The House by the Churchyard, Page 27

  There it lay, with its white tombstones and its shadows spread under him, seeming to say—'Ay, here I am; the narrow goal of all your plans. Not one of the glimmering memorials you see that does not cover what once was a living world of long–headed schemes, chequered remembrances, and well–kept secrets. Here lie your brother plotters, all in bond, only some certain inches below; with their legs straight and their arms by their sides, as when grim Captain DEATH called the stern word "attention!" with their sightless faces and unthinking foreheads turned up to the moon. Dr. Sturk, there are lots of places for you to choose among—suit yourself—here—or here—or maybe here.'

  And so Sturk closed the window and remembered his dream, and looked out stealthily but sternly from the door, which was ajar, and shut it sharply, and with his hands in his breeches' pockets, took a quick turn to the window; his soul had got into harness again, and he was busy thinking. Then he snuffed the candle, and then quickened his invention by another brisk turn; and then he opened his desk, and sat down to write a note.

  'Yes,' said he to himself, pausing for a minute, with his pen in his fingers, ''tis as certain as that I sit here.'

  Well, he wrote the note. There was a kind of smile on his face, which was paler than usual all the while; and he read it over, and threw himself back in his chair, and then read it over again, and did not like it, and tore it up.

  Then he thought hard for a while, leaning upon his elbow; and took a couple of great pinches of snuff, and snuffed his candle again, and, as it were, snuffed his wits, and took up his pen with a little flourish, and dashed off another, and read it, and liked it, and gave it a little sidelong nod, as though he said, 'You’ll do;' and, indeed, considering all the time and thought he spent upon it, the composition was no great wonder, being, after all, no more than this:—

  'DEAR SIR,—Will you give me the honour of a meeting at my house this morning, as you pass through the town? I shall remain within till noon; and hope for some minutes' private discourse with you. 'Your most obedient, very humble servant, 'BARNABAS STURK.'

  Then he sealed it with a great red seal, large enough for a patent almost, impressed with the Sturk arms—a boar’s head for crest, and a flaunting scroll, with 'Dentem fulmineum cave' upon it. Then he peeped again from the window to see if the gray of the morning had come, for he had left his watch under his bolster, and longed for the time of action.

  Then up stairs went Sturk; and so, with the note, like a loaded pistol, over the chimney, he popped into bed, where he lay awake in agitating rumination, determined to believe that he had seen the last of those awful phantoms—those greasy bailiffs—that smooth, smirking, formidable attorney; and—curse him—that bilious marshal’s deputy, with the purplish, pimply tinge about the end of his nose and the tops of his cheeks, that beset his bed in a moving ring—this one pushing out a writ, and that rumpling open a parchment deed, and the other fumbling with his keys, and extending his open palm for the garnish. Avaunt. He had found out a charm to rout them all, and they sha’n’t now lay a finger on him—a short and sharp way to clear himself; and so I believe he had.

  CHAPTER XLV.

  CONCERNING A LITTLE REHEARSAL IN CAPTAIN CLUFFE’S, LODGING, AND A CERTAIN CONFIDENCE BETWEEN DR. STURK AND MR. DANGERFIELD.

  Mrs. Sturk, though very quiet, was an active little body, with a gentle, anxious face. She was up and about very early, and ran down to the King’s House, to ask Mrs. Colonel Stafford, who was very kind to her, and a patroness of Sturk’s, to execute a little commission for her in Dublin, as she understood she was going into town that day, and the doctor’s horse had gone lame, and was in the hands of the farrier. So the good lady undertook it, and offered a seat in her carriage to Dr. Sturk, should his business call him to town. The carriage would be at the door at half–past eleven.

  And as she trotted home—for her Barney’s breakfast–hour was drawing nigh—whom should she encounter upon the road, just outside the town, but their grim spectacled benefactor, Dangerfield, accompanied by, and talking in his usual short way to Nutter, the arch enemy, who, to say truth, looked confoundedly black and she heard the silver spectacles say, ''Tis, you understand, my own thoughts only I speak, Mr. Nutter.'

  The fright and the shock of seeing Nutter so near her, made her salutation a little awkward; and she had, besides, an instinctive consciousness that they were talking about the terrible affair of yesterday. Dangerfield, on meeting her, bid Nutter good–morning suddenly, and turned about with Mrs. Sturk, who had to slacken her pace a little, for the potent agent chose to walk rather slowly.

