Part 42 (1/2)

”I have no reckoning to render you, sir,” said Glencore, haughtily; ”for any confidence of mine, you are more indebted to my pa.s.sion than to my inclination. I came up here to speak and confer with you about this boy, whose guardians.h.i.+p you are unable to continue longer. Let us speak of that.”

”Yes,” said Harcourt, in his habitual tone of easy good humor, ”they are going to send me out to India again. I have had eighteen years of it already; but I have no Parliamentary influence, nor could I trace a fortieth cousins.h.i.+p with the House of Lords; but, after all, it might be worse. Now, as to this lad, what if I were to take him out with me?

This artist life that he seems to have adopted scarcely promises much.”

”Let me see Upton's letter,” said Glencore, gravely.

”There it is. But I must warn you that the really important part is wanting; for instead of sending us, as he promised, the communication of his Russian Princess, he has stuffed in a ma.s.s of papers intended for Downing Street, and a lot of doctor's prescriptions, for whose loss he is doubtless suffering martyrdom.”

”Is this credible?” cried Glencore.

”There they are, very eloquent about sulphur, and certain refugees with long names, and with some curious hints about Spanish flies and the flesh-brush.”

Glencore flung down the papers in indignation, and walked up and down the room without speaking.

”I'd wager a trifle,” cried Harcourt, ”that Madame--What 's-her-name's letter has gone to the Foreign Office in lien of the despatches; and, if so, they have certainly gained most by the whole transaction.”

”You have scarcely considered, perhaps, what publicity may thus be given to my private affairs,” said Glencore. ”Who knows what this woman may have said; what allusions her letter may contain?”

”Very true; I never did think of that,” muttered Harcourt.

”Who knows what circ.u.mstances of my private history are now bandied about from desk to desk by flippant fools, to be disseminated afterwards over Europe by every courier?” cried he, with increasing pa.s.sion.

Before Harcourt could reply, the servant entered, and whispered a few words in his ear. ”But you already denied me,” said Harcourt. ”You told him that I was from home?”

”Yes, sir; but he said that his business was so important that he 'd wait for your return, if I could not say where he might find you. This is his card.”

Harcourt took it, and read, ”Major Scaresby, from Naples.” ”What think you, Glencore? Ought we to admit this gentleman? It may be that this visit relates to what we have been speaking about.”

”Scaresby--Scaresby--I know the name,” muttered Glencore. ”To be sure!

There was a fellow that hung about Florence and Rome long ago, and called himself Scaresby; an ill-tongued old scandal-monger people encouraged in a land where newspapers are not permitted.”

”He affects to have something very pressing to communicate. Perhaps it were better to have him up.”

”Don't make me known to him, then, or let me have to talk to him,” said Glencore, throwing himself down on a sofa; ”and let his visit be as brief as you can manage.”

Harcourt made a significant sign to his servant, and the moment after the Major was heard ascending the stairs.

”Very persistent of me, you'll say, Colonel Harcourt. Devilish tenacious of my intentions, to force myself thus upon you!” said the Major, as he bustled into the room, with a white leather bag in his hand; ”but I promised Upton I'd not lie down on a bed till I saw you.”

”All the apologies should come from my side, Major,” said Harcourt, as he handed him to a chair; ”but the fact was, that having an invalid friend with me, quite incapable of seeing company, and having matters of some importance to discuss with him--”

”Just so,” broke in Scaresby; ”and if it were not that I had given a very strong pledge to Upton, I 'd have given my message to your servant, and gone off to my hotel. But he laid great stress on my seeing you, and obtaining certain papers which, if I understand aright, have reached you in mistake, being meant for the Minister at Downing Street. Here's his own note, however, which will explain all.”

It ran thus:--

Dear H------,--So I find that some of the despatches have got into your enclosure instead of that ”on his Majesty's service.” I therefore send off the insupportable old bore who will deliver this, to rescue them, and convey them to their fitting destination. ”The extraordinaries” will be burdened to some fifty or sixty pounds for it; but they very rarely are expended so profitably as in getting rid of an intolerable nuisance. Give him all the things, therefore, and pack him off to Downing Street. I'm far more uneasy, however, about some prescriptions which I suspect are along with them. One, a lotion for the cervical vertebrae, of invaluable activity, which you may take a copy of, but strictly, on honor, for your own use only. Scaresby will obtain the Princess's letter, and hand it to you. It is certain not to have been opened at F. O., as they never read anything not alluded to in the private correspondence.

This blunder has done me a deal of harm. My nerves are not in a state to stand such shocks; and though, in fact, you are not the culpable party, I cannot entirely acquit you for having in part occasioned it. [Harcourt laughed good-humoredly at this, and continued:] If you care for it, old S. will give you all the last gossip from these parts, and be the channel of yours to me. But don't dine him; he's not worth a dinner.

He 'll only repay sherry and soda-water, and one of those execrable cheroots you used to be famed for. Amongst the recipes, let me recommend you an admirable tonic, the princ.i.p.al ingredient in which is the oil of the star-fish. It will probably produce nausea, vertigo, and even fainting for a week or two, but these symptoms decline at last, and, except violent hiccup, no other inconvenience remains. Try it, at all events.

Yours ever, H. U.