Le Fanu Joseph Sheridan
Checkmate
CHAPTER XLI
VAN APPOINTS HIMSELF TO A DIPLOMATIC POST
Mr. Vandeleur had availed himself very freely of Richard Arden's invitation, to amuse himself during his absence with his cheroots and manillas, as the clouded state of the atmosphere of his drawing-room testified to that luckless gentleman – if indeed he was in a condition to observe anything, on returning from his dreadful interview with his uncle.
Richard's countenance was full of thunder and disaster. Vandeleur looked in his face, with his cigar in his fingers, and said in a faint and hollow tone —
“Well?”
To which inappropriate form of inquiry, Richard Arden deigned no reply; but in silence stalked to the box of cigars on the table, threw himself into a chair, and smoked violently for awhile.
Some minutes passed. Vandeleur's eyes were fixed, through the smoke, on Richard's, who had fixed his on the chimney-piece. Van respected his ruminations. With a delicate and noiseless attention, indeed, he ventured to slide gently to his side the water carafe, and the brandy, and a tumbler.
Still silence prevailed. After a time, Richard Arden poured brandy and water suddenly into his glass.
“Think of that fellow, that uncle of mine – pretty uncle! Kind relation – rolling in money! He sends for me simply to tell me that he won't give me a guinea. He might have waited till he was asked. If he had nothing better to say, he need not have given me the trouble of going to his odious, bleak study, to hear all his vulgar advice and arithmetic, ending in – what do you think? He says that I'm to be had up in the bankrupt court, and when all that is over he'll get me appointed a ticket-taker on a railway, or a clerk in a pawn-office, or something. By Heaven! when I think of it, I wonder how I kept my temper. I'm not quite driven to those curious expedients, that he seems to think so natural. I've some cards still left in my hand, and I'll play them first, if it is the same to him; and, hang it! my luck can't always run the same way. I'll give it another chance before I give up, and to-morrow morning things may be very different with me.”
“It's an awful pity you quarrelled with Longcluse!” exclaimed Vandeleur.
“That's done, and can't be undone,” said Richard Arden, resuming his cigar.
“I wonder why you quarrelled with him. Why, good heavens! that man is made of money, and he got you safe out of that fellow's clutches – I forget his name – about that bet with Mr. Slanter, don't you remember – and he was so very kind about it; and I'm sure he'd shake hands if you'd only ask him, and one way or another he'd pull you through.”
“I can't ask him, and I won't; he may ask me if he likes. I'm very sure there is nothing he would like better, for fifty reasons, than to be on good terms with me again, and I have no wish to quarrel any more than he has. But if there is to be a reconciliation, I can't begin it. He must make the overtures, and that's all.”
“He seemed such an awfully jolly fellow that time. And it is such a frightful state we are both in. I never came such a mucker before in my life. I know him pretty well. I met him at Lady May Penrose's, and at the Playfairs', and one night I walked home with him from the opera. It is an awful pity you are not on terms with him, and – by Jove! I must go and have something to eat; it is near eight o'clock.”
Away went Van, and out of the wreck of his fortune contrived a modest dinner at Verey's; and pondering, after dinner, upon the awful plight of himself and his comrade, he came at last to the heroic resolution of braving the dangers of a visit to Mr. Longcluse, on behalf of his friend; and as it was now past nine, he hastily paid the waiter, took his hat, and set out upon his adventure. It was a mere chance, he knew, and a very unlikely one, his finding Mr. Longcluse at home at that hour. He knew that he was doing a very odd thing in calling at past nine o'clock; but the occasion was anomalous, and Mr. Longcluse would understand. He knocked at the door, and learned from the servant that his master was engaged with a gentleman in the study, on business. From this room he heard a voice, faintly discoursing in a deep metallic drawl.
“Who shall I say, Sir?” asked the servant.
If his mission had been less monotonous, and he less excited and sanguine as to his diplomatic success, he would have, as he said, “funked it altogether,” and gone away. He hesitated for a moment, and determined upon the form most likely to procure an interview.
“Say Mr. Vandeleur – a friend of Mr. Richard Arden's; you'll remember, please – a friend of Mr. Richard Arden's.”
In a moment the man returned.
“Will you please to walk up-stairs?” and he showed him into the drawing-room.
In little more than a minute, Mr. Longcluse himself entered. His eyes were fixed on the visitor with a rather stern curiosity. Perhaps he had interpreted the term “friend” a little too technically. He made him a ceremonious bow, in French fashion, and placed a chair for him.
