Читать книгу Bram Stoker: The Complete Novels - Bram Stoker, Bram Stoker - Страница 47

When Esse found that there was a possibility of her again seeing Dick she began to become reconciled to the existing condition of things. It was true that as yet she had only a glimmer of hope, for Peter Blyth had not been explicit as to his intentions. In the first place he might not be able to find Dick, for his journey to New York, and possibly to Europe, might eventuate in complications which would forbid his returning to California at all; in any event for a long time. Then again, Dick might not see his way to come to live in cities, and Esse had already begun to appreciate the refinements of life sufficiently well to make it impossible for her to even contemplate an isolated life in the woods or on the mountains. Picnicing, and especially in a honeymoon form, might be delightful, fascinating, of unspeakable joy; but such life, without relief, would never suit her as an unvarying constancy. From the glimpses which she had had into Dick’s shanty she knew well enough that the measure of his refinement would not reach her own minimum standard, and she had doubts from her experience of his improvement in small matters if he would readily lend himself — if he could lend himself, even if he so desired — to a loftier social condition. These were certainly arguments which tended to damp the zeal begotten of absence, and the stimulating effect of pleasant memory working upon a morbid but fervid imagination. When in the anaemic condition Esse’s imagination was apt to run away with her, though when her system was well furnished with red blood her fancies and desires were healthy and under control. Now that the strain of her self-imposed secrecy had been relieved, her health began to mend, and the improvement was manifest in the ready manner in which she yielded herself to her surroundings, and began to make the most of them; thus mental and physical health began to act and react on each other, and Mrs. Elstree’s heart rejoiced as she saw the improvement in her daughter. Soon Esse began to show something of the same robustness which she had achieved on Shasta. Her chalky pallor yielded to a delicate rose colour which, tingeing her brown skin, made a charming union of health and refinement. Her figure began to fill out, and within a few weeks from the time of Peter Blyth’s departure she looked quite a different being from the pallid, meagre, green-sick girl whom he had left. Peter had telegraphed from New York that he had to go to London, but that he looked to return in about two months. He had said nothing of Dick, thinking it wiser to be silent until he knew for certain whether he would turn up in San Francisco. Mrs. Elstree did her best to keep Esse up to the mark of health and energy at which she had arrived; and she so laid herself out to this end that her house became the very centre of the most pleasant circle in San Francisco. Every stranger who arrived was of course introduced to her, and not a few found an excuse for prolonging their stay in order to share again her charming hospitality and the companionship of Esse. There was a constant succession of luncheons, dinners, balls, picnics, and all those harmless gatherings which have no definite name, but which have a charm of their own in their freedom and the relaxing of the bonds of conventionality.

Amongst the strangers who came, and in natural course made Mrs. Elstree’s acquaintance, was a young English painter, who had already made a great name for himself. He was one of those who had not attached himself to any art school long enough to be cramped by its inevitable littleness. He had skipped lightly through the various schools of the world, learning and adapting all their methods to his own genius, and keeping his mind and imagination fresh by a perpetual study of Nature in all her moods. Pardy by nature, and pardy by merit of his varied training, he was of a most charming personality, with gentler manners and keener refinement than might have been expected from his strength and stature. As, in addition to his other qualifications, he was remarkably handsome, it was small wonder that he was looked upon with favour by the ladies in San Francisco, and with a certain reserved tolerance by the men. Even the instantaneous heartiness of his reception by the Bohemian Club did not allay the misgivings of certain young men of pleasure, unattached.

Between Mr. Hampden and Esse a friendship soon sprang up, and this was fostered by the opportunities given by her sitting to him for her portrait, and his finally coming to stay as a guest in the house. To him the freshness and artless simplicity of Esse was akin to those grand simplicities of Nature which had been the study of his life; and it was little wonder that when for some time his art and human sympathies had been thus united and centred in so charming a young lady as Esse, his feelings of friendship should have taken a warmer turn. Before the month was over he was head over ears in love with her.

And Esse? By this time, sad to tell, Esse had quite overlooked, if indeed she had not forgotten, the fact of Dick’s existence. Sometimes, when some accidental allusion or expression suggested the idea, she remembered him, but as a far-off and independent fact; she never connected him now with her own life.

