The Tenants of Malory. Volume 2

"Oh!"

"Yes, in the north of France, somewhere near Caen," said Tom Sedley.

"I wonder you let him get so near England. It seems rather perilous, doesn't it?"

"So one would think, but there he is. Tom Blackmore, of the Guards – you know him?"

"No, I don't."

"Well he saw old Fanshawe there. He happened to be on leave."

"Old Fanshawe?"

"No, Tom Blackmore. He likes poking into out-of-the-way places."

"I dare say."

"He has such a turn for the picturesque and all that, and draws very nicely."

"The long bow, I dare say."

"Well, no matter, he was there – old Fanshawe I mean – Blackmore saw him. He knows his appearance perfectly – used to hunt with his hounds, and that kind of thing, and often talked to him, so he could not be mistaken – and there he was as large as life."

"Well?"

"He did not know Tom a bit, and Tom asked no questions – in fact, he did not care to know where the poor old fellow hides himself – he preferred not – but Madame something or other – I forget her name – gave him a history, about as true as Jack the Giant-Killer, of the eccentric English gentleman, and told him that he had taken a great old house, and had his family there, and a most beautiful young wife, and was as jealous as fifty devils; so you see Margaret must have been there. Of course that was she," said Tom.

"And you said so to your friend Blackmore?" suggested Cleve Verney.

"Yes," said Tom.

"It seems to me you want to have him caught."

"Well, I did not think – I hope not – and I did not know you took any interest in him," said Sedley, quite innocently.

"Interest! I– me! Interest, indeed! Why the devil should I take an interest in Sir Booth Fanshawe? Why you seem to forget all the trouble and annoyance he has cost me. Interest, indeed! Quite the contrary. Only, I think, one would not like to get any poor devil into worse trouble than he's in, for no object, or to be supposed to be collecting information about him."

"No one could suppose anything like that of me," said Tom Sedley.

"I beg your pardon; they can suppose anything of anybody," answered Cleve, and, seeing that Tom looked offended, he added, "and the more absurd and impossible, the more likely. I wish you heard the things that have been said of me– enough to make your hair stand on end, by Jove!"

"Oh! I dare say."

They were now turning into the street where Cleve had taken lodgings.

"I could not stand those fellows any longer. My uncle has filled the house with them – varnish and paint and that stifling plaster – so I've put up here for a little time."

"I like these streets. I'm not very far away from you here," said Tom. "And talking of that affair at Caen, you know, he said, by Jove he did, that he saw you there."

"Who said?"

"Tom Blackmore of the Guards."

"Then Tom Blackmore of the Guards lies– that's all. I never saw him – I never spoke to him – I don't know him; and how should he know me? And if he did, I wasn't there; and if I had been, what the devil was it to him? So besides telling lies, he tells impertinent lies, and he ought to be kicked."

"Well, of course as you say so, he must have made a mistake; but Caen is as open to you as to him, and there's no harm in the place; and he knows you by appearance."

"He knows everybody by appearance, it seems, and nobody knows him; and, by Jove, he describes more like a bailiff than a Guardsman."

"He's a thorough gentleman in every idea. Tom Blackmore is as nice a little fellow as there is in the world," battled Tom Sedley for his friend.

"Well, I wish you'd persuade that faultless gentleman to let me and my concerns alone. I have a reason in this case; and I don't mind if I tell you I was at Caen, and I suppose he did see me. But there was no romance in the matter, except the romance of the Stock Exchange and a Jew; and I wish, Tom, you'd just consider me as much as you do the old baronet, for my own sake, that is, for I'm pretty well dipped too, and don't want everyone to know when or where I go in quest of my Jews. I was– not very far from that about four months ago; and if you go about telling everyone, by Jove my uncle will guess what brought me there, and old fellows don't like post-obits on their own lives."

"My dear Cleve, I had not a notion – "

"Well, all you can do for me now, having spread the report, is to say that I wasn't there – I'm serious. Here we are."

END OF VOL. II