CHAPTER IV.
MR. BENJAMIN LEVI RECOGNISES AN ACQUAINTANCE.
MR. BENJAMIN LEVI, having turned the corner of the steward's house,found himself before two great piers, passing through the gate of whichhe entered the stable-yard, at the further side of which was a secondgate, which he rightly conjectured would give him access to that backavenue through which he meant to make his exit.
He glanced round this great quadrangle, one end of which was over-lookedby the rear of the old house, and that quaint old refectory with itsclumsy flight of stone steps, from the windows of which our friendSedley had observed the ladies of Malory while engaged in their gardenwork.
There was grass growing between the paving stones, and moss upon thewalls, and the stable doors were decaying upon their rusty hinges.Commenting, as so practical a genius naturally would, upon thesurrounding capabilities and decay, Mr. Levi had nearly traversed thissolitude when he heard some one call, "Thomas Jones!" twice or thrice,and the tones of the voice arrested him instantly.
He was a man with a turn for musical business, and not only dabbled inconcerts and little operatic speculations, but, having a naturallymusical ear, had a retentive memory for voices--and this blind man'sfaculty stood him in stead here, for, with a malicious thrill of wonderand delight, he instantly recognised this voice.
The door of that smaller yard which is next the house opened now, andSir Booth Fanshawe entered, bawling with increased impatience--"ThomasJones!"
Sir Booth's eye lighted on the figure of Mr. Levi, as he stood close bythe wall at the other side, hoping to escape observation.
With the same instinct Sir Booth stepped backward hastily into an openstable door, and Mr. Levi skipped into another door, within whichunfortunately, a chained dog, Neptune, was dozing.
The dog flew the length of his tether at Mr. Levi's legs, and the Jewishgentleman sprang forth more hastily even than he had entered.
At the same moment, Sir Booth's pride determined _his_ vacillation, andhe strode boldly forward and said--
"I think I know you, sir; don't I?"
As there was still some little distance between them, Mr. Levi affectednear-sightedness, and, compressing his eyelids, smiled dubiously, andsaid--
"Rayther think not, sir. No, sir--I'm a stranger; my name is Levi--ofGoldshed and Levi--and I've been to see Mrs. Mervyn, who lives here,about her young man. I don't know you, sir--no--it is a mishtake."
"No, Mr. Levi--you _do_ know me--you do," replied Sir Booth, with a grimoath, approaching, while his fingers clutched at his walking-stick withan uneasy gripe, as if he would have liked to exercise it upon theshoulders of the Israelite.
"Oh! crikey! Ay, to be sure--why, it's Sir Booth Fanshawe! I beg pardon,Sir Booth. We thought you was in France; but no matter, Sir BoothFanshawe, none in the world, for all that little bushiness is blow'dover, quite. We have no interest--no more than your horse--in themlittle securities, upon my shoul; we sold them two months ago toSholomons; we were glad to sell them to Sholomons, we were; he hit uspretty hard with some of Wilbraham and Cumming's paper, and I don't careif he never sees a shilling of it--we would rayther _like_ it." And Mr.Levi again made oath to that confession of feeling.
"Will you come into the house and have a glass of sherry or something?"said Sir Booth, on reflection.
"Well, I don't mind," said Mr. Levi.
And in he went and had a glass of sherry and a biscuit, and grewfriendly and confidential.
"Don't you be running up to town, Sir Booth--Sholomons is looking foryou. Clever man, Sholomons, and you should get quietly out of thiscountry as soon as you conveniently can. He thinks you're in France now.He sent Rogers--you know Rogers?"
He paused so long here that Sir Booth had to answer "No."
"Well, he sent him--a good man, Rogers, you know, but drinks abit--after you to Vichy, ha, ha, ha! Crikey! it _was_ rich. Sholomons beblowed! It was worth a pound to see his face--ugly fellow. You knowSholomons?"
