Delphi Complete Works of Sheridan Le Fanu

by J. Sheridan le Fanu

  “You take a great interest in my safety, Mr. Gillespie,” said the young man, and smiled again.

  “Tak’ an interest in your life, sir, and an interest in your prospects; ye’re a clever young man, sir — ye’re a clever young man, Mr. Dacre, but this night’s work — I’m clean bombazed wi’ it. Gad, sir, not a soul of us can tell how it will end; and I begin to think if you’re a madman, I’m a fule, the greater madman o’ the two, for trusting you; and I don’t know why we shouldn’t, t’ane and t’other, be locked up in Bedlam, instead o’ being treated like sane men.”

  Dacre yawned.

  “I see ye’re cast down about it yourself,” said Mr. Gillespie.

  “By Jove, I’m no such thing — very much the contrary; I brought it about with great tact and patience, and I would not have it undone for a thousand pounds. If there is any annoyance, it is something entirely different, and I mean to keep it to myself.”

  “If you like what you’ve done, you’re easily pleased, sir,” sneered Mr. Gillespie.

  “I’m not easily pleased, and I do like it. Of course there’s one blot — if he dies — but that wont happen, and I thank God, I shot him.”

  “I’m glad ye’re so releegious, sir, and I wish I could be as easy about it as you are; and think o’t how ye will, I consider it a breach o’ faith wi’ me, sir, and a d — d piece of nonsense beside.”

  Mr. Dacre yawned again.

  “And a fine business it will be, sir, if all goes to the wall for this mad, lawless freak of yours,” added Mr. Gillespie, with increasing energy.

  “Do mind your own business,” said Mr. Dacre, dryly; “if you choose to back my game, sir, you take me as I am — skill, judgment, everything; and rather than be bored any more with your stupid grumbling, I’d throw my cards in your face.”

  Mr. Dacre spoke with a sudden exasperation that had its evident effect upon Mr. Gillespie.

  “See, there: what a pother about nothing; why — a — Mr. — Mr. — a — Dacre, sir, it’s more for your own sake than for mine, sir; of course we should both be injured, but you, Mr. Dacre, preencipally, ‘twould touch you, may be, verra nearly, sir; and a’ things conseedered, I think I may venture to put in a word now and again when I see a necessity; but ye’ll understand, I’m verra far, sir, from meaning any offence, or wishing ye to suppose that I’m deesatisfied generally with the line ye have adopted, on the contrary, I’m verra weel pleased with it, and we’ll hope all may end well.”

  Dacre had lighted a new cigarette on finishing his own speech, and was looking out of window, and smoking, as it seemed, without hearing one word of Mr. Gillespie’s complimentary address.

  So silence succeeded until the carriage drew up at Mr. Gillespie’s hall-door steps.

  “It’s four minutes past eleven, sir; ye’ll do weel, Mr. Dacre, to come in; Mr. Larkin and Mr. Levi will be within, sir. I can’t offer you any refreshment, but we can talk a bit, and conseeder what’s best to be done in the emergency.”

  “No refreshments! how can you say so, with two such men as Mr. Larkin and Mr. Levi to charm us; d — n you, sir, do you take me for a fool, in right earnest, to suppose that I should go in here, to spend what remains of the night with two such arrant villains.”

  “Arrant villains! guide us! that’s a very pointed expression, Mr. Dacre. Well, sir, they may be clever men, I’ll no deny they’re clever men, but as to villains, sir, they lead most regular lives, enough, sir; none o’ yer ranting fules, wasting their substance on nonsense; they don’t drink, sir, nor any o’ them vices, to signify; and they don’t play, sir — none o’ them follies, Mr. Dacre. No; they never play, except Mr. Levi, and that only when he stands sure to win. Oh, no sir, I can’t allow THAT, unless all morality is confounded, sir, and that I’m to say I’m a villain myself. There’s a line to be drawn somewhere, Mr. Dacre, and ye’ll find those gentlemen at the right side o’ it; they’re clever, sir, but such language as that ye’ve applied to them, Mr. Dacre, is verra loose.”

  Mr. Dacre made no answer; he leaned back in the carriage as if he meant to pass the night in it.

  “Open the door,” said Mr. Gillespie to the driver, which order was obeyed, and he waited some seconds, but Mr. Dacre made no sign, and evidently was not getting out.

