The Unspeakable Gentleman

by John P. Marquand

  V

  Even today, as I pen these lines, the picture comes back with the sameintensity, but little mellowed or softened with the years. The gaunt oldroom that had entertained so many guests, emptied of its last one, withnothing but the faint chill that had come through the opened window toremind one of their presence--the fitful light of the two candles thathad begun spluttering in the tall brass sticks--Brutus with quietadroitness clearing away the bottles and the dishes--and a sudden burstof flame from the back log in the fireplace that made his shadow jumpunevenly over the opposite wall--and my father resting languidly in hischair again, quite as though nothing had happened--I remember lookingabout me and almost doubting that anything out of the ordinary had passedin the last five minutes. I glanced narrowly at him, but there wasnothing in his manner to betray that he had not been sitting there forthe past hour in peaceful meditation. Was he thinking of the other nightswhen the room was bright with silver and candles?

  "My son," he remarked presently, "I was saying to you before our callersinterrupted that there are just two things I never do. Do you still careto know them? I think that one may be enough for tonight. It is thatcircumstances oblige me to keep my word."

  "You do not care to tell me any more?" I asked him.

  "Only that you had better stay, my son. If you do, I can guarantee youwill see me at my worst, which is better, perhaps, than hearing of mesecond hand. And possibly it may even be interesting, the little dramawhich is starting."

  Thoughtfully he balanced the pistol he was still holding on the palm ofhis hand, and half unconsciously examined the priming, while I watchedhim, half with misgiving, half with a reluctant sort of admiration. Whenhe turned towards me again, his eyes had brightened as though he weredwelling on a pleasing reminiscence.

  "Indeed," he mused, "it might be more than interesting, hilarious, infact, if it were not for the lady in the case."

  "The lady!" I echoed involuntarily.

  "And why not indeed?" he said with a shrug. "Let us do our best to beconsistent. What drama is complete without a lady in it? It would havebeen simpler, I admit, if I had stolen the paper, per se, and not thelady with it. The lady, I fear, is becoming an encumbrance."

  "Am I to understand you brought a woman with you across the ocean?"

  He placed the pistol on the table before him, looked at it critically,and changed its position.

  "A lady, my son, not a woman. You will find that the two are quitedifferent species. I fear she had but little choice. That is a prettylock on Mr. Lawton's weapon."

  "You mean she is here now?" I persisted. He must surely have been injest.

  "To be sure!" he acquiesced. "She is, I trust, asleep in the east guestroom, and heaven help you if you wake her. But why do you start, my son,does it seem odd to you that I should act as squire?"

  "Not in the least," I assured him. "I am only astonished that she shouldconsent to accompany you. You say, sir, that she is a lady?"

  "At least," he replied, "I am broadening your education. That in itself,Henry, quite repays me for any trouble I may have taken--but I fear youare putting a bad construction on it. I beg of you, do not judge me soharshly. Launcelot himself--what am I saying?--Bayard himself, up to thepresent moment, could only commend my every action."

  "Even to bringing her to this house," I suggested coldly.

  "Precisely," he replied. "That in itself was actuated by the highestpiece of altruism heaven has vouchsafed humanity--the regard a father hasfor his son."

  "Do you mean to think," I demanded angrily, "that you can bring me intothis business?"

  I was still on my feet, and took a quick step toward him.

  "Is it not enough to find you what you are? You've done enough to metonight, sir, without adding an insult."

  My father nodded, quite as though he were receiving a compliment.Seemingly still well pleased, he helped himself again to his snuff, anddusted his fingers carefully with his lace handkerchief.

  "You misunderstand me," he said gently. "My present occupation requires ashrewder head and a steadier hand than yours."

  "And a different code of morals," I added, bowing.

  "Positively, my son, you are turning Puritan," he remarked. "A mostrefreshing change for the family."

  I had an angry retort at the tip of my tongue, but it remained unspoken.For the second time that evening, the dining room door opened. I swungaway from the table. My father leapt to his feet, bland and obsequious. Agirl with dark hair and eyes was standing on the threshold, staring at uscuriously, holding a candle that softened the austerity of her plainblack dress. There in the half light there was a slender grace about herthat made her seem vaguely unreal. In that disordered room she seemed asincongruous as some portrait from a house across the water, as coldlyunresponsive to her surroundings. I imagined her on the last canvas ofthe gallery, bearing all the traits of the family line--the same quietassurance, the same confident tilt of the head, the same high foreheadand clear cut features.

  Evidently a similar thought was running through my father's mind.

  "Ah, Mademoiselle," he said swiftly in the French tongue, "stay whereyou are! Stay but a moment! For as you stand there in the shadows,you epitomize the whole house of Blanzy, their grace, their pride,their beauty."

  She tried to suppress a smile, but only half succeeded.

  "I fear the Captain has been drinking again," she said quietly. "Not thatI am sorry. The wine improves you, I think."

  "Mademoiselle lures me to a drunkard's grave," exclaimed my father,bowing low, "but pray be seated. A chair for the lady, my son. Early thisafternoon they told me not to expect you. I trust you have had everythingpossible done for your comfort?"

  For a moment she favored me with an incurious glance.

  "I was unable to see you on the ship, captain, and I wanted to have aword with you at the first opportunity. Otherwise I would not havefavored you with a tableau of the house of Blanzy. I wanted to speak withyou--alone."