He was, and would be till the end of her life, a true and faithful friend, whose memory was set in a frame of romantic picturesqueness, as a miniature is set round with diamonds; but he did not belong to the living present at all. And, strangely enough, when he had come to occupy this place in Esse’s mind, all the pleasant things began to cluster round him again. His individuality was a centre round which crystallized all the pleasant lesser memories of the summer on Shasta. Once or twice in the night time, when something kept her awake, Esse thought, with burning blushes, of her confiding to Peter Blyth the one secret of her life. She wondered how she could have done such a thing, and was angry with herself for what she now considered her mistaken idea as to her own feelings, as well as for her unmaidenly confidence. With a gush of thankfulness she remembered Peter’s sudden call to the East, and determined that on his return, and before any harm could be done, she would set that matter right in a few words. Mrs. Elstree saw what Esse herself did not see, that she was herself becoming, nay, had already become, in love with the young painter; and as she in every way approved of him as a possible son-in-law, she allowed matters to freely run their course. Esse’s romantic feeling for Dick belonged to the school-girl phase of her existence; but the new affection was the expression of her woman’s life, and it differed as much from the former in its strength as in its consciousness. The episode of Shasta was, in a sort of way, the “preliminary canter” of her affections, and had all the consciousness of its limited purpose; whereas the later and truer love had all the unconscious, serious earnestness of the race itself, where means are forgotten and only the end is held in view. There was no thought of Dick in her mind, no regret, no remorse, even no pity of his wasted and ruined life, as a few months ago she would have considered it. There was, in fact, no thought or recollection of Dick at all, when, in answer to Reginald Hampden’s passionate appeal, she put her two hands in his, and their lips met in love’s first long kiss.

That evening, as they sat hand-in-hand in the little drawing-room, where there was no one else, in that early darkness which is the nearest thing to twilight which California can produce, Esse, with a manifest purpose, and with many flutterings of the heart, told Reginald that she had a confession to make. He, with the amused, superior tolerance of a successful lover, encouraged her by gentle words and manifold tender caresses to proceed. As a man of the world he knew that, as a rule, the sins which well-bred young ladies have to confess to their fiancés are merely self-distrustful exaggerations of minor indiscretions, or breaches of temper. With a sinking heart Esse began, for now that she had to speak of Dick again to a third person, his figure loomed up uncommonly large into the foreground of her thoughts.

“It is about Shasta!” she said, in an almost inaudible voice.

“About Shasta, dear, that is lovely! I like to hear you speak of that sweet spot! I think I am in love with it myself from what I have heard you and your mother say of it. I am thinking already, Esse” — here he drew her closer to him — “how you and I shall go there some summer and have a fresh honeymoon!”

Esse was silent; there were conflicting thoughts in her mind, and she listened as he went on:

“You shall show me all over the place; the seat on the rocks on the edge of the plateau, where we shall see together the sunset over the sea; the sun-dial of the trees by which we shall reckon the hours of our happiness — for, my dear, we shall not be able to keep any other reckoning, they shall go so quickly; the spot where you killed the bear; and then we shall come up the way you carried Dick. You see, dear, I know them all!”

“It is about Dick I want to speak!”

“Speak on, Esse dear; I like to hear about him! What a splendid fellow he must be! I want to shake him by the hand; he saved the life of my little girl, and she saved his! Why, we must be like brother and sister to Dick!”

“But, Reginald, I must tell you about him before you say —”

Here Reginald interrupted her.

“Isn’t Dick the splendid, brave fellow that I think him; the manly, upright gentleman of nature, with the freshness and splendour of the wood and mountain upon him!”

“Oh yes! he is all that; there is nobody in the world braver or nobler than Dick! You can’t say anything too good of him. But that’s just it! You may not like it that I — one time — before I met you — thought all the world of him!”

Reginald laughed, and caught her again to him; he was glad of these excuses for demonstrative affection.

“Oh you dear little high-minded goose!” he said. “Why, of course you thought all the world of him! So would any girl! If I were a girl I would go my boots on a splendid fellow like that.”

Esse began to breathe more freely, though the worst was yet to come; she had to finish her confession. She bravely went on:

“That would be bad enough if only you knew it, but I told it to Peter Blyth!”

“And who may Peter Blyth be?” asked Reginald, with a tinge of jealousy in his voice.

