There is a nice little country inn at Mantes, on the Seine. The rooms
are plain and small, but neat; and those three which were at the end
of the corridor, that is to say, a sitting-room and two bed-rooms,
were occupied by an English gentleman and his valet de chambre. The
English gentleman's name appeared in his passport as Mr. Somers; but
the valet when he was dressing him in the morning, or serving him at
dinner, which he did not trust to the waiters of the inn, called him
"Sir William." This valet was an Italian, but he spoke English
perfectly well; and nothing but his complexion and a very slight
foreign accent betrayed that he was not a native of Great Britain. He
was a quiet, exceedingly quiet man, with none of the vivacity of the
South about him; saying very little to any one, but that little of the
civilest possible character. Yet there was that in his eye which
seemed to say the spirit was not quite as tranquil as the body--a
sharp, quick glance when anything was said, be the subject what it
might; a flush when he was blamed, which supplied the place of words.
He had been brought over by Sir William (then Mr.) Winslow, from Rome,
three or four years before; and had remained with him ever since. His
fellow-servants loved him not; and it had been observed, that if any
of them ventured to offend him, that man did not remain long in Sir
William's service.
Now the people of the inn remarked two or three thing which they
thought somewhat strange in their guest. He very seldom went out in
the middle of the day, although the weather was by no means yet so
warm as to render the early mornings and late evenings pleasant, or
the high noon unpleasant. He seemed very restless, too, when he was in
the house, would walk up and down the room by the hour together, or
wander from his bed-room to his sitting-room and back, with unmeaning
activity. Then he never read anything but a newspaper: but he was an
Englishman, and that passed. He frequented no cafe either; and did not
even go to see the three great ostriches when they were exhibited in
the marketplace. All this seemed very strange; but the valet held his
tongue, and neither landlord, nor landlady, nor head-waiter could make
anything of it. They could not find out even whether he had lost his
wife or not; though such was the landlady's opinion, for he was
dressed in deep mourning. The head-waiter had vague notions of his
having stolen silver spoons, and being uneasy in his mind.
One morning he had either passed a very good or a very bad night, for
he rose before it was light; and as soon as it was, went and walked
upon the bank of the river. At a little after seven he came in again,
hurried up stairs, called loudly for Benini, his valet, did not find
him, and went into his bed-room to conclude his toilet, which was only
half finished when he went out. At the end of half-an-hour he was in
his sitting-room, and found the cloth laid for breakfast. He rang, and
his servant appeared.
"Have you got the letters and newspapers, Benini?" asked Sir William.
"No, Sir," replied the man.
Sir William gave him a fierce oath, and a bad name, and asked him why
the devil he had not, when he knew that his master was so anxious to
see the result of that cursed trial.
"Because the post never comes in till after eight, Sir William,"
answered the man calmly.
"Sometimes sooner, sometimes later," replied his master; "you should
have gone to see when you knew I was impatient for news. Go directly,
and do not let me find you grow negligent, or, by--! I will send you
packing back to your beggarly country a great deal faster than you
came out of it."
The gleam came up in the man's eyes; but he answered nothing, and went
quietly to the post-office.
In five minutes he came back again, without either letters or
newspapers. The post from Paris had not come in. Sir William ordered
breakfast, and told him to go again, and wait till he could bring the
packets. The man went, and was absent an hour. Either he or the post
had resolved to punish Sir William's impatience. It might be either;
for assuredly there is a perversity about fate in regard to letters,
which makes those most desired tarry by the way, those least longed
for come quick and unexpected. When he did come he brought several
letters and two newspapers; but it was the latter which were first
opened. The first and second pages of the voluminous sheet were passed
over unread, and part of the third; but then Sir William's eye
fastened upon the tall column, and with a straining gaze he went on to
read the defence in the case of the crown against Chandos Winslow.
Rapidly he ran the whole over, and his face lighted up with joy. His
name had never been mentioned; the defence was an alibi; his brother
had him not in his power. Chandos could not pretend to have witnessed
anything when he had proved that he was far from the spot; and Sir
William started up with joy and relief, saying aloud, "This is
excellent!" Then seeing the eye of the valet coldly fixed upon him, he
added, "You will be glad to hear, Benini, that my brother is
acquitted. He has shown that he was at a distance when the murder was
committed, by the evidence of Mr. Fleming and his servant--perfectly
unimpeachable--and I have no longer the dread of having my name
coupled with that of a felon, in such near relationship. I shall go
back to England directly: so get ready, and order horses at eleven."
"I am very glad to hear such news, indeed, Sir William," said the
Italian; "I knew Mr. Winslow was not guilty."
The words struck his master, and raised a momentary fear. "I knew Mr.
Winslow was not guilty!" he repeated to himself, when the man had
retired. "How could he know? Pooh! it was only his foreign way of
speaking! Now, dear Emily, in a few short hours you shall be mine!"
and he proceeded to read the letters he had received. The two first he
merely glanced at; the third he read attentively. "Ha!" he cried; "Mr.
