Читать книгу: «The Daltons; Or, Three Roads In Life. Volume II», страница 31

CHAPTER XXXV. A TALK OVER BYGONES

It was with a burst of joy that Lady Hester heard the Daltons had arrived. In the wearisome monotony of her daily life, anything to do, anywhere to go, any one to see, would have been esteemed boons of great price; what delight, then, was it to meet those with whom she could converse of “bygone times” and other lands! – “that dear Kate,” whom she really liked as well as it was in her nature to love anything, from whom she now anticipated so much of that gossip, technically called “news,” and into whose confiding heart she longed to pour out her own private woes!

The meeting was indeed affectionate on both sides; and, as Lady Hester was in her most gracious of moods, Frank thought her the very type of amiability, and the old Count pronounced her manners fit for the high ordeal of Vienna itself. Perhaps our reader will be grateful if we leave to his imagination all the changeful moods of grief and joy, surprise, regret, and ecstasy, with which her Ladyship questioned and listened to Kate Dalton’s stories; throwing out, from time to time, little reflections of her own, as though incidentally, to show how much wiser years had made her. There are people who ever regard the misfortunes of others as mere key-notes to elicit their own sufferings; and thus, when Kate spoke of Russia, Lady Hester quoted Ireland. Frank’s sufferings reminded her of her own “nerves;” and poor Nelly’s unknown fate was precisely “the condition of obscurity to which Sir Stafford’s cruel will had consigned herself.”

Kate’s mind was very far from being at ease, and yet it was with no mean pleasure she found herself seated beside Lady Hester, talking over the past with all that varying emotion which themes of pleasure and sadness call up. Who has not enjoyed the delight of such moments, when, living again bygone days, we laugh or sigh over incidents wherein once as actors we had moved and felt? If time has dimmed our perceptions of pleasure, it has also softened down resentments and allayed asperities. We can afford to forgive so much, and we feel, also, so confident of others’ forgiveness, and if regrets do steal over us that these things have passed away forever, there yet lurks the flattering thought that we have grown wiser than we then were. So is it the autobiographies of the fireside are pleasant histories, whose vanities are all pardonable, and whose trifling is never ungraceful! Memory throws such a softened light on the picture, that even bores become sufferable, and we extract a passing laugh from the most tiresome of our quondam “afflictives.”

Had her Ladyship been less occupied with herself and her own emotions, she could not have failed to notice the agitation under which Kate suffered at many of her chance remarks. The levity, too, with which she discussed her betrothal to Midchekoff almost offended her. The truth was, Kate had half forgotten the reckless, unthinking style of her friend’s conversation, and it required a little practice and training to grow accustomed to it again.

“Yes, my dear,” she went on, “I have had such trouble to persuade people that it was no marriage at all, but a kind of engagement; and when that horrid Emperor would n’t give his consent, of course there was an end of it you may be sure, my sweet child, I never believed one syllable of that vile creature’s story about George’s picture; but somehow it has got abroad, and that odious Heidendorf goes about repeating it everywhere. I knew well that you never cared for poor dear George! Indeed, I told him as much when he was quite full of admiration for you. It is so stupid in men! their vanity makes them always believe that, if they persist – just persevere – in their attachment, the woman will at last succumb. Now, we have a better sense of these things, and actually adore the man that shows indifference to us, – at least, I am sure that I do. Such letters as the poor boy keeps writing about you! And about five months ago, when he was so badly wounded, and did not expect to recover, he actually made his will, and left you all he had in the world. Oh dear!” said she, with a heavy sigh, “they have generous moments, these men, but they never last; and, by the way, I must ask your advice – though I already guess what it will be – about a certain friend of ours, who has had what I really must call the presumption – for, after all, Kate, I think you ‘ll agree with me it is a very great presumption, – is it not, dear?”

“Until you tell me a little more,” replied Kate, with a sigh, “I can scarcely answer.”

“Well, it’s Mr. Jekyl – you remember, that little man that used to be so useful at Florence; not but he has very pretty manners, and a great deal of tact in society. His letters, too, are inimitably droll. I’ll show you some of them.”

“Oh! then you are in correspondence with him?” said Kate, slyly.

“Yes; that is, he writes to me– and I – I sometimes send him a short note. In fact, it was the Abbé D’Esmonde induced me to think of it at all; and I was bored here, and so unhappy, and so lonely.”

