CHAPTER III.
MR. LEVI VISITS MRS. MERVYN.
AND now the stranger stood before the steward's house, which is an oldstone building, just three stories high, with but few rooms, and heavystone shafts to the windows, with little diamond lattices in them, allstained and gray with age--antiquaries assign it to the period of HenryVII.--and when the Jewish gentleman, his wide, loose mouth smiling insolitary expectation, slapped and rattled his cane upon the planks ofthe hatch, as people in old times called "house!" to summon theservants, he was violating the monastic silence of a building as old asthe bygone friars, with their matin bells and solemn chants.
A little Welsh girl looked over the clumsy banister, and ran up with hismessage to Mrs. Mervyn.
"Will you please come up stairs, sir, to the drawing-room?" asked thechild.
He was amused at the notion of a "drawing-room" in such a place, andwith a lazy sneer climbed the stairs after her.
This drawing-room was very dark at this hour, except for the patch ofred light that came through the lattice and rested on the old cupboardopposite, on which stood, shelf above shelf, a grove of coloured delfcandlesticks, tea-cups, jugs, men, women, teapots, and beasts, all in anold-world style, a decoration which prevails in humble Welsh chambers,and which here was a property of the house, forgotten, I presume, by thegreat house of Verney, and transmitted from tenant to tenant, with thelumbering furniture.
The flighty old lady, Mrs. Mervyn of the large eyes, received him withan old-fashioned politeness and formality which did not in the leastembarrass her visitor, who sate himself down, smiling his moist, lazysmile, with his knees protruded under the table, on which his elbowsrested, and with his heels on the rung of his chair, while his hat andcane lay in the sunlight beside him.
"The maid, I think, forgot to mention your name, sir?" said the old ladygently, but in a tone of inquiry.
"Very like, ma'am--very like, indeed--because, I think, I forgot tomention my name to her," he drawled pleasantly. "I've taken a deal oftrouble--I have--to find you out, ma'am, and two hundred and forty-fivemiles here, ma'am, and the same back again--a journey of four hundredand ninety miles--is not just nothing. I'm glad to see you, ma'am--happyto find you in your drawing-room, ma'am--hope you find yourself as well,ma'am, as your numerous friends could wish you. My name, ma'am, is Levi,being junior governor of the firm of Goldshed and Levi, well known on'Change, ma'am, and justly appreciated by a large circle of friends, asyou may read upon this card."
The card which he tendered did not, it must be allowed, speak of theseadmiring friends, but simply announced that "Goldshed and Levi" were"Stockbrokers," pursuing their calling at "Offices--10, Scroop Street,Gimmel Lane," in the City. And having held this card before her eyes fora sufficient time, he put it into his pocket.
"You see, ma'am, I've come all this way for our house, to ask youwhether you would like to hear some news of your governor, ma'am?"
"Of whom, sir?" inquired the tall old lady, who had remained standingall this time, as she had received him, and was now looking at him witheyes, not of suspicion, but of undisguised fear.
"Of your husband, ma'am, I mean," drawled he, eyeing her with hiscunning smile.
"You don't mean, sir----" said she faintly, and thereupon she was seizedwith a trembling, and sat down, and her very lips turned white, and Mr.Levi began to think "the old girl was looking uncommon queerish," anddid not like the idea of "its happening," under these circumstances.
"There, ma'am--don't take on! Where's the water? Da-a-a-mn the drop!" heexclaimed, turning up mugs and jugs in a flurry. "I say--MaryAnne--Jane--chick-a-biddy--girl--be alive there, will ye?" howled thevisitor over the banister. "Water, can't ye? Old woman's sick!"
"Better now, sir--better--just open that--a little air, please," the oldlady whispered.
With some hurried fumbling he succeeded in getting the lattice open.
"Water, will you? What a time you're about it, little beast!" he bawledin the face of the child.
"Much better, thanks--very much better," whispered the old lady.
"Of course, you're better, ma'am. Here it is at la-a-ast. Have somewater, ma'am? Do. Give her the water, you little fool."
She sipped a little.
"Coming round--all right," he said tenderly. "What cattle them old womenare! drat them." A little pause followed.
"A deal better now, ma'am?"
"I'm startled, sir."
"Of course you're startled, ma'am."
"And faint."
"Why not, ma'am?"
Mrs. Rebecca Mervyn breathed three or four great sighs, and began tolook again like a living woman.
"Now she looks quite nice," (he pronounced it ni-i-ishe) "doesn't she?You may make tracksh, young woman; go, will you?"
"I feel so much better," said the old lady when they were alone, "praygo on."
"You do--quite--ever so much better. _Shall_ I go on?"
"Pray do, sir."
"Well now, see, if I do, there must be no more of that, old lady. If youcan't talk of the governor, we'll just let him alone," said Levi,sturdily.
"For God's sake, sir, if you mean my husband, tell me all you know."
"All aint a great deal, ma'am; but a cove has turned up who knew himwell."
"Some one who knew him?"
"Just so, ma'am." He balanced whether he should tell her that he wasdead or not, but decided that it would be more convenient, though lesstragic, to avoid getting up a new scene like the other, so he modifiedhis narrative. "He's turned up, ma'am, and knew him very intimate; andhas got a meogny" (he so pronounced mahogany) "desk of his, gave incharge to him, since he could not come home at present, containing a lawpaper, ma'am, making over to his son and yours some property inEngland."
"Then, he is not coming?" said she.
"Not as I knowzh, ma'am."
"He has been a long time away," she continued.
"So I'm informed, ma'am," he observed.
"I'll tell you how it was, and when he went away."
