Читать книгу The Child Wife - Reid Mayne - Страница 12

The ball was almost over; the flagged and flagging dancers rapidly retiring. The belles were already gone, and among them Julia Girdwood. Only the wallflowers, yet comparatively fresh, were stirring upon the floor. To them it was the time of true enjoyment; for it is they who “dance all night till broad daylight.”

Maynard had no motive for remaining after Miss Girdwood was gone. It was, in truth, she who had retained him. But with a spirit now stirred by conflicting emotions, there would be little chance of sleep; and he resolved, before retiring to his couch, to make one more sacrifice at the shrine of Bacchus.

With this intent, he again descended the stairway leading to the cellar saloon.

On reaching the basement, he saw that he had been preceded by a score of gentlemen, who, like himself, had come down from the ball-room.

They were standing in knots – drinking, smoking, conversing.

Scarce giving any of them a glance, he stepped up to the bar, and pronounced the name of his drink – this time plain brandy and water.

While waiting to be served a voice arrested his attention. It came from one of three individuals, who, like himself, had taken stand before the counter, on which were their glasses.

The speaker’s back was toward him, though sufficient of his whisker could be seen for Maynard to identify Dick Swinton.

His companions were also recognisable as the excursionists of the row-boat, whose dog he had peppered with duck-shot.

To Mr Swinton they were evidently recent acquaintances, picked up perhaps during the course of the evening; and they appeared to have taken as kindly to him as if they, too, had learnt, or suspected him to be a lord!

He was holding forth to them in that grand style of intonation, supposed to be peculiar to the English nobleman; though in reality but the conceit of the stage caricaturist and Bohemian scribbler, who only know “my lord” through the medium of their imaginations.

Maynard thought it a little strange. But it was many years since he had last seen the man now near him; and as time produces some queer changes, Mr Swinton’s style of talking need not be an exception.

From the manner in which he and his two listeners were fraternising, it was evident they had been some time before the bar. At all events they were sufficiently obfuscated not to notice new-comers, and thus he had escaped their attention.

He would have left them equally unnoticed, but for some words striking on his ear that evidently bore reference to himself.

“By-the-way, sir,” said one of the strangers, addressing Swinton, “if it’s not making too free, may I ask you for an explanation of that little affair that happened in the ball-room?”

“Aw – aw; of what affair do yaw speak, Mr Lucas?”

“Something queer – just before the first waltz. There was a dark-haired girl with a diamond head-dress – the same you danced a good deal with – Miss Girdwood I believe her name is – and a fellow with moustache and imperial. The old lady, too, seemed to have a hand in it. My friend and I chanced to be standing close by, and saw there was some sort of a scene among you. Wasn’t it so?”

“Scene – naw – naw. Only the fellaw wanted to have a spin with the divine queetyaw, and the lady preferred dancing with yaw humble servant. That was all, gentlemen, I ashaw yaw.”

“We thought there had been a difficulty between him and you. It looked devilish like it.”

“Not with me. I believe there was a misunderstanding between him and the young lady. The twuth is, she pweaded a pwevious engagement, which she didn’t seem to have upon her cawd. For my part I had nothing to do with the fellaw – absolutely nothing – did not even speak to him.”

“You looked at him, though, and he at you. I thought you were going to have it out between you, there and then!”

“Aw – aw; he understands me bettaw – that same individual.”

“You knew him before, then?”

“Slightly, vewy slightly – a long time agaw.”

“In your own country, perhaps? He appears to be an Englishman.”

“Naw – not a bit of it. He’s a demmed Iwishman.”

Maynard’s ears were becoming rapidly hot.

“What was he on your side?” inquired the junior of Swinton’s new acquaintances, who appeared quite as curious as the older one.

“What was he! Aw – aw, faw that matter nothing – nothing.”

“No calling, or profession?”

“Wah, yas; when I knew the fellaw he was an ensign in an infantry wegiment. Not one of the cwack corps, yaw knaw. We should not have weceived him in ours.”

Maynard’s fingers began to twitch.

“Of course not,” continued the “swell.”

“I have the honaw, gentlemen, to bewong to the Gawds – Her Majesty’s Dwagoon Gawds.”

“He has been in our service – in one of the regiments raised for the Mexican war. Do you know why he left yours?”

“Well, gentlemen, it’s not for me to speak too fweely of a fellaw’s antecedents. I am usually cautious about such matters – vewy cautious, indeed.”

“Oh, certainly; right enough,” rejoined the rebuked inquirer; “I only asked because it seems a little odd that an officer of your army should have left it to take service in ours.”

“If I knew anything to the fellaw’s qwedit,” continued the Guardsman, “I should be most happy to communicate it. Unfawtunately, I don’t. Quite the contwawy!”

Maynard’s muscles – especially those of his dexter arm – were becoming fearfully contracted. It wanted but little to draw him into the conversation. One more such remark would be sufficient; and unfortunately for himself, Mr Swinton made it.

“The twuth is, gentlemen,” said he, the drink perhaps having deprived him of his customary caution – “the twuth is, that Mr Ensign Maynard – or Captain Maynard, as I believe he now styles himself – was kicked out of the Bwitish service. Such was the report, though I won’t be wesponsible for its twuth.”

“It’s a lie!” cried Maynard, suddenly pulling off his kid glove, and drawing it sharply across his traducer’s cheek. “A lie, Dick Swinton! And if not responsible for originating it, as you say you shall be for giving it circulation. There never was such a report, and you know it, scoundrel!”

