Читать книгу The Grey Monk - T. W. Speight - Страница 9

Sir Gilbert Clare and Mr. Page reached Catanzaro in due course. They were met by Alec, who had been apprised by the lawyer of the time when they might be expected to arrive, and who had secured rooms for them at the Golden Fig, the osteria at which he himself had been a guest for so long a time.

Father and son greeted each other with a grave silent bow. Alec flushed to the roots of his hair as soon as he realized that it was Sir Gilbert's intention to treat him as a stranger; then as suddenly he turned pale. Next moment his pride came to his aid. He drew himself up, and turning courteously to Mr. Page, expressed to him his fear that he must have found the journey both tedious and fatiguing.

At dinner, which had been ordered by Alec beforehand, the two arrivals were waited upon by Rispani in person. This also was by arrangement with Alec, who, for some reason which he could not have defined to himself, was desirous that, for the time being, Giovanna should keep in the background.

It is to be borne in mind that Rispani had no suspicion, either then or afterwards, that the English "Milor" was Alec's father, or, indeed, any relation whatever of the young man. Ever since he had come abroad, young Clare had dropped his surname and had simply been known as "Mr. John Alexander," a cognomen which his Italian friends, to whom the English syllables seemed a concatenation of barbarous sounds, had not failed to naturalise into "Il Signor Alessandro."

Both Sir Gilbert and Mr. Page retired at an early hour.

The lawyer, who despite Alec's failings, had a very genuine liking for him, would fain have secured half an hour's private talk with the young man, but there was no possibility of such a thing till the baronet had sought his own room, and then Alec was nowhere to be found. He had gone for a long solitary walk, and there was no knowing when he would be back. The hour of ten next morning had already been named as that which was to see the important business entered upon which had brought the two Englishmen so far from home.

Mr. Page had not failed to come prepared with the legal document to which, in the presence of the requisite witnesses, the heir would be required to affix that signature which would leave him an heir no longer.

The lawyer had anticipated some difficulty in obtaining a couple of witnesses in that out-of-the-way spot with sufficient knowledge of English to comprehend what was required of them, but it proved to be a difficulty that was readily overcome with the help of Alec. In Giuseppe Rispani and a friend of his who at one time had filled the position of courrier de place, were found precisely the two people needed.

No sooner was breakfast over than word was sent to Alec that everything was in readiness. Then he and the witnesses proceeded upstairs to the sala which had been set aside for the use of the forestieri. A slight haughty inclination of the head was the sole greeting vouchsafed them by Sir Gilbert as they entered the room.

It may be here remarked that Alec had neither dined nor breakfasted with his father. Time had availed nothing to soften the latter's hostility towards his eldest son.

The baronet's chair was apart near the window. On a table in the middle of the room were pens and ink, together with a formidable looking document.

Mr. Page, having shaken hands with Alec, greeted the two Italians in his most urbane manner, and then motioned them to a couple of chairs on the opposite side of the table. Next he handed the paper to Alec, who sat down on the third chair while he glanced over its various clauses, the lawyer standing at his elbow while he did so. That done, without a moment's hesitation, Alec dipped a pen in the ink and wrote his name in full at the foot in bold flowing characters. He then made way for the witnesses, standing aside with folded arms. At Mr. Page's invitation, Rispani moved to the chair vacated by Alec and proceeded to scrawl his signature on the line indicated by the lawyer's finger. A like process was then gone through by the second Italian. Neither of them had the least notion as to the contents of the document to which they had appended their signatures. Mr. Page had taken care of that. A sheet of blotting-paper which he had applied to Alec's signature was left so as to cover three-fourths of the paper, while the sleeve of his coat, as he indicated the spot where each witness was to write his name, effectually hid the last of the three words, "John Alexander Clare."

He had not lost sight of the fact that in Catanzaro Alec was known only as the Signor Alessandro.

As soon as the Italians were gone Mr. Page sat down, and from the breast pocket of his coat produced a bulky packet of bank notes of various denominations, which, with the help of a moistened forefinger, he proceeded to count with methodical deliberation.

Having satisfied himself on a point about which he had felt perfectly sure beforehand, he pushed the notes across the table to Alec.

"There, sir," he said; "if you will be at the trouble of counting them, you will find that they amount in the aggregate to exactly six thousand pounds."

"I will take your word for that, Mr. Page," replied Alec, with a bitter smile as he crumpled up the notes and thrust them into his pocket.