And so Mr. Levi entertained his host, who neither loved nor trusted him,and at his departure gave him all sorts of friendly warnings and slyhints, and walked and ran partly to the "George," and got a two-horsevehicle as quickly as they could harness the horses, and drove at greatspeed to Llywnan, where he telegraphed to his partner to send a writdown by the next train for Sir Booth, the message being from BenjaminLevi, George Inn, Cardyllian, to Goldshed and Levi, &c., &c., London.
Mr. Levi took his ease in his inn, sipped a good deal of brandy andwater, and smoked many cigars, with a serene mind and pleasantanticipations, for, if nothing went wrong, the telegram would be in hispartner's hand in ample time to enable him, with his accustomeddiligence, to send down a "beak" with the necessary documents by thenight train who would reach Cardyllian early, and pay his little visitat Malory by nine o'clock in the morning.
Mr. Levi, as prosperous gentlemen will, felt his solitude, thoughluxurious, too dull for the effervescence of his spirits, and havingquestioned his host as to the amusements of Cardyllian, found that itsnormal resources of that nature were confined to the billiard andreading rooms, where, on payment of a trifling benefaction to theinstitution, he enjoyed, as a "visitor," the exhilarating privileges ofa member of the club.
In the billiard-room, accordingly, that night, was the fragrance of Mr.Levi's cheroot agreeably perceptible, the sonorous drawl of his peculiaraccent vocal amongst pleasanter intonations, and his "cuts," "doubledoubles," and "long crosses," painfully admired by the gentlemen whoseshillings he pocketed at pool. And it was pleasant to his exquisitivelycommercial genius to think that the contributions of the gentlemen towhom he had "given a lesson," and whose "eyes he had opened," wouldconstitute a fund sufficient to pay his expenses at the "George," andeven to leave something towards his return fare to London.
The invalid who was suffering from asthma in the bed-room next his wasdisturbed by his ejaculations as he undressed, and by his repeatedbursts of laughter, and rang his bell and implored the servant to beg ofthe two gentlemen who were conversing in the next room to make a littleless noise, in consideration of his indisposition.
The manner in which he had "potted" the gentlemen in the billiard-room,right and left, and the uncomfortable admiration of his successesexhibited in their innocent countenances, had, no doubt, something to dowith these explosions of merriment. But the chief source of hisamusement was the anticipated surprise of Sir Booth, when the littledomiciliary visit of the next morning should take place, and therecollection of his own adroitness in mystifying the Baronet.
So he fell into a sweet slumber, uncrossed by even an ominous dream,not knowing that the shrewd old bird for whom his chaff was spread andhis pot simmering had already flown with the scream of the whistle onthe wings of the night train to Chester, and from that centre to anunknown nook, whence, in a day or two more, he had flitted to somecontinental roost, which even clever Mr. Levi could not guess.
Next morning early, the ladies were on their way to London, throughwhich they were to continue their journey, and to join Sir Booth abroad.
Two persons were, therefore, very much disappointed next day at Malory;but it could not be helped. One was Cleve Verney, who tried theinexorable secrecy of the servant in every way, but in vain; possiblybecause the servant did not himself know where "the family" were gone.The other was Mr. Benjamin Levi, who resented Sir Booth's selfishduplicity with an exasperation which would hardly have been appeased byburning that "old mizzled robber" alive.
Mr. Levi flew to Chester with his "beak" in a third-class carriage, andthence radiated telegraphic orders and entreaties affecting Sir Boothwherever he had a friend, and ready, on a hint by the wires, to unleashhis bailiff on his track, and fix him on the soil, immovable as thepetrified witch of Mucklestane Muir, by the spell of his parchmentlegend.
But no gleam of light rewarded his labours. It was enough to ruffle evenMr. Levi's temper, which, accordingly, _was_ ruffled. To have been sonear! To have had his hand, as it were, upon the bird. If he had onlyhad the
writ himself in his pocket he might have dropped, with his ownfingers, the grain of salt upon his tail. But it was not to be. At themoment of possession, Mr. Levi was balked. He could grind curses underhis white teeth, and did not spare them now. Some of them were, I daresay, worthy of that agile witch, "Cuttie Sark," as she stood baffled onthe "key-stane" of the bridge, with Meggie's severed tail in her grip.
