The Unspeakable Gentleman

by John P. Marquand

  XII

  Was it possible that I cared? There she was leaning toward him, theflames from the fire dancing softly before her face, giving her dark haira hundred new lights and shadows. Her lips were parted, and in her eyeswas silent entreaty. I felt a sudden unaccountable impulse to snatch upthe volume of Rabelais, to face my father again, weapon or no weapon, toshow her--

  "Come, captain," said Mademoiselle gently. "Must you continue this afterit has turned into a farce? Must you continue acting from pique, when thething has been over for more years than you care to remember? Must youkeep on now because of a whim to make your life miserable and the livesof others? Will you threaten fifty men with death and ruin, because youonce were called a thief? It is folly, sir, and you know it, utteruseless folly! Pray do not stare at me. It was easy enough to piece yourstory together. I guessed it long ago. I have listened too often to youand the Marquis at wine. Come, captain, give me back the paper."

  With his old half smile, my father turned to her and nodded in pleasantacknowledgment.

  "Mademoiselle," he observed evenly, "I have gone further through theworld than most men, though to less purpose, and I have met many people,but none of them with an intuition like yours."

  He paused long enough to refill his glass.

  "You are right, Mademoiselle. Indeed, it is quite wonderful to meet awoman of your discernment. Yes, you are right. My wife called me a rogueand a scoundrel--mind you, I am not saying she was mistaken--but mytemper was hotter then than it is now. I have done my best to convinceher she was not in error. And now, Mademoiselle, it has become as much ofa habit with me as strong drink, a habit which even you cannot break. Ihave been a villain too long to leave off lightly. No, Mademoiselle, Ihave the paper, and I intend to dispose of it as I see fit. Your mother,my son, need have had no cause for regret. She was right in everythingshe said. Brutus, tell Mr. Aiken I am ready to see him."

  He must have been in the hall outside, for he entered the morning roomalmost as soon as my father had spoken, dressed in his rusty black seacloak. At the sight of Mademoiselle, he bowed ceremoniously, and blewloudly on his fingers.

  "Wind's shifted southwest," he said. "But we're ready to put out."

  "Sit down, Mr. Aiken," said my father. "My son, pour him a littlerefreshment."

  "Ah," said Mr. Aiken, selecting a chair by the fire, "pour it out, mylad--fill her up. It's a short life and little joy 'less we draw it fromthe bottle. And long life and much joy to you, sir, by the same token,"he added, raising his glass and tossing the spirits adroitly down histhroat. Then, with a comfortable sigh, he drew out his pipe and lightedit on an ember.

  "Yes, she'll be blowing before morning."

  "You don't mean," inquired my father, with a glance out of the window,"that I can't launch a small boat from the beach?"

  "You could, captain, if you'd a mind to," said Ned Aiken, tamping downhis tobacco, "but there's lots who couldn't."

  "Then I shall," said my father languidly. "Brutus and I will board the_Sea Tern_ at eight o'clock tonight. You will stand off outside and puton your running lights."

  "Yes," said Mr. Aiken, "it's time we was going."

  "You mean they are taking steps?"

  "A frigate's due in at midnight," said Mr. Aiken, grinning.

  "A frigate! Think of that!" said my father. "At last we seem to be makingour mark on the world."

  "We've never done the beat of this," said Mr. Aiken.

  "And everything is quiet outside?"

  "All right so far," said Mr. Aiken.

  "How many men are watching the house?"

  "There's four, sir," he answered.

  "Ah," said my father, "and Mr. Lawton still stops at the tavern?"

  "Hasn't showed his head all morning," answered Mr. Aiken.

  "Ah," said my father, "perhaps he is right in concealing such a uselessmember." And he helped himself from the decanter, seemed to hesitate fora moment, and continued:

  "And Mr. Jason Hill--he has been to call, Ned. Have you seen him since?"

  "He's been walking out in the road, sir, all morning," replied Mr. Aiken."And a schooner of his is anchored upstream. And if you'll pardon theliberty, I don't give that for Jason Hill," and he spat into the fire.

  "It may please you to know," said my father, "that I quite agreewith you. I am afraid," he went on, looking at the back of his hand,"that Jason does not take me seriously. I fear he will find he iswrong. Brutus!"

