Chapter 13

A VISIT FROM THE GREAT MAN OF THE FAMILY.

From that day I became Mr. Moncton's factotum, his confidential clerk, and principal agent. In all matters that required prompt and skilful management, he invariably employed me.

If he did not regard me with affection, for that was foreign to his nature, he respected my abilities, and placed the greatest reliance on my principles. I attended him in most of his professional journeys, and was present in every court in which he had an important case. I no sooner appeared with him in public than I became a person of considerable consequence among his friends and acquaintances, and invitations flowed in upon me from all quarters. One thing appeared very certain, that the same persons who had despised the shabbily-dressed lawyer's clerk, no longer regarded me with cold eyes as a _poor relation_, but were among the first to overwhelm me with civilities; and, for a while, I was intoxicated with the adulation I received from the world and its smooth-tongued votaries.

Three months glided rapidly away, and every day added to my self-importance, and brought with it fresh opportunities of enlarging the circle of my friends, and of acquiring a competent knowledge of the conventional rules of society. Though naturally fond of company, I hated dissipation, and those low vices which many young men designate as pleasure, in the pursuit of which they too often degrade their mental and physical powers. Mr. Moncton laughed at what he termed my affectation of moral integrity, and tried by every art to seduce me to join in amusements, and visit scenes, from which my mind revolted; and his own example served to strengthen my disgust. My resistance to such temptations I do not ascribe to any inherent virtue in me; but I have often observed in my subsequent journey through life, that young men, whose knowledge of the world has chiefly been confined to books, and who have never mingled much with persons of their own age, are guarded from low vices by the romantic and beautiful ideal of life, which they formed in solitude. The coarse reality is so shocking and degrading, so repugnant to taste and good feeling, and all their preconceived notions upon the subject, that they cannot indulge in it without remorse and a painful sense of degradation. This was so completely my case, that I often fled to solitude as a refuge from pleasures, so-called, which I could not enjoy, and scenes in which I felt shame to be an actor. Perhaps I was mainly indebted to the passion I had conceived for the beautiful Catherine, which acted as a secret talisman in securing me from the contaminating influences to which, in my new position, I was often exposed. In the hope of meeting again the fair creature whose image filled my soul, I had frequented theatres, operas, and mixed much in society, but to no purpose; on this head I was still doomed to suffer the most provoking disappointment.

One evening, I returned late from the office in Hatton Garden; my uncle was from home, and a great press of business had detained me beyond the usual dinner-hour, which was at six. The porter had scarcely admitted me into the hall, when one of the footmen, with whom I was a great favourite, addressed me with an air of mystery which I thought highly amusing, he seemed so anxious to impress me with the importance of the news he had to communicate.

"Mr. Geoffrey, Sir Alexander Moncton, my master's cousin, sir, is in the dining-room, waiting to see you; and the dinner, sir, is waiting, too. I told him, sir, that we expected Mr. Moncton home this evening, and he bade his valet bring up his portmanteau from the hotel, and said that he would wait here till master returned."

"Thank you, Saunders, for your information," cried I, hurrying off to my chamber to dress for dinner.

I felt greatly excited at the prospect of the approaching interview with the great man of the family, who might prove a powerful friend to his friendless relative.

My uncle was from home, which would afford me an opportunity of speaking for myself. I was anxious to make a favourable impression on Sir Alexander, and took an unusual degree of pains with my toilet.

I joined Sir Alexander in the drawing-room, just as the footman announced that dinner was on the table.

Sir Alexander received me, and my apologies for detention in the office, with a mighty good grace, shook me warmly by the hand, and accompanied me into the dining-room, with the air of a man who was determined not to be cheated out of his dinner, and anxious to make up for lost time.

I did the honours as well as I could; but not without committing sundry awkward blunders; greatly to the horror of Saunders, who with toe and elbow, gave me various silent hints upon the subject, as he glided noiselessly to and fro. This only increased my confusion, but, fortunately, my worthy relative was too much engrossed with his dinner, to notice the trifling omissions, which poor Saunders considered of such immense importance.

