IN WHICH DAME DUTTON IS VISITED.
Duly next morning the rosy-fingered Aurora drew the gold and crimson
curtains of the east, and the splendid Apollo, stepping forth from his
chamber, took the reins of his unrivalled team, and driving four-in-hand
through the sky, like a great swell as he is, took small note of the
staring hucksters and publicans by the road-side, and sublimely
overlooked the footsore and ragged pedestrians that crawl below his
level. It was, in fact, one of those brisk and bright mornings which
proclaim a universal cheerfulness, and mock the miseries of those dismal
wayfarers of life, to whom returning light is a renewal of sorrow, who,
bowing toward the earth, resume their despairing march, and limp and
groan under heavy burdens, until darkness, welcome, comes again, and
their eyelids drop, and they lie down with their loads on, looking up a
silent supplication, and wishing that death would touch their eyelids in
their sleep, and their journey end where they lie.
Captain Lake was in London this morning. We know he came about
electioneering matters; but he had not yet seen Leverett. Perhaps on
second thoughts he rightly judged that Leverett knew no more than he did
of the matter. It depended on the issue of the great debate that was
drawing nigh. The Minister himself could not tell whether the dissolution
was at hand; and could no more postpone it, when the time came, than he
could adjourn an eclipse.
Notwithstanding the late whist party of the previous night, the gallant
captain made a very early toilet. With his little bag in his hand, he
went down stairs, thinking unpleasantly, I believe, and jumped into the
Hansom that awaited him at the door, telling the man to go to the ----
station. They had hardly turned the corner, however, when he popped his
head forward and changed the direction.
He looked at his watch. He had quite time to make his visit, and save the
down-train after.
He did not know the City well. Many men who lived two hundred miles away,
and made a flying visit only once in three years, knew it a great deal
better than the London-bred rake who had lived in the West-end all his
days.
Captain Lake looked peevish and dangerous, as he always did, when he was
anxious. In fact he did not know what the next ten minutes might bring
him. He was thinking what had best be done in any and every contingency.
Was he still abroad, or had he arrived? was he in Shive's Court, or,
cursed luck! had he crossed him yesterday by the down-train, and was he
by this time closeted with Larkin in the Lodge? Lake, so to speak, stood
at his wicket, and that accomplished bowler, Fortune, ball in hand, at
the other end; will it be swift round-hand, or a slow twister, or a
shooter, or a lob? Eye and hand, foot and bat, he must stand tense, yet
flexible, lithe and swift as lightning, ready for everything--cut, block,
slip, or hit to leg. It was not altogether pleasant. The stakes were
enormous! and the suspense by no means conducive to temper.
Lake fancied that the man was driving wrong, once or twice, and was on
the point of cursing him to that effect, from the window. But at last,
with an anxious throb at his heart, he recognised the dingy archway, and
the cracked brown marble tablet over the keystone, and he recognised
Shive's Court.
So forth jumped the captain, so far relieved, and glided into the dim
quadrangle, with its square of smoky sky overhead; and the prattle of
children playing on the flags, and the scrape of a violin from a window,
were in his ears, but as it were unheard. He was looking up at a window,
with a couple of sooty scarlet geraniums in it. This was the court where
Dame Dutton dwelt. He glided up her narrow stair and let himself in by
the latch; and with his cane made a smacking like a harlequin's sword
upon the old woman's deal table, crying: 'Mrs. Dutton; Mrs. Dutton. Is
Mrs. Dutton at home?'
The old lady, who was a laundress, entered, in a short blue cotton
wrapper, wiping the suds from her shrunken but sinewy arms with her
apron, and on seeing the captain, her countenance, which was threatening,
became very reverential indeed.
'How d'ye do, Mrs. Dutton? Quite well. Have you heard lately from Jim?'
'No.'
'You'll see him soon, however, and give him this note, d'ye see, and tell
him I was here, asking about you and him, and very well, and glad if I
can serve him again? don't forget that, _very_ glad. Where will you keep
that note? Oh! your tea-caddy, not a bad safe; and see, give him this,
it's ten pounds. You won't forget; and you want a new gown, Mrs. Dutton.
I'd choose it thyself, only I'm such a bad judge; but you'll choose it
for me, won't you? and let me see it on you when next I come,' and with a
courtesy and a great beaming smile on her hot face, she accepted the
five-pound note, which he placed in her hand.
