Wylder's Hand

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by Joseph Sheridan Le Fanu


  CHAPTER V.

  IN WHICH MY SLUMBER IS DISTURBED.

  The ladies had accomplished their ascension to the upper regions. Thegood vicar had marched off with the major, who was by this timeunbuckling in his lodgings; and Chelford and I, _tete-a-tete_, had aglass of sherry and water together in the drawing-room before parting.And over this temperate beverage I told him frankly the nature of theservice which Mark Wylder wished me to render him; and he as franklyapproved, and said he would ask Larkin, the family lawyer, to come up inthe morning to assist.

  The more I saw of this modest, refined, and manly peer, the more I likedhim. There was a certain courteous frankness, and a fine old Englishsense of duty perceptible in all his serious talk. So I felt no longerlike a conspirator, and was to offer such advice as might seem expedient,with the clear approbation of Miss Brandon's trustee. And this pointclearly settled, I avowed myself a little tired; and lighting our candlesat the foot of the stairs, we scaled that long ascent together, and heconducted me through the intricacies of the devious lobbies up stairs tomy chamber-door, where he bid me good-night, shook hands, and descendedto his own quarters.

  My room was large and old-fashioned, but snug; and I, beginning to growvery drowsy, was not long in getting to bed, where I fell asleepindescribably quickly.

  In all old houses one is, of course, liable to adventures. Where is themarvellous to find refuge, if not among the chambers, the intricacies,which have seen the vicissitudes, the crimes, and the deaths ofgenerations of such men as had occupied these?

  There was a picture in the outer hall--one of those full-length gentlemenof George II.'s time, with a dark peruke flowing on his shoulders, a cutvelvet coat, and lace cravat and ruffles. This picture was pale, and hada long chin, and somehow had impressed my boyhood with a singular senseof fear. The foot of my bed lay towards the window, distant at leastfive-and-twenty-feet; and before the window stood my dressing-table, andon it a large looking-glass.

  I dreamed that I was arranging my toilet before this glass--just as I haddone that evening--when on a sudden the face of the portrait I havementioned was presented on its surface, confronting me like a realcountenance, and advancing towards me with a look of fury; and at theinstant I felt myself seized by the throat and unable to stir or tobreathe. After a struggle with this infernal garotter, I succeeded inawaking myself; and as I did so, I felt a rather cold hand really restingon my throat, and quietly passed up over my chin and face. I jumped outof bed with a roar, and challenged the owner of the hand, but received noanswer, and heard no sound. I poked up my fire and lighted my candle.Everything was as I had left it except the door, which was the least bitopen.

  In my shirt, candle in hand, I looked out into the passage. There wasnothing there in human shape, but in the direction of the stairs thegreen eyes of a large cat were shining. I was so confoundedly nervousthat even 'a harmless, necessary cat' appalled me, and I clapped my door,as if against an evil spirit.

  In about half an hour's time, however, I had quite worked off the effectof this night-mare, and reasoned myself into the natural solution thatthe creature had got on my bed, and lay, as I have been told they will,upon my throat, and so, all the rest had followed.

  Not being given to the fear of _larvae_ and _lemures_, and also knowingthat a mistake is easily committed in a great house like that, and thatmy visitor might have made one, I grew drowsy in a little while, and soonfell asleep again. But knowing all I now do, I hold a differentconclusion--and so, I think, will you.

  In the morning Mark Wylder was early upon the ground. He had quite sleptoff what he would have called the nonsense of last night, and was verykeen upon settlements, consols, mortgages, jointures, and all that drybut momentous lore.

  I find a note in my diary of that day:--'From half-past ten o'clock untiltwo with Mark Wylder and Mr. Larkin, the lawyer, in the study--dullwork--over papers and title--Lord Chelford with us now and then to lend ahelping hand.'

  Lawyer Larkin, though he made our work lighter--for he was clear, quick,and orderly, and could lay his hand on any paper in those tin walls oflegal manuscripts that built up two sides of his office--did not make ourbusiness, to me at least, any pleasanter. Wylder thought him a clever man(and so perhaps, in a certain sense, he was); Lord Chelford, a mosthonourable one; yet there came to me by instinct an unpleasant feelingabout him. It was not in any defined way--I did not fancy that he wasmachinating, for instance, any sort of mischief in the business beforeus--but I had a notion that he was not quite what he pretended.

  Perhaps his _personnel_ prejudiced me--though I could not quite say why.He was a tall, lank man--rather long of limb, long of head, and gaunt offace. He wanted teeth at both sides, and there was rather a skull-likecavity when he smiled--which was pretty often. His eyes were small andreddish, as if accustomed to cry; and when everything went smoothly weredull and dove-like, but when things crossed or excited him, whichoccurred when his own pocket or plans were concerned, they grewsingularly unpleasant, and greatly resembled those of some not amiableanimal--was it a rat, or a serpent? It was a peculiar concentratedvigilance and rapine that I have seen there. But that was longafterwards. Now, indeed, they were meek, and sad, and pink.

  He had an ambition, too, to pass for a high-bred gentleman, and thoughtit might be done by a somewhat lofty and drawling way of talking, anddistributing his length of limb in what he fancied were easy attitudes.If the tender mercies of the wicked are cruel, so are the elegances of avulgar man; and his made me wince.

  I might be all in the wrong--and was, no doubt, unreasonable--for he borea high character, and passed for a very gentlemanlike man among thevillagers. He was also something of a religious light, and had for a timeconformed to Methodism, but returned to the Church. He had a liking forlong sermons, and a sad abhorrence of amusements, and sat out the morningand the evening services regularly--and kept up his dissenting connectiontoo, and gave them money--and appeared in print, in all charitablelists--and mourned over other men's backslidings and calamities in alofty and Christian way, shaking his tall bald head, and turning up hispink eyes mildly.

  Notwithstanding all which he was somehow unlovely in my eyes, and in anindistinct way, formidable. It was not a pleasant misgiving about agentleman of Larkin's species, the family lawyer, who become _visceramagnorum domuum_.

  My duties were lighter, as adviser, than I at first apprehended. Wylder'scrotchets were chiefly 'mare's nests.' We had read the draft of thesettlement, preparatory to its being sent to senior counsel to beapproved. Wylder's attorney had done his devoir, and Mr. Larkin avowed asort of parental interest in both parties to the indentures, and made, atclosing, a little speech, very high in morality, and flavoured in a manlyway with religion, and congratulated Mark on his honour and plaindealing, which he gave us to understand were the secrets of all successin life, as they had been, in an humble way of his own.

 

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