The Monctons Volume Ii Part 21

"He appeared embarra.s.sed, and said, that he did not wonder at my forgetting him, as it was only in a subordinate situation I had ever seen him, and that was many years ago.

"I now looked hard at the man, and a conviction of often having seen him before flashed into my mind. It was an image connected with bygone years--years of folly and dissipation.

"'Surely you are not William Walters, who for such a long time was the friend and confidant of Robert Moncton.'

"'The same, at your service.'

"'Mr. Walters,' said I, turning on my heel, 'I have no wish to resume the acquaintance.'

"'You are right,' replied he, and was silent for a minute or so, then resumed, in a grave and humble tone; 'Sir Alexander, I trust we are both better men, or the experience and sorrows of years have been given to us in vain. I can truly say, that I have deeply repented of my former sinful life, and I trust that my repentance has been accepted by that G.o.d before whom we must both soon appear. Still, I cannot blame you, for wis.h.i.+ng to have no further intercourse with one whom you only knew as an unprincipled man.

But for the sake of a young man, who, if living, is a near connection of yours, I beg you to listen patiently to what I have to say.'

"'If your communication has reference to Geoffrey, the son of Edward Moncton, and nephew to Robert, I am entirely at your service.'

"'He is the man! I have left a comfortable home in the United States, and returned to England with the sole object in view, of settling a moral debt which has lain a long time painfully on my conscience. I was just on my way to Moncton Park to speak to you on this important subject.'

"My dear Geoff, you may imagine the feelings with which I heard this announcement. Had I been alone I should have snapped my fingers, whistled, shouted for joy--anything that would have diminished with safety the suffocating feeling at my heart. I was so glad--I never knew how dear you were to me until then. So I invited the solemn, and rather puritanical-looking white-headed man to partake of my dinner, and spend the evening in my apartment, in order to get out of him all that I could concerning you. The result was most satisfactory. There was no need of bribes or nut-crackers; he was anxious to make a clean breast of it, for which I gave him ample absolution.

"Here is his confession, as well as I can remember it:--

"'My acquaintance with Robert Moncton commenced at school. I was the only son of a rich banker in the city of Norwich. My father was generous to a fault, and allowed me more pocket-money than my young companions could boast of receiving from their friends at home. My father had risen, by a train of fortunate circ.u.mstances, from a very humble station in life, and was ostentatiously proud of his wealth. He was particularly anxious for me to pa.s.s for the son of a very rich man at school, which he fancied would secure for me powerful friends, and their interest in my journey through life.

"'I was not at all averse to his plans, which I carried out to their fullest extent, and went by the name of _Ready-Money Jack_, among my school-mates, who I have no doubt whispered behind my back, that--fools and their money are soon parted; for you know, Sir Alexander, this is the way of the world. And there is no place in which the world and its selfish maxims are more fully exemplified than in a large boarding-school.

"'I had not been long at school when the two Monctons were admitted to the same cla.s.s with myself. Edward was a das.h.i.+ng, eloquent, brave lad; more remarkable for a fine appearance and an admirable temper, than for any particular talent. He was a very popular boy, but somehow or other we did not take to each other.

"'The boyish vanity fostered by my father, made me wish to be considered the first lad in the school; a notion which Edward took good care to keep down; and fretted and galled by his a.s.sumption of superiority, I turned to Robert, who was everything but friendly to Edward, to support my cause and back me in my quarrels.

"'Robert was a handsome, gentlemanly-looking lad, but quite the reverse of Edward. He hated rough play, learned his lessons with indefatigable industry, and took good care to keep himself out of harm's way. He was the pattern boy of the school. The favourite of all the teachers. He possessed a grave, specious manner--a cold quiet reserve, which imposed upon the ignorant and unsuspecting; and his love of money was a pa.s.sion which drew all the blood from his stern proud heart. He saw that I was frank and vain, and he determined to profit by my weakness. I did not want for natural capacity, but I was a sad idler.

"'Robert was shrewd and persevering, and I paid him handsomely for doing my sums and writing my Latin exercises. We became firm friends, and I loved him for years with more sincerity than he deserved.

