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WYLDER’S HAND
tions, like this, and driving him about the world like an absconding bankrupt, how can I advise him?’
All this drifted slowly through his mind, and each suggestion
had its collateral speculations; and so it carried him pleasantly
a good way on his walk, and he was now in the shadow of the dense
copsewood that mantles the deep ravine which debouches into Redman’s Dell.
The road was hardly two yards wide, and the wood walled it in,
and overhung it occasionally in thick, irregular masses. As the attorney marched leisurely onward, he saw, or fancied that he saw, now
and then, in uncertain glimpses, something white in motion among
the trees beside him.
At fi rst he did not mind; but it continued, and grew gradually
unpleasant. It might be a goat, a white goat; but no, it was too tall
for that. Had he seen it at all? Aye! there it was, no mistake now.
A poacher, maybe? But their poachers were not of the dangerous
sort, and there had not been a robber about Gylingden within the
memory of man. Besides, why on earth should either show himself
in that absurd way?
He stopped – he listened – he stared suspiciously into the profound darkness. Then he thought he heard a rustling of the leaves
near him, and he hallooed, ‘Who’s there?’ But no answer came.
So, taking heart of grace, he marched on, still zealously peering
among the trees, until, coming to an opening in the pathway, he
more distinctly saw a tall, white fi gure, standing in an ape-like attitude, with its arms extended, grasping two boughs, and stooping,
as if peeping cautiously, as he approached.
The good attorney drew up and stared at this gray phantasm,
saying to himself, ‘Yes,’ in a sort of quiet hiss.
He stopped in a horror, and as he gazed, the fi gure suddenly
drew back and disappeared.
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JOSEPH SHERIDAN L E FANU
‘Very pleasant this!’ said the attorney, after a pause, recovering
a little. ‘What on earth can it be?’
Jos. Larkin could not tell which way it had gone. He had already
passed the midway point, where this dark path begins to descend
through the ravine into Redman’s Dell. He did not like going forward – but to turn back might bring him again beside the mysterious fi gure. And though he was not, of course, afraid of ghosts, nor
in this part of the world, of robbers, yet somehow he did not know
what to make of this gigantic gray monkey.
So, not caring to stay longer, and seeing nothing to be gained
by turning back, the attorney buttoned the top button of his coat,
and holding his head very erect, and placing as much as he could of
the path between himself and the side where the fi gure had disappeared, marched on steadily. It was too dark, and the way not quite
regular enough, to render any greater speed practicable.
From the thicket, as he proceeded, he heard a voice – he had
often shot woodcocks in that cover – calling in a tone that sounded
in his ears like banter, ‘Mark – Mark – Mark – Mark.’
He stopped, holding his breath, and the sound ceased.
‘Well, this certainly is not usual,’ murmured Mr. Larkin, who was
a little more perturbed than perhaps he quite cared to acknowledge
even to himself. ‘Some fellow perhaps watching for a friend – or
tricks, maybe.’
Then the attorney, trying his supercilious smile in the dark, listened again for a good while, but nothing was heard except those
whisperings of the wind which poets speak of. He looked before him
with his eyebrows screwed, in a vain effort to pierce the darkness,
and the same behind him; and then after another pause, he began
uncomfortably to move down the path once more.
In a short time the same voice, with the same uncertain echo
among the trees, cried faintly, ‘Mark – Mark,’ and then a pause;
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WYLDER’S HAND
then again, ‘Mark – Mark – Mark,’ and then it grew more distant,
and sounded among the trees and reverberations of the glen like
laughter.
‘Mark – ha – ha – hark – ha – ha – ha – hark – Mark – Mark –
ha – ha – hark!’
‘Who’s there?’ cried the attorney, in a tone rather ferocious from
fright, and stamping on the path. But his summons and the provocation died away together in the profoundest silence.
Mr. Jos. Larkin did not repeat his challenge. This cry of ‘Mark!’
was beginning to connect itself uncomfortably in his mind with his
speculations about his wealthy client, which in that solitude and
darkness began to seem not so entirely pure and disinterested as he
was in the habit of regarding them, and a sort of wood-demon, such
as a queer little schoolfellow used long ago to read a tale about in an
old German story-book, was now dogging his darksome steps, and
hanging upon his fl ank with a vindictive design.
