Complete Works of Sheridan Le Fanu (Illustrated)

by Joseph Sheridan Le Fanu

  ‘Yours, my dear Larkin,

  ‘Very truly,

  ‘MARK WYLDER.’

  Folded in this was a thin slip of foreign paper, on which were traced these lines: —

  ‘Private.

  ‘DEAR LARKIN, — Don’t funk the interview with the beast Lake — a hyaena has no pluck in him. When he reads what I send him by your hand, he’ll be as mild as you please. Parkes must act for me as usual — no bluster about giving up. Lake’s afraid of yours,

  ‘M. W.’

  Within was what he called his ‘notice’ to Stanley Lake, and it was thus conceived: —

  ‘Private.

  ‘DEAR LAKE — I understand you are trying to make all safe for next election in Dollington or the county. Now, understand at once, that I won’t permit that. There is not a country gentleman on the grand jury who is not your superior; and there is no extremity I will not make you feel — and you know what I mean — if you dare despise this first and not unfriendly warning.

  ‘Yours truly,

  ‘MARK WYLDER.’

  Now there certainly was need of Wylder’s assurance that nothing unpleasant should happen to the conscious bearer of such a message to an officer and a gentleman. Jos. Larkin did not like it. Still there was a confidence in his own conciliatory manners and exquisite tact. Something, too, might be learned by noting Lake’s looks, demeanour, and language under this direct communication from the man to whom his relations were so mysterious.

  Larkin looked at his watch; it was about the hour when he was likely to find Lake in his study. The attorney withdrew the little private enclosure, and slipt it, with a brief endorsement, into the neat sheaf of Wylder’s letters, all similarly noted, and so locked it up in the iron safe. He intended being perfectly ingenuous with Lake, and showing him that he had ‘no secrets — no concealments — all open as the day’ — by producing the letter in which the ‘notice’ was enclosed, and submitting it for Captain Lake’s perusal.

  When Lawyer Larkin reached the dim chamber, with the Dutch tapestries, where he had for a little while to await Captain Lake’s leisure, he began to anticipate the scene now so immediately impending more uncomfortably than before. The ‘notice’ was, indeed, so outrageous in its spirit, and so intolerable in its language, that, knowing something of Stanley’s wild and truculent temper, he began to feel a little nervous about the explosion he was about to provoke.

  The Brandon connection, one way or other, was worth to the attorney in hard cash between five and six hundred a-year. In influence, and what is termed ‘position,’ it was, of course, worth a great deal more. It would be a very serious blow to lose this. He did not, he hoped, care for money more than a good man ought; but such a loss, he would say, he could not afford.

  Precisely the same, however, was to be said of his connection with Mark Wylder; and in fact, of late years, Mr. Jos. Larkin, of the Lodge, had begun to put by money so fast that he was growing rapidly to be a very considerable man indeed. ‘Everything,’ as he said, ‘was doing very nicely;’ and it would be a deplorable thing to mar, by any untoward act, this pilgrim’s quiet and prosperous progress.

  In this stage of his reverie he was interrupted by a tall, powdered footman, in the Brandon livery, who came respectfully to announce that his master desired to see Mr. Larkin.

  Larkin’s soul sneered at this piece of state. Why could he not put his head in at the door and call him? But still I think it impressed him, and that, diplomatically, Captain Lake was in the right to environ himself with the ceremonial of a lord of Brandon.

  ‘Well, Larkin, how d’ye do? Anything about Raikes’s lease?’ said the great Captain Lake, rising from behind his desk, with his accustomed smile, and extending his gentlemanlike hand.

  ‘No, Sir — nothing, Captain Lake. He has not come, and I don’t think we should show any anxiety about it,’ replied the attorney, taking the captain’s thin hand rather deferentially. ‘I’ve had — a — such a letter from my — my client, Mr. Mark Wylder. He writes in a violent passion, and I’m really placed in a most disagreeable position.’

  ‘Won’t you sit down?’

  ‘A — thanks — a — well I thought, on the whole, having received the letter and the enclosure, which I must say very much surprises me — very much indeed.’ And Larkin looked reprovingly on an imaginary Mark Wylder, and shook his head a good deal.

  ‘He has not appointed another man of business?’

  ‘Oh, dear, no,’ said Larkin, quickly, with a faint, supercilious smile.

  ‘No, nothing of that kind. The thing — in fact, there has been some

  gossiping fellow. Do you happen to know a person at all versed in

  Gylingden matters — or, perhaps, a member of your club — named Smith?’

  ‘Smith? I don’t, I think, recollect any particular Smith, just at this moment. And what is Smith doing or saying?’

  ‘Why, he has been talking over election matters. It seems Wylder — Mr. Wylder — has met him in Geneva, from whence he dates; and he says — he says — oh, here’s the letter, and you’ll see it all there.’

