ME. ROLFE reached Bellevue House in time to make a hasty toilet, and
dine with Dr. Suaby in his private apartments.
The other guests were Sir Charles Bassett, Mr. Hyam--a meek, sorrowful
patient--an Exquisite, and Miss Wieland.
Dr. Suaby introduced him to everybody but the Exquisite.
Mr. Rolfe said Sir Charles Bassett and he were correspondents.
“So I hear. He tells you the secrets of the prison-house, eh?”
“The humors of the place, you mean.”
“Yes, he has a good eye for character. I suppose he has dissected me
along with the rest?”
“No, no; he has only dealt with the minor eccentricities. His pen
failed at you. 'You must come and _see_ the doctor,' he said. So here I
am.”
“Oh,” said the doctor, “if your wit and his are both to be leveled at
me, I had better stop your mouths. Dinner! dinner! Sir Charles, will
you take Miss Wieland? Sorry we have not another lady to keep you
company, madam.”
“Are you? Then I'm not,” said the lady smartly.
The dinner passed like any other, only Rolfe observed that Dr. Suaby
took every fair opportunity of drawing the pluckless Mr. Hyam into
conversation, and that he coldly ignored the Exquisite.
“I have seen that young man about town, I think,” said Mr. Rolfe.
“Where was it, I wonder?”
“The Argyll Rooms, or the Casino, probably.”
“Thank you, doctor. Oh, I forgot; you owed me one. He is no favorite of
yours.”
“Certainly not. And I only invited him medicinally.”
“Medicinally? That's too deep for a layman.”
“To flirt with Miss Wieland. Flirting does her good.”
“Medicine embraces a wider range than I thought.”
“No doubt. You are always talking about medicine; but you know very
little, begging your pardon.”
“That is the theory of compensation. When you know very little about a
thing you must talk a great deal about it. Well, I'm here for
instruction; thirsting for it.”
“All the better; we'll teach you to drink deep ere you depart.”
“All right: but not of your favorite Acetate of Morphia; because that
is the draught that takes the reason prisoner.”
“It's no favorite of mine. Indeed, experience has taught me that all
sedatives excite; if they soothe at first, they excite next day. My
antidotes to mental excitement are packing in lukewarm water, and, best
of all, hard bodily exercise and the perspiration that follows it. To
put it shortly--prolonged bodily excitement antidotes mental
excitement.”
“I'll take a note of that. It is the wisest thing I ever heard from any
learned physician.”
“Yet many a learned physician knows it. But you are a little prejudiced
against the faculty.”
“Only in their business. They are delightful out of that. But, come
now, nobody hears us--confess, the system which prescribes drugs,
drugs, drugs at every visit and in every case, and does not give a
severe selection of esculents the first place, but only the second or
third, must be rotten at the core. Don't you despise a layman's eye.
All the professions want it.”
“Well, you are a writer; publish a book, call it Medicina laici, and
send me a copy.”
“To slash in the _Lancet?_ Well, I will: when novels cease to pay and
truth begins to.”
In the course of the evening Mr. Rolfe drew Dr. Suaby apart, and said,
“I must tell you frankly, I mean to relieve you of one of your
inmates.”
“Only one? I was in hopes you would relieve me of all the sane people.
They say you are ingenious at it. All I know is, I can't get rid of an
inmate if the person who signed the order resists. Now, for instance,
here's a Mrs. Hallam came here unsound: religious delusion. Has been
cured two months. I have reported her so to her son-in-law, who signed
the order; but he will not discharge her. He is vicious, she
scriptural; bores him about eternity. Then I wrote to the Commissioners
in Lunacy; but they don't like to strain their powers, so they wrote to
the affectionate son-in-law, and he politely declines to act. Sir
Charles Bassett the same: three weeks ago I reported him cured, and the
detaining relative has not even replied to me.”
“Got a copy of your letter?”
“Of course. But what if I tell you there is a gentleman here who never
had any business to come, yet he is as much a fixture as the grates. I
took him blindfold along with the house. I signed a deed, and it is so
stringent I can't evade one of my predecessor's engagements. This old
rogue committed himself to my predecessor's care, under medical
certificates; the order he signed himself.”
