"This is news, indeed," said I, handing the letter to Timothy. "It must have been my threatening letter which has driven him to this mad act."
"Very likely," replied Timothy; "but it was the best thing the scoundrel could do, after all."
"The letter was not, however, written, with that intention. I wished to frighten him, and have justice done to little Fleta--poor child! how glad I shall be to see her!"
PART TWO, CHAPTER TWENTY FIVE.
ANOTHER INVESTIGATION RELATIVE TO A CHILD, WHICH, IN THE SAME WAY AS THE FORMER ONE, ENDS BY THE LADY GOING OFF IN A FIT.
The next day the newspapers contained a paragraph, in which Sir Henry de Clare was stated to have committed suicide. No reason could be a.s.signed for this rash act, was the winding up of the intelligence. I also received another letter from Kathleen McShane, confirming the previous accounts: her mother had been sent for to a.s.sist in laying out the body.
There was now no further doubt, and as soon as I could venture out, I hastened to the proper office, where I read the will of the late Sir William. It was very short, merely disposing of his personal property to his wife, and a few legacies; for, as I discovered, only a small portion of the estates were entailed with the t.i.tle, and the remainder was not only to the heirs male, but the eldest female, should there be no male heir, with the proviso, that should she marry, the husband was to take upon himself the name of De Clare. Here, then, was the mystery explained, and why Melchior had stolen away his brother"s child.
Satisfied with my discovery, I determined to leave for England immediately, find out the Dowager Lady de Clare, and put the whole case into the hands of Mr Masterton. Fortunately, Timothy had money with him sufficient to pay all expenses, and take us to London, or I should have been obliged to wait for remittances, as mine was all expended before I arrived at Dublin. We arrived safe, and I immediately proceeded to my house, where I found Harcourt, who had been in great anxiety about me. The next morning I went to my old legal friend, to whom I communicated all that had happened.
"Well done, Newland," replied he, after I had finished. "I"ll bet ten to one that you find out your father. Your life already would not make a bad novel. If you continue your hairbreadth adventures in this way, it will be quite interesting."
Although satisfied in my own mind that I had discovered Fleta"s parentage, and anxious to impart the joyful intelligence, I resolved not to see her until everything should be satisfactorily arranged. The residence of the Dowager Lady de Clare was soon discovered by Mr Masterton: it was at Richmond, and thither he and I proceeded. We were ushered into the drawing-room, and, to my delight, upon her entrance, I perceived that it was the same beautiful person in whose ears I had seen the coral and gold ear-rings matching the necklace belonging to Fleta.
I considered it better to allow Mr Masterton to break the subject.
"You are, madam, the widow of the late Sir William de Clare." The lady bowed. "You will excuse me, madam, but I have most important reasons for asking you a few questions, which otherwise may appear to be intrusive. Are you aware of the death of his brother, Sir Henry de Clare?"
"Indeed I was not," replied she, "I seldom look at a paper, and I have long ceased to correspond with anyone in Ireland. May I ask you what occasioned his death?"
"He fell by his own hands, madam."
Lady de Clare covered up her face. "G.o.d forgive him!" said she, in a low voice.
"Lady de Clare, upon what terms were your husband and the late Sir Henry? It is important to know."
"Not on the very best, sir. Indeed, latterly, for years, they never met or spoke: we did not know what had become of him."
"Were there any grounds for ill-will?"
"Many, sir, on the part of the elder brother; but none on that of Sir Henry, who was treated with every kindness, until he--" Lady de Clare stopped--"until he behaved very ill to him."
As we afterwards discovered, Henry de Clare had squandered away the small portion left him by his father and had ever after that been liberally supplied by his eldest brother, until he had attempted to seduce Lady de Clare, upon which he was dismissed for ever.
"And now, madam, I must revert to a painful subject. You had a daughter by your marriage?"
"Yes," replied the lady, with a deep sigh.
"How did you lose her? Pray do not think I am creating this distress on your part without strong reasons."
"She was playing in the garden, and the nurse, who thought it rather cold, ran in for a minute to get a handkerchief to tie round her neck.
When the nurse returned, the child had disappeared." Lady de Clare put her handkerchief up to her eyes.
"Where did you find her afterwards?"
"It was not until three weeks afterwards that her body was found in a pond about a quarter of a mile off."
"Did the nurse not seek her when she discovered that she was not in the garden?"
"She did, and immediately ran in that direction. It is quite strange that the child could have got so far without the nurse perceiving her."
"How long is it ago?"
"It is now nine years."
"And the age of the child at the time?"
"About six years old."
"I think, Newland, you may now speak to Lady de Clare."
"Lady de Clare, have you not a pair of ear-rings of coral and gold of very remarkable workmanship?"
"I have, sir," replied she, with surprise.
"Had you not a necklace of the same? and if so, will you do me the favour to examine this?" I presented the necklace.
"Merciful heaven!" cried Lady de Clare, "it is the very necklace!--it was on my poor Cecilia when she was drowned, and it was not found with the body. How came it into your possession, sir? At one time,"
continued Lady de Clare, weeping, "I thought that it was possible that the temptation of the necklace, which has a great deal of gold in it, must, as it was not found on her corpse, have been an inducement for the gipsies, who were in the neighbourhood, to drown her; but Sir William would not believe it, rather supposing that in her struggles in the water she must have broken it, and that it had thus been detached from her neck. Is it to return this unfortunate necklace that you have come here?"
"No, madam, not altogether. Had you two white ponies at the time?"
"Yes, sir."
"Was there a mulberry-tree in the garden?"
"Yes, sir," replied the astonished lady.
"Will you do me the favour to describe the appearance of your child as she was, at the time that you lost her?"
"She was--but all mothers are partial, and perhaps I may also be so--a very fair, lovely little girl."
"With light hair, I presume?"
"Yes, sir. But why these questions? Surely you cannot ask them for nothing," continued she hurriedly. "Tell me, sir, why all these questions?"
Mr Masterton replied, "Because, madam, we have some hopes that you have been deceived, and that it is possible that your daughter was not drowned."
Lady de Clare, breathless and her mouth open, fixed her eyes upon Mr Masterton, and exclaimed, "Not drowned! O my G.o.d! my head!" and then she fell back insensible.
"I have been too precipitate," said Mr Masterton going to her a.s.sistance; "but joy does not kill. Ring for some water, j.a.phet."