Kitabı oku: «Roger Kyffin's Ward», sayfa 8
Chapter Twelve.
In Dangerous Company
Harry’s visit to the Jacobin Club was several times repeated. He met there more than one man of note. The members were, however, chiefly those who, carried away by their ardent love of freedom, which in France had degenerated into unbridled licence, and their hatred of tyranny, failed to perceive the happy mean where a settled government and just laws exist.
It would have been surprising had Harry not felt somewhat of the enthusiasm of the speakers. Silas Sleech only once or twice took a part in the debates, and on these occasions he advocated the most extreme measures; and although the assassination of the King of England was not mentioned, the regicides of the first Charles were lauded to the skies, as among the truest patriots of which history makes note.
“I wonder what your old mentor would say, if he heard of your attending our meetings,” said Sleech, as they were walking home. “However, it’s your own fault if he finds out. To-morrow we’ll play a different sort of game. I am sadly in want of a few hundred pounds, and I have an idea that I shall get them; if you will stand by me, Harry, I will explain matters you by-and-bye.”
The next evening Silas led Harry to one of the haunts which they had of late frequented. They entered in the same cautious way as before. At that time the police were actively engaged in endeavouring to destroy the numerous gambling-houses, not improperly known as hells, in London. Harry knew very well that he had no business to be there, and nearly every day he persuaded himself that he would refuse to go again; but as the evening came round, the tempter’s persuasion overcame his scruples. On this occasion a considerable number of well-dressed men were present, many of them evidently men of rank and position. If they went, why should not he? He had hitherto been wonderfully successful, and he had made up his mind not to stake more than he had won. There was an abundance of sparkling wine and other refreshments on the sideboard. The room also was brilliantly lighted with wax candles, and Harry felt himself in remarkably good spirits. Silas was already playing, and placing somewhat heavy stakes on the table. Harry approached him, and followed the example of his friend. Fortune seemed to have turned against him. He lost stake after stake. Still Silas signed to him to go on; a strange infatuation seized him. He lost still more. Suddenly he looked up, when he saw the countenance of young Gilby, who was watching him narrowly. The young man came round to him, and placed his hand on his shoulder.
”‘Still waters run deep,’ old boy. I thought so,” he whispered. “I am glad to see you are not such a muff as I took you for. I don’t know what our friends in Broad Street would say to you, if they saw you here. However, mum’s the word with me. Go on and prosper.”
Harry felt himself abashed. He could make no reply.
“If one or two hundred pounds are of any use to you, you are welcome to them, young one,” said Gilby, in a tone which he intended to be good-natured.
“No, thank you,” said Harry; “I don’t intend to lose more than my purse can bear.”
“Oh, oh! the young one has a touch of pride about him!” Gilby whispered, loud enough, however, for Harry to hear him.
Harry drew out his last five guineas. He staked them and lost. Sleech came up to him, and put a roll of gold into his hand.
“You can pay me at your convenience. Don’t stop now, or it would ruin all.”
Harry fully believed that he should recover his loss. One hundred, two hundred pounds soon went. Again Sleech was by his side, and repeated his offer.
“Nonsense; I will take no refusal.”
Harry took the gold and lost it. He retained his countenance wonderfully. Gilby smiled.
“You had better borrow of me,” he whispered.
“No, thank you; my friend has my purse,” answered Harry, with a certain amount of prevarication.
It was getting late. Harry lost still more. Sleech poured out a tumbler of wine, which Harry tossed off. Silas led him away to a desk in a recess.
“Here,” he said, “between friends we do not want acknowledgment, but business is business.”
Harry signed the paper put before him.
“You need not be afraid of being cross-questioned, Harry,” observed Silas, as they walked home. “It is a comfort to think that your straight-laced guardian is safe across the seas in old Ireland. I am afraid you would think I was talking blasphemy, if I was to pray that he might never come back again, always provided he has left you his heir, which I have an idea he intends to do. In that case, my boy, we each should benefit. You would get his fortune, and I should step into his shoes.”
“Don’t talk so, Sleech,” said Harry. “He’s the best friend I ever had, and I don’t expect to get another like him; and as to his fortune, I pray that he may live to a green old age, and enjoy it himself. I only hope you were joking.” And Harry felt himself getting angry, not the less so that he could not help secretly acknowledging that he had been led by the nose by such an arch-hypocrite as Sleech.
“Of course, of course, I was joking,” said that individual, in the bland tone he could so well assume. “There’s no man I esteem more than our managing clerk, Mr Kyffin, and I admire you for your affection for him, only I don’t think he would be quite satisfied if he knew the way you spend your spare hours.”