"'As I advanced towards manhood, my poor father met with great losses; and on the failure of a large firm with which his own was princ.i.p.ally connected, he became a bankrupt.

"'Solely dependent upon my rich father, without any fixed aim or object in life, I had just made a most imprudent marriage, when his death, which happened almost immediately upon his reverse of fortune, awoke me to the melancholy reality which stared me in the face.

"'In my distress I wrote to Robert Moncton, who had just commenced practice at his old office in Hatton Garden. He answered my appeal to his charity promptly, and gave me a seat in his office as engrossing clerk, with a very liberal salary which, I need not a.s.sure you, was most thankfully accepted by a person in my reduced circ.u.mstances. This place I filled entirely to his satisfaction for fifteen years, until I was the father of twelve children.

"'My salary was large, but, alas! it was the wages of sin. All Robert Moncton's dirty work was confided to my hands. I was his creature--the companion of his worst hours--and he paid me liberally for my devotion to his interests. But for all this, there were moments in my worthless life when better feelings prevailed; when I loathed the degrading trammels in which I was bound; and often, on the bosom of a dear and affectionate wife, I lamented bitterly my fallen state.

"'About this period Edward Moncton died, and Robert was appointed guardian to his orphan child. Property there was none--barely sufficient to pay the expenses of the funeral. Robert supplied from his own purse 50, towards the support of the young widow, until she could look about and obtain a situation as a day governess or a teacher in a school, for which she was eminently qualified.

"'I never shall forget the unnatural joy displayed by Robert on this melancholy occasion: "Thank G.o.d! William," said he, clapping me on the shoulder, after he had read the letter which poor Mrs.

Moncton wrote to inform him of her sudden bereavement, 'Edward is dead. There is only one stumbling-block left in my path, and I will soon kick that out of the way.'

"'Three months had scarcely elapsed before I went to ---- with Robert Moncton, to attend the funeral of his sister-in-law. The sight of the fine boy who acted as chief mourner in that mournful ceremony cut me to the heart. I was a father myself--a fond father--and I longed to adopt the poor, friendless child. But what could a man do who has a dozen of his own?

"'As we were on our road to ----, Robert had confided to me his plans for setting aside his nephew's claims to the estates and t.i.tle of Moncton, in case you should die without a male heir. The secluded life which Mrs. Moncton had led since her marriage; her want of relatives to interest themselves in her behalf, and the dissipated habits of her husband, who had lost all his fine property at the gaming-table, made the scheme not only feasible, but presented few obstacles to its accomplishment.

"'Shocked at this piece of daring villainy, I dissembled my indignation, and while I appeared to acquiesce in his views, I secretly determined to befriend, if possible, the innocent child.

"'The night prior to the funeral, he called me into his private office, and after chatting over a matter of little consequence, he said to me in a careless manner:

"'"By the by, Walters, Ba.s.set told me the other day, that you had taken a craze to go to America. This is your wife's doings, I suppose. I don't suffer Mrs. Moncton to settle such matters for me. But is it true?"

"'I said that it had been on my mind for a long time. The want of funds alone preventing me from emigrating with my family.'

"'"If that is all, the want of money need not hinder you. But mind, Walters, I am not generous, I expect something for my gold.

You have been faithful to me, and I am anxious to show you that I am not insensible to your merit. We are old friends, Walter--we understand each other; we are not troubled with nice scruples, and dare to call things by their right names. But to the point.

"'"This boy of my brother's, as I was telling you, is a thorn in my side, which you can remove."

"'"In what way?" said I, in a tone of alarm.

"'"Don't look blue," he replied, and he laughed. "I kill with the tongue and the pen, and leave to fools the pistol and the knife.

You must go to the parish of ---- among the Derby hills, where Edward was married, and where he resided, enacting love in a cottage with his pretty, penniless bride, until after this boy, Geoffrey, was born; and subtract, if possible, the leaves from the church-register that contain these important entries. Do this with your usual address, and I will meet all the expenses of your intended emigration.'

