THE CAPTAIN EXPLAINS WHY MARK WYLDER ABSCONDED.
'How delicious these violets are!' said Stanley, leaning for a moment
over the fragrant purple dome that crowned a china stand on the marble
table they were passing. 'You love flowers, Dorkie. Every perfect woman
is, I think, a sister of Flora's. You are looking pale--you have not been
ill? No! I'm very glad you say so. Sit down for a moment and listen,
darling. And first I'll tell you, upon my honour, what Rachel has been
worrying me about.'
Dorcas sate beside him on the sofa, and he placed his slender arm
affectionately round her waist.
'You must know, Dorkie, that before his sudden departure, Mark Wylder
promised to lend William, his brother, a sum sufficient to relieve him of
all his pressing debts.'
'Debts! I never knew before that he had any,' exclaimed Dorcas. 'Poor
William! I am so sorry.'
'Well, he has, like other fellows, only he can't get away as easily, and
he has been very much pressed since Mark went, for he has not yet lent
him a guinea, and in fact Rachel says she thinks he is in danger of being
regularly sold out. She does not say she knows it, but only that she
suspects they are in a great fix about money.'
'Well, you must know that _I_ was the sole cause of Mark Wylder's leaving
the country.'
'_You_, Stanley!'
'Yes, _I_, Dorkie. I believe I thought I was doing a duty; but really I
was nearly mad with _jealousy_, and simply doing my utmost to drive a
rival from _your_ presence. And yet, without hope for myself,
_desperately_ in love.'
Dorcas looked down and smiled oddly; it was a sad and bitter smile, and
seemed to ask whither has that desperate love, in so short a time, flown?
'I know I was right. He was a stained man, and was liable at any moment
to be branded. It was villainous in him to seek to marry you. I told him
at last that, unless he withdrew, your friends should know all. I
expected he would show fight, and that a meeting would follow; and I
really did not much care whether I were killed or not. But he went, on
the contrary, rather quietly, threatening to pay me off, however, though
he did not say how. He's a cunning dog, and not very soft-hearted; and
has no more conscience than that,' and he touched his finger to the cold
summit of a marble bust.
'He is palpably machinating something to my destruction with an
influential attorney on whom I keep a watch, and he has got some fellow
named Dutton into the conspiracy; and not knowing how they mean to act,
and only knowing how utterly wicked, cunning, and bloody-minded he is,
and that he hates me as he probably never hated anyone before, I must be
prepared to meet him, and, if possible, to blow up that Satanic cabal,
which without _money_ I can't. It was partly a mystification about the
election; of course, it will be expensive, but nothing like the other.
Are you ill, Dorkie?'
He might well ask, for she appeared on the point of fainting.
Dorcas had read and heard stories of men seemingly no worse than their
neighbours--nay, highly esteemed, and praised, and liked--who yet were
haunted by evil men, who encountered them in lonely places, or by night,
and controlled them by the knowledge of some dreadful crime. Was
Stanley--her husband--whose character she had begun to discern, whose
habitual mystery was, somehow, tinged in her mind with a shade of horror,
one of this two-faced, diabolical order of heroes?
Why should he dread this cabal, as he called it, even though directed by
the malignant energy of the absent and shadowy Mark Wylder? What could
all the world do to harm him in free England, if he were innocent, if he
were what he seemed--no worse than his social peers?
Why should it be necessary to buy off the conspirators whom a guiltless
man would defy and punish?
The doubt did not come in these defined shapes. As a halo surrounds a
saint, a shadow rose suddenly, and enveloped pale, scented, smiling
Stanley, with the yellow eyes. He stood in the centre of a dreadful
medium, through which she saw him, ambiguous and awful; and she sickened.
'Are you ill, Dorkie, darling?' said the apparition in accents of
tenderness. 'Yes, you _are_ ill.'
And he hastily threw open the window, close to which they were sitting,
and she quickly revived in the cooling air.
