Blackwood's Edinburgh Magazine Vol. 56, No. 346, August, 1844 by Various

V >> Various >> Blackwood\'s Edinburgh Magazine Vol. 56, No. 346, August, 1844

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A LOVE-CHASE--IN PROSE.

CHAPTER I.

Bandvale Hall had lain empty for a long time--old Frank Edwards, so well
known as a sportsman, had been dead for eighteen years, his horses sold,
his kennels dismantled, and his son, after so absurdly long a minority,
(for his father had capriciously fixed his majority at twenty-three,)
only now coming of age; but whether he would reside at Bandvale, or
continue in the neighbourhood of Leicester, where his guardian lived, or
what he would do, nobody could tell. The estate, we were told, in spite
of the economical management of four or five attorneys, and a couple of
stewards, was more involved than when old Frank died; and many a time
have I sighed, as I ambled past the lodges, and saw grass growing over
the drive, contrasting these appearances with the jolly days I had known
in the hall, "when the beards wagged all--shall we ever see the like
again?" But change passes over all; and Bandvale was not the only place
or the only thing that felt its influence. We were all very different
from what we were; we had a railway within half an hour's drive; we had
a Methodist chapel in the village; we had a clergyman who preached in
his surplice, and would have had a hurl off a lame donkey if he had
ventured into the saddle; the hounds were given up; you were asked to
dinner at half-past seven, and got home again by ten; rather a changed
state of affairs since old Frank kept the ball alive, and Parson Holt
rode his grey nag over bank and fence, and we had two packs within ten
miles, and no Methodists in the village, and no railroad in the county,
and every thing was exactly as it ought to be; and we dined at five, and
got home--when it pleased Heaven. Sometimes I turned down the avenue,
and took a melancholy look at the old Hall. It is a great square house;
flanked with two turrets, with fine old stone windows, and a stone porch
in the middle. The Bandvale river runs through the park about three
hundred yards from the front door, and is crossed by two bridges in the
direction of the lodges, east and west; and beyond it rises the upland,
all dotted over with clumps of elm--and at the highest part of the park
is the church; a great black figure, kneeling on one knee, used to bear
up the sun-dial in the centre of the sweep--his leg had given way from
the weight of years and the huge globe he supported, and the poor old
fellow lay on his back, kicking up the stump of his leg in a most
audacious manner, in the very face of the sun. "The great globe itself
had dissolved, and left not a wreck behind." They talk of Marius among
the ruins of Carthage, and Coliseums unroofed, and temples of Theseus
with crumbling pillars--all these are desolate enough; but then, their
condition is picturesque: and I doubt whether Marius in the capitol, and
the Coliseum newly finished, and the Temple at the time of its
consecration, were half such interesting objects as in the days of their
decline and fall. But to me the true representative of desolation was
the long tufts of grass that grew in old Frank Edwards's stable-yard,
the weeds that choked up the hall door, and the broken panes of the
great dining-room windows--the spacious yard, the hospitable door, the
jocund dining-room. And now young Frank was just coming to his legal
age, and we were all forming our guesses and conjectures as to what the
youth's proceedings would be when he came into possession. I made sure,
if the property was really involved to the extent reported, that he
would sell some of the lands he had in other counties; a farm or two he
had in Sussex; a tolerable estate in the north; and a foolish marine
villa somewhere in Devonshire, and pay off all incumbrances, and settle
himself for life at Bandvale Hall. He would still have a very fine
fortune; and it had been the family seat since the reign of Charles the
Second. All the mothers and aunts in the county thought it was a seat
like a Spanish saddle, and would carry double; and it certainly was
amazing to see the preparations that were made to get the proper foot in
the stirrup. It seemed agreed that for a young gentleman of
twenty-three, seventeen was the only admissible age; and to reach that
desirable date, as great cruelty was practised on the baptismal register
books as on ancient travellers by the bed of Procrustes-girls of
twenty-four were shortened by seven years, and little children of
fourteen elongated by three. In some families there were three or four
daughters all of the same age, yet not the least like twins; brothers
and fathers were kept in marching order, ready to be dispatched to make
poor Frank's acquaintance the moment he took possession. I also, though
unendowed with any possession so valuable as either daughter, or sister,
or niece, kept myself prepared to welcome my old friend's son, whenever
he arrived.

