CHAPTER CXXXVIII.

THE MONEY-LENDER.

Mrs. and Miss Fitzhardinge were attired in the plainest possible

manner, so that they seemed to be some poor tradesman’s wife and

daughter. But the moment the light of the candle fell on Perdita’s

countenance, Mr. Percival literally started as the glorious beauty of

that face was revealed to him. The young woman perceived the effect

of her charms on the old lawyer; and a smile of triumph played on her

haughty lip,--for she said within herself; “Wherever I go, men pay

homage to my loveliness!”

Hastily closing the front door, Percival now conducted his two

visitresses into the back-parlour, which was far more commodiously

furnished than the one where his interview with Torrens had taken

place. The shutters of this room were, however, as strongly protected

by iron bars and as well secured as those in the other; and Mr.

Percival had multiplied in them the number of holes cut in the shape of

a heart, in order that he might be enabled to fire his blunderbuss at

a moment’s warning, and in almost any direction, through the shutters,

in case of an attempt on the part of burglars to effect an entry in the

rear of the building.

For it was perfectly true, as he had informed Torrens, that he lived

alone in the house: but he was reported to be a miser--and such

indeed he was. Having been extravagant and profligate in his earlier

years, he had fallen into the opposite extreme; and when he absconded

from his creditors, the money which he had taken with him he hoarded

carefully. For a long time he had remained concealed in a distant town,

placing out his funds in small loans at an enormous interest; so that

as his wealth augmented, his parsimonious habits increased. At last,

become greedy and griping as any miser whose renown has been preserved

in tale-book or history, Percival--as we shall continue to call

him--resolved on venturing to London, where the field for his cupidity

was more ample than in the provinces. Trusting to the alteration that

years had made in his personal appearance, and to the disguise of the

name which he had assumed, he settled in the secluded neighbourhood

and comparatively lonely house when we now find him;--and, without

seeking business obtrusively, he soon found plenty. One person whom he

obliged with a loan would give his address to another also requiring

assistance; and thus his clients or patrons--whichever the reader may

choose to call the borrowers--increased. He was almost constantly at

home--formed no acquaintances--and was short and pithy in his mode of

transacting business. He never advanced money save when he perceived

the security to be ample; and if occasionally he made a bad debt, he

employed an attorney who asked no impertinent questions to sue the

defaulter in his own name, it being alleged that the unpaid bill had

been passed in a legitimate manner to the pettifogger aforesaid. An

elderly widow, of the name of Dyer, occupied the house next door; and

she acted in the capacity of charwoman for Mr. Percival--keeping his

dwelling in order and preparing for him his frugal meals.

Having recorded these few necessary particulars, we shall now

return to the little back parlour, where Mr. Percival and his two

visitresses were seated. His back was turned to the window: but Mrs.

Fitzhardinge and Perdita, who sate opposite to him, faced it,--while

the candle stood on the mantel,--so that had any one peeped through the

heart-holes in the shutters, the countenances of the women must have

been plainly visible to such curious observer outside the casement.

“Your daughter, madam, I presume?” said Mr. Percival, with a polite

inclination of the head towards the handsome Perdita.

“Yes, my dear sir,” was the reply. “And she is about to form an

excellent match with a young gentleman who is indeed a nobleman by

right, and who will shortly assert his title to that distinction. He

wishes to borrow money for his immediate purposes and also to assist

me: hence my visit to you this evening.”

“Well--well, my dear madam,” said Percival; “if the security be

good----”

“The security is ample,” returned Mrs. Fitzhardinge. “He is indubitably

the heir to vast estates--and his bond----”

“Will be quite sufficient,” added Percival. “That is--presuming him to

be of age----”

“He is twenty-five years old,” said Mrs. Fitzhardinge. “But the history

of himself and family is most extraordinary: and his father is not

altogether unknown to you:--for, if I remember aright, it was you who

prosecuted the celebrated highwayman, Thomas Rainford, for the robbery

of the late Sir Christopher Blunt?”

“What earthly connexion can exist between Tom Rain and the young

nobleman who wants to borrow money?” demanded Percival, with unfeigned

astonishment.

