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CHAPTER XXXV. HOW DIPLOMACY FAILED

Repton was up at daybreak, and at his desk. Immense folios littered the table, and even the floor around him, and the old lawyer sat amidst a chaos that it was difficult to believe was only the growth of an hour or two. All the intentness of his occupation, however, did not prevent him hearing a well-known voice in the little stable-yard beneath his window, and opening the sash he called out, “Mas-singbred, is that you?”

“Ah, Mr. Repton, are you stirring so early? I had not expected to see you for at least two hours to come. May I join you?”

“By all means; at once,” was the answer. And the next moment they were together. “Where’s Barry? When did you see him last?” was Repton’s first question.

“For a moment, on Tuesday last; he came up here to learn if you had arrived, or when you might be expected. He seemed disappointed when I said not before the latter end of the week, and muttered something about being too late. He seemed flurried and excited. I heard afterwards that he had been somehow mixed up with that tumultuous assemblage that resisted the police, and I offered to go back with him to Kilkieran, but he stopped me short, saying, ‘I am not at Kilkieran;’ and so abruptly as to show that my proposal was not acceptable. He then sat down and wrote a short letter, which he desired me to give you on arriving; but to deliver it with my own hand, as, if any reply were necessary, I should be ready to carry it to him. This is the letter.”

Repton read it rapidly, and then, walking to the window, stood pondering over the contents.

“You know this man Merl, don’t you, Massingbred?” asked Repton.

“Yes, thoroughly.”

“The object of this letter is to try one last chance for an arrangement. Barry suspects that the Jew’s ambition for Irish proprietorship may have been somewhat dashed by the experience of the last few days; that he will be likely enough to weigh the advantages and disadvantages with a juster appreciation than if he had never come here, and, if such be the case, we are ready to meet with a fair and equitable offer. We’ll repay him all that he advanced in cash to young Martin, and all that he won from him at play, if he surrender his reversionary claim. We’ll ask no questions as to how this loan was made, or how that debt incurred. It shall be the briefest of all transactions, – a sum in simple addition, and a check for the total.”

“He’ll refuse, – flatly refuse it,” said Massingbred. “The very offer will restore any confidence the last few days may have shaken; he’ll judge the matter like the shares of a stock that are quoted higher in the market.”

“You think so?”

“I’m sure of it. I’m ashamed to say, Mr. Repton, that my knowledge of the Herman Merl class may be greater than yours. It is the one solitary point in the realm of information wherein I am probably your superior.”

“There are others, and of a very different order, in which I would own you the master,” said Repton. “But to our case. Suppose, – a mere supposition, if you like, – but suppose that it could be demonstrated to Mr. Merl that his claim will be not only resisted, but defeated; that the right on which he relies is valueless, – the deed not worth the stamps it bears; that this offer is made to avoid a publicity and exposure far more injurious to him than to those who now shrink from it. What think you then?”

“Simply that he’d not believe it! He’d say, and many others would say, ‘If the right lay so incontestably with these others, they ‘d not give some twenty thousand pounds to compromise what they could enforce for the mere cost of a trial.’”

“Mr. Massingbred, too, would perhaps take the same view of the transaction,” said Repton, half tartly.

“Not if Mr. Repton assured me that he backed the opposite opinion,” said Jack, politely.

“I thank you heartily for that speech,” said the old man, as he grasped the other’s hand cordially; “you deserve, and shall have my fullest confidence.”

“May I ask,” said Jack, “if this offer to buy off Merl be made in the interest of the Martins, for otherwise I really see no great object, so far as they are concerned, in the change of mastery?”

“You’ll have to take my word for that,” said Repton, “or rather, to take the part I assume in this transaction as the evidence of it; and now, as I see that you are satisfied, will you accept of the duty of this negotiation? Will you see and speak with Merl? Urge upon him all the arguments your own ingenuity will furnish, and when you come, if you should be so driven, to the coercive category, and that you want the siege artillery, then send for me. Depend upon it, it will be no brutum fulmen that I ‘ll bring up; nor will I, as Pelham said, fire with ‘government powder.’ My cannon shall be inscribed, like those of the old volunteers, independence or – ”

At any other moment Jack might have smiled at the haughty air and martial stride of the old man, as, stimulated by his words, he paced the room; but there was a sincerity and a resolution about him that offered no scope for ridicule. His very features wore a look of intrepidity that bespoke the courage that animated him.

