Chapter XII The Price of a Birthright
Robin set out at a rapid pace in the direction of the city, but as he was passing through a crowded street, a crippled beggar with a patch over one eye stopped him, and with a piteous whine, implored his charity.
Tossing him a coin, Robin went on his way, but the beggar, quite agile for so dilapidated a creature, kept close behind him, pouring out a stream of petitions and lamentations.
“What’s sixpence to a noble lord like your honor? Make it a shilling, brave Captain, to help me out of the country. There’s a warrant out for me, and divil take me if I know what’s the charge, but its something political—hanging and quartering at the very least. Thank your honor kindly, and may your enemies always get the worst of it. Ah! but Lunnon’s a bad town, and Linc’n’s Inn’s the very place to ambush a man and take him after the lawyers have got everything out of him. Divil take me if ever I’d give a thing to a lawyer that I might want myself; they’d take your life for six-and-eightpence, and make a bargain with Ould Scratch for your soul—-”
“That will do, my good fellow,” said Robin, flashing a quick glance at him. “You need not follow me any farther, you are only wasting what is doubtless valuable time.”
The beggar mumbled an excuse, and turned to beg from the nearest passer-by. And Robin pursued his way in a very thoughtful mood.
“Another warrant out,” he murmured. “I ought to have thought of that when they appointed this morning to finish the business instead of settling it all yesterday. Steve was right. These hounds never meant to give me a chance.”
By this time he was in the Strand, and turning up a paved court behind St. Martin’s Church, knocked at a door, on which the name of Matthew Double, Attorney-at-Law, appeared on a brass plate.
The door was quickly opened and two men came out, who had been waiting for him. One of these, though scarcely older than Robin, had the strained look of hard work and high living that distinguished the professional man of that day. This was Mr. Matthew Double, and the other, in shabby black, carrying a mighty blue-bag, could never have been intended by nature for anything but a lawyer’s clerk.
“Aha! here’s our man, punctual to the minute,” cried Double. “Few men would be so prompt to throw away a great inheritance, Captain.”
“My word is passed,” said Robin. “Did you doubt that I would keep it?”
“Not I; have I not just given you abundant proof of confidence? Still, I hate to see the chances of such a splendid law-suit thrown away; literally flung to the dogs. Dogs, too, who, if I am not mistaken, will turn and rend you when they have drawn your teeth and cut your claws.”
“When they have,” replied Robin. “By the way, can you lend me a cloak; a long and ample one?”
“This is somewhat the worse for wear,” said Double, indicating one that hung in the hall, “but if you want it for a disguise it is rather conspicuous.”
“All the better for both reasons,” replied Robin, throwing over his shoulders a military-looking cloak of dark green cloth, a good deal frayed, and lined with stained and faded red. With it, he assumed a swaggering step, and with his beaver cocked at a defiant angle, made a striking contrast to the smugly clad lawyer and his weazened satellite.
“I’m ready now,” he cried, and the trio started, keeping to the least frequented side of a street parallel with the Strand.
“My good Captain,” Mr. Double remonstrated, after going a very short distance, “moderate your stride, I pray, to that of a man a foot shorter than yourself; or, better still, let me call a coach.”
“I’d rather walk, if it is all the same to you,” Robin replied. “A man who has taken all his exercise for two or three weeks in the courtyard of Newgate, feels the need of stretching his legs when he gets outside.”
“True, but I haven’t been in Newgate for three weeks, and am, besides, of too portly a figure to enjoy violent exercise. Samuel, stop the first empty coach we meet. Truly, Captain, thou’rt a queer fellow; there are not many of your profession I’d venture to let out of my sight for twelve hours when I was under bonds to surrender him at a certain time, and he had so many good reasons for leaving me in the lurch.”
Robin laughed. “Why, it would ill suit me to leave London with my affairs but half-settled,” he said; “after to-day your responsibility will be at an end, and whether I decide to stay here and challenge the hangman, or accept my fate and leave the country, depends on matters you wot not of, and will concern no one but myself.”
“’Tis a thousand pities,” observed Double regretfully, “that you did not unravel the mystery of your birth until there was a price upon your head. There’s enough in your claim to have made a pretty case. A ve-ry pret-ty case. Even now—”
“Even now,” interrupted Robin, “I have bought my life at the price of my birthright, and I’ll pay the price if I get what I bargained for. But not unless. Oh! I’m no sheep to give my wool first, and then go quietly to the shambles.”
