The Third Volume Page 4

  CHAPTER III.

  THE REVELATION OF FRANCIS HILLISTON.

  ONCE upon a time popular imagination pictured a lawyer as a cadaverouscreature, arrayed in rusty black, with bulging blue-bag, and dryforensic lore on his tongue. So was the child of Themis represented inendless Adelphia farces; and his moral nature, as conceived by theingenious playwright, was even less inviting than his exterior. He was ascamp, a rogue, a compiler of interminable bills, an exactor of the lastshilling, a legal _Shylock_, hard-fisted and avaricious. To a greatextent this type is a thing of the past, for your latter-day lawyer isan alert, well-dressed personage, social and amiable. Still he is lookedon with awe as a dispenser of justice,--very often of injustice,--andnot all the fine raiment in the world can rob him of his ancientreputation: when he was a dread being to the dwellers of Grub Street,who mostly had the task of limning his portrait, and so impartialrevenge pictured him as above.

  All of which preamble leads up to the fact that Francis Hilliston was alawyer of the new school, despite his sixty and more years. Inappearance he was not unlike a farmer, and indeed owned a few arableacres in Kent, where he played the role of a modern Cincinnatus. Therehe affected rough clothing and an interest in agricultural subjects, butin town in his Lincoln's Inn Fields' office he was solemnly arrayed in afrock coat with other garments to match, and conveyed into his twinklingeyes an expression of dignified learning. He was a different man inLondon to what he was in Kent, and was a kind of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hydefor moral transformations. On this special occasion frock-coatedlegality was uppermost.

  Yet he unbent for a moment or so when receiving Claude Larcher, forchildless himself, the young man was to him a very Absalom; and he lovedhim with an affection truly paternal. No one can have the conduct of achild up to the age of twenty--at which period Claude made his _debut_in the engineering world, without feeling a tugging at the heartstrings. Had Larcher been indeed his son, and he a father in place of aguardian, he could have scarcely received the young man more warmly, orhave welcomed him with more heartfelt affection.

  But the first outburst over, and Claude duly greeted and seated in aconvenient chair, Mr. Hilliston recurred to his legal stiffness, and,with no smile on his lips, sat eyeing his visitor. He had an awkwardconversation before him, and was mentally wondering as to the best wayof breaking the ice. Claude spared him the trouble by at once plungingheadlong into the subject of Margaret Bezel and her mysterious letter.

  "Here you are, sir," said he, handing it to his guardian. "I havebrought the letter of this woman with me as you wished, and I have alsoabstained from seeing her in accordance with your desire."

  "Humph!" muttered Hilliston, skimming the letter with a legal eye, "Ithought she would write."

  "Do you know her, sir?"

  "Oh, yes!" said the other dryly. "I know her. But," he added after athoughtful pause, "I have not set eyes on her for at leastfive-and-twenty years."

  "Twenty-five years," repeated Claude, thoughtful in his turn. "It wasabout that time I came into your house."

  Hilliston looked up sharply, as though conceiving that the remark wasmade with intention, but satisfied that it was not from the absentexpression in Larcher's face, he resumed his perusal of the letter andcommented thereon.

  "What do you think of this communication, Claude?"

  "I don't know what to think," replied the young man promptly. "I confessI am curious to know why this woman wishes to see me. Who is she?"

  "A widow lady with a small income."

  "Does she know anything of my family?"

  "Why do you ask that?" demanded Hilliston sharply, and, as it seemed toClaude, a trifle uneasily.

  "Well, as I am a stranger to her, she cannot wish to see me on anypersonal matter, sir. And as you mention that you have not seen her forfive-and-twenty years, about which time my parents died, I naturallythought----"

  "That I had some object in asking you not to see her?"

  "Well, yes."

  "You are a man of experience now, Claude," said Hilliston, with apparentirrelevance, "and have been all over the world. Consequently you knowthat life is full of--trouble."

  "I believe so; but hitherto no trouble has come my way."

  "You might expect that it would come sooner or later, Claude. It hascome now."

  "Indeed!" said Larcher, in a joking tone. "Am I about to lose my smallincome of five hundred a year?"

  "No, that is safe enough!" answered Hilliston abruptly, rising to hisfeet. "The trouble of which I speak will not affect your materialwelfare. Indeed, if you are a hardened man of the world, as you mightbe, it need affect you very little in any case. You are not responsiblefor the sins of a former generation, and as you hardly remember yourparents, cannot have any sympathy with their worries."

  "I certainly remember very little of my parents, sir," said Larcher,moved by the significance of this speech. "Yet I have a faint memory oftwo faces. One a dark, handsome face, with kind eyes, the other abeautiful, fair countenance."

