There was no sleep in the grey-stone house on the Beacon Hill, on that
eventful night on which Polson Jervase left his home, for anybody except
the domestics, who were ignorant of the blow which had fallen on the
household. Jervase made no pretence of courting sleep at all: but having
banked up the fire he went down into the cellar, brought up a couple of
bottles of brandy, and prepared himself to make a night of it. It had
not been his habit for years to drink to excess, but in his earlier days
at any time of trouble he had gone to that false solace, and now
the instinct came back to him. James kept him company awhile in his
potations, but by and by crept off to bed, and Jervase sat alone
drinking fiercely, at first without apparent effect.
General Boswell rose before dawn without having closed an eye, and
waited for the daylight. At its first dawning he walked softly to the
room in which Irene lay and tapped quietly at the door.
‘Who’s there?’ his daughter’s voice asked him, and he answered:
‘It is I, dear. I wish to speak to you for a moment.’ The girl unlocked
the door and left it partly open. He waited for a moment and then half
entered the room. ‘I am just starting for home,’ he said. ‘And in an
hour the carriage will be here to bring you away. Pray be ready for it.’
She answered ‘Yes,’ and her father walked downstairs and into the hall.
He was searching for his hat and overcoat when Jervase lurched out
of the parlour. His bloodshot eyes and staggering gait showed in what
fashion he had passed the night.
‘You’re off?’ he said, thickly. ‘Won’t you have some breakfast?’
‘No,’ said the General. ‘Go back to your bottle.’
‘Look here,’ said Jervase, ‘I shall put this all right. I’ve had the
night to think it over, and I shall effect a compromise. D’ye see? I
shall effect a compromise. It won’t cost you a penny, and it won’t break
me. I shall have a sleep by and by, and then I shall go and see Stubbs,
and effect a compromise. I hope you don’t bear malice, General? You’ll
shake hands before you go, won’t you?’
‘No,’ said the General. ‘Go back to--your bottle.’
‘But I say,’ Jervase proceeded, with a drunken tenacity, ‘you ain’t
going to bear malice, are you, General?’
‘Stand out of my way, you drunken beast!’ the General responded, ‘or
I’ll do you a mischief.’
‘Oh, if that’s the way you’re going to take it, all right,’ said
Jervase. ‘James and me are going to stand the racket--it won’t hurt you
either in credit or in pocket, and I don’t see what you’ve got to
be shirty about. It wasn’t exactly what you might call a legirrimate
transaction, but there are lots of things in business that are not
legirrimate. See ‘em done every day--see ‘em done by respec’able
people.’
Boswell by this time had found his hat and overcoat, and was prepared
to go. He turned his back upon his host and re-ascended the stairs and
knocked a second time at Irene’s door.
‘Is that you, Papa?’
‘Yes, it is I. Can you hear me?’
‘Oh, yes, distinctly.’
‘I shall return for you. Keep your door locked until I come. Jervase has
been drinking and he may annoy you.’ With that, he walked back to the
hall, where Jervase, holding on by the handle of the door, was solemnly
swaying to and fro. ‘I shall regret,’ said Boswell, ‘to be forced to use
violence: but if you do not instantly free me of your very disagreeable
presence I shall be compelled to do you damage. Stand on one side, I
tell you. Go!’
There was that in the ring of his voice which pierced to Jervase’s
intelligence, bemused as he was, and he staggered back into the parlour.
The General undid the fastenings of the door and walked out into the
keen, bright morning air. When he returned an hour later, Jervase had
drunk himself to sleep, and there was no further trouble with him. Irene
was ready and came from her bedroom at the General’s call. His heart
ached as he looked at her, for the passage of that one night of
sleepless grief had blighted all her fresh young beauty as a year of
sickness might have done. He took her to his arms and held her there
until she drew gently away from him.
‘I know, dear,’ she said in a voice she bravely tried to control, but
with no great success. ‘I know, dear.’
