Trevethlan Volume II Part 10

he might think, "how little you know on the subject!" But as the day of trial came quite near, some of his former agitation naturally returned: he shunned the conversation of the peasants, and became once more abstracted and silent at home. Again did the rustics note the gloom upon his brow, and whisper among their other prognostications that their master's doom was written in his face; but he should not fall unavenged.

Nor was Michael Sinson more at his ease. He had gone to London before the party at Pendarrel, to consult Mr. Truby, and to see his bondman, Everope. It was essential that he should maintain his influence over the latter unbroken, and keep him well prepared for the part he was to play.

He was greatly startled himself by being summoned as a witness for the defendant. He had intended, indeed, to go down to the a.s.sizes, but he did not mean to appear. He should remain in the background, while his creature did his work. He trembled to think of the confessions into which he might be driven or led by the searching questions of counsel; but still more he alarmed himself by imagining that his opponents had obtained some clue to his design, and that some strange exposure awaited him in court. He was, however, now so deeply involved, that he could only strengthen himself with his old hopes, and abide the issue in patience.

His aged grandmother was at least as much perplexed as himself. Ever since her favourite Michael had dropped his dark hint in her ear respecting the marriage, she had harped upon the subject in her muttered soliloquies, and ruminated upon it as she swung to and fro in her rocking-chair. And in the confusion of her ideas she fancied, on receiving her summons, that there was a plot on foot by which the Trevethlans desired to free themselves from the connection with her family, and willingly transferred to Randolph the pa.s.sing reproaches with which at times she upbraided Michael Sinson. It was idle to reason with her.

"Ay, Squire Trevethlan," she cried to him one day, as he was strolling in the neighbourhood of her lodge, in the vain hope of quieting his renewed anxiety by another meeting with Mildred. "The son steps worthily in the path of the father! And so thou wouldst be quit of the peasant blood, wouldst thou? Wouldst disown thy kindred? But na, na,--the ties are too strong. It's none so easy to break a mother's memory. My Margaret was fit for the wife of a king, and more than fit to be the mother of such as thee."

"Who has been talking to you now, dame?" Randolph asked. "Who has been putting these notions in your head? Did I ever wish to disown her? Would I not give anything to bring her back? Would I not love her and honour her? And did I not tell you I had seen her, and she smiled upon me? She has come often since, and always with the same sweet smile."

He fancied the old woman had been tampered with, and wished to know the particulars.

"I dinna believe thee," Maud answered; "I dinna believe it at all: and they say she has walked in the castle indeed, but no with a smiling face. She came to warn thee, grandson Randolph. And well she might. Well she might wander there, where she was let to pine and pine, and no one of all her own people let to come nigh her. And most of all now, when her own son would put her out of her rightful place. Shame upon him!"

"'Tis because I am her son," Randolph expostulated, "that you should not believe these tales, Dame Ba.s.set. What! do you not know that if she were not my father's wife, the castle and everything we have pa.s.s away from my sister and me? And have we not asked you to come to the trial to speak for us, and prove the marriage? Who is it has put these stories in your head?"

"I cannot understand it at all," the old woman answered. "Why should I speak yon for thy side? Why shouldst thou come to me? Have not thy people put me and mine out from among them? I cannot understand it at all."

"But at least, dame," Randolph urged, "you will say it was a good marriage?"

"Every one knows that," she said. "Let me see the one that denies it.

But go, go. Said I not there was a dark hour at hand for thy house? It is near, near. I said it was written in thy face. It is clearer and plainer now. Thou beguiled me with that tale of her smile, but I heard the rights o't since. There'll never be peace 'twixt thine and mine."

And so saying, she retreated into the lodge, and left Randolph, puzzled, but not annoyed by her unfounded suspicions. Her words were so far satisfactory, that they showed how strong was her confidence in the validity of the marriage.

At the opening of the a.s.sizes, Polydore Riches and the steward went to Bodmin to be in constant communication with Winter and his counsel. The worthy lawyer had himself already made a flying visit to Trevethlan, for the purpose of investigating the evidence a little more closely. He was rather dismayed on finding at every turn that the rumours current at the time of the marriage were still so fresh in the memory of the people.

