CHAPTER XLVIII.
IN WHICH I GO TO BRANDON, AND SEE AN OLD ACQUAINTANCE IN THE TAPESTRYROOM.
To my surprise, a large letter, bearing the Gylingden postmark, and witha seal as large as a florin, showing, had I examined the heraldry, theBrandon arms with the Lake bearings quartered thereon, and proving to bea very earnest invitation from Stanley Lake, found me in London justabout this time.
I paused, I was doubtful about accepting it, for the business of theseason was just about to commence in earnest, and the country had not yetassumed its charms. But I now know very well that from the first it wasquite settled that down I should go. I was too curious to see the bridein her new relations, and to observe something of the conjugaladministration of Lake, to allow anything seriously to stand in the wayof my proposed trip.
There was a postscript to Lake's letter which might have opened my eyesas to the motives of this pressing invitation, which I pleased myself bythinking, though penned by Captain Lake, came in reality from hisbeautiful young bride.
This small appendix was thus conceived:--
'P.S.--Tom Wealdon, as usual, deep in elections, under the rose, begs youkindly to bring down whatever you think to be the best book or books onthe subject, and he will remit to your bookseller. Order them in hisname, but bring them down with you.'
So I was a second time going down to Brandon as honorary counsel, withoutknowing it. My invitations, I fear, were obtained, if not under falsepretences, at least upon false estimates, and the laity rated my legallore too highly.
I reached Brandon rather late. The bride had retired for the night. I hada very late dinner--in fact a supper--in the parlour. Lake sat with mechatting, rather cleverly, not pleasantly. Wealdon was at Brandon aboutsessions business, and as usual full of election stratagems andcalculations. Stanley volunteered to assure me he had not the faintestidea of looking for a constituency. I really believe--and at thisdistance of time I may use strong language in a historical sense--thatCaptain Lake was the greatest liar I ever encountered with. He seemed todo it without a purpose--by instinct, or on principle--and wouldcontradict himself solemnly twice or thrice in a week, without seeming toperceive it. I dare say he lied always, and about everything. But it wasin matters of some moment that one perceived it.
What object could he gain, for instance, by the fib he had just told me?On second thoughts this night he coolly apprised me that he _had_ someidea of sounding the electors. So, my meal ended, we went into thetapestry room where, the night being sharp, a pleasant bit of fire burnedin the grate, and Wealdon greeted me.
My journey, though by rail, and as easy as that of the Persian gentlemanwho skimmed the air, seated on a piece of carpet, predisposed me tosleep. Such volumes of fine and various country air, and such an eighthours' procession of all sorts of natural pictures are not traversedwithout effect. Sitting in my well-stuffed chair, my elbows on thecushioned arms, the conversation of Lake and the Town Clerk now and thengrew faint, and their faces faded away, and little 'fyttes' and fragmentsof those light and pleasant dreams, like fairy tales, which visit suchstolen naps, superseded with their picturesque and musical illusions therealities and recollections of life.
Once or twice a nod a little too deep or sudden called me up. But Lakewas busy about the Dollington constituency, and the Town Clerk's bluffface was serious and thoughtful. It was the old question about Rogers,the brewer, and whether Lord Adleston and Sir William could not get him;or else it had gone on to the great railway contractor, Dobbs, and thequestion how many votes his influence was really worth; and, somehow, Inever got very far into the pros and cons of these discussions, whichsoon subsided into the fairy tale I have mentioned, and that sweetperpendicular sleep--all the sweeter, like everything else, for beingcontraband and irregular.
For one bout--I fancy a good deal longer than the others--my nap was muchsounder than before, and I opened my eyes at last with the shudder andhalf horror that accompany an awakening from a general chill--a dismaland frightened sensation.
I was facing a door about twenty feet distant, which exactly as I openedmy eyes, turned slowly on its hinges, and the figure of Uncle Lorne, inhis loose flannel habiliments, ineffaceably traced upon my memory, likeevery other detail of that ill-omened apparition, glided into the room,and crossing the thick carpet with long, soft steps, passed near me,looking upon me with a malign sort of curiosity for some two or threeseconds, and sat down by the declining fire, with a side-long glancestill fixed upon me.
I continued gazing on this figure with a dreadful incredulity, and theindistinct feeling that it must be an illusion--and that if I could onlywake up completely, it would vanish.
The fascination was disturbed by a noise at the other end of the room,and I saw Lake standing close to him, and looking both angry andfrightened. Tom Wealdon looking odd, too, was close at his elbow, and hadhis hand on Lake's arm, like a man who would prevent violence. I do notknow in the least what had passed before, but Lake said--
'How the devil did he come in?'
'Hush!'was all that Tom Wealdon said, looking at the gaunt spectre withless of fear than inquisitiveness.
'What are you doing here, Sir?' demanded Lake, in his most unpleasanttones.
'Prophesying,' answered the phantom.
'You had better write your prophecies in your room, Sir--had notyou?--and give them to the Archbishop of Canterbury to proclaim, whenthey are finished; we are busy here just now, and don't requirerevelations, if you please.'
The old man lifted up his long lean finger, and turned on him with asmile which I hate even to remember.