They exchanged no further words until they reached home, but her father
placed an arm about her shoulders and drew her to his breast, where she
nestled quietly. She had wept all her tears away, but a dry sob shook
her frame from time to time, and with every repetition of the sound the
father’s face twitched as if a rough hand had been laid upon a wound. He
parted from her tenderly when they reached home, and they met again at
the breakfast table.
‘You understand everything that has happened, dear?’ he asked. ‘I think
so.’
‘The owner of the salt mine which my partners have for years been
robbing is a Major de Blacquaire, whose regiment is just now quartered
at Birmingham. They will have the route in a day or two, and I must see
him before he goes. I shall drive into the town at once; and then I must
run up to London. I do not know as yet what my partners’ rascality may
have cost me, but I am not a wealthy man, and the business may spell
ruin. I cannot afford to be idle, and I must get back into harness. Lord
Raglan knows my record. I was with him when he lost his right arm at
Waterloo. He has more than once,’ the old soldier went on with a certain
stateliness, ‘expressed a certain regard for me. I have every reason to
believe myself highly honoured by his esteem. At a time like this men
of experience will be in demand, and I feel hopeful of finding an
appointment. I am not yet too old to serve my Queen and country. Lord
Raglan will see service again, of course, and he is six years my senior,
so that he is scarcely likely to make my years a ground of objection.’
‘Take me with you, dear,’ said Irene, ‘I shall not be very happy if I am
left alone.’
‘Do you care for the drive this morning?’ her father asked.
‘I should like it,’ she answered, ‘of all things.’
‘Run away and dress then,’ said the General, ‘for I have ordered the
carriage already, and it will be round in a quarter of an hour. That is
short notice for a lady’s toilet.’ he went on, trying to smile, ‘but you
must learn military despatch.’
And thus it came about that Polson and Irene met once more before the
final parting, for at the moment at which the carriage swept into
the barrack square the newly-enlisted recruit was walking towards the
orderly room under the guidance of a corporal. The youngster still wore
the fluttering ribbons in the shabby old sealskin cap, and that fact and
his presence in the barracks told the whole story instantly.
‘By Heaven!’ cried the General, ‘I like that. The lad has grit in him!’
He cried aloud in the ringing clarion voice which advancing years
had left in all its rounded sweetness, ‘Hi, you there--halt!’ and the
corporal at the voice straightened himself and stood to attention.
Polson knew the voice, but he walked on until the command was repeated.
The General stopped the carriage and alighted. ‘Can you bear to speak to
him?’ he whispered.
‘Yes,’ said Irene, ‘I wish it.’
The General walked briskly to the recruit, and stretched out his hand
towards him. ‘You have done well, my lad. You could have done nothing
better. You have an old soldier’s respect, Polson. You have joined us?’
‘Yes, sir,’ said Polson, ‘I have joined you. Volnay is here, sir--you
remember Volnay?’
‘His father and I charged together at Waterloo,’ said the General. ‘He
is a good lad. You and he are great friends, I hear?’
‘We have been,’ Polson answered. ‘Major de Blacquaire is here as well;
but he has a Staff appointment, and I understand he leaves the corps
to-morrow.’
‘He is the man I am here to see,’ said Boswell. ‘Irene is with me, and I
believe she wishes to speak to you.’
The young man glanced deprecatingly at his old array, and the General
read the glance. ‘She will understand all that,’ he said, ‘just as well
as I do. You have seen De Blacquaire?’
‘I believe he is in barracks--I saw him a few hours ago.’
‘Corporal! ‘called the General, ‘find Major de Blacquaire, give him
General Boswell’s compliments, and ask him to receive me.’
The corporal saluted and went his way, a bewildered man, for it had
never before fallen to his lot to find a raw recruit in the enjoyment
of a General’s friendship. There was a mystery here, and it kept the
regiment in talk for a little while until the interest in it died out;
but it made Polson a man of mark from the first. The corporal was back
in a minute with a salute to say that Major de Blacquaire was in his
own apartment, and would be proud to see General Boswell at once, so
the General sent off Polson to Irene and made his way to De Blacquaire’s
quarters, piloted by the corporal. De Blaequaire received General
Boswell with a show of profound respect.
