COLLECTION OF BRITISH AUTHORS.
VOL. 803.
GUY DEVERELL BY J. S. LE FANU.
IN TWO VOLUMES.
VOL. I.
* * * * *
GUY DEVERELL.
BY J. S. LE FANU,
AUTHOR OF "UNCLE SILAS," ETC.
_COPYRIGHT EDITION._
IN TWO VOLUMES.
VOL. I.
LEIPZIG BERNHARD TAUCHNITZ
1865.
_The Right of Translation is reserved._
* * * * *
TO THAT WRITER,
SO GENIAL, SO BRILLIANT, SO PHILOSOPHIC,
WHOM ALL THE WORLD READS AS
HARRY LORREQUER AND AS CORNELIUS O'DOWD,
AND TO THAT FRIEND
HOW LOVED AND HONOURED!
KNOWN TO THE PRIVILEGED AS
CHARLES LEVER,
THIS STORY,
HOW UNWORTHY AN OFFERING ALL BUT HE WILL PERCEIVE,
IS DEDICATED
BY
THE AUTHOR.
CONTENTS OF VOLUME I.
I. Sir Jekyl Marlowe at the Plough Inn 1
II. The Baronet visits Wardlock Manor 12
III. Concerning two Remarkable Persons who appeared
in Wardlock Church 25
IV. The Green Chamber at Marlowe 35
V. Sir Jekyl bethinks him of Pelter and Crowe 46
VI. Sir Jekyl's Room is visited 56
VII. The Baronet pursues 63
VIII. The House begins to fill 71
IX. Dinner 79
X. Inquiries have been made by Messrs. Pelter and
Crowe 88
XI. Old Gryston Bridge 97
XII. The Strangers appear again 106
XIII. In the Drawing-room 114
XIV. Music 122
XV. M. Varbarriere converses with his Nephew 131
XVI. Containing a Variety of Things 141
XVII. The Magician draws a Diagram 150
XVIII. Another Guest prepares to come 159
XIX. Lady Alice takes Possession 167
XX. An Altercation 174
XXI. Lady Alice in Bed 182
XXII. How Everything went on 191
XXIII. The Divan 200
XXIV. Guy Strangways and M. Varbarriere converse 208
XXV. Lady Alice talks with Guy Strangways 215
XXVI. Some talk of a Survey of the Green Chamber 223
XXVII. M. Varbarriere talks a little more freely 230
XXVIII. Some private Talk of Varbarriere and Lady Alice
at the Dinner-table 238
XXIX. The Ladies and Gentlemen resume Conversation
in the Drawing-room 243
XXX. Varbarriere picks up Something about Donica Gwynn 250
XXXI. Lady Jane puts on her Brilliants 259
XXXII. Conciliation 266
XXXIII. Lady Jane and Beatrix play at Croquet 274
XXXIV. General Lennox receives a Letter 281
XXXV. The Bishop at Marlowe 290
XXXVI. Old Scenes recalled 296
XXXVII. In which Lady Alice pumps the Bishop 304
GUY DEVERELL.
CHAPTER I.
Sir Jekyl Marlowe at the Plough Inn.
The pretty little posting station, known as the Plough Inn, on the Old
London Road, where the Sterndale Road crosses it, was in a state of fuss
and awe, at about five o'clock on a fine sharp October evening, for Sir
Jekyl Marlowe, a man of many thousand acres, and M.P. for the county,
was standing with his back to the fire, in the parlour, whose bow-window
looks out on the ancient thoroughfare I have mentioned, over the row of
scarlet geraniums which beautify the window-stone.
"Hollo!" cried the Baronet, as the bell-rope came down in answer to an
energetic but not angry pull, and he received Mrs. Jones, his hostess,
who entered at the moment, with the dismantled bell-handle still in his
hand. "At my old tricks, you see. I've been doing you a mischief, hey?
but we'll set it right in the bill, you know. How devilish well you
look! wonderful girl, by Jove! Come in, my dear, and shut the door. Not
afraid of me. I want to talk of ducks and mutton-chops. I've had no
luncheon, and I'm awfully hungry," said the comely Baronet in a
continued chuckle.