Jos. Larkin was not given to fancy, nor troubled with superstition. His religion was of a comfortable, punctual, business-like cast,
which according with his genius – denied him, indeed, some things
for which, in truth, he had no taste – but in no respect interfered
with his main mission upon earth, which was getting money. He had
found no diffi culty hitherto in serving God and Mammon. The joint
business prospered. Let us suppose it was one of those falterings of
faith, which try the best men, that just now made him feel a little
queer, and gave his thoughts about Mark Wylder, now grown habitual, that new and ghastly complexion which made the situation
so unpleasant.
He wished himself more than once well out of this confounded
pass, and listened nervously for a good while, and stared once more,
half-frightened, in various directions, into the darkness.
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JOSEPH SHERIDAN L E FANU
‘If I thought there could be anything the least wrong or reprehensible – we are all fallible – in my allowing my mind to turn so
much upon my client, I can certainly say I should be very far from
allowing it – I shall certainly consider it – and I may promise myself to decide in a Christian spirit, and if there be a doubt, to give it
against myself.’
This resolution, which was, he trusted, that of a righteous man,
was, I am afraid, the effect rather of fright than refl ection, and employed in that sense somewhat in the manner of an exorcism – whispered rather to the ghost than to his conscience.
I am sure Larkin did not himself suppose this. On the contrary,
he really believed, I am convinced, that he scouted the ghost, and
had merely volunteered this salutary self-examination as an exercise of conscience. He could not, however, have doubted that he was
very nervous – and that he would have been glad of the companionship even of one of the Gylingden shopkeepers, through this infested bit of wood.
Having again addressed himself to his journey, he was now
approaching that part of the path where the trees recede a little,
leaving a considerable space unoccupied at either side of his line of
march. Here there was faint moonlight and starlight, very welcome;
but a little in advance of him, where the copsewood closed in again,
just above those stone steps which Lake and his sister Rachel had
mounted together upon the night of the memorable rendezvous,
he fancied that he again saw the gray fi gure cowering among the
foremost stems of the wood.
It was a great shock. He stopped short – and as he stared upon
the object, he felt that electric chill and rising of the hair which accompany supernatural panic.
As he gazed, however, it was gone. Yes. At all events, he could see
it no more. Had he seen it there at all? He was in such an odd state
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WYLDER’S HAND
he could not quite trust himself. He looked back hesitatingly. But
he remembered how very long and dark the path that way was, and
how unpleasant his adventures there had been. And although there
was a chance that the gray monkey was lurking somewhere near
the path, still there was now but a short space between him and the
broad carriage track down Redman’s Dell, and once upon that he
considered himself almost in the street of Gylingden.
So he made up his mind, and marched resolutely onward, and
had nearly reached that point at which the converging screen of
thicket again overshadows the pathway, when close at his side he
saw the tall, white fi gure push itself forward among the branches,
and in a startling under-tone of enquiry, like a conspirator challenging his brother, a voice – the same which he had so often heard
during this walk – cried over his shoulder,
‘Mark Wylder!’
Larkin sprung back a pace or two, turning his face full upon the
challenger, who in his turn was perhaps affrighted, for the same voice
uttered a sort of strangled shriek, and he heard the branches crack
and rustle as he pushed his sudden retreat through them – leaving
the attorney more horrifi ed than ever.
No other sound but the melancholy soughing of the nightbreeze, and the hoarse murmur of the stream rising from the stony
channel of Redman’s Dell, were now, or during the remainder of his
walk through these haunted grounds, again audible.
So, with rapid strides passing the dim gables of Redman’s Farm,
he at length found himself, with a sense of indescribable relief, upon
the Gylingden road, and could see the twinkling lights in the windows of the main street.
CHAPTER XLI
IN WHICH SIR FRANCIS
SEDDLEY MANIPULATES
At about two o’clock Buddle was called up, and spirited away to
Brandon in a dog-cart. A haemorrhage, perhaps, a sudden shivering,
and infl ammation – a sinking, maybe, or delirium – some awful
change, probably – for Buddle did not return.