“Illegal, you know.”
“Of course; but where's the remedy? The person who signed the order
must rescind it. But this sham lunatic won't rescind it. Altogether the
tenacity of an asylum is prodigious. The statutes are written with
bird-lime. Twenty years ago that old Skinflint found the rates and
taxes intolerable; and doesn't everybody find them intolerable? To
avoid these rates and taxes he shut up his house, captured himself, and
took himself here; and here he will end his days, excluding some
genuine patient, unless _you_ sweep him into the street for me.”
“Sindbad, I will try,” said Rolfe, solemnly; “but I must begin with Sir
Charles Bassett. By-the-by, about his crotchet?”
“Oh, he has still an extravagant desire for children. But the cerebral
derangement is cured, and the other, standing by itself, is a foible,
not a mania. It is only a natural desire in excess. If they brought me
Rachel merely because she had said, 'Give me children, or I die,' and I
found her a healthy woman in other respects, I should object to receive
her on that score alone.”
“You are deadly particular--compared with some of them,” said Rolfe.
That evening he made an appointment with Sir Charles, and visited him
in his room at 8 A. M. He told him he had seen Lady Bassett in London,
and, of course, he had to answer many questions. He then told him he
came expressly to effect his liberation.
“I am grateful to you, sir,” said Sir Charles, with a suppressed and
manly emotion.
“Here are my instructions from Lady Bassett; short, but to the point.”
“May I keep that?”
“Why, of course.”
Sir Charles kissed his wife's line, and put the note in his breast.
“The first step,” said Rolfe, “is to cut you in two. That is soon done.
You must copy in your own hand, and then sign, this writing.” And he
handed him a paper.
“I, Charles Dyke Bassett, being of sound mind, instruct James Sharpe,
of Gray's Inn, my Solicitor, to sue the person who signed the order for
my incarceration--in the Court of Common Pleas; and to take such other
steps for my relief as may be advised by my counsel--Mr. Francis
Rolfe.”
“Excuse me,” said Sir Charles, “if I make one objection. Mr. Oldfield
has been my solicitor for many years. I fear it will hurt his feelings
if I intrust the matter to a stranger. Would there be any objection to
my inserting Mr. Oldfield's name, sir?”
“Only this: he would think he knew better than I do; and then I, who
know better than he does, and am very vain and arrogant, should throw
up the case in a passion, and go back to my MS.; and humdrum Oldfield
would go to Equity instead of law; and all the costs would fall on your
estate instead of on your enemy; and you would be here eighteen months
instead of eight or ten days. No, Sir Charles, you can't mix champagne
and ditch-water; you can't make Invention row in a boat with Antique
Twaddle, and you mustn't ask me to fight your battle with a blunt
knife, when I have got a sharp knife that fits my hand.”
Mr. Rolfe said this with more irritation than was justified, and
revealed one of the great defects in his character.
Sir Charles saw his foible, smiled, and said, “I withdraw a proposal
which I see annoys you.” He then signed the paper.
Mr. Rolfe broke out all smiles directly, and said, “Now you are cut in
two. One you is here; but Sharpe is another you. Thus, one you works
out of the asylum, and one in, and that makes all the difference.
Compare notes with those who have tried the other way. Yet, simple and
obvious as this is, would you believe it, I alone have discovered this
method; I alone practice it.”
He sent his secretary off to London at once, and returned to Sir
Charles. “The authority will be with Sharpe at 2:30. He will be at
Whitehall 3:15, and examine the order. He will take the writ out at
once, and if Richard Bassett is the man, he will serve it on him
to-morrow in good time, and send one of your grooms over here on
horseback with the news. We serve the writ personally, because we have
shufflers to deal with, and I will not give them a chance. Now I must
go and write a lie or two for the public; and then inspect the asylum
with Suaby. Before post-time I will write to a friend of mine who is a
Commissioner of Lunacy, one of the strong-minded ones. We may as well
have two strings to our bow.”
Sir Charles thanked him gracefully, and said, “It is a rare thing, in
this selfish world, to see one man interest himself in the wrongs of
another, as you are good enough to do in mine.”
