CHAPTER X. WINE AND WEAKNESS
"Sporting old parson who knows how to swear?" laughed Rattray. "Never sawhim in my life before; wondered who the deuce he was."
"Really?" said I. "He professed to know something of you."
"Against me, you mean? My dear Cole, don't trouble to perjure yourself.I don't mind, believe me. They're easily shocked, these country clergy,and no doubt I'm a bugbear to 'em. Yet, I could have sworn I'd neverseen this one before. Let's have another look."
We were walking away together. We turned on the top of the bank. Andthere the old clergyman was planted on the moorside, and watching usintently from under his hollowed hands.
"Well, I'm hanged!" exclaimed Rattray, as the hands fell and theirowner beat a hasty retreat. My companion said no more; indeed, for someminutes we pursued our way in silence. And I thought that it was with aneffort that he broke into sudden inquiries concerning my journey and mycomfort at the cottage.
This gave me an opportunity of thanking him for his little attentions."It was awfully good of you," said I, taking his arm as though I hadknown him all my life; nor do I think there was another living man withwhom I would have linked arms at that time.
"Good?" cried he. "Nonsense, my dear sir! I'm only afraid you findit devilish rough. But, at all events, you're coming to dine with meto-night."
"Am I?" I asked, smiling.
"Rather!" said he. "My time here is short enough. I don't lose sight ofyou again between this and midnight."
"It's most awfully good of you," said I again.
"Wait till you see! You'll find it rough enough at my place; all myretainers are out for the day at a local show."
"Then I certainly shall not give you the trouble."
He interrupted me with his jovial laugh.
"My good fellow," he cried, "that's the fun of it! How do you supposeI've been spending the day? Told you I was going to Lancaster, did I?Well, I've been cooking our dinner instead--laying the table--gettingup the wines--never had such a joke! Give you my word, I almost forgot Iwas in the wilderness!"
"So you're quite alone, are you?"
"Yes; as much so as that other beggar who was monarch of all hesurveyed, his right there was none to dispute, from the what-is-it downto the glade--"
"I'll come," said I, as we reached the cottage. "Only first you must letme make myself decent."
"You're decent enough!"
"My boots are wet; my hands--"
"All serene! I'll give you five minutes."
And I left him outside, flourishing a handsome watch, while, on my wayupstairs, I paused to tell Mrs. Braithwaite that I was dining at thehall. She was busy cooking, and I felt prepared for her unpleasantexpression; but she showed no annoyance at my news. I formed theimpression that it was no news to her. And next minute I heard awhispering below; it was unmistakable in that silent cottage, where nota word had reached me yet, save in conversation to which I was myself aparty.
I looked out of window. Rattray I could no longer see. And I confessthat I felt both puzzled and annoyed until we walked away together, whenit was his arm which was immediately thrust through mine.
"A good soul, Jane," said he; "though she made an idiotic marriage, andleads a life which might spoil the temper of an archangel. She was mynurse when I was a youngster, Cole, and we never meet without a yarn."Which seemed natural enough; still I failed to perceive why they needyarn in whispers.
Kirby Hall proved startlingly near at hand. We descended the barevalley to the right, we crossed the beck upon a plank, were in theoak-plantation about a minute, and there was the hall upon the fartherside.
And a queer old place it seemed, half farm, half feudal castle: fowlsstrutting at large about the back premises (which we were compelled toskirt), and then a front door of ponderous oak, deep-set between wallsfully six feet thick, and studded all over with wooden pegs. The facade,indeed, was wholly grim, with a castellated tower at one end, and anumber of narrow, sunken windows looking askance on the wreck andruin of a once prim, old-fashioned, high-walled garden. I thought thatRattray might have shown more respect for the house of his ancestors.It put me in mind of a neglected grave. And yet I could forgive a brightyoung fellow for never coming near so desolate a domain.