“Now, Massingbred,” said he, laying his hand on the young man’s arm, “it is only because I am not free to tell another man’s secret that I do not at once place you fully in possession of all I myself know of this transaction; but rely on it, you shall be informed on every point, and immediately after the issue of this negotiation with Merl, whatever be the result, you shall stand on the same footing with myself.”

“You cannot suppose that I exact this confidence?” began Jack.

“I only know it is your due, sir,” said Repton. “Go now, – it is not too early; see this man, and let the meeting be of the briefest, for if I were to tell you my own mind, I’d say I’d rather he should reject our offer.”

“You are, I own, a little incomprehensible this morning,” said Massingbred, “but I am determined to yield you a blind obedience; and so I’m off.”

“I ‘ll wait breakfast for you,” said Repton, as he reseated himself to his work.

Repton requested Mr. Nelligan’s permission to have his breakfast served in his own room, and sat for a long time impatiently awaiting Massingbred’s return. He was at one time aroused by a noise below stairs, but it was not the announcement of him he looked for; and he walked anxiously to and fro in his chamber, each moment adding to the uneasiness that he felt.

“Who was it that arrived half an hour ago?” asked he of the servant.

“Mr. Joe, sir, the counsellor, has just come from Dublin, and is at breakfast with the master.”

“Ah! he ‘s come, is he? So much the better,” muttered Repton, “we may want his calm, clear head to assist us here; not that we shall have to fear a contest, – there is no enemy in the field, – and if there were, Val Repton is ready to meet him!” And the old man crossed his arms, and stood erect in all the consciousness of his undiminished vigor. “Here he comes at last, – I know his step on the stair.” And he flung open the door for Massingbred.

“I read failure in your flushed cheek, Massingbred; failure and anger both, eh?”

Massingbred tried to smile. If there was any quality on which he especially prided himself, it was the bland semblance of equanimity he could assume in circumstances of difficulty and irritation. It was his boast to be able to hide his most intense emotions at moments of passion, and there was a period in which, indeed, he wielded this acquirement. Of later times, however, he had grown more natural and impulsive; he had not yet lost the sense of pain this yielding occasioned, and it was with evident irritation that he found Repton had read his thoughts.

“You perceive, then, that I am unsuccessful?” said he, with a faint smile. “So much the better if my face betrays me; it will save a world of explanation!”

“Make your report, sir, and I’ll make the tea,” said Repton, as he proceeded to that office.

“The fellow was in bed, – he refused to see me, and it was only by some insistence that I succeeded in gaining admittance. He has had leeches to his temples. He was bruised, it seems, when he fell, but far more frightened than hurt. He looks the very picture of terror, and lies with a perfect armory of pistols beside his bed. Scanlan was there, and thought to remain during our interview; but I insisted on his withdrawing, and he went. The amiable attorney, somehow, has a kind of respect for me that is rather amusing. As for Merl, he broke out into a vulgar tirade of passion, abused the country and the people, cursed the hour he came amongst them, and said, if he only knew the nature of the property before he made his investment, he ‘d rather have purchased Guatemala bonds, or Santa Fé securities.

“‘Then I have come fortunately,’ said I, ‘for I bring you an offer to reimburse all your outlay, and to rid you of a charge so little to your inclination.’

“‘Oh! you do, do you?’ said he, with one of his cunningest leers. ‘You may not be able, perhaps, to effect that bargain, though. It’s one thing to pay down a smart sum of money and wait your time for recovering it, and it’s another to surrender your compact when the hour of acquisition has arrived. I bought this reversion – at least, I paid the first instalment of the price – four years ago, when the late man’s life was worth twenty years’ purchase. Well, he ‘s gone now, and do you think that I ‘m going to give up my claim for what it cost me?’