  He handed it to Lake, and kept his eye on him while he read it. When he saw that Lake, who bit his lip during the perusal, had come to the end, by his glancing up again at the date, Larkin murmured —

  ‘Something, you see, has gone wrong with him. I can’t account for the temper otherwise — so violent.’

  ‘Quite so,’ said Lake, quietly; ‘and where is the notice he speaks of here?’

  ‘Why, really, Captain Lake, I did not very well know, it is such a production — I could not say whether you would wish it presented; and in any case you will do me the justice to understand that I, for my part — I really don’t know how to speak of it.

  ‘Quite so,’ repeated Lake, softly, taking the thin, neatly folded piece of paper which Larkin, with a sad inclination of his body, handed to him.

  Lake, under the ‘lawyer’s’ small, vigilant eyes, quietly read Mark Wylder’s awful threatenings through, twice over, and Larkin was not quite sure whether there was any change of countenance to speak of as he did so.

  ‘This is dated the 29th,’ said Lake, in the same quiet tone; ‘perhaps you will be so good as to write a line across it, stating the date of your handing it to me.’

  ‘I — of course — I can see no objection. I may mention, I suppose, that I do so at your request.’

  And Larkin made a neat little endorsement to that effect, and he felt relieved. The hyaena certainly was not showing fight.

  ‘And now, Mr. Larkin, you’ll admit, I think, that I’ve exhibited no ill-temper, much less violence, under the provocation of that note.’

  ‘Certainly; none whatever, Captain Lake.’

  ‘And you will therefore perceive that whatever I now say, speaking in cool blood, I am not likely to recede from.’

  Lawyer Larkin bowed.

  ‘And may I particularly ask that you will so attend to what I am about to say, as to be able to make a note of it for Mr. Welder’s consideration?’

  ‘Certainly, if you desire; but I wish to say that in this particular matter I beg it may be clearly understood that Mr. Wylder is in no respect more my client than you, Captain Lake, and that I merely act as a most reluctant messenger in the matter.’

  ‘Just so,’ said Captain Lake.

  ‘Now, as to my thinking of representing either county or borough,’ he resumed, after a little pause, holding Mark Wylder’s ‘notice’ between his finger and thumb, and glancing at it from time to time, as a speaker might at his notes, ‘I am just as well qualified as he in every respect; and if it lies between him and me, I will undoubtedly offer myself, and accompany my address with the publication of this precious document which he calls his notice — the composition, in all respects, of a ruffian — and which will inspire every gentleman who reads it with disgust, abhorrence, and contempt. His threat I don’t understand. I despise his machinations. I defy him utterly; and the time is coming when, in spite of his m
anoeuvring, I’ll drive him into a corner and pin him to the wall. He very well knows that flitting and skulking from place to place, like an escaped convict, he is safe in writing what insults he pleases through the post. I can’t tell how or where to find him. He is not only no gentleman, but no man — a coward as well as a ruffian. But his game of hide-and-seek cannot go on for ever; and when next I can lay my hand upon him, I’ll make him eat that paper on his knees, and place my heel upon his neck.’

  The peroration of this peculiar invective was emphasised by an oath, at which the half-dozen short grizzled hairs that surmounted the top of Mr. Jos. Larkin’s shining bald head no doubt stood up in silent appeal.

  The attorney was standing during this sample of Lake’s parliamentary rhetoric a little flushed, for he did not know the moment when a blue flicker from the rhetorical thunderstorm might splinter his own bald head, and for ever end his connection with Brandon.

  There was a silence, during which pale Captain Lake locked up Mark

  Wylder’s warning, and the attorney twice cleared his voice.

  ‘I need hardly say, Captain Lake, how I feel in this business. I — — ‘

  ‘Quite so,’ said the captain, in his soft low tones. ‘I assure you I altogether acquit you of sympathy with any thing so utterly ruffianly,’ and he took the hand of the relieved attorney with a friendly condescension. ‘The only compensation I exact for your involuntary part in the matter is that you distinctly convey the tenor of my language to Mr. Wylder, on the first occasion on which he affords you an opportunity of communicating with him. And as to my ever again acting as his trustee; — though, yes, I forgot’ — he made a sudden pause, and was lost for a minute in annoyed reflection— ‘yes, I must for a while. It can’t last very long; he must return soon, and I can’t well refuse to act until at least some other arrangement is made. There are quite other persons and I can’t allow them to starve.’

  So saying, he rose, with his peculiar smile, and extended his hand to signify that the conference was at an end.

  ‘And I suppose,’ he said, ‘we are to regard this little conversation, for the present, as confidential?’

  ‘Certainly, Captain Lake, and permit me to say that I fully appreciate the just and liberal construction which you have placed upon my conduct — a construction which a party less candid and honourably-minded than yourself might have failed to favour me with.’

  And with this pretty speech Larkin took his hat, and gracefully withdrew.

  CHAPTER XLVIII.

  IN WHICH I GO TO BRANDON, AND SEE AN OLD ACQUAINTANCE IN THE TAPESTRY ROOM.