"'The offer was tempting to a poor man, but I still hesitated, conjuring up a thousand difficulties which either awoke his mirth or scorn.

"'"The only difficulty that I can find in the business," said he, "is your unwillingness to undertake it. The miserable old wretch employed as clerk in the church is quite superannuated. A small bribe will win him to your purpose, especially as Mr. Roche, the inc.u.mbent, is just now at the sea-side, whither he is gone in the delusive hope of curing old age. Possessed of these doc.u.ments, I will defy the boy to substantiate his claims, provided that he lives to be a man; for I have carefully destroyed all the other doc.u.ments which could lead to prove the legality of his t.i.tle. The old gardener and his nurse must be persuaded to accompany you to America. Old Roche is on his last legs--from him I shall soon have nothing to fear. What do you say to my proposal--yes or no?"

"'"Yes," I stammered out, "I will undertake it, as it is to be the last affair of the kind in which I mean to engage."

"'"You will forget it," said he, "before you have half crossed the Atlantic, and can begin the world with a new character. I will give you five hundred pounds to commence with."

"'This iniquitous bargain concluded, I went down after the funeral to ----, on my mission. As my employer antic.i.p.ated, a few s.h.i.+llings to the old clerk placed the church-register at my disposal, from which I carefully cut the leaves (which, in that quiet, out-of-the way hamlet, were not likely to be missed) which contained the entries. In a small hut among the hills I found the old gardener and his widowed daughter, who had been nurse to Geoffrey and his mother, whom I talked into a fever of enthusiasm about America, and the happy life which people led there, which ended in my engaging them, to accompany me. Good and valuable servants they both proved. They are since dead.'

"'And what became of the entries? Did you destroy them?'

"'I tried to do it, Sir Alexander, but it seemed as if an angel stayed my hand, and yielding to my impressions at the moment, I placed them carefully among my private papers. Here they are;' and taking from his breast-pocket an old-fas.h.i.+oned black leathern wallet, he placed them in my hand.

"'Here, too,' said he, 'is an affidavit, made by Michael Alzure on his dying bed, before competent witnesses, declaring that he was present with his daughter Mary, when the ceremony took place.'

"'This is enough,' said I, joyfully, shaking the old sinner heartily by the hand. 'The king shall have his own again. But how did you hoodwink that sagacious hawk, Robert Moncton?'

"'He was from home when I returned to London, attending the a.s.sizes at Bury. I found a letter from him containing a draft upon his banker for five hundred pounds, and requesting me to deposit the papers in the iron chest in the garret of which I had the key.

I wrote in reply, that I had done so, and he was perfectly satisfied with my sincerity, which during fifteen years I had never given him the least cause to doubt.

"The next week, I sailed for the United States with my family, determined, from henceforth, to drop all connection with Robert Moncton, and to endeavour to obtain an honest living.

"'I am now a rich and prosperous man--my children are married and settled on good farms, in the same neighbourhood, and are in the enjoyment of the common comforts and many of the luxuries of life.

Still, that little orphan boy haunted me: I could not be happy while I knew that I had been the means of doing him a foul injury, and I determined, as soon as I knew that the lad must be of age, to make a voyage to England, and place in your hands the proofs I held of his legitimacy.

"'Your powerful a.s.sistance, Sir Alexander, and these papers, will I trust restore to him his lawful place in society, and I am here to witness against Robert Moncton's villainy.'

"Well, Sir Geoffrey Moncton, that will be, what do you say to your old uncle's budget? Is not this news worth the postage? Worth throwing up one's cap and crying hurrah! and better still, dropping drown upon your knees in the solitude of your own chamber, and whispering in your clasped hands, 'Thank G.o.d! for all his mercies to me, a sinner?' If you omit the prayer, I have not omitted it for you; for most fervently I blessed the Almighty father for this signal instance of his love.

"I returned to the Park, so elated with the result of my journey, that I could scarcely sympathize in the grief of my poor girl, for the death of her foster-sister, which took place during my absence.