“Sir Ranulph!” echoed Lady Rookwood, with strong emphasis; “marked you that?”
“Body o’ me,” muttered the attorney, “this is the most extraordinary family, to be sure. Make way, gentlemen, if you please,” added he, pushing through the crowd, towards the prisoner.
Having described what took place between Lady Rookwood and her son in one part of the room, we must now briefly narrate some incidental occurrences in the other. The alarm of a robber having been taken spread with great celerity through the house, and almost all its inmates rushed into the room, including Dr. Small, Titus Tyrconnel, and Jack Palmer.
“Odsbodikins! are you there, honey?” said Titus, who discovered his ally; “the bird’s caught, you see.”
“Caught be d — d,” replied Jack, bluffly; “so I see; all his own fault; infernal folly to come here, at such a time as this. However, it can’t be helped now; he must make the best of it. And as to that sneaking, gimlet-eyed, parchment-skinned quill-driver, if I don’t serve him out for his officiousness one of these days, my name’s not Jack Palmer.”
“Och! cushlamacree! did I ever? why, what’s the boy to you, Jack? Fair play’s a jewel, and surely Mr. Coates only did his duty. I’m sorry he’s captured, for his relationship to Sir Piers, and because I think he’ll be tucked up for his pains; and, moreover, I could forgive the poaching; but as to the breaking into a house on such an occasion as this, och! It’s a plaguy bad look. I’m afraid he’s worse than I thought him.”
A group of the tenantry, many of whom were in a state of intoxication, had, in the meantime, formed themselves round the prisoner. Whatever might be the nature of his thoughts, no apprehension was visible in Luke’s countenance. He stood erect amidst the assemblage, his tall form towering above them all, and his eyes fixed upon the movements of Lady Rookwood and her son. He had perceived the anguish of the latter, and the vehemence of the former, attributing both to their real causes. The taunts and jeers, threats and insolent inquiries, of the hinds who thronged around him, passed unheeded; yet one voice in his ear, sharp as the sting of a serpent, made him start. It was that of the sexton.
“You have done well,” said Peter, “have you not? Your fetters are, I hope, to your liking. Well! a wilful man must have his own way, and perhaps the next time you will be content to follow my advice. You must now free yourself, the best way you can, from these Moabites, and I promise you it will be no easy matter. Ha, ha!”
Peter withdrew into the crowd; and Luke, vainly endeavoring to discover his retreating figure, caught the eye of Jack Palmer fixed upon himself, with a peculiar and very significant expression.
At this moment Mr. Coates made his appearance.
“Bring forward the prisoner,” said the man of law to his two assistants; and Luke was accordingly hurried along, Mr. Coates using his best efforts to keep back the crowd. It was during the pressure that Luke heard a voice whisper in his ear, “Never fear; all’s right!” and turning his head, he became aware of the propinquity of Jack Palmer. The latter elevated his eyebrows with a gesture of silence, and Luke passed on as if nothing had occurred. He was presently confronted with Lady Rookwood and her son; and, notwithstanding the efforts of Mr. Coates, seconded by some few others, the crowd grew dense around them.
“Remove his fetters,” said Ranulph. And his manacles were removed.
“You will consent to remain here a prisoner till to-morrow?”
“I consent to nothing,” replied Luke; “I am in your hands.”
“He does not deserve your clemency, Sir Ranulph,” interposed Coates.
“Let him take his own course,” said Lady Rookwood; “he will reap the benefit of it anon.”
“Will you pledge yourself not to depart?” asked Ranulph.
“Of course,” cried the attorney; “to be sure he will. Ha, ha!”
“No,” returned Luke, haughtily, “I will not — and you will detain me at your proper peril.”
“Better and better,” exclaimed the attorney. “This is the highest joke I ever heard.”
“I shall detain, you, then, in custody, until proper inquiries can be made,” said Ranulph. “To your care, Mr. Coates, and to that of Mr. Tyrconnel, whom I must request to lend you his assistance, I commit the charge; and I must further request, that you will show him every attention which his situation will permit. Remove him. We have a sacred duty to the dead to fulfil, to which even justice to the living must give way. Disperse this crowd, and let instant preparations be made for the completion of the ceremonial. You understand me, sir.”
“Ranulph Rookwood,” said Luke, sternly, as he departed, “you have another — a more sacred office to perform. Fulfil your duty to your father’s son.”
“Away with him!” cried Lady Rookwood. “I am out of all patience with this trilling. Follow me to my chamber,” added she to her son, passing towards the door. The concourse of spectators, who had listened to this extraordinary scene in astonishment, made way for her instantly, and she left the room, accompanied by Ranulph. The prisoner was led out by the other door.
“Botheration!” cried Titus to Mr. Coates, as they followed in the wake, “why did he choose out me? I’ll lose the funeral entirely by his arrangement.”
“That you will,” replied Palmer. “Shall I be your deputy?”
“No, no,” returned Coates. “I will have no other than Mr. Tyrconnel. It was Sir Ranulph’s express wish.”
“That’s the devil of it,” returned Titus; “and I, who was to have been chief mourner, and have made all the preparations, am to be omitted. I wish Sir Ranulph had stayed till to-morrow — what could bring him here, to spoil all? — it’s cursedly provoking!”
“Cursed provoking!” echoed Jack.
“But then there’s no help, so I must make the best of it,” returned the good-humored Irishman.
“Body o’ me,” said Coates, “there’s something in all this that I can’t fathom. As to keeping the prisoner here, that’s all moonshine. But I suppose we shall know the whole drift of it to-morrow.”
“Ay,” replied Jack, with a meaning smile, “to-morrow!”
BOOK 2
THE SEXTON
Duchess. Thou art very plain.
Bosola. My trade is to flatter the dead — not the living — I am a tomb-maker.
Webster.
CHAPTER 1
THE STORM
Come, list, and hark! the bell doth towle, For some but now departing sowle; And was not that some ominous fowle? The bat, the night-crow, or screech-owle? To these I hear the wild wolf howle, In this dark night that seems to scowle; — All these my blacke-booke shall enrowle, For hark! still hark! the bell doth towle For some but new-departed sowle!
Haywood: Rape of Lucrece.
The night was wild and stormy. The day had been sultry, with a lurid, metallic-looking sky, hanging like a vast galvanic plate over the face of nature. As evening drew on, everything betokened the coming tempest. Unerring indications of its approach were noted by the weatherwise at the hall. The swallow was seen to skim the surface of the pool so closely that he ruffled its placid mirror