Duty and Inclination/Chapter 26
CHAPTER V.
"Without misfortune what calamity!
And what hostilities without a foe!
Nor are foes wanting to the best on earth.
But endless are the lists of human ills;
And sighs might sooner fail than cause to sigh."
Young.
After much useless delay, the Court of Inquiry appointed to investigate the past proceedings of General De Brooke whilst holding the command of the district of W, took its course, during which, by continual search and secret information, through the least corrupt of his agents, he was enabled to detect the deceit and treachery employed by his arch-enemy General Haughton, carried even so far as to suborn his private clerks to bear false testimony against him. So scandalous a provocation was not to be endured; betrayed in the grossest manner, his private feelings, equally as his public character, called aloud for redress.
Instantly, therefore, he sent General Haughton a challenge, appointing the hour and place where to meet him, there to make reparation for the injury he had done him. To this the General did not deign or did not choose to write an answer; cowardice, he thought, could hardly be imputed to one who, since his recent display of valour against the Irish insurgents, had gained so much applause—in the zenith of favour, and had received, besides, the thanks of the Administration. As for his conscience and the counsel of his own heart, he knew how to keep them secret. De Brooke, however, was not to be so satisfied, but having his indignation still more roused by this apparently disdainful silence, he boldly determined in person to provoke him to the combat; and called at his door for the purpose of holding that language which should compel him to render the satisfaction required, or else to repair his injured reputation and his unsullied honour.
Following up the servant to the private door of his master, De Brooke heard him say, "Deny me by all means!" which still further aggravating the latter, he burst into his presence. Folded in a loose dressing-gown, Haughton sat at a table over-looking some papers. Disconcerted by an intrusion so unexpected, he fixed a deep scrutinizing eye on De Brooke, who stood before him pale and trembling with the violence of that invective already bursting from his lips.
Passion and impetuosity accompanied his words; his rage was vented without interruption, till at lengthy exhausted, he remained as if ashamed of his own violence, or as if confounded by the tranquillity of his enemy, who sensible of the advantage his own more placid exterior must gain over his antagonist, with an assumed calmness had followed De Brooke in all the bitter reproaches he had pronounced against him, not without a consciousness that they fell not upon him undeservedly, exciting for the moment an inward compunction for the injuries he had done him.
Ambition, the love of popularity, and, to call it by no more odious name, rivalship in the race of his profession, having induced him to charge as accessible to corruption one who was his equal in military merit, and one who he was convinced bore equally with himself the stamp of unblemished honour,—how, then, he silently asked himself, could he enter into single combat with such an individual on such grounds, however furious his appeal to arms?—his was the aggression. Was he, by yielding to the present provocation, to incur the desperate alternative of either losing his own life, or of taking that of his adversary, whom already he had robbed of his good name, and thus heap upon his unhappy family ruin upon ruin?
As to private animosity he felt none; even his public designs were fully answered: but since they had carried him so far, to retract was impossible. Every reflection he had previously given to the subject forcibly convinced him of the impolicy of accepting the challenge of De Brooke; for, were the circumstances connected therewith to become known, his credit and veracity might be so far questioned as to render it apparent that, rather than a devoted zeal in the service of Government, considerations of his own aggrandizement alone had actuated his proceedings against De Brooke.
"Thus conscience doth make cowards of us all."
The only plan, therefore, he conceived left for him to adopt, was to conciliate, and, by a pretended show of concern and friendship, gloss over the evils he had committed, rather than, by provoking further enmity, give confirmation to the suspicions already excited to his discredit. Assuming one of those habitual smiles under which he could so well disguise his real sentiments, he begged De Brooke to moderate his impetuosity, doubtless naturally to be expected from one so situated, but which he could assure him, as far as himself was concerned, he could not indulge without injustice.
He further stated that he had no personal ill-will towards him whatever; that though the object of so many harsh upbraidings just poured forth against him, they had not excited in him the least feeling of wrath; that he felt for him as much as one friend could feel for another, and most sincerely lamented that the unpleasant task had fallen upon himself of making inspection into the abuses which were said to exist at the depot; but this being the case, as nominated chief agent in the investigation, a responsibility was attached to the task.
"That abuses and frauds have taken place, General," added he, "you must doubtless be aware; but that you have no share in them will be also seen, as urged by yourself in your own defence, and which cannot fail as soon as the examination takes place to acquit you." Completely disarmed by this plausible language, or rather hypocritical effusion of words, General De Brooke had nothing further to advance than to make some slight apology for the warmth into which his injured and greatly excited feelings had betrayed him, little suspecting how much he had been made the dupe of perfidious artifice and intrigue.
Nothing then remained but to occupy himself in collecting the various information necessary to aid him towards effecting his acquittal, and for this purpose he engaged an able counsellor, a man of activity and talent, accustomed to and skilled in the art of pleading. Thus occupied with a multiplicity of business to which his memory was unequal, some of the officers under his late command, who were more conversant with the concerns of the depot, and who were alike implicated with himself, in that critical moment, when so much depended upon the clearness and perspicuity of their evidence, involving no less than loss of honour and its consequent humiliation, lent him their assistance to place each point in that due order and arrangement indispensable to appear before the Court,—that tribunal of justice to which he had himself appealed, and upon the decision of which depended his rise or fall, the future fate and fortunes of himself and family: leaving this important affair thus pending, having been several months absent, he hastened to rejoin his family.
After so much vexation, perplexity, and trouble, how soothing to his soul was the sight of his wife and children! Although ties the most valued were broken, and his friends, relatives, and country had forsaken him, and although his reputation was at stake, yet how cheering the thought that one individual at least existed on whom he could implicitly rely; one to whom he could confide the secret trying conflicts of his heart, one who would not fail to pour into its lacerated wounds the balm of sympathy and consolation! Rising into a fresh existence by her presence, the demon of despondence was chased, while he endeavoured patiently to await the judgment that was to be passed upon him.
