Mr. Fortescue - William Westall (i read a book .txt) 📗

What do you say?"

Mr. Fortescue put this question as if he had no doubt about my answer, and I fulfilled his expectation by answering promptly in the affirmative. The proposal seemed in every way to my advantage, and was altogether to my liking; and even had it been less so I should have accepted it, for what I had just heard greatly whetted my curiosity, and made me more desirous than ever to know the history of the extraordinary man with whom I had so strangely come in contact, and ascertain the secret of his wealth.

The same day I wrote to Alston announcing the dissolution of our partnership, and leaving him to deal with the horses at Red Chimneys as he might think fit.


CHAPTER IV.

A RESCUE.

My curiosity was rather long in being gratified, and but for a very strange occurrence, which I shall presently describe, probably never would have been gratified. Even after I had been a member of Mr. Fortescue's household for several months, I knew little more of his antecedents and circumstances than on the day when he made me the proposal which I have just mentioned. If I attempted to lead up to the subject, he would either cleverly evade it or say bluntly that he preferred to talk about something else. Save as to matters that did not particularly interest me, Ramon was as reticent as his master; and as Geist had only been with Mr. Fortescue during the latter's residence at Kingscote, his knowledge, or, rather, his ignorance was on a par with my own.

Mr. Fortescue's character was as enigmatic as his history was obscure. He seemed to be destitute both of kinsfolk and friends, never made any allusion to his family, neither noticed women nor discussed them. Politics and religion he equally ignored, and, so far as might appear, had neither foibles nor fads. On the other hand, he had three passions--science, horses, and horticulture, and his knowledge was almost encyclopaedic. He was a great reader, master of many languages, and seemed to have been everywhere and seen all in the world that was worth seeing. His wealth appeared to be unlimited, but how he made it or where he kept it I had no idea. All I knew was that whenever money was wanted it was forthcoming, and that he signed a check for ten pounds and ten thousand with equal indifference. As he conducted his private correspondence himself, my position as secretary gave me no insight into his affairs. My duties consisted chiefly in corresponding with tradesmen, horse-dealers, and nursery gardeners, and noting the results of chemical experiments.

Mr. Fortescue was very abstemious, and took great care of his health, and if he was really verging on eighty (which I very much doubted), I thought he might not improbably live to be a hundred and ten and even a hundred and twenty. He drank nothing, whatever, neither tea, coffee, cocoa, nor any other beverage, neither water nor wine, always quenching his thirst with fruit, of which he ate largely. So far as I knew, the only liquid that ever passed his lips was an occasional liquor-glass of a mysterious decoction which he prepared himself and kept always under lock and key. His breakfast, which he took every morning at seven, consisted of bread and fruit.

He ate very little animal food, limiting himself for the most part to fish and fowl, and invariably spent eight or nine hours of the twenty-four in bed. We often discussed physiology, therapeutics, and kindred subjects, of which his knowledge was so extensive as to make me suspect that some time in his life he had belonged to the medical profession.

"The best physicians I ever met," he once observed, "are the Callavayas of the Andes--if the preservation and prolongation of human life is the test of medical skill. Among the Callavayas the period of youth is thirty years; a man is not held to be a man until he reaches fifty, and he only begins to be old at a hundred."

"Was it among the Callavayas that you learned the secret of long life, Mr. Fortescue?" I asked.

"Perhaps," he answered, with one of his peculiar smiles; and then he started me by saying that he would never be a "lean and slippered pantaloon." When health and strength failed him he should cease to live.

"You surely don't mean that you will commit suicide?" I exclaimed, in dismay.

"You may call it what you like. I shall do as the Fiji Islanders and some tribes of Indians do, in similar circumstances--retire to a corner and still the beatings of my heart by an effort of will."

"But is that possible?"

"I have seen it done, and I have done it myself--not, of course, to the point of death, but so far as to simulate death. I once saved my life in that way."

"Was that when you were hunted, Mr. Fortescue?"

"No, it was not. Let us go to the stables. I want to see you ride Regina over the jumps."

Mr. Fortescue had caused to be arranged in the park a miniature steeple-chase course about a mile round, on which newly-acquired hunters were always tried, and the old ones regularly exercised. He generally made a point of being present on these occasions, sometimes riding over the course himself. If a horse, bought as a hunter, failed to justify its character by its performance it was invariably returned.

