TOM TRINGLE SENDS A CHALLENGE.
The next six weeks went on tranquilly at Merle Park without a word
spoken about Hamel. Sir Thomas, who was in the country as little as
possible, showed his scorn to his son-in-law simply by the paucity
of his words, speaking to him, when he did speak to him, with
a deliberate courtesy which Mr. Traffick perfectly understood.
It was that dangerous serenity which so often presages a storm.
"There is something going to be up with your father," he said to
Augusta. Augusta replied that she had never seen her father so civil
before. "It would be a great convenience," continued the Member of
Parliament, "if he could be made to hold his tongue till Parliament
meets; but I'm afraid that's too good to expect." In other respects
things were comfortable at Merle Park, though they were not always
comfortable up in London. Tom, as the reader knows, was misbehaving
himself sadly at the Mountaineers. This was the period of unlimited
champagne, and of almost total absence from Lombard Street. It was
seldom that Sir Thomas could get hold of his son, and when he did
that broken-hearted youth would reply to his expostulations simply
by asserting that if his father would induce Ayala to marry him
everything should go straight in Lombard Street. Then came the final
blow. Tom was of course expected at Merle Park on Christmas Eve,
but did not make his appearance either then or on Christmas Day.
Christmas fell on a Wednesday, and it was intended that the family
should remain in the country till the following Monday. On the
Thursday Sir Thomas went up to town to make inquiries respecting his
heir, as to whom Lady Tringle had then become absolutely unhappy. In
London he heard the disastrous truth. Tom, in his sportive mood, had
caused serious inconvenience to a most respectable policeman, and
was destined to remain another week in the hands of the Philistines.
Then, for a time, all the other Tringle troubles were buried and
forgotten in this great trouble respecting Tom. Lady Tringle was
unable to leave her room during the period of incarceration. Mr.
Traffick promised to have the victim liberated by the direct
interference of the Secretary of State, but failed to get anything
of the kind accomplished. The girls were completely cowed by the
enormity of the misfortune; so that Tom's name was hardly mentioned
except in sad and confidential whispers. But of all the sufferers Sir
Thomas suffered the most. To him it was a positive disgrace, weighing
down every moment of his life. At Travers and Treason he could not
hold up his head boldly and open his mouth loudly as had always been
his wont. At Travers and Treason there was not a clerk who did not
know that "the governor" was an altered man since this misfortune had
happened to the hope of the firm. What passed between Sir Thomas and
his son on the occasion has already been told in a previous chapter.
That Sir Thomas, on the whole, behaved with indulgence must be
acknowledged; but he felt that his son must in truth absent himself
from Lombard Street for a time.
Tom had been advised by his father to go forth and see the world. A
prolonged tour had been proposed to him which to most young men might
seem to have great attraction. To him it would have had attraction
enough, had it not been for Ayala. There would have been hardly any
limit to the allowance made to him, and he would have gone forth
armed with introductions, which would have made every port a happy
home to him. But as soon as the tour was suggested he resolved at
once that he could not move himself to a distance from Ayala. What he
expected,--what he even hoped,--he could not tell himself. But while
Ayala was in London, and Ayala was unmarried, he could not be made to
take himself far away.
He was thoroughly ashamed of himself. He was not at all the man who
could bear a week of imprisonment and not think himself disgraced.
For a day or two he shut himself up altogether in his lodgings, and
never once showed himself at the Mountaineers. Faddle came to him,
but he snubbed Faddle at first, remembering all the severe things his
father had said about the Faddles in general. But he soon allowed
that feeling to die away when the choice seemed to be between Faddle
and solitude. Then he crept out in the dark and ate his dinners with
Faddle at some tavern, generally paying the bill for both of them.
After dinner he would play half-a-dozen games of billiards with his
friend at some unknown billiard-room, and then creep home to his
lodgings,--a blighted human being!
At last, about the end of the first week in January, he was induced
to go down to Merle Park. There Mr. and Mrs. Traffick were still
sojourning, the real grief which had afflicted Sir Thomas having
caused him to postpone his intention in regard to his son-in-law.
At Merle Park Tom was cosseted and spoilt by the women very
injudiciously. It was not perhaps the fact that they regarded him
as a hero simply because he had punched a policeman in the stomach
and then been locked up in vindication of the injured laws of his
country; but that incident in combination with his unhappy love did
seem to make him heroic. Even Lucy regarded him with favour because
of his constancy to her sister; whereas the other ladies measured
their admiration for his persistency by the warmth of their anger
against the silly girl who was causing so much trouble. His mother
told him over and over again that his cousin was not worth his
regard; but then, when he would throw himself on the sofa in an agony
of despair,--weakened perhaps as much by the course of champagne as
by the course of his love,--then she, too, would bid him hope, and at
last promised that she herself would endeavour to persuade Ayala to
look at the matter in a more favourable light. "It would all be right
if it were not for that accursed Stubbs," poor Tom would say to his
mother. "The man whom I called my friend! The man I lent a horse to
when he couldn't get one anywhere else! The man to whom I confided
everything, even about the necklace! If it hadn't been for Stubbs
I never should have hurt that policeman! When I was striking him
I thought that it was Stubbs!" Then the mother would heap feminine
maledictions on the poor Colonel's head, and so together they would
weep and think of revenge.
