Part 23 (1/2)
Alban hesitated.
”It looked more like the popular notion of the devil,” he said.
”Oh, Mr. Morris!”
”I give you my first impression, Miss Emily, for what it is worth. He had his high-peaked hat in his hand, to keep his head cool. His wiry iron-gray hair looked like hair standing on end; his bushy eyebrows curled upward toward his narrow temples; his horrid old globular eyes stared with a wicked brightness; his pointed beard hid his chin; he was covered from his throat to his ankles in a loose black garment, something between a coat and a cloak; and, to complete him, he had a club foot. I don't doubt that Sir Jervis Redwood is the earthly alias which he finds convenient--but I stick to that first impression which appeared to surprise you. 'Ha! an artist; you seem to be the sort of man I want!' In those terms he introduced himself. Observe, if you please, that my trap caught him the moment he came my way. Who wouldn't be an artist?”
”Did he take a liking to you?” Emily inquired.
”Not he! I don't believe he ever took a liking to anybody in his life.”
”Then how did you get your invitation to his house?”
”That's the amusing part of it, Miss Emily. Give me a little breathing time, and you shall hear.”
CHAPTER XXIII. MISS REDWOOD.
”I got invited to Sir Jervis's house,” Alban resumed, ”by treating the old savage as unceremoniously as he had treated me. 'That's an idle trade of yours,' he said, looking at my sketch. 'Other ignorant people have made the same remark,' I answered. He rode away, as if he was not used to be spoken to in that manner, and then thought better of it, and came back. 'Do you understand wood engraving?' he asked. 'Yes.'
'And etching?' 'I have practiced etching myself.' 'Are you a Royal Academician?' 'I'm a drawing-master at a ladies' school.' 'Whose school?' 'Miss Ladd's.' 'd.a.m.n it, you know the girl who ought to have been my secretary.' I am not quite sure whether you will take it as a compliment--Sir Jervis appeared to view you in the light of a reference to my respectability. At any rate, he went on with his questions. 'How long do you stop in these parts?' 'I haven't made up my mind.' 'Look here; I want to consult you--are you listening?' 'No; I'm sketching.' He burst into a horrid scream. I asked if he felt himself taken ill. 'Ill?'
he said--'I'm laughing.' It was a diabolical laugh, in one syllable--not 'ha! ha! ha!' only 'ha!'--and it made him look wonderfully like that eminent person, whom I persist in thinking he resembles. 'You're an impudent dog,' he said; 'where are you living?' He was so delighted when he heard of my uncomfortable position in the kennel-bedroom, that he offered his hospitality on the spot. 'I can't go to you in such a pigstye as that,' he said; 'you must come to me. What's your name?'
'Alban Morris; what's yours?' 'Jervis Redwood. Pack up your traps when you've done your job, and come and try my kennel. There it is, in a corner of your drawing, and devilish like, too.' I packed up my traps, and I tried his kennel. And now you have had enough of Sir Jervis Redwood.”
”Not half enough!” Emily answered. ”Your story leaves off just at the interesting moment. I want you to take me to Sir Jervis's house.”
”And I want you, Miss Emily, to take me to the British Museum. Don't let me startle you! When I called here earlier in the day, I was told that you had gone to the reading-room. Is your reading a secret?”
His manner, when he made that reply, suggested to Emily that there was some foregone conclusion in his mind, which he was putting to the test.
She answered without alluding to the impression which he had produced on her.
”My reading is no secret. I am only consulting old newspapers.”
He repeated the last words to himself. ”Old newspapers?” he said--as if he was not quite sure of having rightly understood her.
She tried to help him by a more definite reply.
”I am looking through old newspapers,” she resumed, ”beginning with the year eighteen hundred and seventy-six.”
”And going back from that time,” he asked eagerly; ”to earlier dates still?”
”No--just the contrary--advancing from 'seventy-six' to the present time.”
He suddenly turned pale--and tried to hide his face from her by looking out of the window. For a moment, his agitation deprived him of his presence of mind. In that moment, she saw that she had alarmed him.
”What have I said to frighten you?” she asked.
He tried to a.s.sume a tone of commonplace gallantry. ”There are limits even to your power over me,” he replied. ”Whatever else you may do, you can never frighten me. Are you searching those old newspapers with any particular object in view?”
”Yes.”
”May I know what it is?”