Wilson's Tales of the Borders and of Scotland Volume VIII Part 22

"'Be composed, my dear sir,' I rejoined; 'do you not know Edward Vavasour, your attached nephew?'

"He rose--his eyes had a peculiar expression--one I had never witnessed before: naturally of a dark-grey, they seemed to take the hue of a fiery red, and they glared fearfully.

"'The house of Vavasour is doomed--its last hour has come;' and, saying these words he drew from his pocket-book a letter, which he threw towards me. I seized it; and judge of my horror when I perceived this paper."

Lord Mortlake then took from his escritoire the following letter:--

"SIR THOMAS,--You have had your triumph--my triumph comes now.

The despised Mortlake rejoices in the extinction of the proud Vavasour. Know, haughty man, Edward is not the son of your brother!"

"It is not possible to describe my feelings, Tom, at this instant--my head turned round. That the statement was false, I doubt not; for I knew better than Sir Thomas the deep feeling of hatred my mother could entertain, and did entertain against us both.

"'Uncle, this letter is the legacy of an enemy--allow me to retain it, and I will bring positive evidence to disprove the a.s.sertion it contains.'

"My uncle was too much excited to listen to me. In a hoa.r.s.e and angry voice, he muttered--

"'Give me the letter, you villain!'

"I endeavoured to pacify him, but without success; when, suddenly rising, he seized a knife, and, rus.h.i.+ng forward, made a thrust at me with it. I avoided the blow, and retreated. He, incautiously advancing, lost his footing, and fell with the knife underneath. I hastily stepped forward to raise him, but had not strength to do so; for, by one of those strange and unaccountable accidents, which not unfrequently give the air of romance to real life, the point of the knife had been turned towards his body, and, pa.s.sing between his ribs, had pierced his heart.

He died in an instant. I endeavoured again to raise the body, but in vain. I drew out the knife, and blood then came with it. To describe my situation at this terrible moment is impossible: my uncle dead at my feet--no one to witness how the accident happened--I might be dragged as a felon to trial for his supposed murder. My grief for his unhappy end was soon absorbed in fears for my own safety--for, here was I, the apparent heir, discovered with the man to whom I was to succeed, a bleeding corpse beside me; then the quarrel between us--the stigma thrown upon me by my vindictive parent, which, for aught I knew, Sir Thomas might have bruited abroad--all this made me tremble. Even if acquitted, still the suspicious circ.u.mstances of the case would be greedily seized upon by the public, which never judges favourably, and a stain would have been cast upon the family name never to be effaced. My uncle was past all human a.s.sistance, and my remaining could not aid him.

I therefore fled, un.o.bserved by any one; and barely three hours had elapsed from my leaving the inn, until I was again its inmate. At a late hour I heard a noise of voices, which accorded ill with my morbid state of feeling. I rang to know the cause; and the answer to my inquiry was the announcement that a dreadful murder had been committed upon Sir Thomas Vavasour, and that you, Tom, had been taken into custody, under such circ.u.mstances as warranted the strongest presumptions of your guilt.

"My astonishment could only be equalled by the horror I felt at having caused an innocent fellow-creature to be placed in hazard of his life.

However, I was sufficiently collected; and, having learned that you could not be brought to trial for some time, I left the place with the firm resolution that, be the consequences what they might, not one hair of your head should be injured.

"I had no secrets from my wife, and to her I disclosed everything. After some deliberation, we agreed that it was best, if possible, to procure your escape from the prison; as, if that could be accomplished, there would be no necessity for any disclosures to gratify the inquisitive and malicious. I resolved to act by myself, without the a.s.sistance of any one. My first object was to prevent interference of the country writers; and this I accomplished easily enough, by creating an impression that they would give offence to the new Baron of Merton, if they ventured to a.s.sist you. Thus I deprived you of the advice of these worthies, which, after all, was no great loss. I should have regretted your imprisonment, had I not been informed that you were a _mauvais sujet_, and that the restraint would do you no harm, as it might induce you to reflect.

"With my wife's a.s.sistance, I procured a female dress, bonnet and cloak.