Swinton’s cheek turned white as the glove that had smitten it; but it was the pallor of fear rather than anger.

“Aw – indeed! you there, Mr Maynard! Well – well; I’m sure – you say it’s not twue. And you’ve called me a scoundwell! And yaw stwuck me with yaw glove?”

“I shall repeat the word and the blow. I shall spit in your face, if you don’t retract!”

“Wetwact!”

“Bah! there’s been enough pass between us. I leave you time to reflect. My room is 209, on the fourth storey. I hope you’ll find a friend who won’t be above climbing to it. My card, sir!”

Swinton took the card, and with fingers that showed trembling gave his own in exchange. While with a scornful glance, that comprehended both him and his acolytes, the other faced back to the bar, coolly completed his potation, and, without saying another word, reascended the stairway.

“You’ll meet him, won’t you?” asked the older of Swinton’s drinking companions.

It was not a very correct interrogatory; but, perhaps, judging by what had passed, the man who put it may have deemed delicacy superfluous.

“Of cawse – of cawse,” replied he of Her Majesty’s Horse Guards, without taking note of the rudeness. “Demmed awkward, too!” he continued, reflectingly. “I am here a stwanger – no fwend – ”

“Oh, for that matter,” interrupted Lucas, the owner of the Newfoundland dog, “there need be no difficulty. I shall be most happy to act as your second.”

The man who thus readily volunteered his services was as arrant a poltroon as could have been found about the fashionable hostelry in which the conversation was taking place – not excepting Swinton himself. He, too, had good cause for playing principal in a duel with Captain Maynard. But it was safer to be second; and no man knew this better than Louis Lucas.

It would not be the first time for him to act in this capacity. Twice before had he done so, obtaining by it a sort of borrowed éclat that was mistaken for bravery. For all this he was in reality a coward; and though smarting under the remembrance of his encounter with Maynard, he had allowed the thing to linger without taking further steps. The quarrel with Swinton was therefore in good time, and to his hand.

“Either I, or my friend here,” he added.

“With pleasure,” assented the other.

“Thanks, gentlemen; thanks, both! Exceedingly kind of you! But,” continued Swinton in a hesitating manner, “I should be sowy to bwing either of you into my scwape. There are some of my old comwades in Canada, sarving with their wegiments. I shall telegwaph to them. And this fellaw must wait. Now, dem it! let’s dwop the subject, and take anothaw dwink.”

All this was said with an air of assumed coolness, of which not even the drinks already taken could cover the pretence. It was, in truth, but a subterfuge to gain time, and reflect upon some plan to escape without calling Maynard out.

There might be a chance, if left to himself; but once in the hands of another, there would be no alternative but to stand up.

These were the thoughts rapidly coursing through Mr Swinton’s mind, while the fresh drinks were being prepared.

As the glass again touched his lips, they were white and dry; and the after-conversation between him and his picked-up acquaintances was continued on his part with an air of abstraction that told of a terrible uneasiness.

It was only when oblivious with more drink that he assumed his swagger; but an hour afterward, as he staggered upstairs, even the alcoholic “buzzing” in his brain did not hinder him from having a clear recollection of the encounter with the “demmed Iwishman!”

Once inside his own apartment, the air of the nobleman a as suddenly abandoned. So, too, the supposed resemblance in speech. His talk was now that of a commoner – intoxicated. It was addressed to his valet, still sitting up to receive him.

A small ante-chamber on one side was supposed to be the sleeping-place of this confidential servant. Judging by the dialogue that ensued, he might be well called confidential. A stranger to the situation would have been surprised it listening to it.

“A pretty night you’ve made of it!” said the valet, speaking more in the tone of a master.

“Fact – fac – hic’p! you speak th’ truth, Frank! No – not pretty night. The very reverse – a d-damned ugly night.”

“What do you mean, you sot?”

“Mean – mee-an! I mean the g-gig-game’s up. ’Tis, by Jingo! Splend’d chance. Never have such ’nother. Million dollars! All spoiled – th’ infernal fella!”

“What fellow?”

“Who d’ye ’spose I’ve seen – met him in the ball – ball – bar-room – down below. Let’s have another drink! Drinks all round – who’s g-gig-goin’ drink?”

“Try and talk a little straighter! What’s this about?”

“Whas’t ’bout? What sh’d be about? Him – hic’p! ’bout him.”

“Him! who?”

“Who – who – who – why, Maynard. Of course you know Maynard? B’long to the Thirty – Thirty – Don’t reclect the number of regiment. No matter for that. He’s here – the c-c-confounded cur.”

“Maynard here!” exclaimed the valet, in a tone strange for a servant.

“B’shure he is! Straight as a trivet, curse him! Safe to spoil everything – make a reg’lar mucker of it.”

“Are you sure it was he?”

“Sure – sure! I sh’d think so. He’s give me good reason, c-curse ’im!”

“Did you speak to him?”

“Yes – yes.”

“What did he say to you?”

“Not much said – not much. It’s what he’s – what he’s done.”

“What?”

“Devil of a lot – yes – yes. Never mind now. Let’s go to bed, Frank. Tell you all ’bout in the morning. Game’s up. ’Tis by J-Jupiter!”

As if incapable of continuing the dialogue – much less of undressing himself – Mr Swinton staggered across to the bed; and, sinking down upon it, was soon snoring and asleep.

It might seem strange that the servant should lie down beside him, which he did. Not after knowing that the little valet was his wife! It was the amiable “Fan” who thus shared the couch of her inebriate husband.