Complete Works of Sheridan Le Fanu (Illustrated), page 206
‘But, dear Miss Lake, I can’t,’ said the vicar, dejectedly; ‘I am bound in honour and conscience not to disturb it — I have written to Messrs. Burlington and Smith to that effect. I assure you, dear Miss Lake, we have not acted inconsiderately — nothing has been done without careful and deep consideration.’
‘You must employ an able attorney immediately. You have been duped.
Your little boy must not be ruined.’
‘But — but I do assure you, I have so pledged myself by the letter I have mentioned, that I could not — no, it is quite impossible,’ he added, as he recollected the strong and pointed terms in which he had pledged his honour and conscience to the London firm, to guarantee them against any such disturbance as Miss Lake was urging him to attempt.
‘I am going into the town, Dolly, and so are you,’ said Rachel, after a little pause. ‘Let us go together.’
And to this Dolly readily assented; and the vicar, evidently much troubled in mind, having run up to the nursery to see his little man, the two ladies set out together. Rachel saw that she had made an impression upon Dolly, and was resolved to carry her point. So, in earnest terms, again she conjured her, at least, to lay the whole matter before some friend on whom she could rely; and Dolly, alarmed and eager, quite agreed with Rachel, that the sale must be stopped, and she would do whatever dear Rachel bid her.
‘But do you think Mr. Larkin really supposes that poor Mark is dead?’
‘I do, dear — I suspect he knows it.’
‘And what makes you think that, Rachel, darling?’
‘I can’t define — I’ve no proofs to give you. One knows things, sometimes. I perceived it — and I think I can’t be mistaken; and now I’ve said all, and pray ask me no more upon that point.’
Rachel spoke with a hurried and fierce impatience, that rather startled her companion.
It is wonderful that she showed her state of mind so little. There was, indeed, something feverish, and at times even fierce, in her looks and words. But few would have guessed her agony, as she pleaded with the vicar and his wife; or the awful sense of impending consequences that closed over her like the shadow of night, the moment the excitement of her pleading was over— ‘Rachel, are you mad? — Fly, fly, fly!’ was always sounding in her ears. The little street of Gylingden, through which they were passing, looked strange and dreamlike. And as she listened to Mrs. Crinkle’s babble over the counter, and chose his toys for poor little ‘Fairy,’ she felt like one trifling on the way to execution.
But her warnings and entreaties, I have said, were not quite thrown away; for, although the vicar was inflexible, she had prevailed with his wife, who, at parting, again promised Rachel, that if she could do it, the sale should be stopped.
When I returned to Brandon, a few mornings later, Captain Lake received me joyfully at his solitary breakfast. He was in an intense electioneering excitement. The evening papers for the day before lay on the breakfast table.
‘A move of some sort suspected — the opposition prints all hinting at tricks and ambuscades. They are whipping their men up awfully. Old Wattles, not half-recovered, went by the early train yesterday, Wealdon tells me. It will probably kill him. Stower went up the day before. Lee says he saw him at Charteris. He never speaks — only a vote — and a fellow that never appears till the minute.’
‘Brittle, the member for Stoney-Muckford, was in the next carriage to me yesterday; and he’s a slow coach, too,’ I threw in. ‘It does look as if the division was nearer than they pretend.’
‘Just so. I heard from Gybes last evening — what a hand that fellow writes — only a dozen words— “Look out for squalls,” and “keep your men in hand.” I’ve sent for Wealdon. I wish the morning papers were come. I’m a quarter past eleven — what are you? The post’s in at Dollington fifty minutes before we get our letters here. D — d nonsense — it’s all that heavy ‘bus of Driver’s — I’ll change that. They leave London at five, and get to Dollington at halfpast ten, and Driver never has them in sooner than twenty minutes past eleven! D — d humbug! I’d undertake to take a dog-cart over the ground in twenty minutes.’
‘Is Larkin here?’ I asked.
‘Oh, no — run up to town. I’m so glad he’s away — the clumsiest dog in England — nothing clever — no invention — only a bully — the people hate him. Wealdon’s my man. I wish he’d give up that town-clerkship — it can’t be worth much, and it’s in his way — I’d make it up to him somehow. Will you just look at that — it’s the ‘Globe’ — only six lines, and tell me what you make of it?’