"Faith!" said he to himself, "we have wasted our subpoenas pretty freely! Why, there's scarcely a person out of the castle I shall dare to call!" Moreover, he had been disheartened somewhat by the intelligence he had gained respecting Mr. Ashton, as it seemed to show that there were but few qualities in his character to prevent him from being a party to a trick, provided it were profitable to himself. The placards offering a reward for news of Wyley had called forth no information.

Randolph persisted, against the advice of the chaplain, in attending the trial himself. He was resolved to hear the case against him from the lips of the witnesses. Polydore was grieved, thinking that if the issue was favourable the trifling delay in communicating it would be unimportant, and if it were adverse, its effect might be softened.

Besides which, there might be incidents in the proceedings of a painful nature, from which the defendant had better be away. But a wilful man must have his way, and Randolph would not be overruled.

The evening before his departure he sat with Helen, feverish and excited, in their favourite turret-room, overlooking the sea. The delightful weather still continued, and they kept the window open long after dark.

"Do you remember, Helen," the brother asked, "how we were sitting here, side by side, as we are now, when there came that letter, insulting us with the offer of alms?"

"Dear Randolph," Helen answered, "you know I would have thought differently of that letter. But why should I remember it now?"

"Because, my sister, to-morrow's trial may place us in need of alms," he replied. "I do not know why it is, but from the very first I have thought we should be beaten in this suit. I have been haunted ever by the idea that the pittance which I then disdained might become necessary to us. It seems to me a natural consequence of the refusal. Are they so proud? it was said--they shall be humbled."

"But we shall not, Randolph," his sister said. She was saddened by the bitterness with which he spoke. "We shall not be humbled. Not in the sense you mean. We shall not have to seek a.s.sistance. The schemes which we plotted for the restoration of our house, may they not be revived to minister to our necessities? See, when that letter came, you asked, why have we desponded. And shall we despond now? Believe me, my brother, I am prepared for the worst."

"If that were all," Randolph said, "if poverty and the loss of our dear home were all, bitter as it would be, it might be borne. But our father or our mother, the one or the other, will be defamed, and our name dishonoured. Helen, if this suit goes against us, and I survive the day, it will only be to brand our opponents with the villany by which they win, not with any notion of supporting a life I shall abhor."

He disengaged himself from her arm as he finished speaking, and leant against a division of the open window. But she followed him, and laid her hand upon his shoulder.

"And me, Randolph," she said; "you are a man; but what will become of me?"

"Of you, dearest!" he exclaimed. "Did you ever think, my sister, of her I mentioned but now? She died before you had left your cradle. Scarcely as a baby even could you know her. But I was nearly three years old. And the memory has dwelt secretly in my breast, and it has come back to me of late. I have seen her face in my dreams, sometimes smiling and sometimes sorrowful, but always full of love. I have thought she came to implore me to protect what was her only dowry, her good name, or to console me and make me hopeful under a pa.s.sing misfortune. And then, when I remember the attack which is to be made to-morrow, my heart burns, and I say what I do not mean. But you, dearest! I shall live to be with you, whatever may befall."

And so saying, he bent down and kissed his sister.

"Do you see that bright planet?" he continued. "I have called it my star. It has shone on some of the happiest moments of my life. A childish fancy, sister, but it pleases me. The sight of it, clear and unclouded as it is now, breathes promise of joy to my heart. Trust me, sister, whatever may happen in this cause, there is comfort in store for us yet."

CHAPTER XII.

_King John_. Our strong possession, and our right, for us.

_Elinor_. Your strong possession, much more than your right; Or else it must go wrong with you, and me: So much my conscience whispers in your ear, Which none but Heaven, and you, and I, shall hear.

Shakspeare.

