The Big Book of Victorian Mysteries

by The Big Book of Victorian Mysteries (retail) (epub)

  The shock was complete. I saw imaginary Italians upon every side; and for the first, and, I may say, for the last time in my experience, became overpowered by what is called a panic terror. I knew nothing, that is, to be afraid of, and yet I admit that I was heartily afraid; and it was with sensible reluctance that I returned to my exposed and solitary camp in the Sea-Wood.

  There I eat some cold porridge which had been left over from the night before, for I was disinclined to make a fire; and, feeling strengthened and reassured, dismissed all these fanciful terrors from my mind, and lay down to sleep with composure.

  How long I may have slept it is impossible for me to guess; but I was awakened at last by a sudden, blinding flash of light into my face. It woke me like a blow. In an instant I was upon my knees. But the light had gone as suddenly as it came. The darkness was intense. And, as it was blowing great guns from the sea, and pouring with rain, the noises of the storm effectually concealed all others.

  It was, I dare say, half a minute before I regained my self-possession. But for two circumstances, I should have thought I had been awakened by some new and vivid form of nightmare. First, the flap of my tent, which I had shut carefully when I retired, was now unfastened; and, second, I could still perceive, with a sharpness that excluded any theory of hallucination, the smell of hot metal and of burning oil. The conclusion was obvious. I had been awakened by some one flashing a bull’s-eye lantern in my face. It had been but a flash, and away. He had seen my face, and then gone. I asked myself the object of so strange a proceeding, and the answer came pat. The man, whoever he was, had thought to recognize me, and he had not. There was another question unresolved; and to this, I may say, I feared to give an answer; if he had recognized me, what would he have done?

  My fears were immediately diverted from myself, for I saw that I had been visited in a mistake; and I became persuaded that some dreadful danger threatened the pavilion. It required some nerve to issue forth into the black and intricate thicket which surrounded and overhung the den; but I groped my way to the links, drenched with rain, beaten upon and deafened by the gusts, and fearing at every step to lay my hand upon some lurking adversary. The darkness was so complete that I might have been surrounded by an army and yet none the wiser, and the uproar of the gale so loud that my hearing was as useless as my sight.

  For the rest of that night, which seemed interminably long, I patrolled the vicinity of the pavilion, without seeing a living creature or hearing any noise but the concert of the wind, the sea, and the rain. A light in the upper story filtered through a cranny of the shutter, and kept me company till the approach of dawn.

  V

  With the first peep of day, I retired from the open to my old lair among the sand hills, there to await the coming of my wife. The morning was gray, wild, and melancholy; the wind moderated before sunrise, and then went about, and blew in puffs from the shore; the sea began to go down, but the rain still fell without mercy. Over all the wilderness of links there was not a creature to be seen. Yet I felt sure the neighborhood was alive with skulking foes. The light that had been so suddenly and surprisingly flashed upon my face as I lay sleeping, and the hat that had been blown ashore by the wind from over Graden Floe, were two speaking signals of the peril that environed Clara and the party in the pavilion.

  It was, perhaps, half-past seven, or nearer eight, before I saw the door open, and that dear figure come toward me in the rain. I was waiting for her on the beach before she had crossed the sand hills.

  “I have had such trouble to come!” she cried. “They did not wish me to go walking in the rain.”

  “Clara,” I said, “you are not frightened!”

  “No,” said she, with a simplicity that filled my heart with confidence. For my wife was the bravest as well as the best of women; in my experience, I have not found the two go always together, but with her they did; and she combined the extreme of fortitude with the most endearing and beautiful virtues.

  I told her what had happened; and, though her cheek grew visibly paler, she retained perfect control over her senses.

  “You see now that I am safe,” said I, in conclusion. “They do not mean to harm me; for, had they chosen, I was a dead man last night.”

  She laid her hand upon my arm.

  “And I had no presentiment!” she cried.

  Her accent thrilled me with delight. I put my arm about her, and strained her to my side; and, before either of us was aware, her hands were on my shoulders and my lips upon her mouth. Yet up to that moment no word of love had passed between us. To this day I remember the touch of her cheek, which was wet and cold with the rain; and many a time since, when she has been washing her face, I have kissed it again for the sake of that morning on the beach. Now that she is taken from me, and I finish my pilgrimage alone, I recall our old loving kindnesses and the deep honesty and affection which united us, and my present loss seems but a trifle in comparison.

  We may have thus stood for some seconds—for time passes quickly with lovers—before we were startled by a peal of laughter close at hand. It was not natural mirth, but seemed to be affected in order to conceal an angrier feeling. We both turned, though I still kept my left arm about Clara’s waist; nor did she seek to withdraw herself; and there, a few paces off upon the beach, stood Northmour, his head lowered, his hands behind his back, his nostrils white with passion.

  “Ah! Cassilis!” he said, as I disclosed my face.

  “That same,” said I; for I was not at all put about.

  “And so, Miss Huddlestone,” he continued slowly but savagely, “this is how you keep your faith to your father and to me? This is the value you set upon your father’s life? And you are so infatuated with this young gentleman that you must brave ruin, and decency, and common human caution——”

  “Miss Huddlestone—” I was beginning to interrupt him, when he, in his turn, cut in brutally—

  “You hold your tongue,” said he; “I am speaking to that girl.”

