Delphi Complete Works of Sheridan Le Fanu, page 144
‘’Tis devilish strong — ha, ha, ha — conclusive, indeed.’ He was amused again. ‘I’ve kept it long enough — igni reservata.’
And holding it in the tongs, he lighted a corner, and as the last black fragment of it, covered with creeping sparks, flew up the chimney, he heard the voice of a gentleman hallooing in the courtyard.
CHAPTER LXXXI.
IN WHICH MR. DANGERFIELD RECEIVES A VISITOR, AND MAKES A CALL.
Dangerfield walked out and blandly greeted the visitor, who turned out to be Mr. Justice Lowe.
‘I give you good-morning, Sir; pray, alight and step in. Hallo, Doolan, take Mr. Justice Lowe’s horse.’
So Mr. Lowe thanked him, in his cold way, and bowing, strode into the Brass Castle; and after the customary civilities, sat himself down, and says he —
‘I’ve been at the Crown Office, Sir, about this murder, we may call it, upon Sturk, and I told them you could throw a light, as I thought, on the matter.’
‘As how, Sir?’
‘Why, regarding the kind of feeling that subsisted between the prisoner, Nutter, and Doctor Sturk.’
‘’Tis unpleasant, Sir, but I can’t object.’
‘There was an angry feeling about the agency, I believe? Lord Castlemallard’s agency, eh?’ continued Lowe.
‘Well, I suppose it was that; there certainly was an unpleasant feeling — very unpleasant.’
‘You’ve heard him express it?’
‘Yes; I think most gentlemen who know him have. Why, he made no disguise of it; he was no great talker, but we’ve heard him on that subject.’
‘But you specially know how it stood between them in respect of the agency?’
‘Yes.’
‘Very good, Sir,’ said Lowe.
‘And I’ve a notion that something decisive should be done toward effecting a full discovery, and I’ll consider of a method,’ replied Dangerfield.
‘How do you mean?’ said Lowe, looking up with a glance like a hawk.
‘How! why I’ll talk it over with Mrs. Sturk this evening.’
‘Why, what has she got to tell?’
‘Nothing, as I suppose; I’ll see her to-day; there’s nothing to tell; but something, I think, to be done; it hasn’t been set about rightly; ’tis a botched business hitherto — that’s in my judgment.’
‘Yet ’tis rather a strong case,’ answered Mr. Lowe, superciliously.
‘Rather a strong case, so it is, but I’ll clench it, Sir; it ought to be certain.’
‘Well, Sir?’ said Lowe, who expected to hear more.
‘Yes,’ said Dangerfield, briskly, ‘‘twill depend on her; I’ll suggest, she’ll decide.’
‘And why she, Sir?’ said Lowe sharply.
‘Because ’tis her business and her right, and no one else can,’ answered Dangerfield just as tartly, with his hands in his breeches’ pockets, and his head the least thing o’ one side, and then with a bow, ‘won’t you drink a glass of wine, Sir?’ which was as much as to say, you’ll get no more from me.
‘I thank you, Sir, no; ’tis a little too early for me.’ And so with the usual ceremonies, Mr. Lowe departed, the governor of the Brass Castle walking beside his horse, as far as the iron gate, to do him honour; and as he rode away towards Lucan, Mr. Dangerfield followed him with a snowy smirk.
Then briskly, after his wont, the knight of the shining spectacles made his natty toilet; and in a few minutes his cocked hat was seen gliding along the hedge toward Chapelizod.
He glanced up at Sturk’s window — it was a habit now — so soon as he came in sight, but all looked as usual. So he mounted the steps, and asked to see Mrs. Sturk.
‘My dear Madam,’ said he, after due courtesies interchanged, ‘I’ve but a few minutes; my horse waits yonder at the Phœnix, and I’m away to town. How does your patient to-day?’
‘Oh, mighty well — wonderful — that is considering how cold the weather is. The doctor says he’s lower, indeed, but I don’t mind that, for he must be lower while the cold continues; I always say that; and I judge very much by the eye; don’t you, Mr. Dangerfield? by his looks, you know; they can’t deceive me, and I assure you— ‘
‘Your house is quiet; are the children out, Ma’am?’
‘Oh, yes, with Mag in the park.’
‘Perhaps, Ma’am, you’d let me see him?’
‘See him?’