  'A fine morning after all the rain, Madam. How well the hills look,' and he pointed across the Liffey with his cane; 'and the view down the river,' and he turned about, pointing towards Inchicore.

  I believe he wanted to see how far Nutter was behind them. He was walking in the opposite direction, looking down on the kerb–stones of the footpath, and touching them with his cane, as if counting them as he proceeded. Dangerfield nodded, and his spectacles in the morning sun seemed to flash two sudden gleams of lightning after him.

  'I’ve been giving Nutter a bit of my mind, Madam, about that procedure of his. He’s very angry with me, but a great deal more so with your husband, who has my sympathies with him; and I think I’m safe in saying he’s likely soon to have an offer of employment under my Lord Castlemallard, if it suits him.

  And he walked on, and talked of other things in short sentences, and parted with Mrs. Sturk with a grim brief kindness at the door, and so walked with his wiry step away towards the Brass Castle, where his breakfast awaited him, and he disappeared round the corner of Martin’s Row.

  'And which way was he going when you met him and that—that Nutter?' demanded Sturk, who was talking in high excitement, and not being able to find an epithet worthy of Nutter, made it up by his emphasis and his scowl. She told him.

  'H’m! then, he can’t have got my note yet!'

  She looked at him in a way that plainly said, 'what note?' but Sturk said no more, and he had trained her to govern her curiosity.

  As Dangerfield passed Captain Cluffe’s lodgings, he heard the gay tinkle of a guitar, and an amorous duet, not altogether untunefully sung to that accompaniment; and he beheld little Lieutenant Puddock’s back, with a broad scarlet and gold ribbon across it, supporting the instrument on which he was industriously thrumming, at the window, while Cluffe, who was emitting a high note, with all the tenderness he could throw into his robust countenance, and one of those involuntary distortions which in amateurs will sometimes accompany a vocal effort, caught the eye of the cynical wayfarer, and stopped short with a disconcerted little cough and a shake of his chops, and a grim, rather red nod, and 'Good–morning, Mr. Dangerfield.' Puddock also saluted, still thrumming a low chord or two as he did so, for he was not ashamed, like his stout playmate, and saw nothing incongruous in their early minstrelsy.

  The fact is, these gallant officers were rehearsing a pretty little entertainment they designed for the ladies at Belmont. It was a serenade, in short, and they had been compelled to postpone it in consequence of the broken weather; and though both gentlemen were, of course, romantically devoted to their respective objects, yet there were no two officers in his Majesty’s service more bent upon making love with a due regard to health and comfort than our friends Cluffe and Puddock. Puddock, indeed, was disposed to conduct it in the true masquerading spirit, leaving the ladies to guess at the authors of that concord of sweet sounds with which the amorous air of night was to quiver round the walls and groves of Belmont; and Cluffe, externally acquiescing, had yet made up his mind, if a decent opportunity presented, to be detected and made prisoner, and that the honest troubadours should sup on a hot broil, and sip some of the absent general’s curious Madeira at the feet of their respective mistresses, with all the advantage which a situation so romantic and so private would offer.

  So 'tinkle, tinkle, twang, twang, THRUM!' went the industrious and accomplished Puddock’s guitar; a
nd the voices of the enamoured swains kept tolerable tune and time; and Puddock would say, 'Don’t you think, Captain Cluffe, 'twould perhapth go better if we weren’t to try that shake upon A. Do let’s try the last two barth without it;' and 'I’m thorry to trouble you, but jutht wonth more, if you pleathe—

  '"But hard ith the chathe my thad heart mutht purthue,

  While Daphne, thweet Daphne, thtill flieth from my view."'

  Puddock, indeed, had strict notions about rehearsing, and, on occasions like this, assumed managerial airs, and in a very courteous way took the absolute command of Captain Cluffe, who sang till he was purple, and his belts and braces cracked again, not venturing to mutiny, though he grumbled a little aside.

  So when Dangerfield passed Cluffe’s lodging again, returning on his way into Chapelizod, the songsters were at it still. And he smiled his pleasant smile once more, and nodded at poor old Cluffe, who this time was very seriously put out, and flushed up quite fiercely, and said, almost in a mutiny—

  'Hang it, Puddock, I believe you’d keep a fellow singing ballads over the street all day. Didn’t you see that cursed fellow, Dangerfield, sneering at us—curse him—I suppose he never heard a gentleman sing before; and, by Jove, Puddock, you know you do make a fellow go over the same thing so often it’s enough to make a dog laugh.'