  “We’ll get down now, Mr. Dacre, if ye please; the hall door’s open,” said Gillespie, with cautious civility.

  “I shan’t get out, thanks.”

  “Wont ye come in and talk with the gentlemen, sir?” urged Mr. Gillespie.

  “No,” answered Dacre.

  “Why — why — Mr. Dacre, sir? they’re here at your desire,” insisted the grim old gentleman, who was a great deal angrier than he cared to make known.

  “They may go away at their own desire, sir,” said Dacre, carelessly.

  “Well, sir, ye’ll do as ye think fit; but they’ll hardly think it a usual way o’ doing business,” said Mr. Gillespie.

  “A man’s real business in life is to do what he likes best,” said Dacre.

  “Do let me persuade you, Mr. Dacre?”

  “No.”

  “Well, and what will ye have them do?” demanded the old gentleman, commanding his temper with difficulty, in deference to Dacre’s odd mood.

  “Nothing,” answered that impracticable young gentleman.

  “Then I’m to tell them ye’ll have them do nothing?”

  “Yes, I’ll let them wait; yes, Mr. Gillespie, there are limits to goodnature; I’m willing to be of use to you, but I’ll not worry myself a bit more than, is necessary; and now, listen. You shall let me know; at least twice a day exactly, how that pompous fellow, Mannering, is getting on; if you fail, you’ll find me unmanageable. You’ll go down there yourself in the morning. I need not tell you that you’re not to mention a word about me, nor to pretend that you know where I am. All the better if you give him a hint that I’ve gone to France with Droqueville; but I leave that to your own invention.”

  “I’m scarce out o’ the doctor’s hands, Mr. Dacre; the gout’s not well out o’ my knuckles yet. I’ll be none the better o’ this piece o’ nonsense, and I’ll hardly undertake to be jogging out to that d — d Silver Dragon again tomorrow morning.”

  “Mr. Gillespie, you MUST do as I say; you’ll find I’m in earnest.”

  “I’d better send up word to the gentlemen,” said Mr. Gillespie, beckoning to the maid, who stood at the door.

  “Drive away,” shouted Dacre.

  “Where, sir?” inquired the driver.

  “Anywhere — toward the West-end,” cried Dacre.

  “Give my compliments to the gentlemen upstairs,” shouted Gillespie, from the other window, to the servant at the doorsteps; “and mind, ye tell them— “

  But before he got further, distance made him inaudible; it was very trying to a gouty man.

  CHAPTER XX.

  NEWS FROM THE SILVER DRAGON.

  ‘‘HERE comes Mr. Dacre. Come in; don’t stand in the door, smiling, like an apparition,” cried Mrs. Wardell, next evening, very glad to see that familiar face again at Guildford House.

  “Like an apparition, I waited to be spoken to.”

  “Well, come in — do come in,” said Mrs. Wardell.

  “Yes, that completes it. I enter like that apparition. Who was he — I forget — who stood at the door, and was told to enter?”

  “Mephistopheles,” said a voice.

  “Oh, thanks, Miss Gray. I’m flattered, though you may not have meant a compliment. I rather like that fiend; better, I’m afraid, than you do.”

  Miss Gray laughed a little as they shook hands.

  “I had not an idea, Miss Gray, that you were in the room; that vase and those flowers hid you so completely. Yes, I think I do recollect Mephistopheles at Faust’s study door, waiting at the threshold; but — but I hope you don’t think me VERY like that unseasonable visitor?”

  “Mysterious — satirical; yes, what more? “Well, really I can’t say.”

  “You laugh very un
kindly.”

  “That’s very true; for if you knew what has occurred, you would think it very unkind of me to laugh.”

  “Yes,’ indeed,” supplemented Mrs. Wardell; “we have been so sorry and uneasy; you can’t think— “

  “Really? What can it be — what is it?” said Dacre.

  “News — very unpleasant — of my cousin, Charles Mannering. He has been hurt — rather seriously from all I can learn — and we are very uncomfortable about him.”

  “Yery sorry, indeed. Wasn’t that Mr.

  Mannering whom I met here the other evening?”

  “Yes, the evening before last,” said Laura.

  “And what’s the matter?”

  “Bather a bad fall from his horse, I’m afraid,” said Challys Gray.

