Complete Works of Robert Louis Stevenson (Illustrated) (393 page)

‘Ah,’ said Challoner, almost tenderly, ‘she can be nothing to me.’

‘You do not know,’ replied the young lady, with a sigh.  ‘By-the-bye, I had forgotten — it is very childish, and I am almost ashamed to mention it — but when you see Miss Fonblanque, you will have to make yourself a little ridiculous; and I am sure the part in no way suits you.  We had agreed upon a watchword.  You will have to address an earl’s daughter in these words: “
Nigger
,
nigger
,
never die
;” but reassure yourself,’ she added, laughing, ‘for the fair patrician will at once finish the quotation.  Come now, say your lesson.’

‘“Nigger, nigger, never die,”‘ repeated Challoner, with undisguised reluctance.

Miss Fonblanque went into fits of laughter.  ‘Excellent,’ said she, ‘it will be the most humorous scene.’  And she laughed again.

‘And what will be the counterword?’ asked Challoner stiffly.

‘I will not tell you till the last moment,’ said she; ‘for I perceive you are growing too imperious.’

Breakfast over, she accompanied the young man to the platform, bought him the
Graphic
, the
Athenæum
, and a paper-cutter, and stood on the step conversing till the whistle sounded.  Then she put her head into the carriage.  ‘
Black face and shining eye
!’ she whispered, and instantly leaped down upon the platform, with a thrill of gay and musical laughter.  As the train steamed out of the great arch of glass, the sound of that laughter still rang in the young man’s ears.

Challoner’s position was too unusual to be long welcome to his mind.  He found himself projected the whole length of England, on a mission beset with obscure and ridiculous circumstances, and yet, by the trust he had accepted, irrevocably bound to persevere.  How easy it appeared, in the retrospect, to have refused the whole proposal, returned the money, and gone forth again upon his own affairs, a free and happy man!  And it was now impossible: the enchantress who had held him with her eye had now disappeared, taking his honour in pledge; and as she had failed to leave him an address, he was denied even the inglorious safety of retreat.  To use the paper-knife, or even to read the periodicals with which she had presented him, was to renew the bitterness of his remorse; and as he was alone in the compartment, he passed the day staring at the landscape in impotent repentance, and long before he was landed on the platform of St. Enoch’s, had fallen to the lowest and coldest zones of self-contempt.

As he was hungry, and elegant in his habits, he would have preferred to dine and to remove the stains of travel; but the words of the young lady, and his own impatient eagerness, would suffer no delay.  In the late, luminous, and lamp-starred dusk of the summer evening, he accordingly set forward with brisk steps.

The street to which he was directed had first seen the day in the character of a row of small suburban villas on a hillside; but the extension of the city had long since, and on every hand, surrounded it with miles of streets.  From the top of the hill a range of very tall buildings, densely inhabited by the poorest classes of the population and variegated by drying-poles from every second window, overplumbed the villas and their little gardens like a sea-board cliff.  But still, under the grime of years of city smoke, these antiquated cottages, with their venetian blinds and rural porticoes, retained a somewhat melancholy savour of the past.

The street when Challoner entered it was perfectly deserted.  From hard by, indeed, the sound of a thousand footfalls filled the ear; but in Richard Street itself there was neither light nor sound of human habitation.  The appearance of the neighbourhood weighed heavily on the mind of the young man; once more, as in the streets of London, he was impressed with the sense of city deserts; and as he approached the number indicated, and somewhat falteringly rang the bell, his heart sank within him.