“I gently insinuated that the investigation of the claim might lead to unpleasant revelations. There were various incidents of the play-table, feasible and successful enough after a supper with champagne, and in the short hours before day, which came off with an ill-grace on the table of a court of justice, with three barons of the exchequer to witness them. That I myself might prove an awkward evidence, if unhappily cited to appear; that of my own knowledge I could mention three young fellows of good fortune who had been drained to their last shilling in his company. In fact, we were both remarkably candid with each other, and while I reminded him of some dark passages at écarté, he brought to my memory certain protested bills and dishonored notes that ‘non jucundum esset meminisse.’ I must say, for both of us, we did the thing well, and in good breeding; we told and listened to our several shortcomings with a temper that might have graced a better cause, and I defy the world to produce two men who could have exchanged the epithets of swindler and scamp with more thorough calm and good manners. Unhappily, however, high as one rises in his own esteem by such contests, he scarcely makes the same ascent in that of his neighbor, and so we came, in our overflowing frankness, to admit to each other more of our respective opinions than amounts to flattery. I believe, and, indeed, I hope, I should have maintained my temper to the end, had not the fellow pretty broadly insinuated that some motive of personal advantage had prompted my interference, and actually pushed his insolence so far as to insinuate that ‘I should make a better thing’ by adhering to his fortunes.”

Repton started at these words, and Massingbred resumed: “True, upon my honor; I exaggerate nothing. It was a gross outrage, and very difficult to put up with; so I just expressed my sincere regret that instead of being in bed he was not up and stirring, inasmuch as I should have tried what change of air might have done for him, by pitching him out of the window. He tugged violently at the bell-rope, as though I were about to execute my menace, and so I left him. My diplomacy has, therefore, been a sad failure. I only hope that I may not have increased the difficulty of the case by my treatment of it.”

“You never thought of me at all, then?” asked Repton.

“Never, till I was once more in the street; then I remembered something of what you said about coercive means, but of what avail a mere menace? This fellow is not new to such transactions, – he has gone through all the phases of ‘bulleydom.’ Besides, there is a dash of Shylock in every Jew that ever breathed. They will ‘have their bond,’ unless it can be distinctly proved to them that the thing is impossible.”

“Now then for our breaching battery,” said Repton, rising and pacing the room. “This attempt at a compromise never had any favor in my eyes; Barry wished it, and I yielded. Now for a very different course. Can you find a saddle-horse here? Well, then, be ready to set out in half an hour, and search out Barry for me. He’ll be found at Kilkieran, or the neighborhood; say we must meet at once; arrange time and place for the conference, and come back to me.”

Repton issued his directions with an air of command, and Massingbred prepared as implicitly to obey them.

“Mr. Nelligan has lent me his own pad,” said Massingbred, entering soon after, “and his son will accompany me, so that I am at your orders at once.”

“There are your despatches,” said Repton, giving him a sealed packet. “Let me see you here as soon as may be.”

CHAPTER XXXVI. A GREAT DISCOVERY

About an hour after Massingbred’s departure for Kilkieran, Mr. Repton set out for Cro’ Martin Castle. The inn had furnished him its best chaise and four of its primest horses; and had the old lawyer been disposed to enjoy the pleasure which a great moralist has rated so highly, of rapid motion through the air, he might have been gratified on that occasion. Unhappily, however, he was not so minded. Many and very serious cares pressed upon him. He was travelling a road, too, which he had so often journeyed in high spirits, fancying to himself the pleasant welcome before him, and even rehearsing to his own mind the stores of agreeability he was to display, – and now it was to a deserted mansion, lonely and desolate, he was turning! Death and ruin both had done their work on that ancient family, whose very name in the land seemed already hastening to oblivion!

Few men could resist the influence of depression better than Repton. It was not alone that his temperament was still buoyant and energetic, but the habits of his profession had taught him the necessity of being prepared for emergencies, and he would have felt it a dereliction of duty were his sentiments to overmaster his power of action.

Still, as he went along, the well-known features of the spot would recall memories of the past. There lay a dense wood, of which he remembered the very day, the very hour, poor Martin had commenced the planting. There was the little trout-stream, where, under pretence of fishing, he had lounged along the summer day, with Horace for his companion; that, the school-house Mary had sketched, and built out of her own pocket-money. And now the great massive gates slowly opened, and they were within the demesne, – all silent and noiseless. As they came in sight of the castle, Repton covered his face with his hands, and sat for some minutes thus. Then, as if mastering his emotion, he raised his head and folded his arms on his chest.

