(Sir James Wilmington's inciminating papers have been retrieved by the intervention of Black George the highwayman)
It was Martin Clifford who brought the
message that Mr Bunbridge wished to have a private talk with me.
“He suggests,” I was told, “that you should
meet him, alone, in the church in Bereton, at three o’clock tomorrow. He says
there are matters of great importance he wishes to discuss with you.”
Never before had the Rector sought an
interview! When I had recovered from my surprise, I asked, “Do you suppose that
he suspects me of having asked the highwayman to rob him? Might this be an
attempt to somehow entrap me?”
“As you know, I was entirely opposed to the whole
plan to obtain those papers by robbery. But if I may offer you advice, you
should admit nothing. I do not think you should mention Sir James, or Miss
Wilbrahim, unless he does so first. If you wish, I can be near the church and
assist you in any way I can.” I nodded,
rehearsing in my mind what I might say to the Rector.
The clock we just striking three as I
entered St. Luke’s. The nave was empty apart from the heavy figure of the
Rector, who was examining a faded old coat of arms on a memorial. I greeted him
with an attempt at friendly civility. “I was informed that you wished to speak
with me.”
He looked at with an expression of hostility,
and beckoned me to sit with him in the Wilbrahim private pew, which I
considered a gross impertinence.
“I have
no desire for your company at any time, sir, but nonetheless we have important
matters to discuss. Here we can talk privately,” he told me.
“So
here we are, sir,” I said, once we were seated out of sight to anyone in the
nave “And now that we are here, I would like to tell you how much I regret the disgraceful
insults done to your person by the highwayman.” I spoke a few words of
commiseration, but he was scarcely listening, and he soon interrupted me.
“And maybe you know what was stolen from
me?” he growled.
“Yes. I have heard a satchel of papers were
taken.” I was talking softly, as befitted the delicate nature of our
conversation, but was surprised when my companion barked, “Speak up, damn you!”
I was not aware that he was deaf, but I repeated my admission in a louder
voice.
“So were you responsible for the robbery?
Yes, I see the guilt in your eyes! I thought as much! I saw you hiding in the
bushes when the coach stopped at the Hollybush, and wondered why you were
skulking about there, but I soon found out! Why else should the highwayman
insist on taking my satchel, when there was nothing but papers in it? I shall
see you hanged for this, sir, whether or not you may call yourself a member of
this corrupt and illegitimate Parliament! And hanged you surely will be, unless
you instantly return those papers!”
I answered coldly, trying to retrain my anger
and repeating words that I had pondered beforehand, “I think not, sir. Yes, I discovered
the papers at the inn, but I have clear evidence that you yourself stole the
papers from Stanegate, whereas you have no evidence to link me with the
robbery. I have never even touched your satchel. And under no circumstances
will I return any papers to you. The letters of Sir James Wilbrahim concerning
his dealing with the Pretender will be burnt, as should have been done long ago.
I cannot allow the possibility that they may be published, and expose him to
ridicule or worse: I dare not think of the disastrous results that might
follow, given his present state of health. You, I believe, had long known of
these papers, but allowed them to be preserved. Was it so that you retained
your hold over him?”
“Wilbrahim!” he replied scornfully, “that
old fool! But for his cowardice, and the cowardice of those like him, and the
barbarian Scotchmen being filled with terror at marching any further from their
mountains, we would have taken London and restored the true King to the throne!
And then his vapourings on whether Miss Wilbrahim was really the
offspring of the Prince! An absurd notion!
“I tell you, sir, Lady Wilbrahim was far
more of a man than her pusillanimous husband. All her family were strong for
the restoration of the Stuart line. When Sir James prepared to flee as the
Scotch forces approached, under the weak excuse that he had urgent business in the
south that required his attention, she proudly refused to leave her home. She proclaimed that if the Prince did come to Stanegate, she would receive him with all
due honour; and this she did. But the notion that she would betray her husband
with anyone, even a Prince, is nonsense! I attended her in the little time left
to her after her daughter was born: she was aware that her husband mistrusted
her, and she swore to me on her deathbed that she had always been true to him.”
At least, I thought, this does not directly
contradict what Danielle had told me. But I saw no reason to mention her
testimony: instead, I changed the subject and replied, “Since you have
mentioned Miss Wilbrahim, I must tell you that under no circumstances will I
allow you to become her guardian. If necessary, I shall persuade Sir James
to rewrite his will and transfer the guardianship to Mr Braithwaite; though I
promise that the legacy assigned to you will not be altered.”
“So, you hope to marry the chit, do you? I guessed
as much!” He gave a coarse laugh.
“Is that why you have always hated me?
Because you had designs on Miss Wilbrahim for yourself?”
“No sir; there you are wrong! Until recently
I regarded you as being of no significance whatsoever, except as a symptom of
the degeneracy of our age. But the robbery is a different matter, sir. I have a
witness who has been writing down your confession that you planned and assisted
in the robbery, and should prove sufficient to bring about your arrest as a felon!”
“I have confessed to nothing, sir, and you
know it!”
