Complete Works of Bram Stoker

by Bram Stoker

  “No, Rafe!” she said, “I don’t mean that; that is all true already. I mean that whatever affects me affects you, and whatever troubles you troubles me.”

  “Yes, Betty, that is so.”

  “I have been thinking, Rafe, that you may have many expenses to meet. You will forgive me, I know dear, for speaking of such matters, but they must be spoken of sometimes! Must they not?”

  “There is nothing, Betty, that you may not speak of to me.”

  “I feel that, dear. Now, of course, when we are married” — here he squeezed her hand; she blushed but did not withdraw it — ”all I have will be yours; and then I shall be easy in my mind, for I shall know that you have all that you want. But I sometimes think that until then you may have occasion for more money than you have at your command. I know, dear, that you are expecting a place, but until that place comes you must live, and living is expensive for young men. Oh yes, I know. Robert proves that to me pretty well; and I want you to feel how glad I should be, and how proud, if you will let me do as I wish. You know my guardians allow me ever so much more money than I can use. Oh, Rafe, won’t you help me out? Don’t let me have to say such things all myself. You know what I mean.”

  “I do know what you mean, Betty, and I know that you are a little angel and that I shall never be able to be good enough for you. Now let me tell you something. To-day I saw Sir Robert, and he has promised me a post as soon as he can get one for me; and in earnest of it he has given me this” — and opening his pocket-book he showed her Sir Robert’s order on his bankers.

  Rafe’s weakness was here again manifested. He hoped and intended to make the money last till his marriage; and strong in the security of his self-belief, wished to hide from Betty the disagreeable truth of Sir Robert’s proposal. After a pause Betty said —

  “But,, dear, this will not last for ever; and indeed, Rafe, I feel almost jealous of Sir Robert. He can give you what he likes ‘‘

  “But, sweetheart, this is an advance.”

  “And that is all that I propose.”

  “But, dear, how can I explain? I cannot take a gift. I am a gentleman! This is a loan, and must be returned. It is to last me if needs be a whole year, until I get my place.” Betty’s logical power was not sufficient to see the fine distinction which her lover drew. One part of it only was to her as clear daylight — ”I am a gentleman, and cannot take a gift!” This touched some subtle chord of honour in her own breast, and she was glad and proud that her lover had so spoken. So she simply said —

  “I am so glad, Rafe, that my fears were groundless. But you will forgive, will you not? It was because I love you that I spoke.”

  For answer Rafe simply lifted her hand and kissed it. Then they went back to supper, and Rafe was in his heart glad that he did not have any occasion to say more of his interview with the great Minister, or he would have had to keep a secret from Betty.

  Thus he persuaded himself; for he kept the secret from her all the same. It was the appearance of keeping a secret from her that he dreaded, and not the fact Time went on happily enough with both the young people for a few months. They both had hope and they loved each other; and under such conditions life goes smoothly enough and evils that are not vital are not hard to bear. It was at this time of quiet, easygoing prosperity that the difference of the two natures became most apparent. Betty developed new and finer phases of character. Always thoughtful, she now became blessed with a sweet gravity — that gravity which so becomes the wife potential, the one whose self is forgotten in the needs of others. She also became more tolerant. True the stern rule of right and wrong which she had set for herself was never relaxed, and the standard of Duty was ever before her, her pillar of cloud by day and of fire by night. She more than once sent money unasked to Robert, and when his brief career was cut short by the rapier of his antagonist she had all the debts which he owed, and they were many, paid without ever even appearing in the matter. At this sad time Rafe was of much comfort to her, and the truly generous and manly side of his character never came out better than in the way he spoke of the dead man and did all in his power to mitigate the grief of his half-sister.

  But the period of rest or quiescence told not favourably on Rafe’s character. The need of thought and the fear of consequences being out of the range of his immediate vision, he began to get more careless. His imagination began to run away with him; everything was of such rosy colour that it seemed hard or impossible to believe that it could change. He did not husband his small means as he should have done; and one day he woke to the fact that of Walpole’s loan not a fifth part remained. Then he grew careful, but not quite in a satisfactory way. True that he husbanded his resources; but it was only ready money that he was careful about. He got into debt and found, as others do, that debt is an expensive process and that one does not get full money’s worth for the promise of money — that it is not possible to go minutely into questions of cost when we are not prepared to pay. Thus it happened that when, some three months after his last interview, he got a summons from his powerful kinsman he was down almost to his last shilling.

  The interview was not altogether a pleasant one. Sir Robert was much more courteous than on the former occasion. He asked him a number of questions as to his prospects, and seemed generally to look on him as a man on whom time was exerting a requisite pressure. Rafe felt this and it galled him; but he did not dare to find fault, for his affairs were now in such a plight that his only hope was in the patronage of his powerful kinsman. He felt that he had in his selfish carelessness thrown away the advantage which had been put into his hand. Sir Robert gently, and as if casually, alluded to the fact that the Lady Mary’s hand was still unwon. He might have added “unsought,” but this excess of candour was no part of his programme. He very soon made up his mind that Rafe was not yet at all events ripe for his scheme; and after mentioning the circumstance of his former debt in such a way as to impress his hearer of iron possibilities in his nature if he should be a hostile creditor, sat down and drew a draft on his banker for fifty guineas. This he handed to Rafe with all protestations of goodwill.