“You are true to time, I perceive, Dr. Leslie,” said he, as the chaise stopped at the door and the venerable clergyman came forward to greet him.

“I got your note last night, sir, but I determined not to keep you waiting, for I perceive you say that time is precious now.”

“I thank you heartily,” said Repton, as he shook the other’s hand. “I am grateful to you also for being here to meet me, for I begin to feel my courage fail me as to crossing that threshold again!”

“Age has its penalties as well as its blessings, sir,” said Leslie, “and amongst these is to outlive those dear to us!” There was a painful significance to his own desolate condition that made these words doubly impressive.

Repton made no reply, but pulled the bell strongly; and the loud, deep sounds rung out clearly through the silent house. After a brief interval a small window above the door was opened, and a man with a blunderbuss in his hand sternly demanded their business.

“Oh, I ax pardon, sir,” said he, as suddenly correcting himself. “I thought it was that man that ‘s come to take the place, – ‘the Jew,’ they call him, – and Mr. Magennis said I was n’t to let him in, or one belonging to him.”

“No, Barney, we are not his friends,” said Dr. Leslie; “this is Mr. Repton.”

“Sure I know the Counsellor well, sir,” said Barney. “I ‘ll be down in a minute and open the door.”

“I must go to work at once,” said Repton, in a low and somewhat broken voice, “or this place will be too much for me. Every step I go is calling up old times and old scenes. I had thought my heart was of sterner stuff. Isn’t this the way to the library? No, not that way, – that was poor Martin’s own breakfast-room!” He spoke hurriedly, like one who wished to suppress emotion by very activity of thought.

While the man who conducted them opened the window-shutters and the windows, Repton and his companion sat down without speaking. At last he withdrew, and Repton, rising, said, – “Some of the happiest hours of my life were passed in this same room. I used to come up here after the fatigues of circuit, and, throwing myself into one of those easy-chairs, dream away for a day or two, gazing out on that bold mountain yonder, above the trees, and wondering how those fellows who never relaxed, in this wise, could sustain the wear and tear of life; for that junketing to Harrow-gate, that rattling, noisy steamboating up the Rhine, that Cockney heroism of Swiss travel, is my aversion. The calm forenoon for thought, the pleasant dinner-table for genial enjoyment afterwards, – these are true recreations. And what evenings we have had here! But I must not dwell on these.” And now he threw upon the table a mass of papers and letters, amongst which he sought out one, from which he took a small key. “Dr. Leslie,” said he, “you might have been assured that I have not called upon you to meet me to-day without a sufficient reason. I know that, from certain causes, of which I am not well informed, you were not on terms of much intimacy with my poor friend here. This is not a time to think of these things; you, I am well assured, will never remember them.”

Leslie made a motion of assent; and the other went on, his voice gradually gaining in strength and fulness, and his whole manner by degrees assuming the characteristic of the lawyer.

“To the few questions to which I will ask your answers, now, I have to request all your attention. They are of great importance; they may, very probably, be re-asked of you under more solemn circumstances; and I have to bespeak, not alone all your accuracy for the replies, but that you may be able, if asked, to state the manner and even the words in which I now address you. – You have been the incumbent of this parish for a length of time, – what number of years?”

“Sixty-three. I was appointed to the vicarage on my ordination, and never held any other charge.”

“You knew the late Darcy Martin, father of the last proprietor of this estate?”

“Intimately.”

“You baptized his two children, born at the same birth. State what you remember of the circumstance.”

“I was sent for to the castle to give a private baptism to the two infants, and requested that I would bring the vestry-book along with me for the registration. I did so. The children were accordingly christened, and their births duly registered and witnessed.”

“Can you remember the names by which they were called?”

“Not from the incident in question, though I know the names from subsequent knowledge of them, as they grew up to manhood.”

“What means, if any, were adopted at the time to distinguish the priority of birth?”

“The eldest was first baptized, and his birth specially entered in the vestry-book as such; all the witnesses who signed the entry corroborating the fact by special mention of it under their signature. We also heard that the child wore a gold bracelet on one arm; but I did not remark it.”

“You have this vestry-book in your keeping?”

