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CHECKMATE
BY THE SAME AUTHOR
GUY DEVERELL
ALL IN THE DARK
THE WYVERN MYSTERY
THE COCK AND ANCHOR
WYLDER'S HAND
THE WATCHER
CHECKMATE
ROSE AND THE KEY
TENANTS OF MALLORY
WILLING TO DIE
GOLDEN FRIARS
THE EVIL GUEST
Checkmate
BY
J. S. LE FANU
Downey & Co.
12 York St.
Covent Garden.
CONTENTS.
CHAPTER PAGE
I. MORTLAKE HALL, 1
II. MARTHA TANSEY, 7
III. MR. LONGCLUSE OPENS HIS HEART, 13
IV. MONSIEUR LEBAS, 17
V. A CATASTROPHE, 22
VI. TO BED, 26
VII. FAST FRIENDS, 31
VIII. CONCERNING A BOOT, 38
IX. THE MAN WITHOUT A NAME, 43
X. THE ROYAL OAK, 48
XI. THE TELEGRAM ARRIVES, 55
XII. SIR REGINALD ARDEN, 62
XIII. ON THE ROAD, 68
XIV. MR. LONGCLUSE'S BOOT FINDS A TEMPORARY ASYLUM, 72
XV. FATHER AND SON, 79
XVI. A MIDNIGHT MEETING, 84
XVII. MR. LONGCLUSE AT MORTLAKE HALL, 91
XVIII. THE PARTY IN THE DINING-ROOM, 96
XIX. IN MRS. TANSEY'S ROOM, 103
XX. MRS. TANSEY'S STORY, 108
XXI. A WALK BY MOONLIGHT, 115
XXII. MR. LONGCLUSE MAKES AN ODD CONFIDENCE, 120
XXIII. THE MEETING, 125
XXIV. MR. LONGCLUSE FOLLOWS A SHADOW, 129
XXV. A TETE-A-TETE, 133
XXVI. THE GARDEN AT MORTLAKE, 137
XXVII. WINGED WORDS, 141
XXVIII. STORIES ABOUT MR. LONGCLUSE, 147
XXIX. THE GARDEN PARTY, 153
XXX. HE SEES HER, 158
XXXI. ABOUT THE GROUNDS, 161
XXXII. UNDER THE LIME-TREES, 167
XXXIII. THE DERBY, 171
XXXIV. A SHARP COLLOQUY, 174
XXXV. DINNER AT MORTLAKE, 179
XXXVI. MR. LONGCLUSE SEES A LADY'S NOTE, 183
XXXVII. WHAT ALICE COULD SAY, 188
XXXVIII. GENTLEMEN IN TROUBLE, 192
XXXIX. BETWEEN FRIENDS, 196
XL. AN INTERVIEW IN THE STUDY, 199
XLI. VAN APPOINTS HIMSELF TO A DIPLOMATIC POST, 203
XLII. DIPLOMACY, 206
XLIII. A LETTER AND A SUMMONS, 209
XLIV. THE REASON OF ALICE'S NOTE, 213
XLV. COLLISION, 219
XLVI. AN UNKNOWN FRIEND, 224
XLVII. BY THE RIVER, 229
XLVIII. SUDDEN NEWS, 232
XLIX. VOWS FOR THE FUTURE, 236
L. UNCLE DAVID'S SUSPICIONS, 239
LI. THE SILHOUETTE, 244
LII. MR. LONGCLUSE EMPLOYED, 248
LIII. THE NIGHT OF THE FUNERAL, 252
LIV. AMONG THE TREES, 258
LV. MR. LONGCLUSE SEES A FRIEND, 262
LVI. A HOPE EXPIRES, 266
LVII. LEVI'S APOLOGUE, 272
LVIII. THE BARON COMES TO TOWN, 276
LIX. TWO OLD FRIENDS MEET AND PART, 281
LX. "SAUL," 286
LXI. A WAKING DREAM, 290
LXII. LOVE AND PLAY, 295
LXIII. PLANS, 300
LXIV. FROM FLOWER TO FLOWER, 304
LXV. BEHIND THE ARRAS, 311
LXVI. A BUBBLE BROKEN, 313
LXVII. BOND AND DEED, 317
LXVIII. SIR RICHARD'S RESOLUTION, 322
LXIX. THE MEETING, 326
LXX. MR. LONGCLUSE PROPOSES, 329
LXXI. NIGHT, 332
LXXII. MEASURES, 336
LXXIII. AT THE BAR OF THE "GUY OF WARWICK," 341
LXXIV. A LETTER, 346
LXXV. BLIGHT AND CHANGE, 351
LXXVI. PHOEBE CHIFFINCH, 356
LXXVII. MORE NEWS OF PAUL DAVIES, 360
LXXVIII. THE CATACOMBS, 364
LXXIX. RESURRECTIONS, 371
LXXX. ANOTHER, 376
LXXXI. BROKEN, 379
LXXXII. DOPPELGANGER, 384
LXXXIII. A SHORT PARTING, 388
LXXXIV. AT MORTLAKE, 393
LXXXV. THE CRISIS, 399
LXXXVI. PURSUIT, 406
LXXXVII. CONCLUSION, 412
CHECKMATE.
