Part 30

“Then I will begin at once. I solemnly enjoin you, sir, not to reveal what I am about to tell you to any mortal; for, alas! it concerns my husband's honour,--nay, even his life. Much as he loves me, I think he would deprive me of existence, rather than let me make you acquainted with his weakness,--I will say his crime: but as it may save us both from being even more wretched than we are, I will trust it to your ear. When George Wyburn married me, he knew I had considerable expectations, and, therefore, did not demand a settlement. My poor father allowed us a handsome income, while he lived; George was high-spirited and gay, but not extravagant; and we had enough,--nay, something to spare, after our yearly expenses were paid, until within a few months before my father's death, when a sad and sudden change came over us. At Harrowgate, my husband,--Heaven knows how,--formed an acquaintance with a man, who, after a short time, was our constant visitor and George's bosom friend. In three months, under the influence of his associate, my husband became a gambler and a duellist! He was still kind to me, and I concealed his faults from my father. Vain were all my attempts to reclaim him: I had lost my power of persuading him, but yet I feel sure he loved me. I now bitterly lament my folly in keeping his proceedings a secret from my father; for he went on in his evil ways. At last the climax arrived: he lost more than he could pay; and, unable to bear up against the dishonour which his default would have brought upon him, he abruptly quitted Harrowgate with a determination to destroy himself. He wrote to his new friend, stating that, ere the letter reached its destination, he should be numbered with the dead. He declared that he felt unable to address his poor wife; but he warmly recommended her to the care of him to whom he wrote, and begged that her unfortunate husband's fate might be revealed to her as gradually as possible. The wretch came to me as he was desired: he told me a little, and I learnt the rest from the letter which George had sent him. Accompanied by this man, I made all possible haste to the place whence George had written. I found him alive and unhurt. His pistols were lying on the table before him, when I rushed into the room, and he was writing to me: he could not leave the world without bidding me an eternal adieu! He had lingered over the paper, which was damped by his tears; but, from the language of the sentence which he was penning when we entered, his resolution to destroy himself seemed to have been unshaken; and I am convinced that, had we not arrived sooner than he expected, and had not his heart urged him to assure me that he loved and blessed me in his last moments, I should that day have been a widow. He embraced and wept over me, but blushed before his friend, and seemed dreadfully enraged at our arrival. When I, at length, succeeded in soothing him a little, he asked my companion to advise him how he ought to act. The reply I can never forget. It was this:--'Why, truly, Mr. Wy-burn, after having stated that you were going to commit suicide, there is but one course to save your reputation, namely,--to keep your word: but as I suppose no one but myself, except your wife, is acquainted with the circumstance, no doubt you will see the wisdom of suffering certain notions, which, perhaps, are rather too rigorously attended to, in some quarters, giving place to the dictates of religion, et cetera;--that is, if you feel satisfied that I can be depended on to keep your secret.' 'Will you swear to do so?' asked my husband. 'Nay,' replied the other, 'if you doubt me, you have your remedy. Were I capable of wronging my friend, I surely should not be prevented from so doing by the comparatively cobweb fetters of a private oath.' Subsequently, I prevailed upon him, by reproaches and entreaties, to promise me solemnly that he would relinquish all thoughts of carrying his fatal resolution into effect: but he made the most solemn vow, that if either I or his friend betrayed the weakness, or, to use his own words, the cowardice he had shewn, in not completing what he had meditated, he should certainly blow out his brains the first opportunity; for he never could exist under the idea that he was the laughing-stock of the world. Summoning up his fortitude, he returned with us to Harrowgate: and, in a few days, a portion of what he had lost at the gaming-table was paid; for the remainder, he gave bonds payable on the death of my father; and I firmly believe he has never touched the dice-box since.”

“Then I am glad to say all seems to have ended more happily than could have been expected,” observed Burdock.

“Not so, sir,--not so, indeed,” replied Mrs. Wyburn; “that fatal friend still hovers near him;--my husband still hugs the snake that destroys while he embraces him. Those gambling debts, I am certain, were contracted by my husband with the villain's confederates.”

“Then the bonds have been, at length, put in force against him?”

“They have; and I now owe my husband's loss of liberty, as I once almost did the loss of his life, to the machinations of Blennerhagen?”

