Delphi Complete Works of Sheridan Le Fanu

by J. Sheridan le Fanu

  ‘I don’t know, Rachel — I don’t like it — I’m not fit for it. Go back again — go in and lock your door — we’ll not go to him — you need not, you know. He may stay where he is — let him — I’ll not return. I say, I’ll see him no more. I’ll get away. I’ll consult Larkin — shall I? Though that won’t do — he’s in Wylder’s interest — curse him. What had I best do? I’m not equal to it.’

  ‘We must go, Stanley. You said right just now; be resolute — we are both ruined unless we go. You have brought it to that — you must come.’

  ‘I’m not fit for it, I tell you — I’m not. You were right, Radie — I think I’m not equal to a business of this sort, and I won’t expose you to such a scene. You’re not equal to it either, I think,’ and Lake leaned on the paling.

  ‘Don’t mind me — you haven’t much hitherto. Go or stay, I’m equally ruined now, but not equally disgraced; and go we must, for it is your only chance of escape. Come, Stanley — for shame!’

  In a few minutes more they were walking in deep darkness and silence, side by side, along the path, which diverging from the mill-road, penetrates the coppice of that sequestered gorge, along the bottom of which flows a tributary brook that finds its way a little lower down into the mill-stream. This deep gully in character a good deal resembles Redman’s Glen, into which it passes, being fully as deep, and wooded to the summit at both sides, but much steeper and narrower, and therefore many shades darker.

  They had now reached those rude stone steps, some ten or fifteen in number, which conduct the narrow footpath up a particularly steep acclivity, and here Lake lost courage again, for they distinctly heard the footsteps that paced the platform above.

  CHAPTER XVIII.

  MARK WYLDER’S SLAVE.

  Nearly two hours had passed before they returned. As they did so, Rachel Lake went swiftly and silently before her brother. The moon had gone down, and the glen was darker than ever. Noiselessly they reentered the little hall of Redman’s Farm. The candles were still burning in the sitting-room, and the light was dazzling after the profound darkness in which they had been for so long.

  Captain Lake did not look at all like a London dandy now. His dress was confoundedly draggled; the conventional countenance, too, was wanting. There was a very natural savagery and dejection there, and a wild leer in his yellow eyes.

  Rachel sat down. No living woman ever showed a paler face, and she stared with a look that was sharp and stern upon the wainscot before her.

  For some minutes they were silent; and suddenly, with an exceeding bitter cry, she stood up, close to him, seizing him in her tiny hands by the collar, and with wild eyes gazing into his, she said —

  ‘See what you’ve brought me to — wretch, wretch, wretch!’

  And she shook him with violence as she spoke. It was wonderful how that fair young face could look so terrible.

  ‘There, Radie, there,’ said Lake, disengaging her fingers. ‘You’re a little hysterical, that’s all. It will be over in a minute; but don’t make a row. You’re a good girl, Radie. For Heaven’s sake, don’t spoil all by folly now.’

  He was overawed and deprecatory.

  ‘A slave! only think — a slave! Oh frightful, frightful! Is it a dream? Oh frightful, frightful! Stanley, Stanley, it would be mercy to kill me,’ she broke out again.

  ‘Now, Radie, listen to reason, and don’t make a noise; you know we agreed, you must go, and I can’t go with you.’

  Lake was cooler by this time, and his sister more excited than before they went out.

  ‘I used to be brave; my courage I think is gone; but who’d have imagined what’s before me?’

  Stanley walked to the window and opened the shutter a little. He forgot how dark it was. The moon had gone down. He looked at his watch and then at Rachel. She was sitting, and in no calmer state; serene enough in attitude, but the terribly wild look was unchanged. He looked at his watch again, and held it to his ear, and consulted it once more before he placed the tiny gold disk again in his pocket.

  ‘This won’t do,’ he muttered.

  With one of the candles in his hand he went out and made a hurried, peeping exploration, and soon, for the rooms were quickly counted in Redman’s Farm, he found her chamber small, neat, simplex munditiis. Bright and natty were the chintz curtains, and the little toilet set out, not inelegantly, and her pet piping-goldfinch asleep on his perch, with his bit of sugar between the wires of his cage; her pillow so white and unpressed, with its little edging of lace. Were slumbers sweet as of old ever to know it more? What dreams were henceforward to haunt it? Shadows were standing about that lonely bed already. I don’t know whether Stanley Lake felt anything of this, being very decidedly of the earth earthy. But there are times when men are translated from their natures, and forced to be romantic and superstitious.