The day of majority came at last--the third of June. The tenants of the
Bandvale farms had a dinner at the Rose and Crown, and one of the
managing attorneys proposed the young landlord's health in a speech full
of amazing eloquence, but with a countenance that would have been more
appropriate to a funeral oration than a toast; and it was, in fact, the
funeral oration over his stewardship, as he gave notice that it was Mr
Edwards's intention to take the management into his own hands--a piece
of information that gave great satisfaction to every one except the firm
of Goody and Fripp. But in spite of this announcement, young Frank never
made his appearance--the walks continued overgrown with grass--the
wounded Atlas looked proudly to heaven from his deathbed of fame-and the
young ladies remained on the tiptoe of expectation.

"What can be the matter with the boy?" thought I; "has he no regard for
his father's neighbours, and his own birthplace?"

"What can be the matter with the boy?" thought Miss Sibylla Smith, and
all the maidens young, old, and middle aged. "Has he fallen in love with
his tutor's daughter, or got engaged to his guardian's niece?" for our
young people had studied life so zealously in three-volume novels, that
they never doubted for a moment that Frank Edwards's tutor (if he had a
tutor) had a daughter, or that his guardian (and they knew he had a
guardian) had a niece. But in spite of all our thoughts Bandvale Hall
continued empty.

"I'll take another look at the old place," I said, one day in August as
I was passing the lodge, and rode at a quiet contemplative walk down the
avenue. I hung my rein over one of the rails of the porch steps, and
passed round into the garden. Not a flower to be seen; but the place of
them famously supplied with potatoes and other useful articles--and the
same evidence of absenteeism in the shape of tottering walls, and grass
grown walks, and dusty fountains in all directions. What a shame!--if I
knew the boy's address, I would write to him to come home at once; but
that Leicestershire guardian has kept him quite separated from those who
ought to have been his friends, and had the bringing up of him from his
youth. If we are to have him all the rest of his life, he could not have
come among us too early; and in the firm intention of carrying this
resolution into effect, I determined to look out for some workman about
the place, to ask where Mr Edwards was to be found. The man that has the
care of the garden can't be far off;--and accordingly I went in search
of him. But either the vegetables were illustrations, like Southey's
butlers, of self-culture, or the gardener had gone to dinner; and in the
expectation of finding him in the kitchen, I clambered into the house by
an open window, and walked quietly along the passage. I thought I heard
voices in the garden library, a delightful room on the ground-floor,
where I had passed many an evening with old Frank; and, supposing the
gardener had taken possession of it, I opened the door. Close to the
window two persons were sitting, so deeply engaged in conversation that
they did not remark my entrance, and I took the opportunity of observing
them at leisure. They were both young men--both tall and good-looking;
one remarkably dark, with great umbrageous whiskers and mustaches; the
other a chestnut-haired, fresh-complexioned youth, so like poor old
Frank in the set on of his head and breadth of his shoulders, that I
knew in a moment it could be no one but his son. They seemed both very
much excited about something; but from the whispered tone of their
conversation, it was difficult to make out what it was. The dark man,
who was six or seven years older than his companion, had apparently been
saying something that shocked the other, for he clenched his hand, and
threw his eyes despairingly to the ceiling; and no wonder, for the words
I heard, as I advanced from the screen at the door, were enough to raise
a shudder in any person's breast. He said--

"I had him murdered in the shooting-box."

"But why?" enquired Frank Edwards, looking less startled than could be
expected.

"Why? Because Isabella could not be happy while he lived."

"Recollect I had no hand in it," said Frank. "I wouldn't have agreed to
it on any account, and told you so before you did it."

