Delphi Complete Works of Sheridan Le Fanu

by J. Sheridan le Fanu

  ‘Of course, Mr. Wylder, if you, Sir, desire me to leave, I shall instantaneously do so; and, indeed, unless you proceed to sign, I had better go, as my time is generally, I may say, a little pressed upon, and I have, in fact, some business elsewhere to attend to.’

  ‘What is this law-paper?’ demanded Rachel, laying the tips of her slender fingers upon it.

  ‘Am I to conclude that you withdraw from your engagement?’ asked Mr. Larkin. ‘I had better, then, communicate with Burlington and Smith by this post; as also with the sheriff, who has been very kind.’

  ‘Oh, no! — oh, no, Mr. Larkin! — pray, I’m quite ready to sign.’

  ‘Now, William Wylder, you sha’n’t sign until you tell me whether this is a sale of your reversion.’

  The young lady had her white hand firmly pressed upon the spot where he was to sign, and the ring that glittered on her finger looked like a talisman interposing between the poor vicar and the momentous act he was meditating.

  ‘I think, Miss Lake, it is pretty plain you are not acting for yourself here — you have been sent, Ma’am,’ said the attorney, looking very vicious, and speaking a little huskily and hurriedly; ‘I quite conceive by whom.’

  ‘I don’t know what you mean, Sir,’ replied Miss Lake, with grave disdain.

  ‘You have been commissioned, Ma’am, I venture to think, to come here to watch the interests of another party.’

  ‘I say, Sir, I don’t in the least comprehend you.’

  ‘I think it is pretty obvious, Ma’am — Miss Lake, I beg pardon — you have had some conversation with your brother,’ answered the attorney, with a significant sneer.

  ‘I don’t know what you mean, Sir, I repeat. I’ve just heard, in the other room, from your wife, William Wylder, that you were about selling your reversion in the estates, and I want to know whether that is so; for if it be, it is the act of a madman, and I’ll prevent it, if I possibly can.’

  ‘Upon my word! possibly’ — said the vicar, his eyes very wide open, and looking with a hesitating gaze from Rachel to the attorney— ‘there may be something in it which neither you nor I know; does it not strike you — had we not better consider?’

  ‘Consider what, Sir?’ said the attorney, with a snap, and losing his temper somewhat. ‘It is simply, Sir, that this young lady represents Captain Lake, who wishes to get the reversion for himself.’

  ‘That is utterly false, Sir!’ said Miss Lake, flashing and blushing with indignation. ‘You, William, are a gentleman; and such inconceivable meanness cannot enter your mind.’

  The attorney, with what he meant to be a polished sarcasm, bowed and smiled toward Miss Lake.

  Pale little Fairy, sitting before his ‘picture-book,’ was watching the scene with round eyes and round mouth, and that mixture of interest, awe, and distress, with which children witness the uncomprehended excitement and collision of their elders.

  ‘My dear Miss Lake, I respect and esteem you; you quite mistake, I am persuaded, my good friend Mr. Larkin; and, indeed, I don’t quite comprehend; but if it were so, and that your brother really wished — do you think he does, Mr. Larkin? — to buy the reversion, he might think it more valuable, perhaps.’

  ‘I can say with certainty, Sir, that from that quarter you would get nothing like what you have agreed to take; and I must say, once for all, Sir, that — quite setting aside every consideration of honour and of conscience, and of the highly prejudicial position in which you would place me as a man of business, by taking the very short turn which this young lady, Miss Lake, suggests — your letters amount to an equitable agreement to sell, which, on petition, the court would compel you to do.’

  ‘So you see, my dear Miss Lake, there is no more to be said,’ said the vicar, with a careworn smile, looking upon Rachel’s handsome face.

  ‘Now, now, we are all friends, aren’t we?’ said poor Dolly, who could not make anything of the debate, and was staring, with open mouth, from one speaker to another. ‘We are all agreed, are not we? You are all so good, and fond of Willie, that you are actually ready almost to quarrel for him.’ But her little laugh produced no echo, except a very joyless and flushed effort from the attorney, as he looked up from consulting his watch.

