The Monctons Volume I Part 16

My uncle was from home, which would afford me an opportunity of speaking for myself. I was anxious to make a favourable impression on Sir Alexander, and took an unusual degree of pains with my toilet.

I joined Sir Alexander in the drawing-room, just as the footman announced that dinner was on the table.

Sir Alexander received me, and my apologies for detention in the office, with a mighty good grace, shook me warmly by the hand, and accompanied me into the dining-room, with the air of a man who was determined not to be cheated out of his dinner, and anxious to make up for lost time.

I did the honours as well as I could; but not without committing sundry awkward blunders; greatly to the horror of Saunders, who with toe and elbow, gave me various silent hints upon the subject, as he glided noiselessly to and fro. This only increased my confusion, but, fortunately, my worthy relative was too much engrossed with his dinner, to notice the trifling omissions, which poor Saunders considered of such immense importance.

I was greatly relieved when the cloth was removed; and the wine and gla.s.ses were placed upon the table, and Sir Alexander and I were left alone to improve our acquaintance.

He commenced the conversation by introducing the very subject uppermost in my mind.

"Did I mistake you, young gentleman, or did you tell me, that you were a son of the late Edward Moncton?"

"His only son."

"I was not aware of his marriage--still less that he left a son. It is strange, that I should have been kept in ignorance of this important fact."

This was said half musingly. He then turned to me with a lively air.

"Your father, young gentleman, deeply offended me. It was a foolish affair; but it effectually severed the friends.h.i.+p of years. We repent of these things when it is too late. Had he been less violent, and less obstinate, a reconciliation might have been brought about. As it was--interested parties did their best to widen the breach.

"Edward and I were school-fellows; and though little harmony existed between the elder branches of the family, we loved like brothers. He was a handsome, generous, high-spirited fellow, but rash and extravagant. While at school he was always in debt and difficulty, to the great annoyance of his money-loving father, who looked upon me as the aider and abettor in all his sc.r.a.pes. We continued firm friends until the night before he left college, when the quarrel, which I do not mean to particularize, took place; from which period we never met, and all correspondence ceased between us. I heard, that in after-years, he made a love connexion; but I never learned the particulars from any one but your uncle Robert; and he did not inform me, that Edward had left a son--nor can I comprehend his motive for concealing the fact."

Sir Alexander paused and looked earnestly in my face. I felt the blood rush to my temples.

"I do not doubt your veracity, young sir. You are too like the man I loved so long and well, for me to question your origin. But are you _certain_ that you are Edward Moncton's _legitimate_ son?"

"I feel no doubt upon the subject; my heart tells me that I am his lawful representative; and I trust that heaven will one day enable me to substantiate my claims." This was said with a vehemence that brought the tears into my eyes.

"Does Robert Moncton admit them?"

"No."

"On what grounds?"

"He affirms, that no certificate of my mother's marriage can be found, and without this important doc.u.ment, the law will not acknowledge me as Edward Moncton's legitimate son."

"Or Alexander Moncton's heir," replied the Baronet. "But I do not judge like the rest of the world, young man, and dare to think and act for myself. This uncle of yours is a cunning man: I know him and his ways of old. I know how he fomented the quarrel between his brother and me, to gain his own ends; and this son of his--this Theophilus, is a finished scoundrel! It is mortifying to the pride of an English gentleman to acknowledge such men as his successors."

The old man rose from his seat, and paced the room for some time in silence. He was so much occupied with his own reflections, that I had leisure to examine his countenance minutely.

A strong family likeness existed between him and my father, and uncle Robert; and as for me, I might have pa.s.sed for his son. He had the same high forehead, aquiline nose, chestnut curling hair, and dark piercing eyes; but his face lacked the careless, frank, good-nature of my father's, and was totally dest.i.tute of the subtle, stern demeanour of my uncle's. The expression was more simple, and less worldly than either. It was a thoughtful, intellectual, benevolent physiognomy, which excited feelings of confidence and affection, at first sight.

While looking at him, I thought I had known and loved him for years.

