The Fortunes Of Glencore Part 42

"I have no reckoning to render you, sir," said Glencore, haughtily; "for any confidence of mine, you are more indebted to my pa.s.sion than to my inclination. I came up here to speak and confer with you about this boy, whose guardians.h.i.+p you are unable to continue longer. Let us speak of that."

"Yes," said Harcourt, in his habitual tone of easy good humor, "they are going to send me out to India again. I have had eighteen years of it already; but I have no Parliamentary influence, nor could I trace a fortieth cousins.h.i.+p with the House of Lords; but, after all, it might be worse. Now, as to this lad, what if I were to take him out with me?

This artist life that he seems to have adopted scarcely promises much."

"Let me see Upton's letter," said Glencore, gravely.

"There it is. But I must warn you that the really important part is wanting; for instead of sending us, as he promised, the communication of his Russian Princess, he has stuffed in a ma.s.s of papers intended for Downing Street, and a lot of doctor's prescriptions, for whose loss he is doubtless suffering martyrdom."

"Is this credible?" cried Glencore.

"There they are, very eloquent about sulphur, and certain refugees with long names, and with some curious hints about Spanish flies and the flesh-brush."

Glencore flung down the papers in indignation, and walked up and down the room without speaking.

"I'd wager a trifle," cried Harcourt, "that Madame--What 's-her-name's letter has gone to the Foreign Office in lien of the despatches; and, if so, they have certainly gained most by the whole transaction."

"You have scarcely considered, perhaps, what publicity may thus be given to my private affairs," said Glencore. "Who knows what this woman may have said; what allusions her letter may contain?"

"Very true; I never did think of that," muttered Harcourt.

"Who knows what circ.u.mstances of my private history are now bandied about from desk to desk by flippant fools, to be disseminated afterwards over Europe by every courier?" cried he, with increasing pa.s.sion.

Before Harcourt could reply, the servant entered, and whispered a few words in his ear. "But you already denied me," said Harcourt. "You told him that I was from home?"

"Yes, sir; but he said that his business was so important that he 'd wait for your return, if I could not say where he might find you. This is his card."

Harcourt took it, and read, "Major Scaresby, from Naples." "What think you, Glencore? Ought we to admit this gentleman? It may be that this visit relates to what we have been speaking about."

"Scaresby--Scaresby--I know the name," muttered Glencore. "To be sure!

There was a fellow that hung about Florence and Rome long ago, and called himself Scaresby; an ill-tongued old scandal-monger people encouraged in a land where newspapers are not permitted."

"He affects to have something very pressing to communicate. Perhaps it were better to have him up."

"Don't make me known to him, then, or let me have to talk to him," said Glencore, throwing himself down on a sofa; "and let his visit be as brief as you can manage."

Harcourt made a significant sign to his servant, and the moment after the Major was heard ascending the stairs.

"Very persistent of me, you'll say, Colonel Harcourt. Devilish tenacious of my intentions, to force myself thus upon you!" said the Major, as he bustled into the room, with a white leather bag in his hand; "but I promised Upton I'd not lie down on a bed till I saw you."

"All the apologies should come from my side, Major," said Harcourt, as he handed him to a chair; "but the fact was, that having an invalid friend with me, quite incapable of seeing company, and having matters of some importance to discuss with him--"

"Just so," broke in Scaresby; "and if it were not that I had given a very strong pledge to Upton, I 'd have given my message to your servant, and gone off to my hotel. But he laid great stress on my seeing you, and obtaining certain papers which, if I understand aright, have reached you in mistake, being meant for the Minister at Downing Street. Here's his own note, however, which will explain all."

It ran thus:--

Dear H------,--So I find that some of the despatches have got into your enclosure instead of that "on his Majesty's service." I therefore send off the insupportable old bore who will deliver this, to rescue them, and convey them to their fitting destination. "The extraordinaries" will be burdened to some fifty or sixty pounds for it; but they very rarely are expended so profitably as in getting rid of an intolerable nuisance. Give him all the things, therefore, and pack him off to Downing Street. I'm far more uneasy, however, about some prescriptions which I suspect are along with them. One, a lotion for the cervical vertebrae, of invaluable activity, which you may take a copy of, but strictly, on honor, for your own use only. Scaresby will obtain the Princess's letter, and hand it to you. It is certain not to have been opened at F. O., as they never read anything not alluded to in the private correspondence.

This blunder has done me a deal of harm. My nerves are not in a state to stand such shocks; and though, in fact, you are not the culpable party, I cannot entirely acquit you for having in part occasioned it. [Harcourt laughed good-humoredly at this, and continued:] If you care for it, old S. will give you all the last gossip from these parts, and be the channel of yours to me. But don't dine him; he's not worth a dinner.

