CAPTAIN LAKE TAKES AN EVENING STROLL ABOUT GYLINGDEN.
Again I had serious thoughts of removing my person and effects to the
Brandon Arms. I could not quite believe I had seen a ghost; but neither
was I quite satisfied that the thing was altogether canny. The
apparition, whatever it was, seemed to persecute me with a mysterious
obstinacy; at all events, I was falling into a habit of seeing it; and I
felt a natural desire to escape from the house which was plagued with its
presence.
At the same time I had an odd sort of reluctance to mention the subject
to my entertainers. The thing itself was a ghostly slur upon the house,
and, to run away, a reproach to my manhood; and besides, writing now at a
distance, and in the spirit of history, I suspect the interest which
beauty always excites had a great deal to do with my resolve to hold my
ground; and, I dare say, notwithstanding my other reasons, had the ladies
at the Hall been all either old or ugly, I would have made good my
retreat to the village hotel.
As it was, however, I was resolved to maintain my position. But that
evening was streaked with a tinge of horror, and I more silent and
_distrait_ than usual.
The absence of an accustomed face, even though the owner be nothing very
remarkable, is always felt; and Wylder was missed, though, sooth to say,
not very much regretted. For the first time we were really a small party.
Miss Lake was not there. The gallant captain, her brother, was also
absent. The vicar, and his good little wife, were at Naunton that evening
to hear a missionary recount his adventures and experiences in Japan, and
none of the neighbours had been called in to fill the empty chairs.
Dorcas Brandon did not contribute much to the talk; neither, in truth,
did I. Old Lady Chelford occasionally dozed and nodded sternly after tea,
waking up and eyeing people grimly, as though enquiring whether anyone
presumed to suspect her ladyship of having had a nap.
Chelford, I recollect, took a book, and read to us now and then, a snatch
of poetry--I forget what. _My_ book--except when I was thinking of the
tarn and that old man I so hated--was Miss Brandon's exquisite and
mysterious face.
That young lady was leaning back in her great oak chair, in which she
looked like the heroine of some sad and gorgeous romance of the old civil
wars of England, and directing a gaze of contemplative and haughty
curiosity upon the old lady, who was unconscious of the daring
profanation.
All on a sudden Dorcas Brandon said--
'And pray what do you think of marriage, Lady Chelford?'
'What do I think of marriage?' repeated the dowager, throwing back her
head and eyeing the beautiful heiress through her gold spectacles, with a
stony surprise, for she was not accustomed to be catechised by young
people. 'Marriage?--why 'tis a divine institution. What can the child
mean?'
'Do you think, Lady Chelford, it may be safely contracted, solely to join
two estates?' pursued the young lady.
'Do I think it may safely be contracted, solely to join two estates?'
repeated the old lady, with a look and carriage that plainly showed how
entirely she appreciated the amazing presumption of her interrogatrix.
There was a little pause.
'_Certainly_,' replied Lady Chelford; 'that is, of course, under proper
conditions, and with a due sense of its sacred character and
a--a--obligations.'
'The first of which is _love_,' continued Miss Brandon; 'the second
_honour_--both involuntary; and the third _obedience_, which springs from
them.'
Old Lady Chelford coughed, and then rallying, said--
'Very good, Miss!'
'And pray, Lady Chelford, what do you think of Mr. Mark Wylder?' pursued
Miss Dorcas.
'I don't see, Miss Brandon, that my thoughts upon that subject can
concern anyone but myself,' retorted the old lady, severely, and from an
awful altitude. 'And I may say, considering who I am--and my years--and
the manner in which I am usually treated, I am a little surprised at the
tone in which you are pleased to question me.'
These last terrible remarks totally failed to overawe the serene temerity
of the grave beauty.
'I assumed, Lady Chelford, as you had interested yourself in me so far as
to originate the idea of my engagement to Mr. Wylder, that you had
considered these to me very important questions a little, and could give
me satisfactory answers upon points on which my mind has been employed
for some days; and, indeed, I think I've a right to ask that assistance
of you.'
'You seem to forget, young lady, that there are times and places for such
discussions; and that to Mr.--a--a--your visitor (a glance at me), it
can't be very interesting to listen to this kind of--of--conversation,
which is neither very entertaining, nor very _wise_.'
'I am answerable only for _my_ part of it; and I think my questions very
much to the purpose,' said the young lady, in her low, silvery tones.