“No; Mr. Martin retained it, with some object of more formal registration. I repeatedly asked for it, but never could obtain it. At length some coolness grew up between us, and I could not, or did not wish to press my demand; and at last it lapsed entirely from my memory, so that from that day I never saw it.”

“You could, however, recognize it, and be able to verify your signature?”

“Certainly.”

“Was there, so far as you could see, any marked distinction made between the children while yet young?”

“I can remember that at the age of three or four the eldest boy wore a piece of red or blue ribbon on his sleeve; but any other mark I never observed. They were treated, so far as I could perceive, precisely alike; and their resemblance to each other was then so striking, it would have been a matter of great nicety to distinguish them. Even at school, I am told, mistakes constantly occurred, and one boy once received the punishment incurred by the other.”

“As they grew up, you came to recognize the eldest by his name?”

“Yes. Old Mr. Darcy Martin used to take the elder boy more about with him. He was then a child of ten or eleven years old. He was particular in calling attention to him, saying, ‘This fellow is to be my heir; he ‘ll be the Martin of Cro’ Martin yet’”

“And what name did the boy bear?”

“Godfrey, – Godfrey Martin. The second boy’s name was Barry.”

“You are sure of this?”

“Quite sure. I have dined a number of times at the castle, when Godfrey was called in after dinner, and the other boy was generally in disgrace; and I could remark that his father spoke of him in a tone of irritation and bitterness, which he did not employ towards the other.”

“Mr. Martin died before his sons came of age?”

“Yes; they were only nineteen at his death.”

“He made a will, I believe, to which you were a witness?”

“I was; but somehow the will was lost or mislaid, and it was only by a letter to the Honorable Colonel Forbes, of Lisvally, that Martin’s intentions about appointing him guardian to his elder boy were ascertained. I myself was named guardian to the second son, an office of which he soon relieved me by going abroad, and never returned for a number of years.”

“Godfrey Martin then succeeded to the estate in due course?”

“Yes, and we were very intimate for a time, till after his marriage, when estrangement grew up between us, and at last we ceased to visit at all.”

“Were the brothers supposed to be on good terms with each other?”

“I have heard two opposite versions on that subject. My own impression was that Lady Dorothea disliked Barry Martin, who had made a marriage that was considered beneath him; and then his brother was, from easiness of disposition, gradually weaned of his old affection for him. Many thought Barry, with all his faults, the better-hearted of the two.”

“Can you tell what ultimately became of this Barry Martin?”

“I only know, from common report, that after the death of his wife, having given his infant child, a girl, in charge to his brother, he engaged in the service of some of the Southern American Republics, and is supposed yet to be living there, – some say in great affluence; others, that he is utterly ruined by a failure in a mining speculation. The last time I ever heard Godfrey speak of him was in terms of sincere affection, adding the words, ‘Poor Barry will befriend every one but himself.’”

“So that he never returned?”

“I believe not; at least I never heard of it.”

“I have written down these questions and your answers to them,” said Repton; “will you read them over, and if you find them correct, append your signature. I am expecting Mr. Nelligan here, and I ‘ll go and see if there be any sign of his arrival.”

Repton just reached the door as Mr. Nelligan drove up to it.

“All goes on well and promptly to-day,” said the old lawyer. “I have got through a good deal of business already, and I expect to do as much more ere evening sets in. I have asked you to be present, as a magistrate, while I examine the contents of a certain closet in this house. I am led to believe that very important documents are deposited there, and it is in your presence, and that of Mr. Leslie, I purpose to make the inquiry. Before I do so, however, I will entreat your attention to a number of questions, and the answers to them, which will be read out to you. You will then be in a better position to judge of any discovery which the present investigation may reveal. All this sounds enigmatically enough, Mr. Nelligan; but you will extend your patience to me for a short while, and I hope to repay it.”

Nelligan bowed in silence, and followed him into the house.

“There,” said Mr. Leslie, “I have written my name to that paper; it is, so far as I can see, perfectly correct.”

“Now, let me read it for Mr. Nelligan,” said Repton; and, without further preface, recited aloud the contents of the document. “I conclude, sir,” said he, as he finished, “that there is nothing in what you have just heard very new or very strange to your ears. You knew before that Darcy Martin had two sons; that they were twins; and that one of them, Godfrey, inherited the estate. You may also have heard something of the brother’s history; more, perhaps, than is here alluded to.”