Some important business with regard to a heavy mortgage on an estate had taken Mr Kyffin to Ireland; and from the state of the country and other circumstances it seemed probable that he might be detained there for a considerable time. He little thought how serious an influence his absence would have in the destiny of the youth in whose welfare he was so deeply interested.
Not till the next morning did Harry reflect how completely he had put himself in Mr Sleech’s power. He was to dine that day at his uncle’s. He was far from happy; he felt ill; he looked pale. It was not surprising, for he had had but little sleep. His cousins rallied him.
“A London life does not seem to suit you,” said Mr Coppinger. “You stick closely to business, and I am pleased with your diligence. If you apply to me I will allow you a few days’ run down to Hampshire.”
Harry thanked his uncle. After dinner Mr Gilby left the table before the rest of the gentlemen. Harry followed some little time afterwards. When he got into the drawing-room he found Mr Gilby stationed before the young ladies, talking eagerly. Looking up, they saw him. They were silent. Harry heard his own name mentioned.
“I could not help it,” exclaimed Gilby, as he approached. “I have been telling them what a deep fellow you are, Tryon. Why, there’s not a more rollicking blade about town, I suspect, if we come to follow you into all your haunts. I have met you two or three times when you did not see me. Ah! ah! old boy. Well, don’t blush and be ashamed; I don’t set up to be straight-laced. I am not a punctual man of business, no prim knight in buckram.”
Harry felt very much annoyed, but he restrained his temper.
“Mr Gilby is making merry at my expense,” he remarked. “However, he is welcome to do so. I can only say that I wish I had never been to some of the places he speaks of. Until one has been to a place, one cannot tell that it is objectionable.”
Harry was beginning to practise some of the lessons in hypocrisy which he had learned from Silas Sleech. He was very uncomfortable all the rest of the evening. Gilby’s mocking eye constantly fell on him, and he fancied that even his cousins regarded him with looks of suspicion. He returned home. Silas Sleech was sitting up for him.
“I am glad you have come at last,” he said. “I have been fearfully troubled by a business of great importance, and I really do not know how to settle it. You can help me. Indeed, I rather think that you are bound to do so. I handed over to you a pretty large sum last night. I little thought that not twenty-four hours would pass before I myself should be in want of it.”
Sleech dropped his voice.
“Harry, you are a good, honest fellow. I must take you into my confidence. Don’t be horrified – I’m an utterly ruined man.”
“I’m sorry to hear it,” said Harry.
“There’s little use expressing sorrow unless you are disposed to help me. You can do it if you please, I can assure you. All I want you to do is to put your name to a few bits of paper and ask no questions. I know it’s like begging you to put unbounded confidence in me. Perhaps you will say I don’t deserve it, and yet I wish you knew my heart, Harry, how anxious I am to serve you.”
Several decanters stood on the table before Mr Sleech. Harry had already taken a good deal of wine at his uncle’s. Sleech urged him to take more. The weather was hot. He felt thirsty. Those were drinking days, the virtue of temperance was seldom inculcated. On the contrary, the more a man could drink, the better he was thought of by his ordinary companions. Sleech smiled as he saw Harry toss off tumbler after tumbler of wine. It was cool claret, and tasted like water. The tempter had now his victim more than ever in his hands. The papers were brought out. Harry put his name to several.
“I wish you could write old Kyffin’s name as well as you do your own,” observed Sleech, “or your uncle’s. I say, Harry, why were you not called Stephen Coppinger? Your grandmother’s name was Coppinger, wasn’t it? In my opinion it’s a better name than Tryon. Better, at all events, on ’change – Tryon’s not worth much there, I have a notion, and Coppinger is worth whatever amount Stephen Coppinger chooses to put above it. Don’t trouble yourself about that amount you owe me – a few hundreds only. You forget all about it now, very likely. However, just let me get these papers in circulation, and I will never trouble you again about it.”
“Give it me,” said Harry; “I wish I had never signed it,” a sudden flash of sense coming across his mind.
“So ho! boy, be calm, my dear fellow,” answered Sleech. “You will find that you have got to deal with your master.”
Harry Tryon never knew what papers he signed that fatal night, nor what names he had written on them. He had a faint idea that he had moved his hand according to Sleech’s guidance.
The next day Mr Sleech declared himself indisposed, and told Harry he should not go out that evening. They were alone in the office. It was the business of Mr Sleech to see it closed. Harry’s head ached fearfully. He had never felt so depressed. Several bills had come in, and he had already spent every farthing of his salary for the quarter. Silas Sleech approached him.
“I rather think, Harry Tryon, this is the last day you will be at this office – that is to say, if you take my advice.”
“What do you mean?” asked Harry.
