CHAPTER XXI.
BY RAIL TO LONDON.
ABOUT an hour later, Tom Sedley, in solitude, meditated thus--
"I wonder whether the Etherages"--(meaning pretty Miss Agnes)--"wouldthink it a bore if I went up to see them. It's too late for tea. I'mafraid they mightn't like it. No one, of course, like Cleve now. They'dfind me very dull, I dare say. I don't care, I'll walk up, and if I seethe lights in the drawing-room windows, I'll try."
He did walk up; he did see the lights in the drawing-room windows; andhe did try, with the result of finding himself upon the drawing-roomcarpet a minute after, standing at the side of Agnes, and chatting toMiss Charity.
"How is your father?" asked Tom, seeing the study untenanted.
"Not at _all_ well, _I_ think; he had an accident to-day. Didn't youhear?"
"_Accident!_ No, I didn't."
"Oh! yes. Somehow, when Lord Verney and the other people were coming uphere to-day, he was going to meet them, and among them they overturnedhis bath-chair, and I don't know really who's to blame. CaptainShrapnell says he saved his life; but, however it happened, he was upsetand very much shaken. I see you laughing, Thomas Sedley! What on earth_can_ you see in it to laugh at? It's so exactly like Agnes--she_laughed_! you did, _indeed_, Agnes, and if I had not _seen_ it, with my_own eyes_, I _could_ not have _believed_ it!"
"I knew papa was not hurt, and I could not help laughing, if you put meto death for it, and they say he drove over Lord Verney's foot."
"That would not break my heart," said Sedley. "Did you hear theparticulars from Cleve?"
"No, I did not see Mr. Verney to speak to, since the accident," saidMiss Charity. "By-the-by, who was the tall, good-looking girl, in theseal-skin coat, he was talking to all the way to the jetty? I think shewas Lady Wimbledon's daughter."
"So she was; has she rather large blue eyes?"
"Yes."
"Oh! it must be she; that's Miss Caroline Oldys. She's such a joke;she's elder than Cleve."
"Oh! that's impossible; she's decidedly younger than Mr. Cleve Verney,and, I think, extremely pretty."
"Well, perhaps she _is_ younger, and I _do_ believe she's pretty; butshe's a fool, and she has been awfully in love with him for I don't knowhow many years--every one was laughing at it, two or three seasons ago;she _is_ such a muff!"
"What _do_ you mean by a muff?" demanded Charity.
"Well, a goose, then. Lord Verney's her guardian or trustee, orsomething; and they say, that he and Lady Wimbledon had agreed topromote the affair. Just like them. She is such a scheming old woman;and Lord Verney is such a--I was going to say, such a _muff_,--but he issuch a _spoon_. Cleve's wide awake, though, and I don't think he'll do_that_ for them."
I believe there may have been, at one time, some little foundation infact for the theory which supposed the higher powers favourable to sucha consummation. But time tests the value of such schemes, and it wouldseem that Lady Wimbledon had come to the conclusion that the speculationwas a barren one: for, this night, in her dressing-gown, with her wigoff, and a silken swathing about her bald head, she paid a veryexciting visit to her daughter's room, and blew her up in her own awfulway, looking like an angry Turk. "She wondered how any person withCaroline's _experience_ could be such an _idiot_ as to let that youngman go on making a fool of her. He had no other idea but the one ofmaking a _fool_ of her before the world. She, Lady Wimbledon, would haveno more of any such insensate folly--her prospects should not be ruined,if she could prevent it, and prevent it she _could_ and _would_--thereshould be an end of that odious nonsense; and if she chose to makeherself the laughing-stock of the world, she, Lady Wimbledon, would doher duty and take her down to Slominton, where they would be quietenough at all events; and Cleve Verney, she ventured to say, with alaugh, would not follow her."
The young lady was in tears, and blubbered in her romantic indignationtill her eyes and nose were inflamed, and her mamma requested her tolook in the glass, and see what a figure she had made of herself, andmade her bathe her face for an hour, before she went to bed.
There was no other young lady at Ware, and Cleve smiled in his own face,in his looking-glass, as he dressed for dinner.
"My uncle will lose no time--I did not intend this; but I see very wellwhat he means, and he'll be disappointed and grow suspicious, if I drawback; and she has really nothing to recommend her, poor Caroline, andhe'll find that out time enough, and meanwhile I shall get over somemonths quietly."
