Part 55 (2/2)

'Come to the parlour,' said Mervyn, perceiving that Irons was chilled and s.h.i.+vering.

There, with the door and window-shutters closed, a pair of candles on the table, and a couple of f.a.ggots of that pleasant bog-wood, which blazes so readily and fragrantly on the hearth, Irons shook off his cloak, and stood, lank and grim, and, as it seemed to Mervyn, horribly scared, but well in view, and trying, sullenly, to collect his thoughts.

'I'm going away, I tell you, for a little while; but I'm come to see you, Sir, to think what I may tell you now, and above all, to warn you again' saying to any living soul one word of what pa.s.sed between us when I last was here; you've kept your word honourable as yet; if you break it I'll not return,' and he clenched it with an oath, 'I _daren't_ return.'

'I'll tell you the way it happened,' he resumed. ''Tis a good while now, ay twenty-two years; your n.o.ble father's dead these twenty-two years and upwards. 'Twas a bad murdher, Sir: they wor both bad murdhers. I look on it, _he's_ a murdhered man.'

'He--who?' demanded the young man.

'Your father, Sir.'

'My father murdered?' said Mervyn.

'Well, I see no great differ; I see none at all. I'll tell you how it was.'

And he looked over his shoulder again, and into the corners of the room, and then Mr. Irons began--

'I believe, Sir, there's no devil like a vicious young man, with a hard heart and cool courage, in want of money. Of all the men I ever met with, or heard tell of, Charles Archer was the most dreadful. I used sometimes to think he _was_ the devil. It wasn't long-headed or cunning he was, but he knew your thoughts before you half knew them yourself. He knew what _every_ one was thinking of. He made up his mind at a glance, and struck like a thunderbolt. As for pity or fear, he did not know what they were, and his cunning was so deep and sure there was no catching him.

'He came down to the Pied Horse Inn, where I was a drawer, at Newmarket, twice.'

Mervyn looked in his face, quickly, with a ghastly kind of a start.

'Ay, Sir, av coorse you know it; you read the trial; av coorse you did.

Well, he came down there twice. 'Twas a good old house, Sir, lots of room, and a well-accustomed inn. An' I think there was but two bad men among all the servants of the house--myself and Glasc.o.c.k. He was an under hostler, and a bad boy. He chose us two out of the whole lot, with a look. He never made a mistake. He knew us some way like a crow knows carrion, and he used us cleverly.'

And Irons cursed him.

'He's a hard master, like his own,' said Irons; 'his wages come to nothing, and his services is h.e.l.l itself. He could sing, and talk, and drink, and keep things stirring, and the gentlemen liked him; and he was, 'twas said, a wonderful fine player at whist, and piquet, and ombre, and all sorts of card-playing. So you see he could afford to play fair. The first time he came down, he fought three duels about a tipsy quarrel over a pool of Pope Joan. There was no slur on his credit, though; 'twas just a bit of temper. He wounded all three; two but trifling; but one of them--Chapley, or Capley, I think, was his name--through the lungs, and he died, I heard, abroad. I saw him killed--'twasn't the last; it was done while you'd count ten. Mr. Archer came up with a sort of a sneer, pale and angry, and 'twas a clash of the small swords--one, two, three, and a spring like a tiger--and all over.

He was frightful strong; ten times as strong as he looked--all a deception.'

'Well, Sir, there was a Jew came down, offering wagers, not, you see, to gentlemen, Sir, but to poor fellows. And Mr. Archer put me and Glasc.o.c.k up to bite him, as he said; and he told us to back Strawberry, and we did. We had that opinion of his judgment and his knowledge--you see, we thought he had ways of finding out these things--that we had no doubt of winning, so we made a wager of twelve pounds. But we had no money--not a crown between us--and we must stake gold with the host of the ”Plume of Feathers;” and the long and the short of it was, I never could tell how he put it into our heads, to pledge some of the silver spoons and a gold chain of the master's, intending to take them out when we won the money.

Well, Strawberry lost, and we were left in the lurch. So we told Mr.

Archer how it was; for he was an off-handed man when he had anything in view, and he told us, as we thought, he'd help us if we lost. ”Help you,” says he, with a sort of laugh he had, ”I want help myself; I haven't a guinea, and I'm afraid you'll be hanged: and then,” says he, ”stay a bit, and I'll find a way.”

'I think he _was_ in a bad plight just then himself; he was awful expensive with horses and--and--other things; and I think there was a writ, or maybe more, out against him, from other places, and he wanted a lump of money in his hand to levant with, and go abroad. Well, listen, and don't be starting, or making a row, Sir,' and a sulky, lowering, hang-dog shadow, came over Irons. 'Your father, Lord Dunoran, played cards; his partner was Mr. Charles Archer. Whist it was--with a gentleman of the name of Beauclerc, and I forget the other--he wore a chocolate suit, and a black wig. 'Twas I carried them their wine. Well, Mr. Beauclerc won, and Mr. Archer stopped playing, for he had lost enough; and the gentleman in the chocolate--what was his name?--Edwards, I think--ay, 'twas--_yes_, Edwards, it was--was tired, and turned himself about to the fire, and took a pipe of tobacco; and my lord, your father, played piquet with Mr. Beauclerc; and he lost a power of money to him, Sir; and, by bad luck, he paid a great part of it, as they played, in rouleaus of gold, for he had won at the dice down stairs.

Well, Mr. Beauclerc was a little hearty, and he grew tired, and was for going to bed. But my lord was angry, and being disguised with liquor too, he would not let him go till they played more; and play they did, and the luck still went the same way; and my lord grew fierce over it, and cursed and drank, and that did not mend his luck you may be sure; and at last Mr. Beauclerc swears he'd play no more; and both kept talking together, and neither heard well what t'other said; but there was some talk about settling the dispute in the morning.

'Well, Sir, in goes Mr. Beauclerc, staggering--his room was the Flower de luce--and down he throws himself, clothes an' all, on his bed; and then my lord turned on Mr. _Edwards_, I'm sure that was his name, and persuades him to play at piquet; and to it they went.

'As I was coming in with more wine, I meets Mr. Archer coming out, ”Give them their wine,” says he, in a whisper, ”and follow me.” An' so I did.

”You know something of Glasc.o.c.k, and have a fast hold of him,” says he, ”and tell him quietly to bring up Mr. Beauclerc's boots, and come back along with him; and bring me a small gla.s.s of rum.” And back he goes into the room where the two were stuck in their cards, and talking and thinking of nothing else.'

<script>