CHAPTER I.
MORTLAKE HALL.
There stands about a mile and a half beyond Islington, unless it has
come down within the last two years, a singular and grand old house. It
belonged to the family of Arden, once distinguished in the Northumbrian
counties. About fifty acres of ground, rich with noble clumps and masses
of old timber, surround it; old-world fish-ponds, with swans sailing
upon them, tall yew hedges, quincunxes, leaden fauns and goddesses, and
other obsolete splendours surround it. It rises, tall, florid, built of
Caen stone, with a palatial flight of steps, and something of the grace
and dignity of the genius of Inigo Jones, to whom it is ascribed, with
the shadows of ancestral trees and the stains of two centuries upon it,
and a vague character of gloom and melancholy, not improved by some
indications not actually of decay, but of something too like neglect.
It is now evening, and a dusky glow envelopes the scene. The setting sun
throws its level beams, through tall drawing-room windows, ruddily upon
the Dutch tapestry on the opposite walls, and not unbecomingly lights up
the little party assembled there.
Good-natured, fat Lady May Penrose, in her bonnet, sips her tea and
chats agreeably. Her carriage waits outside. You will ask who is that
extremely beautiful girl who sits opposite, her large soft grey eyes
gazing towards the western sky with a look of abstraction, too forgetful
for a time of her company, leaning upon the slender hand she has placed
under her cheek. How silken and golden-tinted the dark brown hair that
grows so near her brows, making her forehead low, and marking with its
broad line the beautiful oval of her face! Is there carmine anywhere to
match her brilliant lips? And when, recollecting something to tell Lady
May, she turns on a sudden, smiling, how soft and pretty the dimples,
and how even the little row of pearls she discloses!
This is Alice Arden, whose singularly handsome brother Richard, with
some of her tints and outlines translated into masculine beauty, stands
leaning on the back of a prie-dieu chair, and chatting gaily.
But who is the thin, tall man--the only sinister figure in the
group--with one hand in his breast, the other on a cabinet, as he leans
against the wall? Who is that pale, thin-lipped man, "with cadaverous
aspect and broken beak," whose eyes never seem to light up, but maintain
their dismal darkness while his pale lips smile? Those eyes are fixed on
the pretty face of Alice Arden, as she talks to Lady May, with a
strangely intense gaze. His eyebrows rise a little, like those of
Mephistopheles, towards his temples, with an expression that is
inflexibly sarcastic, and sometimes menacing. His jaw is slightly
underhung, a formation which heightens the satirical effect of his
smile, and, by contrast, marks the depression of his nose.
There was at this time in London a Mr. Longcluse, an agreeable man, a
convenient man, who had got a sort of footing in many houses, nobody
exactly knew how. He had a knack of obliging people when they really
wanted a trifling kindness, and another of holding fast his advantage,
and, without seeming to push, or ever appearing to flatter, of
maintaining the acquaintance he had once founded. He looked about
eight-and-thirty: he was really older. He was gentlemanlike, clever, and
rich; but not a soul of all the men who knew him had ever heard of him
at school or college. About his birth, parentage, and education, about
his "life and adventures," he was dark.