“Why just this, my dear fellow, listen to reason. There are certain papers to which you have put your hand. These will be brought before your uncle in the course of a day or two, and will be strong evidence against you, that you have aided in a serious fraud. You are in my debt for 500 pounds. I have your acknowledgment. You owe your tailor and other tradesmen no small amount. Now, you don’t know Mr Coppinger as I do. When he finds all this out, he will come down upon you with a severity to which you are little accustomed. I tell you, Harry, he would, without the slightest compunction, have you shut up in Newgate, and see you sent to the scaffold, even though you were his own son, instead of his grand-nephew. Thus you see your character is blasted, and all hopes of success in business cut off.”
Harry had sat with his hands clenched and his eyes fixed on Silas Sleech while he made these remarks.
“Sleech, you are a villain!” he exclaimed with vehemence; “a cunning, hypocritical scoundrel!”
“Very likely,” answered the other. “Go on, young one, what else am I?”
“You have deceived me, and led me into all sorts of vice,” cried Harry, clenching his fist.
“You are quite right. You followed my lead. I had an object, and I have succeeded. I wished to ruin you in our worthy principal’s estimation, and you’ll find by to-morrow that he looks upon you as a hopeless profligate. You have no longer any chance of supplanting me. As to Mr Kyffin, I rather think that he will consider himself mistaken with regard to you, and that you will no longer as of yore be precious in his sight. Thus you see, Harry, I have check-mated you completely.”
“You have shown me clearly that I am a fool, and that you are a consummate villain,” exclaimed Harry. “I will acknowledge my own fault and exhibit your knavery.”
“As you please,” said Sleech, in an unmoved tone. “You must remember that in acknowledging your own folly you run the certainty of being convicted of felony. I have no especial personal dislike to you, except that I have reason to believe you a rival in more cases than one, and that you have been received on friendly terms by a family who have looked upon me, though a relative, with haughty contempt. You understand me, Harry Tryon. There is as good blood runs in my veins as in yours, and do you think with that knowledge that I would consent to be cut out and trampled upon without taking vengeance when I have it in my own power?”
“Sleech, are you in earnest in what you say?” asked Harry, almost aghast at this declaration of his companion. “You are either mad or a most fearful villain.”
“You have called me so twice already,” exclaimed Sleech, in the same cool tone; “I don’t mind it a bit. Again I say, stay if you like and brave your uncle’s anger. My character stands high with him, and I know too many of the secrets of the house for him to venture to quarrel with me, even should he wish it. You see I know the ground I stand on, and I again say, take your own course. It’s really a matter of indifference to me.”
Harry dared not longer trust himself with Sleech. Seizing his candle, he rushed up-stairs into his own room. What should he do? Had he known more of the world he would have remained, and, acknowledging everything he had done since he came to London, have repeated Mr Sleech’s threats; but he did not know the world, nor Mr Coppinger’s character, while he could not take advice of the friend who, he ought to have known, at all events, if he did not, would certainly have given him such advice as a wise father would give his best beloved son. For a long time Harry could not close his eyes. At length, overcome by the violence of his feelings, he dropped off to sleep. The shutters were not closed.
It will make matters more clear if the full amount of Silas Sleech’s villainy is explained. For several reasons he wished to get rid of Harry. He had induced him to put his signature to several I O U’s, not, however, to himself, but to different unknown persons. On a part of the very same paper he had himself forged Mr Coppinger’s signature in a way by which it would, he thought, make it evident that it had been written by Harry. This made him more than ever anxious to induce the young man to hurry away from London, knowing that his flight would assist in fixing the crime on him. Mr Kyffin’s absence would assist his object.
When Harry awoke the grey dawn was stealing into the room. He sprang up. On his table was a purse; it contained ten guineas. By it was a paper, on which was written, “Take the advice of a friend, and go!”
It was not signed, and the handwriting was disguised. “He has been too cunning to give me the slightest proof of his villainy,” he said to himself.
“Go I must, I see it too clearly, but I will write to Mr Kyffin, and tell him all.”
He packed a few articles of dress into a bag which he could easily carry, and taking a stout stick in his hand, left his room. He knocked at Sleech’s door as he went by.
“Close the door after me, I am going out,” he said.
“Ah! you are wise,” answered a voice from within.
Harry withdrew the bars and bolts. He waited outside till he heard them replaced. Few people were in the streets at that early hour. He walked on rapidly westward. He might be in time to catch the coach, which started at an early hour from Piccadilly. It would have carried him by night for a considerable part of the journey. He might hire a horse for the following day, or proceed on foot. He ran rather than walked along the streets; there were no hackney coaches out at that hour, and he had his legs alone to depend on. The heavy coach was beginning to move just as he reached its place of departure. There was one seat vacant. He had just time to climb into it, when the vehicle commenced its rumbling, rolling progress to the south-west. The inside, which carried six people, was full. One person sat by the coachman on the box, and four others were perched up behind him. Harry’s seat was facing the guard, who was known by the large red coat, ornamented by yellow lace, and the huge blunderbuss which was slung by his side. Harry was not inclined for conversation. The guard eyed him narrowly for some time.