By this a carriage, previously ordered, was at the door. The two gentlemen had arranged to post as far as Reggio. Sir Gilbert, who despite his husk of frigidity, was far from comfortable in his mind, and was especially desirous of getting away at the earliest possible moment, had already drawn on his gloves and taken possession of his dust-coat and umbrella. He now extended his rigid fingers to his son, whose hand instinctively closed over them, but without any consciousness of the slightest pressure in return.

"Goodbye," said the baronet. "You have my best wishes for your prosperity in the future. At any time it will gratify me to hear that you are doing well. Now, Mr. Page, if you are ready."

With that the fingers were withdrawn, and turning on his heel, he stalked solemnly out, leaving his son, who had said no word in reply, standing in the middle of the room.

Next moment Mr. Page was wringing Alec's hand.

"Goodbye, my dear boy, and may Heaven bless and prosper you," exclaimed the lawyer, with an unwonted tremor in his voice. "Never forget that in Cornelius Page you have a firm friend; and don't fail to advise me from time to time of your whereabouts."

Three minutes later, as one in a dream, Alec heard the crack of the driver's whip and the rattle of the carriage as it jolted over the narrow paved street. Then when the last sound had died away, his manhood suddenly broke down. Sinking into a chair, with his elbows resting on the table and his face covered with his hands, he let the tears drop silently between his fingers.

Now it so happened that there was one feature about the osteria of the Golden Fig, which, for various reasons, it is to be hoped is by no means common to similar houses of entertainment either in Italy or elsewhere.

The peculiarity in question was neither more nor less than a peephole, or place of espial, behind one corner of the elaborate plaster scroll-work of fruit and foliage which ran round the ceiling of the room in which the scene related above had taken place. This spy-hole was reached by means of a flight of steps shut up from ordinary view in what looked like a tall clothes closet in the adjoining chamber.

The house was an old one, and what purpose this secret place of observation had originally served it was now impossible to tell. Rispani had found it there when he took the house, and on more than one occasion had taken advantage of it to pry into the doings of his guests; but never to such good purpose as to-day, for from that coign of vantage he had been an unseen witness of the transfer of the roll of notes to Signor Alessandro.

Immediately after the departure of the Englishman Rispani sought his daughter.

"The Signor Alessandro loves thee--is it not so?" he said to her in Italian. There was something in his tone which convinced Vanna that he had a special motive in putting the question.

"His eyes have told me that he loves me, but his words never."

"Thou lovest him in return?"

"I like him--yes; better than I like any one. But as for loving him--no."

"Should he ask thee to wed him, what will thy answer be?"

"It will be time enough to decide that when he has asked me."

"He will ask thee--I feel sure of it--and thy answer must be yes--yes--yes!"

Vanna's dark orbs looked the surprise she felt.

"Listen," resumed Rispani, laying a hand on her arm and speaking into her ear. "One of the strangers who have just gone gave the Signor Alessandro bank-notes to the value of six thousand pounds English money. These eyes saw him do it. Think! Six thousand pounds!"

Father and daughter looked meaningly at each other. In the eyes of both sparkled the same cold avaricious gleam. At that moment the likeness between them was almost startling.

Giuseppe Rispani had prophesied rightly. At the hour of sunset Alec Clare sought Giovanna and found her where she sat under the grape trellis in the far garden. Nowhere could there have been a spot more suitable for the purpose he had in view. Vanna might have had a prevision that he would look for her there.

Alec had dreaded lest, when the crucial moment should have come, his tongue would fail him and that he should find himself the prey of a silence, at once painful and absurd. But no such mishap befell him.

How the declaration brought itself about he could hardly have told afterwards; all he knew was that he found it surprisingly easy and simple to give utterance to what he wanted to say. But it may have been that Vanna smoothed the way for him after a fashion which, in his preoccupation, he was scarcely conscious of. In any case, he spoke with an ardour and a manly earnestness which did not fail to carry conviction to his listener's heart. It was impossible to doubt his sincerity.

Vanna had already been made love to by more than one impulsive Italian, but she now discovered that this Englishman, ordinarily so undemonstrative and phlegmatic, could, the occasion being given him, rise to a height of passionate fervour which transformed him for the time being into a veritable son of the sunny South. Taking both the girl's unresisting hands in his, and devouring her with his eyes, he ended with the words, "Giovanna, will you be mine?"

No faintest tinge of superadded emotion flushed the clear olive of Vanna's cheek, but the heavy fringes of her eyelids lifted and the midnight orbs behind them gave back Alec look for look.

Then the full ripe lips curved into a siren-like smile, the cool brown fingers softly returned her lover's clasp, and in a whisper came the words:

"I will be yours."