‘It does look like it, certainly.’
‘Wealdon and I have jotted down a few names here,’ said Lake, sliding a list of names before me; ‘you know some of them, I think — rather a strong committee; don’t you think so? Those fellows with the red cross before have promised.’
‘Yes; it’s very strong — capital!’ I said, crunching my toast. ‘Is it thought the writs will follow the dissolution unusually quickly?’
‘They must, unless they want a very late session. But it is quite possible the government may win — a week ago they reckoned upon eleven.’
And as we were talking the post arrived.
‘Here they are!’ cried Lake, and grasping the first morning paper he could seize on, he tore it open with a greater display of energy than I had seen that languid gentleman exhibit on any former occasion.
CHAPTER LXVI.
LADY MACBETH.
‘Here it is,’ said the captain. ‘Beaten’ — then came an oath— ‘three votes — how the devil was that? — there it is, by Jove — no mistake — majority against ministers, three! Is that the “Times?” What does it say?’
‘A long leader — no resignation — immediate dissolution. That is what I collect from it.’
‘How on earth could they have miscalculated so! Swivell, I see, voted in the majority; that’s very odd; and, by Jove, there’s Surplice, too, and he’s good for seven votes. Why his own paper was backing the ministers! What a fellow that is! That accounts for it all. A difference of fourteen votes.’
And thus we went on, discussing this unexpected turn of luck, and reading to one another snatches of the leading articles in different interests upon the subject.
Then Lake, recollecting his letters, opened a large-sealed envelope, with
S.C.G. in the corner.
‘This is from Gybes — let us see. Oh! before the division. “It looks a little fishy,” he says — well, so it does— “We may take the division tonight. Should it prove adverse, you are to expect an immediate dissolution; this on the best authority. I write to mention this, as I may be too much hurried tomorrow.”’
We were discussing this note when Wealdon arrived.
‘Well, captain; great news, Sir. The best thing, I take it, could have happened ministers, ha, ha, ha! A rotten house — down with it — blow it up — three votes only — but as good as three hundred for the purpose — of the three hundred, grant but three, you know — of course, they don’t think of resigning.’
‘Oh, dear, no — an immediate dissolution. Read that,’ said Lake, tossing
Gybes’ note to him.
‘Ho, then, we’ll have the writs down hot and heavy. We must be sharp. The sheriff’s all right; that’s a point. You must not lose an hour in getting your committee together, and printing your address.’
‘Who’s on the other side?’
‘You’ll have Jennings, of course; but they are talking of four different men, already, to take Sir Harry Twisden’s place. He’ll resign; that’s past a doubt now. He has his retiring address written; Lord Edward Mordun read it; and he told FitzStephen on Sunday, after church, that he’d never sit again.’
‘Here, by Jove, is a letter from Mowbray,’ said Lake, opening it. ‘All about his brother George. Hears I’m up for the county. Lord George ready to join and go halves. What shall I say?’
‘Could not have a better man. Tell him you desire no better, and will bring it at once before your committee; and let him know, the moment they meet; and tell him I say he knows Wealdon pretty well — he may look on it as settled. That will be a spoke in Sir Harry’s wheel.’
‘Sir Harry who?’ said Lake.
‘Bracton. I think it’s only to spoil your game, you see,’ answered
Wealdon.
‘Abundance of malice; but I don’t think he’s countenanced?’
‘He’ll try to get the start of you; and if he does, one or other must go to the wall; for Lord George is too strong to be shook out. Do you get forward at once; that’s your plan, captain.’
Then the captain recurred to his letters, which were a larger pack than usual this morning, chatting all the time with Wealdon and me on the tremendous topic, and tossing aside every letter that did not bear on the coming struggle.