“Blennerhagen!” exclaimed the attorney, considerably surprised; “you surely do not mean _our_ Mr. Blennerhagen,--he who married Paul Winpennie's widow!”

“He is the man,” replied Mrs. Wyburn: “he obtained an introduction to Mrs. Winpennie by means of my husband. Foolish as she is, and lucky as she has been, in one respect,--alas! to my sorrow,--I sincerely pity her; for miserable will be her fate. She is linked to a calm, determined villain, who entertains no spark of affection for her: the possession of my poor father's legacy, and not her person, was his object in marrying her.”

“And how do you know this, my dear madam?”

“Oh, sir! Blennerhagen has thrust his confidence upon me, and I have been compelled to listen to him. Unhappily, he has, or pretends to have, a passion for me; and I have endured the confession from his own lips. He has boldly told me, that, had George committed suicide, he should have offered me his hand, as soon as decency would have permitted him to do so. You find, sir, that I am as good as my word: I tell you this without a blush or a tear, while _you_ shudder!”

“Shudder! ay, and I well may. Thou dost not blush or weep, indeed, my poor young sufferer; but thy cheek is deathly pale, and thy eyes seem burning in their sockets. I beseech you, let us postpone this.”

“Nay, nay, pray hear me to an end: I have brought my courage to bear it all; if I relapse, I cannot work upon myself to go through the ordeal again.”

“But why not unmask this villain--this hypocrite--this wolf?”

“Your honest indignation makes you forget that my husband's life is in his power. That fatal letter, which George wrote to him when he quitted Harrowgate with a determination to commit suicide, is still in the possession of Blennerhagen; I saw him take it from his pocket-book but two days ago, although he protests to George that it is destroyed: and the publication of it would, I fear, hurry my husband to self-destruction at once. I know George's temper so well, that I tremble at the idea of incurring so great a risk; and yet what else to do I know not; for the demon, after persecuting me in vain, for months, now holds that hand-writing before my eyes, and dares me to be virtuous!”

“The monster! I will move mountains, but he shall be defeated,--ay, and punished.”

“Thank you, thank you!--my heart thanks you: I knew your will would be good: but, alas! I doubt your power. You know not with whom you have to deal. Blennerhagen prides himself on being impregnable: he talks to me of working like a mathematician: he says that all his plans are laid down with such geometrical precision that they cannot fail. He has thrown such a magic web about me, that I have felt myself to be almost his slaye; and yet, thank heaven, I am innocent, and loathe him. Save me, Mr. Burdock!--but not at the expense of my husband's life: save me, I implore you!--I have no other friend.”

“I will save--I will extricate you, if it be in the power of man. I have worked like a negro for my money, and may soon be past working, and want it. I have debarred myself of every indulgence; but I can--I will afford to gratify my feelings, for once in my life, even at the risk of diminishing some of my hard-earned little hoard. Mrs. Wyburn, I'll back myself, if need be, with a thousand pounds, and,--confound the fellow,--have at him! Excuse me for swearing; but I'm warmed, and feel a pleasure in indulging--”

“Be temperate, sir, in your proceedings, lest you forget that next to my own innocence, my husband's life--”

“Do not fear, madam. Is Mr. Wyburn in prison, or at a lock-up house?”

“At the lock-up house, sir, in Serle's Buildings.”

“Then I'll bail him. Hassell may laugh at me, when he hears that I have stepped out of my cautious path, if he likes; but I'll begin by bailing Wyburn: for his liberty, at this time, is of the utmost value. Within a few days, the great straggle will come on, which must settle the main question between Hassell's clients and the executors: on the fortunate result of that depends your only hope; and a poor hope it is, I must confess: still, Wyburn should be at large to fight it out, and strive to the last After to-day, I ought to be in hourly consultation with him.

“Blennerhagen knows all this; and, not expecting God would raise up such a friend to George, has caused him to be arrested. As he boasts of generally making his actions produce double results, he flatters himself, also, that I, being thus overwhelmed with this new misfortune, and deprived of the protecting presence of my husband,--”

“Curse him!--he shall be foiled! I won't put up with it, while I have breath!”