“You will find that is not what my witness
will say! Your Parliamentary privilege avails you nothing in facing this
charge, sir! Even if the case proves not strong enough to have you hanged, your
character will be so blackened that you will never dare to show your face in
Bereton again! All that I shall offer you, sir, is this. If you return the
papers to me and then leave this town for ever, then I may – I say may – be prepared to overlook the
matter. So much for your hopes of marriage, sir!”
He could not resist adding, “As for the
Wilbrahim child; you are entirely wrong to imagine I have any designs on her
for myself. I have tried her, and she is nothing! No, sir: as her guardian, I shall
marry her to young Matthew, my sister’s son. He is a fool, so they are well
suited to each other. They will live at his home in Leicestershire and lease
Stanegate to me!”
“Do you not think that Miss Wilbrahim might
well object to that arrangement?”
“What? that milk-and-water weakling? She
would not dare! Besides, sir, the law will be on my side: when they marry, all
the Wilbrahim property will belong solely to the husband, to dispose of as he
chooses. And Stanegate will be mine, including that maid! She will stay here
with me! A lusty wench indeed; and I shall have her!”
I was determined to remain cool and show neither
fear nor anger. “I seem to remember that you once attempted an assault on
Becky’s virtue, and she repulsed you!” I retorted.
“Virtue? Pah!” he snorted, “Wail till I get
her where we can’t be disturbed! Then we’ll see!”
Mr Bunbridge licked his lips as if in
anticipation, but he was unable to utter a further word, for at this point, and
to my astonishment, who should emerge from the chantry chapel but Mrs Waring,
leading Louisa Wilbrahim by the hand!
“Come away, child!” my librarian ordered the
girl, “You mustn’t be listening to talk of this kind!” Fixing Mr Bunbridge with
the gaze of an exasperated schoolmistress to an errant pupil, she announced with the utmost
scorn, “You are a disgrace to your cloth, sir! It is outrageous that you should
pollute this sacred building with such profanity! I shall write to the Bishop to
tell him of your behaviour!”
I had never before seen this dry-as-dust lady
display such anger, and indeed had thought her incapable of any strong emotion.
But Louisa regarded the Rector coldly, and was silent for a while.
“I can forgive your rudeness to me,” she
finally announced, in a quiet voice, “but not what you have said about my poor
father, who was always so generous to you. You shall never set foot in
Stanegate again.”
She then turned her back and accompanied Mrs
Waring out of the church.
Mr Bunbridge, I think, was more disturbed by
Louisa’s hostility than by Mrs Waring’s threats. He now resembled a balloon
that had recently been so filled with air that it was likely to burst, and was
now suddenly deflated. For a while he could not utter a single word, before
exclaiming in bafflement, “Where is Smalling?”
“No doubt you summoned him to write his
report of Mr Huntingdon’s confession,” came the reply from Martin Clifford, who
now appeared on the scene, “or more likely to write what appeared to be a
confession, and then swear it was true. But, alas, Smalling is not here. He was
led to believe that the meeting would not take place. In his absence, I myself
have written down what I overheard you say. I would advise you to let the
matter drop.”
I wondered for a moment whether the Rector
was about to strike him, but in the end he contented himself with muttering
impotent curses as we left.
Once we were alone, I asked Clifford, “Was
this all your planning? For if so, it succeeded most brilliantly!”
“I cannot claim the credit, for it was all
chance,” he replied, “The gods were definitely with us, in the unlikely form of
Mrs Waring. She, learning that I was about to visit Bereton church, requested to be allowed to accompany me, since she had long wished to inspect the old tomb
that lies in the chantry chapel to the north of the altar. She alleged that you
had promised to take her, but had neglected to do so. Requested, did I say?
Demanded! She can be most persistent. And it occurred to me that it might be
useful to have another witness, should anything untoward occur between you and Mr
Bunbridge. So I took the liberty of using your little trap, and we set out.
“We arrived at the church well before three
o’clock, and outside we encountered the man Smalling, well laden with paper and
pens and inkpots. Have you met him? Oh, yes. Well, as you know, he describes
himself as a scrivener, but his sole talent is for writing false reports, if
sufficiently bribed, and then perjuring himself by swearing to their truth. When
he revealed that Mr Bunbridge had asked him to be there, I instantly smelt a
rat. I dismissed him by telling a straight lie, saying that the meeting with
you had been postponed. So he went away disappointed. We entered the church, and
to our amazement found Miss Wilbrahim, all on her own, deep in private prayer!
But Mrs Waring roused her from her knees by asking that Miss Wilbrahim should take her to the tomb and tell her the history of her family, which the young lady did
out of politeness, though as I recall, most of the talking was done by your librarian.
“And when first the Rector, and then you, entered, we remained silently in the chantry chapel, listening to your conversation, of which the Rector doubtless assumed the man Smalling would be recording a deliberately inaccurate version, until finally Mrs Waring could not bear to endure it any longer, with results that you know.
“So Bunbridge has gone away discomforted,
but I must advise you that you have had the narrowest of escapes. Were it not
for blind chance, he might have had sufficient evidence to hang you, or at
least to blacken your character for ever. Please do not take such risks
again!”