We dined delightfully in a large and lofty hall, formerly used (saidRattray) as a court-room. The old judgment seat stood back against thewall, and our table was the one at which the justices had been wont tosit. Then the chamber had been low-ceiled; now it ran to the roof, andwe ate our dinner beneath a square of fading autumn sky, with I wonderedhow many ghosts looking down on us from the oaken gallery! I wasinterested, impressed, awed not a little, and yet all in a way whichafforded my mind the most welcome distraction from itself and from thepast. To Rattray, on the other hand, it was rather sadly plain that theplace was both a burden and a bore; in fact he vowed it was the dampestand the dullest old ruin under the sun, and that he would sell itto-morrow if he could find a lunatic to buy. His want of sentimentstruck me as his one deplorable trait. Yet even this displayed hischaracteristic merit of frankness. Nor was it at all unpleasant to hearhis merry, boyish laughter ringing round hall and gallery, ere it diedaway against a dozen closed doors.
And there were other elements of good cheer: a log fire blazing heartilyin the old dog-grate, casting a glow over the stone flags, a reassuringflicker into the darkest corner: cold viands of the very best: and thefinest old Madeira that has ever passed my lips.
Now, all my life I have been a "moderate drinker" in the most literalsense of that slightly elastic term. But at the sad time of which Iam trying to write, I was almost an abstainer, from the fear, thetemptation--of seeking oblivion in strong waters. To give way then wasto go on giving way. I realized the danger, and I took stern measures.Not stern enough, however; for what I did not realize was my weak andnervous state, in which a glass would have the same effect on me asthree or four upon a healthy man.
Heaven knows how much or how little I took that evening! I can swearit was the smaller half of either bottle--and the second we neverfinished--but the amount matters nothing. Even me it did not makegrossly tipsy. But it warmed my blood, it cheered my heart, it excitedmy brain, and--it loosened my tongue. It set me talking with a freedomof which I should have been incapable in my normal moments, on a subjectwhereof I had never before spoken of my own free will. And yet the willto--speak--to my present companion--was no novelty. I had felt it at ourfirst meeting in the private hotel. His tact, his sympathy, his handsomeface, his personal charm, his frank friendliness, had one and alltempted me to bore this complete stranger with unsolicited confidencesfor which an inquisitive relative might have angled in vain. And thetemptation was the stronger because I knew in my heart that I shouldnot bore the young squire at all; that he was anxious enough to hear mystory from my own lips, but too good a gentleman intentionally tobetray such anxiety. Vanity was also in the impulse. A vulgar newspaperprominence had been my final (and very genuine) tribulation; but toplease and to interest one so pleasing and so interesting to me, wasanother and a subtler thing. And then there was his sympathy--shall Iadd his admiration?--for my reward.
I do not pretend that I argued thus deliberately in my heated andexcited brain. I merely hold that all these small reasons and motiveswere there, fused and exaggerated by the liquor which was there as well.Nor can I say positively that Rattray put no leading questions; onlythat I remember none which had that sound; and that, once started, I amafraid I needed only too little encouragement to run on and on.
Well, I was set going before we got up from the table. I continued inan armchair that my host dragged from a little book-lined room adjoiningthe hall. I finished on my legs, my back to the fire, my hands beatingwildly together. I had told my dear Rattray of my own accord more thanliving man had extracted from me yet. He interrupted me very little;never once until I came to the murderous attack by Santos on the drunkensteward.
"The brute!" cried Rattray. "The cowardly, cruel, foreign devil!
And younever let out one word of that!"
"What was the good?" said I. "They are all gone now--all gone to theiraccount. Every man of us was a brute at the last. There was nothing tobe gained by telling the public that."
He let me go on until I came to another point which I had hitherto keptto myself: the condition of the dead mate's fingers: the cries that thesight of them had recalled.
"That Portuguese villain again!" cried my companion, fairly leaping fromthe chair which I had left and he had taken. "It was the work of thesame cane that killed the steward. Don't tell me an Englishman wouldhave done it; and yet you said nothing about that either!"