  “That girl, as you call her, is my wife,” said I; and my wife only leaned a little nearer, so that I knew she had affirmed my words.

  “Your what?” he cried. “You lie!”

  “Northmour,” I said, “we all know you have a bad temper, and I am the last man to be irritated by words. For all that, I propose that you speak lower, for I am convinced that we are not alone.”

  He looked round him, and it was plain my remark had in some degree sobered his passion. “What do you mean?” he asked.

  I only said one word: “Italians.”

  He swore a round oath, and looked at us, from one to the other.

  “Mr. Cassilis knows all that I know,” said my wife.

  “What I want to know,” he broke out, “is where the devil Mr. Cassilis comes from, and what the devil Mr. Cassilis is doing here. You say you are married; that I do not believe. If you were, Graden Floe would soon divorce you; four minutes and a half, Cassilis. I keep my private cemetery for my friends.”

  “It took somewhat longer,” said I, “for that Italian.”

  He looked at me for a moment half daunted, and then, almost civilly, asked me to tell my story. “You have too much the advantage of me, Cassilis,” he added. I complied of course; and he listened, with several ejaculations, while I told him how I had come to Graden: that it was I whom he had tried to murder on the night of landing; and what I had subsequently seen and heard of the Italians.

  “Well,” said he, when I had done, “it is here at last; there is no mistake about that. And what, may I ask, do you propose to do?”

  “I propose to stay with you and lend a hand,” said I.

  “You are a brave man,” he returned, with a peculiar intonation.

  “I am not afraid,” said I.

  “And so,” he continued, “I am to understand that you two are married? And you stand
up to it before my face, Miss Huddlestone?”

  “We are not yet married,” said Clara; “but we shall be as soon as we can.”

  “Bravo!” cried Northmour. “And the bargain? D—n it, you’re not a fool, young woman; I may call a spade a spade with you. How about the bargain? You know as well as I do what your father’s life depends upon. I have only to put my hands under my coat tails and walk away, and his throat would be cut before the evening.”

  “Yes, Mr. Northmour,” returned Clara, with great spirit; “but that is what you will never do. You made a bargain that was unworthy of a gentleman; but you are a gentleman for all that, and you will never desert a man whom you have begun to help.”

  “Aha!” said he. “You think I will give my yacht for nothing? You think I will risk my life and liberty for love of the old gentleman; and then, I suppose, be best man at the wedding, to wind up? Well,” he added, with an odd smile, “perhaps you are not altogether wrong. But ask Cassilis here. He knows me. Am I a man to trust? Am I safe and scrupulous? Am I kind?”

  “I know you talk a great deal, and sometimes, I think, very foolishly,” replied Clara, “but I know you are a gentleman, and I am not the least afraid.”

  He looked at her with a peculiar approval and admiration; then, turning to me, “Do you think I would give her up without a struggle, Frank?” said he. “I tell you plainly, you look out. The next time we come to blows——”

  “Will make the third,” I interrupted, smiling.

  “Aye, true; so it will,” he said. “I had forgotten. Well, the third time’s lucky.”

  “The third time, you mean, you will have the crew of the ‘Red Earl’ to help,” I said.

  “Do you hear him?” he asked, turning to my wife.

  “I hear two men speaking like cowards,” said she. “I should despise myself either to think or speak like that. And neither of you believe one word that you are saying, which makes it the more wicked and silly.”

  “She’s a trump!” cried Northmour. “But she’s not yet Mrs. Cassilis. I say no more. The present is not for me.”

  Then my wife surprised me.

  “I leave you here,” she said suddenly. “My father has been too long alone. But remember this: you are to be friends, for you are both good friends to me.”

  She has since told me her reason for this step. As long as she remained, she declares that we two would have continued to quarrel; and I suppose that she was right, for when she was gone we fell at once into a sort of confidentiality.

  Northmour stared after her as she went away over the sand hill.

  “She is the only woman in the world!” he exclaimed with an oath. “Look at her action.”

  I, for my part, leaped at this opportunity for a little further light.

  “See here, Northmour,” said I; “we are all in a tight place, are we not?”

  “I believe you, my boy,” he answered, looking me in the eyes, and with great emphasis. “We have all hell upon us, that’s the truth. You may believe me or not, but I’m afraid of my life.”

  “Tell me one thing,” said I. “What are they after, these Italians? What do they want with Mr. Huddlestone?”

  “Don’t you know?” he cried. “The black old scamp had carbonari funds on a deposit—two hundred and eighty thousand; and of course he gambled it away on stocks. There was to have been a revolution in the Tridentino, or Parma; but the revolution is off, and the whole wasp’s nest is after Huddlestone. We shall all be lucky if we can save our skins.”

  “The carbonari!” I exclaimed; “God help him indeed!”