“I must tell you,--for, as you now have heard so much, you should know all,--that one of the threats or temptations he holds out to me, is this:--'Wyburn,' he says, 'will soon, in all probability, be entirely dependent on my bounty; for having, through my marriage with Mrs. Winpennie, an entire control over the ten thousand pounds legacy, which will, apparently, eat up the whole of your father's property, after payment of the debts, I can starve Wyburn, if I like.' This is a specimen of the language which he dares to use to me. Had I my jewels left, I could have raised a sufficient sum, perhaps, to procure George his liberty, without troubling you; but Blennerhagen obtained them from me long ago, without Mr. Wyburn's knowledge, by protesting that he had spent all he possessed to keep the bondholders quiet, and wanted money to enable him to make a figure before Mrs. Winpennie. I have been very weak and very foolish, you will say; but what could I do? Blennerhagen dares me to reveal a syllable of what passes at our interviews, to my husband: he tells me that he should instantly detect my treachery by George's conduct. I am forced to see--to hear him:--he is the worst of tyrants. If I strive to extricate myself from his wiles, I plunge deeper in his toils. To remain passive is to offer up myself a willing victim to a being, whom, of all others, I abhor. Could I have taken counsel of my husband, all might have been well: but I have not dared to breathe a word to him of my sorrows; and Blennerhagen well knows how to obtain advantages over a wife, deprived, as I have been, of her natural supporter.”

“It shall be at an end, I tell you: Wyburn shall be bailed, and I'll try if _I_ can't play off a few tricks. We'll countermine this scoundrel. I'll insure your husband's life for my security, and then, if he have so high a sense of honour as you think, he won't fix me as his bail by shooting himself; for I shall make him understand that the office won't pay, if the insured perishes by his own hands; so that we're safe until November: and, in the interim, I'll sacrifice a little to those feelings which laudable prudence has taught me, hitherto, to smother. It's hard if a man cannot make a fool of himself once in his life; and, should I lose my time and money both, humanity will be a plea for me, with my own conscience, and that of every honest man in the world. Besides, I'm only fifty, and shall not die a beggar if it comes to the worst, perhaps. I will fulfil my promise, madam, be assured! Time is precious:--have you anything more to ask of me?”

“A glass of water,” faintly replied Mrs. Wyburn; “a glass of water and a little air; for my strength is gone.”

Burdock, with great alacrity, opened the little window of his room, and brought Mrs. Wyburn some water, in a broken cup, time enough to save her from fainting. Some one knocked at the outer door, and she almost immediately afterwards rose to depart. Burdock conducted her to the foot of the staircase, begging her to keep up her spirits, and protesting that he thought he should prove himself as good a mathematician as Blen-nerhagen: “for,” added he, “I have dabbled in the science, and Euclid still affords me amusement in my hours of relaxation from legal business.”

The person who had knocked at the office door just before Mrs. Wyburn's departure, was the bearer of a note from Blennerhagen's wife, in which she earnestly requested the favour of a consultation with Burdock, at her own house, on an affair of the utmost importance. The lady stated that she was confined to her room by indisposition, otherwise she would have paid him a visit in Fumival's Inn; and she protested that, if he did not so far indulge her as immediately to obey her summons, she would, at the risk of her life, wait upon him at his office.

“Paul Winpennie's choice was always a fool,” muttered Burdock, as he threw the letter on his table, after having perused its contents; “she was always fantastical, and apt to magnify atoms into elephants; but I don't think she would write me such an epistle as this, if something extraordinary had not occurred: ergo, I'll go to her at once. Perhaps I may glean something which may assist me in extricating Wyburn: I hope I shall; for though I have promised his wife so much, at this moment I can't see my way clear a single inch beyond my nose,--except so far as regards bailing him, which I'll do as soon as I return. It is possible, that the woman has discovered something; for the most silly of her sex possess an astonishing acuteness on particular occasions. I may meet Blennerhagen with his wife, too:--at all events I'll go, and ponder on the way as to what proceedings I ought to take against this mathematical monster:--for act against him, I will; on that I'm fixed--that is--if I can find out a way to do so, with any prospect of success.”