'I don't question your good opinion, Miss Brandon, of your own
discretion; but _I_ can't see any profit in now discussing an engagement
of more than two months' standing, or a marriage, which is fixed to take
place only ten days hence. And I think, Sir (glancing again at me), it
must strike _you_ a little oddly, that I should be invited, in your
presence, to discuss family matters with Miss Dorcas Brandon?'
Now, was it fair to call a peaceable inhabitant like me into the thick of
a fray like this? I paused long enough to allow Miss Brandon to speak,
but she did not choose to do so, thinking, I suppose, it was my business.
'I believe I ought to have withdrawn a little,' I said, very humbly; and
old Lady Chelford at the word shot a gleam of contemptuous triumph at
Miss Dorcas; but I would not acquiesce in the dowager's abusing my
concession to the prejudice of that beautiful and daring young lady--'I
mean, Lady Chelford, in deference to you, who are not aware, as Miss
Brandon is, that I am one of Mr. Wylder's oldest and most intimate
friends; and at his request, and with Lord Chelford's approval, have been
advised with, in detail, upon all the arrangements connected with the
approaching marriage.'
'I am not going, at present, to say any more upon these subjects, because
Lady Chelford prefers deferring our conversation,' said this very odd
young lady; 'but there is nothing which either she or I may say, which I
wish to conceal from any friend of Mr. Wylder's.'
The idea of Miss Brandon's seriously thinking of withdrawing from her
engagement with Mark Wylder, I confess never entered my mind. Lady
Chelford, perhaps, knew more of the capricious and daring character of
the ladies of the Brandon line than I, and may have discovered some signs
of a coming storm in the oracular questions which had fallen so
harmoniously from those beautiful lips. As for me, I was puzzled. The old
viscountess was flushed (she did not rouge), and very angry, and, I
think, uncomfortable, though she affected her usual supremacy. But the
young lady showed no sign of excitement, and lay back in her chair in her
usual deep, cold calm.
Lake's late smoking with Wylder must have disagreed with him very much
indeed, for he seemed more out of sorts as night approached. He stole
away from Mr. Larkin's trellised porch, in the dusk. He marched into the
town rather quickly, like a man who has business on his hands; but he had
none--for he walked by the 'Brandon Arms,' and halted, and stared at the
post-office, as if he fancied he had something to say there. But
no--there was no need to tap at the wooden window-pane. Some idle boys
were observing the dandy captain, and he turned down the short lane that
opened on the common, and sauntered upon the short grass.
Two or three groups, and an invalid visitor or two--for Gylingden boasts
a 'spa'--were lounging away the twilight half-hours there. He seated
himself on one of the rustic seats, and his yellow eyes wandered
restlessly and vaguely along the outline of the beautiful hills. Then for
nearly ten minutes he smoked--an odd recreation for a man suffering from
the cigars of last night--and after that, for nearly as long again, he
seemed lost in deep thought, his eyes upon the misty grass before him,
and his small French boot beating time to the music of his thoughts.
Several groups passed close by him, in their pleasant circuit. Some
wondered what might be the disease of that pale, peevish-looking
gentleman, who sat there so still, languid, and dejected. Others set him
down as a gentleman in difficulties of some sort, who was using Gylingden
for a temporary refuge.
Others, again, supposed he might be that Major Craddock who had lost
thirty thousand pounds on Vanderdecken the other day. Others knew he was
staying with Mr. Larkin, and supposed he was trying to raise money at
disadvantage, and remarked that some of Mr. Larkin's clients looked
always unhappy, though they had so godly an attorney to deal with.
When Lake, with a little shudder, for it was growing chill, lifted up his
yellow eyes suddenly, and recollected where he was, the common had grown
dark, and was quite deserted. There were lights in the windows of the
reading-room, and in the billiard-room beneath it; and shadowy figures,
with cues in their hands, gliding hither and thither, across its
uncurtained windows.
With a shrug, and a stealthy glance round him, Captain Lake started up.
The instinct of the lonely and gloomy man unconsciously drew him towards
the light, and he approached. A bat, attracted thither like himself, was
flitting and flickering, this way and that, across the casement.
Captain Lake, waiting, with his hand on the door-handle, for the stroke,
heard the smack of the balls, and the score called by the marker, and
entered the hot, glaring room. Old Major Jackson, with his glass in his
eye, was contending in his shirt-sleeves heroically with a Manchester
bag-man, who was palpably too much for him. The double-chinned and florid
proprietor of the 'Brandon Arms,' with a brandy-and-water familiarity,
offered Captain Lake two to one on the game in anything he liked, which
the captain declined, and took his seat on the bench.