“He is an old friend of my mother’s. He was my dead father’s greatest friend, and he is a sort of guardian to us both.”

“Oh!” said Reginald, pardy satisfied, so Esse went on.

“I don’t know why I told him — that I — I — wanted to see Dick — but I did; and he said he would see Dick some time and that he would come and see me!”

Here she covered her face with her hands, and in the dusk Reginald could see that she was crying. He took it that it was pardy from regret and partly from vexation, so he asked another question in order to distract her mind:

“And did he come?”

“Oh no!” Esse started up and looked at him with wet eyes. “Oh no! and I hope he never will! Peter Blyth was called away to New York the very next day, and from there had to go on to London, so I am in hopes that he will never tell Dick. When he comes I shall ask him never to say another word about it again as long as he lives, or never even to think of it!”

Reginald thought for a moment and then spoke.

“Would it not be well to send Mr. Blyth a cable?”

“Why so?”

“Because he might go up to Shasta on his way back. And, my dearest, that would never do. In addition to making you uncomfortable it would not be fair to Dick. He would take it to heart that he had been so invited; and without any blame on his part he would feel that he had been deprived of a great happiness!”

“Oh, Dick would not mind!”

“How do you know?”

“If he had cared about me he would have said so long ago!” from which it could be seen that poor Dick’s silence was already beginning to be construed into a fault, and his blindness into an offence.

Reginald hardly took the same view as Esse on the subject, but he was none the less contented. However, they agreed that it would be no harm to send a cable to Peter Blyth to his London address, for Esse did not know where he stayed in New York, and the following was despatched:

Do nothing about Dick till I see you.

Esse.

The next evening Mrs. Elstree had a reception of all her friends, and she thought that it would be a good occasion to make known Esse’s engagement. Her receptions were given in English style, and as she had brought over English servants, her Californian friends were always interested in the way things were done. They generally ended however in an impromptu dance, American fashion. When the night arrived Mrs. Elstree received, just as she was going to dress, a telegram from Peter Blyth:

Arrive in evening; dining on car.

So she gave instructions to have his room prepared. Presently the guests began to assemble, and both Esse and her mother were busy receiving them, Reginald naturally not being far off, and being now and then introduced in his new capacity. There were congratulations on all sides, and a well-bred hum arose throughout the rooms.

In the midst of the festivities a tall, powerful-looking man, walking with long strides, but putting his feet down as though they were cramped, came to the house and knocked. When the liveried footman opened the door he said:

“Say, boss, does Mrs. Elstree live here?”

The man had only been imported a few days, and, as he had come to the West with vague ideas as to snakes and scalping, and other American commonplaces, and would not have been surprised if he had seen a tribe of Indians on the war-path in Montgomery Street, answered with his usual imperturbability:

“Yes, sir, she receives to-night.”

“Kin I go in?”

“Certingly, sir, if my mistress was expecting of you.”

“I know Little Missy is.”

“Miss Elstree is within too, she receives with her mother.”

“Then, General, I guess I’ll just cavort in and pay my respects.”

The man motioned him in, and he was handed over to another footman, who took his hat and said:

“What neem, sir?”

“Guess, Colonel, you have me there!”

“What neem shall I enounce?”

“My name? Oh, I tumble! Jest you say Grizzly Dick of Shasta!”

The man called up the staircase to another footman half way up:

“Mis-tar Greezly Dick of Shost-ar!”

The second man called on to another, at the door of the drawingroom:

“Mr. Greazy Dick of Shostar!”

And the latter shouted the name into the room, in a Hibernian accent:

“Misther Crazy Dick Shostoo!”

Dick was for an instant amazed by the wilderness of strange faces, the myriad lights, the hum and movement of the scene; and as for Mrs. Elstree and Esse, they were for a moment ignorant of the personality of their visitor. The Dick who now stood blinking in the doorway, and awkwardly shuffling his feet, had little resemblance, except in stature, to the Dick whom they had known on Shasta.