‘Yes, look on him, Ma’am, only for a moment you know.’
She looked very much surprised, and perhaps a little curious and frightened.
‘I hope you haven’t heard he’s worse, Mr. Dangerfield. Oh, Sir, sure you haven’t?’
‘No, Madam, on my honour, except from yourself, I’ve heard nothing of him to-day; but I’d like to see him, and speak a word to you, with your permission.’
So Mrs. Sturk led the way up stairs, whispering as she ascended; for she had always the fancy in her head that her Barney was in a sweet light sleep, from which he was on no account to be awakened, forgetting, or not clearly knowing, that all the ordnance in the barrack-yard over the way had not voice enough to call him up from that dread slumber.
‘You may go down, my dear,’ said Mr. Dangerfield to the little girl, who rose silently from the chair as they entered; ‘with your permission, Mistress Sturk — I say, child, you may run down,’ and he smiled a playful, sinister smile, with a little wave of his finger toward the door. So she courtesied and vanished obediently.
Then he drew the curtain, and looked on Doctor Sturk. There lay the hero of the tragedy, his smashed head strapped together with sticking-plaster, and a great white fold of fine linen, like a fantastic turban, surmounting his grim yellow features.
Then he slipped his fingers under the coverlet, and took his hand; a strange greeting that! But it was his pulse he wanted, and when he had felt it for a while —
‘Psha!’ said he in a whisper — for the semblance of sleep affected everyone alike— ‘his pulse is just gone. Now, Madam, listen to me. There’s not a soul in Chapelizod but yourself who does not know his wounds are mortal — he’s dying, Ma’am.’
‘Oh — oh — o — o — oh, Mr. Dangerfield, you don’t — you don’t think so,’ wildly cried the poor little lady, growing quite white with terror and agony.
‘Now, pray, my dear Mistress Sturk, compose yourself, and hear me out: ’Tis my belief he has a chance; but none, absolutely no chance, Madam, unless my advice be taken. There’s not an evening, Ma’am, I meet Doctor Toole at the club, but I hear the same report — a little lower — always the same — lower — sinking — and no hope.’
Here Mrs. Sturk broke out again.
‘Now, Madam,’ I protest you’ll make me regret my visit, unless you please to command yourself. While the doctors who are about him have got him in hands, there’s neither hope for his life, nor for his recovering, for one moment, the use of his speech. Pray, Madam, hear me. They state as much themselves. Now, Madam, I say, we must have a chance for his life, and if that fails, a chance for his speech. The latter, Madam, is of more consequence than, perhaps, you are aware.’
Poor little Mrs. Sturk was looking very pale, and breathing very hard, with her hand pressed to her heart.
‘I’ve done what I could, you know, to see my way through his affairs, and I’ve succeeded in keeping his creditors quiet.’
At this point poor Mrs. Sturk broke out —
‘Oh! may the Father of the fatherless, if such they are to be bless and reward — oh — oh — ho — ho, Mr. Dangerfield — oh — oh-oh — Sir.’
‘Now, pray, Madam, oblige me and be tranquil. I say, Madam, his affairs, I suspect, are by no means in so bad a case as we at first supposed, and he has got, or I’m mistaken, large sums out, but where, neither I nor you can tell. Give him five minutes’ speech, and it may be worth a thousand pounds to you — well, not to you, if you will, but to his children. And again, Madam, ’tis of the utmost importance that he should be able to state who was the villain who struck him — Charles — a — Charles — Mr. Nutter — you know, Madam.’
‘Oh! that dreadful — dreadful man — may Heaven forgive him. Oh, my Barney! look at him there — he’d forgive him if he could speak. You would, my blessed Barney — you would.’
‘To be sure he would. But see, Ma’am, the importance of having his evidence to settle the fact. Well, I know that he would not like to hang anybody. But suppose, Ma’am, Charles Nutter is innocent, don’t you think he’d like to acquit him? ay, you do. Well, Ma’am, ’tis due to the public, you see, and to his children that he should have a chance of recovering his speech, and to common humanity that he should have a chance for his life — eh? and neither will the doctors who have him in hands allow him. Now, Madam, there’s a simple operation, called trepanning, you have heard of it, which would afford him such a chance, but fearing its failure they won’t try it, although they allege that without it he must die, d’ye see? — ay, die he must, without a cast for his life if you won’t try it.’