I also bought a file, a rope-ladder, and some aquafortis, as I thought it would be no very difficult matter to help you out of an old Scotch county jail. Lady Mortlake had an uncle resident a mile or two from Liverpool. This fact presented an ostensible object for a trip, and we set off together. I left her with her relative; and, crossing the country, I got to Jedburgh in good time. I was quite unknown, as, prior to my last eventful visit, many years had pa.s.sed by since I had been in the County of Roxburgh. I gave myself out to be an Edinburgh writer, which was believed.

"I thus got free access to you, and the result I need not repeat. The gig I bought for the purpose, as well as the horse. I had them in readiness at a village at some distance, having given the landlord of the inn to believe that it was merely an ordinary case of elopement. In order to mystify the folks of Jedburgh, your letter was enclosed under cover to my wife, who herself drove to the post-office, and put it in the box, in this way destroying every possibility of detection. I caused the body of Sir Thomas to be interred at Vavasour, where his two brothers had previously been buried. This prevented the necessity of my personal presence at Merton, where perchance I might have been recognised as the person who left the counting-house so hurriedly on the day of the supposed murder. I have never lived at Merton since; it is occupied by the factor, and, in virtue of the deed of entail, the Scottish estates belong now to my second son. I induced your mother to reside on the English estate, where my wife could personally attend to her comfort. The rest you know. Our travels made me intimately acquainted with you, and I found you had talent, tolerable acquirements, and an affectionate heart; and I was determined to aid you, if you would be but true to yourself. Your vices were the result of idleness, and the foolish indulgence of a fond mother. Do not think me harsh when I say so; but, Tom, had you not been removed from her, you would have been lost. Oh, what have parents to answer for, by allowing their children to take their own way! From my connection with Antigua, I had no difficulty in providing for you. My cousin, Mr Edward Mortlake, managed my West Indian estates--a source of revenue to the company of which he was senior partner. I had merely to signify my wishes to place a young friend in his counting-house, and it was granted. Neither he nor Tresham knew your real history--they both thought you some off-shoot of the Mortlakes. The latter was expressly desired to conceal my name, and to avoid notice of the Vavasour family as much as possible. And he kept the secret well. My accession to the Vavasour estates brought without any trouble that which my misguided mother so much coveted; for, as my political support was not to be despised, ministers induced the king to terminate the abeyance, and I received my summons as Baron Mortlake. The story imposed upon my poor uncle by Mrs Vavasour was, as I was from the first a.s.sured, a malicious fiction of her own; for, luckily, I was able to trace out the whole circ.u.mstances connected with my birth; and the testimony of the nurse and medical man, which I obtained in a quiet way, were perfectly conclusive. Indeed, legally, my mother's declaration availed nothing; but I was anxious, morally, to satisfy myself, as far as I could, that I was the son of her marriage with Mr Richard Vavasour.

I have now told you all. As I was the accidental cause of your perilous situation and loss of character, it was but common justice to a.s.sist you as far as lay in my power. You have raised yourself to respectability and affluence, partly by my recommendation, but princ.i.p.ally by your own exertions. You owe me, therefore, nothing; and, on the contrary, I am still considerably your debtor. If, after reflection, you think a disclosure necessary to clear the reputation of Tom Vallance, you have my full permission to make it."

"Never, my dear lord--or, if you will allow me to term you, my dear friend--shall I make the slightest use of your confidence. You have, from a worthless and idle vagabond, metamorphosed me into a reputable and honest man. Tom Vallance has ceased to exist; but the heart of Tom Mortlake is too deeply attached to his benefactor ever to do anything that would cause him the slightest pain."

"You are a n.o.ble fellow, Tom, and well deserve your fortune."

Several months after this conversation, the public journals announced that "Thomas Mortlake, Esq., of the firm of Tresham, Mortlake, & Tresham, was married, by special license, at Vavasour, to Emily, eldest daughter of the Right Honourable Edward Lord Mortlake." If an accomplished and sweet-tempered wife, a fine family, an attached friend, good health, and a competent fortune, could make any one happy, then Tom Mortlake was superlatively blessed.

THE SERJEANT'S TALES.

THE BEGGAR'S CAMP.