"Thank ye, ma'am," he interposed. "I've heard--melancholy case, ma'am;got seven penn'orth, didn't he, and never turned up again?"
"Seven what, sir?"
"Seven years, ma'am; seven penn'orth we call it, ma'am, familiar like."
"I don't understand you, sir--I don't know what it means; I saw him sailaway. It went off, off, off."
"I'll bet a pound it did, ma'am," said Mr. Levi.
"Only to be for a very short time; the sail--I could see it veryfar--how pretty they look on the sea; but very lonely, I think--toolonely."
"A touch of solitary, ma'am," acquiesced Levi.
"Away, in the yacht," she dreamed on.
"The royal yacht, ma'am, no doubt."
"The yacht, we called it. He said he would return next day; and it wentround Pendillion--round the headland of Pendillion, I lost it, and itnever came again; but I think it will, sir--don't you? I'm sure itwill--he was so confident; only smiled and nodded, and he said, 'No, Iwon't say good-bye.' He would not have said that if he did not mean toreturn--he could not so deceive a lonely poor thing like me, that adoredhim."
"No, he couldn't ma'am, not he; no man could. Betray the girl thatadored him! Ba-a-ah! impossible," replied Mr. Levi, and shook his glossyringlets sleepily, and dropped his eyelids, smiling. This old girlamused him, her romance was such a joke. But the light was perceptiblygrowing more dusky, and business must not wait upon fun, so Mr. Levisaid--
"He'sh no chicken by this time, ma'am--your son, ma'am; I'm told he'shtwenty-sheven yearsh old--thatsh no chicken--twenty-sheven nextbirthday."
"Do you know anything of him, sir? Oh, no, he doesn't," she said,looking dreamily with her great sad eyes upon him.
"Jest you tell me, ma'am, where was he baptised, and by what name?" saidher visitor.
A look of doubt and fear came slowly and wildly into her face as shelooked at him.
"Who is he--I've been speaking to you, sir?"
"Oh! yesh, mo-o-st _beautiful_,
you 'av, ma'am," answered he; "and I amyour son's best friend--and yours, ma'am; only you tell me where to findhim, and he'sh a made man, for all his dayzh."
"Where has he come from?--a stranger," she murmured.
"I _told_ you, ma'am."
"I don't know you, sir; I don't know your name," she dreamed on.
"Benjamin Levi. I'll _spell_ it for you, if you like," he answered,beginning to grow testy. "I told you my name, and showed you myca-a-ard. Bah! it ravels at one end, as fast as it knits at the other."
And again he held the card of the firm of Goldshed and Levi, with hiselbows on the table, between the fingers of his right and left hand,bowed out like an old-fashioned shopboard, and looking as if it wouldspring out elastically into her face.
"_There_, ma'am, that'sh the ticket!" said he, eyeing her over it.
"Once, sir, I spoke of business to a stranger, and I was always sorry; Idid mischief," said the old woman, with a vague remorsefulness.
"I'm _no_ stranger, ma'am, begging your pardon," he replied, insolently;"you don't half know what you're saying, I do think. Goldshed andLevi--not know us; sich precious rot, I _never_!"
"I did mischief, sir."
"I only want to know where to find your son, ma'am, if you know, and ifyou won't tell, you _ruin_ that poor young man. It aint a pound to me,but it'sh a deal to him," answered the good-natured Mr. Levi.
"I'm very sorry, sir, but I once did mischief by speaking to a gentlemanwhom I didn't know. Lady Verney made me promise, and I'm sure she wasright, never to speak about business without first consulting somemember of her family. I don't understand business--never did," pleadedshe.
"Well, here's a go! not understaan'? Why, there's _nothing_ tounderstaan'. It isn't business. S-O-N," he spelt "_son_.H-U-S-B-A-N-D--_uzbaan_' that aint business--da-a-m me!_Where's_ the business? Ba-ah!"
"Sir," said the old lady, drawing herself up, "I've answered you. It wasabout my husband--God help me--I spoke before, and did mischief withoutknowing it. I won't speak of him to strangers, except as Lady Verneyadvises--to any stranger--especially to you, sir."
There was a sound of steps outside, which, perhaps, modified the answerof Mr. Levi. He was very much chagrined, and his great black eyes lookedvery wickedly upon her helpless face.
"Ha, ha, ha! as you please, ma'am. It isn't the turn of a shilling to_me_, but you _ru_-in the _poo-or_ young man, your son, for da-a-am me,if I touch his bushinesh again, if it falls through _now_; mind you_that_. So, having _ruined_ your own flesh and blood, you tell me to goas I came. It's _nau-thing_ to me--mind that--but ru-in to him; here'smy hat and stick--I'm going, only just I'll give you one chance more forthat poor young man, just a minute to think again." He had stood up,with his hat and cane in his hand. "Just one chance--you'll be sendingfor me again, and I won't come. No--no--never, da-a-am me!"
"Good evening, sir," said the lady.
Mr. Levi bit his thumb-nail.
"You don't know what you're a-doing, ma'am," said he, trying once more.
"I can't, sir--I _can't_," she said, distractedly.
"Come, think--I'm going--_going_; just think--what do you shay?"
He waited.
"I won't speak, sir."
"You won't?"
"No, sir."
He lingered for a moment, and the red sunlight showed like a flush ofanger on his sallow face. Then, with an insolent laugh, he turned,sticking his hat on his head, and walked down the stairs, singing.
Outside the hatch, he paused for a second.
"I'll get it all another way," he thought. "Round here," he said,"wasn't it--the back way. Good evening, you stupid old crazy cat," andhe saluted the windows of the steward's house with a vicious twitch ofhis cane.