CHAPTER XXX
EMOTIONS BY MR. WAVERTON
You behold Mr. Waverton exhibiting a high impatience. He was alone in thebest room of the "Peacock" at Islington, a well-looking place after itssevere old oak fashion. Disordered food upon the table showed that Mr.Waverton had been trying to eat with little success. Mr. Waverton's hatupon one chair, his whip upon another, and his cloak tumbled inelegantlyover a third proved that he was not himself. For he was born to treat hisclothes with respect. Mr. Waverton would be jumping up to look out of thewindow, flounce down again in his chair to drink wine and stare withprofound meaning at the table, start up and stride to the hearth andglower down at its emptiness--and repeat the motions in a differentorder. He must be theatrical even without an audience.
But he had some excuse for his uneasiness. It was the evening of hisconversation with my Lord Sunderland, and that fiasco had stimulated him,you know, to a grand exploit. He was waiting for news of it.
The twilight darkened early. Mr. Waverton pushed the window open wider,and leaned out only to come in again in a hurry as if he were afraid ofbeing seen. The room was close, and he wiped his large brow and flunghimself down and drank. There was a dull sound of thunder rolling faraway. In a little while came the beat of rain--slow, big drops. That wassoon over. Then lightning stabbed into the room, and the storm broke.
Candles were brought to Mr. Waverton's petulant appeal, and an excitedmaid-servant bustled and blundered over clearing his table with piousinvocations at each thunder-clap. She fretted Mr. Waverton, whoadmonished her and made her worse.
Upon him and her there came a man cloaked from heel to eye, streamingrain from every angle. He shook a shower from his hat. "Hell! What anight," says he, breathless. "Save you, squire!"
"Begone, girl! Begone, I say. Od's life, leave us, do you hear?" says Mr.Waverton, in much agitation.
"Bring us a noggin of rum, Sukey, darling," says the wet gentleman,dragging himself out of his sodden cloak. He flung it upon Mr.Waverton's.
"Run, girl!" says Mr. Waverton, in a terrible voice. "Go, you fool." Headvanced upon her, and she stopped gaping, and got herself out with agreat clatter of crockery.
"Od burn and blast it! I want it," says the wet gentleman, and collapsedinto a chair. "I believe you, squire. I want it."
"What is the news with you?" Mr. Waverton said.
"Od's bones, ha' you got the megs? The megs, I say. Oh, rot you, theready, the hundred guineas?"
"Is it done then?" Mr. Waverton's voice dropped.
"Out with the cole, burn you."
Mr. Waverton put a bag of money down on the table. The man snatched atit, tore it open, and began to count. "Is it done, Ned, I say?" Mr.Waverton cried.
Ned showed some broken teeth. "I believe you, by God. He has it. He'sdead meat. Two irons through and through his guts."
Mr. Waverton flung back in his chair. "How then?" he said, in a lowvoice. "Ned--was it in fight? You brought him into a fight?" Ned wenton counting the guineas, and sometimes tried one in his yellow teeth."Oh, have done with that!" Mr. Waverton cried. "They come straightfrom my goldsmith, man. Tell me--you said you would force a fight onhim. Did he--"
"Lay your life!" Ned grinned. "There was a fight, sure. Old Ben knowsthat, by God. Aye, aye, you're fond of fighting ain't you, squire?"
"I fight with gentlemen, sirrah," says Mr. Waverton. "For such baserogues as this fellow, I must provide otherwise."
"Provide my breeches!" says Ned coarsely, and swept up his money."Where's that damned rum?"
"You may take it in the tap." Mr. Waverton rose. "Nay, she'll bring it.Nay, but, Ned--how did he take it?"
"Rot you, how would you take an iron in your gizzard?"
"He said nothing?"
"Now, stap me, do you think we waited for him to say his prayers?"
"Prayers!" says Mr. Waverton grandly, "They would little avail him."
"Well now, burn me, you're a saint yourself, ain't you?"
The rum arrived, and the servant, with frightened eyes upon thebedraggled Ned, went stumbling out of the room again. "You areimpertinent, sirrah," says Mr. Waverton. "The fellow well deserved hisend. I may tell you that I was advised to deal with him thus privately bya noble lord in high place."
"Then it's worth more than a hundred megs."