Great heavens! what a secret to be thrust upon me! and what an
introduction to the son of my poor friend--the accomplice of a
murderer--who had evidently been consulted about the crime, and though
he certainly had protested against it, had allowed it to be carried into
effect! I was hesitating whether I should not retire at once, when Frank
turned round and saw me. He rose, and received the apologies I muttered
for my intrusion with the most astonishing self-command. I determined to
conceal my knowledge of their conversation from them; and really,
looking at the clear open countenance of the boy, it was difficult to
believe that he knew any thing of so shocking a kind. I was introduced
to the other, Mr Percy Marvale, and saw so much Italian, or perhaps
gipsy, blood in his dark skin, and such a fierce expression in his
coal-black eyes, that I was not so much surprised at his being
implicated in the fearful deed. He looked just like one of the fellows
on the stage who cut throats in a heroic fashion on the slightest
provocation. But both were so free in their manner, and talked so
pleasantly, that if it had not been for what I had overheard, I should
have taken them for two very agreeable young men. And, in spite of it
all, I could hardly avoid asking them both to leave the deserted house,
and take up their quarters with me. I forced myself, however, to abstain
from giving them the invitation; and after a half hour of friendly
conversation, I got up to go away. They accompanied me a portion of the
way; and when I looked at young Frank, and listened to the tones of his
voice, twenty years seemed to roll off my shoulders. I took his hand.
"You must dine with me to-morrow," I said; "and--and--your friend Mr
Marvale," I added with some little difficulty. They both accepted
without a moment's hesitation. "Hang it, there must be some mistake
after all!" I thought, as I put my foot in the stirrup; "but I'll go and
ask a few of the neighbours to meet them. Old Smith of Howkey is a
magistrate, with an amazing nose for a crime. We'll see what he makes of
it."

CHAPTER II.

Now old Smith was the son of a great London millionaire--an alderman, or
even a lord mayor, for any thing I know--who had bought Howkey, and
built an enormous house, to which his son had taken the moment the old
gentleman died; had cut the shop, got on the commission, and now
rejoiced in a fat, jolly, good-tempered wife, and a multiplicity of sons
and daughters. Such a fellow for points of law was never heard of out of
Westminster Hall, nor in it either. He read Acts of Parliament as other
people read novels--for his amusement; and every body thought he knew
more about them than a lord chancellor. There was great rejoicing at
Howkey, from the drawing-room up to the very nursery, when I told of
Frank Edwards's arrival. All manner of enquiries were made, in various
tones of interest, from the romantic Miss Sibylla down to the youngest
of the girls, as to his appearance, manner, height, and complexion. I
answered them all to the extreme satisfaction of the enquirers, but took
care to make no allusion to his companion; though, at the same time, I
confess I could not persuade myself that what I had overheard had the
dreadful meaning I at first attached to it. He must have meant something
else; for I had not become acquainted with the new style of flash
language, where so many allusions are made to people's mothers and their
mangles, without any real reference either to one or other. Getting a
man murdered in a shooting-box might mean something equivalent to "There
you go, with your eye out!" which has no meaning at all. But although I
had persuaded myself of this, I made no mention at Howkey of the
ferocious-looking Percy Marvale, but merely asked my friend Old Smith to
come over, and help me to welcome the new neighbour. Sibylla, who had
all along been of opinion that Mr Frank Edwards was engaged to his
tutor's daughter, and took no interest in him accordingly, was all of a
sudden seized with an uncommon affection for my wife. She felt for the
awkwardness of her position so much in being the only lady among so many
gentlemen, that she insisted on going over with her father, merely to
bear her company; and, from the sympathizing countenance of her fair
sister Monimia, I expected every moment a similar offer from her. The
Williamses, and old Harry Lambert and his son, were the only others I
could catch on so short a notice; but we all determined to make up in
friendliness for the paucity in numbers, and give young Frank a hearty
welcome to his native county.

We were all assembled in the drawing-room--that is to say, all but the
party from Bandvale--and Mr Smith was laying down the law, or rather
explaining it after his usual manner, when Sibylla, who had stood at the
window, all of a sudden gave a slight scream, and flushed up to the eyes
like a peony rose.

"Why, what's the matter, Sib?" said Old Smith; "has a bee stung you."

"No, no!" she said; "but I saw likeness--a something"--

"What was it you saw?" enquired my wife--"a ghost?"

Sibylla lifted up her eyes to the ceiling, and said nothing; for at that
moment the door opened, and Frank Edwards and Mr Percy Marvale were
announced.

"No, not a ghost," whispered Sibylla to my wife, "but an apparition I as
little expected to see--I knew Mr Marvale in town."

The introduction was soon over; and Mr Marvale, on being presented to
Miss Sibylla, exhibited as much surprise as that young lady had done at
the window. I watched him as closely as if I had been one of the
detective police; but, saving an enormous amount of puppyism and
affectation, I could trace nothing very unusual in his appearance.
Frank, on the other hand, was a fine open-mannered fellow, that one took
to at once; and it was a mystery to me how he could be so intimate with
a person so different from himself. Pity such a good-dispositioned youth
should fall into the hands of such an atrocious character!

"You've met Mr Marvale before?" I said to Sibylla, as I took her into
the dining-room.

