A Terrible Temptation: A Story of To-Day
He was in the act of directing it when Wheeler called on him. Bassett
showed him Sir Charles's letter. Wheeler read it.
“Now read what I say to him in reply.”
Wheeler read Bassett's letter, threw it into the fire, and kept it
there with the poker.
“Lucky I called,” said he, dryly. “Saved you a thousand pounds or so.
You must not write a letter without me.”
“What, am I to sit still and be insulted? You're a pretty friend.”
“I am a wise friend. This is a more serious matter than you seem to
think.”
“Libel?”
“Of course. Why, if Sir Charles had consulted _me,_ I could not have
dictated a better letter. It closes every chink a defendant in libel
can creep out by. Now take your pen and write to Mr. Hardwicke.”
“DEAR SIR--I have received your letter, containing a libel written by
Sir Charles Bassett. My reply will be public.
“Yours very truly,
“RICHARD BASSETT.”
“Is that all?”
“Every syllable. Now mind; you never go to Hardwicke House again; Sir
Charles has got you banished from that house; special damage! There
never was a prettier case for a jury--the rightful heir foully
slandered by the possessor of his hereditary estates.”
This picture excited Bassett, and he walked about raving with malice,
and longing for the time when he should stand in the witness-box and
denounce his enemy.
“No, no,” said Wheeler, “leave that to counsel; you must play the mild
victim in the witness-box. Who is the defendant solicitor? We ought to
serve the writ on him at once.”
“No, no; serve it on himself.”
“What for? Much better proceed like gentlemen.”
Bassett got in a passion at being contradicted in everything. “I tell
you,” said he, “the more I can irritate and exasperate this villain the
better. Besides, he slandered me behind my back; and I'll have the writ
served upon himself. I'll do everything I can to take him down. If a
man wants to be my lawyer he must enter into my feelings a little.”
Wheeler, to whom he was more valuable than ever now, consented somewhat
reluctantly, and called at Huntercombe Hall next day with the writ, and
sent in his card.
Lady Bassett heard of this, and asked if it was Mr. Bassett's friend.
The butler said he thought it was.
Lady Bassett went to Sir Charles in his study. “Oh, my dear,” said she,
“here is Mr. Bassett's lawyer.”
“Well?”
“Why does he come here?”
“I don't know.”
“Don't see him.”
“Why not?”
“I am so afraid of Mr. Bassett. He is our evil genius. Let me see this
person instead of you. _May_ I?”
“Certainly not.”
“Might I see him _first,_ love?”
“You will not see him at all.”
“Charles!”
“No, Bella; I cannot have these animals talking to my wife.”
“But, dear love, I am so full of forebodings. You know, Charles, I
don't often presume to meddle; but I am in torture about this man. If
you receive him, may I be with you? Then we shall be two to one.”
“No, no,” said Sir Charles, testily. Then, seeing her beautiful eyes
fill at the refusal and the unusual tone, he relented. “You may be in
hearing if you like. Open that door, and sit in the little room.”
“Oh, thank you!”
She stepped into the room--a very small sitting-room. She had never
been in it before, and while she was examining it, and thinking how she
could improve its appearance, Mr. Wheeler was shown into the study. Sir
Charles received him standing, to intimate that the interview must be
brief. This, and the time he had been kept waiting in the hall, roused
Wheeler's bile, and he entered on his subject more bruskly than he had
intended.
“Sir Charles Bassett, you wrote a letter to Mr. Hardwicke, reflecting
on my client, Mr. Bassett--a most unjustifiable letter.”
“Keep your opinion to yourself, sir. I wrote a letter, calling him what
he is.”
“No, sir; that letter is a libel.”
“It is the truth.”
“It is a malicious libel, sir; and we shall punish you for it. I hereby
serve you with this copy of a writ. Damages, five thousand pounds.”
A sigh from the next room passed unnoticed by the men, for their voices
were now raised in anger.
“And so that is what you came here for. Why did you not go to my
solicitor? You must be as great a blackguard as your client, to serve
your paltry writs on me in my own house.”
“Not blackguard enough to insult a gentleman in my own house. If you
had been civil I might have accommodated matters; but now I'll make you
smart--ugh!”
Nothing provokes a high-spirited man more than a menace. Sir Charles,
threatened in his wife's hearing, shot out his right arm with
surprising force and rapidity, and knocked Wheeler down in a moment.
In came Lady Bassett, with a scream, and saw the attorney lying doubled
up, and Sir Charles standing over him, blowing like a grampus with rage
and excitement.
But the next moment be staggered and gasped, and she had to support him
to a seat. She rang the bell for aid, then kneeled, and took his
throbbing temples to her wifely bosom.
Wheeler picked himself up, and, seated on his hams, eyed the pair with
concentrated fury.
“Aha! You have hurt yourself more than me. Two suits against you now
instead of one.”
“Conduct this person from the house,” said Lady Bassett to a servant
who entered at that moment.
“All right, my lady,” said Wheeler; “I'll remind you of that word when
this house belongs to us.”
CHAPTER X.
WITH this bitter reply Wheeler retired precipitately; the shaft pierced
but one bosom; for the devoted wife, with the swift ingenuity of
woman's love, had put both her hands right over her husband's ears that
he might hear no more insults.