Early the following day, Randolph sprang into the carriage which was to convey him to Bodmin, where his fate would, for the present at least, be decided. He bade his sister good-bye in a cheerful voice, but with a gloomy countenance, and she staid at the hall-door until the gates had closed upon his way. The carriage rattled down the descent of the base-court, and round the village green; and the few rustics, who met it with respectful salutes, shook their heads doubtfully as they looked after it, and foreboded no joyful return.

But the sun was shining bright and warm; the hedges were bursting prematurely into leaf; the birds were singing merrily; all the influences of nature concurred to raise the spirits of the wayfarer, and inspire him with hope. He became interested in the journey, and his presentiments of evil vanished away.

In the evening Randolph entered the precincts of the county town, and was driven to the hotel, where he had appointed to meet Polydore Riches; and glad he was to escape from the bustle and noise of the busy town to the parlour engaged by the chaplain. He was also glad to find that Polydore, antic.i.p.ating his wishes, had provided against any visits. He did not even desire to see Rereworth.

The next morning, after a slight and hasty breakfast, he took the chaplain's arm, and proceeded through the lively and crowded streets to the court-house. No one knew him, and he pa.s.sed along entirely unheeded.

But the cause had excited very considerable interest. The story of the quarrel between Mrs. Pendarrel and her early suitor was by no means forgotten, and the rumour of her new attack upon Trevethlan Castle had attracted no little attention. The circ.u.mstances of its late owner's marriage were recalled to mind, and regarded with various kinds of criticism. The lovers of scandal flocked to the court-house in hope of gratifying their spleen, and the vague reports that were circulated respecting the grounds of the plaintiff's claim promised amus.e.m.e.nt to the admirers of piquant private history. People in general remembered how large a portion of the hereditary estates of Trevethlan had pa.s.sed under the sway of the rival house, and looked perhaps with trembling pity on the last relic of the old domain; and even the peasantry might feel an interest in the fulfilment of the popular prophecy. So all these feelings combined to swell the a.s.semblage which crowded the court.

Polydore introduced his old pupil to a seat on the bench; from thence Randolph exchanged a grave bow with Seymour Rereworth, and took his place with a countenance whose constrained tranquillity was very much at variance with the emotion which it concealed.

Shortly afterwards the judge made his appearance, and the rumour which had pervaded the crowd gradually subsided. There were some questions asked, and points decided, respecting a cause which had been tried the preceding day; and, as soon as this conversation was finished, the clerk of a.s.size, in a low methodical tone, read from his cause-list, Doe d Pendarrel _v._ Trevethlan; counsel on each side nodded; a jury was sworn well and truly to try the issue between the parties; the plaintiff's junior briefly described the nature of the action, and amidst perfect silence, his leader rose to state the case he should lay before the court.

He began by lamenting the painful duty which devolved upon him on the present occasion, and begging the jury to forget whatever they might have heard of previous disputes between the families whose names appeared in this record. It was too frequently the case, in suits of this nature, that the parties were nearly connected. Pa.s.sing from this introduction, he observed that in such actions they had also frequently to inquire into a long and tedious pedigree, or to make a fatiguing investigation of doc.u.mentary evidence. No task of the kind awaited them here. The case he had to present was exceedingly short and simple, and rested mainly on the testimony of a single witness. And however extraordinary the story which this witness would tell, he was sorry to say that it was strongly confirmed by the conduct and circ.u.mstances of him whom it impeached. The action was brought to obtain possession of Trevethlan Castle and the surrounding domain. The jury were probably aware that the real claimant in the cause, Mr. Philip Trevethlan Pendarrel, had a.s.sumed the last name in addition to his own, on his marriage with an heiress of large fortune in the county. He now preferred his claim as the younger son of Hugh Trevethlan, Esquire, of Trevethlan Castle, from whom the defendant also deduced his t.i.tle; so that it would be unnecessary to go any further back. Having established the claimant's birth, it would, however, become requisite to show that there were now no lawful descendants of his elder brother, or rather half brother, Arthur Trevethlan, the alleged grandfather of the defendant. Now it was admitted that from this Arthur, the estates in question descended legally to his son Henry; but with the latter, it was maintained the succession in that line terminated. They would observe that Henry, the late possessor, only died towards the close of the previous year, which would account for no steps having been taken sooner. Now it was well known that, for many years before his death, all intercourse between him and his uncle, the claimant, had entirely ceased; and that in fact they were not on those terms of friendship which should exist between such near relations. It was also known that for a long time the late Mr. Trevethlan lived a very retired life at his castle, and never went into society at all. Further, he had fully attained the age of forty before there was any rumour or pretence that he had contracted a marriage. But about this time, it is suggested that if he died without offspring, the estates would either revert to the relative from whom he was alienated, or he must bequeath them to a stranger; and the jury would readily perceive the feelings which would be excited by either alternative. Accordingly, in order to avoid them both, it would seem that Mr. Trevethlan then contemplated matrimony, and that a certain ceremony was performed between him and one Margaret Ba.s.set, the daughter of a small farmer upon his estate. The defendant in this action is the son of this Margaret Ba.s.set. "Now, gentlemen,"

