Contrary to Mr. Philip Tirrett’s expectation, Don Pasquale’s delicate
fore leg improved under training, and became so nearly sound that he and
Captain O’Brien were quite depressed when they reflected that but for
its temper, which was vile, the horse was really worth two out of the
£350 they had received from Lord Alfred Courtland for it; and regretted
with sundry strong but unavailing expletives their folly in not having
demanded £500, which they now considered to be its figure in _proper_
(_i. e._ their own dirty) hands. A conclave had been held at the
Pandemonium, and the handsome guardsman, and the fast cornet, and the
heavy lieutenant, and sundry other noble and gallant cavaliers, had
entered spicy screws, with impossible names; and a steeple-chase, with
gentlemen riders, was to come off in a sporting locality, within easy
distance of London, on a certain day. This day had nearly arrived, when,
on the same afternoon which witnessed Alice Coverdale’s return home,
and the uncomfortable scene produced by the delivery of Lord Alfred’s
letter, that young nobleman was seated at a library-table in his
fashionable lodgings, poring over his betting-book, which, since the
Blackwall dinner, was, we suspect, the only book he had looked into,
when “to him entered” Horace D’Almayne.
“What! at it still?” he exclaimed; “why, _mon cher_, you’ll be fit for
some ‘bookkeeping-by-double-entry’ style of appointment before this
business comes off. How do you stand by this time?”
“Safe to win £500 if the Don does but run true,” was the reply.
“And if he _should_ make a _fiasco_ by any unlucky chance?”
“Don’t talk about it; time enough to face evil when it comes, without
going half-way to meet it. The Don is looking splendid, he improves
every day under training, and even Tirrett seems surprised at his
performance. Dick took him over the brook this morning, and, by Jove!
he cleared it in his stride, and six feet beyond, at the least. Tirrett
seems sure about the line of course; if so, that brook will win us the
race. Captain O’Brien’s is the only horse I’m at all afraid of, and
Tirrett’s got out of his groom that Broth-of-a-boy won’t face water.”
“Witnessing these trials necessitates a frightful amount of early
rising, does it not, _mon cher?_” inquired D’Almayne, with a
half-pitying, half-provoking smile; “breakfast comes off at six, I
suppose, instead of eleven or twelve? You look sleepy now from your
unusual exertions.”
“Well I may,” was the reply; “I dined with the Guards’ Mess yesterday,
and went knocking about with Bellingham and Annesley afterwards; got
home about three a.m., had a cigar and a bottle of soda-water, changed
my dress clothes, and slept in the arm-chair until Tirrett came for me
in a dog-cart at half-past four,--for they take the Don out as soon as
its light.”
“You certainly improve, _mon ami_; you have learned how to live, instead
of merely existing, as you used to do, and are better able to take care
of yourself:--which is fortunate, by the way, for I’ve come to tell you
(what on your account I’m very sorry for) that I shall be unable to be
with you at this said steeple-chase.” A start, and an exclamation of
surprise, we had almost said of consternation, which escaped Lord Alfred
at this announcement, might have suggested that he did not feel quite
such implicit confidence in his own resources as his associate’s
compliment would seem to imply. He only said, however--
“Eh, really! what an awful bore! But why are you going to throw me
over?”
“Simply because, not being a bird, my presence in Brussels and at the
steeple-chase at one and the same time is, to speak mildly, impossible.”
“And, in the name of common sense, why go to Brussels at this particular
juncture?” inquired his Lordship.
“_Que diable allait-il faire dans cette galère!_” quoted Horace;
“business takes me--not pleasure, I assure you. It seems this East
Indiaman, over the loss of which old Crane has been whining and pining
for the last three days, was heavily insured in a Belgian house; but
owing to some supposed informality in the drawing up of the papers,
they, on hearing of the shipwreck, deny their liability. Now a cousin of
mine is an _avocat_--the same thing as a barrister--at Brussels, so I am
going over to put the case in his hands. Old Crane pays my expenses,
and gives me a very handsome commission, and--you know I never make any
secret of the unfortunate anomaly, that my habits are expensive and my
pocket shallow--I can’t afford to throw such a chance away. I tell you
this in confidence, to prove to you that I really am unable to see you
through this horse business, which from the first, you are aware, I
never liked; but I find, as I suspect many mentors have found before me,
that it’s a good deal easier to lead on a young fellow of spirit like
you, _mon cher_, than to hold him back.”