I recur again to the strange adventures of Serjeant Square, and present another section of them to the readers of the "Border Tales:"--

With ruined prospects, and friends.h.i.+ps severed by death (he began), I resolved to bid, once more, farewell to my native Edinburgh.

I pa.s.sed two or three days in this listless manner, each being to see me put in force my resolution to depart; till at length, having provided myself with a seaman's dress, taken the powder out of my hair, seized a stout stick, and provided a small bundle of necessaries, I once more set out upon the world, caring little whether I went to the south or the west, to London or Bristol, to Greenock or Port-Glasgow. I had, in my absent state of mind, almost unconsciously, or perhaps from habit, taken my way down the Canongate, and had reached the girth cross--a few steps, and the streets of Edinburgh would pa.s.s from under my feet, perhaps for ever. I neither knew nor cared. A flood of painful recollections came over me, as I stood scarce knowing for what object I had paused. So doubtful and indifferent, so undecided did I stand, that, to put an end to the recollections that pained me whilst I hesitated, I took a piece of copper from my pocket, and, tossing it up into the air, I cried, "A head for England--a lady for Scotland!" The halfpenny tingled at my feet, the king's head looked to the sky, and, as if relieved of a care, I moved quickly on, nor once looked behind, until I had placed Arthur's Seat between me and the city.

Thus moving along, sometimes listlessly, at others quickening my pace, I had journeyed on until I had reached the neighbourhood of Berwick. The day had been overcast with partial light showers; several times I had resolved to stay for the remainder of the day and night in the next inn I came to; but, enticed by partial clearings up of the weather, I still walked on, until towards sunset, when the weather all at once put on the most threatening aspect and the rain fell very heavily. There was neither house nor shelter of any kind in sight; the thick, dense clouds that came driving from the west completely obscured the twilight I had calculated upon. At length I perceived, at a small distance from the road, a house, with light issuing from the windows. I knocked for admittance, which was at once cheerfully given, and every exertion made for my comfort by the kind host and hostess--a farmer and his wife. To my inquiries if they could oblige me with a bed for the night--

"You are kindly welcome to the shelter of our roof," said the farmer, "and a seat by the fire; and, were it not for a strange circ.u.mstance, you might have both a room and a bed."

"William--William!" said the wife, with a look of great alarm, "do not speak of it; I could not think of even putting a dog there, far less a Christian. I will give the stranger a pair of blankets, and make a good fire for him; but do not speak of that fearful room. I wish the laird would allow us to pull it down."

"Grace, my woman," replied he, "I did not mean him to pa.s.s the night in it. I only, without thinking any harm, mentioned it. I wish, as well as you, that it were taken down."

Struck by their strange discourse, I requested my kind host to tell me the history of the apartment that seemed to give them so much uneasiness.

Drawing his seat more near to the fire--"I have not the smallest objection," said he, "as it will show, whatever is the cause of the strange disturbances, that there is no blame on our part. This bit land that I farm has been in our family for more than two nineteen years, and the third nineteen of the lease is nearly expired. Both the old and present lairds have been good landlords to us--we could not well refuse any small favour they required at our hands; and, indeed, we always found ourselves the gainers for any little that was in our power. A few months after the rebels were defeated, and the rebellion quelled by the battle of Culloden, the young laird came back to the Big House again safe, and we all rejoiced. On the day after his arrival, he came to our house to visit us, for he was always like one of ourselves. I saw there was something upon his mind, he was so douce and thoughtful--not in the least like his former way, which was all laughing and chatting with every one. It did not become me to inquire the cause; so, after staying a short time, he requested me to come out and take a turn with him, to see some young trees that had been planted before he joined the king's army. As soon as we were a short distance from the house, he stopped, and, looking me full in the face--

"'William,' said he, 'I believe you would not do anything to harm or bring me into trouble.'

"I think my face flushed, for I found my ears glow at the supposition.

"'No, laird; I would far rather harm or bring myself into trouble. Who has belied me to your honour? I am certain neither thought nor word of mine ever gave you cause to suspect me.'

"I really felt hurt and grieved for a moment, until he took my hand in his, and smiled.