continued the counsel, "I need not unpleasantly press upon your attention the circ.u.mstances under which the late Mr. Trevethlan might have found it convenient to repudiate this pretended marriage. They did not arise, and the marriage was not repudiated. Neither, so far as we can learn, was it ever confirmed in a legal manner:--it was never properly registered. The only mention of it in the parish records occurs in the account of the christening of the defendant, who is described (I read from an attested copy) as the 'son of Henry and Margaret Trevethlan, who were married by special licence, in this parish, by the Reverend Theodore Ashton, on the 3rd of September, in the previous year, in the presence of ---- Wyley, and of Maud Ba.s.set.' This entry is signed Henry Trevethlan, Margaret Trevethlan, Maud Ba.s.set. The questions naturally arise,--where is the signature of the officiating clergyman?--where is that of the witness Wyley? And the answer to these inquiries is found in the real history of the circ.u.mstances attending this alleged marriage. The ceremony was performed in private, within the castle, but without the presence even of any of the household; within twenty-fours afterwards, the clergyman alleged to have performed it disappeared, and was supposed to be murdered. The only male witness also vanished; and the only other witness was the mother of the pretended bride, who is still living, and will probably be called before you by my learned friend."

Here the speaker was interrupted by a scuffle in the court, and the shrill voice of Maud Ba.s.set. "He lies!" she screamed. "My Margaret _was_ married. Let me see the one who says the contrary." But the old woman was speedily removed.

"Gentlemen," the counsel resumed, "both you and I can understand and sympathize with the feeling which prompted that interruption. I was describing the mysterious privacy with which this pretended marriage was--I will not say solemnized--but performed. It is perhaps generally supposed that the poor old woman who interrupted me is the sole survivor of those who were present at the scene; but it is not so. We shall to-day produce another. We shall call before you the person who acted the part of the clergyman:--not Mr. Ashton, gentlemen, nor a clergyman at all."

There was a great sensation in the court at these words. And if any one among the audience had then looked at Randolph, he could not fail to have been struck by the ghastly rigidity of his features. But all were too deeply interested by the announcement which they had heard to attend to anything else.

The plaintiff's counsel proceeded to say that he need not antic.i.p.ate the details this witness would relate;--they would completely overthrow any claim founded upon this alleged marriage. It would be for his learned friends to show any subsequent ground for their t.i.tle, if such they had.

But unless they did so, he should confidently look for a verdict at the hands of the jury; and, as he should undoubtedly have another opportunity of addressing them, he would not now trouble them at greater length.

A considerable rumour pervaded the court at the close of this speech, but soon yielded to the low calls for order. There followed some technical evidence respecting Mr. Pendarrel's descent, and the deaths of his brother and nephew, of no particular interest, and then the leader who had addressed the jury, re-awakened attention by desiring the crier to call Lewis Everope. Rereworth looked at the spendthrift, as he quietly took the oath, with utter astonishment, not knowing what to think. The examination began.

"What are you, Mr. Everope?"

"I belong to no profession, but have been nominally a student of the law."

"You were educated at ---- University, I believe, sir?"

The witness uttered an intimation of a.s.sent.