And so, by harping on the alternatives, and demonstrating the prudence, humanity, and duty of action, and the inevitably fatal consequences of the other course, he wrought upon her at last to write a note to Surgeon Dillon to come out on the evening following, and to perform the operation. The dreadful word ‘to-day,’ the poor little woman could not abide. She pleaded for a respite, and so, half-distracted, fixed tomorrow.
‘I hope, my dear Madam, you’ve some little confidence in me. I think I have shown an interest, and I’ve striven to be of use.’
‘Oh, Sir, Mr. Dangerfield, you’ve been too good, our guardian angel; but for you, Sir, we should not have had a roof over our heads, or a bed to lie on; oh! may— ‘
‘Well, Ma’am, you please to speak too highly of my small services; but I would plead them, humble as they are, as a claim on your confidence, and having decided upon this wise and necessary course, pray do not say a word about it to anybody but myself. I will go to town, and arrange for the doctor’s visit, and you’ll soon, I hope, have real grounds for gratitude, not to me, Ma’am, but to Heaven.’
CHAPTER LXXXII.
IN WHICH MR. PAUL DANGERFIELD PAYS HIS RESPECTS AND COMPLIMENTS AT BELMONT; WHERE OTHER VISITORS ALSO PRESENT THEMSELVES.
Before going to town, Mr. Dangerfield, riding over the bridge and up the Palmerstown-road, dismounted at Belmont doorsteps, and asked for the general. He was out. Then for Miss Rebecca Chattesworth. Yes, she was in the withdrawing-room. And so, light, white, and wiry, he ascended the stairs swiftly.
‘Mr. Dangerfield,’ cried Dominick, throwing open the door; and that elderly and ill-starred wooer glided in thereat.
‘Madam, your most humble servant.’
‘Oh! Mr. Dangerfield? You’re very welcome, Sir,’ said Aunt Becky, with a grand courtesy, and extending her thin jewelled hand, which he took gallantly, with another bow, and a smile, and a flash from his spectacles.
Aunt Becky laid down her volume of Richardson. She was quite alone, except for her little monkey — Goblin — with a silver hoop about his waist, and a chain thereto attached; two King Charles’s dogs, whose barking subsided after a while; and one gray parrot on a perch in the bow-window, who happily was not in a very chatty mood just then. So the human animals were able to edge in a sentence easily enough. And Mr. Dangerfield said —
‘I’m happy in having found you, Madam; for whatever be my disappointments else, to Miss Rebecca Chattesworth at least I owe a debt of gratitude, which, despairing to repay it, I can only acknowledge; and leaving unacknowledged, I should have departed from Ireland most unhappily.’
‘What a fop! what a fop,’ said the parrot.
‘You rate my poor wishes too highly, Mr. Dangerfield. I over-estimated, myself, my influence with the young lady; but why speak of your departure, Sir, so soon? A little time may yet work a change.’
‘You lie, you dog! you lie, you lie, you lie,’ said the parrot.
‘Madam,’ said he with a shake of his head, ‘’tis hoping against hope. Time will add to my wrinkles without softening her aversion. I utterly despair. While there remained one spark of hope I should never have dreamed of leaving Chapelizod.’
Here there was a considerable pause, during which the parrot occasionally repeated, ‘You lie, you lie — you dog — you lie.’
‘Of course, Sir, if the chance be not worth waiting for, you do well to be gone wherever your business or your pleasures, Sir, invite you,’ said Aunt Becky, a little loftily.
‘What a fop!’ said the parrot. ‘You lie, you dog!’
‘Neither business, Madam, nor pleasures invite me. My situation here has been most distressing. So long as hope cheered me, I little regarded what might be said or thought; but I tell you honestly that hope is extinguished; and it has grown to me intolerable longer to remain in sight of that treasure for which I cannot cease to wish, and which I never can possess. I’ve grown, Madam, to detest the place.’
Aunt Becky, with her head very high, adjusted in silence, the two China mandarins on the mantelpiece — first, one very carefully, then the other. And there was a pause, during which one of the lapdogs screamed; and the monkey, who had boxed his ears, jumped, with a ringing of his chain, chattering, on the back of the armchair in which the grim suitor sat. Mr. Dangerfield would have given the brute a slap in the face, but that he knew how that would affect Miss Rebecca Chattesworth.
