Part 33 (1/2)
POMPOUS OBSEQUIES--THE READING OF THE WILL, NOT EXACTLY AFTER WILKIE--I AM LEFT A LEGACY--WHAT BECOMES OF IT--MY FATHER, VERY WARM, WRITES A SERMON TO COOL HIMSELF--I JOIN O'BRIEN'S BRIG, AND FALL IN WITH SWINBURNE.
On that day week I accompanied my father to Eagle Park, to a.s.sist at the burial of Lord Privilege. We were ushered into the room where the body had lain in state for three days. The black hangings, the lofty plumes, the rich ornaments on the coffin, and the number of wax candles, with which the room was lighted, produced a solemn and grand effect. I could not help, as I leaned against the bal.u.s.trade before the coffin, and thought of its contents, calling to mind when my poor grandfather's feelings seemed, as it were, inclined to thaw in my favour, when he called me ”his child,” and, in all probability, had not my uncle had a son, would have died in my arms, fond and attached to me for my own sake, independently of worldly considerations. I felt that had I known him longer, I could have loved him, and that he would have loved me; and I thought to myself how little all these empty honours, after his decease, could compensate for the loss of those reciprocal feelings, which would have so added to his happiness during his existence. But he had lived for pomp and vanity; and pomp and vanity attended him to his grave. I thought of my sister Ellen, and of O'Brien, and walked away with the conviction that Peter Simple might have been an object of envy to the late Right Honourable Lord Viscount Privilege, Baron Corston, Lord Lieutenant of the county, and one of His Majesty's most Honourable Privy Councillors.
When the funeral, which was very tedious and very splendid, was over, we all returned in the carriages to Eagle Park, when my uncle, who had of course a.s.sumed the t.i.tle, and who had attended as chief mourner, was in waiting to receive us. We were shown into the library, and in the chair so lately and constantly occupied by my grandfather, sat the new lord.
Near to him were the lawyers, with parchments lying before them. As we severally entered, he waved his hand to unoccupied chairs, intimating to us to sit down; but no words were exchanged, except an occasional whisper between him and the lawyers. When all the branches of the family were present, down to the fourth and fifth cousins, the lawyer on the right of my uncle put on his spectacles, and unrolling the parchment, commenced reading the will. I paid attention to it at first; but the legal technicalities puzzled me, and I was soon thinking of other matters, until, after half-an-hour's reading, I was startled at the sound of my own name. It was a bequest by codicil to me, of the sum of ten thousand pounds. My father, who sat by me, gave me a slight push, to attract my attention; and I perceived that his face was not quite so mournful as before. I was rejoicing at this unexpected intelligence. I called to mind what my father had said to me when we were returning from Eagle Park, that ”my grandfather's attentions to me were as good as ten thousand pounds in his will,” and was reflecting how strange it was that he had hit upon the exact sum. I also thought of what my father had said of his own affairs, and his not having saved anything for his children, and congratulated myself that I should now be able to support my dear sister Ellen, in case of any accident happening to my father, when I was roused by another mention of my name. It was a codicil dated about a week back, in which my grandfather, not pleased at my conduct, revoked the former codicil, and left me nothing. I knew where the blow came from, and I looked my uncle in the face; a gleam of malignant pleasure was in his eyes, which had been fixed on me, waiting to receive my glance. I returned it with a smile expressive of scorn and contempt, and then looked at my father, who appeared to be in a state of misery. His head had fallen upon his breast, and his hands were clasped. Although I was shocked at the blow, for I knew how much the money was required, I felt too proud to show it; indeed, I felt that I would not for worlds have exchanged situations with my uncle, much less feelings; for when those who remain meet to ascertain the disposition made, by one who is summoned away to the tribunal of his Maker, of those worldly and perishable things which he must leave behind him, feelings of rancour and ill-will might, for the time, be permitted to subside, and the memory of a ”departed brother” be productive of charity and good-will. After a little reflection, I felt that I could forgive my uncle.
Not so my father: the codicil which deprived me of my inheritance, was the last of the will, and the lawyer rolled up the parchment and took off his spectacles. Everybody rose; my father seized his hat, and telling me in a harsh voice to follow him, tore off the c.r.a.pe weepers, and then threw them on the floor as he walked away. I also took off mine, and laid them on the table, and followed him. My father called his carriage, waiting in the hall till it was driven up, and jumped into it. I followed him; he drew up the blind, and desired them to drive home.
”Not a sixpence! By the G.o.d of heaven, not a sixpence! My name not even mentioned, except for a paltry mourning ring! And yours--pray, sir, what have you been about, after having such a sum left you, to forfeit your grandfather's good opinion? Heh! sir--tell me directly!”
continued he, turning round to me in a rage.
”Nothing, my dear father, that I am aware of. My uncle is evidently my enemy.”
”And why should he be particularly your enemy? Peter, there must be some reason for his having induced your grandfather to alter his bequest in your favour. I insist upon it, sir, that you tell me immediately.”
”My dear father, when you are more calm, I will talk this matter over with you. I hope I shall not be considered wanting in respect, when I say, that, as a clergyman of the Church of England--”
”d.a.m.n the Church of England, and those who put me into it!” replied my father, maddened with rage.