  ‘Eleven minutes past three,’ said he, ‘and I’ve a meeting at my house at halfpast: so, unless you complete that instrument now, I regret to say I must take it back unfinished, and the result may be to defeat the arrangement altogether, and if the consequences should prove serious, I, at least, am not to blame.’

  ‘Don’t sign, I entreat, I implore of you. William Wylder, you shan’t.’

  ‘But, my dear Miss Lake, we have considered everything, and Mr. Larkin and I agree that my circumstances are such as to make it inevitable.’

  ‘Really, this is child’s play; there, if you please,’ said the attorney, once more.

  Rachel Lake, during the discussion, had removed her hand. The faintly-traced line on which the vicar was to sign was now fairly presented to him.

  ‘Just in your usual way,’ murmured Mr. Larkin.

  So the vicar’s pen was applied, but before he had time to trace the first letter of his name, Rachel Lake resolutely snatched the thick, bluish sheet of scrivenery, with its handsome margins, and red ink lines, from before him, and tore it across and across, with the quickness of terror, and in fewer seconds than one could fancy, it lay about the floor and grate in pieces little bigger than dominoes.

  The attorney made a hungry snatch at the paper, over William Wylder’s shoulder, nearly bearing that gentleman down on his face, but his clutch fell short.

  ‘Hallo! Miss Lake, Ma’am — the paper!’

  But wild words were of no avail. The whole party, except Rachel, were aghast. The attorney’s small eye glanced over the ground and hearthstone, where the bits were strewn, like

  Ladies’ smocks, all silver white,

  That paint the meadows with delight.

  He had nothing for it but to submit to fortune with his best air. He stood erect; a slanting beam from the window glimmered on his tall, bald head, and his face was black and menacing as the summit of a thunder-crowned peak.

  ‘You are not aware, Miss Lake, of the nature of your act, and of the consequences to which you have exposed yourself, Madam. But that is a view of the occurrence in which, except as a matter of deep regret, I cannot be supposed to be immediately interested. I will mention, however, that your interference, your violent interference, Madam, may be attended with most serious consequences to my reverend client, for which, of course, you constituted yourself fully responsible, when you entered on the course of unauthorised interference, which has resulted in destroying the articles of agreement, prepared with great care and labour, for his protection; and retarding the transmission of the document, by at least four-and-twenty hours, to London. You may, Madam, I regret to observe, have ruined my client.’

  ‘Saved him, I hope.’

  ‘And run yourself, Madam, into a very serious scrape.’

  ‘Upon that point you have said quite enough, Sir. Dolly, William, don’t look so frightened; you’ll both live to thank me for this.’

  All this time little Fairy, unheeded, was bawling in great anguish of soul, clinging to Rachel’s dress, and crying— ‘Oh! he’ll hurt her — he’ll hurt her — he’ll hurt her. Don’t let him — don’t let him. Wapsie, don’t let him. Oh! the frightle man! — don’t let him — he’ll hurt her — the frightle man!’ And little man’s cheeks were drenched in tears, and his wee feet danced in an agony of terror on the floor, as, bawling, he tried to pull his friend Rachel into a corner.

  ‘Nonsense, little man,’ cried his father, with quick reproof, on hearing this sacrilegious uproar. ‘Mr. Larkin never hurt anyone; tut, tut; sit down, and look at your book.’

  But Rachel, with a smile of love and gratification, lifted the little man up in her arms, and kissed him; and his thin, little legs were clasped about her waist, and his arms round her neck, and he kissed her with his
wet face, devouringly, blubbering ‘the frightle man — you doatie! — the frightle man!’

  ‘Then, Mr. Wylder, I shall have the document prepared again from the draft. You’ll see to that, Mr. Buggs, please; and perhaps it will be better that you should look in at the Lodge.’

  When he mentioned the Lodge, it was in so lofty a way that a stranger would have supposed it something very handsome indeed, and one of the sights of the county.

  ‘Say, about nine o’clock tomorrow morning. Farewell, Mr. Wylder, farewell. I regret the enhanced expense — I regret the delay — I regret the risk — I regret, in fact, the whole scene. Farewell, Mrs. Wylder.’ And with a silent bow to Rachel — perfectly polished, perfectly terrible — he withdrew, followed by the sallow clerk, and by that radiant scamp, old Buggs, who made them several obeisances at the door.