'Let him alone,' whispered the Town Clerk, in a significant whisper,'don't cross him, and he'll not stay long.'
'_You_'re here, a scribe,' murmured Uncle Lorne, looking upon TomWealdon.
'Aye, Sir, a scribe and a Pharisee, a Sadducee and a publican, and apriest, and a Levite,' said the functionary, with a wink at Lake. 'ThomasWealdon, Sir; happy to see you, Sir, so well and strong, and likely toenlighten the religious world for many a day to come. It's a long time,Sir, since I had the honour of seeing you; and I'm always, of course, atyour command.'
'Pshaw!' said Lake, angrily.
The Town Clerk pressed his arm with a significant side nod and a wink,which seemed to say, 'I understand him; can't you let me manage him?'
The old man did not seem to hear what they said; but his tall figure roseup, and he extended the fingers of his left hand close to the candle fora few seconds, and then held them up to his eyes, gazing on hisfinger-tips, with a horrified sort of scrutiny, as if he saw signs andportents gathered there, like Thomas Aquinas' angels at the needles'points, and then the same cadaverous grin broke out over his features.
'Mark Wylder is in an evil plight,' said he.
'Is he?' said Lake, with a sly scoff, though he seemed to me a good dealscared. 'We hear no complaints, however, and fancy he must be tolerablycomfortable notwithstanding.'
'You know where he is,' said Uncle Lorne.
'Aye, in Italy; everyone knows that,' answered Lake.
'In Italy,' said the old man, reflectively, as if trying to gather up hisideas, 'Italy. Oh! yes, Vallombrosa--aye, Italy, I know it well.'
'So do we, Sir; thank you for the information,' said Lake, whonevertheless appeared strangely uneasy.
'He has had a great tour to make. It is nearly accomplished now; when itis done, he will be like me, _humano major_. He has seen the places whichyou are yet to see.'
'Nothing I should like better; particularly Italy,' said Lake.
'Yes,' said Uncle Lorne, lifting up slowly a different finger at eachname in his catalogue. 'First, Lucus Mortis; then Terra Tenebrosa; next,Tartarus; after that, Terra Oblivionis; then Herebus; then Barathrum;then Gehenna, and then Stagium Ignis.'
'Of course,' acquiesced Lake, with an ugly sneer, and a mock bow.
'And to think that all the white citizens were once men and women!'murmured Uncle Lorne, with a scowl.
'Quite so,' whispered
Lake.
'I know where he is,' resumed the old man, with his finger on his longchin, and looking down upon the carpet.
'It would be very convenient if you would favour us with his address,'said Stanley, with a gracious sneer.
'I know what became of him,' continued the oracle.
'You are more in his confidence than we are,' said Lake.
'Don't be frightened--but he's alive; I think they'll make him mad. It isa frightful plight. Two angels buried him alive in Vallombrosa by night;I saw it, standing among the lotus and hemlock. A negro came to me, ablack clergyman with white eyes, and remained beside me; and the angelsimprisoned Mark; they put him on duty forty days and forty nights, withhis ear to the river listening for voices; and when it was over weblessed them; and the clergyman walked with me a long while, to-and-fro,to-and-fro upon the earth, telling me the wonders of the abyss.'
'And is it from the abyss, Sir, he writes his letters?' enquired the TownClerk, with a wink at Lake.
'Yes, yes, very diligent; it behoves him; and his hair is always standingstraight on his head for fear. But he'll be sent up again, at last, athousand, a hundred, ten and one, black marble steps, and then it will bethe other one's turn. So it was prophesied by the black magician.'
'I thought, Sir, you mentioned just now he was a clergyman,' suggestedMr. Wealdon, who evidently enjoyed this wonderful yarn.
'Clergyman and magician both, and the chief of the lying prophets withthick lips. He'll come here some night and see you,' said Uncle Lorne,looking with a cadaverous apathy on Lake, who was gazing at him inreturn, with a sinister smile.
'Maybe it was a vision, Sir,' suggested the Town Clerk.
'Yes, Sir; a vision, maybe,' echoed the cavernous tones of the old man;'but in the flesh or out of the flesh, I saw it.'
'You have had revelations, Sir, I've heard,' said Stanley's mockingvoice.
'Many,' said the seer; 'but a prophet is never honoured. We live insolitude and privations--the world hates us--they stone us--they cut usasunder, even when we are dead. Feel me--I'm cold and white all over--Idied too soon--I'd have had wings now only for that pistol. I'm as whiteas Gehazi, except on my head, when that blood comes.'
Saying which, he rose abruptly, and with long jerking steps limped to thedoor, at which, I saw, in the shade, the face of a dark-featured man,looking gloomily in.
When he reached the door Uncle Lorne suddenly stopped and faced us, witha countenance of wrath and fear, and threw up his arms in an attitude ofdenunciation, but said nothing. I thought for a moment the giganticspectre was about to rush upon us in an access of frenzy; but whateverthe impulse, it subsided--or was diverted by some new idea; hiscountenance changed, and he beckoned as if to some one in the corner ofthe room behind us, and smiled his dreadful smile, and so left theapartment.