  When he came back to the drawingroom, a toilet bottle of eau de cologne in his hand, with her lace handkerchief he bathed her temples and forehead. There was nothing very brotherly in his look as he peered into her pale, sharp features, during the process. It was the dark and pallid scrutiny of a familiar of the Holy Office, bringing a victim back to consciousness.

  She was quickly better.

  ‘There, don’t mind me,’ she said sharply; and getting up she looked down at her dress and thin shoes, and seeming to recollect herself, she took the candle he had just set down, and went swiftly to her room.

  Gliding without noise from place to place, she packed a small black leather bag with a few necessary articles. Then changed her dress quickly, put on her walking boots, a close bonnet and thick veil, and taking her purse, she counted over its contents, and then standing in the midst of the room looked round it with a great sigh, and a strange look, as if it was all new to her. And she threw back her veil, and going hurriedly to the toilet, mechanically surveyed herself in the glass. And she looked fixedly on the pale features presented to her, and said —

  ‘Rachel Lake, Rachel Lake! what are you now?’

  And so, with knitted brows and stern lips, a cadaveric gaze was returned on her from the mirror.

  A few minutes later her brother, who had been busy down stairs, put his head in and asked —

  ‘Will you come with me now, Radie, or do you prefer to wait here?’

  ‘I’ll stay here — that is, in the drawingroom,’ she answered, and the face was withdrawn.

  In the little hall Stanley looked again at his watch, and getting quietly out, went swiftly through the tiny garden, and once upon the mill-road, ran at a rapid pace down towards the town.

  The long street of Gylingden stretched dim and silent before him. Slumber brooded over the little town, and his steps sounded sharp and hollow among the houses. He slackened his pace, and tapped sharply at the little window of that modest postoffice, at which the young ladies in the pony carriage had pulled up the day before, and within which Luke Waggot was wont to sleep in a sort of wooden box that folded up and appeared to be a chest of drawers all day. Luke took care of Mr. Larkin’s dogs, and groomed Mr. Wylder’s horse, and ‘cleaned up’ his dog-cart, for Mark being close about money, and finding that the thing was to be done more cheaply that way, put up his horse and dog-cart in the postoffice premises, and so evaded the livery charges of the ‘Brandon Arms.’

  But Luke was not there; and Captain Lake recollecting his habits and his haunt, hurried on to the ‘Silver Lion,’ which has its gable towards the common, only about a hundred steps away, for distances are not great in Gylingden. Here were the flow of soul and of stout, long pipes, long yarns, and tolerably long credits; and the humble scapegraces of the town resorted thither for the pleasures of a club-life, and often revelled deep into the small hours of the morning.

  So Luke came forth.

  D — it, where’s the note?’ said the captain, rummaging uneasily in his pockets.

  ‘You know me — eh!’

  ‘Captain Lake. Yes, Sir.’

  ‘Well — oh! here it is.’

&nbs
p; It was a scrap pencilled on the back of a letter —

  ‘LUKE WAGGOT,

  ‘Put the horse to and drive the dog-cart to the “White House.” Look out for me there. We must catch the up mail train at Dollington. Be lively. If Captain Lake chooses to drive you need not come.

  ‘M. WYLDER.’

  ‘I’ll drive,’ said Captain Lake. ‘Lose no time and I’ll give you half-a-crown.’

  Luke stuck on his greasy wideawake, and in a few minutes more the dog-cart was trundled out into the lane, and the horse harnessed, went between the shafts with that wonderful cheerfulness with which they bear to be called up under startling circumstances at unseasonable hours.

  ‘Easily earned, Luke,’ said Captain Lake, in his soft tones.

  The captain had buttoned the collar of his loose coat across his face, and it was dark beside. But Luke knew his peculiar smile, and presumed it; so he grinned facetiously as he put the coin in his breeches pocket and thanked him; and in another minute the captain, with a lighted cigar between his lips, mounted to the seat, took the reins, the horse bounded off, and away rattled the light conveyance, sparks flying from the road, at a devil of a pace, down the deserted street of Gylingden, and quickly melted in darkness.

