The Small House at Allington - Anthony Trollope (i want to read a book txt) 📗

You are going out of town the day after tomorrow.”

“Yes, Sir Raffle, the day after tomorrow.”

“Ah! it’s a great annoyance⁠—a very great annoyance. But on such occasions I never think of myself. I never have done so, and don’t suppose I ever shall. So you’re going down to my old friend De Guest?”

Eames was always angered when his new patron Sir Raffle talked of his old friendship with the earl, and never gave the Commissioner any encouragement. “I am going down to Guestwick,” said he.

“Ah! yes; to Guestwick Manor? I don’t remember that I was ever there. I daresay I may have been, but one forgets those things.”

“I never heard Lord De Guest speak of it.”

“Oh, dear, no. Why should his memory be better than mine? Tell him, will you, how very glad I shall be to renew our old intimacy. I should think nothing of running down to him for a day or two in the dull time of the year⁠—say in September or October. It’s rather a coincidence our both being interested about you⁠—isn’t it?”

“I’ll be sure to tell him.”

“Mind you do. He’s one of our most thoroughly independent noblemen, and I respect him very highly. Let me see; didn’t I ring my bell? What was it I wanted? I think I rang my bell.”

“You did ring your bell.”

“Ah, yes; I know. I am going away, and I wanted my⁠—would you tell Rafferty to bring me⁠—my boots?” Whereupon Johnny rang the bell⁠—not the little handbell, but the other bell. “And I shan’t be here tomorrow,” continued Sir Raffle. “I’ll thank you to send my letters up to the square; and if they should send down from the Treasury;⁠—but the Chancellor would write, and in that case you’ll send up his letter at once by a special messenger, of course.”

“Here’s Rafferty,” said Eames, determined that he would not even sully his lips with speaking of Sir Raffle’s boots.

“Oh, ah, yes; Rafferty, bring me my boots.”

“Anything else to say?” asked Eames.

“No, nothing else. Of course you’ll be careful to leave everything straight behind you.”

“Oh, yes; I’ll leave it all straight.” Then Eames withdrew, so that he might not be present at the interview between Sir Raffle and his boots. “He’ll not do,” said Sir Raffle to himself. “He’ll never do. He’s not quick enough⁠—has no go in him. He’s not man enough for the place. I wonder why the earl has taken him by the hand in that way.”

Soon after the little episode of the boots Eames left his office, and walked home alone to Burton Crescent. He felt that he had gained a victory in Sir Raffle’s room, but the victory there had been easy. Now he had another battle on his hands, in which, as he believed, the achievement of victory would be much more difficult. Amelia Roper was a person much more to be feared than the Chief Commissioner. He had one strong arrow in his quiver on which he would depend, if there should come to him the necessity of giving his enemy a death-wound. During the last week she had been making powerful love to Cradell, so as to justify the punishment of desertion from a former lover. He would not throw Cradell in her teeth if he could help it; but it was incumbent on him to gain a victory, and if the worst should come to the worst, he must use such weapons as destiny and the chance of war had given him.

He found Mrs. Roper in the dining-room as he entered, and immediately began his work. “Mrs. Roper,” he said, “I’m going out of town the day after tomorrow.”

“Oh, yes, Mr. Eames, we know that. You’re going as a visitor to the noble mansion of the Earl De Guest.”

“I don’t know about the mansion being very noble, but I’m going down into the country for a fortnight. When I come back⁠—”

“When you come back, Mr. Eames, I hope you’ll find your room a deal more comfortable. I know it isn’t quite what it should be for a gentleman like you, and I’ve been thinking for some time past⁠—”

“But, Mrs. Roper, I don’t mean to come back here any more. It’s just that that I want to say to you.”

“Not come back to the crescent!”

“No, Mrs. Roper. A fellow must move sometimes, you know; and I’m sure I’ve been very constant to you for a long time.”

“But where are you going, Mr. Eames?”

“Well; I haven’t just made up my mind as yet. That is, it will depend on what I may do⁠—on what friends of mine may say down in the country. You’ll not think I’m quarrelling with you, Mrs. Roper.”

“It’s them Lupexes as have done it,” said Mrs. Roper, in her deep distress.

“No, indeed, Mrs. Roper, nobody has done it.”

“Yes, it is; and I’m not going to blame you, Mr. Eames. They’ve made the house unfit for any decent young gentleman like you. I’ve been feeling that all along; but it’s hard upon a lone woman like me, isn’t it, Mr. Eames?”

“But, Mrs. Roper, the Lupexes have had nothing to do with my going.”

“Oh, yes, they have; I understand it all. But what could I do, Mr. Eames? I’ve been giving them warning every week for the last six months; but the more I give them warning, the more they won’t go. Unless I were to send for a policeman, and have a row in the house⁠—”

“But I haven’t complained of the Lupexes, Mrs. Roper.”

“You wouldn’t be quitting without any reason, Mr. Eames. You are not going to be married in earnest, are you, Mr. Eames?”

“Not that I know of.”

“You may tell me; you may, indeed. I won’t say a word⁠—not to anybody. It hasn’t been my fault about Amelia. It hasn’t really.”

“Who says there’s been any fault?”

“I can see, Mr. Eames. Of course it didn’t do for me to interfere. And if you had liked her, I will say I believe she’d have made as good a wife as any young man ever took; and she can make a few pounds go farther than most girls. You can understand