Sometimes Ramon gave us an exhibition of his skill as a gaucho. One of the wildest of the horses would be let loose in the park, and the old soldier, armed with a lasso and mounted on an animal trained by himself, and equipped with a South American saddle, would follow and try to "rope" the runaway, Mr. Fortescue, Rawlings, and myself riding after him. It was "good fun," but I fancy Mr. Fortescue regarded this sport, as he regarded hunting, less as an amusement than as a means of keeping him in good health and condition.

Regina (a recent purchase) was tried and, I think, found wanting. I recall the instance merely because it is associated in my mind with an event which, besides affecting a momentous change in my relations with Mr. Fortescue and greatly influencing my own fortune, rendered possible the writing of this book.

The trial over, Mr. Fortescue told me, somewhat abruptly, that he intended to leave home in an hour, and should be away for several days. As he walked toward the house, I inquired if there was anything he would like me to look after during his absence, whereupon he mentioned several chemical and electrical experiments, which he wished me to continue and note the results. He requested me, further, to open all letters--save such as were marked private or bore foreign postmarks--and answer so many of them as, without his instructions, I might be able to do. For the rest, I was to exercise a general supervision, especially over the stables and gardens. As for purely domestic concerns, Geist was so excellent a manager that his master trusted him without reserve.

When Mr. Fortescue came down-stairs, equipped for his journey, I inquired when he expected to return, and on what day he would like the carriage to meet him at the station. I thought he might tell me where he was going; but he did not take the hint.

"If it rains I will telegraph," he said; "if fine, I shall probably walk; it is only a couple of miles."

Mr. Fortescue, as he always did when he went outside his park (unless he was mounted), took with him a sword-stick, a habit which I thought rather ridiculous, for, though he was an essentially sane man, I had quite made up my mind that his fear of assassination was either a fancy or a fad.

After my patron's departure I worked for a while in the laboratory; and an hour before dinner I went for a stroll in the park, making, for no reason in particular, toward the principal entrance. As I neared it I heard voices in dispute, and on reaching the gates I found the lodge-keeper engaged in a somewhat warm altercation with an Italian organ-grinder and another fellow of the same kidney, who seemed to be his companion.

The lodge-keepers had strict orders to exclude from the park all beggars without exception, and all and sundry who produced music by turning a handle. Real musicians, however, were freely admitted, and often generously rewarded.

The lodge-keeper in question (an old fellow with a wooden leg) had not been able to make the two vagabonds in question understand this. They insisted on coming in, and the lodge-keeper said that if I had not appeared he verily believed they would have entered in spite of him. They seemed to know very little English; but as I knew a little Italian, which I eked out with a few significant gestures, I speedily enlightened them, and they sheered off, looking daggers, and muttering what sounded like curses.

The man who carried the organ was of the usual type--short, thick-set, hairy, and unwashed. His companion, rather to my surprise, was just the reverse--tall, shapely, well set up, and comparatively well clad; and with his dark eyes, black mustache, broad-brimmed hat, and red tie loosely knotted round his brawny throat, he looked decidedly picturesque.

On the following day, as I was going to the stables (which were a few hundred yards below the house) I found my picturesque Italian in the back garden, singing a barcarole to the accompaniment of a guitar. But as he had complied with the condition of which I had informed him, I made no objection. So far from that I gave him a shilling, and as the maids (who were greatly taken with his appearance) got up a collection for him and gave him a feed, he did not do badly.

A few days later, while out riding, I called at the station for an evening paper, and there he was again, "touching his guitar," and singing something that sounded very sentimental.

"That fellow is like a bad shilling," I said to one of the porters--"always turning up."

"He is never away. I think he must have taken it into his head to live here."

"What does he do?"

"Oh, he just hangs about, and watches the trains, as if he had never seen any before. I suppose there are none in the country he comes from. Between whiles he sometimes plays on his banjo and sings a bit for us. I cannot quite make him out; but as he is very quiet and well-behaved, and never interferes with nobody, it is no business of mine."

Neither was it any business of mine; so after buying my paper I dismissed the subject from my mind and rode on to Kingscote.

As a rule, I found the morning papers quite as much as I could struggle with; but at this time a poisoning case was being tried which interested me so much that while it lasted I sent for or fetched an evening paper every afternoon. The day after my conversation with the porter I adopted the former course, the day after that I adopted the latter, and, contrary to my usual practice, I walked.

There were two ways from Kingscote to the station; one by the road, the other by a little-used footpath. I went by the road, and as I was buying my paper at Smith's bookstall the station-master told me that Mr. Fortescue had returned by a train which came in about ten minutes previously.

"He must be walking home