  Brutus, apparently anticipating something pleasant, moved towards myfather's chair.

  "My pistols, Brutus. And it is growing dark. You had best draw theshutters and bring in the candles. We're sailing very close to thewind this evening. Listen to me carefully, Brutus. You will have thecutter by the bar at eight o'clock, and in five minutes you will bringout my horse."

  "What's the horse for?" asked Mr. Aiken.

  My father settled himself back more comfortably in his chair before heanswered. A few drops of wine had spilled on the mahogany. He touchedthem, and held up his fingers and looked thoughtfully at the stain.

  "Because I propose to ride through them," he said. "I propose showing ourfriends--how shall I put it so you'll understand?--that I don't care adamn for the whole pack."

  "Gad!" murmured Mr. Aiken. "I might have known it. And here I wasthinking you'd be quiet and sensible. Are you still going on with thatdamned paper?"

  The red of the wine seemed to please my father. He dipped his fingers init again and drew them slowly across the back of his left hand.

  "Precisely," he said. "I propose to deliver it tonight before I sail. Ileave it at Hixon's farm."

  "He's dead," said Mr. Aiken.

  "Exactly," said my father. "Only his shade will help me. Perhaps it willbe enough--who knows?"

  "There'll be half a dozen after you before you get through the gate,"said Mr. Aiken dubiously. "You can lay to it Lawton will be there beforeyou make a turn."

  "That," said my father, "is why I say we're sailing very close tothe wind."

  "Good God, sir, burn it up," said Mr. Aiken plaintively. "What's it beendoing but causing trouble ever since we've got it? Running gear carriedaway--man wounded from splinters. Hell to pay everywhere. Gad, sir,they're afraid to sleep tonight for fear you'll blow 'em out of bed.What's the use of it all? Damn it, that's what I say, what's the use? Andnow here you go, risking getting a piece of lead thrown in you, allbecause of a few names scrawled on a piece of paper. Here it's the firsttime you've been back. It's a hell of a home-coming--that's what I say. Itold you you hadn't ought to have come. Now there's the fire. Why notforget it and burn it up, and then it's over just as neat as neat, andthen we're aboard, and after the pearls again. Why, what must the boy bethinking of all this? He must be thinking he's got a hell-cat for afather. That's what he must be thinking."

  "That will do," said my father coldly, and he rose slowly from his chair,and stood squarely in front of me.

  "Tie that boy up, Brutus," he commanded. "It is a compliment, my son. Myopinion of you is steadily rising. Tie him up, Brutus. You will find arope on the chimney piece."

  He stood close to me, evidently pleased at the convulsive anger which hadgripped me. Brutus was still fumbling on the mantlepiece. Ned Aiken'spipe had dropped from his mouth. It was Mademoiselle who was the first tointervene.

  "Are you out of your senses?" she demanded, seizing him by the arm. "Itis too much, captain, I tell you it is too much. Think what you aredoing, and send the black man off."

  "I have been thinking the matter over for some time," replied my fathertranquilly, "and I have determined to do the thing thoroughly. If hecannot like me, it is better for him to hate me, and may save trouble.Tie him up, Brutus."

  "Bear away!" cried Mr. Aiken harshly. "Mind yourself, sir."

  His warning, however, was late in coming. I had sprung at my fatherbefore the sentence was finished. It was almost the only time I knew himto miscalculate. He must have been taken unaware, for he stepped backwardtoo quickly, and collided with
the very chair he had quitted. It shookhis balance for the moment, so that he thrust a hand behind him torecover himself, and in the same instant I had the volume of Rabelais. Ileapt for the open doorway, but Ned Aiken was there to intercept me.Brutus was up behind me with his great hands clamping down on myshoulders. I turned and hurled the volume in the fireplace.

  My father caught it out almost before it landed. With all thedeliberation of a connoisseur examining an old and rare edition, heturned the pages with his slim fingers. There, as he had said, wasthe paper, with the same red seals that I had admired the previousevening. He placed it slowly in his inside pocket, and tossed the bookon the floor.

  "Now here's a pretty kettle of fish," said Mr. Aiken.

  My father was watching me thoughtfully.

  "Take your hands off him, Brutus," he said, "and bring out the horse."

