IN WHICH CAPTAIN DEVEREUX HEARS THE NEWS; AND MR. DANGERFIELD MEETS AN
OLD FRIEND AFTER DINNER.
'On the night when this great sorrow visited the Elms, Captain Richard
Devereux, who had heard nothing of it, was strangely saddened and
disturbed in mind. They say that a distant death is sometimes felt like
the shadow and chill of a passing iceberg; and if this ominous feeling
crosses a mind already saddened and embittered, it overcasts it with a
feeling akin to despair.
Mrs. Irons knocked at his door, and with the eagerness of a messenger of
news, opened it without awaiting his answer.
'Oh, captain, jewel, do you know what? There's poor Miss Lily
Walsingham; and what do you think but she's dead--the poor little thing;
gone to-night, Sir--not half an hour ago.'
He staggered a little, and put his hand toward his sword, like a man
struck by a robber, and looked at her with a blank stare. She thought he
was out of his mind, and was frightened.
''Tis only me, Sir, Mrs. Irons.'
'A--thank you;' and he walked towards the chimney, and then towards the
door, like a man looking for something; and on a sudden clasping his
forehead in his hands, he cried a wild and terrible appeal to the Maker
and Judge of all things.
''Tis impossible--oh, no--oh, no--it's _not_ true.'
He was in the open air, he could not tell how, and across the bridge,
and before the Elms--a dream--the dark Elms--dark everything.
'Oh, no--it can't be--oh, no--oh, no;' and he went on saying as he
stared on the old house, dark against the sky, 'Oh, no--oh, no.'
Two or three times he would have gone over to the hall-door to make
enquiry, but he sickened at the thought. He clung to that hope, which
was yet not a hope, and he turned and walked quickly down the river's
side by the Inchicore-road. But the anguish of suspense soon drew him
back again; and now his speech was changed, and he said--
'Yes, she's gone--she's gone--oh, she's gone--she's certainly gone.'
He found himself at the drawing-room window that looked into the little
garden at the front of the house, and tapping at the window-pane. He
remembered, all on a sudden--it was like waking--how strange was such a
summons. A little after he saw a light crossing the hall, and he rang
the door-bell. John Tracy opened the door. Yes, it was all true.
The captain was looking very pale, John thought, but otherwise much as
usual. He stared at the old servant for some seconds after he told him
all, but said nothing, not even good-night, and turned away. Old John
was crying; but he called after the captain to take care of the step at
the gate: and as he shut the hall-door his eye caught, by the light of
his candle, a scribbling in red chalk, on the white door-post, and he
stooped to read it, and muttered, 'Them mischievous young blackguards!'
and began rubbing it with the cuff of his coat, his cheek still wet with
tears. For even our grief is volatile; or, rather, it is two tunes that
are in our ears together, the requiem of the organ, and, with it, the
faint hurdy-gurdy jig of our vulgar daily life; and now and then this
latter uppermost.
It was not till he had got nearly across the bridge that Captain
Devereux, as it were, waked up. It was no good waking. He broke forth
into sheer fury. It is not my business to note down the horrors of this
impious frenzy. It was near five o'clock when he came back to his
lodgings; and then, not to rest. To sit down, to rise again, to walk
round the room and round, and stop on a sudden at the window, leaning
his elbows on the sash, with hands clenched together, and teeth set; and
so those demoniac hours of night and solitude wore slowly away, and the
cold gray stole over the east, and Devereux drank a deep draught of his
fiery Lethe, and cast himself down on his bed, and fell at once into a
deep, exhausted lethargy.
When his servant came to his bed-side at seven o'clock, he was lying
motionless, with flushed cheeks, and he could not rouse him. Perhaps it
was well, and saved him from brain-fever or madness.
But after such paroxysms comes often a reaction, a still, stony, awful
despondency. It is only the oscillation between active and passive
despair. Poor Leonora, after she had worked out her fit, tearing 'her
raven hair,' and reviling heaven, was visited in sadder and tenderer
guise by the vision of the past; but with that phantom went down in fear
and isolation to the grave.
This morning several of the neighbours went into Dublin, for the bills
were to be presented against Charles Nutter for a murderous assault,
with intent to kill, made upon the person of Barnabas Sturk, Esq.,
Doctor of Medicine, and Surgeon to the Royal Irish Artillery. As the day
wore on, the honest gossips of Chapelizod looked out anxiously for news.
And everybody who met any one else asked him--'Any news about Nutter,
eh?'--and then they would stop to speculate--and then one would wonder
that Dr. Walsingham's man, Clinton, had not yet returned--and the other
would look at his watch, and say 'twas one o'clock--and then both agreed
that Spaight, at all events, must soon come--for he has appointed two
o'clock for looking at that brood mare of Fagan's.
At last, sure enough, Spaight appeared. Toole, who had been detained by
business in another quarter, had ridden into the town from Leixlip, and
was now dismounted and talking with Major O'Neill upon the absorbing
topic. These cronies saw Spaight at the turnpike, and as he showed his
ticket, he talked with the man. Of course, the news was come. The
turnpike-man knew it by this time; and off scampered Toole, and the
major followed close at his heels, at double-quick. He made a dismal
shake or two of his head, and lifted his hand as they drew near. Toole's
heart misgave him.