  To my surprise, a large letter, bearing the Gylingden postmark, and with a seal as large as a florin, showing, had I examined the heraldry, the Brandon arms with the Lake bearings quartered thereon, and proving to be a very earnest invitation from Stanley Lake, found me in London just about this time.

  I paused, I was doubtful about accepting it, for the business of the season was just about to commence in earnest, and the country had not yet assumed its charms. But I now know very well that from the first it was quite settled that down I should go. I was too curious to see the bride in her new relations, and to observe something of the conjugal administration of Lake, to allow anything seriously to stand in the way of my proposed trip.

  There was a postscript to Lake’s letter which might have opened my eyes as to the motives of this pressing invitation, which I pleased myself by thinking, though penned by Captain Lake, came in reality from his beautiful young bride.

  This small appendix was thus conceived: —

  ‘P.S. — Tom Wealdon, as usual, deep in elections, under the rose, begs you kindly to bring down whatever you think to be the best book or books on the subject, and he will remit to your bookseller. Order them in his name, but bring them down with you.’

  So I was a second time going down to Brandon as honorary counsel, without knowing it. My invitations, I fear, were obtained, if not under false pretences, at least upon false estimates, and the laity rated my legal lore too highly.

  I reached Brandon rather late. The bride had retired for the night. I had a very late dinner — in fact a supper — in the parlour. Lake sat with me chatting, rather cleverly, not pleasantly. Wealdon was at Brandon about sessions business, and as usual full of election stratagems and calculations. Stanley volunteered to assure me he had not the faintest idea of looking for a constituency. I really believe — and at this distance of time I may use strong language in a historical sense — that Captain Lake was the greatest liar I ever encountered with. He seemed to do it without a purpose — by instinct, or on principle — and would contradict himself solemnly twice or thrice in a week, without seeming to perceive it. I dare say he lied always, and about everything. But it was in 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 some idea of sounding the electors. So, my meal ended, we went into the tapestry room where, the night being sharp, a pleasant bit of fire burned in the grate, and Wealdon greeted me.

  My journey, though by rail, and as easy as that of the Persian gentleman who skimmed the air, seated on a piece of carpet, predisposed me to sleep. Such volumes of fine and various country air, and such an eight hours’ procession of all sorts of natural pictures are not traversed without effect. Sitting in my well-stuffed chair, my elbows on the cushioned arms, the conversation of Lake and the Town Clerk now and then grew faint, and their faces faded away, and little ‘fyttes’ and fragments of those light and pleasant dreams, like fairy tales, which visit such stolen naps, superseded with their picturesque and musical illusions the realities and recollections of life.

  Once or twice a nod a little too deep or sudden called me up. But Lake was busy about the Dollington constituency, and the Town Clerk’s bluff face 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 the question how many votes his influence was really worth; and, somehow, I never got very far into the pros and cons of these discussions, which soon subsided into the fairy tale I have mentioned, and that sweet perpendicular sleep — all the sweeter, like everything else, for being contraband and irregular.

  For one bout — I fancy a good deal longer than the others — my nap was much sounder than before, and I opened my eyes at last with the shudder and half horror that accompany an awakening from a general chill — a dismal and frightened sensation.

  I was facing a door about twenty feet distant, which exactly as I opened my eyes, turned slowly on its hinges, and the figure of Uncle Lorne, in his loose flannel habiliments, ineffaceably traced upon my memory, like every 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 three seconds, and sat down by the declining fire, with a sidelong glance still fixed upon me.

  I continued gazing on this figure with a dreadful incredulity, and the indistinct feeling that it must be an illusion — and that if I could only wake 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 and frightened. Tom Wealdon looking odd, too, was close at his elbow, and had his hand on Lake’s arm, like a man who would prevent violence. I do not know 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 with less of fear than inquisitiveness.

  ‘What are you doing here, Sir?’ demanded Lake, in his most unpleasant tones.

  ‘Prophesying,’ answered the phantom.

  ‘You had better write your prophecies in your room, Sir — had not you? — and give them to the Archbishop of Canterbu
ry to proclaim, when they are finished; we are busy here just now, and don’t require revelations, if you please.’

  The old man lifted up his long lean finger, and turned on him with a smile 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 Tom Wealdon.

  ‘Aye, Sir, a scribe and a Pharisee, a Sadducee and a publican, and a priest, and a Levite,’ said the functionary, with a wink at Lake. ‘Thomas Wealdon, Sir; happy to see you, Sir, so well and strong, and likely to enlighten 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, at your 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 rose up, and he extended the fingers of his left hand close to the candle for a few seconds, and then held them up to his eyes, gazing on his fingertips, with a horrified sort of scrutiny, as if he saw signs and portents 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 deal scared. ‘We hear no complaints, however, and fancy he must be tolerably comfortable 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 his ideas, ‘Italy. Oh! yes, Vallombrosa — aye, Italy, I know it well.’