“I perceive,” said Kate; “but I trust that there is nothing positive, – nothing like an engagement?”

“And why, dear? – whence these cautious scruples?” said Lady Hester, almost peevishly.

“Simply because he is very unworthy of you,” said Kate, bluntly, and blushing deep at her own hardihood.

“Oh, I’m quite sure of that,” said Lady Hester, casting down her eyes. “I know – I feel that I am mistaken and misunderstood. The world has always judged me unfairly! you alone, dearest, ever comprehended me; and even you could not guess of what I am capable! If you were to read my journal – if you were just to see what sufferings I have gone through! And then that terrible shock! though, I must say, D’Esmonde’s mode of communicating it was delicacy itself. A very strange man that Abbé is, Kate. He now and then talks in a way that makes one suspect his affections are or have been engaged.”

“I always believed him too deeply immersed in other cares.”

“Oh, what a short-sighted judgment, child! These are the minds that always feel most! I know this by myself – daring the last two years especially! When I think what I have gone through! The fate, not alone of Italy, but of Europe, of the world, I may say, discussed and determined at our fireside! Yes, Kate, I assure you, so it was. D’Esmonde referred many points to me, saying ‘that the keener perception of a female mind must be our pilot here.’ Of course, I felt all the responsibility, but never, never was I agitated. How often have I held the destiny of the Imperial House in my hands! How little do they suspect what they owe to my forbearance! But these are not themes to interest you, dearest, and, of course, your prejudices are all Austrian. I must say, Kate, ‘the uncle’ is charming! Just that kind of dear old creature so graceful for a young woman to lean upon; and I love his long white moustache! His French, too, is admirable, – that Madame de Sévigné turn of expression, so unlike modern flippancy, and so respectful to women!”

“I hope you like Frank!” said Kate, with artless eagerness in her look.

“He ‘s wonderfully good-looking without seeming to know it; but, of course, one cannot expect that to last, Kate.”

“Oh! you cannot think how handsome he was before this illness; and then he is so gentle and affectionate.”

“There – there, child, you must not make me fall in love with him, for you know all my sympathies are Italian; and, having embroidered that beautiful banner for the ‘Legion of Hope’ – pretty name, is it not? – I never could tolerate the ‘Barbari.’”

“Pray do not call them such to my uncle,” said Kate, smiling.

“Never fear, dearest. I ‘m in the habit of meeting all kinds of horrid people without ever offending a prejudice; and, besides, I am bent on making a conquest of ‘Mon Oncle;’ he is precisely the species of adorer I like best. I hope he does not take snuff.”

Kate laughed, as she shook her head in sign of negative.

From this Lady Hester diverged to all manner of reflections about the future, – as to whether she ought or ought not to know Midchekoff when she met him; if the villa of La Rocca were really Kate’s, or hers, or the property of somebody else; who was Jekyl’s father, or if he ever had such an appendage; in what part of the Tyrol Nelly was then sojourning; was it possible she was married to the dwarf, and ashamed to confess it? – and a vast variety of similar speculations, equally marked by a bold indifference as to probability, and a total disregard to the feelings of her companion. Kate was, then, far from displeased when a messenger came to say that the General was alone in the drawing-room, and would esteem it a favor if the ladies would join him.

“How do you mean, alone?” asked Lady Hester. “Where is Mr. Dalton?”

“Dr. Grounsell came for him, my Lady, and took him away in a carriage.”

“Poor Frank, he is quite unequal to such fatigue,” exclaimed Kate.

“It is like that horrid doctor. His cruelties to me have been something incredible; at the same time, there’s not a creature on my estate he does not sympathize with! you ‘ll see how it will be, dearest; he’ll take your dear brother somewhere where there’s a fever, or perhaps the plague – for I believe they have it here; and in his delicate state he’s sure to catch it and die! Mark my words, dearest Kate, and see if they’ll not come true.” And with this reassuring speech she slipped her arm within her companion’s and moved out of the room.

It may be conjectured that it was not without weighty reasons Grounsell induced Frank, weary and exhausted as he was, to leave his home and accompany him on a cold and dreary night to the city jail. Although declining to enter upon the question before a third party, no sooner were they alone together than the doctor proceeded to an explanation. Meekins, who it appeared showed the greatest indifference at first, had, as the day wore on, grown restless and impatient. This irritability was increased by the want of his accustomed stimulant of drink, in which, latterly, he had indulged freely, and it was in such a mood he asked for pen and paper, and wrote a few lines to request that young Mr. Dalton would visit him. Grounsell, who made a point to watch the prisoner from hour to hour, no sooner heard this, than he hastened off to the inn with the intelligence.

