Castle Richmond by Anthony Trollope (good story books to read .txt) 📖

him, Jones," he had said.

"But I'd rather not, sir. I was with him yesterday for two mortal hours; and, oh, Mr. Herbert! it ain't for no good."

But Herbert was inexorable; and Mrs. Jones, feeling herself overcome by the weight of the misfortune that was oppressing them all, obeyed, and descending to her master's study, knocked at the door. She knew that Mr. Prendergast was there, and she knew that Sir Thomas was not; but she did not know that any stranger was in the room with Mr. Prendergast. Mr. Mollett had not heard the knock, nor, indeed, had Mr. Prendergast; but Mrs. Jones having gone through this ceremony, opened the door and entered.

"Sir Thomas knows; does he?" said Mr. Prendergast, when Mollett ceased to speak on the woman's entrance. "Oh, Mrs. Jones, good morning. Here is your old master, Mr. Talbot."

Mollett of course turned round, and found himself confronted with the woman. They stared at each other for some moments, and then Mollett said, in a low dull voice, "Yes, she knows me; it was she that lived with her at Tallyho Lodge."

"You remember him now, Mrs. Jones; don't you?" said Mr. Prendergast.

For another moment or two Mrs. Jones stood silent; and then she acknowledged herself overcome, and felt that the world around her had become too much for her. "Yes," said she, slowly; "I remembers him," and then sinking into a chair near the door, she put her apron up to her eyes, and burst into tears.

"No doubt about that; she remembers me well enough," said Mollett, thinking that this was so much gained on his side. "But there ain't a doubt about the matter at all, Mr. Prendergast. You look here, and you'll see it all as plain as black and white." And Mr. Mollett dragged a large pocket-book from his coat, and took out of it certain documents, which he held before Mr. Prendergast's eyes, still keeping them in his own hand. "Oh, I'm all right; I am," said Mollett.

"Oh, you are, are you?" said the lawyer, just glancing at the paper, which he would not appear to heed. "I am glad you think so."

"If there were any doubt about it, she'd know," said he, pointing away up towards the body of the house. Both Mr. Prendergast and Mrs. Jones understood well who was that she to whom he alluded.

"You are satisfied at any rate, Mrs. Jones," said the lawyer. But Mrs. Jones had hidden her face in her apron, and would not look up. She could not understand why this friend of the family should push the matter so dreadfully against them. If he would rise from his chair and destroy that wretch who stood before them, then indeed he might be called a friend!

Mr. Prendergast had now betaken himself to the door, and was standing with his back to it, and with his hands in his trousers-pockets, close to the chair on which Mrs. Jones was sitting. He had resolved that he would get that woman's spoken evidence out of her; and he had gotten it. But now, what was he to do with her next?—with her or with the late Mr. Talbot of Tallyho Lodge? And having satisfied himself of that fact, which from the commencement he had never doubted, what could he best do to spare the poor lady who was so terribly implicated in this man's presence?

"Mrs. Jones," said he, standing over her, and gently touching her shoulder, "I am sorry to have pained you in this way; but it was necessary that we should know, without a doubt, who this man is,—and who he was. Truth is always the best, you know. So good a woman as you cannot but understand that."

"I suppose it is, sir,—I suppose it is," said Mrs. Jones, through her tears, now thoroughly humbled. The world was pretty nearly at an end, as far as she was concerned. Here, in this very house of Castle Richmond, in Sir Thomas's own room, was her ladyship's former husband, acknowledged as such! What further fall of the planet into broken fragments could terrify, or drive her from her course more thoroughly than this? Truth! yes, truth in the abstract, might be very good. But such a truth as this! how could any one ever say that that was good? Such was the working of her mind; but she took no trouble to express her thoughts.

"Yes," continued Mr. Prendergast, speaking still in a low voice, with a tone that was almost tender, "truth is always best. Look at this wretched man here! He would have killed the whole family—destroyed them one by one—had they consented to assist him in concealing the fact of his existence. The whole truth will now be known; and it is very dreadful; but it will not be so dreadful as the want of truth."

"My poor lady! my poor lady!" almost screamed Mrs. Jones from under her apron, wagging her head, and becoming almost convulsive in her grief.

"Yes, it is very sad. But you will live to acknowledge that even this is better than living in that man's power."

"I don't know that," said Mollett. "I am not so bad as you'd make me. I don't want to distress the lady."

"No, not if you are allowed to rob the gentleman till there's not a guinea left for you to suck at. I know pretty well the extent of the evil that's in you. If we were to kick you from here to Cork, you'd forgive all that, so that we still allowed you to go on with your trade. I wonder how much money you've had from him altogether?"

"What does the money signify? What does the money signify?" said Mrs. Jones, still wagging her head beneath her apron. "Why didn't Sir Thomas go on paying it, and then my lady need know nothing about it?"

It was clear that Mrs. Jones would not look at the matter in a proper light. As far as she could see, there was no reason why a fair bargain should not have been made between Mollett and Sir Thomas,—made and kept on both sides, with mutual convenience. That doing of justice at the cost of falling heavens was not intelligible to her limited philosophy. Nor did she bethink herself, that a leech will not give over sucking until it be gorged with blood. Mr. Prendergast knew that such leeches as Mr. Mollett never leave the skin as long as there is a drop of blood left within the veins.