It was my first glimpse of this side of my young host's character. Nordid I admire him the less, in his spirited indignation, because much ofthis was clearly against myself. His eyes flashed. His face was white. Isuddenly found myself the cooler man of the two.
"My dear fellow, do consider!" said I. "What possible end could havebeen served by my stating what I couldn't prove against a man whocould never be brought to book in this world? Santos was punished as hedeserved; his punishment was death, and there's an end on't."
"You might be right," said Rattray, "but it makes my blood boil to hearsuch a story. Forgive me if I have spoken strongly;" and he paced hishall for a little in an agitation which made me like him better andbetter. "The cold-blooded villain!" he kept muttering; "the infernal,foreign, blood-thirsty rascal! Perhaps you were right; it couldn't havedone any good, I know; but--I only wish he'd lived for us to hang him,Cole! Why, a beast like that is capable of anything: I wonder ifyou've told me the worst even now?" And he stood before me, with candidsuspicion in his fine, frank eyes.
"What makes you say that?" said I, rather nettled.
"I shan't tell you if it's going to rile you, old fellow," was his reply.And with it reappeared the charming youth whom I found it impossibleto resist. "Heaven knows you have had enough to worry you!" he added, inhis kindly, sympathetic voice.
"So much," said I, "that you cannot add to it, my dear Rattray. Now,then! Why do you think there was something worse?"
"You hinted as much in town: rightly or wrongly I gathered there wassomething you would never speak about to living man."
I turned from him with a groan.
"Ah! but that had nothing to do with Santos."
"Are you sure?" he cried.
"No," I murmured; "it had something to do with him, in a sense; butdon't ask me any more." And I leaned my forehead on the high oakmantel-piece, and groaned again.
His hand was upon my shoulder.
"Do tell me," he urged. I was silent. He pressed me further. In myfancy, both hand and voice shook with his sympathy.
"He had a step-daughter," said I at last.
"Yes? Yes?"
"I loved her. That was all."
His hand dropped from my shoulder. I remained standing, stooping,thinking only of her whom I had lost for ever. The silence was intense.I could hear the wind sighing in the oaks without, the logs burningsoftly away at my feet And so we stood until the voice of Rattrayrecalled me from the deck of the Lady Jermyn and my lost love's side.
"So that was all!"
I turned and met a face I could not read.
"Was it not enough?" cried I. "What more would you have?"
"I expected some more-foul play!"
"Ah!" I exclaimed bitterly. "So that was all that interested you! No,there was no more foul play that I know of; and if there was, I don'tcare. Nothing matters to me but one thing. Now that you know what thatis, I hope you're satisfied."
It was no way to speak to one's host. Yet I felt that he had pressed meunduly. I hated myself for my final confidence, and his want of sympathymade me hate him too. In my weakness, however, I was the natural preyof violent extremes. His hand flew out to me. He was about to speak.A moment more and I had doubtless forgiven him. But another soundcame instead and made the pair of us start and stare. It was the softshutting of some upstairs door.
"I thought we had the house to ourselves?" cried I, my miserable nerveson edge in an instant.
"So did I," he answered, very pale. "My servants must have come back. Bythe Lord Harry, they shall hear of this!"
He sprang to a door, I heard his feet clattering up some stone stairs,and in a trice he was running along the gallery overhead; in anotherI heard him railing behind some upper door that he had flung open andbanged behind him; then his voice dropped, and finally died away. I wasleft some minutes in the oppressively silent hall, shaken, startled,ashamed of my garrulity, aching to get away. When he returned it was byanother of the many closed doors, and he found me awaiting him, hat inhand. He was wearing his happiest look until he saw my hat.