I was greatly relieved when the cloth was removed; and the wine and glasses were placed upon the table, and Sir Alexander and I were left alone to improve our acquaintance.

He commenced the conversation by introducing the very subject uppermost in my mind.

"Did I mistake you, young gentleman, or did you tell me, that you were a son of the late Edward Moncton?"

"His only son."

"I was not aware of his marriage--still less that he left a son. It is strange, that I should have been kept in ignorance of this important fact."

This was said half musingly. He then turned to me with a lively air.

"Your father, young gentleman, deeply offended me. It was a foolish affair; but it effectually severed the friendship of years. We repent of these things when it is too late. Had he been less violent, and less obstinate, a reconciliation might have been brought about. As it was--interested parties did their best to widen the breach.

"Edward and I were school-fellows; and though little harmony existed between the elder branches of the family, we loved like brothers. He was a handsome, generous, high-spirited fellow, but rash and extravagant. While at school he was always in debt and difficulty, to the great annoyance of his money-loving father, who looked upon me as the aider and abettor in all his scrapes. We continued firm friends until the night before he left college, when the quarrel, which I do not mean to particularize, took place; from which period we never met, and all correspondence ceased between us. I heard, that in after-years, he made a love connexion; but I never learned the particulars from any one but your uncle Robert; and he did not inform me, that Edward had left a son--nor can I comprehend his motive for concealing the fact."

Sir Alexander paused and looked earnestly in my face. I felt the blood rush to my temples.

"I do not doubt your veracity, young sir. You are too like the man I loved so long and well, for me to question your origin. But are you _certain_ that you are Edward Moncton's _legitimate_ son?"

"I feel no doubt upon the subject; my heart tells me that I am his lawful representative; and I trust that heaven will one day enable me to substantiate my claims." This was said with a vehemence that brought the tears into my eyes.

"Does Robert Moncton admit them?"

"No."

"On what grounds?"

"He affirms, that no certificate of my mother's marriage can be found, and without this important document, the law will not acknowledge me as Edward Moncton's legitimate son."

"Or Alexander Moncton's heir," replied the Baronet. "But I do not judge like the rest of the world, young man, and dare to think and act for myself. This uncle of yours is a cunning man: I know him and his ways of old. I know how he fomented the quarrel between his brother and me, to gain his own ends; and this son of his--this Theophilus, is a finished scoundrel! It is mortifying to the pride of an English gentleman to acknowledge such men as his successors."

The old man rose from his seat, and paced the room for some time in silence. He was so much occupied with his own reflections, that I had leisure to examine his countenance minutely.

A strong family likeness existed between him and my father, and uncle Robert; and as for me, I might have passed for his son. He had the same high forehead, aquiline nose, chestnut curling hair, and dark piercing eyes; but his face lacked the careless, frank, good-nature of my father's, and was totally destitute of the subtle, stern demeanour of my uncle's. The expression was more simple, and less worldly than either. It was a thoughtful, intellectual, benevolent physiognomy, which excited feelings of confidence and affection, at first sight. While looking at him, I thought I had known and loved him for years.

His tall commanding figure was slightly bent in the shoulders, and his hair was thickly sprinkled with grey; yet, his age could scarcely have exceeded fifty. His complexion, unlike my handsome uncle's, was very pale, and an early acquaintance with grief might be traced in the lines which furrowed his ample white forehead.

After a few turns through the room, he resumed his seat.

"Mr. Geoffrey Moncton," said he, grasping me warmly by the hand, "I wish sincerely that you could prove your legitimacy. There is something about you that pleases and interests me. If ever you stand in need of assistance you may rely upon me as your friend. It is not Robert Moncton's bare assertion that will make me believe you a bastard. Tell me all you know about yourself."

I endeavoured to speak, but I was so completely overwhelmed by his unexpected kindness, that I could find no words to express my thanks, or comply with his request.