In the meantime, for Cleve Verney, Malory is stricken with a suddenblight. Its woods are enchanted no longer; it is dark, now, and empty.His heart aches when he looks at it.
He missed his accustomed walk with the Etherage girls. He wrote to tellold Vane Etherage that he was suffering from a severe cold, and couldnot dine with him, as he had promised. The cold was a lie--but was hereally well? Are the spirits no part of health; and where were his?
About a fortnight later, came a letter from his good friend, MissSheckleton. How delightfully interesting, though it contained next tonothing. But how interesting! How often he read it through! How everysolitary moment was improved by a glance into it!
It was a foreign letter. It would be posted, she said, by a friend inParis. She could not yet tell, even to a friend so kind as he, theaddress which would find them. She hoped, however, _very_ soon to be atliberty to do so. _All_ were well. Her young friend had never alludedsince to the subject of the last painful interview. _She_, MissSheckleton, could not, unless a favourable opening presented, wellinvite a conversation on the matter. She had no doubt, however, that anopportunity would occur. She understood the peculiar character of herbeautiful young cousin, and saw a difficulty, and even danger, inpressing the question upon her, possibly prematurely. When he, Cleve,wrote--which she supposed he would so soon as he was in possession ofher address--he could state exactly what he wished her to say.Meanwhile, although as she had before hinted, dear Margaret was admiredand _sought_ by a man both of rank and fortune, with very greatconstancy, (she thought it not improbable that Cleve had alreadysuspected that affair,) there was in _her_ opinion nothing toapprehend, at least at present, in that gentleman's suit--flattered, ofcourse, she must be by a constancy so devoted; but she hardly thoughtthere was a chance that the feeling would grow to anything beyond_that_. So, she bid God bless him, and wrote Anne Sheckleton at the footof the page.
The physician who, mistaking a complaint, administers precisely theconcoction which debilitates the failing organ, or inflames the torturednerve, commits just such an innocent cruelty as good Miss Sheckletonpractised, at the close of her letter, upon Cleve Verney.
She had fancied that he knew something of the suit to which she referredfor the purpose of relieving an anxiety to which her thoughtful allusionintroduced him, in fact, for the first time.
Who was this faithful swain? He knew enough of Sir Booth Fanshawe'ssurroundings, his friends and intimates, to count up four, or five, orsix possible rivals. He knew what perseverance might accomplish, andabsence undo, and his heart was disquieted within him.
If he had consulted his instinct, he would have left Ware forthwith, andpursued to the Continent, and searched every town in France; but hecould not act quite according to impulse. He had told the Cardyllianpeople that he was not to leave Ware till the fourteenth; would noremark attend his sudden departure, following immediately upon themysterious flitting of the Malory people? He knew what wonderful storiesmight thereupon arise in Cardyllian, and how sure they would be, one wayor another, to reach his uncle Kiffyn, and how that statesman'ssuspicions might embarrass him. Then a letter might easily reach Warewhile he was away, and be lost, or worse.
So he resolved to see out the rest of his time where he was. InCardyllian church, how dark and cold looked the cavity of the Malorypew! The saints and martyrs in the great eastern window were subdued,and would not glow, and their glories did not burn, but only smoulderedthat day. And oh! how long was Dr. Splayfoot's sermon! And how vague washis apprehension of the "yarn" to which Miss Charity Etherage treatedhim all the way from the church porch to the top of Castle Street.
He was glad when the fifteenth, which was to call him away from Ware,approached. He was glad to leave this changed place, glad to go toLondon--_anywhere_.
Just as all was ready for his flight by the night train, on the eveningof the 14th, to his great joy, came a letter, a note, almost, so short,from kind Anne Sheckleton.
_All_--underlined--were well. There was nothing more, in fact, but onesatisfactory revelation, which was the address which would now findthem.
So Cleve Verney made the journey to London that night in betterspirits.