  That night a spectre stood by old Tamar’s bedside, in shape of her young mistress, and shook her by the shoulder, and stooping, said sternly, close in her face —

  ‘Tamar, I’m going away — only for a few days; and mind this — I’d rather be dead than any creature living should know it. Little Margery must not suspect — you’ll manage that. Here’s the key of my bedroom — say I’m sick — and you must go in and out, and bring tea and drinks, and talk and whisper a little, you understand, as you might with a sick person, and keep the shutters closed; and if Miss Brandon sends to ask me to the Hall, say I’ve a headache, and fear I can’t go. You understand me clearly, Tamar?’

  ‘Yes, Miss Radie,’ answered old Tamar, wonder-stricken, with a strange expression of fear in her face.

  ‘And listen,’ she continued, ‘you must go into my room, and bring the message back, as if from me, with my love to Miss Brandon; and if she or Mrs. William Wylder, the vicar’s wife, should call to see me, always say I’m asleep and a little better. You see exactly what I mean?’

  ‘Yes, Miss,’ answered Tamar, whose eyes were fixed in a sort of fascination, full on those of her mistress.

  ‘If Master Stanley should call, he is to do just as he pleases. You used to be accurate, Tamar; may I depend upon you?’

  ‘Yes, Ma’am, certainly.’

  ‘If I thought you’d fail me now, Tamar, I should never come back.

  Goodnight, Tamar. There — don’t bless me. Goodnight.’

  When the light wheels of the dog-cart gritted on the mill-road before the little garden gate of Redman’s Farm, the tall slender figure of Rachel Lake was dimly visible, standing cloaked and waiting by it. Silently she handed her little black leather bag to her brother, and then there was a pause. He stretched his hand to help her up.

  In a tone that was icy and bitter, she said —

  ‘To save myself I would not do it. You deserve no love from me — you’ve showed me none — never, Stanley; and yet I’m going to give the most desperate proof of love that ever sister gave — all for your sake; and it’s guilt, guilt, but my fate, and I’ll go, and you’ll never thank me; that’s all.’

  In a moment more she sat beside him; and silent as the dead in Charon’s boat, away they glided toward the ‘White House which lay upon the high road to Dollington.

  The sleepy clerk that night in the Dollington station stamped two first-class tickets for London, one of which was for a gentleman, and the other for a cloaked lady, with a very thick veil, who stood outside on the platform; and almost immediately after the scream of the engine was heard piercing the deep tatting, the Cyclopean red lamps glared nearer and nearer, and the palpitating monster, so stupendous and so docile, came smoothly to a standstill before the trelliswork and hollyhocks of that pretty station.

  CHAPTER XIX.

  THE TARN IN THE PARK.

  Next morning Stanley Lake, at breakfast with the lawyer, said —

  ‘A pretty room this is. That bow window is worth all the pictures in Brandon. To my eye there is no scenery so sweet as this, at least to breakfast by. I don’t love your crags and peaks and sombre grandeur, nor yet the fat, flat luxuriance of our other counties. These undulations, and all that splendid timber, and the glorious ruins on that hillock over there! How many beautiful ruins that picturesque old fellow Cromwell has left us.’

  ‘You don’t eat your breakfast, though,’ said the attorney, with a charming smile of reproach.

  ‘Ah, thank you; I’m a bad breakfaster; that is,’ said Stanley, recollecting that he had made some very creditable meals at the same table, ‘when I smoke so late as I did last night.’

  ‘You drove Mr. Wylder to Dollington?’

  ‘Yes; he’s gone to town, he says — yes, the mail train — to get some diamonds for Miss Brandon — a present — that ought to have come the day before yesterday. He says they’ll never have them in time unless he goes and blows them up. Are you in his secrets at all?’

  ‘Something in his confidence, I should hope,’ said Mr. Larkin, in rather a lofty and reserved way.

  ‘Oh, yes, of course, in serious matters; but I meant other things. You know he has been a little bit wild; and ladies, you know, ladies will be troublesome sometimes; and to say truth, I don’t think the diamonds have much to say to it.’