  For a second longer we stood motionless, each watching the other. Then myfather crossed to the long table near which I was standing, picked up thepistols that Brutus had left there, and slipped them into his capaciousside pockets.

  "You disappoint me, Henry," he remarked. "You should have usedthose pistols."

  "I had thought of them," I answered.

  "I am glad of that," he said. "It is a relief to know you did notoverlook them. You were right, Mademoiselle. I should have known betterthan to treat him so. We have ceased to play the game, my son. It onlyremains to take my leave. I shall not trouble you again."

  He was standing close beside me. Was it possible his eyes were a littlewistful, and his voice a trifle sad?

  "I thought I should be glad to leave you," he said, "and somehow I amsorry. Odd that we can never properly gauge our emotions. I feel that youwill be a very blithe and active gentleman in time, and there are not somany left in these drab days. Ah, well--"

  His sword was lying on the table. He drew it, and tucked the naked bladeunder his arm. In spite of the two candles which Brutus had left, theshadows had closed about us, so that his figure alone remained distinctin the yellow light, slender and carelessly elegant. I think it pleasedhim to have us all three watching. Any gathering, however small, that hemight dominate, appeared to give him enjoyment--his leave taking not lessthan the others.

  "It is growing dark, Mr. Aiken," he observed, "and our position is notwithout its drawbacks. Call in the men from outside, and take them aboardand give them a measure of rum. No one will disturb me before I leave, Ithink. You had better weigh at once, and never mind your running lightstill it is time for them."

  "So you're going to do it," said Mr. Aiken. "I might have known youwouldn't listen to reason."

  "You should have sailed with me long enough," said my father, "to know Inever do."

  "And you not even dressed for it," added Mr. Aiken. "You might be goingto a party, so you might."

  "I think," replied my father, "the evening will be more interesting thana purely social affair. Keep the _Sea Tern_ well off, and we shall meetonly too soon again.'

  "Why don't I take the boy along," Mr. Aiken suggested, eyeing me a littlefurtively. "He'd be right useful where we're going, and the sea would dohim good, so it would."

  "I fancy you'll have enough bother without him," replied my father."Personally I have found him quite distracting during my short visit."

  "Hell," said Mr. Aiken, "he wouldn't be no trouble, but he looks fairugly here, so he does, and he knows too much. No offense, sir, but he'stoo up and coming to be left alone with an ignorant nigger."

  My father shrugged his shoulders.

  "Brutus is fond of the boy. He will not hurt him."

  "But the boy might hurt the nigger," said Mr. Aiken.

  My father nodded blandly toward the hall.

  "And you might be seasick," he said.

  "Har," roared Mr. Aiken, seemingly struck by the subtle humor of theremark. "Damned if you wouldn't joke if the deck was blowing off underyou. Damned if I ever seen the likes of you now, captain."

  Still under the spell of mirth he left us. The house door closed behindhim, and Brutus glided into the room.

  "Mademoiselle," said my father bowing, "I am sorry the cards have fallenso we must part. If you had as few pleasant things as I to remember, youalso might understand how poignantly I regret it, even though I know itis for the best. It is time you were leaving such low company."

  "I have found it pleasant sometimes," she replied a little wistfully. "Ittakes very little to please me, captain."

  "Sometimes," he replied, smiling, "anything is pleasant, but onlysometimes. Your brother has been notified, Mademoiselle. You should hearfrom him in a little while now, when this hurry and bustle is over, andwhen you see him, give him my regards and my regrets. And Mademoiselle"--he hesitated an instant--"would you think it insolent if I said Isometimes wished--Mon Dieu, Mademoiselle, do not take it so. It wasentirely unpardonable of me."

  Mademoiselle had hidden her face in her hands. My father, frowningslightly, rubbed his thumb along his sword blade.

  "Forgive me, if you can," he said. "I have often feared my manners wouldfail me sometime."

  She looked up at him then, and her eyes were very bright.

  "Suppose," she said softly, "I told you there was nothing to forgive.Suppose I said--"

  My father, bowing his lowest, politely and rather hastily interrupted.

  "Mademoiselle would be too kind. She would have forgotten that it isquite impossible."