‘Who can this be?’ said Lake, looking at the address of one of these. ‘Very like my hand,’ and he examined the seal. It was only a large wafer-stamp, so he broke it open, and drew out a shabby, very ill-written scroll. He turned suddenly away, talking the while, but with his eyes upon the note, and then he folded, or rather crumpled it up, and stuffed it into his pocket, and continued his talk; but it was now plain to me there was something more on his mind, and he was thinking of the shabby letter he had just received.
But, no matter; the election was the pressing topic, and Lake was soon engaged in it again.
There was now a grand coup under discussion — the forestalling of all the horses and vehicles along the line of railway, and in all the principal posting establishments throughout the county.
‘They’ll want to keep it open for a bid from the other side. It is a heavy item any way; and if you want to engage them now, you’ll have to give double what they got last time.’
But Lake was not to be daunted. He wanted the seat, and would stick at nothing to secure it; and so, Wealdon got instructions, in his own phrase, to go the whole animal.
As I could be of no possible use in local details, I left the council of war sitting, intending a stroll in the grounds.
In the hall, I met the mistress of the house, looking very handsome, but with a certain witchlike beauty, very pale, something a little haggard in her great, dark eyes, and a strange, listening look. Was it watchfulness? was it suspicion? She was dressed gravely but richly, and received me kindly — and, strange to say, with a smile that, yet, was not joyful.
‘I hope she is happy. Lake is such a beast; I hope he does not bully her.’
In truth, there were in her exquisite features the traces of that mysterious misery and fear which seemed to fall wherever Stanley Lake’s ill-omened confidences were given.
I walked down one of the long alleys, with tall, close hedges of beech, as impenetrable as cloister walls to sight, and watched the tench basking and flickering in the clear pond, and the dazzling swans sailing majestically along.
What a strange passion is ambition, I thought. Is it really the passion of great minds, or of little. Here is Lake, with a noble old place, inexhaustible in variety; with a beautiful, and I was by this time satisfied, a very singular and interesting woman for his wife, who must have married him for love, pure and simple; a handsome fortune; the power to bring his friends — those whom he liked, or who amused him — about him, and to indulge luxuriously every reasonable fancy, willing to forsake all, and follow the beck of that phantom. Had he knowledge, public talents, training? Nothing of the sort. Had he patriotism, any one noble motive or fine instinct to prompt him to public life? The mere suggestion was a sneer. It seemed to me, simply, that Stanley Lake was a lively, amusing, and even intelligent man, without any internal resource; vacant, peevish, with an unmeaning passion for corruption and intrigue, and the sort of egotism which craves distinction. So I supposed.
Yet, with all its weakness, there was a dangerous force in the character which, on the whole, inspired an odd mixture of fear and contempt. I was bitten, however, already, by the interest of the coming contest. It is very hard to escape that subtle and intoxicating poison. I wondered what figure Stanley would make as a hustings orator, and what impression in his canvass. The latter, I was pretty confident about. Altogether, curiosity, if no deeper sentiment, was highly piqued; and I was glad I happened to drop in at the moment of action, and wished to see the play out.
At the door of her boudoir, Rachel Lake met Dorcas.
‘I am so glad, Radie, dear, you are come. You must take off your things, and stay. You must not leave me tonight. We’ll send home for whatever you want; and you won’t leave me, Radie, I’m certain.’
‘I’ll stay, dear, as you wish it,’ said Rachel, kissing her.
‘Did you see Stanley? I have not seen him to-day,’ said Dorcas.
‘No, dear; I peeped into the library, but he was not there; and there are two men writing in the Dutch room, very busily,’
‘It must be about the election.’
‘What election, dear?’ asked Rachel.
‘There is going to be an election for the county, and — only think — he intends coming forward. I sometimes think he is mad, Radie.’
‘I could not have supposed such a thing. If I were he, I think I should fly to the antipodes. I should change my name, sear my features with vitriol, and learn another language. I should obliterate my past self altogether; but men are so different, so audacious — some men, at least — and Stanley, ever since his ill-omened arrival at Redman’s Farm, last autumn, has amazed and terrified me.’
‘I think, Radie, we have both courage — you have certainly; you have shown it, darling, and you must cease to blame yourself; I think you a heroine, Radie; but you know I see with the wild eyes of the Brandons.’