"You have your pay, I believe. I am satisfied with you."
"Damn your airs," says Ned, but something awed by this parade. "Well, Imust quit."
"It is better," Mr. Waverton agreed.
"Oh! There was a letter for my gentleman at his tavern. We pouched thatwhile we were waiting for him. D'ye care for it? It's a pretty, tenderthing. I reckon it's cheap for another five pieces."
"You are a scoundrel," said Mr. Waverton, and tossed another guinea onthe table.
"Pot to you," says Ned, but slapped down the letter. "Well, I'll march.Maybe you'll have some more in my way. I won't forget you, squire," andout he went.
Mr. Waverton, left alone, fingered the letter contemptuously. His greatmind was indeed possessed by thoughts of victory. He had hated Harryrarely with the chief count in his enmity that Harry was a low fellow,hireling, menial. He could have borne defeat with some grace, he mighteven have sought no revenge for being made ridiculous, if the offenderhad been of a higher station than his own. But such insolence from apauper! The fellow must needs be crushed like an insect. Only suchignominious extinction could satisfy Mr. Waverton's dignity. He inclinedto despise himself for a shadow of human concern about the manner ofHarry's death. Faith, it was an extravagance of chivalry to desire thatthe rogue should have had a chance to fight--that generous chivalry whichhad ever been his bane. He felt nothing but exultation at the issue. Thewretched creature had been properly punished--stamped out by knaves ofhis own class in a vulgar street brawl--a dirty hole-and-corner end.Egad, my lord was very right. These petty, shabby knaves should be dealtwith privately. Mr. Waverton found revenge very sweet.
So Mr. Harry Boyce had gone to his account, and Alison was happilydelivered. Dear child! Mr. Waverton felt a pleasant warmth of heroismsteal over him, felt himself a knight-errant rescuing his lady from thepowers of darkness. Dear Alison! She was free now. To be sure, she neednot be told the manner of the deliverance. That would be an outrage onher delicacy. Enough for her that the cunning wretch who had cozened herwas dead, and she a happy widow. She had but to show a pretty penitence,and Mr. Waverton proposed to be magnanimous. The prospect much pleasedhim. He saw himself grandly accepting her; permitting her to be verytender; wittily, but with a touch of magnificence, restraining her fromtoo much humility....
He came out of this golden dream in the end, and was conscious again ofthe letter, and sneered at it. A nasty, infected thing, to be sure,damp and filthy from Ned's handling. What was it the fellow said? Atender composition? Pah, some blowsy paramour of the knave Boyce. But,perhaps it would be well that Alison should know the fellow hadparamours in his own class. She ought to be made to feel how low shehad sunk by yielding to him.
Mr. Waverton opened the letter and saw Alison's writing:
"MR. BOYCE,--I desire that you would come to me at Highgate. I haveto-day heard from Geoffrey Waverton what you must instantly know. And thetruth is, I cannot be content till I speak with you. But I would not haveyou come for this my asking. Pray, believe it is urgent for us both thatwe meet, and I do require it of you, not desiring of you what you mayhave no mind to, but to be honest with you, and lest that should befallwhich I hope you would not have me bear.
"A."
Mr. Waverton read with swelling eyes.
It was a little while before the meaning came home to him. He was neverquick. Then (a sin to which he was not prone) he used oaths. Thetreacherous, besotted woman! She was still craving for her shabby lover,then. She offered a fair face to her too generous, too faithful Mr.Waverton, only to obtain his confidence and betray him again. Egad, shewas too base. Rotten at the very heart of her. Why, some women must lustafter a low, common fellow, as dogs afte
r dirt. So she would have savedher Boyce from his master's punishment? Mr. Waverton laughed. She wouldhave had him back in her arms again? Mr. Waverton continued to laugh.
But faith, she went too far when she tried to trick Mr. Waverton a secondtime. Much she had gained by her treachery. Her fine husband was out ofher reach now. It would be a pleasure to advise her of his death. Nay,faith, a duty. The miserable creature had been saved from herself. Shemust be shown that--oh delicately, with something of a cold grandeur, atouch of irony maybe, but always in a lofty manner as became one whomoved upon heights far above her grovelling soul. Mr. Waverton, for allhis high irony, rode back home through the dregs of the storm veryfuriously.