  Rafe was at first a little more careful with this money; but very soon the logic of his careless nature began to assert itself. This second rescue was unexpected; therefore other unexpected things might happen. What can be more fallacious than to depend on, and expect, the unexpected! It never occurred to him that the unexpected things might happen in opposite direction to his wish. Once or twice he brought trifling presents to Betty, little inexpensive things which she received with delight, frankly telling him that she was glad to see he was prudent. It is always a delight to a woman to get presents from the man she loves; and these things, since unaccompanied by any fear, made Betty very happy.

  So another couple of months elapsed; and then a great temptation began to assail Rafe. His means were down at the lowest ebb. His credit was running low and he feared daily, hourly, lest wind of such should get to Betty or her guardians. He had a sort of feeling that Sir Robert had him in his power and meant to mould him to his will. He was now so tangled in various ways that he could see no opening anywhere. Betty had offered him her purse, but he had told her that a gentleman could not accept a gift. Sir Robert held out hopes of all his ambition could dream of. Debt pressed him on every side, and a debtors’ prison was not a place to be yearned for in the early days of King George. Such legal study as he had had taught him that much. What if, after all, he should be compelled to fall into Sir Robert’s plans? It would be well enough except for one thing — Betty. No! he could not bear the thought of parting from her or of giving her up. Should he go and tell her his dilemma? He knew well that she would help him and forgive him. But then such would involve his telling her a whole host of other matters which he had kept concealed, and so he might lose her esteem and appear in her eyes as one who did not tell — or who hesitated to tell — the truth. His pride, or vanity, would not allow of this.

  Whilst thus pondering he got a h
urried line from Sir Robert asking him to call on him, this time at his private house. He went at once and was kept waiting for some time in the ante-room. During his wait many persons kept coming and going, and he could easily see that there was some excitement in the air. At last he was summoned, and found Sir Robert alone in the midst of a chaos of torn papers. The Minister motioned him to take a seat, and then plunged into his subject —

  “I have sent for you, not this time on my own account but on yours. To-day I send in my seals ‘‘ — Rafe’s heart sank within him; his hopes were gone — ”but I have still a thought for you. You can answer me ‘yes’ or ‘no’ just as you wish, the choice is now your own. If you will choose to wed the Lady Mary your future, whatever may happen, is secured; and if it should be that I return again to power the highest honours can be yours. Quick! make your choice, for time presses. If you say ‘ yes ‘ I shall aid you with my purse to make a fit and proper appearance for the sake of our kinship.

  If not ” he paused, and Rafe, with all the firmness he could muster, answered —

  “Not!”

  “In that case, my young friend, you may go to the devil. I don’t suppose he is so busy today as I am, and may have time to make terms to suit you. Good-day!”

  CHAPTER V

  IN THE DEAD WATCH OF THE NIGHT

  SEVERAL weeks elapsed before Rafe again called at Cheyne Walk. Betty got a letter from him saying that he had to go to the North on some family business, but that so soon as he returned he would come and gladden his eyes with the sight of her sweet face; with much other matter of the same kind, tedious to third parties. The early Georgian love-letter was of much the same tone and tendency as that of earlier — and of later — years; and its recipient gave it the same sweet and trustful welcome as was usual before — and after — that epoch.

  Whilst Rafe was away Betty busied herself about household matters and in works of charity; began to think of her housekeeping when her majority should have come, and other things should have happened. So the time sped by quickly enough, and it did not seem so very long to look back upon when Rafe appeared at the door. Betty flew to meet him, and no lover, however exacting, need have been disappointed with the warmth of her greeting. When they reached the drawingroom, a measure of decorum having been restored and they holding each other’s hands, Betty held him at arms’ length and gazed at him lovingly. He seemed taller and more robust, but there was something about him, she could hardly say what it was, that disappointed her. All his timidity in her presence seemed gone, and there was something boisterous — reckless — she knew not what to call it — which certainly she had never before noticed. All this was, of course, vague and shadowy. To say she thought it, would be hardly correct, for the idea was spontaneous and evanescent. It was rather a food for afterthought than thought itself. But whether such thoughts were on solid base or baseless as the air, they did not disturb Betty’s happiness. Rafe was home again, and she was content! She half hoped that after a while he would tell her something of his journey, or of why he went away, and where he went to and what he saw, and whom he met, and his adventures — for of course he had adventures. But Rafe did not touch on such topics, and Betty feared to ask him lest he should think it inquisitive to speak of things that he himself had not thought right to mention.

  Had she had a mother it would have been different, for the mother would have known the wishes of her child and would have so wrought the conversation that the betrothed girl’s most natural curiosity should have been satisfied. As the evening wore on there were several little shocks to Betty’s delicate trust, her very ignorance making shadowy fears. Before he left Rafe put his hand in his pocket and took out a little box, which he handed to Betty and told her he hoped she would value it for his sake. Betty took it with joy in her face and kissed him, before Aunt Priscilla too, and told him how sweet it was of him to remember her when he was away. But when she opened the box and found a little pair of diamond buckles lying on the white silk that lined the box, her face grew very grave, and she said, in a voice not without reproval — “No, Rafe dear, I cannot accept so valuable a present. You have not got your place yet, and it would ill become me who love you to be the means or the motive of such extravagance.