'Well, how is it?--what's the news?' he panted.
'A true bill,' answered Spaight, with a solemn stare; 'a true bill,
Sir.'
Toole uttered an oath of consternation, and taking the words out of
Spaight's mouth, told the news to the major.
'Do you tell me so?' exclaimed the major. 'Bedad, Sir, I'm uncommon
sorry.'
'A bad business, Sir,' observed Spaight.
'No worse,' said Toole. 'If they convict him on this, you know--in case
Sturk dies, and die he will--they'll indict and convict him on the more
_serious_ charge,' and he winked gloomily, 'the evidence is all one.'
'That poor little Sally Nutter!' ejaculated the major. 'She's to be
pitied, the crature!'
''Tis mighty slender evidence to take a man's life on,' said Toole, with
some disgust. 'Be the law, Sir, the whole thing gives me a complete
turn. Are you to dine with Colonel Strafford to-day?'
'I am, Sir,' said the major; 'an' it goes again' the colonel's grain to
have a party at all just now, with the respect he has for the family up
there,' and he nodded his head, pensively, toward the Elms. 'But he
asked Lowe ten days ago, and Mr. Dangerfield, and two or three more; and
you know he could not put them off on that ground--there being no
relationship, you see--and, 'pon my oath, Sir, I'd rather not go myself,
just now.'
That evening, at five o'clock, Colonel Stafford's dinner party assembled
at the King's House. The colonel was a serene man, and hospitality--even
had he been in the dumps--demands her sacrifices. He, therefore, did the
honours as beseemed a genial and courteous old officer of the Royal
Irish Artillery, who, if his conversation was not very remarkable in
quality, and certainly not exorbitant in quantity, made up by listening
a great deal, and supplying no end of civility, and an affluence of very
pretty claret. Mr. Justice Lowe was there, and Mr. Dangerfield, and old
Colonel Bligh, of the Magazine, and honest Major O'Neill,
notwithstanding his low spirits. Perhaps they required keeping up; and
claret like Colonel Stafford's is consoling.
The talk turned, of course, a good deal on Charles Nutter; and Mr.
Dangerfield, who was in great force, and, indeed, in particularly
pleasant spirits, except when unfortunate Nutter was actually under
discussion--when he grew grave and properly saddened--told, in his
clear, biting way, a curious rosary of Newgate stories--of highwaymen's
disguises--of clever constables--of circumstantial evidence,
marvellously elicited, and exquisitely put together--of monsters, long
concealed, drawn from the deep by the finest tackle, into upper light,
and dropped deftly into the landing-net of Justice. These curious
anecdotes of Bow-street dexterity and Bagshot dodges--thrust and
parry--mine and counter-mine--ending, for the most part, in the triumph
of Bow-street, Justice crowned, and a Tyburn speech--tickled Lowe
mightily, who quite enjoyed himself, and laughed more than his friend
Colonel Stafford ever remembered to have heard him before, over some of
the ingenious stratagems described so neatly by Dangerfield, and the gay
irony with which he pointed his catastrophes. And Lowe actually, having
obtained Colonel Stafford's leave, proposed that gallant officer's
health in a bumper, and took occasion to mention their obligations to
him for having afforded them the opportunity of enjoying Mr.
Dangerfield's sprightly and instructive sallies; and hoped, with all his
heart, that the neighbourhood was long to enjoy the advantage and
pleasure of his residence among them. And Mr. Dangerfield replied gaily,
that all that was needed to make such sweet scenery and charming company
as the place commanded absolutely irresistible, was the sense of safety
conferred by the presence of such a magistrate as Mr. Lowe, and the
convivial inspiration of such wine as their gallant host provided; and
that, for his part, being somewhat of an old boy, and having had enough
of rambling, nothing would better please him than to spend the residue
of his days amidst the lively quietude of their virtuous and hilarious
neighbourhood; and some more to the like purpose, which pleased the good
company highly, who all agreed that the white gentleman--fluent, easy,
and pointed in his delivery--was a mighty fine speaker, indeed. Though
there was a lurking consciousness in each, which none cared to publish,
that there was, at times, an indefinable flavour of burlesque and irony
in Mr. Dangerfield's compliments, which excited momentary suspicions and
qualms, which the speaker waived off, however, easily with his jewelled
fingers, and smiled mockingly away.
Lowe was mightily taken with him. There was little warmth or veneration
in that hard justice's nature. But Mr. Dangerfield had a way with him
that few men with any sort of taste for the knowledge of evil could
resist; and the cold-eyed justice of the peace hung on his words with an
attentive rapture, and felt that he was drinking deep and pleasant
draughts from the sparkling fountains of knowledge; and was really
sorry, and shook him admiringly by the hand, when Dangerfield, who had
special business at home, rose up in his brisk way, and flashed a
farewell over the company from his spectacles.