"Not going?" he cried. "My dear Cole, I can't apologize sufficiently formy abrupt desertion of you, much less for the cause. It was my man,just come in from the show, and gone up the back way. I accused him oflistening to our conversation. Of course he denies it; but it reallydoesn't matter, as I'm sorry to say he's much too 'fresh' (as they callit down here) to remember anything to-morrow morning. I let him have it,I can tell you. Varlet! Caitiff! But if you bolt off on the head of it,I shall go back and sack him into the bargain!"
I assured him I had my own reasons for wishing to retire early. He couldhave no conception of my weakness, my low and nervous condition ofbody and mind; much as I had enjoyed myself, he must really let me go.Another glass of wine, then? Just one more? No, I had drunk too muchalready. I was in no state to stand it. And I held out my hand withdecision.
Instead of taking it he looked at me very hard.
"The place doesn't suit you," said he. "I see it doesn't, and I'mdevilish sorry! Take my advice and try something milder; now do,to-morrow; for I should never forgive myself if it made you worseinstead of better; and the air is too strong for lots of people."
I was neither too ill nor too vexed to laugh outright in his face.
"It's not the air," said I; "it's that splendid old Madeira of yours,that was too strong for me, if you like! No, no, Rattray, you don't getrid of me so cheaply-much as you seem to want to!"
"I was only thinking of you," he rejoined, with a touch of pique thatconvinced me of his sincerity. "Of course I want you to stop, thoughI shan't be here many days; but I feel responsible for you, Cole,and that's the fact. Think you can find your way?" he continued,accompanying me to the gate, a postern in the high garden wall. "Hadn'tyou better have a lantern?"
No; it was unnecessary. I could see splendidly, had the bump of localityand as many more lies as would come to my tongue. I was indeed burningto be gone.
A moment later I feared that I had shown this too plainly. For his finalhandshake was hearty enough to send me away something ashamed ofmy precipitancy, and with a further sense of having shown himsmall gratitude for his kindly anxiety on my behalf. I would behavedifferently to-morrow. Meanwhile I had new regrets.
At first it was comparatively easy to see, for the lights of the houseshone faintly among the nearer oaks. But the moon was hidden behindheavy clouds, and I soon found myself at a loss in a terribly dark zoneof timber. Already I had left the path. I felt in my pocket for matches.I had none.
My head was now clear enough, only deservedly heavy. I was stillquarrelling with myself for my indiscretions and my incivilities, oneand all the result of his wine and my weakness, and this new predicament(another and yet more vulgar result) was the final mortification. Iswore aloud. I simply could not see a foot in front of my face. Once Iproved it by running my head hard against a branch. I was hopelessly andridiculously lost within a hundred yards of the hall!
Some minutes I floundered, ashamed to go back, unable to proceed forthe trees and the darkness. I heard the beck running over its stones. Icould still see an occasional glimmer from the windows I had left. Butthe light was now on this side, now on that; the running water chuckledin one ear after the other; there was nothing for it but to return inall humility for the lantern which I had been so foolish as to refuse.
And as I resigned myself to this imperative though inglorious course, myheart warmed once more to the jovial young squire. He would laugh, butnot unkindly, at my grotesque dilemma; at the thought of his laughter Ibegan to smile myself. If he gave me another chance I would smoke thatcigar with him before starting home afresh, and remove, from my ownmind no less than from his, all ill impressions. After all it was nothis fault that I had taken too much of his wine; but a far worse offencewas to be sulky in one's cups. I would show him that I was myself againin all respects. I have admitted that I was temporarily, at all events,a creature of extreme moods. It was in this one that I retraced my stepstowards the lights, and at length let myself into the garden by thepostern at which I had shaken Rattray's hand not ten minutes before.
Taking heart of grace, I stepped up jauntily to the porch. The weedsmuffled my steps. I myself had never thought of doing so, when all atonce I halted in a vague terror. Through the deep lattice windows Ihad seen into the lighted hall. And Rattray was once more seated at histable, a little company of men around him.
I crept nearer, and my heart stopped. Was I delirious, or raving madwith wine? Or had the sea given up its dead?
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