There was no great difficulty in seeing, indeed, that the noble hostdistinguished Lady Wimbledon and her daughter. And Lord Verney, leaningon Cleve's arm, asked him lightly what he thought of Miss CarolineOldys; and Cleve, who had the gift of presence of mind, rather praisedthe young lady.
"My uncle would prefer Ethel, when he sees a hope in that direction, Ishan't hear much more of Caroline, and so on--and we shall be growingolder--and the chapter of accidents--and all that."
For a day or two Lord Verney was very encouraging, and quite took aninterest in the young lady, and showed her the house and the place, andunfolded all the plans which were about to grow into realities, and gotCleve to pull her across the lake, and walked round to meet them, andamused the young man by contriving that little opportunity. But LadyWimbledon revealed something to Lord Verney, that evening, over theirgame of _ecarte_, which affected his views.
Cleve was talking to the young lady, but he saw Lord Verney look once ortwice, in the midst of a very serious conversation with Lady Wimbledon,at Caroline Oldys and himself, and now without smiling.
It was Lady Wimbledon's deal, but she did not deal, and her opponentseemed also to have forgotten the cards, and their heads inclined onetoward the other as the talk proceeded.
It was about the hour when ladies light their bed-room candles, andascend. And Lady Wimbledon and Caroline Oldys had vanished in a fewminutes more, and Cleve thought, "She has told him something that hasgiven him a new idea." His uncle was rather silent and dry for the restof that evening, but next morning seemed pretty much as usual, only LordVerney took an opportunity of saying to him--
"I have been considering, and I have heard things, and, with referenceto the subject of my conversation with you, in town, I think you oughtto direct your thoughts to _Ethel_, about it--you ought to havemoney--don't you see? It's very important--money--very well to be _lefils de ses oeuvres_, and that kind of thing; but a little money doesno harm; on the contrary, it is very desirable. Other people keep thatpoint in view; I don't see why we should not. I ask myself thisquestion:--How is it that people get on in the world? And I answer--ingreat measure by amassing money; and arguing from _that_, I think itdesirable you should have some money to begin with, and I've endeavouredto put it logically, about it, that you may see the drift of what Isay." And he made an excuse and sent Cleve up to town next day beforehim.
I have been led into an episode by Miss Charity's question about MissCaroline Oldys; and returning to Hazelden, I find Tom Sedley taking hisleave of the young ladies for the night, and setting out for the VerneyArms with a cigar between his lips.
Next morning he walked down to Malory again, and saw old Rebecca, whoseemed, in her odd way, comforted on seeing him, but spokelittle--almost nothing; and he charged her to tell neither Dingwell, ofwhom he had heard nothing but evil, nor Jos. Larkin, of whom he hadintuitively a profound suspicion,--anything about her own history, orthe fate of her child, but to observe the most cautious reserve in anycommunications they might seek to open with her. And having deliveredthis injunction in a great variety of language, he took his leave, andgot home very early to his breakfast, and ran up to London, oddlyenough, in the same carriage with Cleve Verney.
Tom Sedley was angry with Cleve, I am afraid not upon any very highprinciple. If Cleve had trifled with the affections of Miss CarolineOldys, I fear he would have borne the spectacle of her woes withconsiderable patience. But if the truth must be told, honest Tom Sedleywas leaving Cardyllian in a pet. Anger, grief, jealousy, were seethingin his good-natu
red heart. Agnes Etherage--_his_ little Agnes--she hadbelonged to him as long as he could remember; she was gone, and he neverknew how much he had liked her until he had lost her.
_Gone?_ No; in his wanton cruelty this handsome outlaw had _slain_ hisdeer--had _shot_ his sweet bird dead, and there she lay in the sylvansolitude she had so beautified--_dead_; and he--heartless archer--wenton his way smiling, having darkened the world for harmless Tom Sedley.Could he like him ever again?
Well, the world brooks no heroics now; there are reserves. Men cultivatea thick skin--nature's buff-coat--in which, with little pain and smallloss of blood, the modern man-at-arms rides cheerily through life'sbattle. When point or edge happen to go a little through, as I havesaid, there are reserves. There is no good in roaring, grinning, orcursing. The scathless only laugh at you; therefore wipe away the bloodquietly and seem all you can like the rest. Better not to let them seeeven _that_. Is there not sometimes more of curiosity than of sympathyin the scrutiny? Don't you even see, at times, just the suspicion of asmile on your friend's pitying face, as he prescribes wet brown paper orbasilicon, or a cob-web, according to his skill?