  A minute after Dangerfield had mounted Sturk’s door–steps, and asked to see the doctor. He was ushered up stairs and into that back drawing–room which we know so well. Sturk rose as he entered.

  'Your most obedient, Mr. Dangerfield,' said the doctor, with an anxious bow.

  'Good–morning, Sir,' said Dangerfield. 'I’ve got your note, and am here in consequence; what can I do?'

  Sturk glanced at the door, to see it was shut, and then said—

  'Mr. Dangerfield, I’ve recollected a—something.'

  'You have? ho! Well, my good Sir?'

  'You, I know, were acquainted with—with Charles Archer?'

  Sturk looked for a moment on the spectacles, and then dropped his eyes.

  'Charles Archer,' answered Dangerfield promptly, 'yes, to be sure. But, Charles, you know, got into trouble, and 'tis not an acquaintance you or I can boast of; and, in fact, we must not mention him; and I have long ceased to know anything of him.'

  'But, I’ve just remembered his address; and there’s something about his private history which I very well know, and which gives me a claim upon his kind feeling, and he’s now in a position to do me a material service; and there’s no man living, Mr. Dangerfield, has so powerful an influence with him as yourself. Will you use it in my behalf, and attach me to you by lasting gratitude?'

  Sturk looked straight at Dangerfield; and Dangerfield looked at him, quizzically, perhaps a little ashamed, in return; after a short pause—

  'I will,' said Dangerfield, with a sprightly decision. 'But, you know, Charles is not a fellow to be trifled with—hey? and we must not mention his name—you understand—or hint where he lives, or anything about him, in short.'

  'That’s plain,' answered Sturk.

  'You’re going into town, Mrs. Sturk tells me, in Mrs. Strafford’s carriage. Well, when you return this evening, put down in writing what you think Charles can do for you, and I’ll take care he considers it.'

  'I thank you, Sir,' said Sturk, solemnly.

  'And hark ye, you’d better go about your business in town—do you see—just as usual; 'twill excite enquiry if you don’t; so you must in this and other things proceed exactly as I direct you,' said Dangerfield.

  'Exactly, Sir, depend on’t,' answered Sturk.

  'Good–day,' said Dangerfield.

  'Adieu,' said the doctor; and they shook hands, gravely.

  On the lobby Dangerfield encountered Mrs. Sturk, and had a few pleasant words with her, patting the bull–heads of the children, and went down stairs smiling and nodding; and Mrs. Sturk popped quietly into the study, and found her husband leaning on the chimney piece, and swabbing his face with his handkerchief—strangely pale—and looking, as the good lady afterwards said, for all the world as if he had seen a ghost.

  CHAPTER XLVI.

  THE CLOSET SCENE, WITH THE PART OF POLONIUS OMITTED.

  When Magnolia and the major had gone out, each on their several devices, poor Mrs. Macnamara called Biddy, their maid, and told her, in a vehement, wheezy, confidential whisper in her ear, though there was nobody by but themselves, and the door was shut.

  'Biddy, now mind—d’ye see—the lady that came to me in the end of July—do you remember?—in the black satin—you know?—she’ll be here to–day, and we’re going down together in her coach to Mrs. Nutter’s; but that does not signify. As soon as she comes, bring her in here, into this room—d’ye mind?—and go across that instant minute—d’ye see now?—straight to Dr. Toole, and ask him to send me the peppermint drops he promised me.'

  Then she cross–questioned Biddy, to ascertain that she perfectly understood and clearly remembered; and, finally, she promised her half–a–crown if she peformed this very simple commission to her mistress’s satisfaction and held her tongue religiously on the subject. She had apprised Toole the evening before, and now poor 'Mrs. Mack’s sufferings, she hoped, were about to be brought to a happy termination by the doctor’s ingenuity. She was, however, very nervous indeed, as the crisis approached; for such a beast as Mary Matchwell at bay was a spectacle to excite a little tremor even in a person of more nerve than fat Mrs. Macnamara.

