The Unspeakable Gentleman/Chapter 5
V.
Even today, as I pen these lines, the picture comes back with the same intensity, but little mellowed or softened with the years. The gaunt old room that had entertained so many guests, emptied of its last one, with nothing but the faint chill that had come through the opened window to remind one of their presence—the fitful light of the two candles that had begun spluttering in the tall brass sticks—Brutus with quiet adroitness clearing away the bottles and the dishes—and a sudden burst of fame from the back log in the fireplace that made his shadow jump unevenly over the opposite wall—and my father resting languidly in his chair again, quite as though nothing had happened—I remember looking about me and almost doubting that anything out of the ordinary had passed in the last five minutes. I glanced narrowly at him, but there was nothing in his manner to betray that he had not been sitting there for the past hour in peaceful meditation. Was he thinking of the other nights when the room was bright with silver and candles?
"My son," he remarked presently, "I was saying to you before our callers interrupted that there are just two things I never do. Do you still care to know them? I think that one may be enough for tonight. It is that circumstances oblige me to keep my word."
"You do not care to tell me any more?" I asked him.
"Only that you had better stay, my son. If you do, I can guarantee you will see me at my worst, which is better, perhaps, than hearing of me second hand. And possibly it may even be interesting, the little drama which is starting."
Thoughtfully he balanced the pistol he was still holding on the palm of his hand, and half unconsciously examined the priming, while I watched him, half with misgiving, half with a reluctant sort of admiration. When he turned towards me again, his eyes had brightened as though he were dwelling on a pleasing reminiscence.
"Indeed," he mused, "it might be more than interesting, hilarious, in fact, if it were not for the lady in the case."
"The lady!" I echoed involuntarily.
"And why not indeed?" he said with a shrug. "Let us do our best to be consistent. What drama is complete without a lady in it? It would have been simpler, I admit, if Thad stolen the paper, per se, and not the lady with it. The lady, I fear, is becoming an encumbrance."
"Am I to understand you brought a woman with you across the ocean?"
He placed the pistol on the table before him, looked at it critically, and changed its position.
"A lady, my son, not a woman, You will find that the two are quite different species. I fear she had but little choice. That is a pretty lock on Mr. Lawton's weapon."
"You mean she is here now?" I persisted. He must surely have been in jest.
"To be sure!" he acquiesced. "She is, I trust, asleep in the east guest room, and heaven help you if you wake her. But why do you start, my son, does it seem odd to you that I should act as squire?"
"Not in the least," I assured him. "I am only astonished that she should consent to accompany,you. You say, sir, that she is a lady?"
"At least," he replied, "I am broadening your education. That in itself, Henry, quite repays me for any trouble I may have taken—but I fear you are putting a bad construction on it. I beg of you, do not judge me so harshly. Launcelot himself—what am I saying?—Bayard himself, up to the present moment, could only commend my every action,"
"Even to bringing her to this house," I suggested coldly.
"Precisely," he replied. "That in itself was actuated by the highest piece of altruism heaven has vouchsafed humanity—the regard a father has for his son."
"Do you mean to think," I demanded angrily, "that you can bring me into this business?"
I was still on my feet, and took a quick step toward him.
"Is it not enough to find you what you are? You've done enough to me tonight, sir, without adding an insult."
My father nodded, quite as though he were receiving a compliment. Seemingly still well pleased, he helped himself again to his snuff, and dusted his fingers carefully with his lace handerchief.
"You misunderstand me," he said gently. "My present occupation requires a shrewder head and a steadier hand than yours."
"And a different code of morals," I added, bowing.
"Positively, my son, you are turning Puritan," he remarked. "A most refreshing change for the family."
I had an angry retort at the tip of my tongue, but it remained unspoken. For the second time that evening, the dining room door opened. I swung away from the table. My father leapt to his feet, bland and obsequious. A girl with dark hair and eyes was standing on the threshold, staring at us curiously, holding a candle that softened the austerity of her plain black dress. There in the half light there was a slender grace about her that made her seem vaguely unreal. In that disordered room she seemed as incongruous as some portrait from a house across the water, as coldly unresponsive to her surroundings. I imagined her on the last canvas of the gallery, bearing all the traits of the family line—the same quiet assurance, the same confident tilt of the head, the same high forehead and clear cut features.
Evidently a similar thought was running through my father's mind.
"Ah, Mademoiselle," he said swiftly in the French tongue, "stay where you are! Stay but a moment! For as you stand there in the shadows, you epitomize the whole house of Blanzy, their grace, their pride, their beauty."
She tried to suppress a smile, but only half succeeded.
"I fear the Captain has been drinking again," she said quietly. "Not that I am sorry. The wine improves you, I think.""
"Mademoiselle lures me to a drunkard's grave," exclaimed my father, bowing low, "but pray be seated. A chair for the lady, my son. Early this afternoon they told me not to expect you. I trust you have had everything possible done for your comfort?"
For a moment she favored me with an incurious glance.
"I was unable to see you on the ship, captain, and I wanted to have a word with you at the first opportunity. Otherwise I would not have favored you with a tableau of the house of Blanzy. I wanted to speak with you—alone."