So Tom and Cleve talked a little--an acquaintance would have said, justas usual--and exchanged newspapers, and even laughed a little now andthen; but when at Shillingsworth the last interloper got out, and Tomand Cleve were left to themselves, the ruling idea asserted itself, andSedley looked hurriedly out of the window, and grew silent for a time,and pretended not to hear Cleve when he asked him whether he had seenthe report of Lord Verney's visit to Cardyllian, as displayed in thecounty paper of that day, which served to amuse him extremely.
"I don't think," said Tom Sedley, at last, abruptly, "that nice, prettylittle creature, Agnes Etherage--the nicest little thing, by Jove, Ithink I ever saw--I say she is not looking well."
"Is not she really?" said Cleve, very coolly cutting open a leaf in hismagazine.
"Didn't you observe?" exclaimed Tom, rather fiercely.
"Well, no, I can't say I did; but you know them so much better than I,"answered Cleve; "it can't be very much; I dare say she's well by thistime."
"How _can_ you speak that way, Verney, knowing all you do?"
"Why, _what_ do I know?" exclaimed Cleve, looking up in unaffectedwonder.
"You know all about it--_why_ she's out of spirits, _why_ she's lookingso delicate, _why_ she's not like herself," said Tom, impatiently.
"Upon my soul I do _not_," said Cleve Verney, with animation.
"That's odd, considering you've half broken her heart," urged Tom.
"I broken her heart?" repeated Cleve. "Now, really, Sedley, do praythink what you're saying."
"I say I think you've broken her heart, and her sister thinks so too;and it's an awful shame," insisted Tom, very grimly.
"I really do think the people want to set me mad," said Cleve, testily."If anyone says that I have ever done anything that could have made anyof that family, who are in their senses, fancy that I was in love withMiss Agnes Etherage, and that I wished her to suppose so, it is simplyan _untruth_. I never did, and I don't intend; and I can't see, for thelife of me, Tom Sedley, what business it is of yours. But thus much I dosay, upon my honour, it is a lie. Miss Charity Etherage, an old maid,with no more sense than a snipe, living in that barbarous desert, whereif a man appears at all, during eight months out of the twelve, he's aprodigy, and if he walks up the street with a Cardyllian lady, he'spronounced to be over head and ears in love, and of course meditatingmarriage--I say she's not the most reliable critic in the world in anaffair of that sort; and all I say is, that I've given _no_ grounds forany such idea, and I mean it, upon my honour; and I've seldom been soastonished in my life before."
There was an air of frank and indignant repudiation in Cleve's mannerand countenance, which more even than his words convinced Tom Sedley,who certainly was aware how little the Cardyllian people knew of theworld, and what an eminently simple maiden in all such matters thehomely Miss Charity was. So Tom extended his hand and said--
"Well, Cleve, I'm so glad, and I beg your pardon, and I know you saytruth, and pray shake hands; but though you are not to blame--I'm nowquite _sure_ you're not--the poor girl is very unhappy, and her sistervery angry."
"I can't help _that_. How on earth can _I_ help it? I'm very sorry,though I'm not sure that I ought to care a farthing about otherpeople's nonsense, and huffs, and romances. I could tell you thingsabout myself, lots of things you'd hardly believe--_real dreadful_annoyances. I tell you Tom, I hate the life I'm leading. You only seethe upper surface, and hardly that. I'm worried to death, and only thatI owe so much money, and can't get away, I can tell you--I don't caretwo pins whether you believe it or not--I should have been feeding sheepin Australia a year ago."
"Better where you are, Cleve."
"How the devil do _you_ know? Don't be offended with me, Tom, only makeallowances, and if I sometimes talk a bit like a Bedlamite don't repeatmy ravings; that's all. Look at that windmill; isn't it pretty?"
CHAPTER XXII.
LADY DORMINSTER'S BALL.
CLEVE VERNEY was in harness again--attending the House with remarkablepunctuality; for the eye of the noble peer, his uncle, was upon him. Hehad the division lists regularly on his table, and if Cleve's name wasmissing from any one of even moderate importance, his uncle took leaveto ask an explanation. Cleve had also reasons of his own for workingdiligently at the drudgery of public life. His march was not upon solidground, but over a quaking bog, every undulation and waver of which wasanswered by a qualm at his heart.