In another moment the captain was gone. He had just time to swallow a cup
of coffee at the 'Terminus Hotel,' and was gliding away towards the
distant walls of Brandon Hall.
He had a coupé all to himself. But he did not care for the prospect. He
saw Lawyer Larkin, as it were, reflected in the plate-glass, with his
hollow smile and hungry eyes before him, knowing more than he should do,
paying him compliments, and plotting his ruin.
'Everything would have been quite smooth only for that d---- fellow. The
Devil fixed him precisely there for the express purpose of fleecing and
watching, and threatening him--perhaps worse. He hated that sly,
double-dealing reptile of prey--the arachnida of social nature--the
spiders with which also naturalists place the scorpions. I dare say Mr.
Larkin would have had as little difficulty in referring the gallant
captain to the same family.
While Stanley Lake is thus scanning the shabby, but dangerous image of
the attorney in the magic mirror before him, that eminent limb of the law
was not inactive in the quiet town of Gylingden. Under ordinary
circumstances his 'pride' would have condemned the vicar to a direful
term of suspense, and he certainly would not have knocked at the door of
the pretty little gabled house at the Dollington end of the town for many
days to come. The vicar would have had to seek out the attorney, to lie
in wait for and to woo him.
But Jos. Larkin's pride, like all his other passions--except his weakness
for the precious metals--was under proper regulation. Jim Dutton might
arrive at any moment, and it would not do to risk his publishing the
melancholy intelligence of Mark Wylder's death before the transfer of the
vicar's reversion; and to prevent that risk the utmost promptitude was
indispensable.
At nine o'clock, therefore, he presented himself, attended by his legal
henchmen as before.
'Another man might not have come here, Mr. Wylder, until his presence had
been specially invited, after the--the----' when he came to define the
offence it was not very easy to do so, inasmuch as it consisted in the
vicar's having unconsciously very nearly escaped from his fangs; 'but let
that pass. I have had, I grieve to say, by this morning's post a most
serious letter from London;' the attorney shook his head, while searching
his pocket. 'I'll read just a passage or two if you'll permit me; it
comes from Burlington and Smith. I protest I have forgot it at home;
however, I may mention, that in consequence of the letter you authorised
me to write, and guaranteed by your bond, on which they have entered
judgment, they have gone to the entire expense of drawing the deeds, and
investigating title, and they say that the purchaser will positively be
off, unless the articles are in their office by twelve o'clock to-morrow;
and, I grieve to say, they add, that in the event of the thing falling
through, they will issue execution for the amount of their costs, which,
as I anticipated, a good deal exceeds four hundred pounds. I have,
therefore, my dear Mr. Wylder, casting aside all unpleasant feeling,
called to entreat you to end and determine any hesitation you may have
felt, and to execute without one moment's delay the articles which are
prepared, and which must be in the post-office within half an hour.'
Then Mr. Jos. Larkin entered pointedly and briefly into Miss Lake's
offer, which he characterised as 'wholly nugatory, illusory, and
chimerical;' told him he had spoken on the subject, yesterday evening, to
the young lady, who now saw plainly that there really was nothing in it,
and that she was not in a position to carry out that part of her
proposition, which contemplated a residence in the vicar's family.
This portion of his discourse he dismissed rather slightly and
mysteriously; but he contrived to leave upon the vicar's mind a very
painful and awful sort of uncertainty respecting the young lady of whom
he spoke.
Then he became eloquent on the madness of further indecision in a state
of things so fearfully menacing, freely admitting that it would have been
incomparably better for the vicar never to have moved in the matter,
than, having put his hand to the plough, to look back as he had been
doing. If he declined his advice, there was no more to be said, but to
bow his head to the storm, and that ponderous execution would descend in
wreck and desolation.
So the vicar, very much flushed, in panic and perplexity, and trusting
wildly to his protesting lawyer's guidance, submitted. Buggs and the
bilious youngster entered with the deed, and the articles were duly
executed, and the vicar signed also a receipt for the fanciful part of
the consideration, and upon it and the deed he endorsed a solemn promise,
in the terms I have mentioned before, that he would never take any step
to question, set aside, or disturb the purchase, or any matter connected
therewith.