  "No," said Mademoiselle, shaking her head slowly, "it is not impossible.You should have known better than to say that. Suppose--" her voicechoked a little, as though the words hurt her--"suppose I bade yourecall, captain, what you said on the stairs at Blanzy, when they were atthe door and you were going to meet them. Do you remember?"

  My father smiled, and made a polite little gesture of assumeddespair. Then his voice, very slow and cool, broke in on her speechand stilled it.

  "Good God, Mademoiselle, one cannot remember everything."

  Playing with the hilt of his sword, he stepped nearer, still smiling,still watching her with a polished curiosity.

  "I have said so many little things to women in my time, so many littlenothings. It is hard to remember them all. They have become confused now,and blended into an interesting background, whose elements I can nolonger separate. Your pardon, my lady, but I have forgotten, forgotten socompletely that even the stairs seem merely a gentle blur."

  And he pressed his hand over his brow and sighed, while he watched herface flush crimson.

  "You lie!" she cried. "You have not forgotten!"

  My father ceased to smile.

  "And suppose I have not," he said. "What is it to Mademoiselle? What arethe words of a ruined man, the idle speech of a fool who fancied hewould sup that night in paradise, and what use is it to recall them now?Is it possible you believe I am touched by such trivial matters? Becauseeveryone had done what you wish, do you think I shall also? Do you thinkyou can make me give up the paper, as though I were a simpering, romanticfool in Paris? Do you think I have gone this far to turn back?Mademoiselle seems to forget that I have the game in my own hands. Itwould be a foolish thing to throw it all away, even--"

  He paused, and bowed again.

  "Even for you, Mademoiselle. I have arrived where I am today only for onereason. Can you not guess it? It was a pleasure to take you from Blanzy.It is business now, and they cannot be combined.

  "Listen, Mademoiselle," he continued. "Not three miles off the harbormouth is a French ship tacking back and forth, and not entirely forpleasure. Around this house at present are enough men to run yourestates at Blanzy. A sloop has come into the harbor this morning, andhas landed its crew for my especial benefit. A dozen of Napoleon'sagents are waiting to spring at my throat. I have succeeded so thatthere is not a man in town who would not be glad to see me on a yardarm. And yet they are waiting, Mademoiselle. Is it not amusing? Can youguess why they are waiting?"

  He took a pinch of snuff and dusted his fingers.

  "Because they fear t
hat I may burn the paper if they disturb me.They believe if they keep hidden, if I do not suspect, that I mayventure forth. They hope to take me alive, or kill me, and stillobtain the paper. Indeed, it is their one hope. It would be a pityto disappoint them."

  His lips had parted, and his eyes were shining in the candle light.

  "There are few things which move me now, my lady. All that I really enjoyis an amusing situation, and this one is very amusing. Do you think Ihave crossed the ocean to deliver this document, and then I shall stop?No, Mademoiselle, you are mistaken."

  He bowed again, and stepped backwards towards the door.

  "Pray do likewise, Mademoiselle, and forget," he said. "There is nothingin this little episode fit for you to remember. It is not you they areafter, and you will be quite safe here. I have made sure of that. My sonwill remain until your brother arrives, and will dispense whathospitality you require.

  "I trust," he added, turning to me, "you still remember why you havebeen here?"

  "Indeed, yes," I answered.

  "Then it is good-bye, Henry. I shall not bother to offer you my hand.Brutus, you will remain with my son until a quarter to seven."

  Even now I cannot tell what made a mist come over my eyes and a lump inmy throat any more than I can explain my subsequent actions on thatevening. Was it possible I was sorry to see the last of him? Or was itsimply self pity that shortened my breath and made my voice seem brokenand discordant?

  "And after that?" I asked.

  He looked at me appraisingly, tapping his thin fingers on his sword hilt.

  "After that--" He stared thoughtfully at the shadows of thedarkened room. Was he thinking as I was, of the wasted years andwhat the end would be?

  "After that," he repeated, half to himself, "come, I will make anappointment with you after that--on the other side of the Styx, my son.I shall be waiting there, I promise you, and we shall drink some corkedambrosia. Surely the gods must give a little to the shades, or at anyrate, Brutus shall steal some. And then perhaps you shall tell me whathappened after that. I shall look forward--I shall hope, even, that itmay be pleasant. Good-bye, my son."

  I think he had often planned that leave taking. Surely it must havesatisfied him.