Still it was only some nice management of time and persons; it was amere matter of presence of mind, of vigilance, of resource, to which hefelt--at least hoped he might be found equal, and all _must_ endwell. Was not his uncle sixty-six his last birthday? People might natterand say he looked nothing like it; but the red book so pronounced, andthere is no gainsaying that sublime record. After all, his uncle was notan everlasting danger. Time and the hour will end the longest day; andthen must come the title, and estates, and a quiet heart at last.
When the House did not interfere, Cleve was of course seen at all theproper places. On the night of which I am now speaking there was amongothers Lady Dorminster's ball, and a brilliant muster of distinguishedpersons.
On that crowded floor, in those celebrated salons, in an atmosphere oflight and music, in which moved so much of what is famous,distinguished, splendid, is seen the figure of Cleve Verney. Everyoneknew that slight and graceful figure, and the oval face, delicatefeatures, and large, dark, dreamy eyes, that never failed to impress youwith the same ambiguous feeling. It was Moorish, it was handsome; butthere was a shadow there--something secret and selfish, and smilingly,silently insolent.
This session he had come out a little, and made two speeches of realpromise. The minister had complimented his uncle upon them, and had alsocomplimented him. The muse was there; something original and aboveroutine--genius perhaps--and that passion for distinction which breaks apoor man's heart, and floats the rich to greatness.
A man of Cleve's years, with his position, with his promise, with Londonlife and Paris life all learned by rote, courted and pursued, wary,contemptuous, sensual, clever, ambitious--is not young. The wholechaperon world, with its wiles, was an open book for him. For him, likethe man in the German legend, the earth under which they mined andburrowed had grown to his eyes transparent, and he saw the gnomes atwork. For him young ladies' smiles were not light and magic--only marshfires and tricks. To him old and young came up and simpered or fawned;but they dimpled, or ogled, or grinned, all in the Palace of Truth.Truth is power, but not always pretty. For common men the surface isbest; all beyond is knowledge--an acquisition of sorrow.
Therefore, notwithstanding his years, the clear olive oval of hishandsome face, the setting--void of line or colour--of those deep darkeyes, so enthusiastic, yet so cold, the rich wave of his dark hair, andthe smooth transparency of temples and forehead, and all the tints andsigns of beautiful youth, Cleve
Verney was well stricken in years ofknowledge; and of that sad gift he would not have surrendered an iota inexchange for the charms and illusions of innocence, so much for the mostpart do men prefer power to happiness.
"How d'ye do, Miss Oldys?" said this brilliant young man of actualitiesand expectations.
"Oh, Mr. Verney, _you_ here!"
This Miss Caroline Oldys was just nine-and-twenty. Old, like him, in theworld's dismal psychology, but with one foolish romance still at herheart; betrayed into a transient surprise, smiling in genuine gladness,almost forgetting herself, and looking quite country-girlish in themomentary effusion. It is not safe affecting an emotion with men likeCleve, especially when it does not flatter them. He did not care afarthing whether she was surprised or not, or glad or sorry. But hervery eye and gesture told him that she had marked him as he stood there,and had chosen the very seat on which her partner had placed her ofmalice aforethought. Fine acting does it need to succeed with a criticlike Cleve.
"Yes, I here--and where's the wonder?"
"Why,--who was it?--_some_ one told me only half an hour ago, you weresomewhere in France."
"Well, if it was a man he told a story, and if a lady she made amistake," said Cleve, coolly but tartly, looking steadily at her. "Andthe truth is, I wanted a yacht, and I went down to look at her, triedher, liked her, and bought her. Doesn't it sound very like a marriage?"
Caroline laughed.
"That's your theory--we're all for sale, and handed over to the bestbidder."
"Pretty waltz," said Cleve, waving his slender hand just the least inthe world to the music. "Pretty thing!"
He did not use much ceremony with this young lady--his cousin in someremote way--who, under the able direction of her mother, Lady Wimbledon,had once pursued him in a barefaced way for nearly three years; and who,though as we have seen, her mother had by this time quite despaired, yetliked him with all the romance that remained to her.
"And who are you going to marry, Caroline? There's Sedley--I see himover there. What do you say to Sedley?"