The Baronet was, by that awful red-bound volume of dates, which is one
of the melancholy drawbacks of aristocracy, set down just then, and by
all whom it might concern, ascertainable to be precisely forty-nine
years and three months old; but so well had he worn, and so cleverly was
he got up, that he might have passed for little more than forty.
He was smiling, with very white teeth, and a gay leer on pretty Mrs.
Jones, an old friend, with black eyes and tresses, and pink cheeks, who
bore her five-and-thirty years as well almost as he did his own burthen.
The slanting autumnal sun became her, and she simpered and courtesied
and blushed the best she could.
"Well, you pretty little devil, what can you do for me--hey? You know
we're old friends--hey? What have you got for a hungry fellow? and don't
stand at the door there, hang it--come in, can't you? and let me hear
what you say."
So Mrs. Jones, with a simpering bashfulness, delivered her bill of fare
off book.
The Baronet was a gallant English gentleman, and came of a healthy race,
though there were a 'beau' and an archbishop in the family; he could
rough it good-humouredly on beefsteak and port, and had an accommodating
appetite as to hours.
"That will do very nicely, my dear, thank you. You're just the same dear
hospitable little rogue I remember you--how long is it, by Jove, since I
stopped here that day, and the awful thunderstorm at night, don't you
recollect? and the whole house in such a devil of a row, egad!" And the
Baronet chuckled and leered, with his hands in his pockets.
"Three years, by Jove, I think--eh?"
"Four years in August last, Sir Jekyl," she answered, with a little toss
of her head and a courtesy.
"Four years, my dear--four devils! Is it possible? why upon my life it
has positively improved you." And he tapped her cheek playfully with his
finger. "And what o'clock is it?" he continued, looking at his watch,
"just five. Well, I suppose you'll be ready in half-an-hour--eh, my
dear?"
"Sooner, if you wish, Sir Jekyl."
"No, thank you, dear, that will do very nicely; and stay," he added,
with a pluck at her pink ribbon, as she retreated: "you've some devilish
good port here, unless it's all out--old Lord Hogwood's stock--eh?"
"More than two dozen left, Sir Jekyl; would you please some?"
"You've hit it, you wicked little conjurer--a bottle; and you must give
me a few minutes after dinner, and a cup of coffee, and tell me all the
news--eh?"
The Baronet, standing on the threadbare hearthrug, looked waggishly, as
it were, through the panels of the shut door, after the fluttering cap
of his pretty landlady. Then he turned about and reviewed himself in the
sea-green mirror over the chimneypiece, adjusted his curls and whiskers
with a touch or two of his fingers' ends, and plucked a little at his
ample silk necktie, and shook out his tresses, with his chin a little
up, and a saucy simper.
But a man tires even of that prospect; and he turned on his heel, and
whistled at the smoky mezzotint of George III. on the opposite wall.
Then he turned his head, and looked out through the bow-window, and his
whistling stopped in the middle of a bar, at sight of a young man whom
he espied, only a yard or two before the covered porch of the little
inn.
This young gentleman was, it seemed, giving a parting direction to some
one in the doorway. He was tall, slender, rather dark, and decidedly
handsome. There were, indeed, in his air, face, and costume, that
indescribable elegance and superiority which constitute a man
"distinguished looking."
When Sir Jekyl beheld this particularly handsome young man, it was with
a disagreeable shock, like the tap on a big drum, upon his diaphragm. If
anyone had been there he would have witnessed an odd and grizzly change
in the pleasant Baronet's countenance. For a few seconds he did not
move. Then he drew back a pace or two, and stood at the further side of
the fire, with the mantelpiece partially between him and the young
gentleman who spoke his parting directions, all unconscious of the
haggard stare which made Sir Jekyl look a great deal less young and
good-natured than was his wont.