‘So, Madam,’ said he, standing up abruptly, ‘I am here to thank you most gratefully for the countenance given to my poor suit, which, here and now, at last and for ever, I forego. I shall leave for England so soon as my business will allow; and as I made no secret of my suit, so I shall make none of the reasons of my departure. I’m an outspoken man, Madam; and as the world knew my hopes, I shall offer them no false excuses for my departure; but lift my hat, and bow to fortune — a defeated man.’
‘Avez-vous diné mon petit coquin?’ said the parrot.
‘Well, Sir, I will not altogether deny you have reason for what you design; and it may be, ’tis as well to bring the matter to a close, though your resolution has taken me by surprise. She hath shown herself so perverse in this respect, that I allow I see no present likelihood of a change; and indeed I do not quite understand my niece; and, very like, she does not comprehend herself.’
Mr. Dangerfield almost smiled one of his grim disconcerting smiles, and a cynical light played over his face; and the black monkey behind him grinned and hugged himself like his familiar. The disappointed gentleman thought he understood Miss Gertrude pretty well.
‘I thought,’ said Aunt Becky; ‘I suspected — did you — a certain young gentleman in this neighbourhood— ‘
‘As having found his way to the young lady’s good graces?’ asked Dangerfield.
‘Yes; and I conjecture you know whom I mean,’ said Aunt Rebecca.
‘Who — pray, Madam?’ he demanded.
‘Why, Lieutenant Puddock,’ said Aunt Becky, again adjusting the china on the chimneypiece.
‘Eh? — truly? — that did not strike me,’ replied Dangerfield.
He had a disconcerting way of saying the most ordinary things, and there was a sort of latent meaning, like a half-heard echo, underrunning the surface of his talk, which sometimes made people undefinably uncomfortable; and Aunt Becky looked a little stately and flushed; but in a minute more the conversation proceeded.
‘I have many regrets, Miss Chattesworth, in leaving this place. The loss of your society — don’t mistake me, I never flatter — is a chief one. Some of your views and plans interested me much. I shall see my Lord Castlemallard sooner than I should had my wishes prospered; and I will do all in my power to engage him to give the site for the building, and stones from the quarry free; and I hope, though no longer a resident here, you will permit me to contribute fifty pounds towards the undertaking.’
‘Sir, I wish there were more gentlemen of your public spirit and Christian benevolence,’ cried Aunt Becky, very cordially; ‘and I have heard of all your goodness to that unhappy family of Doctor Sturk’s — poor wretched man!’
‘A bagatelle, Madam,’ said Dangerfield, shaking his head and waving his hand slightly; ‘but I hope to do them, or at least the public, a service of some importance, by bringing conviction home to the assassin who struck him down, and that in terms so clear and authentic, as will leave no room for doubt in the minds of any; and to this end I’m resolved to stick at no trifling sacrifice, and, rather than fail, I’ll drain my purse.’
‘Mon petit coquin!’ prattled the parrot in the bow-window.
‘And, Madam,’ said he, after he had risen to take his leave, ‘as I before said, I’m a plain man. I mean, so soon as I can wind my business up, to leave this place and country — I would tonight, if I could; but less, I fear, than some days — perhaps a week will not suffice. When I’m gone, Madam, I beg you’ll exercise no reserve respecting the cause of my somewhat abrupt departure; I could easily make a pretext of something else; but the truth, Madam, is easiest as well as best to be told; I protracted my stay so long as hope continued. Now my suit is ended. I can no longer endure the place. The remembrance of your kindness only, sweetens the bitterness of my regret, and that I shall bear with me so long, Madam, as life remains.’
And saying this, as Mr. Richardson writes, ‘he bowed upon her passive hand,’ and Miss Rebecca made him a grand and gracious courtesy.
As he retreated, whom should Dominick announce but Captain Cluffe and Lieutenant Puddock. And there was an odd smile on Mr. Dangerfield’s visage, as he slightly acknowledged them in passing, which Aunt Rebecca somehow did not like.
So Aunt Becky’s levee went on; and as Homer, in our schoolboy ear, sang the mournful truth, that ‘as are the generations of the forest leaves so are the succession of men,’ the Dangerfield efflorescence had no sooner disappeared, and that dry leaf whisked away down the stairs, than Cluffe and Puddock budded forth and bloomed in his place, in the sunshine of Aunt Rebecca’s splendid presence.