As Burdock concluded this little soliloquy, one of his clerks returned; and the old gentleman, without a moment's delay, set off towards Blennerhagen's house. On reaching the corner of the street in which it stood, he was accosted by a female, who begged him, in a very mysterious manner, to follow her.

“My good woman,” said Burdock, “you are in error, I apprehend.”

“Not if I am speaking to Mr. Burdock, and if you are going to Mrs. Blennerhagen,” replied the woman.

“I certainly am that man,” said Burdock; “and you are quite right in supposing that I am on my way to visit that lady:--what then?”

“Follow me and I will conduct you to her. I am her woman, and act by her orders.”

“Mighty odd!” exclaimed the attorney; “but lead on;--I'll follow you. I suppose she has her reasons for this; and it matters but little to me which way I go, so that--mark me, woman--so that I am not led a dance: for though I walk slowly, on account of an infirmity in my knees, time, I assure you, is precious to me. Go forward.”

The woman immediately walked on towards a little back street, down which she proceeded a short distance, and then turned under an old arched gateway into a solitary yard. The buildings on one side of this place appeared, by a weather-beaten notice board, to have been long without tenants. Through a low wall, on the opposite side of the yard, there were entrance-doors to the back gardens of a range of respectable houses.

“I perceive,” said Burdock, as the woman opened one of the garden doors, “that you are smuggling me in the back way.--Give my compliments to your mistress, and tell her, that I prefer entering in the ordinary manner. If you will step through the house, I dare say I shall be at the front door nearly as soon as you have opened it.”

Burdock then turned on his heel, and strode away from his guide at rather a brisk pace. On reaching the front door, he found the woman there waiting for him. Casting on the old gentleman a look of reproach, and significantly putting her finger to her lips, she conducted him up stairs, and silently ushered him into Mrs. Blennerhagen's dressing-room. The lady, who was reclining on a sofa, attired in an elegant morning dress, rose as he entered; and, between jest and earnest, reproached him for not having given a more prompt attention to her note. Burdock protested that he had not been guilty of the least delay in obeying her commands.

“Well, well!” said the lady, “perhaps I am wrong; but to a woman of my nerves, suffering at once under indisposition, and the most agonizing suspense, every moment seems to be an age.”

“What's the matter, madam?” inquired Burdock. “Where is Mr. Blennerhagen?”

“Thank Heaven! he is out:--my anxiety has been intense lest you should not arrive before he returned. My dear Mr. Burdock, I'm in the greatest distress.”

“Then, upon my honour and conscience, madam, I don't see how I can be of any assistance to you; for my hands are so full of female distress just now--”

“Oh, sir!--but not such pressing--such important distress as mine. Recollect that I'm a wife;--a wife, Mr. Burdock, and not altogether indifferent to my husband.”

“Well, madam! there are many wives who can say quite as much, I assure you.--But now for your facts: I am bound to hear, even if I cannot assist you.”

“Ah! you're a kind--a dear old gentleman:--I always said so, and now I find that I am right. You have a heart formed to sympathize with those who are in sorrow.”

“The world thinks rather differently of me,” replied Burdock: “my feelings, I know by experience, will bear as much as most men's. Business, madam,--business has hardened them:--but, allow me to ask, what has occurred? You seem to have been ruffled.”

“Do I?” said Mrs. Blennerhagen, turning to a looking-glass which stood on the table by her side, and glancing at the reflection of her still lovely face, with a look of anxiety. “Well, now I see myself, I declare I'm quite frightened. I positively look like a hag! don't I?--I ought not to suffer such trifles to affect me so severely.”

“Trifles, my dear madam!” emphatically exclaimed the attorney: “I beg your pardon; but I was led to understand, from the tenor of your language--”

“Attribute it to the excess of my womanly fears,--increased, perhaps, by indisposition,--and excuse me. We are weak creatures, as you must know; even the very best of us are agitated into agony, by phantoms of our own creation. My suspicions--”

“Am I summoned to advise you on suspicion, then?”

“Nothing more, I assure you: and, really, I ought to be ashamed to entertain, for one instant, so poor an opinion of Mr. B.'s taste; and, permit me to say it, of my own person. Now I reflect, it was exceedingly wrong of me, perhaps, to be jealous of the woman.”