A loud knocking at the door, announced the arrival of Mr. Moncton.

"That is my uncle's knock," cried I, breaking the spell that bound me.

"We will talk over this matter again, Geoffrey. If we cannot get an opportunity, you must write, and tell me all you know."

Before I could promise anything Mr. Moncton entered the room. He cast a hurried, scrutinizing glance at me, and seemed surprised and annoyed at finding me on such intimate terms with the baronet, to whom he gave a most cordial and flattering welcome.

The other met his advances with cold and studied politeness. It was evident to me that he, too, put a restraint upon his feelings.

"I am sorry, Sir Alexander, that I was from home when you arrived. This visit _from you_ is such an _unexpected_ favour."

"Your absence, Robert Moncton, gave me an opportunity of making the acquaintance of your nephew, whom I have found a very agreeable and entertaining substitute, as well as a near relation."

Mr. Moncton regarded me with a haughty and contemptuous smile.

"I am happy to learn that your time was so agreeably spent. By-the-by, Geoffrey," turning abruptly to me, and speaking in a hasty, authoritative tone, "are those papers transcribed I gave you at parting? They will be required in court early to-morrow."

He evidently expected a negative.

"They are ready, sir, and many others that have been placed in my hands since. We have been hard at work in the office all day."

"I commend your diligence," said he, affecting a patronizing air; "I am sorry to take you from such pleasant company, but business, you know, cannot be neglected. This bundle of papers," (and he took a packet from his wallet and placed in my hand), "must be transcribed to-night. You need not go to the office. Step into the study, you will find all that you require there."

This was but a stratagem to get rid of my unwelcome presence. I bowed to Sir Alexander, and reluctantly withdrew.

It so happened, that Mr. Moncton's study opened into the dining-room, and without meaning to do so, I left the door but partially closed.

Sitting down to the table, I trimmed the large shaded lamp that always burnt there, and began mechanically to transcribe the uninteresting papers. An hour passed away. The gentlemen were conversing upon the current news of the day over their wine. The servant brought up coffee, and I ceased to give any heed to what was passing in the next room.

I was drawing out a long deed of settlement, when my attention was aroused by the mention of my own name, and the following dialogue caught my ear:

"This nephew of yours, Robert Moncton, is a fine lad. How is it that I never heard of him before?"

"I did not think it necessary to introduce him to your notice, Sir Alexander. He has no legal claim upon our protection. He is a natural son of Edward's, whom I educate for the profession out of charity."

"An act of benevolence hardly to be expected from you," said Sir Alexander with a provoking sneer. "I suppose you expect to get the interest for your kindness out of the lad?"

"Why, yes! He has excellent abilities, and might do much for himself, but is too like the father, but with this difference, Edward was good-natured and careless to a fault; this boy is haughty and petulant, with the unmanageable obstinacy and self-will of old Geoffrey. He is not grateful for the many obligations he owes to me, and gives me frequent cause to regret that I ever adopted him into my family."

"When you are tired of him," said Sir Alexander, carelessly, "you may turn him over to me. I am sure I could make something of him."

"You are not in earnest?" in a tone of surprise.

"Never more so."

A long silence ensued. My hand trembled with indignation. Was this Mr. Moncton's pretended friendship? I tried in vain to write. "It is useless," I said mentally. "The deed may go to the devil, and Robert Moncton along with it, for what I care," and I flung the parchment from me. "That man is an infamous liar! I will tell him so to his face."

I was just about to burst into the room, when Sir Alexander resumed the conversation.

"Who was this lad's mother?"

"A young person of the name of Rivers; the only daughter of a poor curate, in Derbyshire. You know my brother's dissipated habits. He enticed the girl from her peaceful home, and grief for her loss brought the old father to his grave. This boy was the sole fruit of the connection. The parents were never married."

"Is that a fact?"