The bell was ancient, like the house; it had a thin and garrulous note; and it was some time before it ceased to sound from the rear quarters of the building.  Following upon this an inner door was stealthily opened, and careful and catlike steps drew near along the hall.  Challoner, supposing he was to be instantly admitted, produced his letter, and, as well as he was able, prepared a smiling face.  To his indescribable surprise, however, the footsteps ceased, and then, after a pause and with the like stealthiness, withdrew once more, and died away in the interior of the house.  A second time the young man rang violently at the bell; a second time, to his keen hearkening, a certain bustle of discreet footing moved upon the hollow boards of the old villa; and again the fainthearted garrison only drew near to retreat.  The cup of the visitor’s endurance was now full to overflowing; and, committing the whole family of Fonblanque to every mood and shade of condemnation, he turned upon his heel and redescended the steps.  Perhaps the mover in the house was watching from a window, and plucked up courage at the sight of this desistance; or perhaps, where he lurked trembling in the back parts of the villa, reason in its own right had conquered his alarms.  Challoner, at least, had scarce set foot upon the pavement when he was arrested by the sound of the withdrawal of an inner bolt; one followed another, rattling in their sockets; the key turned harshly in the lock; the door opened; and there appeared upon the threshold a man of a very stalwart figure in his shirt sleeves.  He was a person neither of great manly beauty nor of a refined exterior; he was not the man, in ordinary moods, to attract the eyes of the observer; but as he now stood in the doorway, he was marked so legibly with the extreme passion of terror that Challoner stood wonder-struck.  For a fraction of a minute they gazed upon each other in silence; and then the man of the house, with ashen lips and gasping voice, inquired the business of his visitor.  Challoner replied, in tones from which he strove to banish his surprise, that he was the bearer of a letter to a certain Miss Fonblanque.  At this name, as at a talisman, the man fell back and impatiently invited him to enter; and no sooner had the adventurer crossed the threshold, than the door was closed behind him and his retreat cut off.

It was already long past eight at night; and though the late twilight of the north still lingered in the streets, in the passage it was already groping dark.  The man led Challoner directly to a parlour looking on the garden to the back.  Here he had apparently been supping; for by the light of a tallow dip the table was seen to be covered with a napkin, and set out with a quart of bottled ale and the heel of a Gouda cheese.  The room, on the other hand, was furnished with faded solidity, and the walls were lined with scholarly and costly volumes in glazed cases.  The house must have been taken furnished; for it had no congruity with this man of the shirt sleeves and the mean supper.  As for the earl’s daughter, the earl and the visionary consulships in foreign cities, they had long ago begun to fade in Challoner’s imagination.  Like Doctor Grierson and the Mormon angels, they were plainly woven of the stuff of dreams.  Not an illusion remained to the knight-errant; not a hope was left him, but to be speedily relieved from this disreputable business.

The man had continued to regard his visitor with undisguised anxiety, and began once more to press him for his errand.

‘I am here,’ said Challoner, ‘simply to do a service between two ladies; and I must ask you, without further delay, to summon Miss Fonblanque, into whose hands alone I am authorised to deliver the letter that I bear.’

A growing wonder began to mingle on the man’s face with the lines of solicitude.  ‘I am Miss Fonblanque,’ he said; and then, perceiving the effect of this communication, ‘Good God!’ he cried, ‘what are you staring at?  I tell you, I am Miss Fonblanque.’

Seeing the speaker wore a chin-beard of considerable length, and the remainder of his face was blue with shaving, Challoner could only suppose himself the subject of a jest.  He was no longer under the spell of the young lady’s presence; and with men, and above all with his inferiors, he was capable of some display of spirit.

‘Sir,’ said he, pretty roundly, ‘I have put myself to great inconvenience for persons of whom I know too little, and I begin to be weary of the business.  Either you shall immediately summon Miss Fonblanque, or I leave this house and put myself under the direction of the police.’

‘This is horrible!’ exclaimed the man.  ‘I declare before Heaven I am the person meant, but how shall I convince you?  It must have been Clara, I perceive, that sent you on this errand — a madwoman, who jests with the most deadly interests; and here we are incapable, perhaps, of an agreement, and Heaven knows what may depend on our delay!’

He spoke with a really startling earnestness; and at the same time there flashed upon the mind of Challoner the ridiculous jingle which was to serve as password.  ‘This may, perhaps, assist you,’ he said, and then, with some embarrassment, ‘“Nigger, nigger, never die.”‘

A light of relief broke upon the troubled countenance of the man with the chin-beard.  ‘“Black face and shining eye” — give me the letter,’ he panted, in one gasp.

‘Well,’ said Challoner, though still with some reluctance, ‘I suppose I must regard you as the proper recipient; and though I may justly complain of the spirit in which I have been treated, I am only too glad to be done with all responsibility.  Here it is,’ and he produced the envelope.