“I had the pleasure of being introduced to you, Mr. Longcluse, at Lady May Penrose's. My name is Vandeleur.”
“I have had that honour, Mr. Vandeleur, I remember perfectly. The servant mentioned that you announced yourself as Mr. Arden's friend, if I don't mistake.”
CHAPTER XLII
DIPLOMACY
Mr. Vandeleur and Mr. Longcluse were now seated, and the former gentleman said —
“Yes, I am a friend of Mr. Arden's – so much so, that I have ventured what I hope you won't think a very impertinent liberty. I was so very sorry to hear that a misunderstanding had occurred – I did not ask him about what – and he has been so unlucky about the Derby, you know – I ought to say that I am, upon my honour, a mere volunteer, so perhaps you will think I have no right to ask you to listen to me.”
“I shall be happy to continue this conversation, Mr. Vandeleur, upon one condition.”
“Pray name it.”
“That you report it fully to the gentleman for whom you are so kind as to interest yourself.”
“Yes, I'll certainly do that.”
Mr. Longcluse looked by no means so jolly as Van remembered him, and he thought he detected, at mention of Richard Arden's name, for a moment, a look of positive malevolence – I can't say absolutely, it may have been fancy – as he turned quickly, and the light played suddenly on his face.
Mr. Longcluse could, perhaps, dissemble as well as other men; but there were cases in which he would not be at the trouble to dissemble. And here his expression was so unpleasant, upon features so strangely marked and so white, that Van thought the effect ugly, and even ghastly.
“I shall be happy, then, to hear anything you have to say,” said Longcluse gently.
“You are very kind. I was just going to say that he has been so unlucky – he has lost so much money – ”
“I had better say, I think, at once, Mr. Vandeleur, that nothing shall tempt me to take any part in Mr. Arden's affairs.”
Van's mild blue eyes looked on him wonderingly.
“You could be of so much use, Mr. Longcluse!”
“I don't desire to be of any.”
“But – but that may be, I think it must, in consequence of the unhappy estrangement.”
He had been conning over phrases on his way, and thought that a pretty one.
“A very happy estrangement, on the contrary, for the man who is straight and true, and who is by it relieved of a great – mistake.”
“I should be so extremely happy,” said Van lingeringly, “if I were instrumental in inducing both parties to shake hands.”
“I don't desire it.”
“But, surely, if Richard Arden were the first to offer – ”
“I should decline.”
Van rose; he fiddled with his hat a little; he hesitated. He had staked too much on this – for had he not promised to report the whole thing to Richard Arden, who was not likely to be pleased? – to give up without one last effort.
“I hope I am not very impertinent,” he said, “but I can hardly think, Mr. Longcluse, that you are quite indifferent to a reconciliation.”
“I'm not indifferent – I'm averse to it.”
“I don't understand.”
“Will you take some tea?”
“No, thanks; I do so hope that I don't quite understand.”
“That's hardly my fault; I have spoken very distinctly.”
“Then what you wish to convey is – ” said Van, with his hand now at the door.
“Is this,” said Longcluse, “that I decline Mr. Arden's acquaintance, that I won't consider his affairs, and that I peremptorily refuse to be of the slightest use to him in his difficulties. I hope I am now sufficiently distinct.”
“Oh, perfectly – I – ”
“Pray take some tea.”
“And my visit is a failure. I'm awfully sorry I can't be of any use!”
“None here, Sir, to Mr. Arden – none, no more than I.”
“Then I have only to beg of you to accept my apologies for having given you a great deal of trouble, and to beg pardon for having disturbed you, and to say good-night.”
“No trouble – none. I am glad everything is clear now. Good-night.”
And Mr. Longcluse saw him politely to the door, and said again, in a clear, stern tone, but with a smile and another bow, “Good-night,” as he parted at the door.
About an hour later a servant arrived with a letter for Mr. Longcluse. That gentleman recognised the hand, and suspended his business to read it. He did so with a smile. It was thus expressed: —
“Sir,
“I beg to inform you, in the distinctest terms, that neither Mr. Vandeleur, nor any other gentleman, had any authority from me to enter into any discussion with you, or to make the slightest allusion to subjects upon which Mr. Vandeleur, at your desire, tells me he, this evening, thought fit to converse with you. And I beg, in the most pointed manner, to disavow all connection with, or previous knowledge of, that gentleman's visit and conversation. And I do so lest Mr. Vandeleur's assertion to the same effect should appear imperfect without mine. – I remain, Sir, your obedient servant,
“Richard Arden.