Lord Alfred smiled faintly--a pre-occupied smile--at the implied
compliment, for his mind was engrossed by the prospect of the loss of
D’Almayne’s presence and support at the steeplechase--a loss at which
he felt vastly more uneasy than he would have been at all willing to
confess. Anxious as much to be reassured himself as to inspire his
companion with confidence, he said in a tone which, despite his
endeavours to the contrary, betrayed his self-distrust--
“Yes, but really, D’Almayne, even taking your view of the matter, I
don’t see reasonably what there is to croak about: that young fellow
Tirrett, who has been born and bred among horses, and knows practically
what those prigs of guardsmen--the frightfully heavy dragoon, the
romancing Irish captain, and last and least, my innocent self--pretend
to know, assures me there’s no horse entered that can come near the Don.
As they are to be all ridden by gentlemen, and he is a gentleman rider
(so called, like the theatrical walking gentleman, from his being
utterly unlike the genuine article--on the _lucus a non lucendo_
principle, I imagine), he rides for me, and I depend a great deal on
his perfect acquaintance with all the peculiarities of the horse (for,
_entre nous_, I fancy his temper is his weak point); and as his pay
is to be more than doubled in the event of his winning, I think I have
every reason to believe he will do me justice, and to feel sanguine as
to the result.”
“Well, _mon cher_, I wish you most heartily success,” was the reply;
“and I still more wish I could remain and see you through it; for
without meaning to throw discredit on young Tirrett, or any of them in
particular, I, as a general rule, mistrust these horse people. However,
I think you have your eyes open, and may be trusted to take care of
yourself. And now I must be off; I embark at eight to-night. By the way,
I dare say you’ll allow me to write a note here; it will save my going
round by the club.”
Suiting the action to the word, he seated himself at a library-table,
and wrote as follows:--
_“Dear Tirrett,--Your game is clear; let A. C. and O’B------n each
believe that you will ride for him, and at the last minute throw both
over. In this case Captain Annesley’s Black Eagle is safe to win, as I
dare say you know better than I do; thus you will perceive how to make
a paying book. If I prove a true prophet, I shall expect a £50 note from
you, as O’B------n will (before you quarrel with him) tell you I got up
the whole affair myself, introducing him to A. C., &c.
“I remain, yours faithfully,
“You’ll know who when I claim the tin.”
“P.S.--If you make a heavy purse out of the business, I shall expect ten
per cent, on all beyond £500.”_
Having sealed this precious missive, and put a penny stamp of Lord
Alfred’s upon it, he consigned it to his pocket, took an affectionate
farewell of his victim, and departed.
When Harry Coverdale reached London that evening, Horace D’Almayne was
“off the Nore,” and feeling none the better for sea-air, wished most
heartily that he was “off” the ocean also. In order to make up for his
want of sleep on the previous night, Lord Alfred Courtland desired his
valet not to let him be disturbed until he rang his bell, the result of
which order was, that at one p.m. on the following morning his Lordship
was eating his breakfast in that state of dreamy imbecility usually
induced by an over-dose of “nature’s sweet restorer.” From this mental
torpor he was in some degree aroused by a quick, sharp, and decided
knock at the door, followed by a heavy but active footstep on the
stairs, and ere he had time properly to regain his sleep-scattered
senses, the valet announced Mr. Coverdale.
“You’re just about the last person I expected to see in town?” exclaimed
Lord Alfred, languidly rising and holding out two fingers--a mild
civility of which Harry did not avail himself. “I thought you were
revelling in all the sweets of rural felicity, and that nothing would
have tempted you to leave them. I’m uncommonly glad to see you though,”
he continued, as it suddenly occurred to him that Coverdale would be a
very good substitute for Horace D’Almayne, to advise and see him
through this alarming steeple-chase, in regard to which two fixed ideas
constantly haunted him, viz.: that he had risked a sum of money upon
it much larger than he had any right to have done; and that he was as
entirely ignorant of the whole affair, and as completely in Tirrett’s
hands, as a baby could have been under the circumstances. “I’ll tell
you why,” he continued; “the truth is, I’ve got in for an affair, the
magnitude of which I by no means bargained for; in fact, I should not
be surprised or offended if (as I know you’re both a kind friend and a
plain-spoken fellow) you were to tell me I’d made a considerable ass of
myself.”
“One moment, Courtland,” interrupted Coverdale; “I have come to town
expressly to see you, in regard to a matter which nearly concerns me;
and until we have discussed that, I really cannot give my attention to
anything else. Now listen to me, Alfred,” he continued gravely, but not
angrily: “I’ve been acquainted with you since you were a child, and I
know your good points as well as your weak ones. I know, although you’re
easily led away by bad precept and worse example, that you’ve a kind
heart and a generous nature; and so, for the sake of this old regard,
I have allowed you to--to amuse yourself and occupy your idle time by
devoting yourself to my wife; and I am now about to talk to you, and
reason with you on the subject, in a far milder tone than I should use
to any other man under the circumstances.” Lord Alfred was about eagerly
to interrupt him, but by a gesture Harry restrained him:--
“Hear me out,” he continued, “and then, when you understand the tenour
and amount of my accusation, you can say what you like in your defence.
