St. Ives: Being the Adventures of a French Prisoner in England by Stevenson (rom com books to read .TXT) 📗

is very fortunate for you that your face is so strong a letter of recommendation.  Here am I, a tough old practitioner, mixing myself up with your very distressing business; and here is this farmer’s lad, who has the wit to take a bribe and the loyalty to come and tell you of it—all, I take it, on the strength of your appearance.  I wish I could imagine how it would impress a jury!’ says he.

‘And how it would affect the hangman, sir?’ I asked

‘Absit omen!’ said Mr. Romaine devoutly.

We were just so far in our talk, when I heard a sound that brought my heart into my mouth: the sound of some one slyly trying the handle of the door.  It had been preceded by no audible footstep.  Since the departure of Rowley our wing of the house had been entirely silent.  And we had every right to suppose ourselves alone, and to conclude that the new-comer, whoever he might be, was come on a clandestine, if not a hostile, errand.

‘Who is there?’ asked Romaine.

‘It’s only me, sir,’ said the soft voice of Dawson.  ‘It’s the Viscount, sir.  He is very desirous to speak with you on business.’

‘Tell him I shall come shortly, Dawson,’ said the lawyer.  ‘I am at present engaged.’

‘Thank you, sir!’ said Dawson.

And we heard his feet draw off slowly along the corridor.

‘Yes,’ said Mr. Romaine, speaking low, and maintaining the attitude of one intently listening, ‘there is another foot.  I cannot be deceived!’

‘I think there was indeed!’ said I.  ‘And what troubles me—I am not sure that the other has gone entirely away.  By the time it got the length of the head of the stair the tread was plainly single.’

‘Ahem—blockaded?’ asked the lawyer.

‘A siege en règle!’ I exclaimed.

‘Let us come farther from the door,’ said Romaine, ‘and reconsider this damnable position.  Without doubt, Alain was this moment at the door.  He hoped to enter and get a view of you, as if by accident.  Baffled in this, has he stayed himself, or has he planted Dawson here by way of sentinel?’

‘Himself, beyond a doubt,’ said I.  ‘And yet to what end?  He cannot think to pass the night there!’

‘If it were only possible to pay no heed!’ said Mr. Romaine.  ‘But this is the accursed drawback of your position.  We can do nothing openly.  I must smuggle you out of this room and out of this house like seizable goods; and how am I to set about it with a sentinel planted at your very door?’

‘There is no good in being agitated,’ said I.

‘None at all,’ he acquiesced.  ‘And, come to think of it, it is droll enough that I should have been that very moment commenting on your personal appearance, when your cousin came upon this mission.  I was saying, if you remember, that your face was as good or better than a letter of recommendation.  I wonder if M. Alain would be like the rest of us—I wonder what he would think of it?’

Mr. Romaine was sitting in a chair by the fire with his back to the windows, and I was myself kneeling on the hearthrug and beginning mechanically to pick up the scattered bills, when a honeyed voice joined suddenly in our conversation.

‘He thinks well of it, Mr. Romaine.  He begs to join himself to that circle of admirers which you indicate to exist already.’

CHAPTER XIX—THE DEVIL AND ALL AT AMERSHAM PLACE

Never did two human creatures get to their feet with more alacrity than the lawyer and myself.  We had locked and barred the main gates of the citadel; but unhappily we had left open the bath-room sally-port; and here we found the voice of the hostile trumpets sounding from within, and all our defences taken in reverse.  I took but the time to whisper Mr. Romaine in the ear: ‘Here is another tableau for you!’ at which he looked at me a moment with a kind of pathos, as who should say, ‘Don’t hit a man when he’s down.’  Then I transferred my eyes to my enemy.

He had his hat on, a little on one side: it was a very tall hat, raked extremely, and had a narrow curling brim.  His hair was all curled out in masses like an Italian mountebank—a most unpardonable fashion.  He sported a huge tippeted overcoat of frieze, such as watchmen wear, only the inside was lined with costly furs, and he kept it half open to display the exquisite linen, the many-coloured waistcoat, and the profuse jewellery of watch-chains and brooches underneath.  The leg and the ankle were turned to a miracle.  It is out of the question that I should deny the resemblance altogether, since it has been remarked by so many different persons whom I cannot reasonably accuse of a conspiracy.  As a matter of fact, I saw little of it and confessed to nothing.  Certainly he was what some might call handsome, of a pictorial, exuberant style of beauty, all attitude, profile, and impudence: a man whom I could see in fancy parade on the grand stand at a race-meeting or swagger in Piccadilly, staring down the women, and stared at himself with admiration by the coal-porters.  Of his frame of mind at that moment his face offered a lively if an unconscious picture.  He was lividly pale, and his lip was caught up in a smile that could almost be called a snarl, of a sheer, arid malignity that appalled me and yet put me on my mettle for the encounter.  He looked me up and down, then bowed and took off his hat to me.

‘My cousin, I presume?’ he said.

‘I understand I have that honour,’ I replied.

‘The honour is mine,’ said he, and his voice shook as he said it.

‘I should make you welcome, I believe,’ said I.

‘Why?’ he inquired.  ‘This poor house has been my home for longer than I care to claim.  That you should already take upon yourself the duties of host here is to be at unnecessary pains.  Believe me, that part would be more becomingly mine.  And, by the way, I must not fail to offer you my little compliment.  It is a gratifying surprise to meet you in the dress of a gentleman, and to see’—with a circular look upon the scattered bills—‘that your necessities have already been so liberally relieved.’