“To Walter Longcluse, Esq.”
“Does any one wait for an answer?” he asked, still smiling.
“Yes, Sir: Mr. Thompson, please, Sir.”
“Very well; ask him to wait a moment,” said he, and he wrote as follows: —
“Mr. Longcluse takes the liberty of returning Mr. Arden's letter, and begs to decline any correspondence with him.”
And this note, with Richard Arden's letter, he enclosed in an envelope, and addressed to that gentleman.
While this correspondence, by no means friendly, was proceeding, other letters were interesting, very profoundly, other persons in this drama.
Old David Arden had returned early from a ponderous dinner of the magnates of that world which interested him more than the world of fashion, or even of politics, and he was sitting in his study at half-past ten, about a quarter of a mile westward of Mr. Longcluse's house in Bolton Street.
Not many letters had come for him by the late post. There were two which he chose to read forthwith. The rest would, in Swift's phrase, keep cool, and he could read them before his breakfast in the morning. The first was a note posted at Islington. He knew his niece's pretty hand. This was an “advice” from Mortlake. The second which he picked up from the little pack was a foreign letter, of more than usual bulk.
CHAPTER XLIII
A LETTER AND A SUMMONS
Paris? Yes, he knew the hand well. His face darkened a little with a peculiar anxiety. This he will read first. He draws the candles all together, near the corner of the table at which he sits. He can't have too much light on these formal lines, legible and tall as the letters are. He opens the thin envelope, and reads what follows: —
“Dear and Honoured Sir,
“I am in receipt of yours of the 13th instant. You judge me rightly in supposing that I have entered on my mission with a willing mind, and no thought of sparing myself. On the 11th instant I presented the letter you were so good as to provide me with to M. de la Perriere. He received me with much consideration in consequence. You have not been misinformed with regard to his position. His influence is, and so long as the present Cabinet remain in power will continue to be, more than sufficient to procure for me the information and opportunities you so much desire. He explained to me very fully the limits of that assistance which official people here have it in their power to afford. Their prerogative is more extensive than with us, but at the same time it has its points of circumscription. Every private citizen has his well-defined rights, which they can in no case invade. He says that had I come armed with affidavits criminating any individual, or even justifying a strong and distinct suspicion, their powers would be much larger. As it is, he cautions me against taking any steps that might alarm Vanboeren. The baron is a suspicious man, it seems, and has, moreover, once or twice been under official surveillance, which has made him crafty. He is not likely to be caught napping. He ostensibly practises the professions of a surgeon and dentist. In the latter capacity he has a very considerable business. But his principal income is derived, I am informed, from sources of a different kind.”
“H'm! what can he mean? I suppose he explains a little further on,” mused Mr. Arden.
“He is, in short, a practitioner about whom suspicions of an infamous kind have prevailed. One branch of his business, a rather strange one, has connected him with persons, more considerable in number than you would readily believe, who were, or are, political refugees.”
“Can this noble baron be a distiller of poisons?” David Arden ruminated.
“In all his other equivocal doings, he found, on the few occasions that seemed to threaten danger, mysterious protectors, sufficiently powerful to bring him off scot-free. His relations of a political character were those which chiefly brought him under the secret notice of the police. It is believed that he has amassed a fortune, and it is certain that he is about to retire from business. I can much better explain to you, when I see you, the remarkable circumstances to which I have but alluded. I hope to be in town again, and to have the honour of waiting upon you, on Thursday, the 29th instant.”
“Ay, that's the day he named at parting. What a punctual fellow that is!”
“They appear to me to have a very distinct bearing upon some possible views of the case in which you are so justly interested. The Baron Vanboeren is reputed very wealthy, but he is by no means liberal in his dealings, and is said to be insatiably avaricious. This last quality may make him practicable – ”
“Yes, so it may,” acquiesced Uncle David.
“so that disclosures of importance may be obtained, if he be approached in the proper manner. Lebas was connected, as a mechanic, with the dentistry department of his business. Mr. L – has been extremely kind to Lebas' widow and children, and has settled a small annuity upon her, and fifteen hundred francs each upon his children.”