  “I once saw such a frightful accident,” said good Mrs. Wardell, placing her fat hand before her eyes with a shudder; “a poor young man (a Captain Paulet) actually killed, so horribly, at a steeplechase. I never went to see one again, and I never shall.”

  “But, it’s nothing so serious as to alarm, is it?” inquired Mr. Dacre.

  “There was a note written at his dictation, by a Captain Transom, and signed with very tremulous initials by poor Charles; he made nothing of it, but it somehow frightened us. Didn’t it, Julia?”

  “Very much,” said Mrs. Wardell; “there are always such concealments about such things; they are afraid, to tell.”

  “And how do you know,” asked Mr.

  Dacre, “how it occurred? Biding you say?”

  “Yes, he says so himself. Have you got the note about you, Julia?”

  “Yes, here it is.”

  “Head what he says, like a darling.”

  She obeyed, and read as follows: —

  “I am in a quiet little roadside inn, very comfortable. Biding here yesterday I had an ugly fall, and must keep quiet for a few days. My friend, Captain Transom, kindly acts as my amanuensis. I drop a line by post lest you should think me remiss. Pray keep a note of any commissions that can wait for a, week or so, and when I am fit for duty once more, I will discharge the arrear. If you should see Ardenbroke, though that is not likely in so short a time, or any other friend, pray don’t mention this. It is really nothing — only a little uncomfortable; and some of my friends might come down here bothering me.”

  “Where IS he?” asked Dacre.

  “He writes at the top ‘The Silver Dragon,’ and the post town,” said Laura:

  “Oh, the Silver Dragon; really?” and Mr. Dacre smiled a little oddly.

  “Not a gambling house, I hope,” exclaimed Mrs. Wardell.

  “Well, they have what they call skittles there, and quoits, and bowling, and that kind of low gaming. No one goes there, or if one did, it would be for a lark; and I suppose our sober friend went there. He did not ride down at all; he drove. A friend of mine saw him going down with a Captain Transom. Depend upon it he got into a row, and some one gave him a very hard hit. A quiet little roadside inn! You have no idea how amusing that is. But, after all, what is a poor fellow to do who gets into a ridiculous scrape? I never tell an untruth myself, because I happen to hate it, having suffered from other people’s contempt of truth; but poor Mr. Mannering” — here he laughed pleasantly— “of course he has coloured the affair a little.”

  “Charles used to tell the truth,” said Laura.

  “I dare say; I’m sure Mr. Mannering is quite a champion of truth in Miss Laura Gray’s presence. But we young fellows are sadly given to lying. I should lie myself were it not that other people’s mendacity has disgusted me with the practice for my life. But I’m not hard upon poor fellows who have not contracted the same antipathy, and who speak the language of their kind.”

  “That’s very good of you,” said Mrs. Wardell; “you are a very goodnatured moralist.

  “Is not secrecy something of the nature of falsehood?” asked Miss Gray; perhaps she meant to show Mr. Dacre that he had something to excuse in himself.

  “Silence is not falsehood, Miss Gray, and, on the contrary, is sometimes the very highest loyalty,” said Mr. Dacre, sadly. “Concealment is not disguise.”

  “But to return to poor Charles Mannering; you heard of him to-day?” asked Miss Gray.

  “Yes; a friend mentioned him to-day, and had been down to the Silver Dragon this morning to make inquiries, and it is quite true that he is hurt.”

  “Not seriously, I hope,” inquired she, alarmed.

  “Nothing of any consequence?” cried Mrs. Wardell at the same moment.

  “Very trifling. My friend is slightly acquainted with him, and having heard that he was hurt, went down this morning to ask after him. He may have to stay there for a fortnight; but he said there is nothing to make one the least uneasy.”

  “But what is it?”

  “You really must tell us,” urged both. ladies at once.

  “Why do you suppose that I know anything more?” inquired Mr. Dacre.

  “Because you do?” answered Mrs. Wardell, relying on intuition.

  “I can’t answer that, so I had better confess, particularly as Miss Gray condemns reserve so decidedly. You are quite right, Mrs. Wardell; I am informed of the entire affair. Mr. Mannering had been behaving a little oddly — very unlike himself; had been listening to stories and circulating them, it seems, about another young man, who met him there, and gave him rather a rough lesson; and the fall from his horse — horse he had none — turns out to have been a very hard knock of quite another kind.”