“Grant me your patience, my dear sir,” said Mrs. Fitzhardinge, “and

I will explain the matter as concisely as possible. Thomas Rainford

was in reality the son of the late Earl of Ellingham--the eldest

son, and legitimately born, of that nobleman, who privately married

a certain Octavia Manners. The individual who at present bears the

title and enjoys the estates of the Earldom of Ellingham, is the

offspring of a second marriage contracted by his father. He and

Rainford are consequently half-brothers. All these facts are proven

by certain papers now in the possession of myself and daughter. One

of the documents is the marriage-certificate of the late Earl with

Octavia Manners,--another the baptismal certificate of their son,--a

third the journal of Octavia Manners explaining many matters connected

with the whole affair,--and then follows a variety of documents

establishing the identity of Thomas Rainford with the son of the late

Earl and the Countess Octavia. Thus far the rights of Thomas Rainford

are clearly made out. I must now inform you that Rainford and Lady

Georgiana Hatfield have long been united in matrimonial bonds, and

that the husband has for a considerable time adapted his wife’s name.

The offspring of this alliance is the young gentleman of whom I have

already spoken to you, and who at present bears the denomination of

Charles Hatfield. Now, his father being the rightful Earl of Ellingham,

this Charles Hatfield is actually the Viscount Marston, and heir to the

title and estates of the Earldom.”

“Your history, my dear madam, is clear and comprehensive enough,” said

Percival, already calculating the enormous gains which might be derived

from the fact of becoming the banker to a young noblemen having a vast

fortune in the perspective, and whom he supposed to be as extravagantly

inclined as youthful scions of the aristocracy in such cases generally

are. “And you possess the proofs of all the singular facts which you

have detailed?”

“The proofs--the positive proofs,” replied Mrs. Fitzhardinge,

emphatically;--and turning towards her daughter, she said, “Show Mr.

Percival the papers.”

“It is useless,” answered Perdita, in a firm but quiet manner, “unless

he first agree to advance a certain sum of money, should they be

satisfactory.”

“True,” said her mother, biting her lip at the thought that her

daughter was more keen than herself: then, addressing herself to the

miser, she observed, “You heard the remark that fell from the lips of

Miss Fitzhardinge?”

“Yes--yes,” returned Mr. Percival. “We shall most likely do business

together--most likely,” he repeated. “At the same time, I must see my

way very clearly----”

“And we must be careful not to reveal unnecessarily any more of the

important secrets of which we are the depositories,” said Perdita.

“Quite right, young lady!” exclaimed the miser, who experienced no

slight degree of embarrassment: for he was afraid, on the one hand, of

letting a good chance slip through his fingers--and he was fearful,

on the other, of admitting that he had ample resources immediately

available.

Not that Percival dreaded on the part of Mrs. Fitzhardinge the same

attempt at extortion, or rather of obtaining restitution, which had

been made by Mr. Torrens; because he knew full well that she was

occupying a false position in the world, and living under an assumed

name as well as himself;--and should she take it into her head to

threaten him with an exposure as being no other than Howard the

run-away attorney, he could in a moment retaliate by proclaiming her to

be Mrs. Slingsby--or Mrs. Torrens--the woman who had been transported

for forgery!

No:--Mr. Percival dreaded not menace on the part of Mrs. Fitzhardinge;

but the naturally suspicious disposition of the miser, and the vague

fears that ever haunt the avaricious man when questioned as to the

amount and whereabouts of his resources--these were the influences

which made Percival hesitate to plunge too precipitately into the

transaction now submitted for his consideration.

“Well, sir,--are you prepared to negociate with us--or not?” demanded

Perdita, after a short pause, during which the miser fidgetted

nervously upon his chair.

“It all depends, Miss--it all depends on the amount your noble friend

requires,” he answered at length.

“The entire business is left in our hands,” said Mrs. Fitzhardinge;

“and we wish to raise between five and six thousand pounds in the first

instance----”

“Of which one thousand must be paid to-night,” added Perdita, “as an

earnest that the transaction is seriously entered into.”

“A thousand pounds to-night!” cried the miser. “But how is that

possible--even if I had the money in the house,” he asked, looking

anxiously around, and sinking his voice to a low whisper,--“how is it

possible, I say, since the young nobleman is not here to give me any

acknowledgment?”

“This objection was naturally anticipated by us,” replied Perdita.

“Viscount Marston, instead of sending us the papers this evening, did

us the honour to call personally with them; and his lordship confided

to me,--and to _me_ alone,” added Perdita, with a rapid glance of

triumphant meaning at her mother,--“his note of hand for one thousand

guineas.”

