the heir, the man who calls himself the heir, I mean?" he asked fiercely, and he clenched his hands; and his eyes, Lucy Warrender's eyes, sparkled with mingled rage and hate. "We shall contest the thing, of course?"

"The heir, Lucius, the rightful heir, is your brother George; he was born in wedlock, while you, alas, though your father's son, are----"

"Not base born; don't say that, Lord Spunyarn."

But Spunyarn nodded sadly.

"I won't believe it, Lord Spunyarn," almost shouted the young man with uncontrollable fury. "Have you, my father and my mother, been hatching this infernal plot between you all these years? Can the dead man's hand strike me, even from beyond the grave? I won't believe it, it isn't true. I'll fight it in the Courts. What does Lord Pit Town say? Does he give a tacit consent to my undoing?"

"Pit Town as yet knows nothing. Lucius, try to be calm. Listen to me,"

and as gently as he could he broke to the indignant boy the dismal fact of his heritage of shame, that he was but Reginald Haggard's love-child after all.

"And my mother?" said the boy in a broken voice.

"No need to speak of her, Lucius; she is dead."

"Have you the proofs, Lord Spunyarn, of all this?" said the boy more calmly, after he had listened to Spunyarn's narrative in silence. "It'll have to be proved, you know, proved to the hilt; that at least is my right, and I'll not forego it."

"Lucius, you have no rights."

"I must see the proofs, at least."

"Yes, you must see them, I suppose, but spare your mother, Lucius; she is broken down with grief and suffering."

"Lord Spunyarn," said the boy coldly, "you say she is not my mother; why should I spare the feelings of my father's accomplice? Feelings forsooth;" and he laughed bitterly.

"Lucius, you are mad. Let me beseech you, as a gentleman, in the painful interview that must take place, to spare your father's widow as much as possible. Deal gently with her, boy; it is she who has been the victim in the whole matter."

"Don't bandy words with me, Lord Spunyarn," cried the young man, and for the moment the impetuous Reginald Haggard of bygone years seemed to stand before the astonished n.o.bleman in the very flesh. "You tell me,"

he continued in a calmer tone, "that George Haggard is the heir, that I am but my father's base-born child. Show me the proofs of this and I'll believe it; till then, Lord Spunyarn, I simply say you lie," and the young man bowed defiantly. "Let us go," he continued, "to the clever woman who has hoodwinked me for a lifetime. I follow you, sir."

Lord Spunyarn made no reply, but led the way to the widow's boudoir.

As they entered, Mrs. Haggard rose and opened her arms to Lucius, but she sunk again into her chair, staring with sad astonishment at the extraordinary transformation that had been suddenly effected in the young man. His dead father, in an access of furious pa.s.sion, seemed to stand before her. No answering look of affection was upon his face; the young mouth was firmly set, and the eyes glittered with savage defiance.

"Lucius," she said with an effort, "dear Lucius."

"Madam," he replied, as, uninvited, he seated himself with an attempt at dignity, "his lords.h.i.+p has inflicted upon me a strange and improbable story. I have told him, and I do honestly believe it, that that wild story is a lie, a wicked lie. He tells me that you hold the proofs. Let me then see these proofs, that I may make him my humble apologies, and go out from your presence into the world a nameless beggar. But you will please remember that you will find it difficult to deceive me, and to deceive Lord Pit Town, for you must cheat us both."

"Lucius," said Mrs. Haggard in a broken voice.

But Lord Spunyarn interrupted her. "I had hoped, dear lady," he said, "to have spared you such a scene as this; let me deal with him, Mrs.

Haggard. The proofs, Lucius," he added, "are here. I myself can supply the few missing links in the chain of evidence. It is but natural, perhaps," he said, "and you have, as you say, a right to see these sad proofs, unhappy boy, of the miserable folly and wickedness of your real parents. Look at them, then; examine them for yourself, and then you cannot fail to be convinced that I have not lied to you after all."

He turned the key in the lock and softly opened the box; then the astonished man gave a sudden start and placed his hand to his forehead.

Young Lucius Haggard rose to his feet, and laughed a loud, indignant, mocking laugh.

_The box was empty!_

CHAPTER VI.

LUCIUS HAGGARD IS BEWILDERED.