‘I am here,’ began the General, plunging into business at once after his
own soldierly fashion, ‘I am here on an uncommonly unpleasant business.
You are the proprietor of a salt mine. You may not be aware that I have
invested the greater part of my fortune in the hands of your neighbours,
Messrs. Jervase & Jervoyce.’
‘I was not aware of that, sir,’ said De Blaequaire, ‘and I am very sorry
to hear it. The men, to my certain knowledge, are a brace of thieves.’
‘I heard a very startling piece of news last night,’ the General
continued. ‘I heard that your solicitor, Mr. Stubbs I believe, has
made a charge against my partners of having robbed you and the former
proprietor of the mine, my lamented old friend General Airey, through a
whole course of years.’
‘That is undoubtedly true,’ De Blacquaire answered. ‘I have evidence
that a passage exists between their mine and my own, and all the
evidence points to the belief that it was purposely made. Their
property, I learn, was a miserable failure for many years, and it has
now for years yielded them a large income.’
‘My share of that income,’ said the General, ‘has amounted to something
like fifteen hundred pounds a year for seven years past, and I need not
tell you that it will be my immediate business, so soon as I can realise
the money, to repay you--on distinct proof, of course, of the felonious
action of my partners.’
‘I really do not see, General Boswell,’ said De Blacquaire, ‘that there
is any call upon you to sacrifice yourself for their benefit. The men
are wealthy, and I have no doubt that I can force them to disgorge.’
‘It will be my own hope and aim to do that also,’ the General answered.
‘But I have no wish for money which has been dishonourably acquired,
and I am very much afraid that I have been living at your cost. It is
my obvious duty to return to you whatever has come into my possession,
provided always that the facts are assured. I have my remedy against my
partners in the law courts, and if necessary I must seek it there.’
‘I shall not venture,’ said De Blacquaire, ‘to dispute a point of
personal honour with General Boswell; but I venture to suggest that the
better course would be for us, as the injured parties, to join forces
against Messrs. Jervase & Jervoyce, and discuss the partition of the
spoils when we have secured them. They are thoroughly solvent; I know
that, for I have made inquiries; and they are well worth powder and
shot. Until the case is heard, or until they themselves come to heel of
their own free will, I cannot in honesty receive anything from you.
Their confession or, failing that, their conviction must absolutely
precede any such action as you contemplate. I am taking a business point
of view, sir, and I think that on reflection you will find that there is
no escape from it.’
The General sat frowning and perplexed. He was in haste to be rid of
the sense that he was handling tainted money, and he was eager even to
beggar himself to secure freedom from the load which lay upon his mind.
‘I wish you to understand, Major de Blacquaire,’ he said, ‘that I am
pressing this matter for reasons personal to myself. I am placed in a
most abominable and unbearable position. I have unwittingly been made a
partner in a very shameful transaction, and I may tell you that I have
not the faintest doubt in my own mind as to the justice of your cause.
I do not feel that as a man of honour I am justified in retaining for a
day money which has been actually stolen from another. I think I may say
that it is your duty to relieve me from this burden. I must fight for my
own hand afterwards; but I cannot consent to hold these gains a moment
longer than is necessary for me to repay them.’
‘Suppose, sir,’ said De Blacquaire, ‘that we submit this matter to an
independent and high-minded arbiter. You know Colonel Stacey? He is
in quarters at this moment, I believe, and I am sure he would give his
judgment between us willingly, I feel so confident of his verdict that
perhaps it’s hardly fair on my part to suggest the appeal to him.’
‘I know Stacey well,’ said the General, ‘Colonel Stacey is a man of
honour. I have a great respect for Stacey, and I will abide by his
opinion. I feel assured that he will be on my side. Will you kindly take
me to him?’
‘Certainly, sir.’ The Major took up his forage cap, opened the door
for his guest, and marshalled him into the open, where he saw the hated
Polson standing at the side of the General’s carriage in conversation
with a lady. His gorge rose within him at the spectacle, and it came
into his mind that General Boswell might be as little pleased as he
himself was. He asked a question by way of calling his companion’s
attention. ‘That is your carriage, sir?’