'If Mr. Dangerfield really means to stay here, he must apply for the
commission of the peace,' said Mr. Lowe, so soon as the door shut. 'We
must put it upon him. I protest I never met a man so fitted by nature
and acquirements to make a perfectly useful magistrate. He and I, Sir,
between us, we'd give a good account of this part of the county; and
there's plenty of work, Sir, if 'twere only between this and Dublin;
and, by George, Sir, he's a wonderful diverting fellow, full of
anecdote. Wonderful place London, to be sure.'
'And a good man, too, in a quiet way,' said Colonel Strafford, who could
state a fact. ''Tisn't every rich man has the heart to part with his
money as he does; he has done many charities here, and especially he has
been most bountiful to poor Sturk's family.'
'I know that,' said Lowe.
'And he sent a fifty pound note by the major there to poor Sally Nutter
o' Monday last; he'll tell you.'
And thus it is, as the foul fiend, when he vanishes, leaves a smell of
brimstone after him, a good man leaves a fragrance; and the company in
the parlour enjoyed the aroma of Mr. Dangerfield's virtues, as he
buttoned his white surtout over his breast, and dropped his vails into
the palms of the carbuncled butler and fuddled footman in the hall.
It was a clear, frosty, starlit night. White and stern was the face
which he turned upward for a moment to the sky. He paused for a second
in the ray of candle-light that gleamed through Puddock's window-shutter,
and glanced on the pale dial of his large gold watch. It was only
half-past eight o'clock. He walked on, glancing back over his shoulder,
along the Dublin road.
'The drunken beast. My mind misgives me he'll disappoint,' muttered the
silver spectacles, gliding briskly onward.
When he reached the main street he peered curiously before him under the
village tree, in quest of carriage lights.
'A lawless brute like that may be before his time as well as after.' So
he walked briskly forward, and up Sturk's door-steps, and knocked.
'The Dublin doctor hasn't come, eh?'--he asked.
'No, Sir, he isn't come yet--'twas nine o'clock, the mistress told me.'
'Very good. Tell Mrs. Sturk, pray, that I, Mr. Dangerfield, you know,
will call, as I promised, at nine o'clock precisely.'
And he turned again and walked briskly over the bridge, and away along
the Inchicore road overhanging the river. All was silent there. Not a
step but his own was stirring, and the road in places so overhung with
old trees that it was difficult to see a yard before one.
He slackened his pace, and listened, like a man who keeps an
assignation, and listened again, and laughed under his breath; and sure
enough, before long, the clink of a footstep was heard approaching
swiftly from the Dublin direction.
Mr. Dangerfield drew aside under the deep shadow of a high hawthorn
hedge, overhung by trees; and watching intently, he saw a tall, lank
figure, with a peculiar gait and stoop of its own, glide stealthily by.
He smiled after it in the dark.
The tall figure was that of our old friend, Zekiel Irons, the clerk. A
sable form, as beseemed his ecclesiastical calling--and now a white
figure was gliding without noise swiftly after him.
Suddenly, as he reached an open part of the road, a thin hand was laid
on his shoulder, and, with a start, and a 'hollo,' he sprung round.
'Hey! why, you're as frightened as if you had seen Charles--Charles
_Nutter_. Hey?--don't be uneasy. I heard from the parson yesterday
morning you were to be with him to-night before nine o'clock, about that
money you left in his hands, and I've chanced to meet you; and this I
want you to understand, Charles Nutter is in gaol, and we must not let
him get out--do you see? That business settled, we're at rest. So, Mr.
Irons, you must not show the white feather. Be bold--speak out what you
know--now's the time to strike. I'll put your evidence, as you reported
it to me, into shape, and you come to me to-morrow morning at eight
o'clock; and mind you, I'll reward you this time, and better than ever
you've fared before. Go on. Or stay--I'll go before.'
And Mr. Dangerfield laughed one of his chilly laughs--and, with a nod
to Irons, repeated--'eight o'clock'--and so walked on a little bit.
The clerk had not said a word. A perspiration broke forth on his
forehead, and, wiping the drops away, he said--
'Lord have mercy upon us--Lord deliver us--Lord have mercy upon us,'
like a man dying.
Mr. Dangerfield's bold proposition seemed quite to overpower and unman
him.
The white figure turned short, facing the clerk, and said he--
'See you, Mr. Irons, I'm serious--there must be no shirking. If you
undertake, you must go through; and, hark! in your ear--you shall have
five hundred pounds. I put no constraint--say yes or no--if you don't
like you needn't. Justice, I think, will be done even without your help.
But till he's quiet--you understand--_nothing_ sure. He has been dead
and alive again--curse him; and till he's at rest, and on the surgeon's
table--ha! ha!--we sha'n't feel quite comfortable.'
'Lord have mercy upon us!' muttered Irons, with a groan.
'Amen,' said Dangerfield, with a sneering imitation.
'_There_, 'tis enough--if you have nerve to speak truth and do justice,
you may have the money. We're men of business--you and I. If not, I
sha'n't trouble you any more. If you like it, come to me at eight
o'clock in the morning; if not, why, stay away, and no harm's done.'
And with these words, Mr. Dangerfield turned on his heel once more, and
started at a lively pace for Chapelizod.