“I have always heard him spoken of as a wild, reckless fellow, and that it was a piece of special good fortune he was not born to the property, or he had squandered every shilling of it,” said Nelligan.

“Yes,” said Leslie, “such was the character he bore.”

“That will do,” said Repton, rising. “Now, gentlemen, I’m about to unlock this cabinet, and, if I be correctly informed, we shall find the vestry-book with the entries spoken of by Mr. Leslie, and the long missing will of Darcy Martin. Such, I repeat, are the objects I expect to discover; and it is in your presence I proceed to this examination.”

In some astonishment at his words, the others followed him to the corner of the room, where, half concealed in the wainscot, a small door was at length discovered, unlocking which, Repton and the others entered a little chamber, lighted by a narrow, loopholed window. Not stopping to examine the shelves loaded with old documents and account-books, Repton walked straight to a small ebony cabinet, on a bracket, opening which, he drew forth a square vellum-bound book, with massive clasps.

“The old vestry-book. I know it well,” said Leslie.

“Here are the documents in parchment,” continued Repton, “and a sealed paper. What are the lines in the corner, Mr. Nelligan, – your eyes are better than mine?”

“‘Agreement between Godfrey and Barry Martin. To be opened by whichever shall survive the other.’ The initials of each are underneath.”

“With this we have no concern,” said Repton; “our business lies with these.” And he pointed to the vestry-book. “Let us look for the entry you spoke of.”

“It is easily found,” said Leslie. “It was the last ever made in that book. Here it is.” And he read aloud: “‘February 8th, 1772. Privately baptized, at Cro’ Martin Castle, by me, Henry Leslie, Incumbent and Vicar of the said parish, Barry and Godfrey, sons of Darcy Martin and Eleanor his wife, both born on the fourth day of the aforesaid month; and, for the better discrimination of their priority in age, it is hereby added that Barry Martin is the elder, and Godfrey the second son, to which fact the following are attesting witnesses: Michael Keirn, house-steward; George Dorcas, butler; and Catharine Broon, maid of still-room.’”

“Is that in your handwriting, sir?” asked Repton.

“Yes, every word of it, except the superscription of the witnesses.”

“Why, then it would appear that the eldest son never enjoyed his rights,” cried Nelligan. “Is that possible?”

“It is the strict truth, sir,” said Repton. “The whole history of the case adds one to the thousand instances of the miserable failures men make who seek by the indulgence of their own caprices to obstruct the decrees of Providence. Darcy Martin died in the belief that he had so succeeded; and here, now, after more than half a century, are the evidences which reverse his whole policy, and subvert all his plans.”

“But what could have been the object here?” asked Nelligan.

“Simply his preference for the younger-born. No sooner had the children arrived at that time of life when dispositions display themselves, than he singled out Godfrey as his favorite. He distinguished him in every way, and as markedly showed that he felt little affection for the other. Whether this favoritism, so openly expressed, had its influence on the rest of the household, or that really they grew to believe that the boy thus selected for peculiar honor was the heir, it would be very difficult now to say. Each cause may have contributed its share; all we know is, that when sent to Dr. Harley’s school, at Oughterard, Godfrey was called the elder, and distinguished as such by a bit of red ribbon in his button-hole. And thus they grew up to youth and manhood, – the one flattered, indulged, and caressed; the other equally depreciated and undervalued. Men are, in a great measure, what others make them. Godfrey became proud, indolent, and overbearing; Barry, reckless and a spendthrift Darcy Martin died, and Godfrey succeeded him as matter of course; while Barry, disposing of the small property bequeathed to him, set out to seek adventures in the Spanish Main.

“I am not able to tell, had you even the patience to hear, of what befell him there; the very strangest, wildest incidents are recorded of his life, but they have no bearing on what we are now engaged in. He came back, however, with a wife, to find his brother also married. This is a period of his life of which little is known. The brothers did not live well together. There were serious differences between them; and Lady Dorothea’s conduct towards her sister-in-law, needlessly cruel and offensive, as I have heard, imbittered the relations between them. At last Barry’s wife died, it was said, of a broken heart, and Barry arrived at Cro’ Martin to deposit his infant child with his brother, and take leave of home and country forever.