“Eh? Upon my life, that is very handsome – extremely handsome. It gives me rather new ideas of this man – that is, if there's nothing odd in it,” said Mr. Arden.
“The deed by which he has done all this is, in its reciting part, an eccentric one. I waited, as I advised you in mine of the 12th, upon M. Arnaud, who is the legal man employed by Madame Lebas, for the purpose of handing him the ten napoleons which you were so good as to transmit for the use of his family; which sum he has, with many thanks on the part of Madame Lebas, declined, and which, therefore, I hold still to your credit. When explaining to me that lady's reasons for declining your remittance, he requested me to read a deed of gift from Mr. Longcluse, making the provisions I have before referred to, and reciting, as nearly in these words as I can remember: – ‘Whereas I entertained for the deceased Pierre Lebas, in whose house in Paris I lodged when very young, for more than a year and a half, a very great respect and regard: and whereas I hold myself to have been the innocent cause of his having gone to the room, as appears from my evidence, in which, unhappily, he lost his life: and whereas I look upon it as a disgrace to our City of London that such a crime could have been committed in a place of public resort, frequented as that was at the time, without either interruption or detection; and whereas, so regarding it, I think that such citizens as could well afford to subscribe money, adequately to compensate the family of the deceased for the pecuniary loss which both his widow and children have sustained by reason of his death, were bound to do so; his visit to London having been strictly a commercial one; and all persons connected with the trade of London being more or less interested in the safety of the commercial intercourse between the two countries: and whereas the citizens of London have failed, although applied to for the purpose, to make any such compensation; now this deed witnesseth,’ etc.”
“Well, in all that, I certainly go with him. We Londoners ought to be ashamed of ourselves.”
“The widow has taken her children to Avranches, her native place, where she means to live. Please direct me whether I shall proceed thither, and also upon what particular points you would wish me to interrogate her. I have learned, this moment, that the Baron Vanboeren retires in October next. It is thought that he will fix his residence after that at Berlin. My informant undertakes to advise me of his address, whenever it is absolutely settled. In approaching this baron, it is thought you will have to exercise caution and dexterity, as he has the reputation of being cunning and unscrupulous.”
“I'm not good at dealing with such people – I never was. I must engage some long-headed fellow who understands them,” said he.
“I debit myself with two thousand five hundred francs, the amount of your remittance on the 15th inst., for which I will account at sight. – I remain, dear and honoured Sir, your attached and most obedient servant,
“Christopher Blount.”
“I shall learn all he knows in a few days. What is it that deprives me of quiet till a clue be found to the discovery of Yelland Mace? And why is it that the fancy has seized me that Mr. Longcluse knows where that villain may be found? He admitted, in talking to Alice, she says, that he had seen him in his young days. I will pick up all the facts, and then consider well all that they may point to. Let us but get the letters together, and in time we may find out what they spell. Here am I, a rich but sad old bachelor, having missed for ever the best hope of my life. Poor Harry long dead, and but one branch of the old tree with fruit upon it – Reginald, with his two children: Richard, my nephew – Richard Arden, in a few years the sole representative of the whole family of Arden, and he such a scamp and fool! If a childless old fellow could care for such things, it would be enough to break my heart. And poor little Alice! So affectionate and so beautiful, left, as she will be, alone, with such a protector as that fellow! I pity her.”
At that moment her unopened note caught his eye, as it lay on the table. He opened it, and read these words: —
“My dearest Uncle David,
“I am so miserable and perplexed, and so utterly without any one to befriend or advise me in my present unexpected trouble, that I must implore of you to come to Mortlake, if you can, the moment this note reaches you. I know how unreasonable and selfish this urgent request will appear. But when I shall have told you all that has happened, you will say, I know, that I could not have avoided imploring your aid. Therefore, I entreat, distracted creature as I am, that you, my beloved uncle, will come to aid and counsel me; and believe me when I assure you that I am in extreme distress, and without, at this moment, any other friend to help me. – Your very unhappy niece,
“Alice.”
He read this short note over again.
“No; it is not a sick lap-dog, or a saucy maid: there is some real trouble. Alice has, I think, more sense – I'll go at once. Reginald is always late, and I shall find them” (he looked at his watch) – “yes, I shall find them still up at Mortlake.”
So instantly he sent for a cab, and pulled on again a pair of boots, instead of the slippers he had donned, and before five minutes was driving at a rapid pace towards Mortlake.