“Oh,” said Rolfe, “all work and no play makes Jack a dull boy. My
business is Lying; and I drudge at it. So to escape now and then to the
play-ground of Truth and Justice is a great amusement and recreation to
poor me. Besides, it gives me fresh vigor to replunge into Mendacity;
and that's the thing that pays.”
With this simple and satisfactory explanation he rolled away.
Leaving, for the present, matters not essential to this vein of
incident, I jump to what occurred toward evening.
Just after dinner the servant who waited told Dr. Suaby that a man had
walked all the way from Huntercombe to see Sir Charles Bassett.
“Poor fellow!” said Dr. Suaby; “I should like to see him. Would you
mind receiving him here?”
“Oh, no.”
“On second thoughts, James, you had better light a candle in the next
room--in case.”
A heavy clatter was heard, and the burly figure of Moses Moss entered
the room. Being bareheaded, he saluted the company by pulling his head,
and it bobbed. He was a little dazzled by the lights at first, but soon
distinguished Sir Charles, and his large countenance beamed with simple
and affectionate satisfaction.
“How d'ye do, Moss?” said Sir Charles.
“Pretty well, thank ye, sir, in my body, but uneasy in my mind. There
be a trifle too many rogues afoot to please me. However, I told my
mistress this morning, says I, 'Before I puts up with this here any
longer, I must go over there and see him; for here's so many lies
a-cutting about,' says I, 'I'm fairly mazed.' So, if you please, Sir
Charles, will you be so good as to tell me out of your own mouth, and
then I shall know: be you crazy or hain't you--ay or no?”
Suaby and Rolfe had much ado not to laugh right out; but Sir Charles
said, gravely, he was not crazy. “Do I look crazy, Moss?”
“That ye doan't; you look twice the man you did. Why, your cheeks did
use to be so pasty like; now you've got a color--but mayhap” (casting
an eye on the decanters) “ye're flustered a bit wi' drink.”
“No, no,” said Rolfe, “we have not commenced our nightly debauch yet;
only just done dinner.”
“Then there goes another. This will be good news to home. Dall'd if I
would not ha' come them there thirty miles on all-fours for't. But,
sir, if so be you are not crazy, please think about coming home, for
things ain't as they should be in our parts. My lady she is away for
her groaning, and partly for fear of this very Richard Bassett; and him
and his lawyer they have put it about as you are dead in law; that is
the word: and so the servants they don't know what to think; and the
village folk are skeared with his clapping four brace on 'em in jail:
and Joe and I, we wants to fight un, but my dame she is timorous, and
won't let us, because of the laayer. And th' upshot is, this here
Richard Bassett is master after a manner, and comes on the very lawn,
and brings men with a pole measure, and uses the place as his'n mostly;
but our Joe bides in the Hall with his gun, and swears he'll shoot him
if he sets foot in the house. Joe says he have my lady's leave and
license so to do, but not outside.”
Sir Charles turned very red, and was breathless with indignation.
Dr. Suaby looked uneasy, and said, “Control yourself, sir.'”
“I am not going to control _myself,”_ cried Rolfe, in a rage. “Don't
you take it to heart, Sir Charles. It shall not last long.”
“Ah!”
“Dr. Suaby, can you lend me a gig or a dog-cart, with a good horse?”
“Yes. I have got a WONDERFUL roadster, half Irish, half Norman.”
“Then, Mr. Moss, to-morrow you and I go to Huntercombe: you shall show
me this Bassett, and we will give him a pill.”
“Meantime,” said Dr. Suaby, “I take a leaf out of your Medicina laici,
and prescribe a hearty supper, a quart of ale, and a comfortable bed to
Mr. Moss. James, see him well taken care of. Poor man!” said he, when
Moss had retired. “What simplicity! what good sense! what ignorance of
the world! what feudality, if I may be allowed the expression.”
Sir Charles was manifestly discomposed, and retired to bed early.
Rolfe drove off with Moss at eight o'clock, and was not seen again all
day. Indeed, Sir Charles was just leaving Dr. Suaby's room when he came
in rather tired, and would not say a word till they gave him a cup of
tea: then he brightened up and told his story.