She saw his yellow eyes fixed upon her features, and his face wearing an
odd expression--was it interest, or tenderness, or only scrutiny; to her
there seemed a light of insincerity and cruelty in its pallor.
'You are better, darling; thank Heaven, you are better.'
'Yes--yes--a great deal better; it is passing away.'
Her colour was returning, and with a shivering sigh, she said--
'Oh? Stanley, you must speak truth; I am your wife. Do they know anything
very bad--are you in their power?'
'Why, my dearest, what on earth could put such a wild fancy in your
head?' said Lake, with a strange laugh, and, as she fancied, growing
still paler. 'Do you suppose I am a highwayman in disguise, or a
murderer, like--what's his name--Eugene Aram? I must have expressed
myself very ill, if I suggested anything so tragical. I protest before
Heaven, my darling, there is not one word or act of mine I need fear to
submit to any court of justice or of honour on earth.'
He took her hand, and kissed it affectionately, and still fondling it
gently between his, he resumed--
'I don't mean to say, of course, that I have always been better than
other young fellows; I've been foolish, and wild, and--and--I've done
wrong things, occasionally--as all young men will; but for high crimes
and misdemeanors, or for melodramatic situations, I never had the
slightest taste. There's no man on earth who can tell anything of me, or
put me under any sort of pressure, thank Heaven; and simply because I
have never in the course of my life done a single act unworthy of a
gentleman, or in the most trifling way compromised myself. I swear it, my
darling, upon my honour and soul, and I will swear it in any terms--the
most awful that can be prescribed--in order totally and for ever to
remove from your mind so amazing a fancy.'
And with a little laugh, and still holding her hand, he passed his arm
round her waist, and kissed her affectionately.
'But you are perfectly right, Dorkie, in supposing that I _am_ under very
considerable apprehension from their machinations. Though they cannot
slur our fair fame, it is quite possible they may very seriously affect
our property. Mr. Larkin is in possession of all the family papers. I
don't like it, but it is too late now. The estates have been back and
forward so often between the Brandons and Wylders, I always fancy there
may be a screw loose, or a frangible link somewhere, and he's deeply
interested for Mark Wylder.'
'You are better, darling; I think you are better,' he said, looking in
her face, after a little pause.
'Yes, dear Stanley, much better; but why should you suppose any plot
against our title?'
'Mark Wylder is in constant correspondence with that fellow Larkin. I
wish we were quietly rid of him, he is such an unscrupulous dog. I assure
you, I doubt very much if the deeds are safe in his possession; at all
events, he ought to choose between us and Mark Wylder. It is monstrous
his being solicitor for both. The Wylders and Brandons have always been
contesting the right to these estates, and the same thing may arise again
any day.'
'But tell me, Stanley, how do you want to apply money? What particular
good can it do us in this unpleasant uncertainty?'
'Well, Dorkie, believe me I have a sure instinct in matters of this kind.
Larkin is plotting treason against us. Wylder is inciting him, and will
reap the benefit of it. Larkin hesitates to strike, but that won't last
long. In the meantime, he has made a distinct offer to buy Five Oaks. His
doing so places him in the same interest with us; and, although he does
not offer its full value, still I should sleep sounder if it were
concluded; and the fact is, I don't think we are safe until that sale
_is_ concluded.'
Dorcas looked for a moment earnestly in his face, and then down, in
thought.
'Now, Dorkie, I have told you all. Who is to advise you, if not your
husband? Trust my sure conviction, and promise me, Dorcas, that you will
not hesitate to join me in averting, by a sacrifice we shall hardly feel,
a really stupendous blow.'
He kissed her hand, and then her lips, and he said--
'You _will_, Dorkie, I _know_ you will. Give me your promise.'
'Stanley, tell me once more, are you really quite frank when you tell me
that you apprehend no personal injury from these people--apart, I mean,
from the possibility of Mr. Larkin's conspiring to impeach our rights in
favour of Mr. Wylder?'
'Personal injury? None in life, my darling.'
'And there is really no secret--nothing--_tell_ your wife--nothing you
fear coming to light?'
