Thereby Hangs a Tale Part 64

A fortnight pa.s.sed away.

It was a difficult matter to do--to make up his mind as to the future; but after a struggle, Richard arrived at something like the course he would pursue. He must live, and he felt that he had a right to his pay as an officer; so that would suffice for his modest wants.

Then, as to the old people. He wrote a quiet, calm letter to the old butler, saying that some time in the future he would come down and see them, or else ask them to join him. That he would do his duty by them, and see that they did not come to want; but at present the wound was too raw, and he felt that it would be better for all parties that they should not meet.

Another letter he despatched to Mr Mervyn, asking him once more to be a friend and guide to Humphrey; and, above all, to use his influence to prevent injury befalling Stephen and Martha Lloyd.

His next letter was a harder one to write, for it was to Valentina Rea.

It was a struggle, but he did it; for the man was now fully roused in spirit, and he told himself that if ever he was called upon to act as a man of honour it was now. He told her, then, that he never loved her more dearly than now; that he should always remember her words in the letter he treasured up, but that he felt it would be like blighting her young life to hold her to her promise. If, in the future, he could claim her, he would; but he knew that father--soon, perhaps, mother-- would be against it, for he could at present see no hope in his future career.

But all the same, he signed himself hers till death; sent his dear love to "little Fin;" and then, having posted his letters, he felt better, and went to seek out Frank Pratt.

"He won't turn out a fine weather friend, of that I'm sure," he said, as he went up, the staircase in the Temple, to be seized by both hands as soon as he entered, and have to submit to a couple of minutes' shaking.

"Why, d.i.c.k, old man, this does one good!" exclaimed Pratt. "Now, then, a steak and stout, or a chop and Ba.s.s, two pipes, and a grand debauch at night, eh?"

"What debauch?" said Richard, smiling.

"Front row of the pit, my boy. Absolute freedom; comfort of the stalls without having to dress. n.o.body waiting to seize your 'overcoat, sir.'

Good view of the stage; and, when the curtain's down, time and opportunity to pity the curled darlings of society, who stand, in melancholy row, with their backs to the orchestra, fiddling their crush hats, and staring up at the audience through eyegla.s.ses that blind."

"And meet Flick and Vanleigh."

"Who cares?" said Pratt, forcing his friend into a well-worn easy chair, and taking away hat and stick. "Isn't that a lovely chair, d.i.c.k? I've worked that chair into that shape--moulded it, sir, into the form of my figure, and worn off all its awkward corners. Pipe?--there you are.

'Bacco?--there you are. Whisky?--there you are. And there's a light.

Have a dressing-gown and slippers?"

"No, no--thanks," said d.i.c.k, laughing.

But his face twitched as, after filling and trying to light a pipe, he laid it hastily down, wrung Pratt's hand, and then started up and walked to the window, to stand gazing out at the dirty walls before him.

Before he had been there a moment, a friendly hand was laid upon his shoulder and Pratt got hold of his hand, standing behind him without a word, till he turned again and walked back to his seat.

"Don't mind me, Franky, I'm very sore yet."

"I know, I know," said Pratt, feelingly. "It's hard--cursed hard! I'd say d.a.m.ned hard, only as a straightforward man I object to swearing.

But where's your bag, portmanteau, luggage?"

"Oh, that's all right," said Richard, lighting his pipe, and smoking.

"What do you mean by all right? Where shall I send for them?"

"Send for them?"

"Send for them--yes. You've come to stay?"

"Yes, for an hour or two."

"d.i.c.k," cried Pratt, bringing his fist down upon the table with a bang, "if you are such a sneak as to go and stay anywhere else, I'll cut you."

"My dear Frank, don't be foolish, I've taken lodgings."

"Then give them up."

"Nonsense, man! But listen to me. You don't blame me for giving up?"

"I don't know, d.i.c.k--I don't know," said Pratt. "I've lain in bed ruminating again and again; and one time I say it's n.o.ble and manly, and the next time I call you a fool."

Richard laughed.

"You see, old fellow, I'm a lawyer. I've been educating myself with cases, and the consequence is that I think cases. Here, then, I say, is a man in possession of a great estate; somebody tells him what may be a c.o.c.k-and-bull tale--like a melodrama at the Vic, or a story in penny numbers--about a mysterious changeling and the rest of it, and he throws up at once."

"Yes," said Richard.

"Speaking still as a man fed upon cases I say, then, give me proofs-- papers, doc.u.ments, something I can tie up with red tape, make abstracts of, or set a solicitor to prepare a brief from. I'm afraid you've done wrong, d.i.c.k, I am indeed."

"No, you are not, Franky," said Richard, quietly. "Now speak as a man who has not been getting up cases--speak as the lad who was always ready to share his tips at school. No, no, Franky; the more I think of it, the more I feel convinced that I have behaved--as I cannot be a gentleman--like a man of honour."

"Gentleman--cannot be a gentleman!" said Pratt, puffing out his cheeks, and threatening his friend with one finger, as if he were in the witness-box. "What do you mean, sir? Now, be careful. Do you call Vanleigh a gentleman?"

"Oh yes," said Richard, smiling.

"Then I don't," said Pratt, sharply. "I saw the fellow yesterday, and he cut me dead."

"Indeed?"

"Yes, and no wonder. He was talking to a black-looking ruffian who bothers me."

"Bothers you?"

"Yes, I know I've seen him before, and I can't make out where."

"Was it at the steeplechase?" said Richard, quietly.

"You've hit it, d.i.c.k," cried Pratt. "That's the man. Why weren't you called to the bar? But I say, why did you name him? You know something--you've seen them together."

"I have."

"Um!" said Pratt, looking hard at his friend. "Then what does it mean?"

"Can't say," said Richard, quietly--"only that it don't concern us."

"I don't know that," said Pratt; "it may, and strongly. But tell me this, how long have you been in town?"

"A fortnight."

"A fortnight, and not been here!"