“We went to the railway to meet Sharpe. The muff did not come nor send
by the first train. His clerk arrived by the second. We went to
Huntercombe village together, and on the road I gave him some special
instructions. Richard Bassett not at home. We used a little bad
language and threw out a skirmisher--Moss, to wit--to find him. Moss
discovered him on your lawn, planning a new arrangement of the flower
beds, with Wheeler looking over the boundary wall.
“We went up to Bassett, and the clerk served his copy of the writ. He
took it quite coolly; but when he saw at whose suit it was he turned
pale. He recovered himself directly, though, and burst out laughing.
'Suit of Sir Charles Bassett. Why, he can't sue: he is civiliter
mortuus: mad as a March hare: in confinement.' Clerk told him he was
mistaken; Sir Charles was perfectly sane. 'Good-day, sir.' So then
Bassett asked him to wait a little. He took the writ away, and showed
it Wheeler, no doubt. He came back, and blustered, and said, 'Some
other person has instructed you: you will get yourself into trouble, I
fear.' The little clerk told him not to alarm himself; Mr. Sharpe was
instructed by Sir Charles Bassett, in his own handwriting and
signature, and said, 'It is not my business to argue the case with you.
You had better take the advice of counsel.' 'Thank you,' said Bassett;
'that would be wasting a guinea.' 'A good many thousand guineas have
been lost by that sort of economy,' says the little clerk, solemnly.
Oh, and he told him Mr. Sharpe was instructed to indict him for a
trespass if he ever came there again; and handed him a written paper to
that effect, which we two had drawn up at the station; and so left him
to his reflections. We went into the house, and called the servants
together, and told them to keep the rooms warm and the beds aired,
since you might return any day.”
Upon this news Sir Charles showed no premature or undignified triumph,
but some natural complacency, and a good deal of gratitude.
The next day was blank of events, but the next after Mr. Rolfe received
a letter containing a note addressed to Sir Charles Bassett. Mr. Rolfe
sent it to him.
SIR--I am desired to inform you that I attended Lady Bassett last
night, when she was safely delivered of a son. Have seen her again this
morning. Mother and child are doing remarkably well.
“W. BODDINGTON, Surgeon, 17 Upper Gloucester Place.”
Sir Charles cried, “Thank God! thank God!” He held out the paper to Mr.
Rolfe, and sat down, overpowered by tender emotions.
Mr. Rolfe devoured the surgeon's letter at one glance, shook the
baronet's hand eloquently, and went away softly, leaving him with his
happiness.
Sir Charles, however, began now to pine for liberty; he longed so to
join his wife and see his child, and Rolfe, observing this, chafed with
impatience. He had calculated on Bassett, advised by Wheeler, taking
the wisest course, and discharging him on the spot. He had also hoped
to hear from the Commissioner of Lunacy. But neither event took place.
They could have cut the Gordian knot by organizing an escape: Giles and
others were to be bought to that: but Dr. Suaby's whole conduct had
been so kind, generous, and confiding, that this was out of the
question. Indeed, Sir Charles had for the last month been there upon
parole.
Yet the thing had been wisely planned, as will appear when I come to
notice the advice counsel had given to Bassett in this emergency. But
Bassett would not take advice: he went by his own head, and prepared a
new and terrible blow, which Mr. Rolfe did not foresee.
But meantime an unlooked-for and accidental assistant came into the
asylum, without the least idea Sir Charles was there.
Mrs. Marsh, early in her married life, converted her husband to
religion, and took him about the county preaching. She was in earnest,
and had a vein of natural eloquence that really went straight to
people's bosoms. She was certainly a Christian, though an eccentric
one. Temper being the last thing to yield to Gospel light, she still
got into rages; but now she was very humble and penitent after them.
Well, then, after going about doing good, she decided to settle down
and do good. As for Marsh, he had only to obey. Judge for yourself: the
mild, gray-haired vicar of Calverly, who now leaned on la Marsh as on a
staff, thought it right at the beginning to ascertain that she was not
opposing her husband's views. He put a query of this kind as delicately
as possible.