“They will scarcely attempt to do anything while you are in England—but if you are going to—say America—I would advise you to give your address in—let us say Paris.”
A peculiar smile curved Robin’s mouth, but not mirthfully.
“Truly, I had thought of the colonies,” he said reflectively. “Perchance, the government will give me a grant of land in some swamp or wilderness, where I can work off my superfluous energies fighting the Indians or the Spaniards.”
“There is a coach, Master Double,” interposed the meek voice of the clerk; “would you wish me to hire it?”
“What, within a stone’s throw of Lincoln’s Inn? Your conversation has beguiled me, Captain, but it has also made me thirsty. We have a few minutes to spare, and I would gladly crack a bottle to the successful ending of our business.”
They turned into a quiet coffee-house, and Robin ordered a bottle of Burgundy. While it was being fetched from the cellar, he obtained a sheet of paper from Samuel’s blue-bag and wrote a brief letter, in which he inclosed two small documents, sealed the packet with great care, and carefully addressed it
“To Mistress Larkyn, “In care of Mine Hostess of “The Fox and Grapes.”
Mine Hostess, a plump but not uncomely dame, with a merry eye, sat in her cosy bar, surrounded by quaint flagons and other emblems of her hospitable calling. She returned a cheerful answer to Robin’s greeting, and inquired his pleasure.
“You have a kindly face, and I’ll be sworn a heart to match, fair Goddess of the Grape,” said Robin. “Will you help two hapless lovers, separated by cruel fate?”
“That depends on what I am to help them to,” she retorted. “Mine’s a respectable house, and I’d rather have dealings with lawyers than lovers.”
“I want but a trifling service from you, though ’tis a vast favor to me,” said Robin. “Will you take charge of this letter, and by and by give it to the serving-man of Mistress Larkyn, whose name is writ upon it?”
“Oh! if that’s all,” she said, extending a hand that was plump and shapely, if not over-clean. Robin seized the hand and touched it gallantly with his lips, before surrendering the letter to its clasp. After that, although she called him an “impudent varlet,” and made as though to box his ears, he might have asked a much greater favor without danger of rebuff.
When they went out again, Robin cast the green cloak about him, and strode along with an air that made more than one peaceable citizen give him the footway all to himself. As they entered Lincoln’s Inn Square, this became still more marked, and in front of one of the finest houses, he stopped and looked round with an insolent swagger that greatly impressed a group of men loitering under a tree near by.
Double could not quite conceal his dissatisfaction, and pulling his client by the sleeve, whispered that the men looked like constables in plain clothes, and that they could hardly fail to recognize him when he came out, if, as seemed probable, they were waiting there for him.
“Let them stare their fill,” said Robin. “I wish them to become thoroughly acquainted with Robin Freemantle’s appearance.” And he walked slowly up the steps into the house.
In an up-stairs room, Lord Beachcombe and his lawyer awaited them. Robin left his swashbuckling manners in the anteroom, where Samuel was relieved of his bag and left to the congenial society of two or three clerks.
Lord Beachcombe returned Robin’s courteous greeting with a haughty movement that was scarcely a salute, the two lawyers met with friendly formality, tape-tied papers were produced, and the conference began.
“I understood,” said the earl, addressing his attorney, “that the person who calls himself Robert Gregory de Cliffe would be present to-day.”
“Have patience, my Lord, he will be here in good time,” interposed Mr. Double. “Have you examined the attested copies, Mr. Perry?”
“I have, and to avoid waste of time, I am prepared to admit that they appear to contain interesting family matters, highly interesting. Not that they would be of much legal value if you brought the case before the courts, but enough to cause some annoyance to my client. We have shown that we consider it worth examining into the affair, by obtaining the pardon of this”—he glanced at Robin—“this gentleman.”
“And also by taking the precaution of having a warrant ready for my arrest on another charge,” said Robin, quietly but incisively.
Mr. Perry glanced at Lord Beachcombe, and their eyes met with the same inquiry, “How can he know?”