The man leaped upon it like a beast, and with hands that trembled in a manner painful to behold, tore it open and unfolded the letter.  As he read, terror seemed to mount upon him to the pitch of nightmare.  He struck one hand upon his brow, while with the other, as if unconsciously, he crumpled the paper to a ball.  ‘My gracious powers!’ he cried; and then, dashing to the window, which stood open on the garden, he clapped forth his head and shoulders, and whistled long and shrill.  Challoner fell back into a corner, and resolutely grasping his staff, prepared for the most desperate events; but the thoughts of the man with the chin-beard were far removed from violence.  Turning again into the room, and once more beholding his visitor, whom he appeared to have forgotten, he fairly danced with trepidation.  ‘Impossible!’ he cried.  ‘Oh, quite impossible!  O Lord, I have lost my head.’  And then, once more striking his hand upon his brow, ‘The money!’ he exclaimed.  ‘Give me the money.’

‘My good friend,’ replied Challoner, ‘this is a very painful exhibition; and until I see you reasonably master of yourself, I decline to proceed with any business.’

‘You are quite right,’ said the man.  ‘I am of a very nervous habit; a long course of the dumb ague has undermined my constitution.  But I know you have money; it may be still the saving of me; and oh, dear young gentleman, in pity’s name be expeditious!’  Challoner, sincerely uneasy as he was, could scarce refrain from laughter; but he was himself in a hurry to be gone, and without more delay produced the money.  ‘You will find the sum, I trust, correct,’ he observed ‘and let me ask you to give me a receipt.’

But the man heeded him not.  He seized the money, and disregarding the sovereigns that rolled loose upon the floor, thrust the bundle of notes into his pocket.

‘A receipt,’ repeated Challoner, with some asperity.  ‘I insist on a receipt.’

‘Receipt?’ repeated the man, a little wildly.  ‘A receipt?  Immediately!  Await me here.’

Challoner, in reply, begged the gentleman to lose no unnecessary time, as he was himself desirous of catching a particular train.

‘Ah, by God, and so am I!’ exclaimed the man with the chin-beard; and with that he was gone out of the room, and had rattled upstairs, four at a time, to the upper story of the villa.

‘This is certainly a most amazing business,’ thought Challoner; ‘certainly a most disquieting affair; and I cannot conceal from myself that I have become mixed up with either lunatics or malefactors.  I may truly thank my stars that I am so nearly and so creditably done with it.’  Thus thinking, and perhaps remembering the episode of the whistle, he turned to the open window.  The garden was still faintly clear; he could distinguish the stairs and terraces with which the small domain had been adorned by former owners, and the blackened bushes and dead trees that had once afforded shelter to the country birds; beyond these he saw the strong retaining wall, some thirty feet in height, which enclosed the garden to the back; and again above that, the pile of dingy buildings rearing its frontage high into the night.  A peculiar object lying stretched upon the lawn for some time baffled his eyesight; but at length he had made it out to be a long ladder, or series of ladders bound into one; and he was still wondering of what service so great an instrument could be in such a scant enclosure, when he was recalled to himself by the noise of some one running violently down the stairs.  This was followed by the sudden, clamorous banging of the house door; and that again, by rapid and retreating footsteps in the street.

Challoner sprang into the passage.  He ran from room to room, upstairs and downstairs; and in that old dingy and worm-eaten house, he found himself alone.  Only in one apartment, looking to the front, were there any traces of the late inhabitant: a bed that had been recently slept in and not made, a chest of drawers disordered by a hasty search, and on the floor a roll of crumpled paper.  This he picked up.  The light in this upper story looking to the front was considerably brighter than in the parlour; and he was able to make out that the paper bore the mark of the hotel at Euston, and even, by peering closely, to decipher the following lines in a very elegant and careful female hand:

‘Dear M’Guire, — It is certain your retreat is known.  We have just had another failure, clockwork thirty hours too soon, with the usual humiliating result.  Zero is quite disheartened.  We are all scattered, and I could find no one but the
solemn ass
who brings you this and the money.  I would love to see your meeting. — Ever yours,

Shining Eye.’

Challoner was stricken to the heart.  He perceived by what facility, by what unmanly fear of ridicule, he had been brought down to be the gull of this intriguer; and his wrath flowed forth in almost equal measure against himself, against the woman, and against Somerset, whose idle counsels had impelled him to embark on that adventure.  At the same time a great and troubled curiosity, and a certain chill of fear, possessed his spirit.  The conduct of the man with the chin-beard, the terms of the letter, and the explosion of the early morning, fitted together like parts in some obscure and mischievous imbroglio.  Evil was certainly afoot; evil, secrecy, terror, and falsehood were the conditions and the passions of the people among whom he had begun to move, like a blind puppet; and he who began as a puppet, his experience told him, was often doomed to perish as a victim.