I was shocked and held my tongue. My father appeared also to be confused at his hasty expressions. He sank back in his carriage, and preserved a gloomy silence until we arrived at our own door. As soon as we entered, my father hastened to his own room, and I went up to my sister Ellen, who was in her bed-room. I revealed to her all that had pa.s.sed, and advised with her on the propriety of my communicating to my father the reasons which had occasioned my uncle's extreme aversion towards me. After much argument, she agreed with me, that the disclosure had now become necessary.
After the dinner-cloth had been removed, my sister left the room, and went upstairs, and I then communicated to my father the circ.u.mstances which had come to our knowledge relative to my uncle's establishment in Ireland. He heard me very attentively, took out tablets, and made notes.
”Well, Peter,” said he, after a few minutes' silence, when I had finished, ”I see clearly through this whole business. I have no doubt but that a child has been subst.i.tuted to defraud you and me of our just inheritance of the t.i.tle and estates; but I will now set to work and try if I cannot find out the secret; and, with the help of Captain O'Brien and Father McGrath, I think it is not at all impossible.”
”O'Brien will do all that he can, sir,” replied I; ”and I expect soon to hear from him. He must have now been a week in Ireland.”
”I shall go there myself,” replied my father: ”and there are no means that I will not resort to, to discover this infamous plot. No,”
exclaimed he, striking his fist on the table, so as to s.h.i.+ver two of the wine-gla.s.ses into fragments--”no means but I will resort to.”
”That is,” replied I, my dear father, ”no means which may be legitimately employed by one of your profession.”
”I tell you, no means that can be used by _man_ to recover his defrauded rights. Tell me not of legitimate means, when I am to lose a t.i.tle and property by a spurious and illegitimate subst.i.tution! By the G.o.d of heaven, I will meet them with fraud for fraud, with false swearing for false swearing, and with blood for blood, if it should be necessary! My brother has dissolved all ties, and I will have my right, even if I demand it with a pistol at his ear.”
”For Heaven's sake, my dear father, do not be so violent--recollect your profession.”
”I do,” replied he bitterly; ”and how I was forced into it, against my will. I recollect my father's words, the solemn coolness with which he told me, 'I had my choice of the Church, or--to starve.'--But I have my sermon to prepare for to-morrow, and I can sit here no longer. Tell Ellen to send me in some tea.”
I did not think my father was in a very fit state of mind to write a sermon, but I held my tongue. My sister joined me, and we saw no more of him till breakfast the next day. Before we met, I received a letter from O'Brien.
”MY DEAR PETER,--I ran down to Plymouth, hoisted my pennant, drew my jollies from the dock-yard, and set my first lieutenant to work getting in the ballast and water-tanks. I then set off for Ireland, and was very well received as Captain O'Brien by my family, who were all flouris.h.i.+ng. Now that my two sisters are so well married off, my father and mother are very comfortable, but very lonely; for I believe I told you long before that it had pleased Heaven to take all the rest of my brothers and sisters, except the two now married, and one who bore up for a nunnery, dedicating her service to G.o.d, after she was scarred with the small-pox, and no man would look at her. Ever since the family have been grown up, my father and mother have been lamenting and sorrowing that none of them would go off; and now that they're all gone off one way or another, they cry all day because they are left all alone, with no one to keep company with them, except Father McGrath and the pigs. We never are to be contented in this world, that's sartin; and now that they are comfortable in every respect, they find that they are very uncomfortable, and having obtained all their wishes, they wish everything back again; but as old Maddocks used to say, 'A good growl is better than a bad dinner' with some people; and the greatest pleasure that they now have is to grumble; and if that makes them happy, they must be happy all day long--for the devil a bit do they leave off from morning till night.
”The first thing that I did was to send for Father McGrath, who had been more away from home than usual--I presume, not finding things quite so comfortable as they used to be. He told me that he had met with Father O'Toole, and had a bit of a dialogue with him, which had ended in a bit of a row, and that he had cudgelled Father O'Toole well, and tore his gown off his back, and then tore it into s.h.i.+vers,-- that Father O'Toole had referred the case to the bishop, and that was how the matter stood just then. 'But,' says he, 'the spalpeen has left this part of the country, and, what is more, has taken Ella and her mother with him; and, what is still worse, no one could find out where they were gone; but it was believed that they had all been sent over the water.' So you see, Peter, that this is a bad job in one point, which is, that we have no chance of getting the truth out of the old woman; for now that we have war with France, who is to follow them? On the other hand, it is good news; for it prevents me from decoying that poor young girl, and making her believe what will never come to pa.s.s; and I am not a little glad on that score, for Father McGrath was told by those who were about her, that she did nothing but weep and moan for two days before she went away, scolded as she was by her mother, and threatened by that blackguard O'Toole. It appears to me, that all our hopes now are in finding out the soldier, and his wife the wet-nurse, who were sent to India--no doubt with the hope that the climate and the fevers may carry them off. That uncle of yours is a great blackguard, every bit of him. I shall leave here in three days, and you must join me at Plymouth. Make my compliments to your father, and my regards to your sister, whom may all the saints preserve! G.o.d bless her, for ever and ever. Amen.
”Yours ever,
”Terence O'Brien.”
I put this letter into my father's bands when he came out of his room.