This handsome young stranger, smiling, signalled with his cane, as it
seemed, to a companion, who had preceded him, and ran in pursuit.
For a time Sir Jekyl did not move a muscle, and then, with a sudden
pound on the chimneypiece, and a great oath, he exclaimed--
"I could not have believed it! What the devil can it mean?"
Then the Baronet bethought him--"What confounded stuff one does talk and
think, sometimes! Half the matter dropt out of my mind. Twenty years
ago, by Jove, too. _More_ than that, egad! How could I be such an ass?"
And he countermarched, and twirled on his heel into his old place, with
his back to the fire, and chuckled and asked again--
"How the plague _could_ I be such a fool?"
And after some more of this sort of catechism he began to ruminate oddly
once more, and, said he--
"It's plaguy _odd_, for all that."
And he walked to the window, and, with his face close to the glass,
tried in vain to see the stranger again. The bow-window did not command
the road far enough to enable him to see any distance; and he stuck his
hat on his head, and marched by the bar, through the porch, and,
standing upon the road itself, looked shrewdly in the same direction.
But the road makes a bend about there, and between the hedgerows of that
wooded country the vista was not far.
With a cheerful air of carelessness, Sir Jekyl returned and tapped on
the bar window.
"I say, Mrs. Jones, who's that good-looking young fellow that went out
just now?"
"The gentleman in the low-crowned hat, sir, with the gold-headed cane,
please?"
"Yes, a tall young fellow, with large dark eyes, and brown hair."
"That will be Mr. Strangers, Sir Jekyl."
"Does he sleep here to-night?"
"Yes, sir, please."
"And what's his business?"
"Oh, dear! No business, Sir Jekyl, please. He's a real gentleman, and no
end of money."
"I mean, how does he amuse himself?"
"A looking after prospects, and old places, and such like, Sir Jekyl.
Sometimes riding and sometimes a fly. Every day some place or other."
"Oh! pencils and paint-boxes--eh?"
"I aven't seen none, sir. I can't say how that will be."
"Well, and what is he about; where is he gone; where is he now?"
demanded the Baronet.
"What way did Mr. Strangers go, Bill, just now?" the lady demanded of
boots, who appeared at the moment.
"The Abbey, ma'am."
"The Abbey, please, Sir Jekyl."
"The Abbey--that's Wail Abbey--eh? How far is it?"
"How far will it be, Bill?"
"'Taint a mile all out, ma'am."
"Not quite a mile, Sir Jekyl."
"A good ruin--isn't it?" asked the Baronet.
"Well, they do say it's _very_ much out of repair; but I never saw it
myself, Sir Jekyl."
"Neither did I," said Sir Jekyl. "I say, my good fellow, you can point
it out, I dare say, from the steps here?"
"Ay, please, Sir Jekyl."
"You'll have dinner put back, Sir--please, Sir Jekyl?" asked Mrs. Jones.
"Back or forward, _any_ way, my dear child. Only I'll have my walk
first."
And kissing and waving the tips of his fingers, with a smile to Mrs.
Jones, who courtesied and simpered, though her heart was perplexed with
culinary solicitudes "how to keep the water from getting into the trout,
and prevent the ducks of overroasting," the worthy Baronet, followed by
Bill, stept through the porch, and on the ridge of the old high-road,
his own heart being oddly disturbed with certain cares which had given
him a long respite; there he received Bill's directions as to the route
to the Abbey.
It was a clear frosty evening. The red round sun by this time, near the
horizon, looked as if a tall man on the summit of the western hill might
have touched its edge with his finger. The Baronet looked on the
declining luminary as he buttoned his loose coat across his throat, till
his eyes were almost dazzled, thinking all the time of nothing but that
handsome young man; and as he walked on briskly toward the Abbey, he saw
little pale green suns dancing along the road and wherever else his
eyes were turned.