He 'll only repay sherry and soda-water, and one of those execrable cheroots you used to be famed for. Amongst the recipes, let me recommend you an admirable tonic, the princ.i.p.al ingredient in which is the oil of the star-fish. It will probably produce nausea, vertigo, and even fainting for a week or two, but these symptoms decline at last, and, except violent hiccup, no other inconvenience remains. Try it, at all events.

Yours ever, H. U.

While Harcourt perused this short epistle, Scaresby, on the invitation of his host, had helped himself freely to the Madeira, and a plate of devilled biscuits beside it, giving, from time to time, oblique glances towards the dark corner of the room, where Glencore lay, apparently asleep.

"I hope Upton's letter justifies my insistence, Colonel. He certainly gave me to understand that the case was a pressing one," said Scaresby.

"Quite so, Major Scaresby; and I have only to reiterate my excuses for having denied myself to you. But you are aware of the reason;" and he glanced towards where Glen-Core was lying.

"Very excellent fellow, Upton," said the Major, sipping his wine, "but very--what shall I call it?--eccentric; very odd; not like any one else, you know, in the way he does things. I happened to be one of his guests t'other day. He had detained us above an hour waiting dinner, when he came in all flurried and excited, and, turning to me, said, 'Scaresby, have you any objection to a trip to England at his Majesty's expense?'

and as I replied, 'None whatever; indeed, it would suit my book to perfection just now.'

"'Well, then,' said he, 'get your traps together, and be here within an hour. I 'll have all in readiness for you.' I did not much fancy starting off in this fas.h.i.+on, and without my dinner, too; but egad! he's one of those fellows that don't stand parleying, and so I just took him at his word, and here I am. I take it the matter must be a very emergent one, eh?"

"It is clear Sir Horace Upton thought so," said Harcourt, rather amused than offended by the other's curiosity.

"There's a woman in it, somehow, I 'll be bound, eh?"

Harcourt laughed heartily at this sally, and pushed the decanter towards his guest.

"Not that I'd give sixpence to know every syllable of the whole transaction," said Scaresby. "A man that has pa.s.sed, as I have, the last twenty-five years of his life between Rome, Florence, and Naples, has devilish little to learn of what the world calls scandal."

"I suppose you must indeed possess a wide experience," said Harcourt.

"Not a man in Europe, sir, could tell you as many dark pa.s.sages of good society! I kept a kind of book once,--a record of fas.h.i.+onable delinquencies; but I had to give it up. It took me half my day to chronicle even the pa.s.sing events; and then my memory grew so retentive by practice, I did n't want the reference, but could give you date, and name, and place for every incident that has scandalized the world for the last quarter of the century."

"And do you still possess this wonderful gift, Major?"

"Pretty well; not, perhaps, to the same extent I once did. You see, Colonel Harcourt,"--here his voice became low and confidential,--"some twenty, or indeed fifteen years back, it was only persons of actual condition that permitted themselves the liberty to do these things; but, hang it, sir! now you have your middle-cla.s.s folk as profligate as their betters. Jones, or Smith, or Thompson runs away with his neighbor's wife, cheats at cards, and forges his friend's name, just as if he had the best blood in his veins, and fourteen quarterings on his escutcheon.

What memory, then, I ask you, could retain all the shortcomings of these people?"

"But I 'd really not trouble my head with such ign.o.ble delinquents,"

said Harcourt.

"Nor do I, sir, save when, as will sometimes happen, they have a footing, with one leg at least, in good society. For, in the present state of the world, a woman with a pretty face, and a man with a knowledge of horseflesh, may move in any circle they please."

"You're a severe censor of the age we live in, I see," said Harcourt, smiling. "At the same time, the offences could scarcely give you much uneasiness, or you 'd not take up your residence where they most abound."

"If you want to destroy tigers, you must frequent the jungle," said Scaresby, with one of his heartiest laughs.

"Say, rather, if you have the vulture's appet.i.te, you must go where there is carrion!" cried Glencore, with a voice to which pa.s.sion lent a savage vehemence.

"Eh? ha! very good! devilish smart of your sick friend. Pray present me to him," said Scaresby, rising.

"No, no, never mind him," whispered Harcourt, pressing him down into his seat. "At some other time, perhaps. He is nervous and irritable.

Conversation fatigues him, too."

"Egad! that was neatly said, though; I hope I shall not forget it.

One envies these sick fellows, sometimes, the venom they get from bad health. But I am forgetting myself in the pleasure of your society,"