Wylder's Hand Part 66

'Eleven minutes past three,' said he, 'and I've a meeting at my house at half-past: so, unless you complete that instrument _now_, I regret to say I must take it back unfinished, and the result may be to defeat the arrangement altogether, and if the consequences should prove serious, I, at least, am not to blame.'

'Don't sign, I entreat, I _implore_ of you. William Wylder, you _shan't_.'

'But, my dear Miss Lake, we have considered everything, and Mr. Larkin and I agree that my circ.u.mstances are such as to make it inevitable.'

'Really, this is child's play; _there_, if you please,' said the attorney, once more.

Rachel Lake, during the discussion, had removed her hand. The faintly-traced line on which the vicar was to sign was now fairly presented to him.

'Just in your usual way,' murmured Mr. Larkin.

So the vicar's pen was applied, but before he had time to trace the first letter of his name, Rachel Lake resolutely s.n.a.t.c.hed the thick, bluish sheet of scrivenery, with its handsome margins, and red ink lines, from before him, and tore it across and across, with the quickness of terror, and in fewer seconds than one could fancy, it lay about the floor and grate in pieces little bigger than dominoes.

The attorney made a hungry s.n.a.t.c.h at the paper, over William Wylder's shoulder, nearly bearing that gentleman down on his face, but his clutch fell short.

'Hallo! Miss Lake, Ma'am--the paper!'

But wild words were of no avail. The whole party, except Rachel, were aghast. The attorney's small eye glanced over the ground and hearthstone, where the bits were strewn, like

Ladies' smocks, all silver white, That paint the meadows with delight.

He had nothing for it but to submit to fortune with his best air. He stood erect; a slanting beam from the window glimmered on his tall, bald head, and his face was black and menacing as the summit of a thunder-crowned peak.

'You are not aware, Miss Lake, of the nature of your act, and of the consequences to which you have exposed yourself, Madam. But that is a view of the occurrence in which, except as a matter of deep regret, I cannot be supposed to be immediately interested. I will mention, however, that your interference, your _violent_ interference, Madam, may be attended with most serious consequences to my reverend client, for which, of course, you const.i.tuted yourself fully responsible, when you entered on the course of unauthorised interference, which has resulted in destroying the articles of agreement, prepared with great care and labour, for his protection; and r.e.t.a.r.ding the transmission of the doc.u.ment, by at least four-and-twenty hours, to London. You may, Madam, I regret to observe, have ruined my client.'

'Saved him, I hope.'

'And run yourself, Madam, into a _very_ serious sc.r.a.pe.'

'Upon that point you have said quite enough, Sir. Dolly, William, don't look so frightened; you'll both live to thank me for this.'

All this time little Fairy, unheeded, was bawling in great anguish of soul, clinging to Rachel's dress, and crying--'Oh! he'll hurt her--he'll hurt her--he'll hurt her. Don't let him--don't let him. Wapsie, don't let him. Oh! the frightle man!--don't let him--he'll hurt her--the frightle man!' And little man's cheeks were drenched in tears, and his wee feet danced in an agony of terror on the floor, as, bawling, he tried to pull his friend Rachel into a corner.

'Nonsense, little man,' cried his father, with quick reproof, on hearing this sacrilegious uproar. 'Mr. Larkin never hurt anyone; tut, tut; sit down, and look at your book.'

But Rachel, with a smile of love and gratification, lifted the little man up in her arms, and kissed him; and his thin, little legs were clasped about her waist, and his arms round her neck, and he kissed her with his wet face, devouringly, blubbering 'the frightle man--you doatie!--the frightle man!'

'Then, Mr. Wylder, I shall have the doc.u.ment prepared again from the draft. You'll see to that, Mr. Buggs, please; and perhaps it will be better that you should look in at the Lodge.'

When he mentioned the Lodge, it was in so lofty a way that a stranger would have supposed it something very handsome indeed, and one of the sights of the county.

'Say, about nine o'clock to-morrow morning. Farewell, Mr. Wylder, farewell. I regret the enhanced expense--I regret the delay--I regret the risk--I regret, in fact, the whole scene. Farewell, Mrs. Wylder.' And with a silent bow to Rachel--perfectly polished, perfectly terrible--he withdrew, followed by the sallow clerk, and by that radiant scamp, old Buggs, who made them several obeisances at the door.

'Oh, dear Miss Lake--Rachel, I mean--Rachel, dear, I hope it won't be all off. Oh, you don't know--Heaven only knows--the danger we are in. Oh, Rachel, dear, if this is broken off, I don't know what is to become of us--I don't know.'

Dolly spoke quite wildly, with her hands on Rachel's shoulders. It was the first time she had broken down, the first time, at least, the vicar had seen her anything but cheery, and his head sank, and it seemed as if his last light had gone out, and he was quite benighted.

'Do you think,' said he, 'there is much danger of that? Do you really think so?'

'Now, don't blame me,' said Miss Lake, 'and don't be frightened till you have heard me. Let us sit down here--we shan't be interrupted--and just answer your wretched friend, Rachel, two or three questions, and hear what she has to say.'

Rachel was flushed and excited, and sat with the little boy still in her arms.

So, in reply to her questions, the vicar told her frankly how he stood; and Rachel said--'Well, you must not think of selling your reversion. Oh!

think of your little boy--think of Dolly--if _you_ were taken away from her.'