"No, thanks--much obliged--but Sedley, you know, has seen his fate inthat mysterious lady in Wales, or somewhere."
"Oh? has he?" He signed to Sedley to come to them.
Looking through the chinks and chasms that now and then opened in thedistinguished mob of which he formed a unit, he occasionally saw thestiff figure and small features of his pompous uncle, Lord Verney, whowas talking affably to Lady Wimbledon. Lord Verney did not wear hisagreeable simper. He had that starch and dismal expression, rather,which came with grave subjects, and he was tapping the fingers of hisright hand upon the back of his left, in time to the cadence of hisperiods, which he did when delivering matter particularly well worthhearing. It plainly did not displease Lady Wimbledon, whatever hisdiscourse might be. "I'm to be married to Caroline, I suppose. I wishthat old woman was at the bottom of the Red Sea."
Cleve looked straight in the eyes of the Honourable Miss Caroline Oldys,and said he, with a smile, "Lady Wimbledon and my uncle are deep in somemystery--is it political? Have you an idea?"
Caroline Oldys had given up blushing very long ago indeed; but there wasthe confusion, without the tint of a blush in her face, as he said thesewords.
"I dare say--mamma's a great politician."
"Oh! I know that. By Jove, my uncle's looking this way. I hope he's notcoming."
"Would you mind taking me to mamma?"
"No--pray stay for a moment. Here's Sedley."
And the young man, whom we know pretty well, with the bold blue eyes andgolden moustaches, and good frank handsome face, approached smiling.
"How are you, Sedley?" said Cleve, giving him two fingers. "CarolineOldys says you've had an adventure. Where was it?"
"The lady in black, you know, in Wales," reminded Miss Oldys.
"Oh! to be sure," said Sedley, laughing. "A lady in gray, it was. I sawher twice. But that's more than a year old, and there has been nothingever since."
"_Do_ go on."
Sedley laughed.
"It was at Cardyllian, in the church. She lived at Malory--that dark oldplace you went to see with the Verneys, the day you were atCardyllian--don't you remember?"
"Oh, yes,--what a romantic place!"
"What an awfully cross old fellow, old enough to be her father, but withthe air of her husband, guarding her like a dragon, and eyeing everyfellow that came near as if he'd knock him down; a lean,white-whiskered, bald old fellow, with bushy eyebrows, and a fierceface, and eyes jumping out of his head, and lame of one foot, too. Not abeauty, by any means."
"Where did you see _him_?" said Cleve.
"I did not see him--but Christmass Owen the boatman told me."
"Well, and which is your fate--which is to kill you--the husband orwife?" inquired Cleve, looking vaguely among the crowd.
"Oh, the wife, as he calls her, is really quite beautiful, melancholyand that, you know. I'd have found out all about them, but they leftbefore I had time to go back, but Verney was at Cardyllian, when I wasthere."
"When was that?" asked Cleve.
"I mean when these people were at Malory. Cleve was much more gone abouther than I was--at least so I've heard," answered Sedley.
"That's very ungrateful of you, Sedley. I never interfered, upon myhonour. I saw her once in church, and accompanied him in his pursuit athis earnest request, and I never saw her again. Are you going on to theHalbury's, Caroline?"
"Yes; are you?"
"No, quite used up. Haven't slept since Wednesday night."
Here a partner came to claim Miss Caroline.
"I'll go with you," said Sedley.
"Very well," answered Cleve, without looking back. "Come to my lodgings,Sedley--we'll smoke, shall we? I've got some capital cigars."
"I don't care. I'm going on also."
"What a delicious night!" exclaimed Tom Sedley, looking up at the stars."Suppose we walk--it isn't far."
"I don't care--let us walk," said Cleve.
So walk they did. It was not far to Cleve's lodgings, in a street offPiccadilly. The young men had walked rather silently; for, as it seemedto Sedley, his companion was not in a temper to talk a great deal, orvery pleasantly.
"And what about this gray woman? Did you ever follow it up? Did theromance take fire where it ought? Is it a mutual flame?" asked Cleve,like a tired man who feels he must say something, and does not carewhat. "I don't think you mentioned her since the day you showed me thatBeatrice Cenci, over your d----d chimney-piece."
"Of course I'd have told you if there had been anything to tell," saidTom.
"They haven't been at Malory since?"