Mr. Prendergast was still standing against the door, where he had placed himself to prevent the unauthorized departure of either Mrs. Jones or Mr. Mollett; but now he was bethinking himself that he might as well bring this interview to an end. "Mr. Mollett," said he, "you are probably beginning to understand that you will not get much more money from the Castle Richmond family?"

"I don't want to do any harm to any of them," said Mollett, humbly; "and if I don't make myself troublesome, I hope Sir Thomas will consider me."

"It is out of your power, sir, to do any further harm to any of them. You don't pretend to think that after what has passed, you can have any personal authority over that unfortunate lady?"

"My poor mistress! my poor mistress!" sobbed Mrs. Jones.

"You cannot do more injury than you at present have done. No one is now afraid of you; no one here will ever give you another shilling. When and in what form you will be prosecuted for inducing Sir Thomas to give you money, I cannot yet tell. Now, you may go; and I strongly advise you never to show your face here again. If the people about here knew who you are, and what you are, they would not let you off the property with a whole bone in your skin. Now go, sir. Do you hear me?"

"Upon my word, Mr. Prendergast, I have not intended any harm!"

"Go, sir!"

"And even now, Mr. Prendergast, it can all be made straight, and I will leave the country altogether, if you wish it—"

"Go, sir!" shouted Mr. Prendergast. "If you do not move at once, I will ring the bell for the servants!"

"Then, if misfortune comes upon them, it is your doing, and not mine," said Mollett.

"Oh, Mr. Pendrergrass, if it can be hushed up—" said Mrs. Jones, rising from her chair and coming up to him with her hands clasped together. "Don't send him away in your anger; don't'ee now, sir. Think of her ladyship. Do, do, do;" and the woman took hold of his arm, and looked up into his face with her eyes swimming with tears. Then going to the door she closed it, and returning again, touched his arm, and again appealed to him. "Think of Mr. Herbert, sir, and the young ladies! What are they to be called, sir, if this man is to be my lady's husband? Oh, Mr. Pendrergrass, let him go away, out of the kingdom; do let him go away."

"I'll be off to Australia by the next boat, if you'll only say the word," said Mollett. To give him his due, he was not at that moment thinking altogether of himself and of what he might get. The idea of the misery which he had brought on these people did, to a certain measure, come home to him. And it certainly did come home to him also, that his own position was very perilous.

"Mrs. Jones," said the lawyer, seeming to pay no attention whatever to Mollett's words, "you know nothing of such men as that. If I were to take him at his word now, he would turn upon Sir Thomas again before three weeks were over."

"By ——, I would not! By all that is holy, I would not. Mr. Prendergast, do—."

"Mr. Mollett, I will trouble you to walk out of this house. I have nothing further to say to you."

"Oh, very well, sir." And then slowly Mollett took his departure, and finding his covered car at the door, got into it without saying another word to any of the Castle Richmond family.

"Mrs. Jones," said Mr. Prendergast, as soon as Mollett was gone, "I believe I need not trouble you any further. Your conduct has done you great honour, and I respect you greatly as an honest woman and an affectionate friend."

Mrs. Jones could only acknowledge this by loud sobs.

"For the present, if you will take my advice, you will say nothing of this to your mistress."

"No, sir, no; I shall say nothing. Oh, dear! oh dear!"

"The whole matter will be known soon, but in the mean time, we may as well remain silent. Good day to you." And then Mrs. Jones also left the room, and Mr. Prendergast was alone.

 

 

CHAPTER XXI. FAIR ARGUMENTS.
 

As Mollett left the house he saw two men walking down the road away from the sweep before the hall door, and as he passed them he recognised one as the young gentleman of the house. He also saw that a horse followed behind them, on the grass by the roadside, not led by the hand, but following with the reins laid loose upon his neck. They took no notice of him or his car, but allowed him to pass as though he had no concern whatever with the destinies of either of them. They were Herbert and Owen Fitzgerald.

The reader will perhaps remember the way in which Owen left Desmond Court on the occasion of his last visit there. It cannot be said that what he had heard had in any way humbled him, nor indeed had it taught him to think that Clara Desmond looked at him altogether with indifference. Greatly as she had injured him, he could not bring himself to look upon her as the chief sinner. It was Lady Desmond who had done it all. It was she who had turned against him because of his poverty, who had sold her daughter to his rich cousin, and robbed him of the love which he had won for himself. Or perhaps not of the love—it might be that this was yet his; and if so, was it not possible that he might beat the countess at her own weapons? Thinking over this, he felt that it was necessary for him to do something, to take some step; and therefore he resolved to go boldly to his cousin, and tell him that he regarded Lady Clara Desmond as still his own.

On this morning, therefore, he had ridden up to the Castle Richmond door. It was now many months since he had been there, and he was no longer entitled to enter the house on the acknowledged intimate footing of a cousin. He rode up, and asked the servant with grave ceremony whether Mr. Herbert Fitzgerald were at home. He would not