  ‘Oh? — hem! — well, you know, I’m not exactly the confidant Mr. Wylder would choose, I suspect, in a case of that very painful, and, I will say, distressing character — I rather think — indeed, I hope not.’

  ‘No, of course — I dare say — but I just fancied he might want a hint about the law of the matter.’

  The gracious attorney glanced at his guest with a thoroughly businesslike and searching eye.

  ‘You don’t think there’s any really serious annoyance — you don’t know the party?’ said he.

  ‘I? — Oh, dear, no. Wylder has always been very reserved with me. He told me nothing. If he had, of course I should not have mentioned it. I only conjecture, for he really did seem to have a great deal more on his mind; and he kept me walking back and forward, near the mill-road, a precious long time. And I really think once or twice he was going to tell me.’

  ‘Oh! you think then, Mr. Lake, there may be some serious — a — a — well, I should hope not — I do most earnestly trust not.’ This was said with upturned eyes and much unction. ‘But do you happen, Captain Lake, to know of any of those unfortunate, those miserable connections which young gentlemen of fashion — eh? It’s very sad. Still it often needs, as you say, professional advice to solve such difficulties — it is very sad — oh! is not it sad?’

  ‘Pray, don’t let it affect your spirits,’ said Lake, who was leaning back in his chair, and looking on the carpet, about a yard before his lacquered boots, in his usual sly way. ‘I may be quite mistaken, you know, but I wished you to understand — having some little experience of the world, I’d be only too happy to be of any use, if you thought my diplomacy could help poor Wylder out of his trouble — that is, if there really is any. But you don’t know?’

  ‘No,’ said Mr. Larkin, thoughtfully; and thoughtful he continued for a minute or two, screwing his lips gently, as was his wont, while ruminating, his long head motionless, the nails of his long and somewhat large hand tapping on the arm of his chair, with a sharp glance now and then at the unreadable visage of the cavalry officer. It was evident his mind was working, and nothing was heard in the room for a minute but the tapping of his nails on the chair, like a death-watch.

  ‘No,’ said Mr. Larkin again, ‘I’m not suspicious — naturally too much the reverse, I fear; but it certainly does look odd. Did he tell the family at Brandon?’

  ‘Certainly not, that I heard. He may have mentioned it. But I started wit
h him, and we walked together, under the impression that he was going, as usual, to the inn, the — what d’ye call it?— “Brandon Arms;” and it was a sudden thought — now I think of it — for he took no luggage, though to be sure I dare say he has got clothes and things in town.’

  ‘And when does he return?’

  ‘In a day or two, at furthest,’ he said.

  ‘I wonder what they’ll think of it at Brandon?’ said the attorney, with a cavernous grin of sly enquiry at his companion, which, recollecting his character, he softened into a sad sort of smile, and added, ‘No harm, I dare say; and, after all, you know, why should there — any man may have business; and, indeed, it is very likely, after all, that he really went about the jewels. Men are too hasty to judge one another, my dear Sir; charity, let us remember, thinketh no evil.’

  ‘By-the-bye,’ said Lake, rather briskly for him, rummaging his pockets, ‘I’m glad I remembered he gave me a little note to Chelford. Are any of your people going to Brandon this morning?’

  ‘I’ll send it,’ said the lawyer, eyeing the little pencilled note wistfully, which Lake presented between two fingers.

  ‘Yes, it is to Lord Chelford,’ said the attorney, with a grand sort of suavity — he liked lords — placing it, after a scrutiny, in his waistcoat pocket.

  ‘Don’t you think it had best go at once? — there may be something requiring an answer, and your post leaves, doesn’t it, at twelve?’

  ‘Oh! an answer, is there?’ said Mr. Larkin, drawing it from his pocket, and looking at it again with a perceptible curiosity.

  ‘I really can’t say, not having read it, but there may,’ said Captain Lake, who was now and then a little impertinent, just to keep Mr. Larkin in his place, and perhaps to hint that he understood him.

  ‘Read it! Oh, my dear Sir, my dear Captain Lake, how could you — but, oh! no — you could not suppose I meant such an idea — oh, dear — no, no. You and I have our notions about what’s gentlemanlike and professional — a — and gentlemanlike, as I say — Heaven forbid.’