'I swear again, nothing. _Won't_ you believe me, darling?'
'Then, if it be so, Stanley, I think we should hesitate long before
selling any part of the estate, upon a mere conjecture of danger. You or
I may over-estimate that danger, being so nearly affected by it. We must
take advice; and first, we must consult Chelford. Remember, Stanley, how
long the estate has been preserved. Whatever may have been their crimes
and follies, those who have gone before us never impaired the Brandon
estate; and, without full consideration, without urgent cause, I,
Stanley, will not begin.'
'Why, it is only Five Oaks, and we shall have the money, you forget,'
said Stanley.
'Five Oaks is an estate in itself; and the idea of dismembering the
Brandon inheritance seems to me like taking a plank from a ship--all will
go down when that is done.'
'But you _can't_ dismember it; it is only a life estate.'
'Well, perhaps so; but Chelford told me that one of the London people
said he thought Five Oaks belonged to me absolutely.'
'In that case the inheritance _is_ dismembered already.'
'I will have no share in selling the old estate, or any part of it, to
strangers, Stanley, except in a case of necessity; and we must do nothing
precipitately; and I must insist, Stanley, on consulting Chelford before
taking any step. He will view the question more calmly than you or I can;
and we owe him that respect, Stanley, he has been so very kind to us.'
'Chelford is the very last man whom I would think of consulting,'
answered Stanley, with his malign and peevish look.
'And why?' asked Dorcas.
'Because he is quite sure to advise against it,' answered Stanley,
sharply. 'He is one of those Quixotic fellows who get on very well in
fair weather, while living with a duke or duchess, but are sure to run
you into mischief when they come to the inns and highways of common life.
I know perfectly, he would protest against a compromise. Discharge
Larkin--fight him--and see us valiantly stript of our property by some
cursed law-quibble; and think we ought to be much more comfortable so,
than in this house, on the terms of a compromise with a traitor like
Larkin. But _I_ don't think so, nor any man of sense, nor anyone but a
hairbrained, conceited knight-errant.'
'I think Chelford one of the most sensible as well as honourable men I
know; and I will take no step in selling a part of our estate to that
odious Mr. Larkin, without consulting him, and at least hearing what he
thinks of it.'
Stanley's eyes were cast down--and he was nipping the struggling hairs of
his light moustache between his lips--but he made no answer. Only
suddenly he looked up, and said quietly,
'Very well. Good-bye for a little, Dorkie,' and he leaned over her and
kissed her cheek, and then passed into the hall, where he took his hat
and cane.
Larcom presented him with a note, in a sealed envelope. As he took it
from the salver he recognised Larkin's very clear and large hand. I
suspect that grave Mr. Larcom had been making his observations and
conjectures thereupon.
The captain took it with a little nod, and a peevish side-glance. It
said--
'MY DEAR CAPTAIN BRANDON LAKE,--Imperative business calls me to London by
the early train to-morrow. Will you therefore favour me, if convenient,
_by the bearer_, with the small note of consent, which must accompany the
articles agreeing to sell.
'I remain, &c. &c. &c.'
Larkin's groom was waiting for an answer.
'Tell him I shall probably see Mr. Larkin myself,' said the captain,
snappishly; and so he walked down to pretty little Gylingden.
On the steps of the reading-room stood old Tom Ruddle, who acted as
marker in the billiard-room, treasurer, and book-keeper beside, and swept
out the premises every morning, and went to and fro at the proper hours,
between that literary and sporting institution and the post-office; and
who, though seldom sober, was always well instructed in the news of the
town.
'How do you do, old Ruddle--quite well?' asked the captain with a smile.
'Who have you got in the rooms?'
Well, Jos. Larkin was not there. Indeed he seldom showed in those
premises, which he considered decidedly low, dropping in only now and
then, like the great county gentlemen, on sessions days, to glance at the
papers, and gossip on their own high affairs.
But Ruddle had seen Mr. Jos. Larkin on the green, not five minutes since,
and thither the gallant captain bent his steps.