His tall commanding figure was slightly bent in the shoulders, and his hair was thickly sprinkled with grey; yet, his age could scarcely have exceeded fifty. His complexion, unlike my handsome uncle's, was very pale, and an early acquaintance with grief might be traced in the lines which furrowed his ample white forehead.

After a few turns through the room, he resumed his seat.

"Mr. Geoffrey Moncton," said he, grasping me warmly by the hand, "I wish sincerely that you could prove your legitimacy. There is something about you that pleases and interests me. If ever you stand in need of a.s.sistance you may rely upon me as your friend. It is not Robert Moncton's bare a.s.sertion that will make me believe you a b.a.s.t.a.r.d. Tell me all you know about yourself."

I endeavoured to speak, but I was so completely overwhelmed by his unexpected kindness, that I could find no words to express my thanks, or comply with his request.

A loud knocking at the door, announced the arrival of Mr. Moncton.

"That is my uncle's knock," cried I, breaking the spell that bound me.

"We will talk over this matter again, Geoffrey. If we cannot get an opportunity, you must write, and tell me all you know."

Before I could promise anything Mr. Moncton entered the room. He cast a hurried, scrutinizing glance at me, and seemed surprised and annoyed at finding me on such intimate terms with the baronet, to whom he gave a most cordial and flattering welcome.

The other met his advances with cold and studied politeness. It was evident to me that he, too, put a restraint upon his feelings.

"I am sorry, Sir Alexander, that I was from home when you arrived. This visit _from you_ is such an _unexpected_ favour."

"Your absence, Robert Moncton, gave me an opportunity of making the acquaintance of your nephew, whom I have found a very agreeable and entertaining subst.i.tute, as well as a near relation."

Mr. Moncton regarded me with a haughty and contemptuous smile.

"I am happy to learn that your time was so agreeably spent. By-the-by, Geoffrey," turning abruptly to me, and speaking in a hasty, authoritative tone, "are those papers transcribed I gave you at parting? They will be required in court early to-morrow."

He evidently expected a negative.

"They are ready, sir, and many others that have been placed in my hands since. We have been hard at work in the office all day."

"I commend your diligence," said he, affecting a patronizing air; "I am sorry to take you from such pleasant company, but business, you know, cannot be neglected. This bundle of papers," (and he took a packet from his wallet and placed in my hand), "must be transcribed to-night. You need not go to the office. Step into the study, you will find all that you require there."

This was but a stratagem to get rid of my unwelcome presence. I bowed to Sir Alexander, and reluctantly withdrew.

It so happened, that Mr. Moncton's study opened into the dining-room, and without meaning to do so, I left the door but partially closed.

Sitting down to the table, I trimmed the large shaded lamp that always burnt there, and began mechanically to transcribe the uninteresting papers. An hour pa.s.sed away. The gentlemen were conversing upon the current news of the day over their wine. The servant brought up coffee, and I ceased to give any heed to what was pa.s.sing in the next room.

I was drawing out a long deed of settlement, when my attention was aroused by the mention of my own name, and the following dialogue caught my ear:

"This nephew of yours, Robert Moncton, is a fine lad. How is it that I never heard of him before?"

"I did not think it necessary to introduce him to your notice, Sir Alexander. He has no legal claim upon our protection. He is a natural son of Edward's, whom I educate for the profession out of charity."

"An act of benevolence hardly to be expected from you," said Sir Alexander with a provoking sneer. "I suppose you expect to get the interest for your kindness out of the lad?"

"Why, yes! He has excellent abilities, and might do much for himself, but is too like the father, but with this difference, Edward was good-natured and careless to a fault; this boy is haughty and petulant, with the unmanageable obstinacy and self-will of old Geoffrey. He is not grateful for the many obligations he owes to me, and gives me frequent cause to regret that I ever adopted him into my family."

"When you are tired of him," said Sir Alexander, carelessly, "you may turn him over to me. I am sure I could make something of him."

"You are not in earnest?" in a tone of surprise.

"Never more so."

A long silence ensued. My hand trembled with indignation. Was this Mr.