Part 56 (1/2)

CHAPTER LXXI.

IN WHICH MR. IRONS'S NARRATIVE REACHES MERTON MOOR.

'Well, I did as he bid me, and set the gla.s.s of rum before him, and in place of drinking it, he follows me out. ”I told you,” says he, ”I'd find a way, and I'm going to give you fifty guineas apiece. Stand you at the stair-head,” says he to Glasc.o.c.k, ”and listen; and if you hear anyone coming, step into Mr. Beauclerc's room with his boots, do you see, for I'm going to rob him.” I thought I'd a fainted, and Glasc.o.c.k, that was a tougher lad than me, was staggered; but Mr. Archer had a way of taking you by surprise, and getting you into a business before you knew where you were going. ”I see, Sir,” says Glasc.o.c.k. ”And come you in, and I'll do it,” says Mr. Archer, and in we went, and Mr. Beauclerc was fast asleep.

'I don't like talking about it,' said Irons, suddenly and savagely, and he got up and walked, with a sort of a shrug of the shoulders, to and fro half-a-dozen times, like a man who has a chill, and tries to make his blood circulate.

Mervyn commanded himself, for he knew the man would return to his tale, and probably all the sooner for being left to work off his transient horror how he might.

'Well, he did rob him, and I often thought how cunningly, for he took no more than about half his gold, well knowing, I'm now sure, neither he nor my lord, your father, kept any count; and there was a bundle of notes in his pocket-book, which Mr. Archer was thinning swiftly, when all of a sudden, like a ghost rising, up sits Mr. Beauclerc, an unlucky rising it was for him, and taking him by the collar--he was a powerful strong man--”You've robbed me, Archer,” says he. I was behind Mr.

Archer, and I could not see what happened, but Mr. Beauclerc made a sort of a start and a kick out with his foot, and seemed taken with a tremble all over, for while you count three, and he fell back in the bed with his eyes open, and Mr. Archer drew a thin long dagger out of the dead man's breast, for dead he was.

”What are you afraid of, you ---- fool?” says he, shaking me up; ”I know what I'm about; I'll carry you through; your life's in my hands, mine in yours, only be cool.” He was that himself, if ever man was, and quick as light he closed the dead man's eyes, saying, ”in for a penny in for a pound,” and he threw a bit of the coverlet over his breast, and his mouth and chin, just as a man might draw it rolling round in the bed, for I suppose he thought it best to hide the mouth that was open, and told its tale too plainly, and out he was on the lobby the next instant. ”Don't tell Glasc.o.c.k what's happened, 'twill make him look queer; let him put in the boots, and if he's asked, say Mr. Beauclerc made a turn in the bed, and a grumbling, like a man turning over in his sleep, while he was doing so, d'ye see, and divide this, 'twill settle your little trouble, you know.” 'Twas a little paper roll of a hundred guineas. An' that's the way Mr. Beauclerc came by his death.'

This to Mervyn was the sort of shock that might have killed an older man. The dreadful calamity that had stigmatised and beggared his family--the horror and shame of which he well remembered, when first revealed to him, had held him trembling and tongue-tied for more than an hour before tears came to his relief, and which had ever since blackened his sky, with a monotony of storm and thunder, was in a moment shown to be a chimera. No wonder that he was for a while silent, stunned, and bewildered. At last he was able--pale and cold--to lift up his clasped hands, his eyes, and his heart, in awful grat.i.tude, to the Author of Mercy, the Revealer of Secrets, the Lord of Life and Truth.

'And where is this Charles Archer--is he dead or living?' urged Mervyn with an awful adjuration.

'Ay, where to catch him, and how--Dead? Well, he's dead to some, you see, and living to others; and living or dead, I'll put you on his track some fine day, if you're true to me; but not yet awhile, and if you turn a stag, or name my name to living soul (and here Mr. Irons swore an oath such as I hope parish clerks don't often swear, and which would have opened good Dr. Walsingham's eyes with wonder and horror), you'll never hear word more from me, and I think, Sir, you'll lose your life beside.'

'Your threats of violence are lost on me, I can take care of myself,'

said Mervyn, haughtily.

The clerk smiled a strange sort of smile.

'But I've already pledged my sacred honour not to mention your name or betray your secret.'

'Well, just have patience, and maybe I'll not keep you long; but 'tis no trifle for a man to make up his mind to what's before _me_, maybe.'

After a pause, Irons resumed--

'Well, Sir, you see, Mr. Archer sat down by the fire and smoked a pipe, and was as easy and pleased, you'd say, to look on him, as a man need be; and he called for cards when my lord wanted them, and whatever else he needed, making himself busy and bustling--as I afterwards thought to make them both remember well that he was in the room with them.

'In and out of the chamber I went with one thing or another, and every time I pa.s.sed Mr. Beauclerc's room I grew more and more frightened; and, truth to say, I was a scared man, and I don't know how I got through my business; every minute expecting to hear the outcry from the dead man's room.

'Mr. Edwards had an appointment, he said--nothing good, you may be sure--they were a rake-h.e.l.ly set--saving your presence. Neither he nor my lord had lost, I believe, anything to signify to one another; and my lord, your father, made no difficulty about his going away, but began to call again for Mr. Beauclerc, and to curse him--as a half-drunk man will, making a power of noise; and, ”Where's he gone to?” and, ”Where's his room?” and, ”---- him, he shall play, or fight me.” You see, Sir, he had lost right and left that time, and was an angry man, and the liquor made him half mad; and I don't think he knew rightly what he was doing.

And out on the lobby with him swearing he should give him his revenge, or he'd know the reason why.

”Where's Mr. Beauclerc's room?” he shouts to me, as if he'd strike me; I did not care a rush about that, but I was afraid to say--it stuck in my throat like--and I stared at Mr. Archer; and he calls to the chamber-maid, that was going up stairs, ”Where does Mr. Beauclerc lie?”

and she, knowing him, says at once, ”The Flower de luce,” and pointed to the room; and with that, my lord staggered up to the door, with his drawn sword in hand, bawling on him to come out, and fumbling with the pin; he could not open it; so he knocked it open with a kick, and in with him, and Mr. Archer at his elbow, soothing him like; and I, I don't know how--behind him.

'By this time he had worked himself into a mad pa.s.sion, and says he, ”Curse your foxing--if you won't play like a man, you may die like a dog.” I think 'twas them words ruined him; the chamber-maid heard them outside; and he struck Mr. Beauclerc half-a-dozen blows with the side of the small-sword across the body, here and there, quite unsteady; and ”Hold, my lord, you've hurt him,” cries Mr. Archer, as loud as he could cry. ”Put up your sword for Heaven's sake,” and he makes a sort of scuffle with my lord, in a friendly way, to disarm him, and push him away, and ”Throw down the coverlet and see where he's wounded,” says he to me; and so I did, and there was a great pool of blood--_we_ knew all about that--and my lord looked shocked when he seen it. ”I did not mean that,” says my lord; ”but,” says he, with a sulky curse, ”he's well served.”

'I don't know whether Glasc.o.c.k was in the room or not all this while, maybe he was; at any rate, he swore to it afterwards; but you've read the trial, I warrant. The room was soon full of people. The dead man was still warm--'twas well for us. So they raised him up; and one was for trying one thing, and another; and my lord was sitting stupid-like all this time by the wall; and up he gets, and says he, ”I hope he's not dead, but if he be, upon my honour, 'tis an accident--no more. I call Heaven to witness, and the persons who are now present; and pledge my sacred honour, as a peer, I meant no more than a blow or two.”

”You hear, gentlemen, what my lord says, he meant only a blow or two, and not to take his life,” cries Mr. Archer.