John, Earl of Pit Town, was above all things an art-wors.h.i.+pper. He was never tired of perambulating the great galleries of Pit Town Castle and admiring the collection, which it had been his life-long labour of love to bring together. When his son, the late Lord Hetton, had come to his sudden and dreadful end, the old man had felt the blow severely; when his heir, Reginald Haggard, had been s.n.a.t.c.hed away in the pride of his manhood, it had affected him in a less degree; but he had felt the blow from its very suddenness. Ever since Reginald Haggard's wife had come to live at the Castle, he had ceased to feel that he was alone in the world, and a deep affection had sprung up between the two. As for Haggard's boys, now bursting into early manhood, he loved them somewhat for themselves, but still more for the sake of the woman who had been a daughter to him, and the stay and comfort of his waning years. Always orderly and methodical, he had settled the ultimate disposition of his property with justice and discretion. He was immensely wealthy. As we have said, the entailed property was extremely large, but was exceeded in actual money value by the great mineral wealth which was disposable by will. The value of several ordinary estates, too, was locked up in the vast collection contained in the new galleries.

The future possessor of the Pit Town t.i.tle would be a lucky man indeed if he got the treasures so laboriously acc.u.mulated, during his long lifetime, by old Lord Pit Town. The old man lived by strict rule. He had a curious theory that, barring accidents, the span of human life might be ordinarily calculated at sixty-five years; that is, supposing that one third of the time, or eight hours a day, was given to sleep. He believed, too, that just as the span of life is undoubtedly shortened by indiscretions and excesses, particularly in the matters of diet and drink; so he considered that span to be indubitably lengthened, if the ordinary rules of common prudence were carefully observed. But Lord Pit Town went further than this. Continual a.s.sociation with Dr. Wolff had converted the old n.o.bleman to an extraordinary and original theory which was held by the doctor of philosophy. This theory was a delightfully simple one. Dr. Wolff was accustomed to sum it up as follows: "The human body is a machine, and would go on working for ever did not certain parts of it gradually wear out. It is our duty to make the machine last as long as possible. When not in use it should be run at the lowest rate of speed, in order to reduce the rapidity of the deterioration." "If I don't want to wear out my boots," Dr. Wolff would triumphantly remark, "I put on my slippers; therefore, as my body is more precious to me than even my new boots, I never unnecessarily wear it out. A certain minimum amount of exercise is undoubtedly necessary to health; let us take that by all means, but no more. Let us avoid unnecessary exertion of all kinds, physical or mental; let us not ride if we can drive, let us not walk if we can ride, let us not stand when we can sit, and certainly we should not sit if we can lie down; above all things we should not remain awake if we can possibly sleep, and even in sleeping we should, if possible, refrain from dreams. The valuable machine which we are possessed of should be run at the lowest possible speed, that it may last the longer. Strong emotions of all kinds should be just as obnoxious to us as strong drinks. Holding it as an absolute fact that, barring unavoidable accidents, a certain definite amount of wakefulness is allotted to every man, every opportunity should be seized for running the machine at the lowest possible rate by the simplest means; that is to say, to put it shortly, never remain awake without an object, as you are uselessly expending the allotted time of _Life_, that is to say, of _Wakefulness_." But Dr. Wolff and his disciple went further than this: they looked upon sleep as the secret recuperative power of nature. They considered that in sleep they had discovered the real _vis medicatrix naturae_. Their curiosity was aroused as to the success of their theory; they were neither of them particularly anxious to become very old men, except that their doing so would tend to prove the correctness of their views.

Lord Pit Town himself had already reached an almost patriarchal age; he slept and dozed frequently in the daytime, thus carrying out the principles of what the doctor proudly termed the "Wolffian Theory."

Under no pretext whatever would any servant at Walls End Castle have dared to awaken either the doctor or the old lord; they were never called in the morning, and in the midst of the most interesting conversations they were both of them in the habit, without the slightest apology, of suddenly closing their eyes and taking a deep draught of what they called nature's recuperative elixir. Everybody in Walls End Castle knew perfectly well what the servants meant, when they said that either the old lord or his faithful henchman was engaged; it simply signified that the two human dormice were carrying out the Wolffian Theory.

In sleep they were both accustomed to seek refuge from disturbing influences of all kinds. On the second day of Mrs. Dodd's visit to the Castle she had seized the opportunity of improving the occasion, when she suddenly came upon the old lord and the philosopher, each of whom was seated in an easy chair, silently drinking in the beauties of the celebrated Pit Town Turner, which formed one of the gems of the new galleries.

"I hope I'm not intruding," the energetic lady remarked, as she burst in upon the scene of tranquil enjoyment; "I don't disturb you, Lord Pit Town?" she said.

"Certainly not, dear madam; nothing disturbs me. I allow nothing to disturb me now."