"Oh, yes--at my cousin Jane's, in Russell Square--a wonderful man--a
perfect genius!"

"I hope to Heaven he's no worse," said I, "though that's bad enough."

"Bad enough! Oh, I doat on men of genius! Did you never hear of him? He
is quite a celebrity. Cousin Jane always has him at her literary
parties, for she does not know Bulwer or Dickens; and he's so handsome,
too--such a wild expression."

"Wild enough to get him two months of the tread-mill, if your father
lays hands on him."

But when I saw the glance of profound admiration darted by Sibylla at
the interesting stranger, I felt sure she would only like him the more
if he were found out to be a murderer in reality; for there is a certain
school of young ladies who do not stand upon trifles in the way of their
flirtations, but extract fresh reasons for glorifying the object of
their preference, from facts which the unwary lay before them by way of
warnings. If he is a spendthrift, it is so noble to be free and
generous; if he is a gambler, he is of such a fine unsuspecting
disposition, he is only the dupe of the designing. In short, whatever
you say to put them on their guard, only makes them expose themselves
the more; and, therefore, I made no further attempt to open the eyes of
Miss Sibylla Smith. All passed off very well at dinner. Every one was
kind to Frank, and, for his sake, were abundantly civil to his friend;
but that individual seemed to care very little whether we were civil to
him or not. He talked more than all the rest of us put together--
corrected Old Smith on points of law--and put me right on the routine of
crops; proved to old Lambert's own satisfaction that he knew nothing of
stall-feeding, and so belaboured us with great people, with their whole
birth, parentage, and connexions, that we might have fancied he was Mr
Debrett. Sibylla evidently believed he was the most delightful of men;
and certainly the looks she darted at _him_, and the looks he darted at
_her_, were the most extraordinary phenomena of the look kind I ever
happened to see. It was quite evident that the daughter's feelings were
not shared by Old Smith; and I made little doubt he would have been
delighted to give him seven years of the hulks, if he could have found
out any act of Parliament making it penal for a good-looking young
fellow to encourage a silly young woman to make a fool of herself. He
found time, in spite of his apparently monopolizing the whole
conversation, to whisper incessantly into Sibylla's ear. He was
evidently asking questions about her household position--how many
sisters she had--how many brothers--their ages, characters looks, and
the state of their education. He seemed practising for an inspector of
schools. Then he went off to her cousin's, where he had met her in
Russell Square, and the same series of questions about family affairs
was repeated. Was the man engaged in collecting the census returns?

"What a dreadful thing the death of poor Mr Mopple!" said Sibylla. "They
said he wasn't kind to his wife, though I never saw any signs of it at
my cousin's."

"Mopple! Mopple!" he said, as if trying to remember. "Ah! a poor man
with a beautiful wife is he dead?"

"Oh, yes--quite suddenly! He was down in Scotland, on the moors. Some
people say there is something wrong about it."

"Indeed--ha!" said Mr Marvale. "What--what do they say?"

"He was found dead in a shooting-box. His gun had gone off and killed
him; but"--

I looked at the man's face. He was trying to appear as if he scarcely
attended to what she was saying.

"Some of the friends are not quite satisfied that it was accidental,"
continued Sibylla. "How I pity poor Mrs Mopple."

"Pray, Sibylla," I said, "what was the poor woman's Christian name?"

"Her name was Isabella."

"So!" I said, and looked firmly at Mr Marvale. "Do you hear that, sir?
Her name was Isabella."

"Isabella, or the Fatal Marriage--a good thing in its time, but out of
fashion now," he answered. "A curious fact, there is an incident of
precisely the same kind, of which I claim the credit."

"Of what kind, sir?" I said. "Take care what you say."

"Oh, it's no secret! Mr Edwards and I concocted it between us; that is
to say, he objected to it a little at first, but I flatter myself it
will make some little noise in the world when it is fairly known."

I looked again at the brazen-faced fellow, and nearly fell off my chair
at hearing him make such a horrid confession.

"I don't believe a word of it, sir," I exclaimed, "as far as Frank
Edwards is concerned."

"I assure you he had very little hand in it," he replied. "The merit, as
you say, is entirely my own."

"And the consequences, too, I hope."

"I hope so. I offered a good deal before I undertook it; and I think it
will pay very well."

"What will pay?"

"The Surrey, when the melodrama is finished."