“Had you kept faith with me,” said Robin, bending his stern gaze upon Beachcombe, “this matter could have been settled in a few minutes. As it is, I have decided not to put the two most important documents in your hands until I am in a place of safety.”
“Traitor!” exclaimed Beachcombe, striking the table with his clenched fist. “I knew he would devise some means to balk me!”
“If you talk of traitors, did you not purpose to get everything you wanted from me, and then put my head back in the noose?” demanded Robin. “Such a cat-and-mouse game is not so easy to play with a man who has carried his life in his hand through every kind of danger—even to the gallows’-foot—even through treachery, though that is less common among gentlemen of the road than some other kinds of gentlemen. In exchange for my life, I will give you, as I promised, the original letters that passed between your father and his first wife, the original documents proving the identity of both parties, and the copies of the marriage certificate and the death certificate that prove your mother’s marriage a fraud.”
“Oh! this villain will drive me mad!” screamed Lord Beachcombe. “Let me go, Perry; must I kill you to get at him?”
“Be calm, my Lord, I beg you,” urged the lawyer, very red in the face from his efforts to restrain his client; “this matter can be arranged without violence, if you will leave it to me. Mr.—a—Captain—a—Freebooter, pray address any remarks to me. You will only impede the negotiation by provoking Lord Beachcombe.”
“Here are the original letters and documents,” said Mr. Double, advancing to the table, “we will go over them together.” The lawyers went to work together, comparing, arguing and quibbling, as though the whole matter had not been settled in advance.
Robin, meantime, strolled to the window, where he observed one of the loitering men in conversation with a furtive man in black, with a pen stuck in his rusty wig. He stealthily pointed Robin out when he appeared at the window, and then darted back to the house like a rat into its hole.
“These letters appear genuine,” said Mr. Perry finally, “but they are valueless to us without the two certificates.”
“They are worth as much to you as your pledge of safety is to me,” returned Robin. “Why should you expect to feel safe from me, while I am still in danger from you? That was not the compact. The hour that I set my foot on a foreign shore in safety, I will cut the last thread that binds me to the past, but those two papers will never be yours, Lord Beachcombe, until it is out of your power to injure me. I have given my word, and I will keep it. My title in exchange for my life; your legitimacy in exchange for my safety.”
“I knew it—I felt it!” cried Beachcombe. “This fellow himself is the arch-impostor.”
“Impostor!” said Robin, with a contemptuous laugh, as he stood up and pointed to the earl. “Nature has cast us in the same mold; God be praised that her work is only skin-deep. Double, you have the late earl’s picture in that bag; pull it out, and let us see on which of his sons he printed off the best likeness of himself.”
Mr. Double drew forth a roll of canvas, that bore evidence of having been hastily cut from the frame.
“My father’s picture!” cried Beachcombe, recognizing it with amazement. “How came it in your possession?”
“It fell into my hands,” said Robin dryly, “when I was lately in the North Country. I thought it might be useful, so I brought it away with me.”
“You mean, I suppose, that you stole it from Beachcombe Castle,” snapped the earl.
“How could I steal my own? Beachcombe Castle is entailed upon the eldest son, and I inherited it from my father, as the son just born to you will doubtless inherit it from you if nothing untoward happens to me. You ought to pray heartily for my welfare, my Lord, until I am safely landed in—America. Still, I am not dependent upon the picture of a dead man for proofs of identity. I can bring twenty living witnesses to prove that I am the son of Mrs. Vincent, whose marriage to Captain Gregory de Cliffe I can prove by documents and other valuable evidence.”
“You will give up the two certificates if Lord Beachcombe pledges his word that you will be allowed to leave England unmolested, will you not?” inquired Mr. Perry insinuatingly.
“I will not,” replied Robin firmly.
“Well, then—I urge this matter because my lord will have a long period of suspense to endure before he receives those documents, and without impugning your good faith, it is possible they might fall into the wrong hands after all—will you give them up if Lord Beachcombe gives you a written guarantee that you will be safe, so far as he can protect you?”
“I do not value his written guarantee one farthing,” said Robin contemptuously. “Given an hour’s start, I am ready to take my chance of escape from any lawyer or traitor of you all. But I’ve a reason for wishing to remain in London for the next few days, and I’ll not give up the one thing that enables me to do it in safety.”