No longer holding any military appointment, and the lease of his house at Bath having expired, the world was before him where to choose. Dismissing the instructors of his daughters, whose proficiency rendered their attendance unnecessary, he decided to remove with his family to London; the motives for taking him thither being the circumstance that it was the seat of Government, the position in respect to it in which he was placed, and above all, the desire he felt to lay the statement of his case before his father. The reception he met with from Sir Aubrey was that which habit had made familiar to him, arising doubtless from parental hope frustrated, and pride mortified.
After a due interval De Brooke besought his kind and impartial hearing while he spoke to him of his affairs, in which he delivered himself with the confidence of one who had met with a treatment as severe as it was unmerited,—Sir Aubrey, during the recital, betraying a warmth of feeling and energy almost equal to his own, surpassing his expectations, upholding his just indignation, attentively listening to the circumstances of the interview connected with the challenge his son had given General Haughton; and after uttering some words expressive of scorn, he added, "You have been ill-treated, scandalously ill-treated, of which there cannot be a doubt; but what an error in your judgment, Aubrey, to have quitted your post at the very moment when your command at that station was drawing to its close—what an unfortunate leave of absence was that you desired at so momentous a period!"
"Alas, Sir," replied De Brooke, "could we penetrate into the events of time, many of our greatest evils might be avoided; but this is super-human, and therefore not within the province of mortal scrutiny: my daughter's declining state of health was the cause." Sir Aubrey coldly turned aside; however he had admitted of his son's claims in other respects, the motive he had assigned for withdrawing from his command was in his estimation but little satisfactory.
He was, however, put into complete possession of all the circumstances in which originated his son's misfortune—the treacherous part acted by General Haughton, the result of infamous jealousy, self-love, and sordid ambition. How soon might his son during his appointment in Ireland, without difficulty or labour, have amassed together riches in abundance, and whether attained by just or unjust measures, would have no weight in the general estimate or rather false balance given to such considerations by the infatuated many, those idols of Fortune, ever ready to sacrifice their better feelings at her golden shrine! the truth of which, so candidly and zealously supported by De Brooke, was irresistible to Sir Aubrey, as was also the persuasion of the impossibility, without the eyes of an Argus, of superintending concerns so perplexed and complicated.
From the conviction of his honour, strict integrity, and uprightness of conduct, evidently seen in the distressed but steady bearing of his son in every detail he had afforded him, Sir Aubrey determined to use his endeavours, without at the same time compromising himself where impartiality was essential, to reinstate his unhappy son in the favourable opinion of Government.
As gold from its dross, so De Brooke arose pure and bright from that "fiery ordeal," the investigation of the Court. Nevertheless, how incomplete was his triumph! Nothing responded to his feelings in the way of recompense for the many hours of misery and distracting cares he had endured. Overlooked, receiving no indemnity for his losses, promises had, indeed, been made him, but which remained unfulfilled; while his enemy and rival, skilled in all the arts of deception, sported also in all the lustre of a favourite, received fresh rewards, was decorated with the red riband, and installed a Knight of the Garter.
Far was it from De Brooke to pass a comment on his monarch's pleasure, who, in his rival, perceived, doubtless, but the man who had effected an achievement deserving of his approbation; and far, also, was it from him to cherish rancour or envy against the General for the sudden good fortune into which he had risen; but the feeling which oppressed him was the painful conviction that while the sun of General Haughton was shining bright in the meridian of his fame, he was eventually the cause his own was setting! Such were the poignant reflections which left their sting on the pillow of De Brooke. Never from that period did the name of General Haughton fall upon his hearing, or enter into his thoughts, even when, from the serenity imbibed from religious contemplation, all anger or animosity was chased from his heart, than it was associated with the idea, "the man who has ruined myself and family!"
Mrs. De Brooke and her daughters resided in the gay capital of London comparatively secluded, associating with but a few friends, the most intimate of whom, as formerly, being Mr. and Mrs. Philimore; to whom was now united their eldest son, Edmund Philimore, who, having grown to manhood, had left his college avocations, for the purpose of exercising his ministerial functions in the church, and who formed an agreeable acquisition to the society of his parents and their friends.
Mrs. Herbert also had flown to embrace her dear children—such being the epithet she ever bestowed upon Oriana and Rosilia.
Her son, the former youthful admirer of the younger sister, had then attained the age of twenty; his mind fraught with recollections of the past, he could not, without revived impressions, survey the object which produced them. His person was tall and well made, his features regular, yet withal deficient in expression: it remained for the maternal eye alone of good Mrs. Herbert to contemplate him with the satisfaction of one who discovers nought to disapprove.
With all a parent's pride she had presented him before Rosilia, her favourite, with whom she thought it impossible not to acknowledge the perfections with which nature had gifted him. Contrary, however, to her sanguine expectations, it proved otherwise. The memory of past familiarity threw upon the manners of Rosilia an unusual reserve, probably arising from a certain refinement of ideas above his slender endowments, or from an incapacity of appreciating them, which was in itself sufficient to prohibit an association, which the fond and deluded mother secretly hoped might, at no very distant period, lead to a more intimate and dearer tie.
Through the interest of a friend, the young Herbert had just obtained a commission, and was in the expectation of embarking for India, where, in the indulgence of juvenile hopes, he conceived wealth and prosperity of easy attainment. But whether such in the future were realized, and how far his imagination coincided in his mother's dreams of happiness for him, the course of our narrative will determine.