"'William,' said he, 'I am sorry if I have unintentionally hurt your honest feelings. I have nothing but good faith in you. I have an affair of importance on hand, and you must aid me.'

"'With all my heart,' replied I. 'Only tell me what I am to do.'

"'There is one for whose safety I am most anxious,' continued he; 'his life is in danger. In my own house he cannot be concealed; in yours he may. I shall provide for it, if you are willing to encounter the risk and inconvenience. You have no family or servants that reside with you.

I shall build an apartment attached to your house, which he shall occupy; and you will attend to all his wants, and administer to his comforts as much as in your power.'

"To all this Grace and I gave our hearty consent. Everything was made ready in much less time than I could have conceived possible; the laird superintending all himself, and we obedient to his will. When all was to his mind, he went from home for a few days, leaving word with me, that whoever should give me his letter, authorising me to put them in possession of the room, I was at once to comply, and ask no questions.

"For those who had taken any part with the prince, it was a troublesome period. The cruelties committed by the king's troops in the Highlands, made our blood run cold in our veins; and we now pitied those whom we had a few months before hated and feared. Numbers were in prison, waiting a b.l.o.o.d.y release, more objects of pity than those who were butchered outright. The law sometimes realises the tales of the crocodiles, and weeps over the victims it is intent to devour. Well, the second evening after the laird left us, there came to our door a poor, aged man, scarcely able to support himself upon his staff; his keen, grey eyes were at one time fixed upon the ground, and the next, when he looked up, piercing into my inmost thoughts. With a tone of voice which affected humility, he requested rest and a little food. There was a round fulness in the subdued tone, that ill a.s.sorted with the apparent age of the individual; yet I welcomed him into the house--for the needy never left our door empty. When he was seated, I saw his searching eye scan the apartment. Grace was seated at her wheel, while I had been reading to her the 'Pilgrim's Progress,' and the book lay on the table.

The first words he spoke were to inquire if there were any other inmates in the house except ourselves. When I answered him that there were not, he stretched his body erect as he sat on his chair. I could scarce believe my eyes. Grace gave a faint cry of surprise and fear. I looked to the gun that hung over the mantelpiece--for that he was a robber in disguise, was my first impression. It lasted, however, only for a moment; for, taking a letter from his pocket, he gave it to me. It was the promised letter from the laird; and so, taking the candle from the table, I requested him to follow me. He rose from the seat, and, clothed as he was in his beggar's weeds, I seldom had seen a more majestic figure, as he pa.s.sed into the little apartment. Without uttering a word, he threw himself upon a seat, and motioned me to retire. I felt awed by his presence, and withdrew, shutting the door after me, and leaving him to his meditations. Grace prepared some supper for him; and, tapping on the door, inquired if he would partake of it. He replied no; and begged not to be disturbed until he called in the morning.

"Wondering at what we had seen, and who our guest could be, we retired to rest. I could hear at times the stranger groan heavily; and Grace, who slept little through the night, said she believed he had never lain down, for she had heard him at times walking and sighing heavily. Yet, afterwards, we had more to wonder at. For many weeks, he never allowed any of us to enter his room. At night only he would walk forth, after we were in bed. His food was handed in to him at the door. I never saw him, neither did Grace; for he only exposed his hands, and part of his arms, when he took anything from her at the door. At first we felt very curious, and formed many conjectures who he could be; but, as the laird still remained in Edinburgh, we could learn nothing. Gradually, we became accustomed to all his humours, and thought little of them. Our few neighbours seldom visited us, and they never suspected there was any person except ourselves in the house. His taciturn and secluded manner at length wore off. Grace first was admitted to his apartment, then myself. Previous to this, a large trunk of books and necessaries, along with a letter to me, arrived at the Big House. I was to get the whole conveyed here in the best manner I could, for 'the gentleman,' as we called him, which I immediately set about. From this time he became an altered man. The almost misanthropical turn he had shown entirely left him; a shade of touching sadness overcast his countenance; and it appeared to me that his grey locks seemed more bleached by care than time; for his voice was full and melodious, and his face unmarked by a wrinkle.

"The executions at Carlisle, and the beheading scenes at Tower Hill, had been over for some time before the change of which I speak took place.