“There is not a moment to be lost,” said he. “This fellow, from all that I can learn, is but the tool of others, who are bent on bringing before the world the whole story of this terrible crime. A priest, named Cahill, and who for some time back has been loitering about the neighborhood, was at the jail this morning before daybreak. Later on, he posted a letter for Dublin, the address of which I was enabled to see. It was to the eminent lawyer in criminal cases, Mr. Wallace.

“That some great attack is in preparation, I have, then, no doubt; the only question is, whether the object be to extort money by threats of publicity, or is there some deep feeling of revenge against your name and family?

“The jailer, who is in my interest, gives me the most accurate detail of the prisoner’s conduct, and, although I am fully prepared to expect every species of duplicity and deceit from a fellow of this stamp, yet it is not impossible that, seeing himself to a certain extent in our power, he may be disposed to desert to our ranks.

“He asks you to come alone, and of course you must comply. Whatever be the subject of his revelations, be most guarded in the way you receive them. Avow utter ignorance of everything, and give him reasons to suppose that your great object here is to prevent the exposure and disgrace of a public trial. This may make him demand higher terms; but at the same time he will be thrown upon fuller explanations to warrant them. In fact, you must temper your manner between a conscious power over the fellow, and an amicable desire to treat with him.

“He has heard, within the last half-hour, that he has been recognized here by a former acquaintance, whose account of him includes many circumstances of deep suspicion. It may have been this fact has induced him to write to you. This you will easily discover in his manner. But here we are at the gates, and once more, I say, be cautions and guarded in everything.

“Well, Mr. Gray,” said Grounsell to the jailer, “You see we have not delayed very long. Ill as he is, Mr. Dalton has accepted this invitation.”

“And he has done well, sir,” replied the Jailer. “The man’s bearing is greatly changed since morning; some panic has evidently seized him. There’s no saying how long this temper may last; but you are quite right to profit by it while there is yet time.”

“Is he low and depressed, then?”

“Terribly so, sir. He asked a while ago if any one had called to see him. Of course we guessed whom he meant, and said that a priest had been at the jail that morning, but only to learn the charge under which he was apprehended. He was much mortified on being told that the priest neither expressed a wish to see nor speak with him.”

Grounsell gave a significant glance towards Frank, who now followed the jailer to the prisoner’s cell.

“He’s crying, sir; don’t you hear him?” whispered the jailer to Frank, as they stood outside the door. “You could n’t have a more favorable moment.” And, thus saying, he rattled the heavy bunch of keys, in order to give the prisoner token of his approach; and then, throwing open the door, called out, “Here’s the gentleman you asked for, Meekins; see that you don’t keep him long in this cold place, for he is not very well.”

Frank had but time to reach the little settle on which he sat down, when the door was closed, and he was alone with the prisoner.

CHAPTER XXXVI. THE JAIL

Frank Dalton was in no wise prepared for the quiet and easy self-possession with which Meekins, after asking pardon for the liberty of his note, took a seat in front of him. Smoothing down his short and glossy black hair with his hand, he seemed to wait for Frank to open the conversation; and while there was nothing of insolence in his manner, there was an assured calmness, far more distressing to a young and nervous invalid.

“You wished to see me, Meekins,” said Frank, at last. “What can I do for you?”

The man bent slightly forward on his chair, and, fixing his keen and penetrating eyes, continued steadily to stare at him for several seconds.

“You ‘re too young and too generous to have a double in you,” said he, after a long pause, in which it seemed as if he were scanning the other’s nature; “and before we say any more, just tell me one thing. Did any one advise you to come here to-night?”

“Yes,” said Frank, boldly.

“It was that doctor; the man they call the agent, – wasn’t it?”

“Yes,” replied the youth, in the same tone.

“Now, what has he against me?– what charge does he lay to me?”

“I know nothing about it,” said Frank; “but if our interview is only to consist in an examination of myself, the sooner it ends the better.”

“Don’t you see what I’m at, sir? – don’t you perceive that I only want to know your honor’s feeling towards me, and whether what I ‘m to say is to be laid up in your heart, or taken down in writing and made into an indictment.”