  She had declined the chair I offered her, and was standing facing him,her eyes almost on a level with his.

  "This," said my father, bowing again, "is delightfully unexpected! But Iforget myself. This is my son, Henry Shelton. May I present him to Mlle.de Blanzy?"

  "I suppose you may as well," she replied, holding a hand toward meindifferently. "Let us trust he has your good qualities monsieur, andnone of your bad ones. But I wanted to speak to you alone."

  "My son is discretion itself," said my father, with another bow. "Praylet him stay. I feel sure our discussion will not only interest butinstruct him."

  Mademoiselle frowned and tapped an angry foot on the floor.

  "You heard what I said, sir. Send him out," she demanded.

  "Stay where you are, Henry," said my father gently. "Stay where you are,"he repeated more loudly, as I started for the door. "I have somethingfurther to say to you before you leave this house."

  "Your pardon," he explained, turning again to Mademoiselle, "but my sonand I have had a slight falling out over a question of ethics which Ithink directly concerns the matter you wish to discuss. Pray forgive me,Mademoiselle, but I had much rather he remained."

  Mademoiselle glanced at me again, this time with an appeal in her eyeswhich I read and understood. It seemed to me a trace more of color hadmounted to her cheeks. She seemed about to speak but pausedirresolutely.

  I made a bow which I did my best to render the equal of my father's, andfor the first time I was glad I had entered his house.

  "Mademoiselle," I said, "it is a pleasure to render you even so smalla service."

  And I turned to my father, and met his glance squarely.

  "I cannot see any profit to either of us for me to remain longer," Iobserved, "either here or in this house," and I turned to the door.

  "Brutus!" called my father sharply. "Stand by the door. Now sir, if youleave this room before I am ready, my servant shall retain you by force.Mademoiselle will pardon this domestic scene," he added, "the boy has anun
certain temper."

  I looked to see Brutus' great bulk grinning at me from the doorway. I sawmy father half smiling, and fingering the lace at his throat. I sawMademoiselle watching me, partly frightened, but partly curious, asthough she had witnessed similar occurrences. Then my pent up anger gotthe better of me. Mr. Lawton's pistol still lay on the table. Before myfather could divine my intention, I had seized it, and held it pointedat Brutus' head.

  "Sir," I said, breathing a trifle faster than usual, "I am not used tobeing threatened by servants. Order him to one side!"

  My father looked at me almost admiringly, and his hand, that had beenfingering the lace, groped toward an empty bottle.

  "Anything but a bottle, father," I said, watching him from the tail of myeye, "anything but a bottle. It smacks of such low associations."

  "Your pardon, Henry," he said quickly, "the movement was purelyunconscious. I had thought we were through with pistols for the evening,and Mademoiselle must be fatigued. So put down the pistol, Henry, and letus continue the interview."

  "Certainly," I replied, "as soon as you have fulfilled your part of thecontract. As soon as you call off your servant, I shall wish you a verygood evening. Stand where you are, Brutus."

  "Come, come," said my father patiently, "we have had enough of thegrotesque this evening. It is growing late, my son. Put down the pistol."

  "Brutus," I called, "if you move again, backwards or forwards, I'llfire," and I backed towards the wall.

  "Good," said my father. "Henry, you have an amount of courage andforesight which I scarcely expected, even in a son of mine, yet notenough foresight to see that it is useless. Put down the pistol. Put itdown before I take it from you!"

  His hand had returned again to his torn lapel, and he was leaningslightly forward.

  "One instant, father!" I said quickly. "If you come a step nearer, Ishall fire on your servant. Pray believe I am serious, father."

  "My son!" he cried in mock alarm. "You distress me! Never be serious.Life has too many disappointments for that. Have you not read MarcusAurelius?"

  "Have you reloaded your snuff box?" I asked him.

  "Not that," he said, shaking his head, "but I know a hundred ways todisarm a man, otherwise I should not be here witnessing this originalsituation. My son, I could have killed you half a dozen times since youhave been holding that weapon."

  "Admitted," I answered, "but I hardly think you will go to such lengths.We all must pause somewhere, father."

  "No," he agreed, "unfortunately I am of a mild disposition, and yet--"he made a sudden move toward me--"Do you realize your weapon isunprimed?"

  "Shall I try it?" I asked.

  "Excellent!" said my father. "You impress me. Yes, I have underrated yourpossibilities, Henry. However, the play is over--"

  He leaned towards the table abruptly and extinguished both the candles.The glow of embers in the fireplace could not relieve the darkness of theshuttered room.

  "Now," he continued, "Mademoiselle is standing beside me, and Brutus isbetween you and me and approaching you. I think it would be safer if youput the pistol down. One's aim is uncertain in the dark, and, after all,it is not Mademoiselle's quarrel. Tell him to put down the pistol,Mademoiselle."

  Her voice answered from the darkness in front of me.

  "On the contrary," she said lightly, "pray continue. I have not the heartto stop it--nor the courage to interfere in a family quarrel."

  "Quite as one would expect from Mademoiselle," his voice replied, "butfortunately my son also has not forgotten his manners. Henry, have youset down the pistol?"

  I tossed it on the floor.

  "Unfortunately," I said, "I have no woman to hide behind."

  I hoped the thrust went home, but my father's voice answeredwithout a tremor.

  "You are right, my son. A woman is often useful, though generally whenyou least expect it. The candles, Brutus."