Beachcombe sprang to his feet. “I have stood this insolence long enough!” he exclaimed. “You—an outlaw, a convicted robber, dare to spurn my word!—refuse to accept my written promise! Pray, what will satisfy you?”
“Oh! if you wish to offer me satisfaction, ’tis quickly settled,” cried Robin. “To cross swords with your lordship will give me the utmost pleasure, and let him who draws the first blood dictate the terms of truce.”
Beachcombe sneered, but he was not a coward, and his fingers almost involuntarily wandered to his sword-hilt.
“Gentlemen, gentlemen!” cried the lawyer. “This is no time or place for fighting; besides, if there is anything in your story, Captain—Freebooter—the curse of Cain would be on the one who shed the other’s blood.”
“Will the one who hires somebody else to shed the other’s blood, escape the curse of Cain?” sternly inquired Robin. “If we can not settle this business like gentlemen, let us get it over as quickly as possible. It will not be difficult, I dare say, to find some better occasion for a meeting.”
In a great hurry, Mr. Perry read over a legal document, renouncing on the part of “the person claiming to be Robert Gregory de Cliffe and his descendants for ever,” all titles, estates entailed or otherwise, and other belongings appertaining to the Beachcombe family in all its ramifications, in consideration of one thousand pounds over and above all expenses of his transportation to a foreign land, or any place outside of the British Isles, that he might select for his future abode. The above to be paid to him on signing this deed, and to constitute a full satisfaction for every claim, past, present and future.
Robin listened with scant patience to the monotonous repetition of legal terms by which every contingency was forestalled and provided for. Then he requested Mr. Double to peruse it, in case there might be snares or hidden meanings in it. Two clerks were called in to witness the bold signature of Robert Gregory de Cliffe, and finally, Mr. Perry counted out one thousand pounds in Bank of England notes, as compensation for Robin’s claim to an inheritance worth twenty thousand a year, two hundred more for his expenses in leaving the country, and certain sums to Mr. Double for his services. Lord Beachcombe showed very little interest in this part of the transaction, but sat biting his nails and fingering his sword-hilt.
Mr. Perry drew Mr. Double aside, and made one last attempt to convince him that it would be greatly to the interest of all parties if he could persuade his client to surrender the two documents of whose value he held so exaggerated an estimate. Meantime, Robin strolled up to the window, arranging his beaver with great nonchalance, and throwing the end of the cloak over his shoulder, so as to display the red lining.
He observed that the loitering men had drawn together, and numbered about half-a-score, armed with stout bludgeons and still more deadly weapons. Near them, under the trees, a ragged urchin walked Lord Beachcombe’s horse slowly up and down, hopeful of a bounteous douceur from the noble patron who had kept him so long waiting.
“Now, Captain,” said Mr. Double, “I am at your service.”
Robin walked to the door, and removing his beaver, swept so low a bow, that he dropped it on the floor.
“Farewell, Mr. Perry,—you will hear from me—from foreign parts. My Lord Beachcombe—adieu.”
The lawyer, who had already assumed an air of preoccupation with other matters, returned the bow with ceremonious frostiness. Lord Beachcombe did not even turn his head. Consequently, neither of them saw Robin kick his own hat out of the way and help himself to one that lay on a chair near the door.
“Give me five minutes start,” he whispered to Double, as he quickly disengaged himself from the green cloak and threw it into a dark corner of the stairway. When he emerged from the front door, a dignified gentleman in a plum-colored riding-coat and black velvet cavalier hat with a long, drooping ostrich feather, he looked as little as possible like the roystering blade who had been seen a few minutes before at the upper window. He signed to the boy with the horse, and mounting without haste, threw him a shilling and beckoned to the chief of the posse of constables.
“You had better bring your men on this side of the street,” he said imperiously; “don’t give the fellow time to get away or you will never catch him again. And, mind—dead or alive!”
The man knuckled his hat obsequiously. “Yes, m’ Lud,” he said, with something the air of one bulldog being egged on to attack another. “Them’s my orders.”
Robin gave him a curt word, and rode out through the gateway leading into Chancery Lane. When he was out of sight, he gave rein to his horse, and taking to the network of narrow lanes that lay between the Strand and the river, made off with the utmost speed toward Westminster.