  “But not dangerous?” inquired Miss Gray, after a moment’s pause.

  “Not the least, my friend says, if he’ll only keep quiet — nothing — and the whole affair is supremely ridiculous.”

  “Well, it is very provoking, poor fellow!” exclaimed Mrs. Wardell; “and how soon shall we see him?”

  “In a fortnight,” said Dacre.

  “That’s a long time. Dear me, it must have been a very severe hurt,” said Mrs. Wardell.

  “The doctors regard it as a mere nothing, my informant tells me.”

  “Was he stabbed, or how was it?” inquired Julia Wardell, very uneasy.

  “Yes; do say how it was,” urged Miss Gray.

  “I believe I ought not to tell,” he answered.

  “I’m sure you’ll tell us,” she said.

  “I’m sure I ought not to tell, Miss Gray; but the truth is I find it quite impossible to disobey you. See what a responsibility you charge yourself with in taking the command of a fellow-creature. Well, I ask but one condition; it is a secret. People might be seriously compromised if by any accident it got abroad.”

  “We’ll not tell; we wont tell, Julia? Certainly not.”

  “No, not for the world,” echoed the old lady.

  “I don’t think I ought,” he said, coming over to Miss Gray; “I’m sure I oughtn’t; but,” and he lowered his voice, “you command, and you are absolute.”

  “You must not lower your voice, Mr. Dacre,” said Mrs. Wardell; “I’m to hear it, all about it, as well as Laura. You must tell us how it was, and what he was hurt with.”

  “With a pistol bullet,” replied Dacre.

  “Oh, dear! how horrid!” exclaimed Miss Gray, very pale in a moment.

  “Oh, mercy!” exclaimed Mrs. Wardell, “a pistol! then there has been a duel?”

  “You are quite right — a duel; and from all I can learn,” said Dacre, who did not quite like the signs of alarm, transient as they were, that showed themselves in Laura’s face. “I hope Miss Gray will excuse my saying anything not quite in her kinsman’s favour — I’m afraid it was very much Mr. Mannering’s fault — altogether, indeed.”

  “I thought people never fought duels now,” said Miss Gray.

  “In extreme cases, extreme fools do still,”’ said Dacre; “and from all I can hear, Mr. Mannering had left himself very open. There is a man against whom, it appears, he cherishes an unfriendly feeling, and he is said to have been hunting up gossip and old stories to his prejudice;
watching his movements, and talking about him in a way that no one pretending to be a gentleman could bear. I’m telling you now what I have heard. His hurt, I’m told, has turned Out to be nothing, and so he lies by for a fortnight and meditates, and his little experience may be the means of keeping him out -of a much: worse scrape.”

  “And -who is the person he quarrelled with,” inquired Miss Gray.

  ‘ “Well, that I really can’t tell,” said Mr. Dacre. “I don’t mean to say I don’t know; but I should break faith with two or three people if I were to whisper it anywhere.”

  Laura Challys Gray looked in his eyes inquiringly, and then down, with a little frown, in deep meditation.

  “Are you sure it’s nothing very bad?” inquired Mrs. Wardell, with new anxiety.

  “Perfectly certain; I happened, as I told you, this afternoon, to meet a man who had just returned from a visit to his quarters in the country; he had seen him, and saw his doctor and Mr. Transom, also; and I went into particulars, thinking that if you had heard anything of the affair, it would be pleasant to you to hear also that the consequences were really so trifling.”

  “Very kind of you,” said Mrs. Wardell.

  “The only thing the doctor is really peremptory about, is that he shall see nobody; he was quite angry with my friend when he found him there. So I would venture to recommend that you should send no one there; he would be sure to have your messenger up to his room and talk; but simply let him have a line by the post, and he can employ his secretary.”

  “Yes, so he can, without tiring himself,” acquiesced the old lady.

  “And, I’m afraid my news has been rather a damper, I’m so sorry. But you may rely entirely upon my bulletin; and if you wish it, I’ll make a point of seeing the same person every day, for he told me he meant to send or go down to that place every afternoon, and you shall hear exactly what he tells me.”

  “That’s very kind of you,” said Mrs. Wardell, “though I think the undertaking was addressed to Laura Gray.”

  “And, Miss Gray, may I sing a song for you, and try to steal you away from your anxieties?”