“I wish, with all my heart, madam, you had reflected an hour ago.”

“Would that I had! I should have been saved much--much uneasiness:--but I now laugh at my fears,” said the lady, affecting to titter.

“I am sorry I cannot join you, madam.”

“Ah, Mr. Burdock! I know the interest you take in my happiness; and, therefore, I sent for you to advise,--to comfort me. I look up to you as to my father.”

“You do me an honour, Mrs. Blennerhagen, to which I never had an idea of aspiring.”

“The honour is entirely on my side, Mr. Burdock,” replied the lady, taking one of Burdock's hands in both her own; “I feel proud to be permitted to make free with so worthy and respectable a character. My confidence in you is unbounded, Mr. Burdock: you see, I receive you in my dressing-room--”

“For mine own part,” interrupted the attorney, “I should have preferred the parlour; and so, most probably, would Mr. Blennerhagen.”

“Don't talk so foolishly, Mr. Burdock:--attorneys, like physicians, are privileged persons, you know.”

“True, true, madam,” said Burdock, rather hastily quitting his seat; “and now, as the cause of our conference is at an end, I will take my leave.”

“My dear sir, you surely are not going to quit me in this state:--you have not heard my complaint.”

“I thought your mind was easy on the subject.”

“Oh! by no means! I am far from soothed,--far from tranquillized: your discrimination may shed a new light upon my mind. I must insist on throwing myself upon your consideration.”

“For consistency's sake, don't blow hot and cold in the same moment, Mrs. Blennerhagen. Be in a rage, or be pacified: and if I must hear your tale of woe, the sooner you tell it the better.”

“You'll promise not to call me a silly, foolish woman, then, if you think my apprehensions were groundless.”

“Of course, madam, I should scarcely call a lady a fool to her face, even if I thought she deserved it.”

“How deeply I am indebted to you!--you cannot conceive how much the cast of your countenance, when you look pleasant, reminds me of my late excellent husband,--poor Mr. Winpennie!--Alas! I never was jealous of him, with or without a cause. He was the best--the kindest--”

“Excuse me, madam; but, however I may reverence the memory of Mr. Winpennie, my time is of too much value, and too seriously engrossed just now, by my duties towards the livings to listen to an eulogy on the dead.”

“Well! no doubt you are perfectly right: the value of your time, I know, must be great. In a few words, then, about two hours ago, my servant acquainted me that there was a strange-looking creature inquiring at the door for Mr. Blennerhagen: she was painted up to the eyes, and dressed in a vulgar amber-coloured pelisse, with staring sapphire ribbons--”

Burdock here interrupted the lady, by exclaiming, “Hang me if it isn't the woman in brimstone and blue!” and bursting into a hearty laugh.

“Why, Mr. Burdock, you astonish me!” exclaimed Mrs. Blennerhagen; “I beseech you to cease;--my head will split;--you shatter my nerves to atoms. I insist upon your explaining yourself;--I shall scream if you don't cease laughing, and tell me the meaning of this mysterious conduct.”

“Oh, madam!” replied Burdock, endeavouring to resume his gravity, “do not be alarmed at that unhappy creature:--I sent her here.”

“Is it possible, Mr. Burdock, that a man of your respectability can have such acquaintance?”

“The woman is not what she appears, Mrs. Blennerhagen. I saw her, for the first time in my life, to-day. Her business with me was briefly as follows:--About three years ago, a certain sum was remitted to me by a country attorney, for whom I act as agent, to invest for this woman; and I deposited it in the hands of Joshua Kesterton. Circumstances now compel her to call in her money; but a legal difficulty occurs in paying her off; and I referred her to Mr. Blennerhagen, who, in all probability, will be the party most interested in the matter; thinking that, as the sum was small, he might, perhaps, from motives of charity, relieve the woman's wretchedness, by waiving the legal objection at his own risk. Ha, ha! And so I have to thank the woman in sulphur and blue for my walk, eh?”

“Mr. Burdock, I vow, sir, that you overwhelm me with confusion: but if you were a woman, I am sure you would admit, that when a female of this lady's appearance makes such particular inquiries after a newly-married man, and refuses to tell her business to his wife--”