She had declined the chair I offered her, and was standing facing him, her eyes almost on a level with his.
"This," said my father, bowing again, "is delightfully unexpected! But I forget myself. This is my son, Henry Shelton. May I present him to Mlle. de Blanzy?"
"I suppose you may as well," she replied, holding a hand toward me indifferently. "Let us trust he has your good qualities, monsieur, and none of your bad ones. But I wanted to speak to you alone."
"My son is discretion itself," said my father, with another bow. "Pray let him stay. I feel sure our discussion will not only interest but instruct him."
Mademoiselle frowned and tapped an angry foot on the floor.
"You heard what I said, sir. Send him out," she demanded.
"Stay where you are, Henry," said my father gently. "Stay where you are," he repeated more loudly, as I started for the door. "I have something further to say to you before you leave this house."
"Your pardon," he explained, turning again to Mademoiselle, "but my son and I have had a slight falling out over a question of ethics which I think directly concerns the matter you wish to discuss. Pray forgive me, Mademoiselle, but I had much rather he remained."
Mademoiselle glanced at me again, this time with an appeal in her eyes which I read and understood. It seemed to me a trace more of color had mounted to her cheeks. She seemed about to speak but paused irresolutely.
I made a bow which I did my best to render the equal of my father's, and for the first time I was glad I had entered his house.
"Mademoiselle," I said, "it is a pleasure to render you even so small a service."
And I turned to my father, and met his glance squarely.
"I cannot see any profit to either of us for me to remain longer,"" I observed, "either here or in this house," and I turned to the door.
"Brutus!" called my father sharply. "Stand by the door. Now sir, if you leave this room before I am ready, my servant shall retain you by force. Mademoiselle will pardon this domestic scene," he added, "the boy has an uncertain temper."
I looked to see Brutus' great bulk grinning at me from the doorway. I saw my father half smiling, and fingering the lace at his throat. I saw Mademoiselle watching me, partly frightened, but partly curious, as though she had witnessed similar occurrences. Then my pent up anger got the better of me. Mr. Lawton's pistol still lay on the table. Before my father could divine my intention, I had seized it, and held it pointed at Brutus' head.
"Sir," I said, breathing a trifle faster than usual, "I am not used to being threatened by servants. Order him to one side!"
My father looked at me almost admiringly, and his hand, that had been fingering the lace, groped toward an empty bottle.
"Anything but a bottle, father," I said, watching him from the tail of my eye, "anything but a bottle. It smacks of such low associations."
"Your pardon, Henry," he said quickly, "the movement was purely unconscious. I had thought we were through with pistols for the evening, and Mademoiselle must be fatigued. So put down the pistol, Henry, and let us continue the interview.
"Certainly," I replied, "as soon as you have fulfilled your part of the contract. As soon as you call off your servant, I shall wish you a very good evening. Stand where you are, Brutus."
"Come, come," said my father patiently, "we have had enough of the grotesque this evening. It is growing late, my son. Put down the pistol."
"Brutus," I called, "if you move again, backwards or forwards, I'll fire," and I backed towards the wall.
"Good," said my father. "Henry, you have an amount of courage and foresight which I scarcely expected, even in a son of mine, yet not enough foresight to see that it is useless. Put down the pistol. Put it down before I take it from you!"
His hand had returned again to his torn lapel, and he was leaning slightly forward.
"One instant, father!" I said quickly. "If you come a step nearer, I shall fire on your servant. Pray believe I am serious, father."
"My son!" he cried in mock alarm. "You distress me! Never be serious. Life has too many disappointments for that. Have you not read Marcus Aurelius?"
"Have you reloaded your snuff box?" I asked him.
"Not that," he said, shaking his head, "but I know a hundred ways to disarm a man, otherwise I should not be here witnessing this original situation. My son, I could have killed you half a dozen times since you have been holding that weapon."
"Admitted," I answered, "but I hardly think you will go to such lengths. We all must pause somewhere, father."
"No," he agreed, "unfortunately I am of a mild disposition, and yet—" he made a sudden move toward me—"Do you realize your weapon is unprimed?"
"Shall I try it?" I asked.
"Excellent!" said my father. "You impress me. Yes, I have underrated your possibilities, Henry. However, the play is over—"
He leaned towards the table abruptly and extinguished both the candles. The glow of embers in the fireplace could not relieve the darkness of the shuttered room.
"Now," he continued, "Mademoiselle is standing beside me, and Brutus is between you and me and approaching you. I think it would be safer if you put the pistol down. One's aim is uncertain in the dark, and, after all, it is not Mademoiselle's quarrel. Tell him to put down the pistol, Mademoiselle."
Her voice answered from the darkness in front of me.
"On the contrary," she said lightly, "pray continue. I have not the heart to stop it—nor the courage to interfere in a family quarrel."
"Quite as one would expect from Mademoiselle," his voice replied, "but fortunately my son also has not forgotten his manners. Henry, have you set down the pistol?"
I tossed it on the floor.
"Unfortunately," I said, "I have no woman to hide behind."
I hoped the thrust went home, but my father's voice answered without a tremor.
"You are right, my son. A woman is often useful, though generally when you least expect it. The candles, Brutus."