CHAPTER XIII.
MR. DINGWELL THINKS OF AN EXCURSION.
IF Mr. Dingwell had been the most interesting, beautiful, and, I willadd, wealthy of human beings, instead of being an ugly and wicked oldbankrupt, Messrs. Goldshed, Levi, and Larkin could not have watchedthe progress of his complaint with greater trepidation, or hailed thefirst unequivocal symptoms of his recovery with more genuine delight.I doubt if any one of them would have experienced the same intensehappiness at the restoration of wife, child, or parent.
They did not, it is true, re-assemble in Mr. Dingwell's apartments inRosemary Court. There was not one of those gentlemen who did not set aproper value upon his own life; and they were content with thedoctor's report. In due course, the oracle pronounced Mr. Dingwell outof danger, but insisted on change of air.
Well, that could be managed, of course. It _must_ be managed, for didnot the doctor say, that without it the patient might not ultimatelyrecover. If it could have been dispensed with, the risk would havebeen wisely avoided. But Mr. Dingwell's recovery depended on it, andMr. Dingwell must be _made_ to recover.
Whither should they send him? Stolen treasure or murdered body isjealously concealed by the malefactor; but not more shrinkingly thanwas Mr. Dingwell by those gentlemen who had him in charge. Safe enoughhe was while he remained in his dingy seclusion in Rosemary Court,where he lay as snugly as Asmodeus in the magician's phial, and secureagainst all but some such accident as the irruption of the student DonCleophas Leandro Peres Zambullo, through the skylight. But where wasto be found a rural habitation--salubrious and at the same timesufficiently secret. And if they did light upon one resembling thatwhere the water-fiends played their pranks--
"On a wild moor, all brown and bleak, Where broods the heath-frequenting grouse, There stood a tenement antique-- Lord Hoppergollop's country house.
"Here silence reigned with lips of glue, And undisturbed, maintained her law, Save when the owl cried--'Whoo! whoo! whoo!' Or the hoarse crow croaked--'Caw! caw! caw!'"
If I say they did find so eligible a mansion for their purpose, was itlikely that their impracticable and incorrigible friend, Mr. Dingwell,would consent to spend six weeks in the "deserted mansion" aspatiently as we are told Molly Dumpling did?
I think not. And when the doctor talked of country air, the patientjoked peevishly about the "grove of chimneys," and "the sweet shadyside of Pall Mall."
"I think, Mrs. Rumble," said he, one day, "I'm not going to die thisbout at all events. I'm looking better, I think--eh?"
"Looking very bad, sir, please. I can't see no improvement," saidSarah Rumble.
"Well, ma'am, you try to keep my spirits up, thank you. I'm shut uptoo much--that's the sole cause of it _now_. If I could creep out abit at night."
"God forbid, sir."
"Thank you, ma'am, again. I say if I could get out a little I shouldsoon get my strength back again; but sitting in this great paddedchair I might as well be in bed; can't go out in the daytime youknow--too many enemies. The owl's been moulting, ma'am--devilishsick--the moulting owl. If the old bird could flutter out a bit. I'mliving like a _monk_, I was going to say--egad, I wish I was. Give methose d---- bitters; they haven't done me a bit of good--thanks."
"If you was to go to the country, sir," insinuated Miss Sarah Rumble.
"Yes, if I _was_, as you express it, I should die in a week. If aircould have killed me, the curious atmosphere of this charming courtwould have killed me long ago. I'm not one of those air-plants, ma'am.What I want is a little fillip, ma'am--a little amusement--anythingout of this prison; and I'm not going to squat on a moor, or to roostin a wood, to please a pack of fellows that don't care if I were onthe treadmill, provided they could take me out whenever they want me.My health, indeed! They simply want me out of the way. My health!Their consideration for me is truly affecting. We'll not mind thebitters, yet. It's time for my claret."
He drank it, and seemed to doze for a little. Mrs. Rumble quicklysettled the medicine bottles and other things that had been put out oftheir places, every now and then looking at the sunken face of the oldman, in his death-like nap--his chin sunk on his breast, the sterncarving of his massive forehead, the repulsive lines of a grimselfishness, and a certain evil shadow, made that face in its reposesingularly unlovely.
Suddenly he waked.