'That d--d old madman is madder than ever,' said Lake, in his fellesttones, looking steadfastly with his peculiar gaze upon the closed door.'Jermyn is with him, but he'll burn the house or murder some one yet.It's all d--d nonsense keeping him here--did you see him at the door?--hewas on the point of assailing some of us. He ought to be in a madhouse.'
'He used to be very quiet,' said the Town Clerk, who knew all about him.
'Oh! very quiet--yes, of course, very quiet, and quite harmless to peoplewho don't live in the house with him, and see him but once inhalf-a-dozen years; but you can't persuade me it is quite so pleasant forthose who happen to live under the same roof, and are liable to beintruded upon as we have been to-night every hour of their existence.'
'Well, certainly it is not pleasant, especially for ladies,' admitted theTown Clerk.
'No, not pleasant--and I've quite made up my mind it sha'n't go on. It istoo absurd, really, that such a monstrous thing should be enforced; I'llget a private Act, next Session, and regulate those absurd conditions inthe will. The old fellow ought to be under restraint; and I rather thinkit would be better for himself that he were.'
'Who is he?' I asked, speaking for the first time.
'I thought you had seen him before now,' said Lake.
'So I have, but quite alone, and without ever learning who he was,' Ianswered.
'Oh! He is the gentleman, Julius, for whom in the will, under which wetake, those very odd provisions are made--such as I believe no one but aWylder or a Brandon would have dreamed of. It is an odd state of thingsto hold one's estate under condition of letting a madman wander aboutyour house and place, making everybody in it uncomfortable and insecureand exposing him to the imminent risk of making away with himself, eitherby accident or design. I happen to know what Mark Wylder would havedone--for he spoke very fiercely on the subject--perhaps he consultedyou?'
'No.'
'No? well, he intended locking him quietly into the suite of threeapartments, you know, at the far end of the old gallery, and giving himfull command of the mulberry garden by the little private stair, andputting a good iron door to it; so that "my beloved brother, Julius, atpresent afflicted in mind" (Lake quoted the words of the will, with anunpleasant sneer), should have had his apartments and his pleasuregrounds quite to himself.'
'And would that arrangement of Mr. Wylder's have satisfied the conditionsof the will?' said the Town Clerk.
'I rather think, with proper precautions, it would. Mark Wylder was veryshrewd, and would not have run himself into a fix,' answered Lake. 'Idon't know any man shrewder; he is, certainly.'
And Lake looked at us, as he added these last words, in turn, with aquick, suspicious glance, as if he had said something rash, and doubtedwhether we had observed it.
After a little more talk, Lake and the Town Clerk resumed theirelectioneering conference, and the lists of electors were passed undertheir scrutiny, name by name, like slides under the miscroscope.
There is a great deal in nature, physical and moral, that had as well notbe ascertained. It is better to take things on trust, with something ofdistance and indistinctness. What we gain in knowledge by scrutiny issometimes paid for in a ghastly sort of disgust. It is marvellous in asmall constituency of 300 average souls, what a queer moral result one ofthese business-like and narrow investigations which precede an electionwill furnish. How you find them rated and classified--what odd notes youmake to them in the margin; and after the trenchant and rapidvivisection, what sinister scars and seams remain, and how gaunt andrepulsive old acquaintances stand up from it.
The Town Clerk knew the constituency of Dollington at his fingers' ends;and Stanley Lake quietly enjoyed, as certain minds will, the nefariousand shabby metamorphosis which every now and then some familiar andrespectable burgess underwent, in the spell of half-a-dozen dry sentenceswhispered in his ear; and all this minute information is trustworthy andquite without malice.
I went to my bed-room, and secured the door, lest Uncle Lorne, or Julius,should make me another midnight visit. So that mystery was cleared up.Neither ghost nor spectral illusion, but flesh and blood--though in mymind there has always been a horror of a madman akin to the ghostly ordemoniac.
I do not know how late Tom Wealdon and Stanley Lake sat up over theirlists; but I dare say they were in no hurry to leave them, for adissolution was just then expected, and no time was to be lost.
When I saw Tom Wealdon alone next day in the street of Gylingden, hewalked a little way with me, and, said Tom, with a grave wink--
'Don't let the captain up there be hard on the poor old gentleman. He'squite harmless--he would not hurt a fly. I know all about him; for JackFord and I spent five weeks in the Hall, about twelve years ago, when thefamily were away and thought the keeper was not kind to him. He's quitegentle, and sometimes he'd make you die o' laughing. He fancies, youknow, he's a prophet; and says he's that old Sir Lorne Brandon that shothimself in his bed-room. Well, he is a rum one; and we used to draw himout--poor Jack and me. I never laughed so much, I don't think, in thesame time, before or since. But he's as innocent as a child--and you knowthem directions in the will is very strong; and they say Jos. Larkin doesnot li
ke the captain a bit too well--and he has the will off, every wordof it; and I think, if Captain Lake does not take care, he may get intotrouble; and maybe it would not be amiss if you gave him a hint.'
Tom Wealdon, indeed, was a good-natured fellow: and if he had had hisway, I think the world would have gone smoothly enough with most people.
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