You considered my wife pretty and good-natured, and you fancied,
or _were told_, it would give you _éclat_ with the set you have
unfortunately mixed up with--and a very shady set I’m afraid they
are--to have a sentimental love-affair with some pretty young married
woman. I was not quite the blind careless creature you imagined me all
the time we were in London; on the contrary, I saw what was going on
plainly enough, and was annoyed at it--but nothing more. I had the
most thorough confidence in my wife; and she is so _real_ in all her
feelings, so completely fresh and genuine, that I was not afraid your
sentimentality would infect her; moreover, I trusted to your own good
heart to keep you from going very far wrong; but, towards the conclusion
of our stay in Park Lane, I heard remarks dropped at clubs, and observed
other things, which made me resolve to put an end to the folly: and as
the quietest and best way of doing so, I took Alice out of town. As far
as she was concerned, the experiment appears to have succeeded; for I
can’t flatter your vanity by saying that I believe she ever gave you a
second thought. But with you it does not seem to have had the desired
effect; for, a few days since, I was not best pleased to perceive a
letter for my wife in your handwriting. Wait!” he continued, seeing
Lord Alfred was again about to speak; “Hear me out: I shall not try your
patience much longer. This letter I chose to give her myself, for the
purpose of asking her, as soon as she had read it, to show it to me--”
“And she refused?” observed Lord Alfred, coolly.
“Yes, sir, she did!” returned Harry, with flashing eyes; “she refused
to show me that letter; and at the same time was unable or unwilling
to give me any good reason for objecting to satisfy my just demand: and
now, perhaps, you can guess at the nature of my business with you. I
have come up to town to obtain from you the information I have been
unable to gain from her; and I now ask you to repeat to me, as nearly as
you can, word for word, the contents of that letter.”
“Under what penalty if I should decline to comply with your--somewhat
unusual request?” was the reply.
Harry’s brow grew dark. “I have not wasted a thought on so unlikely a
contingency,” he said abruptly.
There was a pause, then Lord Alfred rose, and drawing up his tall but
slender figure to its full height, replied--
“Now listen to me, Coverdale; you have spoken unpleasant truths to me
in an unpleasant manner--a manner which, boy as you deem me, I should
in any other man resent; but you are, as you have said, one of my oldest
friends, and as such privileged. Moreover, in the transactions you
allude to, I freely confess that I have been to blame; and I have no
objection to tell you that my chief object in writing to Mrs. Coverdale
was to make her aware of this, and ask her to forgive me any annoyance
I might have caused her. Having explained thus much to you, you must
excuse my declining to say more.”
“Indeed I shall do no such thing,” was Coverdale’s angry reply; “you
have told me no more than Alice told me herself. Sir, I came to town
expressly to learn from you the contents of that letter, and by fair
means or foul I intend to do so! I may not know how to deal with women,
but, by heaven! I do know how to deal with men, or with green boys,
who give themselves the airs of men, before they have acquired a man’s
strength, either of mind or body!” He took a turn up and down the room,
then continued in a milder tone--“Come, Alfred, do not let us quarrel
about this foolish affair; you see I am in earnest, so satisfy me
on this one point, and let there be an end of these absurd
misunderstandings between us.”
“You pay Mrs. Coverdale a very bad compliment,” rejoined Lord Alfred,
“when you make out that she refused to comply with her husband’s wish
without some very good reason; at all events, I so entirely differ with
you on this point that I feel called upon to follow her example.”
“Am I then to understand--” began Harry.
“You are to understand clearly and distinctly that I refuse to tell you
one single line in that letter,” was the unexpected answer; “and so
now do your worst, for to this decision I intend to adhere, and no
representations or threats shall induce me to alter it.”
As he spoke, Lord Alfred again drew up his slight graceful figure with
a degree of dignity of which those who had seen him only in his languid
affected moods would not have deemed him capable, and, folding his arms
calmly, awaited Coverdale’s reply. But that reply was for some little
time not forthcoming; the truth being that, in spite of his assertion to
the contrary, Harry for once in his life did not know how to deal with
a man. He was very angry with Lord Alfred, and felt strongly tempted to
knock him down; but even at that moment his old feeling that it was his
duty to protect the high-spirited but delicate boy, though it were from
himself, came across him, and paralysed his energy.
Lord Alfred, however, who like all very good-tempered easy people,
when once roused, felt a necessity to give immediate vent to his anger,
possibly from a secret consciousness of its evanescent character, did
not wait the termination of this mental struggle, but continued--
“Well, Coverdale, do you perceive the reasonableness of my position, or
am I to incur the penalty of my disobedience, and become acquainted with
your terrific method of dealing with refractory men?”