"Oh! no--frightened away--you'll never see them there again. There'snothing absolutely in it, and never was, not even an adventure. Nothingbut the little that happened long ago--and you know all about that,"continued Sedley. "She's a wonderfully beautiful creature, though; Iwish you saw her again, Cleve. You're such a clever fellow, you'd make apoem of her, or something--she'd bring you back to the days of chivalry,and that style of thing. I'm a sort of fellow, you know, that feels alot, and I think, I _think_ some too; but I haven't the knack of sayingit, or writing it--I'm not particularly good at anything; but I wentthat morning, you know, into the Refectory--you know--there are such alot of stairs, and long places and doors, it makes a fellow quitefoolish--and there she was--don't you remember?--I wish I could describeher to you gardening there with her gloves on."
"Don't try--you've tried so often--there's a good fellow; but just tellme her name?" said Cleve, looking straight before him, above the lampsand the slanting slates and chimneys, into the deep sky, wherebrilliantly, spite of London smoke, shone the clear sad moon.
"Her name?--I never found out, except Margaret--I don't know; but Ibelieve they did not want their name told."
"That did not look well--did it?" suggested Cleve.
"Well, no more it generally does; but it is not her fault. It was--infact it was--for I _did_ find it out, I may as well tell y
ou--old SirBooth Fanshawe, you know he's broken--not worth a guinea--and alwaysrunning about from place to place to avoid pursuit, in fact. It can'tsignify, you know, now that I think of it, mentioning him, because, ofcourse, he's gone somewhere else long ago."
So said romantic little Sedley, and Cleve sneered.
"I see you can tell a fib on occasion, Tom, like another man. So youfound out the name, and knew it all the time you were protestingignorance. And who told you _that_? People here thought Sir Booth hadgone to Italy."
"Well, it was--but you mustn't tell him I told you. There was a Jewfellow down at Malory, with a writ and a lot of fellows to nab him; butthe old fellow was off; and the Jew, thinking that Wynne Williams knewwhere he was, came to his office and offered him a hatfull of money totell, and he was going to kick him out; and that's the way _he_ foundout it was old Sir Booth; and he is awfully afraid of getting into ascrape about it, if the old people heard who the tenant was."
"So he would--the worst scrape he ever was in, with my _uncle_, at allevents. And that d--d Larkin would get into the management ofeverything, I suppose. I hope, you have not been telling everyone?"
"Not a soul--not a human being."
"There are some of the Cardyllian people that hardly come under thatterm; and, by Jove, if you breathe it to one of them, it's all over thetown, and my uncle will be sure to hear it; and poor WynneWilliams!--you'll be the ruin of him, very likely."
"I tell you, except to you, I _swear_ to you, I haven't mentioned it toa soul on earth," exclaimed Tom.
"Well, I do think, as a matter of conscience and fairness, you ought tohold your tongue, and keep faith with poor Wynne," said Cleve, rudely,"and I think he was a monstrous fool to tell you. You know I'minterested," continued Cleve, perceiving that his vehemence surprisedTom Sedley; "because I have no faith in Larkin--I think him a sneak anda hypocrite, and a rogue--of course that's in confidence, and he's doingall in his power to get a fast hold of my uncle, and to creep into WynneWilliams's place, and a thing like this, with a hard unreasonable fellowlike my uncle, would give him such a lift as you can't imagine."
"But, I'm not going to tell; unless _you_ tell, or _he_, I don't knowwho's to tell it--_I_ won't, I know."
"And about Sir Booth--of course he's not in England now--but neither ishe in Italy," said Tom.
"It's well he has you to keep his 'log' for him," said Cleve.
"He's in France."
"Oh!"
"Yes, in the north of France, somewhere near Caen," said Tom Sedley.
"I wonder you let him get so near England. It seems rather perilous,doesn't it?"
"So one would think, but _there_ he is. Tom Blackmore, of theGuards--you know him?"
"No, I don't."
"Well he saw old Fanshawe there. He happened to be on leave."
"Old Fanshawe?"
"No, Tom Blackmore. He likes poking into out-of-the-way places."
"I dare say."
"He has such a turn for the picturesque and all that, and draws verynicely."
"The long bow, I dare say."
"Well, no matter, he was there--old Fanshawe I mean--Blackmore saw him.He knows his appearance perfectly--used to hunt with his hounds, andthat kind of thing, and often talked to him, so he could not bemistaken--and there he was as large as life."