"No, nothing disturbs us; nothing short of an earthquake, _Frau Prediger_; it is against our principle, you know, and that is why we don't rise at your approach," chimed in the doctor of philosophy; and the eyes of the two gentlemen by common accord left Mrs. Dodd and returned to their meditative contemplation of the great landscape.

Mrs. Dodd was astonished but not abashed; she had never known what it was to be abashed in the whole course of her life. "Their conduct is very peculiar," she thought. "That German man, if he had the instincts of a gentleman, should at least rise and explain the pictures to me; as for the old lord, I suppose he's in his second childhood. I wonder what '_Frau Prediger_' means?" "Ah, Lord Pit Town," she said, apostrophising the old n.o.bleman and utterly ignoring the obnoxious Wolff, "I must confess to a feeling of sadness when I look at all these beautiful things, and when I think how much might have been done with the vast sums that they must have cost," and she put up her eye-gla.s.s and read the descriptive label affixed to the frame of the great Turner. "So that is the celebrated picture," she continued, "and did it really cost four thousand pounds? Oh, Lord Pit Town," she went on, in the tone she might have used to a little child detected red-handed in some act of juvenile depravity, "when we think how much might have been done with four thousand pounds, when we read in the statistics of the Society for the Conversion of the Jews that it costs little more than four thousand pounds to convert one of that proverbially stiff-necked race, one cannot look at that picture without emotion."

She waited for a moment for the old lord to excuse himself; she looked from the picture to the venerable n.o.bleman; his eyes were tightly shut; he was evidently taking a deep draught of the recuperative elixir. Then she turned in search of sympathy to the man who had called her "_Frau Prediger_;" he too was employed in exactly the same manner. For the first time in her life Mrs. Dodd found herself absolutely and distinctly ignored; she was to these two dreadful men as if she did not exist; it was too much, she turned and fled. As the vicar's wife flung out of the gallery, the two enthusiasts reopened their eyes and resumed their contemplation of Turner's masterpiece. From this little incident it may be seen that the old lord and his companion were not easily disturbed in the even tenor of their tranquil lives.

Lord Spunyarn's feelings after the stormy interview with young Lucius Haggard were not to be envied. He hated to meddle and to make. It's quite true that he had been forced into his present position by Haggard's dying communication, and it was by no fault of his own that he suddenly found himself mixed up in the exceedingly intricate family affairs of other people. It was an unpleasant position; he had seen with his own eyes the links of evidence which completed the chain of proof that plainly demonstrated the truth of what his old friend had told him on his death-bed. How and by whom the contents of the little red box had been mysteriously spirited away he was unable to imagine; certainly not by his friend's widow, for Mrs. Haggard, he knew, was the soul of honour; certainly Lucius could have had no hand in the abstraction. It seemed to Spunyarn's mind imperative upon him to communicate the whole matter to the old earl, and so s.h.i.+ft the entire responsibility upon the shoulders of the head of the family. Possibly the old lord, as the possessor of unbounded wealth, might be able to make arrangements satisfactory to himself and to the naturally conflicting interests of the two young men. In any case an open scandal must be avoided, and the Pit Town t.i.tle and estates, whatever might become of the old lord's money, must not be diverted from the legitimate heir. How he wished that he had never accepted that autumn invitation to Pit Town Castle! He knew full well that young Lucius Haggard would not relinquish one t.i.ttle of what he considered his rights. It was difficult to escape from the horns of the dilemma. It was quite certain that Mrs. Haggard would not move in the matter, and to let Lucy Warrender's child rob George Haggard of his birthright seemed to him a crime. The only other alternative being a scandalous trial in open court and the dragging of the whole matter before the public. As a man of the world, Lord Spunyarn was quite aware that a secret ceases to be a secret when there are too many depositories of it; for this reason he could not even consult the legal advisers of the family. He felt that George Haggard must be told sooner or later: that was a plain duty. He felt, too, that it were better that the boy should learn the secret from him, but the communication of the matter to the old lord was still more imperative, and that communication must be made at once, for Spunyarn well knew that the life of the fragile old n.o.bleman hung by a thread, and that there was no exaggeration in Lucius Haggard's statement that Lord Pit Town might go off at any moment. From what Spunyarn knew of George Haggard and his mother, he felt, in the event of the old earl's death, that it was more than probable that Lucius Haggard would be allowed to succeed to everything, contrary to all the dictates of human justice. At this thought all Spunyarn's cla.s.s instincts violently revolted.