“You are all right,” he said at last. “It is necessary to be awake, when people come as you did without booking their names. We were robbed three days ago by a gentleman on a fine horse, and even I took him for a nobleman, till he cried, ‘Stand and deliver,’ and somehow or other my blunderbuss would not go off, and the passengers inside only screamed and cried, and those outside only roared and swore. However, if I thought you were up to any tricks, I would just shoot you through the head with my blunderbuss, as if you were a savage beast in Exeter Change.”
Harry thanked the guard for his kind intentions, and begged that he would keep his ammunition for another object. As the coach moved along, during the day, Harry could not help looking out in the expectation of seeing a horseman in pursuit, sent by his uncle to bring him back. Again and again he cursed his folly and his weakness, for having yielded to the temptations thrown in his way by Silas Sleech. As the evening closed in, the heavily laden vehicle reached the end of its journey. It was the same inn at which he had stopped more than once with his grandmother, and the landlord recognised him. He had, therefore, no difficulty in obtaining a horse, by which he might proceed at a more rapid rate to Lynderton. He desired to be called before daylight, that he might start with the first streaks of dawn. What object was to be gained by his going to Lynderton? There was one person there, who he knew would, at all events, believe him innocent. He wished to tell Mabel of the trouble into which he had been plunged; to confess his folly, and to entreat her, whatever she might hear, not to think too ill of him. He would release her from her engagement, for what right had he, a penniless outcast, with his character blasted, still to hope to unite himself to one so lovely and pure, and the heiress of a good fortune. His heart might break in the struggle. He should never cease to love her, but free she must be. Before noon next day he was galloping along a green glade in the New Forest. He saw before him a horseman mounted on a stout cob proceeding at a leisurely pace. He was about to dart past the stranger, when turning round he caught a glimpse of features which he remembered well. They were those of Captain Falwasser, or rather of Captain Rochard. Supposing that he was not recognised he was going to pass on, when the captain hailed him.
“Harry Tryon, my lad, where are you going so fast? Is it your usual custom thus to cut old friends?”
Harry pulled up; an idea struck him.
“No, indeed,” he answered, “but I am afraid my old friends will cut me. Captain Falwasser, I am an unfortunate man. I am in great difficulties; I need not tell you what they are. I ask you, will you let me join your vessel as one of the crew, if you still command her? I care not where I go, but I want to leave England. I should be ready to start with you to-morrow, or the next day at the very furthest.”
“You seem in a desperate hurry to take a plunge into something, Harry,” answered Captain Falwasser.
“I know the world better than you do, so let me advise you to reflect well before you leap off firm ground. I would not ask what has gone wrong with you, but I will wager you are not worse off than hundreds of other young men have been. Some who took leaps in the dark are bitterly repenting their folly. Those who paused before they jumped are happy and prosperous. Think of what I say, my dear boy. Then, again, I cannot promise to receive you on board the lugger. I command her occasionally, I confess. I have my reasons for doing so, though I am not the lawless person you suppose. Some day you may know more about me than you do now. In the meantime, come and stay at my cottage on the borders of the forest, unless you are going to visit your friends at Lynderton.”
“Thank you,” said Harry, “I accept your offer, for my plans are very uncertain. All I want to do is to keep in hiding for some time. If you are not afraid of housing me, I shall be more secure with you than with anybody else.”
“I am obliged to you for your confidence,” answered the captain, “and as I do not believe you have been guilty of a felony, I will gladly afford you an asylum as long as you choose to take advantage of it. When I am absent, my old housekeeper, Dame Tricot, will look after you.”
The captain’s cottage was a very humble one. It stood deep back in a recess of the forest, and was built of yellow clay dug from a neighbouring pit, and thickly thatched with straw. It was, however, whitewashed. In front was a neat porch, over which clematis had been taught to climb, while the interior was fitted up with considerable attention to comfort, though it had but two apartments. One served as the kitchen and Dame Tricot’s dormitory, the other as the owner’s parlour and bedroom. Harry would have guessed by the appearance of the room that the occupier was a gentleman. On one side was a table with a handsome writing-desk. On the other, an easel with drawing apparatus. On the walls were several good pictures, and in the bookcase a few well-bound volumes. There was a table in the centre, which was large enough to admit of two or three persons sitting round it, while the narrow truckle bed in one corner showed that though the owner possessed refined tastes, his habits were far from luxurious.