Tracy arrested! It is lucky the mortgage is perfect. The man, Bond,
run away with all the shares; and this fair, cold Emily a beggar! It
matters not. By Heaven! with such charms as hers, she has wealth
beyond the Indies. That swelling bosom, that proud, pouting lip, those
glorious limbs, are worth a diadem. Aye! and the liquid eyes, too,
were they not so cold! I will put fire into those dark orbs, give me
but time! We can surely have the horses by ten."
There was no difficulty; the post had little to do in the spring of
the year; the carriage was soon ready, the horses too, the town of
Mantes left behind; Rouen, Dieppe, reached, and then the town of
Brighton. It looked gay and cheerful, with all its lights lighted, and
its population in motion, on a fine spring night, and the broad ocean
rolling dark and heavy along the shore. The fly was ordered to the
York, and Sir William Winslow walked into the nice rooms ready for
him, thinking still of Emily Tracy. Every man's mind is a web of which
one fixed and predominant idea forms the woof, while other threads
cross and recross it. With him the intense and vehement passion for
the fair girl whom he could hardly call his bride, was the foundation
of all his thoughts, as soon as the apprehension springing from
present peril of death and disgrace was removed. That passion had been
quelled and kept down for a time; but, like a fire upon which a load
of cold and heavy matter has been thrown, it burst forth again with
more vehement flame than ever, the moment it made its way through.
Remorse chequered it; vague, indefinite fears wove strange figures in
the web: but still the eager passion ran through all. When he felt
himself on English ground again, a certain degree of trepidation
seized him; and he remained in his handsome sitting-room at the York,
dull and heavy for sometime. His dinner at first would not down, and
it needed several glasses of Madeira and a pint of champagne to help
him through the meal. But then he grew quite gay again, and went out
to take a stroll in the town. He went into a library, and took share
in a raffle, and came back to set off early the next morning for
London. His mood was gay and happy, though an occasional touch of
gloom crossed it; but at all events it seemed to encourage his valet
to ask him for his quarter's wages, which were not due for four or
five days. The baronet, however, paid the money readily, and that
appeared to encourage the man still further.
"I hope, Sir William," he said; "you will consider the difference
between wages here and in Italy, and will make a small advance in
mine."
"Why, you damned vagabond," cried his master; "I give you half as much
again as most English gentlemen give their servants."
"I thought, Sir, considering the circumstances," replied the valet;
"you might be pleased to allow me a little advance."
"Considering the circumstances!" cried his master. "I know not what
circumstances you mean; but depend upon it you will not have a penny
more from me."
The man bowed without reply; but in a minute or two he re-entered with
one of his master's morning coats over his arm. The right sleeve was
turned inside out, and he said, "Please, Sir William, what am I to do
with this coat. There are two or three spirts of blood upon it, which
it had fresh when you dressed for dinner on the fifth of February. I
have got them out of the cloth, but the water has soaked them through
into the lining."
Sir William Winslow's face grew as pale as death, and then flushed
again, as he saw the man's cool, clear, dark eye fixed upon it. For an
instant he did not reply; but then he said, "I remember, my nose bled
several times in the spring. It does not matter; leave it as it is."
The man folded it up, and laid it on a chair; and the next morning,
before they set off for town, his master himself began upon the
subject of wages. Benini was very moderate in his views; but before
the conversation was ended his wages were nearly doubled.
Sir William Winslow seated himself in his carriage, with the
comfortable feeling, that the man who had such wages would be a fool
to deprive himself of such a master; but he recollected that he had
played the fool too--at least he thought so. "I ought to have told the
whole story at once," he said to himself. "The man insulted me, and I
struck him with the first thing at hand--harder than I intended; but
after all it was but a scuffle. If I had had the presence of mind to
state the facts at once, the inquest must have brought it in _chance
medley_." He forgot that juries sometimes inquire into motives too,
and might have asked whether the insult Mr. Roberts offered was not
the telling of too dangerous a truth. With the servant silenced,
however, by an annuity for secrecy, he thought the only grounds even
for a suspicion buried in oblivion; but nevertheless there came across
him a vague conviction, that he was for life a bondman to his own
valet.
It was but the beginning of unpleasant sensations; but that was
enough. Man is a strange animal; but there is an inherent love of
freedom in his heart which is often the source of very high and noble
actions--sometimes of actions the reverse of high and noble. The
lightest chain upon the once free limb, how it galls and presses! but
what is the shackle of steel upon the body, to the chain upon the
mind? To find the spirit a serf, the thoughts manacled! that is to be
a slave indeed. No custom can lighten the load of those fetters, no
habit render them less corroding, nought can harden us to their
endurance. On the contrary, every hour, every minute that we bear
them, the burden grows more oppressive; and Sir William Winslow felt
it, as his carriage rolled on, and he groaned in bitterness of spirit.