"Oh! it is a melodrama you're speaking of? I was not aware, I am sure,
or I should"--

"My dear sir, make no apologies. I hate the fuss people make about a man
because he happens to be a successful author. I assure you, the plain
entertainment you have given is better than all the _fetes_ my friends
Devonshire and Lansdowne gave me, when I published the _Blasted Nun_."

So my murderer had sunk into a writer of plays.

Sibylla looked at him with still more intense admiration, when she heard
him speak of the honours his works had procured him, and he entered at
once into a minute description of the festivities of Chatsworth and
Bowood, that would have done honour to the _Morning Post_.

After the ladies had gone to the drawing-room, I took the opportunity of
having a quiet conversation with Frank, while his friend was astonishing
the minds of the rest of the party with an account of his having refused
the Guelphic Order which the Queen had pressed upon him on the
twenty-fourth night of his _Blood-stained Milkmaid_.

"Who, in Heaven's name, and what is your friend, Mr Percy Marvale?"

"Oh, a very good fellow!" replied Frank. "I have known him at the Club
for a long time."

"He seems a rum one."

"A very useful ally, I can assure you. I study him as the _beau ideal_
of vanity and impudence."

"But your studies seem somewhat useless, if you have no higher object?"

"Oh, but I have, though--a very serious object--the only object, in
fact, I care for in the world!"

And here the young man sighed.

"Well, if your object," I said, "has any connexion with my old friend
Smith, I think he is in a fair way of securing you a confederate in Miss
Sibylla."

"She may perhaps be useful; but Marvale will find out whether she will
be so or not, before he lets her go to-night."

"Well, if it's any thing where other assistance is needed, you may
depend on me."

"You're very good; but I fear you have neither the vanity nor the
impudence that are so invaluable in my friend Percy Marvale."

"Is that his real name?"

"I am sure I don't know. It is what he is known by in the Club. He
dramatizes all the bloodthirsty horrors at the Surrey--pushes his way
every where--puffs and praises himself wherever he goes--is very
good-looking, and makes love like a French hero--and, in short, is at
this moment indispensable to me."

I made no further enquiries, for Frank filled his glass, and sighed like
a smith's bellows. But I was filled with wonder at all that passed, and
could form no guess at the bond that united two such dissimilar men, nor
at the reason so much value was attached to the services of a boastful,
clattering, pushing, inquisitive vagabond like the bewhiskered
dramatist.

Before I joined in the general conversation, it was evident that Mr
Percy Marvale, by dint of downright categorical questions, had acquired
an intimate knowledge of poor old Harry Lambert's and Williams's
domestic affairs; and it is useless to say he had bound himself in the
most solemn manner to visit both them and Mr Smith, though neither of
them, as far as I could see, seemed much delighted with his repeated
asseverations.

"It's what I always do, my dear sir," he said to Harry Lambert; "for how
could a man pick up any information unless he made himself intimate with
all classes? Why should I keep myself separate from good fellows, merely
because I happen to have written the _Frozen Island_, or the _Fire King
of the Caucasus_? I will see you the day after to-morrow. I give you my
honour. Your daughters have perhaps read my works?"

"I'm afraid they're too young, sir."

"What age are they? But if they are well taught, they have studied the
drama, of course. They have a governess, I suppose?

"Yes."

"Has she red hair? I have an idea that red-haired people are all good
teachers."

"I don't recollect the colour of her hair, I'm sure."

"I'll come over and judge for myself. I will not disappoint you on any
account. So you may be quite easy."

And the same thing he said to Mr Williams, with the slight variation of
an enquiry whether _his_ governess squinted; for he had another theory
that squinting people had a peculiar faculty for speaking French.

"I'll tell you what, Frank Edwards," I said to my young guest when we
were about to separate, "I was an old friend of your father's, and I
wish to show my regard to his memory by kindness to you; and as I don't
think you have formed the best acquaintance in the world in the person
of your companion, Mr Marvale, I wish you would give me an hour
to-morrow at Bandvale, and I will offer you a little advice."

He shook my hand very warmly, and thanked me; and I agreed to be with
him at one o'clock.

"I'll save the poor fellow from that harpy, at any rate; and have him
back to Bandvale in half a year."

"You must get him married first," said my wife, "or his life will be
miserable."

"How?"

"Why, there are three Miss Smiths, two Lamberts, and seven or eight
others. They will set on him like a swarm of bees; and as they can't all
make honey of him"--

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