“My husband!” cried she. “If he refused to go to heaven with me, I'd
take him there by the ear.” And her eye flashed with the threat.
Well, somebody told this lady that Mr. Vandeleur was ruined, and in Dr.
Suaby's asylum, not ten miles from her country-seat. This intelligence
touched her. She contrasted her own happy condition, both worldly and
spiritual, with that of this unfortunate reprobate, and she felt bound
to see if nothing could be done for the poor wretch. A timid Christian
would have sent some man to do the good work; but this was a lion-like
one. So she mounted her horse, and taking only her groom with her, was
at Bellevue in no time.
She dismounted, and said she must speak to Dr. Suaby, sent in her card,
and was received at once.
“You have a gentleman here called Vandeleur?”
The doctor looked disappointed, but bowed.
“I wish to see him.”
“Certainly, madam.--James, take Mrs. Marsh into a sitting-room, and
send Mr. Vandeleur to her.”
“He is not violent, is he?” said Mrs. Marsh, beginning to hesitate when
she saw there was no opposition.
“Not at all, madam--the Pink of Politeness. If you have any money about
you, it might be as well to confide it to me.”
“What, will he rob me?”
“Oh, no: much too well conducted: but he will most likely wheedle you
out of it.”
“No fear of that, sir.” And she followed James.
He took her to a room commanding the lawn. She looked out of the
window, and saw several ladies and gentlemen walking at their ease,
reading or working in the sun.
“Poor things!” she thought; “they are not so very miserable: perhaps
God comforts them by ways unknown to us. I wonder whether preaching
would do them any good? I should like to try. But they would not let
me; they lean on the arm of flesh.”
Her thoughts were interrupted at last by the door opening gently, and
in came Vandeleur, with his graceful panther-like step, and a winning
smile he had put on for conquest.
He stopped; he stared; he remained motionless and astounded.
At last he burst out, “Somer--Was it me you wished to see?”
“Yes,” said she, very kindly. “I came to see you for old acquaintance.
You must call me Mrs. Marsh now; I am married.”
By this time he had quite recovered himself, and offered her a chair
with ingratiating zeal.
“Sit down by me,” said she, as if she was petting a child. “Are you
sure you remember me?”
Says the Courtier, “Who could forget you that had ever had the honor--”
Mrs. Marsh drew back with sudden hauteur. “I did not come here for
folly,” said she. Then, rather naively, “I begin to doubt your being so
very mad.”
“Mad? No, of course I am not.”
“Then what brings you here?”
“Stumped.”
“What, have I mistaken the house? Is it a jail?”
“Oh, no! I'll tell you. You see I was dipped pretty deep, and duns
after me, and the Derby my only chance; so I put the pot on. But a dark
horse won: the Jews knew I was done: so now it was a race which should
take me. Sloman had seven writs out: I was in a corner. I got a friend
that knows every move to sign me into this asylum. They thought it was
all up then, and he is bringing them to a shilling in the pound.”
Before he could complete this autobiographical sketch Mrs. Marsh
started up in a fury, and brought her whip down on the table with a
smartish cut.
“You little heartless villain!” she screamed. “Is this, the way you
play upon people: bringing me from my home to console a maniac, and,
instead of that, you are only what you always were, a spendthrift and a
scamp? Finely they will laugh at me.”
She clutched the whip in her white but powerful hand till it quivered
in the air, impatient for a victim.
“Oh!” she cried, panting, and struggling with her passion, “if I wasn't
a child of God, I'd--”
“You'd give me a devilish good hiding,” said Vandeleur, demurely.
“That I _would,”_ said she, very earnestly.
“You forget that I never told you I was mad. How could I imagine you
would hear it? How could I dream you would come, even if you did?”
“I should be no Christian if I didn't come.”
“But I mean we parted bad friends, you know.”
“Yes, Van; but when I asked you for the gray horse you sent me a new
sidesaddle. A woman does not forget those little things. You were a
gentleman, though a child of Belial.”