  "Your father and mother, Claude."

  "Yes. So much I remember of them. But what have they to do with MargaretBezel--or Mrs. Bezel, as I suppose she is called? Why does she want tosee me?"

  "To tell you a story which I prefer to relate myself."

  "About whom?"

  "About your parents."

  "But they are dead!"

  "Yes," said Hilliston, "they are dead."

  He walked about the room, opened a box, and took out a roll of papers,yellow with age. These were neatly tied up with red tape and inscribed"The Larcher Affair." Placing them on the table before him, Hillistonresumed his seat, and looked steadfastly at his ward. Claude, vaguelyaware that some unpleasant communication was about to be made to him,sat silently waiting the words of ill omen, and his naturally freshcolor faded to a dull white with apprehension.

  "I have always loved you like a son, Claude," said Hilliston solemnly,"ever since you came to my house, a tiny boy of five. It has been my aimto educate you well, to advance your interests, to make you happy, andabove all," added the lawyer, lowering his voice, "to keep the contentsof these papers secret from you."

  Claude said nothing, though Hilliston paused to enable him to speak, butsat waiting further explanation.

  "I thought the past was dead and buried," resumed his guardian, in a lowvoice. "So far as I can see it is foolish to rake up old scandals--oldcrimes."

  "Crimes!" said Claude, rising involuntarily to his feet.

  "Crimes," repeated Hilliston sadly. "The time has come when you mustknow the truth about your parents. The woman who wrote this letter hasbeen silent for five-and-twenty years. Now, for some reason with which Iam unacquainted, she is determined to see you and reveal all. A fewmonths ago she called here to tell me so. I implored her to keep silent,pointing out that no good could come of acquainting you with bygoneevils; but she refused to listen to me, and left this office with thefull intention of finding you out, and making her revelation."

  "But I have been in New Zealand."

  "She did not know that, nor did I tell her," said Hilliston grimly; "infact, I refused to give her your address, but she is not the woman to beeasily beaten, as I well know. I guessed she would find out the name ofyour club and write to you there, therefore I sent that letter to you soas to counter-plot the creature. I expected that you would find a letterfrom her at your club on your arrival. I was right. Here is the letter.She has succeeded so far, but I have managed to checkmate her byobtaining the first interview with you. Should you call on her,--andafter reading these papers I have little doubt but that you will doso,--she will be able to tell you nothing new. I cannot crush the viper,but at least I can draw its fangs."

  "You speak hardly of this woman, sir."

  "I have reason to," said Hilliston quietly. "But for this woman yourfather would still be alive."

  "What do you mean?"

  "I mean that your father, George Larcher, was murdered!"


  "Murdered!"

  "Yes! Murdered at Horriston, in Kent, in the year 1866."

  Stunned by this information, which he was far from expecting, Claudesank down in his chair with a look of horror on his face, whileHilliston spoke rapidly.

  "I have kept this secret all these years because I did not want youryoung life to be shadowed by the knowledge of your father's fate. Butnow Mrs. Bezel intends to tell you the truth, and will give you agarbled version of the same, making herself out a martyr. I must bebeforehand with her, and I wish you to take those papers, and read theaccount of the case which ended in the acquittal of your mother."

  "My mother! Acquitted! Do you mean----"

  "I mean that Mrs. Larcher was accused of the murder of her husband, andwas tried and acquitted."

  "Great Heavens! But she is now dead?"

  "I say no more," said Hilliston, evading a direct reply. "You will knowthe truth when you read these papers."

  Larcher mechanically took the packet held out to him, and placed it inhis pocket. Then he rose to go. A thousand questions were on the tip ofhis tongue, but he dare not ask one. It would be better, he thought, tolearn the truth from the papers, in place of hearing it from the lips ofFrancis Hilliston, who might, for all he knew, give as garbled a versionof the affair as Mrs. Bezel. Hilliston guessed his thoughts, andapproved of the unspoken decision.

  "I think you are right," he said, with deliberation; "it is best thatyou should learn the truth in that way. When you have read those paperscome and see me about them."

  "One moment, sir! Who killed my father?"

  "I cannot say! Your mother was suspected and proved innocent. A friendof your father was also suspected and----"

  "And proved innocent?"

  "No! He was never arrested--he was never tried. He vanished on the nightof the murder and has not been heard of since. Now, I can tell you nomore. Go and read the papers, Claude."

  Larcher took up his hat and hurried toward the door in a mechanicalmanner. There he paused.

  "Does Mrs. Bezel know the truth?"

  Hilliston, arranging the papers on the table, looked up with a facewhich had unexpectedly grown gray and old.

  "Yes!" he said quickly. "I think Mrs. Bezel knows the 'truth.'"