  “Amen!” said Northmour. “And now, look here: I have said that we are in a fix; and, frankly, I shall be glad of your help. If I can’t save Huddlestone, I want at least to save the girl. Come and stay in the pavilion; and, there’s my hand on it, I shall act as your friend until the old man is either clear or dead. But,” he added, “once that is settled, you become my rival once again, and I warn you—mind yourself.”

  “Done!” said I; and we shook hands.

  “And now let us go directly to the fort,” said Northmour; and he began to lead the way through the rain.

  VI

  We were admitted to the pavilion by Clara, and I was surprised by the completeness and security of the defenses. A barricade of great strength, and yet easy to displace, supported the door against any violence from without; and the shutters of the dining-room, into which I was led directly, and which was feebly illuminated by a lamp, were even more elaborately fortified. The panels were strengthened by bars and crossbars; and these, in their turn, were kept in position by a system of braces and struts, some abutting on the floor, some on the roof, and others, in fine, against the opposite wall of the apartment. It was at once a solid and well-designed piece of carpentry; and I did not seek to conceal my admiration.

  “I am the engineer,” said Northmour. “You remember the planks in the garden? Behold them?”

  “I did not know you had so many talents,” said I.

  “Are you armed?” he continued, pointing to an array of guns and pistols, all in admirable order, which stood in line against the wall or were displayed upon the sideboard.

  “Thank you,” I returned; “I have gone armed since our last encounter. But, to tell you the truth, I have had nothing to eat since early yesterday evening.”

  Northmour produced some cold meat, to which I eagerly set myself, and a bottle of good Burgundy, by which, wet as I was, I did not scruple to profit. I have always been an extreme temperance man on principle; but it is useless to push principle to excess, and on this occasion I believe that I finished three quarters of the bottle. As I ate, I still continued to admire the preparations for defense.

  “We could stand a siege,” I said at length.

  “Ye—es,” drawled Northmour; “a very little one, per—haps. It is not so much the strength of the pavilion I misdoubt; it is the double danger that kills me. If we get to shooting, wild as the country is, some one is sure to hear it, and then—why then it’s the same thing, only different, as they say: caged by law, or killed by carbonari. There’s the choice. It is a devilish bad thing to have the law against you in this world, and so I tell the old gentleman upstairs. He is quite of my way of thinking.”

  “Speaking of that,” said I, “what kind of person is he?”

  “Oh, he!” cried the other; “he’s a rancid fellow, as far as he goes. I should like to have his neck wrung to-morrow by all the devils in Italy. I am not in this affair for him. You take me? I made a bargain for missy’s hand, and I mean to have it too.”

  “That, by the way,” said I. “I understand. But how will Mr. Huddlestone take my intrusion?”

  “Leave that to Clara,” returned Northmour.

  I could have struck him in the face for his coarse familiarity; but I respected the truce, as, I am bound to say, did Northmour, and so long as the danger continued not a cloud arose in our relation. I bear him this testimony with the most unfeigned satisfaction; nor am I without pride when I look back upon my own behavior. For surely no two men were ever left in a position so invidious and irritating.

  As soon as I had done eating, we proceeded to inspect the lower floor. Window by window we tried the different supports, now and then making an inconsiderable change; and the strokes of the hammer sounded with startling loudness through the house. I proposed, I remember, to make loopholes; but he told me they were already made in the windows of the upper story. It was an anxious business, this inspection, and left me down-hearted. There were two doors and five windows to protect, and, counting Clara, only four of us to defend them against an unknown number of foes. I communicated my doubts to Northmour, who assured me, with unmoved composure, that he entirely shared them.

  “Before morning,” said he, “we shall all be butchered and buried in Graden Floe. F
or me, that is written.”

  I could not help shuddering at the mention of the quicksand, but reminded Northmour that our enemies had spared me in the wood.

  “Do not flatter yourself,” said he. “Then you were not in the same boat with the old gentleman; now you are. It’s the floe for all of us, mark my words.”

  I trembled for Clara; and just then her dear voice was heard calling us to come upstairs. Northmour showed me the way, and, when he had reached the landing, knocked at the door of what used to be called My Uncle’s Bedroom, as the founder of the pavilion had designed it especially for himself.

  “Come in, Northmour; come in, dear Mr. Cassilis,” said a voice from within.

  Pushing open the door, Northmour admitted me before him into the apartment. As I came in I could see the daughter slipping out by the side door into the study, which had been prepared as her bedroom. In the bed, which was drawn back against the wall, instead of standing, as I had last seen it, boldly across the window, sat Bernard Huddlestone, the defaulting banker. Little as I had seen of him by the shifting light of the lantern on the links, I had no difficulty in recognizing him for the same. He had a long and sallow countenance, surrounded by a long red beard and side-whiskers. His broken nose and high cheek-bones gave him somewhat the air of a Kalmuck, and his light eyes shone with the excitement of a high fever. He wore a skull-cap of black silk; a huge Bible lay open before him on the bed, with a pair of gold spectacles in the place, and a pile of other books lay on the stand by his side. The green curtains lent a cadaverous shade to his cheek; and, as he sat propped on pillows, his great stature was painfully hunched, and his head protruded till it overhung his knees. I believe if he had not died otherwise, he must have fallen a victim to consumption in the course of but a very few weeks.