Pleasing as it was to us, another source of discomfort, and a far more trying one, was discovered: he was a rank papist!--an idolater!--a wors.h.i.+pper of painted and graven images! Judge you what we two covenanted adherents of the Church of Scotland, in all her purity, felt, to have a part of our roof turned into a temple of Dagon! We were sore beset. What to do, we knew not. If the laird had been at home, our duty was plain before us--to demand back my pledge, which I never meant should shelter the enemies of truth, or convert my house into the abode of idolatry, to the risk of the salvation of our precious souls. But I knew not where to find him; and besides, much as I detested our guest's mode of wors.h.i.+pping, I could not divest myself of a secret love for him--he was so condescending, so grand, yet so humble and polite in all he did; and I could not say there was anything amiss in his conduct, save the way in which he had decorated his lonely apartment. Grace there was not half so much perplexed as I was. 'Poor gentleman,' she said, 'if he is pleased, it would be wrong in us to find fault. I have nae doubt he is a poor, misled, ignorant papist, and wish from my heart he was as well informed as we are; but, if he thinks he is right, we may pity, but I wadna distress him. We must set a good example, and pray for his enlightenment night and morning.'

"I yielded to what she said, partly because I had an affection for him, and partly because I agreed in her sentiments; yet I never entered the idolatrous scene without feeling a shudder come over me. Upon the top of his little table stood a crucifix and an open book, by the side of which lay a string of beads. At the foot of his bed there was a picture of Jesus on the Cross; and upon his breast he wore another, which I often saw him take out and kiss, with his face raised to heaven, in an expression of joy and hope, while the tears stole down his face. Yet I could never think he had peace in his faith; for he was always attempting something to secure his eternal happiness--night after night flogging his bare shoulders--week after week tasting only bread and water--on Friday refusing flesh or fowl--and, in the spring of the year, living for weeks on eggs, bread, or milk. Surely, thought I, if the papists are Christians, they do not feel the faith in Jesus that a true Christian enjoys; for this wors.h.i.+pper obeys the traditions and commands of men more than the Word of G.o.d. I often wished to expound the truth to him; but we never, in all our converse, entered upon matters of faith. I wors.h.i.+pped with Grace, as my fathers had done, by ourselves, and he in his room, in perfect harmony. Yet, if strictness of walk and self-denial be accounted holiness, he was far more holy than we; for, though his mind was not so much at ease in his faith, his yoke appeared grievous, and his burden heavy; and new penances, as he called them, were proofs of his ever coming short in his own estimation of his attainable object.

Poor gentleman, he fell a victim to his own endeavours to attain peace of mind by his austerities! He would have been a bright and a s.h.i.+ning light, had he only been brought up in the truth, as Grace and I had been. But I am growing tedious, and wandering from the subject. To be short, his life continued to be what I have described. We continued to love him as a father; and poor Colin" (pointing to an old dog that lay at our feet) "was his friend and constant companion. No one, save the laird, Grace, and myself, knew he was in our house; and, after two or three years, the laird called upon him often, and pa.s.sed a few hours with him; but he seemed to feel pleasure only when alone, and engaged in his superst.i.tious devotions. About twelve months since, he began evidently to decline in health, and the laird wished to remove him to the Big House, and procure medical attention; but this he would not hear mentioned.

"'I have vowed,' said he, 'to the Virgin, never to leave this place alive; but, if you will send to Edinburgh, and get me a priest of our Holy Faith, that I may receive the last rites and consolations of the True Church, my soul will thank you and depart in peace--you, my friend, know whom. If possible, I would wish you to learn if he is still alive; he will not refuse to come.'

"In a few days after, a stranger came to our door, and gave me a letter for the strange gentleman. I had not seen him for several days, Grace being his sole attendant; and even she dared not interrupt him but as little as possible. I was shocked at the change I saw upon him. He lay, pale and exhausted, his eyes bent on the crucifix, and his thin, wasted hands clasped upon his bosom, as if he had been entranced. The sickly light of the wax candle that burned beside the crucifix cast a strange light upon the dead-like body before me. I started back, and looked aghast. The noise of my entrance had aroused him.