"Well?"
"He did not know Tom a bit, and Tom asked no questions--in fact, he didnot care to know where the poor old fellow hides himself--he preferrednot--but Madame something or other--I forget her name--gave him ahistory, about as true as Jack the Giant-Killer, of the eccentricEnglish gentleman, and told him that he had taken a great old house, andhad his family there, and a most beautiful young wife, and was asjealous as fifty devils; so you see Margaret must have been there. Ofcourse that was she," said Tom.
"And you said so to your friend Blackmore?" suggested Cleve Verney.
"Yes," said Tom.
"It seems to me you want to have him caught."
"Well, I did not think--I hope not--and I did not know you took anyinterest in him," said Sedley, quite innocently.
"Interest! _I_--me! Interest, indeed! Why the devil should _I_ take aninterest in Sir Booth Fanshawe? Why you seem to forget all the troubleand annoyance he has cost me. Interest, indeed! Quite the contrary.Only, I think, one would not like to get any poor devil into worsetrouble than he's in, for no object, or to be supposed to be collectinginformation about him."
"No one could suppose anything like that of me," said Tom Sedley.
"I beg your pardon; they can suppose anything of anybody," answeredCleve, and, seeing that Tom looked offended, he added, "and the moreabsurd and impossible, the more likely. I wish you heard the things thathave been said of _me_--enough to make your hair stand on end, by Jove!"
"Oh! I dare say."
They were now turning into the street where Cleve had taken lodgings.
"I could not stand those fellows any longer. My uncle has filled thehouse with them--varnish and paint and that stifling plaster--so I'veput up here for a little time."
"I like these streets. I'm not very far away from you here," said Tom."And talking of that affair at Caen, you know, he said, by Jove he did,that he saw _you_ there."
"Who said?"
"Tom Blackmore of the Guards."
"Then Tom Blackmore of the Guards _lies_--that's all. I never saw him--Inever spoke to him--I don't know him; and how should he know me? And ifhe did, I wasn't there; and if I had been, what the devil was it tohim? So besides telling lies, he tells _impertinent_ lies, and he oughtto be kicked."
"Well, of course as you say so, he must have made a mistake; but Caen isas open to you as to him, and there's no harm in the place; and he knowsyou by appearance."
"He knows everybody by appearance, it seems, and nobody knows him; and,by Jove, he describes more like a bailiff than a Guardsman."
"He's a thorough gentleman in every _idea_. Tom Blackmore is as nice alittle fellow as there is in the world," battled Tom Sedley for hisfriend.
"Well, I wish you'd persuade that faultless gentleman to let me and myconcerns alone. I have a reason in this case; and I don't mind if I tellyou I _was_ at Caen, and I suppose he _did_ see me. But there was noromance in the matter, except the romance of the Stock Exchange and aJew; and I wish, Tom, you'd just consider _me_ as much as you do the oldbaronet, for my own sake, that is, for _I_'m pretty well dipped too, anddon't want everyone to know when or where I go in quest of my Jews. I_was_--not very far from that about four months ago; and if you go abouttelling everyone, by Jove my uncle will guess what brought me there,and old fellows don't like _post-obits_ on their own lives."
"My dear Cleve, I had not a notion----"
"Well, all you can do for me now, having spread the report, is to saythat I _was_n't there--I'm serious. Here we are."
END OF VOL. II.
BRADBURY, EVANS, AND CO., PRINTERS, WHITEFRIARS.
+-------------------------------------------------------------------+ | | | Transcriber's note:- | | | | Punctuation errors have been corrected. | | | | The following suspected printer's errors have been addressed. | | | | Page 25: A word fragment 'stea' was removed as it seemed to be | | unecessary and out of context. ("I'm startled sir." stea) | | | | Page 79: Rumbble changed to Rumble. (are they Mrs Rumble--eh?) | | | | Page 90: aud changed to and. (and with a pen in his fingers) | | | | Page 139: and changed to an. (an old chateau) | | |
| Page 151: sear changed to sere. (no bloom restores the sere) | | | | Page 184: Iv'e changed to I've. (I've had a word of trouble) | | | | Page 206: dog-skin changed to doe-skin. (her thin hand, in | | doe-skin glove) | | | +-------------------------------------------------------------------+
Thank you for reading books on BookFrom.Net Share this book with friends