The Monctons Volume I Part 17

Moncton's pretended friends.h.i.+p? I tried in vain to write. "It is useless," I said mentally. "The deed may go to the devil, and Robert Moncton along with it, for what I care," and I flung the parchment from me. "That man is an infamous liar! I will tell him so to his face."

I was just about to burst into the room, when Sir Alexander resumed the conversation.

"Who was this lad's mother?"

"A young person of the name of Rivers; the only daughter of a poor curate, in Derbys.h.i.+re. You know my brother's dissipated habits. He enticed the girl from her peaceful home, and grief for her loss brought the old father to his grave. This boy was the sole fruit of the connection. The parents were never married."

"Is that a fact?"

"I have made every legal inquiry upon the subject; but, no proofs are in existence of such an union between the parties."

"I can scarcely believe Edward guilty of such a villainous act!"

"Extravagant men of unsettled principles are not much troubled with qualms of conscience. On his death-bed Edward repented of this act, and recommended the child to my especial care and protection. His letter, which I have by me, was couched in such moving terms, that I considered myself bound in duty to do what I could for the boy, as he was not answerable for the fault of the parents. I took him home the day his mother was buried, and he has been an inmate of my house ever since."

"When he is out of his time, what do you intend doing for him?"

"I have not yet determined; perhaps, a.s.sociate him with myself in the office. There is, however, one stumbling-block in the way--the dislike which exists between him and Theophilus."

"Ay, that might prove a formidable barrier to their mutual welfare.

By-the-by, what has become of Theophilus?"

"He was travelling on the continent. His last letter is dated from Rome. He has been a great source of trouble and vexation to me, and is constantly getting into sc.r.a.pes by his gallantries, which you must allow, Sir Alexander, is a family failing of the Monctons."

"His conduct lately has been such," said the baronet, in an angry voice, "that it makes me blush that we bear the same name. It was to speak to you on this painful subject that brought me to London."

"I know the circ.u.mstance to which you allude," said Mr. Moncton, in a humble tone; "nor can I defend him; but, we must make allowances for youth and indiscretion. We were young men ourselves once, Sir Alexander."

"Thank Heaven! bad as I might be, no poor girl could accuse me of being the cause of her ruin," cried the baronet, striking his hand emphatically upon the table. "But this young scoundrel! while a visitor beneath my roof, and a solicitor for the hand of my daughter, outraged all feelings of honour and decency, by seducing this poor girl, on our own estate, at our very doors. It was mean, wicked, dastardly--and without he marries his unhappy victim, he shall never enter my doors again."

"_Marry!_" and Mr. Moncton hissed the words through his clenched teeth.

"Let him dare to marry her, and the sole inheritance he gets from me, will be his father's curse!"

"Till he does this, and by so doing wipes off the infamous stain he has brought upon our house, I must consider both father and son as strangers!"

"Please yourself, Sir Alexander. You will never by menace induce me to give my consent to this disgraceful marriage," cried Moncton, stamping with rage.

There was another long pause. I heard Sir Alexander traversing the apartment with hasty strides. At length, stopping suddenly before his excited companion, he said; "Robert, you may be right. The wicked woman, who sold her grandchild for money, was once in your service. You best know what relations.h.i.+p exists between your son and his beautiful victim."

A hollow laugh burst from Mr. Moncton's lips.

"You possess a lively imagination, Sir Alexander. I did love that woman, though she was old enough then to have been my mother. It was a boy's rash, blind love; but I was too proud to make her my wife, and she was too cunning and avaricious to be mine on any other terms. Your suspicions, on _that head_ at least, are erroneous."

"Be that as it may," said Sir Alexander, "Theophilus Moncton shall never darken my doors until the grave closes over me."

He left the room while speaking. A few minutes later, a carriage dashed from the door at a rapid rate, and I felt certain that he had quitted the house. My uncle's step approached. I let my head drop upon the table and feigned sleep, and without attempting to waken me, he withdrew.

From that night a marked alteration took place in his manner towards me. It was evident that the commendations bestowed upon me by Sir Alexander had ruined me in his eyes, and he considered me in the light of a formidable rival. He withdrew his confidence, and treated me with the most pointed neglect. But he could not well banish me from his table, or deprive me of the standing he had given me among his guests, without insulting them, by having introduced to their notice a person unworthy of it. On this head I was tolerably secure, as Mr. Moncton was too artful a man to criminate himself. In a few days, I should now become of age, when the term of my articles would expire. I should then be my own master; and several private applications had been made to me by a lawyer of eminence, to accept a place in his office, with promises of further advancement; this rendered my uncle's conduct a matter of indifference. The sudden and unexpected return of Theophilus gave a very different aspect to my affairs.

CHAPTER XIV.

LOVE AND HATRED.

At first Mr. Moncton refused to see his son; but on the receipt of a letter from Theophilus, his positive orders on that head were not only reversed, but the worthy young gentleman was received with marked attention by his father.