Vandeleur bowed most deferentially, as much as to say, “In both those
matters you are the highest authority earth contains.”
“So come,” said she, “here is plenty of writing-paper. Now tell me all
your debts, and I will put them down.”
“What is the use? At a shilling in the pound, six hundred will pay them
all.”
“Are you sure?”
“As sure as that I am not going to rob you of the money.”
“Oh, I only mean to lend it you.”
“That alters the case.”
“Prodigiously.” And she smiled satirically. “Now your friend's address,
that is treating with your creditors.”
“Must I?”
“Unless you want to put me in a great passion.”
“Anything sooner than that.” Then he wrote it for her.
“And now,” said she, “grant me a little favor for old acquaintance.
Just kneel you down there, and let me wrestle with Heaven for you, that
you may be a brand plucked from the fire, even as I am.”
The Pink of Politeness submitted, with a sigh of resignation.
Then she prayed for him so hard, so beseechingly, so eloquently, he was
amazed and touched.
She rose from her knees, and laid her head on her hand, exhausted a
little by her own earnestness.
He stood by her, and hung his head.
“You are very good,” he said. “It is a shame to let you waste it on me.
Look here--I want to do a little bit of good to another man, after you
praying so beautifully.”
“Ah! I am so glad. Tell me.”
“Well, then, you mustn't waste a thought on me, Rhoda. I'm a gambler
and a fool: let me go to the dogs at once; it is only a question of
time: but there's a fellow here that is in trouble, and doesn't deserve
it, and he was a faithful friend to you, I believe. I never was. And he
has got a wife: and by what I hear, you could get him out, I think, and
I am sure you would be angry with me afterward if I didn't tell you;
you have such a good heart. It is Sir Charles Bassett.”
“Sir Charles Bassett here! Oh, his poor wife! What drove him mad? Poor,
poor Sir Charles!”
“Oh, he is all right. They have cured him entirely; but there is no
getting him out, and he is beginning to lose heart, they say. There's a
literary swell here can tell you all about it; he has come down
expressly: but they are in a fix, and I think you could help them out.
I wish you would let me introduce you to him.”
“To whom?”
“To Mr. Rolfe. You used to read his novels.”
“I adore him. Introduce me at once. But Sir Charles must not see me,
nor know I am here. Say Mrs. Marsh, a friend of Lady Bassett's, begs to
be introduced.”
Sly Vandeleur delivered this to Rolfe; but whispered out of his own
head, “A character for your next novel--a saint with the devil's own
temper.”
This insidious addition brought Mr. Rolfe to her directly.
As might be expected from their go-ahead characters, these two knew
each other intimately in about twelve minutes; and Rolfe told her all
the facts I have related, and Marsh went into several passions, and
corrected herself, and said she had been a great sinner, but was
plucked from the burning, and therefore thankful to anybody who would
give her a little bit of good to do.
Rolfe took prompt advantage of this foible, and urged her to see the
Commissioners in Lunacy, and use all her eloquence to get one of them
down. “They don't act upon my letters,” said he; “but it will be
another thing if a beautiful, ardent woman puts it to them in person,
with all that power of face and voice I see in you. You are all fire;
and you can talk Saxon.”
“Oh, I'll talk to them,” said Mrs. Marsh, “and God will give me words;
He always does when I am on His side. Poor Lady Bassett! my heart
bleeds for her. I will go to London to-morrow; ay, to-night, if you
like. To-night? I'll go this instant!”
“What!” said Rolfe: “is there a lady in the world who will go a journey
without packing seven trunks--and merely to do a good action?”
“You forget. Penitent sinners must make up for lost time.”
“At that rate impenitent ones like me had better lose none. So I'll arm
you at once with certain documents, and you must not leave the
commissioners till they promise to send one of their number down
without delay to examine him, and discharge him if he is as we
represent.”
Mrs. Marsh consented warmly, and went with Rolfe to Dr. Suaby's study.
They armed her with letters and written facts, and she rode off at a
fiery pace; but not before she and Rolfe had sworn eternal friendship.