Old Major Jackson heard of it, in his early walk, at Buddle’s door.
He had begun to grow more hopeful. But hearing this he walked
home, and replaced the dress-coat and silk stockings he had ventured to remove, promptly in his valise, which he buckled down and
locked – swallowed with agitated voracity some fragments of breakfast – got on his easy boots and gaiters – brushed his best hat, and
locked it into its leather case – placed his rug, great-coat, and umbrella, and a rough walking-stick for service, and a gold-tipped, exquisite cane, for duty on promenades of fashion, neatly on top of his
valise, and with his old white hat and shooting-coat on, looking and
whistling as much as possible as usual, he popped carelessly into
John Hobbs’s stable, where he was glad to see three horses standing,
and he mentally chose the black cob for his fl ight to Dollington.
‘A bloodthirsty rascal that Bracton,’ muttered the major. The expenses were likely to be awful, and some allowance was to be made
for his state of mind.
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WYLDER’S HAND
He was under Doctor Buddle’s porch, and made a fl imsy rattle
with his thin brass knocker. ‘Maybe he has returned?’ He did not
believe it, though.
Major Jackson was very nervous, indeed. The up trains from Dollington were ‘few and far between,’ and that diddled Crutchleigh
would be down on him the moment the breath was out of poor Lake.
‘It was plain yesterday at the sessions that infernal woman (his wife)
had been at him. She hates Bracton like poison, because he likes the
Brandon people; and, by Jove, he’ll have up every soul concerned.
The Devil and his wife I call them. If poor Lake goes off anywhere
between eleven and four o’clock, I’m nabbed, by George!’
The door was opened. The doctor peeped out of his parlour.
‘Well?’ enquired the major, confoundedly frightened.
‘Pretty well, thank ye, but awfully fagged – up all night, and
no use.’
‘But how is he?’ asked the major, with a dreadful qualm of dismay.
‘Same as yesterday – no change – only a little bleeding last
night – not arterial; venous you know – only venous.’
The major thought he spoke of the goddess, and though he did
not well comprehend, said he was ‘glad of it.’
‘Think he’ll do then?’
‘He may – very unlikely though. A nasty case, as you can imagine.’
‘He’ll certainly not go, poor fellow, before four o’clock P.M. I dare
say – eh?’
The major’s soul was at the Dollington station, and was regulating poor Lake’s departure by ‘Bradshaw’s Guide.’
‘Who knows? We expect Sir Francis this morning. Glad to have
a share of the responsibility off my shoulders, I can tell you. Come in
and have a chop, will you?’
‘No, thank you, I’ve had my breakfast.’
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JOSEPH SHERIDAN L E FANU
‘You have, have you? Well, I haven’t,’ cried the doctor, with
an agreeable chuckle, shaking the major’s hand, and disappearing
again into his parlour.
I found in my lodgings in London, on my return from Doncaster,
some two months later, a copy of the county paper of this date, with
a cross scrawled beside the piece of intelligence which follows. I knew
that tremulous cross. It was traced by the hand of poor old Miss
Kybes – with her many faults always kind to me. It bore the Brandon
postmark, and altogether had the impress of authenticity. It said: –
‘We have much pleasure in stating that the severe injury sustained four days since by Captain Stanley Lake, at the time a visitor
at the Lodge, the picturesque residence of Josiah Larkin, Esq., in the
vicinity of Gylingden, is not likely to prove so diffi cult of treatment
or so imminently dangerous as was at fi rst apprehended. The gallant gentleman was removed from the scene of his misadventure to
Brandon Hall, close to which the accident occurred, and at which
mansion his noble relatives, Lord Chelford and the Dowager Lady
Chelford, are at present staying on a visit. Sir Francis Seddley came
down express from London, and assisted by our skilful county practitioner, Humphrey Buddle, Esq., M.D. of Gylingden, operated most
successfully on Saturday last, and we are happy to say the gallant
patient has since been going on as favourably as could possibly have
been anticipated. Sir Francis Seddley returned to London on Sunday
afternoon.’