"I say, Mrs. Rumble, I've been thinking--what about that old clergymanyou mentioned--that Mr. Bartlett. I think I _will_ see him--suppose helectures me; his hard words won't break my bones, and I think he'damuse me; so you may as well get him in, any time--I don't care when."
Sarah Rumble was only too glad to give her wicked tenant a chance,such as it was, and next day, at about one o'clock, a gentle-lookingold clergyman, with thin white hair, knocked at his door, and wasadmitted. It was the Rev. Thomas Bartlett.
"I can't rise, sir, to receive you--you'll excuse me; but I'm stillvery ill," said Mr. Dingwell.
"Pray don't stir, sir," said the clergyman.
"I _can't_," said Mr. Dingwell. "Will _you_ kindly sit in that chair,near the fire? What I have to say is private, and if you please we'llspeak very low. My head isn't recovered yet."
"Certainly," said the old gentleman, placing himself as Dingwellwished.
"Thank you very much, sir. Now I can manage it. Isn't your nameThomas, sir--the Reverend Thomas Bartlett?" said Mr. Dingwell, lookingat him shrewdly from under his white eyebrows.
"That's my name, sir."
"_My_ name's Dingwell. You don't remember? I'll try to bring it toyour mind. About twenty-nine years ago you were one of the curates atSt. Wyther's in the Fields?"
"Yes, sir, I was," answered the clergyman, fixing his eyes in turninquisitively on him.
"I was the witness--do you remember me, now--to the ceremony, whenthat unfortunate fellow, Verney, married Miss--I have a note of hername--hang it!--Rebecca, was it?--_Yes, Rebecca_--it was RebeccaMervyn. You married Verney to Miss Mervyn, and _I_ witnessed it."
"I remember very well, sir, that a gentleman did accompany Mr. Verney;and I remember the marriage extremely well, because there occurredvery distressing circumstances respecting that Mr. Verney not verylong after, which fixed that marriage in my mind; but having seen youonce only, sir, I can't pretend to recollect your face."
"There has been some time, too, sir, since then," said Mr. Dingwell,with a cynical sneer, and a shrug. "But I think I should haverecognized you; that's perhaps owing to my having a remarkablyretentive memory for faces; however it's of no great consequence here.It isn't a matter of identification at all. I only want to know, asVerney's dead, whether you can tell what has become of that poor lady,or can find any clue to her whereabouts--there was a baby--a littlechild--if they are still living."
"She did write to me twice, sir, within a few years after themarriage. He treated her very ill, sir," said the clergyman.
"Infamously, I fancy," said Dingwell; "and how long ago was that,sir?"
"Oh! a long time; twenty--ay, five--ay, eight-and-twenty years since,"said the old gentleman.
Dingwell laughed.
His visitor stared.
"Yes, it's a good while," said Mr. Dingwell; "and looking over thatgulf, sir, you may fill your glass, and sing--
"'Many a lad I liked is dead, And many a lass grown old.'
Eight-and-twenty years! Gad, sir, she's had time to grow gray; and tobe dead and buried; and to serve a handsome period of her term inpurgatory. I forgot, though; _you_ don't follow me there. I wasthinking of the French cure, who made part of my journey here withme."
"No, sir; Church of England, thank God; the purest faith; the mostscriptural, I believe, on earth. You, sir, I assume, are of the sameChurch," said he.
"Well, I can't say I am, sir; nor a Catholic, nor a Quaker," said theinvalid.
"I hope, sir, there's no tendency to rationalism?"
"No, sir, I thank you; to no ism whatsoever invented by any other man;Dingwellism for Dingwell; Smithism for Smith.
Every man has a right tohis opinion, in my poor judgment."
"And pray, sir, if neither Romanist nor Protestant, what _are_ you?"inquired the clergyman, as having a right to ask.
"_Porcus de gruge epicuri_, at your service," said the sick man, witha feeble smirk.
"I had hoped, sir, it might have been for some profitable purpose youhad sent for me," said the disappointed pastor.
"Well, sir, I was baptized in the Church of England, although I don'tsubscribe the Articles; so I served in your regiment, you see, thoughI don't wear the uniform any longer."
"I thought, sir, you might have wished some conversation uponreligious subjects."
"And haven't we had it, sir?--sorry we don't agree. I'm too old toturn out of my own way; but, though I can't learn yours, I shall behappy to teach you something of mine, if you wish it."