From the moment Tom had heard Colonel Stubbs's name mentioned as that
of his rival he had meditated revenge. It was quite true when he said
that he had been thinking of Stubbs when he struck the policeman. He
had consumed the period of his confinement in gnashing his teeth, all
in regard to our poor friend Jonathan. He told his father that he
could not go upon his long tour because of Ayala. But in truth his
love was now so mixed up with ideas of vengeance that he did not
himself know which prevailed. If he could first have slaughtered
Stubbs then perhaps he might have started! But how was he to
slaughter Stubbs? Various ideas occurred to his mind. At first
he thought that he would go down to Aldershot with the biggest
cutting-whip he could find in any shop in Piccadilly; but then it
occurred to him that at Aldershot he would have all the British army
against him, and that the British army might do something to him
worse even than the London magistrate. Then he would wait till the
Colonel could be met elsewhere. He ascertained that the Colonel was
still at Stalham, where he had passed the Christmas, and he thought
how it might be if he were to attack the Colonel in the presence of
his friends, the Alburys. He assured himself that, as far as personal
injury went, he feared nothing. He had no disinclination to be hit
over the head himself, if he could be sure of hitting the Colonel
over the head. If it could be managed that they two should fly at
each other with their fists, and be allowed to do the worst they
could to each other for an hour, without interference, he would be
quite satisfied. But down at Stalham that would not be allowed. All
the world would be against him, and nobody there to see that he got
fair play. If he could encounter the man in the streets of London it
would be better; but were he to seek the man down at Stalham he would
probably find himself in the County Lunatic Asylum. What must he do
for his revenge? He was surely entitled to it. By all the laws of
chivalry, as to which he had his own ideas, he had a right to inflict
an injury upon a successful--even upon an unsuccessful--rival. Was it
not a shame that so excellent an institution as duelling should have
been stamped out? Wandering about the lawns and shrubberies at Merle
Park he thought of all this, and at last he came to a resolution.
The institution had been stamped out, as far as Great Britain was
concerned. He was aware of that. But it seemed to him that it had not
been stamped out in other more generous countries. He had happened to
notice that a certain enthusiastic politician in France had enjoyed
many duels, and had never been severely repressed by the laws of his
country. Newspaper writers were always fighting in France, and were
never guillotined. The idea of being hanged was horrible to him,--so
distasteful that he saw at a glance that a duel in England was out
of the question. But to have his head cut off, even if it should
come to that, would be a much less affair. But in Belgium, in Italy,
in Germany, they never did cut off the heads of the very numerous
gentlemen who fought duels. And there were the Southern States of the
American Union, where he fancied that men might fight duels just as
they pleased. He would be ready to go even to New Orleans at a day's
notice if only he could induce Colonel Stubbs to meet him there. And
he thought that, if Colonel Stubbs really possessed half the spirit
which seemed to be attributed to him by the British army generally,
he would come, if properly invoked, and fight such a duel as this,
whether at New Orleans or at some other well-chosen blood-allowing
spot on the world's surface. Tom was prepared to go anywhere for
blood.
But the invocation must be properly made. When he had wanted another
letter of another kind to be written for him, the Colonel himself
was the man to whom he had gone for assistance. And, had his present
enemy been any other than the Colonel himself, he would have gone
to the Colonel in preference to any one else for aid in this matter.
There was no one, in truth, in whom he believed so thoroughly as in
the Colonel. But that was out of the question. Then he reflected
what friend might now stand him in stead. He would have gone to
Houston, who wanted to marry his sister; but Houston seemed to have
disappeared, and he did not know where he might be found. There was
his brother-in-law, Traffick,--but he feared lest Traffick might give
him over once more into the hands of the police. He thought of Hamel,
as being in a way connected with the family; but he had seen so
little of Hamel, and had so much disliked what he had seen, that he
was obliged to let that hope go by. There was no one left but Faddle
whom he could trust. Faddle would do anything he was told to do.
Faddle would carry the letter, no doubt, or allow himself to be named
as a proposed second. But Faddle could not write the letter. He felt
that he could write the letter himself better than Faddle.
He went up to town, having sent a mysterious letter to Faddle,
bidding his friend attend him in his lodgings. He did not yet dare
to go to the Mountaineers, where Faddle would have been found. But
Faddle came, true to the appointment. "What is it, now?" said the
faithful friend. "I hope you are going back to Travers and Treason's.
That is what I should do, and walk in just as though nothing had
happened."
"Not if you were me, you wouldn't."
"That does make a difference, of course."
"There is something else to be done before I can again darken the
doors of Travers and Treason,--if I should ever do so!"
"Something particular?"
"Something very particular. Faddle, I do think you are a true
friend."
"You may say that. I have stuck to you always,--though you don't know
the kind of things my people say to me about it. They say I am going
to ruin myself because of you. The governor threatened to put me out
of the business altogether. But I'm a man who will be true to my
friend, whatever happens. I think you have been a little cool to me,
lately; but even that don't matter."