How were his smart acquaintance made? Oddly, as we shall learn when we
know him a little better. It was a great pity that there were some odd
things said about this very agreeable, obliging, and gentlemanlike
person. It was a pity that more was not known about him. The man had
enemies, no doubt, and from the sort of reserve that enveloped him their
opportunity arose. But were there not about town hundreds of men, well
enough accepted, about whose early days no one cared a pin, and
everything was just as dark?
Now Mr. Longcluse, with his pallid face, his flat nose, his sarcastic
eyebrows, and thin-lipped smile, was overlooking this little company,
his shoulder leaning against the frame that separated two pieces of the
pretty Dutch tapestry which covered the walls.
"By-the-bye, Mr. Longcluse--you can tell me, for you always know
everything," said Lady May--"is there still any hope of that poor
child's recovering--I mean the one in that dreadful murder in Thames
Street, where the six poor little children were stabbed?"
Mr. Longcluse smiled.
"I'm so glad, Lady May, I can answer you upon good authority! I stopped
to-day to ask Sir Edwin Dudley that very question through his carriage
window, and he said that he had just been to the hospital to see the
poor little thing, and that it was likely to do well."
"I'm so glad! And what do they say can have been the motive of the
murder?"
"Jealousy, they say; or else the man is mad."
"I should not wonder. I'm sure I hope he is. But they should take care
to put him under lock and key."
"So they will, rely on it; that's a matter of course."
"I don't know how it is," continued Lady May, who was garrulous, "that
murders interest people so much, who ought to be simply shocked at
them."
"We have a murder in our family, you know," said Richard Arden.
"That was poor Henry Arden--I know," she answered, lowering her voice
and dropping her eyes, with a side glance at Alice, for she did not know
how she might like to hear it talked of.
"Oh, that happened when Alice was only five months old, I think," said
Richard; and slipping into the chair beside Lady May, he laid his hand
upon hers with a smile, and whispered, leaning towards her--
"You are always so thoughtful; it is _so_ nice of you!"
And this short speech ended, his eyes remained fixed for some seconds,
with a glow of tender admiration, on those of fat Lady May, who simpered
with effusion, and did not draw her hand away until she thought she saw
Mr. Longcluse glance their way.
It was quite true, all he said of Lady May. It would not be easy to find
a simpler or more good-natured person. She was very rich also, and, it
was said by people who love news and satire, had long been willing to
share her gold and other chattels with handsome Richard Arden, who being
but five-and-twenty, might very nearly have been her son.
"I remember that horrible affair," said Mr. Longcluse, with a little
shrug and a shake of his head. "Where was I then--Paris or Vienna? Paris
it was. I recollect it all now, for my purse was stolen by the very man
who made his escape--Mace was his name; he was a sort of low man on the
turf, I believe. I was very young then--somewhere about seventeen, I
think."
"You can't have been more, of course," said good-natured Lady May.
"I should like very much some time to hear all about it," continued Mr.
Longcluse.
"So you shall," said Richard, "whenever you like."
"Every old family has a murder, and a ghost, and a beauty also, though
she does not always live and breathe, except in the canvas of Lely, or
Kneller, or Reynolds: and they, you know, had roses and lilies to give
away at discretion, in their paint-boxes, and were courtiers," remarked
Mr. Longcluse, "who dealt sometimes in the old-fashioned business of
making compliments. _I_ say happy the man who lives in those summers
when the loveliness of some beautiful family culminates, and who may, at
ever such a distance, gaze and worship."
This ugly man spoke in a low tone, and his voice was rather sweet. He
looked as he spoke at Miss Arden, from whom, indeed, his eyes did not
often wander.
"Very prettily said!" applauded Lady May affably.
"I forgot to ask you, Lady May," inquired Alice, cruelly, at this
moment, "how the pretty little Italian greyhound is that was so
ill--better, I hope."