"I think, sir, as I have other calls to make," said the old clergyman,much offended, and rising to take his leave as he spoke. "I hadbetter wish you a good afternoon."
"Pray, sir, stay a moment; I never knew a clergyman in such a hurrybefore to leave a sick man; as no man knows, according to your theory,when he's going to be converted--and how should I? The mildew of deathis whitening each of us at this moment; the last golden sands arerunning out. D-- it, give me a chance."
This incongruous harangue was uttered so testily--even fiercely--thatthe good clergyman was puzzled, and began to doubt in what state hisfever might have left Mr. Dingwell's brain.
"Don't you see, sir? Do sit down--a little patience won't do either ofus any harm."
"Certainly, sir," hesitated the clergyman, looking hard at him, "but Ihave not a great deal of time."
"Nor I a great deal of strength; I shan't keep you long, sir."
The Rev. Thomas Bartlett sat down again, and glanced meekly aninvitation to Mr. Dingwell to begin.
"Nine-and-twenty years, sir, since you married that unlucky pair. Now,I need not say by what particular accidents, for the recollection ispainful, I was in after-life thrown into the society of thatunfortunate ill-used dog, poor Arthur Verney; I knew him intimately.I was the only friend he had left, and I was with him when he died,infamously neglected by all his family. He had just got hishalf-yearly payment of a beggarly annuity, on which he subsisted;_he_--the rightful Viscount Verney, and the head of his family--ha,ha, ha! By Jove, sir, I can't help laughing, though I pity him. Havingthat little sum in his hand, said he to me, 'You take charge of thisfor my son, if you can find him; and I rely on your friendship to lookhim up if ever you revisit England; this is for him; and he wasbaptized by the Rev. Thomas Bartlett, as my wife wrote to tell me justeight-and-twenty years ago, and he, no doubt, can enable you to tracehim.' That's what _he_ said--what say _you_, sir?"
"Old Lady Verney placed the child in charge of the gentleman who thenmanaged the Verney property. I heard all about it from a Mr. WynneWilliams, a Welsh lawyer. The child died when only a year old; youknow _he_ would have been the heir apparent."
"Poor Arthur said _no_, sir. I asked him--a Scotch marriage, or someof those crooked wed-locks on which they found bigamies andillegitimacies. 'No,' Arthur said, 'he has no technical case, and hemay be miserably poor; this is all I can do, and I charge you withit.' It was very solemn, sir. Where does that lawyer live?"
"At this moment I can't recollect, sir--some place near which theVerneys have estates."
"Cardyllian?"
"The very place, sir."
"I know it, sir; I've been there when I was a boy. And his name was_Wynne_ Williams?"
"I _think_ it was," said the clergyman.
"And you have nothing more to say about the poor child?" asked Mr.Dingwell.
"There _is_ nothing more, I fancy, sir," said Mr. Bartlett. "Can Igive you any more information?"
"Not any, sir, that I can think of at present. Many thanks, Mr.Bartlett, for your obliging call. Wait a moment for the servant."
And Mr. Dingwell, thinking fiercely, rang his hand-bell long andviciously.
"Ha! Mrs. Rumble; you'll show this gentleman out. Good-bye, sir, andmany thanks."
"Good day, sir."
"Ha, ha, ha! It's a good subject, and a fertile!" muttered Mr.Dingwell, so soon as he was alone.
For the rest of that evening Mr. Dingwell seemed to find ampleamusement in his own thoughts, and did not trouble Mrs. Rumble withthat contemptuous and cynical banter, which she was obliged to accept,when he pleased, for conversation.
The only thing she heard him say was--"I'll go _there_."
Now Malory had already been proved to be a safe hiding place for agentleman in Mr. Dingwell's uncomfortable circumstances. The air wasunexceptionable, and Lord Verney was easily persuaded to permit theold man to sojourn, for a few weeks, in the Steward's House, under thecare of old Mrs. Mervyn's servant, aided by one provided by Messrs.Goldshed and Levi.
There were two rooms in the steward's house which old Mrs. Mervynnever used, and some furniture removed from the Dower House adjoining,rendered them tolerably comfortable. A letter from old Lady Verneyopened and explained the request, which amounted to a command, thatshe would permit the invalid, in whom Lord Verney took an interest, tooccupy, for a fortnight or so, the spare rooms in the Steward's House.
So all was made ready, and the day fixed for Mr. Dingwell's arrival.