Within a week after the operation, Buddle began to talk so confi dently about his patient, that the funereal cloud that overhung
Brandon had almost totally disappeared, and Major Jackson had
quite unpacked his portmanteau.
About a week after the ‘accident’ there came one of Mr. Mark
Wylder’s strange letters to Mr. Jos. Larkin. This time it was from
Marseilles, and bore date the 27th November. It was much the lon-
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WYLDER’S HAND
gest he had yet received, and was in the nature of a despatch, rather
than of those short notes in which he had hitherto, for the most
part, communicated.
Like the rest of his letters it was odd, but written, as it seemed,
in better spirits.
‘Dear Larkin, – You will be surprised to fi nd me in this port, but
I think my secret cruise is nearly over now, and you will say the plan
was a master-stroke, and well executed by a poor devil, with nobody
to advise him. I am coiling such a web round them, and making it
fast, as you may see a spider, fi rst to this point and then to the other,
that I won’t leave my persecutors one solitary chance of escape. I’ll
draw it quietly round and round – closer and closer – till they can
neither blow nor budge, and then up to the yardarm they go, with
what breath is left in them. You don’t know yet how I am dodging, or why my measures are taken; but I’ll shorten your long face
a good inch with a genuine broad grin when you learn how it all
was. I may see you to tell the story in four weeks’ time; but keep this
close. Don’t mention where I write from, nor even so much as my
name. I have reasons for everything, which you may guess, I dare
say, being a sharp chap; and it is not for nothing, be very sure, that
I am running this queer rig, masquerading, hiding, and dodging, like
a runaway forger, which is not pleasant anyway, and if you doubt it,
only try; but needs must when the old boy drives. He is a clever fellow, no doubt, but has been sometimes out-witted before now. You
must arrange about Chelford and Lake. I don’t know where Lake is
staying. I don’t suppose at Brandon; but he won’t stay in the country
nor spend his money to please you or I. Therefore you must have
him at your house – be sure – and I will square it with you; I think
three pounds a week ought to do it very handsome. Don’t be a muff
and give him expensive wines – a pint of sherry is plenty between
you; and when he dines at his club half-a-pint does him. I know; but
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JOSEPH SHERIDAN L E FANU
if he costs you more, I hereby promise to pay it. Won’t that do? Well,
about Chelford: I have been thinking he takes airs, and maybe he is
on his high-horse about that awkward business about Miss Brandon. But there is no reason why Captain Lake should object. He has
only to hand you a receipt in my name for the amount of cheques
you may give him, and to lodge a portion of it where I told him, and
the rest to buy Consols; and I suppose he will expect payment for his
no-trouble. Every fellow, particularly these gentlemanlike fellows,
they have a pluck at you when they can. If he is at that, give him
at the rate of a hundred a-year, or a hundred and fi fty if you think
he won’t do for less; though 100 l . ought to be a good deal to Lake;
and tell him I have a promise of the adjutancy of the county militia,
if he likes that; and I am sure of a seat in Parliament either for the
county or for Dollington, as you know, and can do better for him
then; and I rely on you, one way or another, to make him undertake
it. And now for myself: I think my vexation is very near ended. I have
not fi red a gun yet, and they little think what a raking broadside I’ll
give them. Any of the county people you meet, tell them I’m making
a little excursion on the Continent; and if they go to particularise,
you may say the places I have been at. Don’t let anyone know more.
I wish there was any way of stopping that old she’ – (it looked like
dragon or devil – but was traced over with a cloud of fl ourishes, and
only ‘Lady Chelford’s mouth’ was left untouched). ‘Don’t expect to
hear from me so long a yarn for some time again; and don’t write.
I don’t stay long anywhere, and don’t carry my own name – and
never ask for letters at the post. I’ve a good glass, and can see pretty
far, and make a fair guess enough what’s going on aboard the enemy.
‘I remain always,
‘Dear Larkin,
‘Ever yours truly,
‘MARK WYLDER.’
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