‘I am grateful, Dorcas, that you don’t hate me. Most women I am sure would abhor me — yes, Dorcas — abhor me.’
‘You and I against the world, Radie!’ said Dorcas, with a wild smile and a dark admiration in her look, and kissing Rachel again. ‘I used to think myself brave; it belongs to women of our blood; but this is no common strain upon courage, Radie. I’ve grown to fear Stanley somehow like a ghost; I fear it is even worse than he says,’ and she looked with a horrible enquiry into Rachel’s eyes.
‘So do I, Dorcas,’ said Rachel, in a firm low whisper, returning her look as darkly.
‘What’s done cannot be undone,’ said Rachel, sadly, after a little pause, unconsciously quoting from a terrible soliloquy of Shakespeare.
‘I know what you mean, Radie; and you warned me, with a strange second-sight, before the evil was known to either of us. It was an irrevocable step, and I took it, not seeing all that has happened, it is true; but forewarned. And this I will say, Radie, if I had known the worst, I think even that would not have deterred me. It was madness — it is madness, for I love him still. Rachel, though I know him and his wickedness, and am filled with horror — I love him desperately.’
‘I am very glad,’ said Rachel, ‘that you do know everything. It is so great a relief to have companionship. I often thought I must go mad in my solitude.’
‘Poor Rachel! I think you wonderful — I think you a heroine — I do, Radie; you and I are made for one another — the same blood — something of the same wild nature; I can admire you, and understand you, and will always love you.’
‘I’ve been with William Wylder and Dolly. That wicked attorney, Mr. Larkin, is resolved on robbing them. I wish they had anyone able to advise them. Stanley I am sure could save them; but he does not choose to do it. He was always so angry when I urged him to help them, that I knew it would be useless asking him; I don’t think he knows what Mr. Larkin has been doing; but, Dorcas, I am afraid the very same thought has been in his mind.’
‘I hope not, Radie,’ and Dorcas sighed deeply. ‘Everything is so wonderful and awful in the light that has come.’
That morning, poor William Wylder had received a letter from Jos. Larkin, Esq., mentioning that he had found Messrs. Burlington and Smith anything but satisfied with him — the vicar. What exactly he had done to disoblige them he could not bring to mind. But Jos. Larkin told him that he had done all in his power ‘to satisfy them of the bonâ fide character’ of his reverend client’s dealings from the first. But ‘they still express themselves dissatisfied upon the point, and appear to suspect a disposition to shilly-shally.’ I have said ‘all I could to disabuse them of the unpleasant prejudice; but I think I should hardly be doing my duty if I were not to warn you that you will do wisely to exhibit no hesitation in the arrangements by which your agreement is to be carried out, and that in the event of your showing the slightest disposition to qualify the spirit of your strong note to them, or in anywise disappointing their client, you must be prepared, from what I know of the firm, for very sharp practice indeed.’
What could they do to him, or why should they hurt him, or what had he done to excite either the suspicion or the temper of the firm? They expected their client, the purchaser, in a day or two. He was already grumbling at the price, and certainly would stand no trifling. Neither would Messrs. Burlington and Smith, who, he must admit, had gone to very great expense in investigating title, preparing deeds, &c., and who were noted as a very expensive house. He was aware that they were in a position to issue an execution on the guarantee for the entire amount of their costs; but he thought so extreme a measure would hardly be contemplated, notwithstanding their threats, unless the purchaser were to withdraw or the vendor to exhibit symptoms of — he would not repeat their phrase — irresolution in his dealing. He had, however, placed the vicar’s letter in their hands, and had accompanied it with his own testimony to the honour and character of the Rev. William Wylder, which he was happy to say seemed to have considerable weight with Messrs. Burlington and Smith. There was also this passage, ‘Feeling acutely the anxiety into which the withdrawal of the purchaser must throw you — though I trust nothing of that sort may occur — I told them that rather than have you thrown upon your beam-ends by such an occurrence, I would myself step in and purchase on the terms agreed on. This will, I trust, quiet them on the subject of their costs, and also prevent any low dodging on the part of the purchaser.’
