The Daltons; Or, Three Roads In Life. Volume I

“Yes, yes; I know it all; I have heard all about that. But his health tell me of his health.”

“Greatly broken, sir. No sleep o’ nights without opium, and no real rest even with that.”

“And his spirits?”

“Broken too, sir. He’s not what you remember him, sir, nor anything like it. No pleasant joke, sir, when anything goes amiss, as it used to be; no turning it off with a merry laugh! He ‘s fretful and impatient about the merest trifles, and he that never wanted attendance is now always complaining that he ‘s neglected, and deserted and forsaken by all the world.”

“Does the Captain come often to see and sit with him?”

“Every day, sir; but these visits do rather harm than good. Sir Stafford is vexed at what goes on in the house; and Master George, I don’t know how it is, but he don’t calm him down, and they have oftentimes angry words together; not but my master is frequently in the wrong, and taxes the young gentleman with what he can’t help; for you see, sir, my Lady – ”

“D – n! I mean, tell me about Sir Stafford; it is of him I want to hear. Does he read?”

“He makes me read to him every day, sir, all about the money-market and railroad shares; sometimes twice over, indeed; and when I ask if he would n’t like to hear about what goes on in politics, he always says, ‘No, Proctor, let’s have the City article again.’”

“And his letters does n’t he read them?”

“The Captain reads them for him, sir; and now and then writes the answers, for he can’t hold a pen himself! Oh, you ‘ll not know him when you see him! He that was so large and fine a man, I lift him in and out of bed as if he were a baby.”

“Has he no acquaintance here?”

“None, sir.”

“Are there no inquiries after his health?”

“Yes, sir; there’s plenty of people he used to give money to when he was up and about poor actors, and painters, and the like they come every day to know how he is. Some of them leave begging letters, which I never give him; but most go away without a word.”

“And his countrymen here are there none who ask after him?”

“No, sir. The only English we ever see visit my Lady, and never come to this side of the house at all.”

“Does Miss Dalton come to inquire for him?”

“Every morning and every night too, sir. I suppose it must be without my Lady’s orders, or even knowledge; for once, when Sir Stafford was sitting up in his dressing-room, and I asked her if she would n’t like to come in and sit a few minutes with him, she turned away without speaking; and I saw, from her manner, that she was crying.”

“What are all these people outside, who are they?”

“My Lady’s tradespeople, sir. They’ve heard she’s going for a few weeks to Como, and they ‘ve come with all their bills, as if she was a runaway.”

“Go and tell them to leave this, send them away, Proctor. It would do your master great injury were he to overhear them. Say that everything shall be paid in a day or two; that Sir Stafford remains here, and is responsible for all.”

Proctor hastened out on his errand, and the doctor sat down and covered his face with his hands.

“Poor Stafford! is all your trustful affection come to this? Is it thus that your unbounded generosity, your noble hospitality, are requited?”

When Proctor returned, he proceeded to detail, for the doctor’s information, the various events which had occurred during his absence. With most, Grounsell was already acquainted, and listened to the particulars without surprise or emotion.

“So it is, so it is,” muttered he to himself; “there may be more cant of virtue, a greater share of hypocrisy in our English morals, but, assuredly, these things do not happen with us as we see them here. There would seem a something enervating in the very air of the land, that a man like him should have sunk down into this besotted apathy! When can I see him, Proctor?”

“He ‘s dozing just now, sir; but about midnight he wakes up and asks for his draught. If that won’t be too late for you – ”

“Too late for me! Why, what else have I travelled for, night and day, without intermission? Be cautious, however, about how you announce me. Perhaps it would be better I should see the Captain first.”

“You ‘ll scarcely find him at home, sir, at this hour; he generally comes in between three and four.”

“Show me to his room. I ‘ll write a few lines for him in case we don’t meet.”

Proctor accompanied the doctor across the courtyard, and, guiding him up a small stair, reached the terrace off which George Onslow’s apartment opened. The window-shutters of the room were not closed, nor the curtains drawn; and in the bright light of several candles that shone within, Grounsell saw two figures seated at a table, and busily engaged in examining the details of a case of pistols which lay before them.

“That will do, Proctor,” said Grounsell; “you may leave me now. I’ll be with you at twelve.” And thus saying, he gently pushed him towards the door of the terrace, which he closed and bolted after him, and then noiselessly returned to his former place.

There were few things less congenial to Grounsell’s nature than playing the spy. It was a part he thoroughly detested, nor did he think that it admitted of defence or palliation; still, the whole habit of his mind through life had impressed him with a disparaging opinion of himself. The limited sphere of his duties, the humble routine of his daily walk, and the very few friendships he had inspired, all tended to increase this impression, till at last he looked upon himself as one who could only be useful by the sacrifice of personal feeling and the abnegation of all self-esteem; and thus he would have declined to know another man for what he deemed of no consequence in himself. His fault was not thinking too well of others, but thinking too meanly of himself.

The scene before him now was enough to suggest deep anxiety. Notes and letters littered the floor and the table; the embers of a large fire of papers lay on the hearth; open drawers and boxes stood on every side; all betokening preparation, the object of which the pistol-case sufficiently indicated. As they sat with their backs to the window, Grounsell could not recognize the figures; but the voice of one proclaimed him to be George Onslow.

“And where is this place on the way to Arezzo?” asked he.

“No; on the opposite side of the city, off the high-road to Bologna. It is a little park, surrounding a summer palace of the Grand Duke, they call Pratolino,” said the other. “They all agree that it is the best spot to be found; no molestation, nor interference of any kind; and a capital breakfast of fresh trout to be had at the inn.”

“An interesting consideration for such as have good appetites,” said Onslow, laughing.

“I never saw a Frenchman who had not, on such an occasion,” rejoined the other, snapping the pistol as he spoke. “I like these straight stocks; you are almost always certain of your man, with a stiff arm and a low aim.”

“I don’t know that I ‘ve forgotten anything, Norwood,” said Onslow, rising and pacing the room with folded arms.

“You ‘ve written to the governor?”

“Yes; and mentioned those acceptances,” said Onslow, with a sneering severity that the other never seemed to notice. “You’re quite safe, whatever happens.”

“Hang it, man, I wasn’t thinking of that; curse the money, it never entered my thoughts.”

“My father will pay it,” said George, dryly, and continued his walk.

“As you have alluded to it, I hope you spoke of it as a loan, anything like a play transaction suggests a mess of scandal and stories.”

“I have called it a debt, and that is quite sufficient.”

“All right whatever you like. And now about this girl. Do you intend to let this mystery continue, or do you think that, under the circumstances, Lady Hester should still retain her as a friend and companion?”

“I know of nothing to her disparagement, nor have I yet met one who does. That there are circumstances which she does not deem fitting to entrust to my keeping is no just cause of allegation against her.”

“You are very honorable to say so, George; but I must confess it is more than she deserves at your hands.”

“How do you mean?”

“That she means to take the Russian, that’s all.”

“Well, and why not? Would not such a match be a brilliant one for a girl of much higher rank and pretension?”