  ‘Oh, dear Miss Lake — Rachel, I mean — Rachel, dear, I hope it won’t be all off. Oh, you don’t know — Heaven only knows — the danger we are in. Oh, Rachel, dear, if this is broken off, I don’t know what is to become of us — I don’t know.’

  Dolly spoke quite wildly, with her hands on Rachel’s shoulders. It was the first time she had broken down, the first time, at least, the vicar had seen her anything but cheery, and his head sank, and it seemed as if his last light had gone out, and he was quite benighted.

  ‘Do you think,’ said he, ‘there is much danger of that? Do you really think so?’

  ‘Now, don’t blame me,’ said Miss Lake, ‘and don’t be frightened till you have heard me. Let us sit down here — we shan’t be interrupted — and just answer your wretched friend, Rachel, two or three questions, and hear what she has to say.’

  Rachel was flushed and excited, and sat with the little boy still in her arms.

  So, in reply to her questions, the vicar told her frankly how he stood; and Rachel said— ‘Well, you must not think of selling your reversion. Oh! think of your little boy — think of Dolly — if you were taken away from her.’

  ‘But,’ said Dolly, ‘Mr. Larkin heard from Captain Lake that Mark is privately married, and actually has, he says, a large family; and he, you know, has letters from him, and Mr. Larkin thinks, knows more than anyone else about him; and if that were so, none of us would ever inherit the property. So’ —

  ‘Do they say that Mark is married? Nothing can be more false. I know it is altogether a falsehood. He neither is nor ever will be married. If my brother dared say that in my presence, I would make him confess, before you, that he knows it cannot be. Oh! my poor little Fairy — my poor Dolly — my poor good friend, William! What shall I say? I am in great distraction of mind.’ And she hugged and kissed the pale little boy, she herself paler.

  ‘Listen to me, good and kind as you are. You are never to call me your friend, mind that. I am a most unhappy creature forced by circumstances to be your enemy, for a time — not always. You have no conception how, and may never even suspect. Don’t ask me, but listen.’

  Wonder stricken and pained was the countenance with which the vicar gazed upon her, and Dolly looked both frightened and perplexed.

  ‘I have a little more than three hundred a-year. There is a little annuity charged on Sir Hugh Landon’s estate, and his solicitor has written, offering me six hundred pounds for it. I will write tonight accepting that offer, and you shall have the money to pay those debts which have been pressing so miserably upon you. Don’t thank — not a word — but listen. I would so like, Dolly, to come and live with you. We could unite our incomes. I need only bring poor old Tamar with me, and I can give up Redman’s Farm in September next. I should be so much happier; and I think my income and yours joined would enable us to live without any danger of getting into debt. Will you agree to this, Dolly, dear; and promise me, William Wylder, that you will think no more of selling that reversion, which may be the splendid provision of your dear little boy. Don’t thank me — don’t say anything now; and oh! don’t reject my poor entreaty. Your refusal would almost make me mad. I would try, Dolly, to be of use. I think I could. Only try me.’

  She fancied she saw in Dolly’s face, under all her gratitude, some perplexity and hesitation, and feared to accept a decision then. So she hurried away, with a hasty and kind goodbye.

  A fortnight before, I think, during Dolly’s jealous fit, this magnificent offer of Rachel’s would, notwithstanding the dreadful necessities of the case, have been coldly received by the poor little woman. But that delusion was quite cured now — no reserve, or doubt, or coldness left behind. And Dolly and the vicar felt that Rachel’s noble proposal was the making of them.

  CHAPTER LIX.

  AN ENEMY IN REDMAN’S DELL.

  Jos. Larkin grew more and more uncomfortable about the unexpected interposition of Rachel Lake as the day wore on. He felt, with an unerring intuition, that the young lady both despised and suspected him. He also knew that she was impetuous and clever, and he feared from that small white hand a fatal mischief — he could not tell exactly how — to his plans.

