Part 68 (2/2)
”I have just seen Martin the sailor. He has told us much about young Luttrell, who seems to have been actually beloved on board the s.h.i.+p; his courage, his daring, his coolness, and his unfailing high spirits, made him the idol of the crew; and this fellow declares, that if Luttrell's advice had been listened to, the s.h.i.+p might have been saved; but the American lost his head; and, swearing that the pirates should never have a timber of her, rushed below with a portfire, and blew her up.
”I am ashamed to send off all the selfish details that fill the first part of this letter. In the presence of such a calamity as poor Luttrell's, _my_ sorrows are unworthy and contemptible; but who knows when I could have the time or the temper to go over my dreary story again? and so you shall have it as it is.
”I am not able to read over again what I have written, so that I am not sure whether I have answered all your questions. You will, I am sure, however, forgive me much at such a season; for, though I had screwed up my courage to meet my own disasters, I had no reserve of pluck to sustain me against this sad blow of Luttrell's.
”Do not refuse me, George, this service; believe me, the poor fellow is worthy of all the kindness you can show him. More than ever do I feel the wrong that we have done him, since every misfortune of his life has sprung from it.
”I must finish to catch the post. I enclose you a copy of the deposition of the seaman made before the consul at Genoa, and an extract from the log of _St. Genaro_, the despatch-boat. If you do go--indeed, in any case--write to me at once, and believe me, meanwhile,
”Your faithful friend,
”Gervais Vyner.
”A hearty letter from Lord B. has just come. He says he has just heard of my smash, and offers me my choice of something at home, or in the Colonies. Time enough to think of this; for the present, we shall have to live on about what my guardian allowed me at Christ-church. Address, La Boschetta, Chiavari.”
With much attention, Grenfell read this letter to the end, and then re-read it, pondering over certain parts as he went. He was certainly grieved as much as he could well be for any misfortune not his own.
He liked Vyner as well as it was in his nature to like any one; not, indeed, for his fine and generous qualities, his manliness, and his rect.i.tude--he liked him simply because Vyner had always stood by _him_.
Vyner had sustained him in a set, which, but for such backing, would not have accepted him. Every real step he had made in life had been through Vyner's a.s.sistance; and he well knew that Vyner's fall would extend its influence to himself.
Then came other thoughts: ”He should have to leave the Cottage, where he had hoped to have remained for the c.o.c.k shooting at least, perhaps a little longer; for this same Welsh life was a great economy. He was living for 'half nothing;' no rent, no servants to pay; horses, a fine garden, a capital cellar, all at his disposal. What, in the name of all foolishness, could make a man with double what he could spend, go and squander the whole in rotten speculations? He says he did not want to be richer! What _did_ he want then? How can men tell such lies to their own hearts? Of course, he intended to be a Rothschild. It was some cursed thirsting after enormous wealth--wealth, that was to be expressed by figures on paper--not felt, not enjoyed, nor lived up to; _that_ was the whole sum and substance of the temptation. Why not have the honesty to say so? As for Luttrell, I only wonder how he can think of _him_ at such a time. I imagine, if I were to awake some fine morning to hear I was a beggar, I should take all the other calamities of the world with a marvellous philosophy. It's a bore to be drowned, particularly if there was no necessity for it; but the young fellow had the worst of it; and after all, I don't see that he had a great deal to live for. The island that formed his patrimony would certainly never have seduced _me_ into any inordinate desire to prolong existence. Perhaps I must go there. It is a great annoyance. I hate the journey, and I hate the duty; but to refuse would, in all probability, offend Vyner. It is just the time men are unreasonably thin-skinned, fancying that all the world has turned its back on them, because they have sent off their French cook. Vulgar nonsense! Perhaps Vyner would not take that view; but his women would, I'm certain!”
Now, Mr. Grenfell knew nothing whatever of ”the women” in question, and that was the precise reason that he included them in his spiteful censure.
”And then to fancy that his money-seeking was philanthropy! Was there ever delusion like it! Your virtuous people have such a habit of self-esteem; they actually believe the thing must be right, because they do it.”
Grumbling sorely over that ”Irish journey,” he sauntered back to the house, in the porch of which Ladarelle was standing, with an open letter in his hand.
”I say,” cried he, ”here's a go! The house of Fletcher and David, one of the oldest in London, smashed!”
”I know it,” said Grenfell, dryly.
”Then you know, perhaps, how your friend, Sir Gervais Vyner, has let them in for nigh a quarter of a million?”
”I know more; for I know that _you_ know nothing of the matter; but, to turn to something that concerns ourselves. I must start by the mail train to-night for Holyhead.”
”Which means, that I must evacuate my quarters. I must say, you give your tenants short notice to quit.”
”Stay, by all means. All I have to say is, that I cannot keep you company. Rickards will take excellent care of you till I come back.”
”Which will be----?”
”I can't name the day; but I hope it will be an early one.”
”A mysterious journey--eh?”
”No; but one which it is not at all necessary to take an opinion upon.”
”By the way, you wrote the letter to that Irish fellow the other evening--what did you do with it?”
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