"Cool! If you knew the state that I'm in you wouldn't talk of a
fellow being cool! I'm so knocked about it all that I don't know what
I'm doing."
"I do take that into consideration."
"Now, I'll tell you what I am going to do." Then he stood still, and
looked Faddle full in the face. Faddle, sitting awe-struck on his
chair, returned the gaze. He knew that a moment of supreme importance
was at hand. "Faddle, I'll shoot that fellow down like a dog."
"Will you, indeed?"
"Like a dog;--if I can get at him. I should have no more compunction
in taking his life than a mere worm. Why should I, when I know that
he has sapped the very juice of my existence?"
"Do you mean,--do you mean,--that you would--murder him?"
"It would not be murder. Of course it might be that he would shoot me
instead. Upon the whole, I think I should like that best."
"Oh; a duel!" said Faddle.
"That's what I mean. Murder him! Certainly not. Though I should like
nothing half so well as to thrash him within an inch of his life.
I would not murder him. My plan is this,--I shall write to him a
letter inviting him to meet me in any corner of the globe that he
may select. Torrid zone or Arctic circle will be all the same to me.
You will have to accompany me as my second." Faddle shivered with
excitement and dread of coming events. Among other ideas there came
the thought that it might be difficult to get back from the Arctic
circle without money if his friend Tom should happen to be shot dead
in that locality. "But first of all," continued Tom, "you will have
to carry a letter."
"To the Colonel?" suggested Faddle.
"Of course. The man is now staying with friends of his named Albury
at a place called Stalham. From what I hear they are howling swells.
Sir Harry Albury is Master of the Hounds, and Lady Albury when she
is up in London has all the Royal Family constantly at her parties.
Stubbs is a cousin of his; but you must go right away up to him among
'em all, and deliver the letter into his hands without minding 'em a
bit."
"Couldn't it go by post?"
"No; this kind of letter musn't go by post. You have to be able to
swear that you delivered it yourself into his own hands. And then you
must wait for an answer. Even though he should want a day to think of
it, you must wait."
"Where am I to stay, Tom?"
"Well; it may be they'll ask you to the house, because, though you
carry the letter for me, you are not supposed to be his enemy. If so,
put a jolly face on it, and enjoy yourself as well as you can. You
must seem, you know, to be just as big a swell as anybody there. But
if they don't ask you, you must go to the nearest inn. I'll pay the
bill."
"Shall I go to-day?" asked Faddle.
"I've got to write the letter first. It'll take a little time, so
that you'd better put it off till to-morrow. If you will leave me
now I'll write it, and if you will come back at six we'll go and
have a bit of dinner at Bolivia's." This was an eating-house in the
neighbourhood of Leicester Square, to which the friends had become
partial during this troubled period of their existence.
"Why not come to the Mountaineers, old boy?" Tom shook his head,
showing that he was not yet up to such festivity as that; and then
Faddle took his departure.
Tom at once got out his pen and paper, and began to write his letter.
It may be imagined that it was not written off-hand, or without many
struggles. When it was written it ran as follows;--
SIR,
You will not, I think, be surprised to hear from me in
anything but a friendly spirit. I went down to you at
Aldershot as to a friend whom I could trust with my
bosom's dearest secret, and you have betrayed me. I told
you of my love, a love which has long burned in my heart,
and you received my confidence with a smile, knowing all
the time that you were my rival. I leave it to you to
say what reply you can make as to conduct so damning, so
unmanly, so dastardly,--and so very unlike a friend as
this!
However, there is no place here for words. You have
offered me the greatest insult and the greatest injury
which one man can inflict upon another! There is no
possibility of an apology, unless you are inclined to
say that you will renounce for ever your claim upon the
hand of Miss Ayala Dormer. This I do not expect, and,
therefore, I call upon you to give me that satisfaction
which is all that one gentleman can offer to another.
After the injury you have done me I think it quite
impossible that you should refuse.
Of course, I know that duels cannot be fought in England
because of the law. I am sorry that the law should have
been altered, because it allows so many cowards to escape
the punishment they deserve.
Tom, as he wrote this, was very proud of the keenness of the
allusion. "I am quite sure, however, that a man who bears the colours
of a colonel in the British army will not try to get off by such a
pretext." He was proud, too, about the colours.
France, Belgium, Italy, the United States, and all the
world, are open! I will meet you wherever you may choose
to arrange a meeting. I presume that you will prefer
pistols.
I send this by the hands of my friend, Mr. Faddle, who
will be prepared to make arrangements with you, or with
any friend on your behalf. He will bring back your reply,
which no doubt will be satisfactory.--I am, Sir, your most
obedient servant,
THOMAS TRINGLE, junior.
When, after making various copies, Tom at last read the letter as
finally prepared, he was much pleased with it, doubting whether the
Colonel himself could have written it better, had the task been
confided to his hands. When Faddle came, he read it to him with much
pride, and then committed it to his custody. After that they went out
and ate their dinner at Bolivia's with much satisfaction, but still
with a bearing of deep melancholy, as was proper on such an occasion.