  Jim Dutton’s letter had somehow an air of sobriety and earnestness, which made way with his convictions. His doubts and suspicions had subsided, and he now believed, with a profound moral certainty, that Mark Wylder was actually dead, within the precincts of a madhouse or of some lawless place of detention abroad. What was that to the purpose? Dutton might arrive at any moment. Low fellows are always talking; and the story might get abroad before the assignment of the vicar’s interest. Of course there was something speculative in the whole transaction, but he had made his book well, and by his ‘arrangement’ with Captain Lake, whichever way the truth lay, he stood to win. So the attorney had no notion of allowing this highly satisfactory arithmetic to be thrown into confusion by the fillip of a small gloved finger.

  On the whole he was not altogether sorry for the delay. Everything worked together he knew. One or two covenants and modifications in the articles had struck him as desirable, on reading the instrument over with William Wylder. He also thought a larger consideration should be stated and acknowledged as paid, say 22,000l. The vicar would really receive just 2,200l. ‘Costs’ would do something to reduce the balance, for Jos. Larkin was one of those oxen who, when treading out corn, decline to be muzzled. The remainder was — the vicar would clearly understand — one of those ridiculous pedantries of law, upon which our system of crotchets and fictions insisted. And William Wylder, whose character, simply and sensitively honourable, Mr. Larkin appreciated, was to write to Burlington and Smith a letter, for the satisfaction of their speculative and nervous client, pledging his honour, as a gentleman, and his conscience, as a Christian, that in the event of the sale being completed, he would never do, countenance, or permit, any act or proceeding, whatsoever, tending on any ground to impeach or invalidate the transaction.

  ‘I’ve no objection — have I? — to write such a letter,’ asked the vicar of his adviser.

  ‘Why, I suppose you have no intention of trying to defeat your own act, and that is all the letter would go to. I look on it as wholly unimportant, and it is really not a point worth standing upon for a second.’

  So that also was agreed to.

  Now while the improved ‘instrument’ was in preparation, the attorney strolled down in the evening to look after his clerical client, and keep him ‘straight’ for the meeting at which he was to sign the articles next day.

  It was by the drowsy faded light of a late summer’s evening that he arrived at the quaint little parsonage. He maintained his character as ‘a nice spoken gentleman,’ by enquiring of the maid who opened the door how the little boy was. ‘Not so well — gone to bed — but would be better, everyone was sure, in the morning.’ So he went in and saw the vicar, who had just returned with Dolly from a little ramble. Everything promised fairly — the quiet mind was returning — the good time coming — all the pleasanter for the storms and snows of the night that was over.

  ‘Well, my good invaluable friend, you will be glad — you will rejoice with us, I kno
w, to learn that, after all, the sale of our reversion is unnecessary.’

  The attorney allowed his client to shake him by both hands, and he smiled a sinister congratulation as well as he could, grinning in reply to the vicar’s pleasant smile as cheerfully as was feasible, and wofully puzzled in the meantime. Had James Dutton arrived and announced the death of Mark — no; it could hardly be that — decency had not yet quite taken leave of the earth; and stupid as the vicar was, he would hardly announce the death of his brother to a Christian gentleman in a fashion so outrageous. Had Lord Chelford been invoked, and answered satisfactorily? Or Dorcas — or had Lake, the diabolical sneak, interposed with his long purse, and a plausible hypocrisy of kindness, to spoil Larkin’s plans? All these fanciful queries flitted through his brain as the vicar’s hands shook both his, and he laboured hard to maintain the cheerful grin with which he received the news, and his guileful rapacious little eyes searched narrowly the countenance of his client.

  So after a while, Dolly assisting, and sometimes both talking together, the story was told, Rachel blessed and panegyrised, and the attorney’s congratulations challenged and yielded once more. But there was something not altogether joyous in Jos. Larkin’s countenance, which struck the vicar, and he said —

  ‘You don’t see any objection?’ and paused.

  ‘Objection? Why, objection, my dear Sir, is a strong word; but I fear I do see a difficulty — in fact, several difficulties. Perhaps you would take a little turn on the green — I must call for a moment at the reading-room — and I’ll explain. You’ll forgive me, I hope, Mrs. Wylder,’ he added, with a playful condescension, ‘for running away with your husband, but only for a few minutes — ha, ha!’

  The shadow was upon Jos. Larkin’s face, and he was plainly meditating a little uncomfortably, as they approached the quiet green of Gylingden.

  ‘What a charming evening,’ said the vicar, making an effort at cheerfulness.