“I must congratulate you, my dear madam,” exclaimed Percival,

addressing himself with a smile to the old woman,--“I must congratulate

you on possessing a daughter of the most business-like character in the

person of Miss Fitzhardinge.”

“Then pray let us transact our present affairs in a business-like

manner,” said Perdita, who was rapidly putting herself more forward

in the matter, and proportionately throwing her mother into the

back-ground: so that the old woman more than once bit her lip to

restrain her rising choler;--but, remembering the terrific scene of the

morning, she saw no alternative save to allow her daughter to have her

own way--trusting, however, to the chapter of accidents to restore to

her in the long run that paramount influence which she had lost.

“You wish me to discount at once that note of hand for a thousand

guineas?” said the miser, fixing his eyes admiringly on Perdita’s

splendid countenance.

“Yes--as an earnest that you are not prompted by mere curiosity to

look farther into this most extraordinary, mysterious, and yet easily

understood affair,” replied Perdita.

“I will accede to your terms, Miss Fitzhardinge,” said Percival, after

a few minutes’ deliberation,--“provided that the documents in your

possession bear out your mother’s statements.”

“Place the money on the table, sir,” returned the young woman, in her

quiet though somewhat imperious manner; “and these papers,” she added,

producing a sealed packet at the some time, “shall be submitted to your

perusal.”

“Good!” cried the miser.

He then rose from his seat; and, having once more cast a furtive look

around him, as if it were possible for an intruder to secrete himself

in a room fourteen feet by ten, and which the three inmates already

nearly filled, he proceeded to open an iron safe that was fitted into

a kind of cupboard in one corner. Thence he took forth a tin cash-box,

which, when opened, revealed heaps of Bank-notes, and a large amount in

gold.

“There, ladies,” said he: “I have now convinced you of my ability to

proceed farther in this transaction; and it is your turn, Miss,” he

added, looking at Perdita, “to take the next step.”

“Granted!” was the reply; and, opening the packet, she handed the

several papers, which were properly classed and numbered, one by one to

the miser,--receiving back each before she gave him the next following.

Mr. Percival read the documents without much emotion. His pecuniary

avocations had blunted the sentiment of curiosity in his soul: he

viewed the matter only in a business-light;--and so long as the

security was good, he cared not if all the highwaymen in the world

should turn out to be noblemen in their own right. He thought of the

profits that might arise from ministering to the extravagances, as

he supposed, of a young nobleman having excellent certainties in the

perspective; and it was not of the slightest importance to him how

Mrs. Fitzhardinge and Perdita had contrived to inveigle him into their

meshes--how they had gotten possession of the papers--or how the money

raised was to be expended.

“This is completely satisfactory as far as it goes,” he said, returning

to the young woman the last paper which she had placed in his hand.

“The documents show that Rainford is the real Earl of Ellingham; but

there is no evidence to prove that your Charles Hatfield is his son.”

“We are well convinced of that fact,” said Mrs. Fitzhardinge.

“Yes--I suppose it may be admitted,” observed Percival, who had not

the least idea that Charles Hatfield had ever passed and was still

passing as the nephew of those whose were really his parents. “But

there is still one question which must be fully cleared up;--and this

is the legitimacy of the young man’s birth. If he be the lawfully

begotten son of the rightful owner of the title and estates of the

Earldom--then is he the heir, beyond all possibility of doubt: but if

he be illegitimate----”

“The idea is absurd,” interrupted Mrs. Fitzhardinge. “There can be no

hesitation in declaring that Thomas Rainford and Lady Georgiana had

been privately married long before the man himself was condemned to

death: else wherefore should she have exerted her interest to obtain a

pardon for him at the hand of George the Fourth?”

“I remember the transaction,” said Percival; “and I have no moral doubt

that all you tell me is perfectly correct. Indeed, I am so well assured

of it, that I have not the least objection to discount the note of

hand, on condition that the defective evidence be supplied me before I

am called upon to make further advances.”

“Most certainly,” exclaimed Perdita. “Charles will give you every

satisfactory proof of the validity of his claims. You require testimony

to show that he is the lawfully begotten son of those who now pass

under the name of Mr. and Lady Georgiana Hatfield?”

“The certificates of _their_ marriage and _his_ birth,” said the miser.

“Where is the note of hand?”