Then the attorney, now in his turn flushed and very much elated,
congratulated the poor vicar on his emancipation from his difficulties;
and 'now that it was all done and over, told him, what he had never told
him before, that, considering the nature of the purchase, he had got a
_splendid_ price for it.'
The good man had also his agreement from Lake to sell Five Oaks.
The position of the good attorney, therefore, in a commercial point of
view, was eminently healthy and convenient. For less than half the value
of Five Oaks alone, he was getting that estate, and a vastly greater one
beside, to be succeeded to on Mark Wylder's death.
No wonder, then, that the good attorney was more than usually bland and
happy that day. He saw the pork-butcher in his back-parlour, and had a
few words to say about the chapel-trust, and his looks and talk were
quite edifying. He met two little children in the street, and stopped and
smiled as he stooped down to pat them on the heads, and ask them whose
children they were, and gave one of them a halfpenny. And he sat
afterwards, for nearly ten minutes, with lean old Mrs. Mullock, in her
little shop, where toffey, toys, and penny books for young people were
sold, together with baskets, tea-cups, straw-mats, and other adult ware;
and he was so friendly and talked so beautifully, and although, as he
admitted in his lofty way, 'there might be differences in fortune and
position,' yet were we not all members of one body? And he talked upon
this theme till the good lady, marvelling how so great a man could be so
humble, was called to the receipt of custom, on the subject of 'paradise'
and 'lemon-drops,' and the heavenly-minded attorney, with a celestial
condescension, recognised his two little acquaintances of the street, and
actually adding another halfpenny to his bounty--escaped, with a hasty
farewell and a smile, to the street, as eager to evade the thanks of the
little people, and the admiration of Mrs. Mullock.
It is not to be supposed, that having got one momentous matter well off
his mind, the good attorney was to be long rid of anxieties. The human
mind is fertile in that sort of growth. As well might the gentleman who
shaves suppose, as his fingers glide, after the operation, over the
polished surface of his chin--_factus ad unguem_--that he may fling his
brush and strop into the fire, and bury his razor certain fathoms in the
earth. No! One crop of cares will always succeed another--not very
oppressive, nor in any wise grand, perhaps--worries, simply, no more; but
needing a modicum of lather, the looking glass, the strop, the diligent
razor, delicate manipulation, and stealing a portion of our precious time
every day we live; and this must go on so long as the state of man is
imperfect, and plenty of possible evil in futurity.
The attorney must run up to London for a day or two. What if that
mysterious, and almost illegible brute, James Dutton, should arrive while
he was away. Very unpleasant, possibly! For the attorney intended to keep
that gentleman very quiet. Sufficient time must be allowed to intervene
to disconnect the purchase of the vicar's remainder from the news of Mark
Wylder's demise. A year and a-half, maybe, or possibly a year might do.
For if the good attorney was cautious, he was also greedy, and would take
possession as early as was safe. Therefore arrangements were carefully
adjusted to detain that important person, in the event of his arriving;
and a note, in the good attorney's hand, inviting him to remain at the
Lodge till his return, and particularly requesting that 'he would kindly
abstain from mentioning to _anyone_, during his absence, any matter he
might intend to communicate to him in his professional capacity or
otherwise.'
This, of course, was a little critical, and made his to-morrow's journey
to London a rather anxious prospect.
In the meantime our friend, Captain Lake, arrived in a hired fly, with
his light baggage, at the door of stately Brandon. So soon as the dust
and ashes of railway travel were removed, the pale captain, in changed
attire, snowy cambric, and with perfumed hair and handkerchief, presented
himself before Dorcas.
'Now, Dorkie, darling, your poor soldier has come back, resolved to turn
over a new leaf, and never more to reserve another semblance of a secret
from you,' said he, so soon as his first greeting was over. 'I long to
have a good talk with you, Dorkie. I have no one on earth to confide in
but you. I think,' he said, with a little sigh, 'I would never have been
so reserved with you, darling, if I had had anything pleasant to confide;
but all I have to say is triste and tiresome--only a story of
difficulties and petty vexations. I want to talk to you, Dorkie. Where
shall it be?'
They were in the great drawing-room, where I had first seen Dorcas
Brandon and Rachel Lake, on the evening on which my acquaintance with the
princely Hall was renewed, after an interval of so many years.
'This room, Stanley, dear?'
'Yes, this room will answer very well,' he said, looking round. 'We can't
be overheard, it is so large. Very well, darling, listen.'