"Ever so much--quite well almost. I'd have taken him out for a drive
to-day, poor dear little Pepsie! but that I thought the sun just a
little overpowering. Didn't you?"
"Perhaps a little."
Mr. Longcluse lowered his eyes as he leaned against the wall and sighed,
with a pained smile, that even upon his plain, pallid face, was
pathetic.
Did proud Richard Arden perceive the devotion of the dubious
Longcluse--undefined in position, in history, in origin, in character,
in all things but in wealth? Of course he did, perfectly. But that
wealth was said to be enormous. There were Jews, who ought to know, who
said he was worth one million eight hundred thousand pounds, and that
his annual income was considerably more than a hundred thousand pounds a
year.
Was a man like that to be dismissed without inquiry? Had he not found
him good-natured and gentlemanlike? What about those stories circulated
among Jews and croupiers? Enemies might affect to believe them, and
quote the old saw, "There is never smoke without fire;" but dare one of
them utter a word of the kind aloud? Did they stand the test of five
minutes' inquiry, such even as he had given them? Had he found a
particle of proof, of evidence, of suspicion? Not a spark. What man had
ever escaped stories who was worth forging a lie about?
Here was a man worth more than a million. Why, if _he_ let him slip
through his fingers, some duchess would pounce on him for her daughter.
It was well that Longcluse was really in love--well, perhaps, that he
did not appreciate the social omnipotence of money.
"Where is Sir Reginald at present?" asked Lady May.
"Not here, you may be sure," answered Richard. "My father does not admit
my visits, you know."
"Really! And is that miserable quarrel kept up still?"
"Only too true. He is in France at present; at Vichy--ain't it Vichy?"
he said to Alice.
But she, not choosing to talk, said simply, "Yes--Vichy."
"I'm going to take Alice into town again; she has promised to stay with
me a little longer. And I think you neglect her a little, don't you? You
ought to come and see her a little oftener," pleaded Lady May, in an
undertone.
"I only feared I was boring you all. Nothing, _you_ know, would give me
half so much pleasure," he answered.
"Well, then, she'll expect your visits, mind."
A little silence followed. Richard was vexed with his sister; she was,
he thought, snubbing his friend Longcluse.
Well, when once he had spoken his mind and disclosed his treasures,
Richard flattered himself he had some influence; and did not Lady May
swear by Mr. Longcluse? And was his father, the most despotic and
violent of baronets, and very much dipt, likely to listen to sentimental
twaddle pleading against a hundred thousand a year? So, Miss Alice, if
you were disposed to talk nonsense, it was not very likely to be
listened to, and sharp and short logic might ensue.
How utterly unconscious of all this she sits there, thinking, I daresay,
of quite another person!
Mr. Longcluse was also for a moment in profound reverie; so was Richard
Arden. The secrecy of thought is a pleasant privilege to the
thinker--perhaps hardly less a boon to the person pondered upon.
If each man's forehead could project its shadows and the light of his
spirit shine through, and the confluence of figures and phantoms that
cross and march behind it become visible, how that magic-lantern might
appal good easy people!
And now the ladies fell to talking and comparing notes about their
guipure lacework.
"How charming yours looks, my dear, round that little table!" exclaimed
Lady May in a rapture. "I'm sure I hope mine may turn out half as
pretty. I wanted to compare; I'm not quite sure whether it is exactly
the same pattern."
And so on, until it was time for them to order their wings for town.
The gentlemen have business of their own to transact, or pleasures to
pursue. Mr. Longcluse has his trap there, to carry them into town when
their hour comes. They can only put the ladies into their places, and
bid them good-bye, and exchange parting reminders and good-natured
speeches.
Pale Mr. Longcluse, as he stands on the steps, looks with his dark eyes
after the disappearing carriage, and sighs deeply. He has forgotten all
for the moment but one dream. Richard Arden wakens him, by laying his
hand on his shoulder.
"Come, Longcluse, let us have a cigar in the billiard-room, and a talk.
I have a box of Manillas that I think you will say are delicious--that
is, if you like them full-flavoured."