Uncle Silas - J. Sheridan Le Fanu (best novels to read for students .TXT) 📗

“Ask him, Madame, whether they want to go to the house; I dare say they have missed their way,” whispered I.

“Eh bien, they will find again. I do not choose to talk to post-boys; allons!”

But I asked the man as we passed, “Do you want to reach the house?”

By this time he was at the horses’ heads, buckling the harness.

“Noa,” he said in a surly tone, smiling oddly on the winkers, but, recollecting his politeness, he added, “Noa, thankee, misses, it’s what they calls a picnic; we’ll be takin’ the road now.”

He was smiling now on a little buckle with which he was engaged.

“Come⁠—nonsense!” whispered Madame sharply in my ear, and she whisked me by the arm, so we crossed the little stile at the other side.

Our path lay across the warren, which undulates in little hillocks. The sun was down by this time, blue shadows were stretching round us, colder in the splendid contrast of the burnished sunset sky.

Descending over these hillocks we saw three figures a little in advance of us, not far from the path we were tracing. Two were standing smoking and chatting at intervals: one tall and slim, with a high chimney-pot, worn a little on one side, and a white greatcoat buttoned up to the chin; the other shorter and stouter, with a dark-coloured wrapper. These gentlemen were facing rather our way as we came over the edge of the eminence, but turned their backs on perceiving our approach. As they did so, I remember so well each lowered his cigar suddenly with the simultaneousness of a drill. The third figure sustained the picnic character of the group, for he was repacking a hamper. He stood suddenly erect as we drew near, and a very ill-looking person he was, low-browed, square-chinned, and with a broad, broken nose. He wore gaiters, and was a little bandy, very broad, and had a closely-cropped bullet head, and deep-set little eyes. The moment I saw him, I beheld the living type of the burglars and bruisers whom I had so often beheld with a kind of scepticism in Punch. He stood over his hamper and scowled sharply at us for a moment; then with the point of his foot he jerked a little fur cap that lay on the ground into his hand, drew it tight over his lowering brows, and called to his companions, just as we passed him⁠—“Hallo! mister. How’s this?”

“All right,” said the tall person in the white greatcoat, who, as he answered, shook his shorter companion by the arm, I thought angrily.

This shorter companion turned about. He had a muffler loose about his neck and chin. I thought he seemed shy and irresolute, and the tall man gave him a great jolt with his elbow, which made him stagger, and I fancied a little angry, for he said, as it seemed, a sulky word or two.

The gentleman in the white surtout, however, standing direct in our way, raised his hat with a mock salutation, placing his hand on his breast, and forthwith began to advance with an insolent grin and an air of tipsy frolic.

“Jist in time, ladies; five minutes more and we’d a bin off. Thankee, Mrs. Mouser, ma’am, for the honour of the meetin’, and more particular for the pleasure of making your young lady’s acquaintance⁠—niece, ma’am? daughter, ma’am? granddaughter, by Jove, is it? Hallo! there, mild ’n, I say, stop packin’.” This was to the ill-favoured person with the broken nose. “Bring us a couple o’ glasses and a bottle o’ curaçoa; what are you fear’d on, my dear? this is Lord Lollipop, here, a reg’lar charmer, wouldn’t hurt a fly, hey Lolly? Isn’t he pretty, Miss? and I’m Sir Simon Sugarstick⁠—so called after old Sir Simon, ma’am; and I’m so tall and straight, Miss, and slim⁠—ain’t I? and ever so sweet, my honey, when you come to know me, just like a sugarstick; ain’t I, Lolly, boy?”

“I’m Miss Ruthyn, tell them, Madame,” I said, stamping on the ground, and very much frightened.

“Be quaite, Maud. If you are angry, they will hurt us; leave me to speak,” whispered the gouvernante.

All this time they were approaching from separate points. I glanced back, and saw the ruffianly-looking man within a yard or two, with his arm raised and one finger up, telegraphing, as it seemed, to the gentlemen in front.

“Be quaite, Maud,” whispered Madame, with an awful adjuration, which I do not care to set down. “They are teepsy; don’t seem ’fraid.”

I was afraid⁠—terrified. The circle had now so narrowed that they might have placed their hands on my shoulders.

“Pray, gentlemen, wat you want? weel a you ’av the goodness to permit us to go on?”

I now observed for the first time, with a kind of shock, that the shorter of the two men, who prevented our advance, was the person who had accosted me so offensively at Church Scarsdale. I pulled Madame by the arm, whispering, “Let us run.”

“Be quaite, my dear Maud,” was her only reply.

“I tell you what,” said the tall man, who had replaced his high hat more jauntily than before on the side of his head, “We’ve caught you now, fair game, and we’ll let you off on conditions. You must not be frightened, Miss. Upon my honour and soul, I mean no mischief; do I, Lollipop? I call him Lord Lollipop; it’s only chaff, though; his name’s Smith. Now, Lolly, I vote we let the prisoners go, when we just introduce them to Mrs. Smith; she’s sitting in the carriage, and keeps Mr. S. here in precious good order, I promise you. There’s easy terms for you, eh, and we’ll have a glass o’ curaçoa round, and so part friends. Is it a bargain? Come!”

“Yes, Maud, we must go⁠—wat matter?” whispered Madame vehemently.

“You shan’t,” I said, instinctively terrified.

“You’ll go with Ma’am, young ’un, won’t you?” said Mr. Smith, as his companion called him.

Madame was holding my arm, but I snatched it from her, and would