"I have made every legal inquiry upon the subject; but, no proofs are in existence of such an union between the parties."

"I can scarcely believe Edward guilty of such a villainous act!"

"Extravagant men of unsettled principles are not much troubled with qualms of conscience. On his death-bed Edward repented of this act, and recommended the child to my especial care and protection. His letter, which I have by me, was couched in such moving terms, that I considered myself bound in duty to do what I could for the boy, as he was not answerable for the fault of the parents. I took him home the day his mother was buried, and he has been an inmate of my house ever since."

"When he is out of his time, what do you intend doing for him?"

"I have not yet determined; perhaps, associate him with myself in the office. There is, however, one stumbling-block in the way--the dislike which exists between him and Theophilus."

"Ay, that might prove a formidable barrier to their mutual welfare. By-the-by, what has become of Theophilus?"

"He was travelling on the continent. His last letter is dated from Rome. He has been a great source of trouble and vexation to me, and is constantly getting into scrapes by his gallantries, which you must allow, Sir Alexander, is a family failing of the Monctons."

"His conduct lately has been such," said the baronet, in an angry voice, "that it makes me blush that we bear the same name. It was to speak to you on this painful subject that brought me to London."

"I know the circumstance to which you allude," said Mr. Moncton, in a humble tone; "nor can I defend him; but, we must make allowances for youth and indiscretion. We were young men ourselves once, Sir Alexander."

"Thank Heaven! bad as I might be, no poor girl could accuse me of being the cause of her ruin," cried the baronet, striking his hand emphatically upon the table. "But this young scoundrel! while a visitor beneath my roof, and a solicitor for the hand of my daughter, outraged all feelings of honour and decency, by seducing this poor girl, on our own estate, at our very doors. It was mean, wicked, dastardly--and without he marries his unhappy victim, he shall never enter my doors again."

"_Marry!_" and Mr. Moncton hissed the words through his clenched teeth. "Let him dare to marry her, and the sole inheritance he gets from me, will be his father's curse!"

"Till he does this, and by so doing wipes off the infamous stain he has brought upon our house, I must consider both father and son as strangers!"

"Please yourself, Sir Alexander. You will never by menace induce me to give my consent to this disgraceful marriage," cried Moncton, stamping with rage.

There was another long pause. I heard Sir Alexander traversing the apartment with hasty strides. At length, stopping suddenly before his excited companion, he said; "Robert, you may be right. The wicked woman, who sold her grandchild for money, was once in your service. You best know what relationship exists between your son and his beautiful victim."

A hollow laugh burst from Mr. Moncton's lips.

"You possess a lively imagination, Sir Alexander. I did love that woman, though she was old enough then to have been my mother. It was a boy's rash, blind love; but I was too proud to make her my wife, and she was too cunning and avaricious to be mine on any other terms. Your suspicions, on _that head_ at least, are erroneous."

"Be that as it may," said Sir Alexander, "Theophilus Moncton shall never darken my doors until the grave closes over me."

He left the room while speaking. A few minutes later, a carriage dashed from the door at a rapid rate, and I felt certain that he had quitted the house. My uncle's step approached. I let my head drop upon the table and feigned sleep, and without attempting to waken me, he withdrew.

From that night a marked alteration took place in his manner towards me. It was evident that the commendations bestowed upon me by Sir Alexander had ruined me in his eyes, and he considered me in the light of a formidable rival. He withdrew his confidence, and treated me with the most pointed neglect. But he could not well banish me from his table, or deprive me of the standing he had given me among his guests, without insulting them, by having introduced to their notice a person unworthy of it. On this head I was tolerably secure, as Mr. Moncton was too artful a man to criminate himself. In a few days, I should now become of age, when the term of my articles would expire. I should then be my own master; and several private applications had been made to me by a lawyer of eminence, to accept a place in his office, with promises of further advancement; this rendered my uncle's conduct a matter of indifference. The sudden and unexpected return of Theophilus gave a very different aspect to my affairs.