When the time for his visit to San Francisco was ripe, Dick had come as far as Sacramento, and had then prepared himself for what he considered a fashionable visit. This he did by getting himself up as like as he could to the more aristocratic-looking of the Two Macs, as that individual had dwelt in his memory, combined with the most stylish of gamblers and barmen, from living examples. His general effect was enhanced by the failure of the goods exhibited in the various tailors’ shops, and “misfit parlors” to adapt themselves to the great bulk and free, sinuous carriage of the hunter. Dick had thus arrayed himself in a blue claw-hammer coat with brass buttons, a low-cut waistcoat of mighty pattern, in plaid of many colours, in which primary shades of scarlet, yellow, and blue, predominated, a light pair of yellow cord trousers, of preternatural tightness, and enormous patent leather pumps, which were all too small to be easy on feet accustomed to mocassins. His shirt was what far-western salesmen call “dressy,” and exhibited on its bosom many rows of fancy pleating with, between them, masses of herring-bone handwork, such as the rustic maiden is wont to exhibit on her Sunday petticoat. A red tie with big bows and fringed ends, and some massive gold studs of fancy pattern, to match the watch chain, which lay across his diaphragm like a hawser, completed his toilet. But Dick, not feeling complete, even in this subjugatory attire, had been to the barber’s and undergone a process of curling, oiling, and scenting, which alone would have isolated him in any high-bred society throughout the world. Add to these disadvantages a manner composed of equal parts of unchastened ease of gait and shy awkwardness, and it is little wonder that the ladies did not at once recognise their old friend the free-gaited, bold, natural child of the mountains. Esse was the first to recognise him, and stepping forward, held out both her hands with eager welcome, utterly forgetting, in the surprise of seeing him, her previous anxiety as to his possible coming. At the moment, however, Dick had recognised Mrs. Elstree and had stepped forward and taken her by the hand, and was beginning to work the pump-handle shake, which she already knew, and dreaded. This peculiar shake of Dick’s was a work of time, and Mrs. Elstree knew that the best way to get over it was to submit quietly; she was not sorry also, to have a moment in which to collect her thoughts, for it flashed on her that so strange an appearance, and so unexpected a coming, must have some special cause. She had a half fear that there was some trouble in store for Esse, or with her; and as she knew that the eyes of all fashionable San Francisco were on her, she felt that it behoved her to be cautious. She instantly determined on a course of action — heartiness. Dick was an unconventional person, and when the guests knew and realised who and what he was, the manifest surprise and amazement with which they were already regarding him would cease. He had saved Esse’s life, and she had saved his, and under very strange and unusual circumstances. This alone would justify his appearance, and any reception that might be accorded to him. So she said effusively:

“Why, Mr. Grizzly Dick, this is a treat! I am delighted to see you in San Francisco! Do you make a long stay?”

In the meantime Esse stood with outstretched hands, for she did not like to draw them back, lest Dick should think she was offended, and so waited. Before Dick could reply to her mother he saw them, and answering: “Thank ye, marm!” turned to Esse and said:

“Wall, Little Missy, if this ain’t jest the all-firedest, highest old time as ever was. My! but ye look purty; like a ripe apple ready to be bit. An’ do ye remember the b’ar, and the way yer frock was tore all away? Durn me if the old-man grizzly was here himself now, he wouldn’t have the heart to lay a claw on ye!”

As he spoke he had taken her hand, and was subjecting her in turn to the pump-handle ordeal. Esse answered with what heartiness she could muster, for there was a look in Dick’s eye, a sort of assuring her, which was quite new to her, and which made her anxious as to what might happen. She would have given worlds that her mother knew the exact state of affairs, for she could and would have helped her at any cost; but her mother did not know, and she must now trust to Providence and the chapter of accidents. In the meantime, other guests were arriving, and they both had to receive them. Mrs. Elstree saw so much of the difficulty as that Dick would become a nuisance if he did not pass on with the rest, so she said sweetly:

“Won’t you take a seat for a few minutes, Mr. Dick? Esse and I have to stand here a little while to receive our guests; but we shall come to you very soon.”

Dick laughed his boisterous laugh — how Esse felt at the moment that she disliked it — which more than ever attracted all eyes to him, and with a rough bow and a “Count on me, marm, every time!” withdrew to the other end of the room. Feeling thoroughly awkward in such a novel situation, he began to make up for his want of savoir faire by brazen impudence, this being his idea of easy deportment.

At this time, Peter Blyth arrived at the house, and went upstairs to his room to dress himself for the evening.