Part 15 (1/2)
THE GOLDEN INCUBUS.
SIR JOHN DRINKWATER IS ECCENTRIC.
”You're an old fool, Burdon, and it's all your fault.”
That's what Sir John said, as he shook his Malacca cane at me; and I suppose it was my fault; but then, how could I see what was going to happen?
It began in 1851. I remember it so well because that was the year of the Great Exhibition, and Sir John treated me to a visit there; and when I'd been and was serving breakfast next morning, he asked me about it, and laughed and asked me if I'd taken much notice of the goldsmiths'
work. I said I had, and that it was a great mistake to clean gold plate with anything but rouge.
”Why?” he said.
Because, I told him, if any of the plate-powder happened to be left in the cracks, if it was rouge it gave a good effect; but if it was a white preparation, it looked dirty and bad.
”Then we'll have all the chests open to-morrow, James Burdon,” he said; ”and you shall give the old gold plate a good clean up with rouge, and I'll help you.”
”You, Sir John?”
He nodded. And the very next day he sent all the other servants to the Exhibition, came down to my pantry, opened the plate-room, and put on an ap.r.o.n just like a servant would, and helped me to clean that gold plate.
He got tired by one o'clock, and sat down upon a chair and looked at it all glistening as it was spread out on the dresser and shelves--some bright with polis.h.i.+ng, some dull and dead and ancient-looking. Cups and bowls and salvers and round dishes covered with coats of arms; some battered and bent, and some as perfect as on the day it left the goldsmith's hands.
I'd worked hard--as hard as I could, for sneezing, for I was doing that half the time, just as if I had a bad cold. For every cup or dish was kept in a green baize bag that fitted in one of the old ironbound oak chests, and these chests were lined with green baize. And all this being exceedingly old, the moths had got in; and pounds and pounds of pepper had been scattered about the baize, to keep them away.
”I'll have a gla.s.s of wine, Burdon,” Sir John says at last; ”and we'll put it all away again. It's very beautiful. That's Cellini work-- real,” he says, as he took up a great golden bowl, all hammered and punched and engraved. ”But the whole lot of it is an incubus, for I can't use it, and I don't want to make a show.”
”Take a gla.s.s yourself, my man,” he said, as I got him the sherry--a fresh bottle from the outer cellar. ”Ha! at a moderate computation that old gold plate is worth a hundred thousand pounds; and a hundred thousand pounds at only three per cent in the funds, Burdon, would be three thousand a year. So you see I lose that income by letting this heap of old gold plate lie locked up in those chests.--Now, what would you do with it, if it were yours?”
”Sell it, Sir John, and put it in houses,” I said sharply.
”Yes, James Burdon; and a sensible thing to do. But you are a servant, and I'm a baronet; though I don't look one, do I?” he said, holding up his red hands and laughing.
”You always look a gentleman, Sir John,” I said; ”and that's what you are.”
”Please G.o.d, I try to be,” he said sadly. ”But I don't want the money, James; and these are all old family heirlooms that I hold in trust for my life, and have to hand over--bound in honour to do so--to my son.-- Look!” he said, ”at the arms and crest of the Boileaus on every piece.”
”Boileau, Sir John?”
”Well, Drinkwater, then. We translated the name when we came over to England. There; let's put it all away. It's a regular incubus.”
So it was all packed up again in the chests; for he wouldn't let me finish cleaning it, saying it would take a week; and that it was more for the sake of seeing and going over it, than anything, that he had had it out. So we locked it all up again in the plate-room. And it took five waters hot as he could bear 'em to wash his hands; and even then there was some rouge left in the cracks, and in the old signet ring with the coat of arms cut in the stone--same as that on the plate.
I don't know how it was; perhaps I was out of sorts, but from that day I got thinking about gold plate and what Sir John said about its worth. I knew what ”incubus” meant, for I went up in the library and looked out the word in the big dictionary; and that plate got to be such an incubus to me that I went up to Sir John one morning and gave him warning.
”But what for?” he said. ”Wages?”
”No, Sir John. You're a good master, and her ladys.h.i.+p was a good mistress before she was took up to heaven.”
”Hush, man, hus.h.!.+” he says sharply.
”And it'll break my heart nearly not to see young Master Barclay when he comes back from school.”