'But,' said Dolly, 'Mr. Larkin heard from Captain Lake that Mark is privately married, and actually has, he says, a large family; and he, you know, has letters from him, and Mr. Larkin thinks, knows more than anyone else about him; and if that were so, none of us would ever inherit the property. So'--

'_Do_ they say that Mark is married? Nothing can be more _false_. I _know_ it is altogether a falsehood. He neither is nor ever will be married. If my brother _dared_ say that in my presence, I would make him confess, before you, that he _knows_ it cannot be. Oh! my poor little Fairy--my poor Dolly--my poor good friend, William! What shall I say? I am in great distraction of mind.' And she hugged and kissed the pale little boy, she herself paler.

'Listen to me, good and kind as you are. You are never to call me your friend, mind that. I am a most unhappy creature forced by circ.u.mstances to be your enemy, for a time--not always. You have no conception _how_, and may never even suspect. Don't ask me, but listen.'

Wonder stricken and pained was the countenance with which the vicar gazed upon her, and Dolly looked both frightened and perplexed.

'I have a little more than three hundred a-year. There is a little annuity charged on Sir Hugh Landon's estate, and his solicitor has written, offering me six hundred pounds for it. I will write to-night accepting that offer, and you shall have the money to pay those debts which have been pressing so miserably upon you. _Don't_ thank--not a word--but listen. I would so like, Dolly, to come and live with you. We could unite our incomes. I need only bring poor old Tamar with me, and I can give up Redman's Farm in September next. I should be so much happier; and I think my income and yours joined would enable us to live without any danger of getting into debt. Will you agree to this, Dolly, dear; and promise me, William Wylder, that you will think no more of selling that reversion, which may be the splendid provision of your dear little boy.

Don't thank me--don't say anything now; and oh! don't reject my poor entreaty. Your refusal would almost make me mad. I would try, Dolly, to be of use. I think I could. Only try me.'

She fancied she saw in Dolly's face, under all her grat.i.tude, some perplexity and hesitation, and feared to accept a decision then. So she hurried away, with a hasty and kind good-bye.

A fortnight before, I think, during Dolly's jealous fit, this magnificent offer of Rachel's would, notwithstanding the dreadful necessities of the case, have been coldly received by the poor little woman. But that delusion was quite cured now--no reserve, or doubt, or coldness left behind. And Dolly and the vicar felt that Rachel's n.o.ble proposal was the making of them.

CHAPTER LIX.

AN ENEMY IN REDMAN'S DELL.

Jos. Larkin grew more and more uncomfortable about the unexpected interposition of Rachel Lake as the day wore on. He felt, with an unerring intuition, that the young lady both despised and suspected him.

He also knew that she was impetuous and clever, and he feared from that small white hand a fatal mischief--he could not tell exactly how--to his plans.

Jim Dutton's letter had somehow an air of sobriety and earnestness, which made way with his convictions. His doubts and suspicions had subsided, and he now believed, with a profound moral certainty, that Mark Wylder was actually dead, within the precincts of a mad-house or of some lawless place of detention abroad. What was that to the purpose? Dutton might arrive at any moment. Low fellows are always talking; and the story might get abroad before the a.s.signment of the vicar's interest. Of course there was something speculative in the whole transaction, but he had made his book well, and by his 'arrangement' with Captain Lake, whichever way the truth lay, he stood to win. So the attorney had no notion of allowing this highly satisfactory arithmetic to be thrown into confusion by the fillip of a small gloved finger.

On the whole he was not altogether sorry for the delay. Everything worked together he knew. One or two covenants and modifications in the articles had struck him as desirable, on reading the instrument over with William Wylder. He also thought a larger consideration should be stated and acknowledged as paid, say 22,000_l._ The vicar would really receive just 2,200_l._ 'Costs' would do something to reduce the balance, for Jos.

Larkin was one of those oxen who, when treading out corn, decline to be muzzled. The remainder was--the vicar would clearly understand--one of those ridiculous pedantries of law, upon which our system of crotchets and fictions insisted. And William Wylder, whose character, simply and sensitively honourable, Mr. Larkin appreciated, was to write to Burlington and Smith a letter, for the satisfaction of their speculative and nervous client, pledging his honour, as a gentleman, and his conscience, as a Christian, that in the event of the sale being completed, he would never do, countenance, or permit, any act or proceeding, whatsoever, tending on any ground to impeach or invalidate the transaction.

'I've no objection--have I?--to write such a letter,' asked the vicar of his adviser.

'Why, I suppose you have no intention of trying to defeat your own act, and that is all the letter would go to. I look on it as wholly unimportant, and it is really not a point worth standing upon for a second.'

So that also was agreed to.

Now while the improved 'instrument' was in preparation, the attorney strolled down in the evening to look after his clerical client, and keep him 'straight' for the meeting at which he was to sign the articles next day.

It was by the drowsy faded light of a late summer's evening that he arrived at the quaint little parsonage. He maintained his character as 'a nice spoken gentleman,' by enquiring of the maid who opened the door how the little boy was. 'Not so well--gone to bed--but would be better, everyone was sure, in the morning.' So he went in and saw the vicar, who had just returned with Dolly from a little ramble. Everything promised fairly--the quiet mind was returning--the good time coming--all the pleasanter for the storms and snows of the night that was over.

'Well, my good invaluable friend, you will be glad--you will rejoice with us, I know, to learn that, after all, the sale of our reversion is unnecessary.'