The commissioners received Mrs. Marsh coldly. She was chilled, but not
daunted. She produced Suaby's letter and Rolfe's, and when they were
read she played the orator. She argued, she remonstrated, she
convinced, she persuaded, she thundered. Fire seemed to come out of the
woman.
Mr. Fawcett, on whom Mr. Rolfe had mainly relied, caught fire, and
declared he would go down next day and look into the matter on the
spot; and he kept his word. He came down; he saw Sir Charles and Suaby,
and penetrated the case.
Mr. Fawcett was a man with a strong head and a good heart, but rather
an arrogant manner. He was also slightly affected with official
pomposity and reticence; so, unfortunately, he went away without
declaring his good intentions, and discouraged them all with the fear
of innumerable delays in the matter.
Now if Justice is slow, Injustice is swift. The very next day a
thunder-clap fell on Sir Charles and his friends.
Arrived at the door a fly and pair, with three keepers from an asylum
kept by Burdoch, a layman, the very opposite of the benevolent Suaby.
His was a place where the old system of restraint prevailed, secretly
but largely: strait-waistcoats, muffles, hand-locks, etc. Here fleas
and bugs destroyed the patients' rest; and to counteract the insects
morphia was administered freely. Given to the bugs and fleas, it would
have been an effectual antidote; but they gave it to the patients, and
so the insects won.
These three keepers came with an order correctly drawn, and signed by
Richard Bassett, to deliver Sir Charles to the agents showing the
order.
Suaby, who had a horror of Burdoch, turned pale at the sight of the
order, and took it to Rolfe.
“Resist!” said that worthy.
“I have no right.”
“On second thoughts, do nothing, but gain time, while I--Has Bassett
paid you for Sir Charles's board?”
“No.”
“Decline to give him up till that is done, and be some time making out
the bill. Come what may, pray keep Sir Charles here till I send you a
note that I am ready.”
He then hastened to Sir Charles and unfolded his plans, to him.
Sir Charles assented eagerly. He was quite willing to run risks with
the hope of immediate liberation, which Rolfe held out. His own part
was to delay and put off till he got a line from Rolfe.
Rolfe then borrowed Vandeleur on parole and the doctor's dog-cart, and
dashed into the town, distant two miles.
First he went to the little theater, and found them just concluding a
rehearsal. Being a playwright, he was known to nearly all the people,
more or less, and got five supers and one carpenter to join him--for a
consideration.
He then made other arrangements in the town, the nature of which will
appear in due course.
Meantime Suaby had presented his bill. One of the keepers got into the
fly and took it back to the town. There, as Rolfe had anticipated,
lurked Richard Bassett. He cursed the delay, gave the man the money,
and urged expedition. The money was brought and paid, and Suaby
informed Sir Charles.
But Sir Charles was not obliged to hurry. He took a long time to pack;
and he was not ready till Vandeleur brought a note to him from Rolfe.
Then Sir Charles came down.
Suaby made Burdoch's keeper sign a paper to the effect that he had the
baronet in charge, and relieved Suaby of all further responsibility.
Then Sir Charles took an affectionate leave of Dr. Suaby, and made him
promise to visit him at Huntercombe Hall.
Then he got into the fly, and sat between two keepers, and the fly
drove off.
Sir Charles at that moment needed all his fortitude. The least mistake
or miscalculation on the part of his friends, and what might not be the
result to him?
As the fly went slowly through the gate he saw on his right hand a
light carriage and pair moving up; but was it coming after him, or only
bringing visitors to the asylum?
The fly rolled on; even his stout heart began to quake. It rolled and
rolled. Sir Charles could stand it no longer. He tried to look out of
the window to see if the carriage was following.
One of the keepers pulled him in roughly. “Come, none of that, sir?”
“You insolent scoundrel!” said Sir Charles.
“Ay, ay,” said the man; “we'll see about that when we get you home.”
Then Sir Charles saw he had offended a vindictive blackguard.
He sank back in his seat, and a cold chill crept over him.
Just then they passed a little clump of fir-trees.
In a moment there rushed out of these trees a number of men in crape
masks, stopped the horses, surrounded the carriage, and opened it with
brandishing of bludgeons and life-preservers, and pointing of guns.