"I'll see this fellow face to face, and talk a bit with him. I dare say
if one were near he's not at all so like. It _is_ devilish odd though;
twenty-five years and not a relation on earth--and dead--hang him! Egad,
its like the Wandering Jew, and the what do you call 'em, _vitæ_. Ay,
here it is."
He paused for a moment, looking at the pretty stile which led a little
pathway across the fields to the wooded hollow by the river, where the
ruin stands. Two old white stone, fluted piers, once a doorway, now
tufted with grass, and stained and worn by time, and the stile built up
between.
"I know, of course, there's nothing in it; but it's so odd--it _is_ so
_devilish_ odd. I'd like to know all about it," said the Baronet,
picking the dust from the fluting with the point of his walking-cane.
"Where has he got, I wonder, by this time?" So he mounted the stile, and
paused near the summit to obtain a commanding view.
"Well, I suppose he's got among the old walls and rubbish by this time.
I'll make him out; he'll break cover."
And he skipped down the stile on the other side, and whistled a little,
cutting gaily in the air with his cane as he went.
But for all he could do the same intensely uncomfortable curiosity
pressed upon him as he advanced. The sun sank behind the distant hills,
leaving the heavens flooded with a discoloured crimson, and the faint
silver of the moon in the eastern sky glimmered coldly over the fading
landscape, as he suddenly emerged from the hedged pathway on the rich
meadow level by the slow river's brink, on which, surrounded by lofty
timber, the ruined Abbey stands.
The birds had come home. Their vesper song had sunk with the setting
sun, and in the sad solitude of twilight the grey ruins rose dimly
before him.
"A devilish good spot for a picnic!" said he, making an effort to
recover his usual agreeable vein of thought and spirits.
So he looked up and about him, and jauntily marched over the sward, and
walked along the line of the grey walls until he found a doorway, and
began his explorations.
Through dark passages, up broken stairs, over grass-grown piles of
rubbish, he peeped into all sorts of roofless chambers. Everything was
silent and settling down into night. At last, by that narrow doorway,
which in such buildings so oddly gives entrance here and there into vast
apartments, he turned into that grand chamber, whose stone floor rests
on the vaults beneath; and there the Baronet paused for a moment with a
little start, for at the far end, looking towards him, but a little
upward, with the faint reflected glow that entered through the tall row
of windows, on the side of his face and figure, stood the handsome young
man of whom he was in pursuit.
The Baronet being himself only a step or two from the screw stairs, and
still under the shadow of the overhanging arch in the corner, the
stranger saw nothing of him, and to announce his approach, though not
much of a musician, he hummed a bar or two briskly as he entered, and
marched across and about as if thinking of nothing but architecture or
the picturesque.
"Charming ruin this, sir," exclaimed he, raising his hat, so soon as he
had approached the stranger sufficiently near to make the address
natural. "Although I'm a resident of this part of the world, I'm ashamed
to say I never saw it before."
The young man raised his hat too, and bowed with a ceremonious grace,
which, as well as his accent, had something foreign in it.
"While I, though a stranger, have been unable to resist its fascination,
and have already visited it three times. You have reason to be proud of
your county, sir, it is full of beauties."
The stranger's sweet, but peculiar, voice thrilled the Baronet with a
recollection as vivid and detested. In fact this well-seasoned man of
the world was so much shocked that he answered only with a bow, and
cleared his voice, and chuckled after his fashion, but all the time felt
a chill creeping over his back.
There was a broad bar of a foggy red light falling through the ivy-girt
window, but the young man happened to stand at that moment in the shadow
beside it, and when the Baronet's quick glance, instead of detecting
some reassuring distinction of feature or expression, encountered only
the ambiguous and obscure, he recoiled inwardly as from something
abominable.
"Beautiful effect--beautiful sky!" exclaimed Sir Jekyl, not knowing very
well what he was saying, and waving his cane upwards towards the fading
tints of the sky.
The stranger emerged from his shadow and stood beside him, and such
light as there was fell full upon his features, and as the Baronet
beheld he felt as if he were in a dream.