‘Ah, by the way,’ the General answered, ‘that reminds me. That is young
Jervase standing there. His commission is probably in his agent’s hands
to-day. He has learned the facts about this salt mine business, and he
has thrown up what I know to have been the dearest hope of his life. He
has joined as a recruit. He is a very fine and worthy fellow, Major
de Blacquaire. I don’t know a better lad in the world, and I desire to
bespeak your good will for him. A gentleman’s position in the ranks is
not very tolerable; but a friend at court may make things easier for
him.’
Now Major de Blacquaire had made a very excellent impression on the
elder warrior, who thought that he had behaved honourably and with
delicacy in respect to the unfortunate business which had brought them
together; but he undid that impression most conclusively.
‘Should you call,’ he asked in his most deliberate and supercilious
drawl, ‘should you call Mr. Polson a gentleman, sir?’
‘Most decidedly, sir!’ the General answered, with sudden heat. ‘He has
the instincts of a gentleman, and the sense of honour of a gentleman. He
has had the education of a gentleman, and has lived among gentlemen.
If these are not the facts to warrant the use of the word, I have no
judgment in the matter.’
‘I beg your pardon, sir,’ said De Blac-quaire, ‘I am possibly
prejudiced; but I thought the fellow a sort of unlicked cub.’
The General said no more, but his shoulders straightened, and both hands
went up to the big grey moustache. It was in his mind to offer a retort,
but he remembered his own dignity in time, and contented himself by
saying, ‘I shall recommend him most strongly to Colonel Stacey’s best
consideration. And you, Major de Blacquaire, I understand, are leaving
the regiment?’
‘I have received a Staff appointment, sir, and I leave to-morrow. These
are the Colonel’s quarters.’
Both men had grown extremely frigid, but Colonel Stacey’s welcome to his
old campaigning comrade smoothed the General’s ruffled mind. He was a
bluff, grizzled man of sixty, with a scarlet countenance and a white
head so closely cropped that it looked like a bottle-brush. He had seen
service in every quarter of the world, and his manly chest was
covered with well-won medals. He listened to the General’s story
sympathetically, but he gave his judgment with a twinkle of the eye.
‘The same old Quixote, eh, George? De Blacquaire’s right, of
course--absolutely right. And as for you, my boy, you haven’t got a
leg to stand on. Of course you’re going to join forces with your fellow
sufferer, and it’s quite monstrous to suggest that the money should come
out of the pocket of an innocent man. If the case were anybody’s but
your own you’d look at it like a sensible man. And if you were advising
me, you would tell me precisely what I’m telling you. Here, where’s that
rascal of mine?’ He opened the door and shouted, and in came a bronzed
dragoon in civilian costume. ‘Get a bottle of champagne and bring
glasses. I’ve been longing for an excuse for self-indulgence all the
morning, and I’m much obliged to you for giving it.’
‘I mustn’t join you,’ said the General.
‘Oh, by gad,’ said the Colonel, ‘but you must and you shall. I’m
expecting to get my marching orders any hour, and those chaps mean to
fight, mind you, and it’s an open problem as to whether old Bob Stacey
will come back again. Come on, George! You’re not going to shirk a last
liquor with a comrade of forty years’ standing!’
The General yielded, the wine was served, De Blacquaire at the Colonel’s
command emptied his glass and withdrew, leaving the old friends
together. The General seized the moment to speak a word for Polson. He
told the lad’s story, and the Colonel nodded his white head with curt
approval.
‘Is he a smart fellow?’ he asked.
‘Highly intelligent,’ the General answered. ‘Took his B.A. at Oxford,
first-rate man across country, excellent shot. Would have had his
commission this week if his father hadn’t turned out a rascal. Throws
up everything like a lad of honour as he is, and takes the Queen’s
shilling.’
‘That’s all right,’ said the Colonel. ‘Leave him to me. I’ll shepherd
him.’