Perdita produced it; and a little altercation then arose respecting

the rate of discount. Mrs. Fitzhardinge manifested a greedy anxiety to

conclude the bargain on the miser’s own exorbitant terms: but Perdita

argued the point with him in a resolute manner. At last, however, an

amicable understanding was arrived at; and the miser was permitted

to deduct seventy-five pounds for the discount. Perdita received the

amount which he then told down upon the table; and the old woman’s

features grew distorted with rage--a rage the more intense, because she

was forced to restrain it--when she found that her daughter did not

offer to render her the guardian of the purse.

But Perdita had that day asserted an empire which she was resolved to

maintain--a domination which she was determined to grasp indivisibly.

Without positively offending or irritating her mother by pointed and

overt insult, she nevertheless had made up her mind to act as the

mistress in all things;--and thus had the punishment of the vile old

woman already begun, even on account of the new schemes of wickedness

which she had set on foot.

Having secured the precious packet of papers and the money about her

person, the beautiful Perdita rose from her chair, saying, “We may now

take our departure, mother.”

“One word first!” exclaimed Percival, a sudden reminiscence striking

him: then, turning towards Mrs. Fitzhardinge, he said, “My dear

madam, I have some news to impart which I had almost forgotten in the

absorbing nature of the business that has occupied us for the last

hour,--news which will not a little astonish you----”

“Then pray keep me no longer in suspense!” exclaimed Mrs. Fitzhardinge,

Perdita’s conduct not having put her into the best of possible humours.

“Just before you knocked at the door this night----”

“Well, well?” ejaculated the impatient woman.

“A man was with me----”

“And that man?” repeated Mrs. Fitzhardinge, gasping for breath, as if

she anticipated the reply.

“Was your husband!” added the miser.

A hideous expression passed over the countenance of Mrs.

Fitzhardinge,--an expression of mingled hate, apprehension, and rage;

and she staggered for a moment as if she were about to fall.

But subduing her emotions, she approached the miser, and said in a low,

hoarse, grating tone, “Does he know that I am in London?--is he aware

that I am in England--passing by the name of Fitzhardinge----”

“No--no,” replied Percival hastily: for he saw by the old woman’s

manner that she would not thank him were he to inform her that he had

made her husband acquainted with so many particulars concerning her.

“You are sure--you are certain?” demanded she, breathing somewhat more

freely.

“Since Mr. Percival has already answered you satisfactorily, mother,

wherefore require additional assurances?” said Perdita, who was in

haste to depart--for it was now waxing very late.

“Because I would sooner meet one of those hideous snakes that I have

seen in Australia, than encounter that man!” responded the old woman.

“I know not why,--but I hate him--I loathe and abhor him----”

“Come along, mother,” interrupted Perdita, impatiently: “Mr. Percival

cares nothing about all this.”

“True! but one word more,” cried Mrs. Fitzhardinge. “Tell me, sir--is

that man--_my husband_,”--and the words appeared almost to choke

her,--“is he well off--or poor and wretched?”

“He seemed to be very miserable,” answered the miser;--“so miserable

that he wished to obtain assistance from me! But I--I never give,” he

added, after a moment’s hesitation.

“I believe you, sir,” remarked Perdita, a faint smile of contempt

curling her haughty but beauteous lip. “Now, mother, at last you are

ready, I presume?”

“Allow me to light you to the door,” said Percival; and, with a bow, he

preceded the two females into the passage.

He opened the front door, and Perdita, wishing him “good night” bounded

forth first into the open air--for she felt relieved at escaping from

the miser’s cheerless abode:--her mother followed more slowly--and

just as she passed by Percival, who stood on the threshold officiously

holding the candle, the light streamed fully on the countenance of

the old woman. At that same instant Mrs. Dyer--the widow who lived at

the next house--was returning home from a neighbour’s; and she caught

a complete view of the face of Mrs. Fitzhardinge. It struck the good

woman at the moment that she had seldom beheld such a repulsive,

sinister countenance: but she was accustomed to see strange-looking

people visit the miser’s abode;--and the circumstance therefore made no

particular impression on her mind.

She merely said “Good night, sir,” to the miser, and forthwith entered

her own abode.

Percival’s door closed at the same instant; and Mrs. Fitzhardinge

having overtaken her daughter, the two retraced their way to the City

Road, whence they took a cab to Suffolk Street.