  Dear, you will let me keep this box, will you not? But take these,” and she handed him back the buckles. He did not attempt to force them upon her, but put them in his pocket with a light laugh that somewhat jarred upon her.

  When he had taken leave she ran up to her own room and, raising a tiny corner of the curtain, watched her lover as he walked away. To her surprise he did not go in the usual direction towards Swan Walk so as to gain the King’s Road, where he was accustomed to leave his horse, but walked with head down towards the river bank.

  He stood there a moment and then put his hand into his pocket, and taking out something therefrom hurled it with an angry gesture far into the river. Betty saw a white flash in the moonlight as the water was struck, and then as Rafe strode angrily away she dropped the curtain and slipped away quickly and went to bed in the dark. With her head under the bedclothes she sobbed herself to sleep.

  Rafe came every day that week to see her, and as the time wore on he came back nearer and nearer to his old self. There was still a certain masculine dominance in his manner; but to this she did not object. What woman ever did object to such a quality in her lover? It was sweet to be asked to do things, but in such manner that the doing was expected as a matter of course; but sweeter still to be told rather than asked to do anything, but in a way which did not wound.

  Things seemed to have prospered somehow of late with Rafe. His clothes were of the very finest, though this alone was not strange, for he was always somewhat of a dandy. But he now had a barge and a wherry all of his own — very spruce ones too, with his men in his own livery; and when he rode down, which was pretty often, he was always splendidly mounted. These things gave Betty many a pang, for she feared he might have been getting into debt or gambling, and either supposition was pain to her. She did not like to broach the subject, but fondly hoped that some day, not far off, Rafe would take her into his full confidence. But as days and weeks wore on it became evident to her that Rafe had no such intention. Sometimes he would be absent for two or three days, and when he came there would be something of that new self-assertive manner which she partly disliked and partly feared; but after a few days this would all wear away and he became more the old Rafe again.

  One day Alderman Fenton came to drink a dish of tea with Betty and Aunt Priscilla, and afterwards took his cousin out for a walk along by the river bank. Here, after some preliminary hum-ing and ha-ing, for the subject was a difficult one, he began to speak of Rafe and his doings.

  “My dear,” he said, “I thought I’d better come and speak to you first, for I feared I might make some trouble if I did the wrong thing. You won’t be angry with me, Betty, will you?”

  Betty’s heart sank within her, for she dreaded some confirmation of her fears; nevertheless she answered lightly —

  “I promise you, cousin, that whatever it is you tell me, I shall not be angry with you. I know that whatever you think for me is out of your kindness.”

  “That’s true, Betty, my dear. Quite true! I have no chick or child of my own, and all the care I have in the world is for you. Now I want to talk about this young gentleman of yours.”

  “About Rafe, cousin?” she interrupted.

  The old gentleman pinched her cheek as he answered —

  “Who else, puss? There’s only one that I know of!”

  “Or I either!” she answered demurely, with a sweet, half shy, half arch, and wholly adorable upward look at him.

  “Well! I have been minded many times of late to go and talk with him about matters. You see, from what I am told, he’s taken to more extravagant ways than he had; keeps more company, and ruffles about with all the young bloods in the town; boats, horses, and all the rest of it; and draws his sword as readily as may be. Whereve
r there is money being spent there he is, spending with the best of them. Nay, he seems to keep all companies; for he sits also in the taverns and coffee-houses with the merchants and adventurers and talks much with them. He is quite clever too; and that is part of the pity of it, for with his knowledge of what is going to happen, gathered from statesmen and secretaries and young gallants and old merchants, he might make a fortune in no time. But alack! he prefers to royster with the bloods of the town.”

  “I am very sorry, cousin, to hear this,” faltered poor Betty with her face as white as a sheet “And not more sorry than I am to tell you, my dear,” said the old gentleman, more moved than he thought possible by the sight of the maid’s silent distress, “and if it lay with me such ill tidings would never come a-nigh you; but I have thought the matter over for some time, and I have concluded that the least harmful thing I could do would be to consult you. You see, my dear,” he added confidentially, “young men of his kind are not like us plain city folk, and have their own proud ideas and their own quick-tempered ways; and as for us, we don’t quite understand either of them. I’m often minded to think that the sweeping out of the shop which we have had to do in our ‘prentice days is a mighty chastening exercise for the spirit. It somehow makes us think more of our work and less of ourselves, than the breeding of these young gallants teaches them.”

  After a little pause the old gentleman went on, but very gently and suppressing all his personal feelings, for he was touched deeply by the maid’s white face —

  “So the other day I made opportunity to speak with him; and as I thought so old a man as I might take such a liberty with a younger one, I began by offering, though I fear but clumsily, to be of such service as an old man and a London merchant might with his advice or his purse.”