I bowed with a smile that was perhaps no less hateful than his own.

‘There are so many necessities in this world,’ said I.  ‘Charity has to choose.  One gets relieved, and some other, no less indigent, perhaps indebted, must go wanting.’

‘Malice is an engaging trait,’ said he.

‘And envy, I think?’ was my reply.

He must have felt that he was not getting wholly the better of this passage at arms; perhaps even feared that he should lose command of his temper, which he reined in throughout the interview as with a red-hot curb, for he flung away from me at the word, and addressed the lawyer with insulting arrogance.

‘Mr. Romaine,’ he said, ‘since when have you presumed to give orders in this house?’

‘I am not prepared to admit that I have given any,’ replied Romaine; ‘certainly none that did not fall in the sphere of my responsibilities.’

‘By whose orders, then, am I denied entrance to my uncle’s room?’ said my cousin.

‘By the doctor’s, sir,’ replied Romaine; ‘and I think even you will admit his faculty to give them.’

‘Have a care, sir,’ cried Alain.  ‘Do not be puffed up with your position.  It is none so secure, Master Attorney.  I should not wonder in the least if you were struck off the rolls for this night’s work, and the next I should see of you were when I flung you alms at a pothouse door to mend your ragged elbows.  The doctor’s orders?  But I believe I am not mistaken!  You have to-night transacted business with the Count; and this needy young gentleman has enjoyed the privilege of still another interview, in which (as I am pleased to see) his dignity has not prevented his doing very well for himself.  I wonder that you should care to prevaricate with me so idly.’

‘I will confess so much,’ said Mr. Romaine, ‘if you call it prevarication.  The order in question emanated from the Count himself.  He does not wish to see you.’

‘For which I must take the word of Mr. Daniel Romaine?’ asked Alain.

‘In default of any better,’ said Romaine.

There was an instantaneous convulsion in my cousin’s face, and I distinctly heard him gnash his teeth at this reply; but, to my surprise, he resumed in tones of almost good humour:

‘Come, Mr. Romaine, do not let us be petty!’  He drew in a chair and sat down.  ‘Understand you have stolen a march upon me.  You have introduced your soldier of Napoleon, and (how, I cannot conceive) he has been apparently accepted with favour.  I ask no better proof than the funds with which I find him literally surrounded—I presume in consequence of some extravagance of joy at the first sight of so much money.  The odds are so far in your favour, but the match is not yet won.  Questions will arise of undue influence, of sequestration, and the like: I have my witnesses ready.  I tell it you cynically, for you cannot profit by the knowledge; and, if the worst come to the worst, I have good hopes of recovering my own and of ruining you.’

‘You do what you please,’ answered Romaine; ‘but I give it you for a piece of good advice, you had best do nothing in the matter.  You will only make yourself ridiculous; you will only squander money, of which you have none too much, and reap public mortification.’

‘Ah, but there you make the common mistake, Mr. Romaine!’ returned Alain.  ‘You despise your adversary.  Consider, if you please, how very disagreeable I could make myself, if I chose.  Consider the position of your protégé—an escaped prisoner!  But I play a great game.  I condemn such petty opportunities.’

At this Romaine and I exchanged a glance of triumph.  It seemed manifest that Alain had as yet received no word of Clausel’s recapture and denunciation.  At the same moment the lawyer, thus relieved of the instancy of his fear, changed his tactics.  With a great air of unconcern, he secured the newspaper, which still lay open before him on the table.

‘I think, Monsieur Alain, that you labour under some illusion,’ said he.  ‘Believe me, this is all beside the mark.  You seem to be pointing to some compromise.  Nothing is further from my views.  You suspect me of an inclination to trifle with you, to conceal how things are going.  I cannot, on the other hand, be too early or too explicit in giving you information which concerns you (I must say) capitally.  Your great-uncle has to-night cancelled his will, and made a new one in favour of your cousin Anne.  Nay, and you shall hear it from his own lips, if you choose!  I will take so much upon me,’ said the lawyer, rising.  ‘Follow me, if you please, gentlemen.’

Mr. Romaine led the way out of the room so briskly, and was so briskly followed by Alain, that I had hard ado to get the remainder of the money replaced and the despatch-box locked, and to overtake them, even by running ere they should be lost in that maze of corridors, my uncle’s house.  As it was, I went with a heart divided; and the thought of my treasure thus left unprotected, save by a paltry lid and lock that any one might break or pick open, put me in a perspiration whenever I had the time to remember it.  The lawyer brought us to a room, begged us to be seated while he should hold a consultation with the doctor, and, slipping out of another door, left Alain and myself closeted together.

Truly he had done nothing to ingratiate himself; his every word had been steeped in unfriendliness, envy, and that contempt which (as it is born of anger) it is possible to support without humiliation.  On my part, I had been little more conciliating; and yet I began to be sorry for this man, hired spy as I knew him to be.  It seemed to me less than decent that he should have been brought up in the expectation of this great inheritance, and now, at the eleventh hour, be tumbled forth out of the house door and left to himself, his poverty and his debts—those debts of which I had so ungallantly reminded him so short a time before.  And we were scarce left alone ere I made haste to hang out a flag of truce.

‘My cousin,’ said I, ‘trust me, you will not find me inclined to be your enemy.’

He paused in front of me—for he had not accepted the lawyer’s invitation to be seated, but walked to and fro in the apartment—took a pinch of snuff, and looked at me while he was taking it with an air of much curiosity.

‘Is it even so?’ said he.  ‘Am I so far favoured by fortune as to have your