Roland Cashel, Volume II (of II). Lever Charles James
arrangements; and now the company formed in a great circle, discussing dresses and characters and costumes with an eager interest that showed how little Linton’s fate had thrown a shadow over the bright picture of anticipated pleasure.
CHAPTER VI. THE SEASON OF LINTON’S FLITTING
He could outrogue a lawyer.
Revealing so freely as we do the hidden wiles of our characters for the reader’s pleasure, it would ill become us to affect any reserve or mystery regarding their actions. We shall not make, therefore, any secret of Mr. Linton’s absence, nor ask of our patient reader to partake of the mystification that prevailed among the company at Tubbermore.
It so chanced, that on the evening preceding his departure he saw in a newspaper paragraph the arrival of a very distinguished lawyer at Limerick on his way to Dublin, and the thought at once occurred to him, that the opportunity was most favorable for obtaining an opinion respecting the “Corrigan Pardon,” without incurring either suspicion or any lengthened absence.
Another object, inferior, but not devoid of interest, also suggested itself. It was this: profiting by a secret passage which led from the theatre to Cashel’s bedroom, it was Linton’s custom to visit this chamber every day, ransacking the letters and papers which, in his careless indolence, Roland left loose upon the tables, and thus possessing himself of the minutest knowledge of Cashel’s affairs. In his very last visit to this room, he perceived a cumbrous document, of which the seal of the envelope was broken, but apparently the contents unlooked at. It was enough that he read the indorsement, “Deed of conveyance of the Cottage and Lands of Tubber-beg.”
Feeling how far he himself was interested in the paper, and well knowing the forgetful habits of Cashel, who would never detect its removal, he coolly folded it up and carried it away.
At first, his intention was simply to peruse the paper at his ease, and, if need were, to show it in confidence to Cor-rigan, and thus establish for himself that degree of influence over the old man which the character of his landlord might convey. But another and a bolder expedient soon suggested itself to his mind – nor was he one to shrink from an enterprise merely on account of its hazard – and this was no less than to forge Cashel’s signature to the deed; for, as yet, it was wanting in that most essential particular.
That Roland would never remember anything of the matter, and that he would always incline to believe his own memory defective, than suppose such a falsification possible, Linton was well convinced. There was but one difficulty; how should he manage for the witnesses, whose names were to be appended as actually present at the moment of signing. Here was a stumbling-block – since he could scarcely hope to find others as short of memory as was Roland Cashel. It was while still canvassing the question in his mind that he came upon the intelligence in the newspaper of the lawyer’s arrival at Limerick, and suddenly it struck him that he could easily in that city find out two persons, who, for a sufficient consideration, would append their signatures to the deed. A little further reflection devised even an easier plan, which was to take along with him the Italian sailor Giovanni, and make him represent Cashel, whose appearance was quite unknown. By Giovanni’s personation of Roland, Linton escaped all the hazard of letting others into his confidence, while the sailor himself, in a few days more, would leave the country – never to return.
It was with the calm assurance of a man who could put a price upon any action required of him, that Giovanni found himself, an hour after midnight, summoned to Linton’s dressing-room.
“I told you some time back, Giovanni, that we might be serviceable to each other. The hour has come a little earlier than I looked for; and now the question is, are you of the same mind as you then were?”
“I know nothing of the laws of this country, signor, but if there be life on the issue – ”
“No, no, nothing like that, my worthy fellow. In the present case, all I ask for is your silence and your secrecy.”
“Oh, that is easily had – go on, signor.”
“Well, I wish to go over to-morrow by daybreak to Limerick. I desire, too, that you should accompany me – as my companion, however, and my equal. We are about the same height and size, so take that suit there, dress yourself, and wait for me at the cross-roads below the village.”
The Italian took the parcel without speaking, and was about to retire, when Linton said, —
“You can write, I suppose?”
The other nodded.
“I shall want you to sign a document in presence of witnesses – not your own name, but another, which I’ll tell you.”
The Italian’s dark eyes flashed with a keen and subtle meaning, and leaning forward, he said in a low, distinct tone, —
“His Excellency means that I should forge a name?”
“It is scarcely deserving so grave a phrase,” replied Linton, affecting an easy smile; “but what I ask amounts pretty much to that. Have you scruples about it?”
“My scruples are not easily alarmed, signor; only let us understand each other. I’ll do anything” – and he laid a deep emphasis on the word – “when I see my way clear before me, nothing when I am blindfolded.”
“A man after my own heart!” cried Linton; “and now, good-night. Be true to the time and place.” And with this they parted.
The gray mist of a winter morning was just clearing away as Linton, accompanied by Giovanni, drove up to the principal hotel of Limerick, where Mr. Hammond, the eminent barrister, was then stopping. Having ascertained that he was still in the house, Linton at once sent up his name, with a request to be admitted to an interview with him. The position he had so long enjoyed among the officials of the Viceroy had made Linton a person of considerable importance in a city where the “plated article” so often passes for silver: and no sooner had the lawyer read the name, than he immediately returned a polite answer, saying that he was perfectly at Mr. Linton’s orders.
The few inquiries which Mr. Linton had meanwhile made at the bar of the hotel informed him that Mr. Hammond was making all haste to England, where he was about to appear in a case before the House of Lords; that horses had been already ordered for him along the whole line of road, and his presence in London was imperative. Armed with these facts, Linton entered the room, where, surrounded with deeds, drafts, and acts of Parliament, the learned counsel was sitting at his breakfast.
“It was but last night late, Mr. Hammond,” said he, advancing with his very frankest manner, “that we caught sight of your name as having arrived here, and you see I have lost no time in profiting by the intelligence. I have come thirty Irish miles this day to catch and carry you off with me to Mr. Cashel’s, at Tubbermore.”
“Most kind, indeed – very flattering – I am really overpowered,” said the lawyer, actually reddening with pleasure; and he said the exact truth, he was “overpowered” by a compliment so little expected. For, although high in his profession, and in considerable repute among his brethren, he had never been admitted into that peculiar class which calls itself the first society of the metropolis.
“I assure you,” resumed Linton, “it was by a vote of the whole house I undertook my mission. The Kilgoffs, the MacFarlines, the Chief Justice, Meek, and, in fact, all your friends, are there, and we only want you to make the party complete.”
“I cannot express the regret – the very deep regret – I feel at being obliged to decline such an honor; one which, I am free to confess, actually takes me by surprise. But, my dear Mr. Linton, you see these weighty papers – that formidable heap yonder – ”
“Meek said so,” said Linton, interrupting, and at the same time assuming a look of deep despondency. “‘Hammond will refuse,’ said he. ‘There’s no man at the Irish bar has the same amount of business; he cannot give his friends even one hour from his clients.’”
“I ‘m sure I scarcely suspected the Right Honorable Secretary knew of me,” said Hammond, blushing between pleasure and shame.
“Downie