He was not interested by the struggle of the gallant major, who smiled
like a prize-fighter under his punishment. In fact, he could not have
told the score at any point of the game; and, to judge by his face, was
translated from the glare of that arena into a dark and splenetic world
of his own.
When he wakened up, in the buzz and clack of tongues that followed the
close of the game, Captain Lake glared round for a moment, like a man
called up from sleep; the noise rattled and roared in his ears, the talk
sounded madly, and the faces of the people excited and menaced him
undefinably, and he felt as if he was on the point of starting to his
feet and stamping and shouting. The fact is, I suppose, he was
confoundedly nervous, dyspeptic, or whatever else it might be, and the
heat and glare were too much for him.
So, out he went into the chill, fresh night-air, and round the corner
into the quaint main-street of Gylingden, and walked down it in the dark,
nearly to the last house by the corner of the Redman's Dell road, and
then back again, and so on, trying to tire himself, I think; and every
time he walked down the street, with his face toward London, his yellow
eyes gleamed through the dark air, with the fixed gaze of a man looking
out for the appearance of a vehicle. It, perhaps, indicated an anxiety
and a mental look-out in that direction, for he really expected no such
thing.
Then he dropped into the 'Brandon Arms,' and had a glass of brandy and
water, and a newspaper, in the coffee-room; and then he ordered a 'fly,'
and drove in it to Lawyer Larkin's house--'The Lodge,' it was called--and
entered Mr. Larkin's drawing-room very cheerfully.
'How quiet you are here,' said the captain. 'I have been awfully
dissipated since I saw you.'
'In an innocent way, my dear Captain Lake, you mean, of course--in an
innocent way.'
'Oh! no; billiards, I assure you. Do you play?'
'Oh! dear no--not that I see any essential harm in the game _as_ a game,
for those, I mean, who don't object to that sort of thing; but for a
resident here, putting aside other feelings--a resident holding a
position--it would not do, I assure you. There are people there whom one
could not associate with comfortably. I don't care, I hope, how poor a
man may be, but do let him be a gentleman. I own to that prejudice. A
man, my dear Captain Lake, whose father before him has been a gentleman
(old Larkin, while in the flesh, was an organist, and kept a small day
school at Dwiddleston, and his grandfather he did not care to enquire
after), and who has had the education of one, does not feel himself at
home, you know--I'm sure you have felt the same sort of thing yourself.'
'Oh! of course; and I had such a nice walk on the common first, and then
a turn up and down before the 'Brandon Arms,' where at last I read a
paper, and could not resist a glass of brandy and water, and, growing
lazy, came home in a 'fly,' so I think I have had a very gay evening.
Larkin smiled benignantly, and would have said something no doubt worth
hearing, but at that moment the door opened, and his old cook and elderly
parlour-maid--no breath of scandal ever troubled the serene fair fame of
his household, and everyone allowed that, in the prudential virtues, at
least, he was nearly perfect--and Sleddon the groom, walked in, with
those sad faces which, I suppose, were first learned in the belief that
they were acceptable to their master.
'Oh!' said Mr. Larkin, in a low, reverential tone, and the smile
vanished; 'prayers!'
'Well, then, if you permit me, being a little tired, I'll go to my
bed-room.'
With a grave and affectionate interest, Mr. Larkin looked in his face,
and sighed a little and said:--
'Might I, perhaps, venture to beg, just this one night----'
That chastened and entreating look it was hard to resist. But somehow the
whole thing seemed to Lake to say, 'Do allow me this once to prescribe;
do give your poor soul this one chance,' and Lake answered him
superciliously and irreverently.
'No, thank you, no--any prayers I require I can manage for myself, thank
you. Good-night.'
And he lighted a bed-room candle and left the room.
'What a beast that fellow is. I don't know why the d-- I stay in his
house.'
One reason was, perhaps, that it saved him nearly a guinea a day, and he
may have had some other little reasons just then.
'Family prayers indeed! and such a pair of women--witches, by Jove!--and
that rascally groom, and a hypocritical attorney! And the vulgar brute
will be as rich as Croesus, I dare say.'
Here soliloquised Stanley Lake in that gentleman's ordinary vein. His
momentary disgust had restored him for a few seconds to his normal self.
But certain anxieties of a rather ghastly kind, and speculations as to
what might be going on in London just then, were round him again, like
armed giants, in another moment, and the riches or hypocrisy of his host
were no more to him than those of Overreach or Tartuffe.