The contents of that letter I did not know then, but got a knowledge of them in after years. The son had become acquainted with some villainous transactions of the parent, which he threatened to expose to the world, if any rigorous measures were adopted towards himself. These revelations were of such a startling nature, that no alternative remained to Mr. Moncton but to submit, which he did, and with a wonderful good grace.

It would be no easy matter to describe the surprise and indignation of Theophilus Moncton, when he discovered that the despised and insulted Geoffrey had become a person of some consequence during his absence. I shall never forget the studied air of indifference, the chilling coldness, with which he met me on his return, and under the cover of which he endeavoured to conceal his chagrin.

The long-cherished dislike that I had entertained for him, had lost much of its bitter character during a separation of many months. I was willing to believe that I might sometimes have been the aggressor, and that time, and a more intimate knowledge of the world, might have produced a favourable change in his surly and morose disposition. I had still to learn that the world rarely improves the heart, but only teaches both s.e.xes more adroitly to conceal its imperfections. I could perceive no alteration in Theophilus which gave the least promise of mental improvement. After a few minutes spent in his company, I found him more arrogant and conceited than when he left England. The affectation of imitating foreign manners, and interlarding his conversation with French and Italian, rendered him less attractive in his a.s.sumed, than he had been in his natural, character.

I listened for the first week to his long, egotistical harangues, with tolerable patience, hoping that the theme of self would soon be exhausted, and the Frenchified dandy condescend to remember that he was an Englishman; but finding him becoming more arrogant and a.s.suming by listening to his nonsense, I turned from him with feelings of aversion, which I could but ill conceal. It must have been apparent even, to himself, that I considered his company a bore.

The sympathy which exists between kindred minds, all have experienced at some period of their lives; but the mysterious chords of feeling which unite hearts formed by nature, to understand and appreciate each other, are not more electrical in their operation than those which have their origin in the darker pa.s.sions of the human breast.

How repugnant to a sensitive mind is a forced a.s.sociation with persons in whom we can find no affinity; and whose sentiments and pursuits are at utter variance with our own. I was acutely alive to these impressions, whenever I encountered the sidelong, watchful glance of my cousin.

There was nothing straightforward in him; he never looked friend or enemy honestly in the face. We mutually understood each other. Though he scrupulously avoided addressing his conversation to me, yet it was chiefly intended for my edification; and was replete with satirical observations.

I detest this covert manner of attack; it is mean and unfair in the highest degree, as it deprives the person attacked from taking his own part, and boldly defending himself. Theophilus was a perfect adept at this dastardly species of warfare.

I tried to treat his conduct with silent contempt; but his provoking remarks galled me exceedingly; and often, when I appeared unconscious of their being levelled against me, and earnestly engaged in the perusal of some dull law-book, I was listening to every word he uttered, and quivering with indignation. Theophilus enjoyed my discomfiture, and I found his powers of tormenting greater than I had at first imagined.

The second day after his arrival, he sent a message up to my room, to inform me that he required that apartment for his valet, and I could remove to a chamber in the next story.

I returned for answer, "That I should not quit the occupation of the room that had been allotted to my use by his father, until I received positive orders from him to that effect. But I should only require it a few days longer, and then he could do as he pleased."

This insolent demand was not seconded by Mr. Moncton, and I took no further notice of it.

That my uncle had a game of his own to play, when he took me from the obscurity of the office and introduced me into society, I was now more than ever convinced. Whilst in the presence of his son he treated me with marked attention and respect, which rendered my situation far more trying and irksome, as I mistrusted the designs of the one and detested the other.

I felt that Mr. Moncton acted thus, on purpose to annoy Theophilus, and make him feel the weight of the resentment, which for good reasons he dared not openly express; while he praised my talents and application to business, on purpose to rouse the envy and hatred of my cousin.

One afternoon, as we were sitting over the dessert, Mr. Moncton as usual addressed his conversation exclusively to me, which irritated Theophilus to such a degree, that he turned suddenly to his father, and exclaimed with much violence:

"You seem, sir, to forget you have a son?"

"Yes, when that son forgot what was due to himself, and to his father's house."

"You have to thank yourself for _that_," was the insolent reply. "I have trod too closely in your own footsteps, and followed too strictly the honest principles of my father." He laughed bitterly. "It seems strange, that you should be surprised, that such an example should have produced corresponding effects upon the mind and character of your son."

Shocked at this horrible speech (for in spite of its awful truth, it seemed terrible from the mouth of a son,) I looked from Theophilus to his father, expecting to see the dark eye of the latter alive with the light of pa.s.sion. But no--there he sat, mute as a marble statue; it was frightful to contemplate the glossy stare of his glittering eye, the rigid immobility of his countenance.

"Heavens!" I mentally exclaimed, "can he be insulted in this manner by his only son, and remain thus calm?" But calm he was, without even attempting a reply, whilst his insolent son continued.

"By heaven! if you think that advancing that puppy into my place will bend me to your purpose, you grossly deceive yourself. I pity the stupid puppet who can thus sneak to his bitterest enemy, to obtain a position he could never rise to by his own merit. Silly boy!--I laugh at his folly, our shallow policy, and his credulity."