“My feeling towards you is easily told. If you be an honest man, and have any need of me, I ‘ll stand by you; if you be not an honest man, but the dishonesty only affects myself and my interests, show me anything that can warrant it, and I ‘m ready to forgive you.”

The prisoner hung down his head, and for some minutes seemed deeply immersed in reflection.

“Mr. Dalton,” said he, drawing his chair closer to the bed, “I ‘ll make this business very short, and we need n’t be wasting our time talking over what is honesty and what is roguery, – things every man has his own notions about, and that depend far more upon what he has in his pocket than what he feels in his heart I can do you a good turn; you can do me another. The service I can render you will make you a rich man, and put you at the head of your family, where you ought to be. All I ask in return is a free discharge from this jail, and money enough to go to America. There never was a better bargain for you! As for myself, I could make more of my secret if I liked; more, both in money – and – and in other ways.”

As he said these last few words, his cheek grew scarlet and his eyes seemed to glisten.

“I scarcely understand you,” said Frank. “Do you mean – ”

“I ‘ll tell you what I mean, and so plainly that you can’t mistake me. I ‘ll make you what you have good right to be, – the ‘Dalton of Corrig-O’Neal,’ the ould place, that was in your mother’s family for hundreds of years back. It is n’t taking service in a foreign land you need be, but an Irish gentleman, living on his own lawful estate.”

“And for this you ask – ”

“Just what I told you, – an open door and two hundred pounds down,” said the fellow, with a rough boldness that was close on insolence. “I’ve told you already that if I only wanted a good bargain there ‘s others would give more; but that’s not what I ‘m looking for. I ‘m an old man,” added he, in a softened voice, “and who knows when I may be called away to the long account!” Then suddenly, as it were correcting himself for a weak admission, he went on, more firmly, “That’s neither here nor there; the matter is just this: Will you pay the trifle I ask, for three thousand a year, if it is n’t more?”

“I must first of all consult with some friend – ”

“There! that’s enough. You ‘ve said it now! Mr. Dalton, I ‘ve done with you forever,” said the fellow, rising and walking to the window.

“You have not heard me out,” said Frank, calmly. “It may be that I have no right to make such a compact; it may be that by such a bargain I should be compromising the just claims of the law, not to vindicate my own rights alone, but to seek an expiation for a dreadful murder!”

“I tell you again, sir,” said the fellow, with the same sternness as before, – “I tell you again, sir, that I’ve done with you forever. The devil a day you ‘ll ever pass under that same roof of Corrig-O’Neal as the master of it; and if you wish me to swear it, by the great – ”

“Stop!” cried Frank, authoritatively. “You have either told me too much or too little, my good man; do not let your passion hurry you into greater peril.”

“What do you mean by that?” cried the other, turning fiercely round, and bending over the back of the chair, with a look of menace. “What do you mean by too much or too little?”

“This has lasted quite long enough,” said Frank, rising slowly from the bed. “I foresee little benefit to either of us from protracting it further.”

“You think you have me now, Mr. Dalton,” said Meekins, with a sardonic grin, as he placed his back against the door of the cell. “You think you know enough, now, as if I wasn’t joking all the while. Sure what do I know of your family or your estate except what another man told me? Sure I’ve no power to get back your property for you. I ‘m a poor man, without a friend in the world,” – here his voice trembled and his cheek grew paler; “it is n’t thinking of this life I am at all, but what’s before me in the next!”

“Let me pass out,” said Frank, calmly.

“Of course I will, sir; I won’t hinder you,” said the other, but still not moving from the spot. “You said awhile ago that I told you too much or too little. Just tell me what that means before you go.”

“Move aside, sir,” said Frank, sternly.

“Not till you answer my question. Don’t think you’re back with your white-coated slaves again, where a man can be flogged to death for a look! I ‘m your equal here, though I am in prison. Maybe, if you provoke me to it, I ‘d show myself more than your equal!” There was a menace in the tone of these last words that could not be mistaken, and Frank quickly lifted his hand to his breast; but, quick as was the gesture, the other was too speedy for him, and caught his arm before he could seize the pistol. Just at this critical moment the key was heard to turn in the lock, and the heavy door was slowly opened. “There, take my arm, sir,” said Meekins, slipping his hand beneath Frank’s; “You ‘re far too weak to walk alone.”