As he spoke sarcastically, and with a slight resumption of his
fashionable lisp, Coverdale made one step towards him, and clutching his
shoulder with his left hand in a vice-like grasp, while the fingers
of his right clenched themselves involuntarily, he said in a low deep
voice--
“For your own sake--nay, for both our sakes--Alfred, I advise you not to
provoke me farther!”
“And why not?” inquired Lord Alfred, firmly, though he grew a little
pale at the expression he saw stealing over Coverdale’s features.
“I will tell you why not,” was the reply; “look at this!” and he raised
his clenched fist to a level with his companion’s features; “with one
blow of this I believe I could fell an ox. I _have_ felled a man of
double your weight and power, and I did not use my full strength then;
if I had, I believe I should have killed him. I have a quick temper, and
you have roused it. I don’t want to hurt you, but I can’t trust myself;
so if you are not utterly reckless, leave me alone!”
As he spoke, he unconsciously tightened his grasp on the young
nobleman’s shoulder, till it became so exquisitely painful that it
required all the fortitude Lord Alfred could muster to endure it without
flinching. Whether owing to this practical proof of his adversary’s
strength, or whether he read in Harry’s flashing eye and quivering lip
the volcano of passion that smouldered within, certain it is that as
soon as the grasp was removed from his aching shoulder, Lord Alfred
turned away, and seated himself with a discontented air in an attitude
of passive expectation.
After pacing the room in moody cogitation for several minutes, Coverdale
suddenly paused, and said--
“I was unprepared for this refusal, so pertinaciously adhered to, and
I confess it embarrasses even more than it provokes me. I fancied--that
is, I forgot you were not really a boy still, and imagined that when you
found I was serious about the matter, your will would yield to mine;
it seems I was mistaken. Any other man who had withstood me as you have
done, on such a subject, would now be lying at my feet; but I can no
more bring myself to use my strength against you than I could bear to
strike a woman; and as to the alternative which equalises strength,
I shudder at the idea as a temptation direct from Satan. If I were to
shoot you, I should never know another happy moment. How should I face
that kind old man, your father, who, when I was a boy, has given me many
a sovereign in the holidays? I should feel like a second Cain, as if I
had slain my brother!”
This speech, which Harry delivered eagerly and with evidences of deep
feeling, appealed to Lord Alfred’s better nature; he grew more and
more excited as it proceeded, and at its conclusion he sprang up,
exclaiming:--
“’Pon my word--’pon my honour as a gentleman,
Coverdale, I assure you you are worrying yourself about nothing! I own I
have behaved wrongly--foolishly in this matter, and I am very sorry
for it. But your wife is an angel, and cares for you and you only:
she treated me with friendly kindness, but nothing more: I am to blame
entirely.”
“Why then does she so obstinately refuse to show me your letter, and why
do you object to enlighten me as to the contents, and so satisfy me and
set the matter at rest for ever?” inquired Harry.
Lord Alfred paused for a moment in thought ere he replied.
“I think I can divine Mrs. Coverdale’s reason for not showing my letter
to you, and if so, it is one that does her credit; but it is enough for
me to know that she does not wish its contents revealed, to make me
feel that, as a man of honour, I am bound to be silent. Believe me,
Coverdale, I do not say this to annoy you, or to set you at defiance. I
would gladly tell you, if I did not think it would be dishonourable and
wrong to do so. I wish to heaven I had never written the letter now,
since it has produced all this annoyance; but I really did it for the
best--I did, upon my honour!”
He spoke with such an air of truthfulness, and his manner was so simple
and ingenuous, that Coverdale felt it impossible to doubt his veracity;
and for a moment he was on the point of flinging his suspicions to the
winds, and, shaking hands with Lord Alfred, to tell him everything was
forgotten and forgiven. But Harry’s mind was of that order which is slow
to receive a feeling so foreign to its general tone as suspicion, and
which, when the idea has once become fixed, finds equal difficulty in
relinquishing it. Thus, in the present case, having convinced himself
that the only satisfactory way of clearing up his doubts would be by
gaining oral or ocular acquaintance with the contents of the mysterious
letter, he could in no way divest himself of the conviction, but was
continually looking out for reasons in its favour. Instead, therefore,
of yielding to his first impulse, he reflected that having refused to
put faith in Alice’s unsupported assertion, he should equally be unjust
to her, and untrue to his own convictions, if he gave credence to that
of Lord Alfred Courtland. So, taking up his hat, he said--
“Since you persist in your refusal, I must go and think this matter
over coolly and quietly; you shall see or hear from me before this time
to-morrow.” He turned to depart, but Lord Alfred held out his hand:--
“We part as friends?” he said, inquiringly.
“Neither as friends nor foes,” was the reply. “You shall learn my
decision to-morrow.” And rejecting his proffered hand, Coverdale quitted
the apartment.