  And what could Mary Matchwell want of a conjuring conference, of all persons in the world, with poor little Mrs. Nutter? Mrs. Mack had done in this respect simply as she was bid. She had indeed no difficulty to persuade Mrs. Nutter to grant the interview. That harmless little giggling creature could not resist the mere mention of a fortune–teller. Only for Nutter, who set his face against this sort of sham witchcraft, she would certainly have asked him to treat her with a glimpse into futurity at that famous–sibyl’s house; and now that she had an opportunity of having the enchantress tête–à–tête in her own snug parlour at the Mills, she was in a delightful fuss of mystery and delight.

  Mrs. Mack, indeed, from her own sad experience, felt a misgiving and a pang in introducing the formidable prophetess. But what could she do? She dared not refuse; all she could risk was an anxious hint to poor little Mrs. Nutter, 'not to be telling her anything, good, bad, or indifferent, but just to ask her what questions she liked, and no more.' Indeed, poor Mrs. Mack was low and feverish about this assignation, and would have been more so but for the hope that her Polonius, behind the arras, would bring the woman of Endor to her knees.

  All on a sudden she heard the rumble and jingle of a hackney coach, and the clang of the horses' hoofs pulled up close under her window; her heart bounded and fluttered up to her mouth, and then dropped down like a lump of lead, and she heard a well–known voice talk a few sentences to the coachman, and then in the hall, as she supposed, to Biddy; and so she came into the room, dressed as usual in black, tall, thin, and erect, with a black hood shading her pale face and the mist and chill of night seemed to enter along with her.

  It was a great relief to poor Mrs. Mack, that she actually saw Biddy at that moment run across the street toward Toole’s hall–door, and she quickly averted her conscious glance from the light–heeled handmaid.

  'Pray take a chair, Ma’am,' said Mrs. Mack, with a pallid face and a low courtesy.

  Mistress Matchwell made a faint courtesy in return, and, without saying anything, sat down, and peered sharply round the room.

  'I’m glad, Ma’am, you had no dust to–day; the rain, Ma’am, laid it beautiful.'

  The grim woman in black threw back her hood a little, and showed her pale face and thin lips, and prominent black eyes, altogether a grisly and intimidating countenance, with something wild and suspicious in it, suiting by no means ill with her supernatural and malign pretensions.

  Mrs. Mack’s ear was strained to catch the sound of Toole’s approach, and a pause ensued, during whi
ch she got up and poured out a glass of port for the lady, and she presented it to her deferentially. She took it with a nod, and sipped it, thinking, as it seemed, uneasily. There was plainly something more than usual upon her mind. Mrs. Mack thought—indeed, she was quite sure—she heard a little fussing about the bed–room door, and concluded that the doctor was getting under cover.

  When Mrs. Matchwell had set her empty glass upon the table, she glided to the window, and Mrs. Mack’s guilty conscience smote her, as she saw her look towards Toole’s house. It was only, however, for the coach; and having satisfied herself it was at hand, she said—

  'We’ll have some minutes quite private, if you please—'tisn’t my affair, you know, but yours,' said the weird woman.

  There had been ample time for the arrangement of Toole’s ambuscade. Now was the moment. The crisis was upon her. But poor Mrs. Mack, just as she was about to say her little say about the front windows and opposite neighbours, and the privacy of the back bed–room, and to propose their retiring thither, felt a sinking of the heart—a deadly faintness, and an instinctive conviction that she was altogether overmatched, and that she could not hope to play successfully any sort of devil’s game with that all–seeing sorceress. She had always thought she was a plucky woman till she met Mistress Mary. Before her her spirit died within her—her blood flowed hurriedly back to her heart, leaving her body cold, pale, and damp, and her soul quailing under her gaze.

  She cleared her voice twice, and faltered an enquiry, but broke down in panic; and at that moment Biddy popped in her head—

  'The doctor, Ma’am, was sent for to Lucan, an' he won’t be back till six o’clock, an' he left no peppermint drops for you, Ma’am, an' do you want me, if you plase, Ma’am?'

  'Go down, Biddy, that’ll do,' said Mrs. Mack, growing first pale, and then very red.

  Mary Matchwell scented death afar off; for her the air was always tainted with ominous perfumes. Every unusual look or dubious word thrilled her with a sense of danger. Suspicion is the baleful instinct of self–preservation with which the devil gifts his children; and hers never slept.