Sir Charles very nearly had a fit; but his wife loosened his neckcloth,
caressed his throbbing head, and applied eau-de-Cologne to his
nostrils. He got better, but felt dizzy for about an hour. She made him
come into her room and lie down; she hung over him, curling as a vine
and light as a bird, and her kisses lit softly as down upon his eyes,
and her words of love and pity murmured music in his ears till he
slept, and that danger passed.
For a day or two after this both Sir Charles and Lady Bassett avoided
the unpleasant subject. But it had to be faced; so Mr. Oldfield was
summoned to Huntercombe, and all engagements given up for the day, that
he might dine alone with them and talk the matter over.
Sir Charles thought he could justify; but when it came to the point he
could only prove that Richard had done several ungentleman-like things
of a nature a stout jury would consider trifles.
Mr. Oldfield said of course they must enter an appearance; and, this
done, the wisest course would be to let him see Wheeler, and try to
compromise the suit. “It will cost you a thousand pounds, Sir Charles,
I dare say; but if it teaches you never to write of an enemy or to an
enemy without showing your lawyer the letter first, the lesson will be
cheap. Somebody in the Bible says, 'Oh, that mine enemy would write a
book!' I say, 'Oh, that he would write a letter--without consulting his
solicitor.”
It was Lady Bassett's cue now to make light of troubles. “What does it
matter, Mr. Oldfield? All they want is money. Yes, offer them a
thousand pounds to leave him in peace.”
So next day Mr. Oldfield called on Wheeler, all smiles and civility,
and asked him if he did not think it a pity cousins should quarrel
before the whole county.
“A great pity,” said Wheeler. “But my client has no alternative. No
gentleman in the county would speak to him if he sat quiet under such
contumely.”
After beating about the bush the usual time, Oldfield said that Sir
Charles was hungry for litigation, but that Lady Bassett was averse to
it. “In short, Mr. Wheeler, I will try and get Mr. Bassett a thousand
pounds to forego this scandal.”
“I will consult him, and let you know,” said Wheeler. “He happens to be
in the town.”
Oldfield called again in an hour. Wheeler told him a thousand pounds
would be accepted, with a written apology.
Oldfield shook his head. “Sir Charles will never write an apology:
right or wrong, he is too sincere in his conviction.”
“He will never get a jury to share it.”
“You must not be too sure of that. You don't know the defense.”
Oldfield said this with a gravity which did him credit.
“Do you know it yourself?” said the other keen hand.
Mr. Oldfield smiled haughtily, but said nothing. Wheeler had hit the
mark.
“By the by,” said the latter, “there is another little matter. Sir
Charles assaulted me for doing my duty to my client. I mean to sue him.
Here is the writ; will you accept service?”
“Oh, certainly, Mr. Wheeler and I am glad to find you do not make a
habit of serving writs on gentlemen in person.”
“Of course not. I did it on a single occasion, contrary to my own wish,
and went in person--to soften the blow--instead of sending my clerk.”
After this little spar, the two artists in law bade each other farewell
with every demonstration of civility.
Sir Charles would not apologize.
The plaintiff filed his declaration.
The defendant pleaded not guilty, but did not disclose a defense. The
law allows a defendant in libel this advantage.
Plaintiff joined issue, and the trial was set down for the next
assizes.
Sir Charles was irritated, but nothing more. Lady Bassett, with a
woman's natural shrinking from publicity, felt it more deeply. She
would have given thousands of her own money to keep the matter out of
court. But her very terror of Richard Bassett restrained her. She was
always thinking about him, and had convinced herself he was the ablest
villain in the wide world; and she thought to herself, “If, with his
small means, he annoys Charles so, what would he do if I were to enrich
him? He would crush us.”
As the trial drew near she began to hover about Sir Charles in his
study, like an anxious hen. The maternal yearnings were awakened in her
by marriage, and she had no child; so her Charles in trouble was
husband and child.
Sometimes she would come in and just kiss his forehead, and run out
again, casting back a celestial look of love at the door, and, though
it was her husband she had kissed, she blushed divinely. At last one
day she crept in and said, very timidly, “Charles dear, the anonymous
letter--is not that an excuse for libeling him--as they call telling
the truth?”
“Why, of course it is. Have you got it?”
“Dearest, the brave lady took it away.”
“The brave lady! Who is that?”
“Why, the lady that came with Mr. Oldfield and pleaded your cause with
papa--oh, so eloquently! Sometimes when I think of it now I feel almost
jealous. Who is she?”
“From what you have always told me, I think it was the Sister of
Charity who nursed me.”
“You silly thing, she was no Sister of Charity; that was only put on.
Charles, tell me the truth. What does it matter _now?_ It was some lady
who loved you.”
“Loved me, and set her wits to work to marry me to you?”
“Women's love is so disinterested--sometimes.”
“No, no; she told me she was a sister of--, and no doubt that is the
truth.”
“A sister of whom?”
“No matter: don't remind me of the past; it is odious to me; and, on
second thoughts, rather than stir up all that mud, it would be better
not to use the anonymous letter, even if you could get it again.”
Lady Bassett begged him to take advice on that; meantime she would try
to get the letter, and also the evidence that Richard Bassett wrote it.
“I see no harm in that,” said Sir Charles; “only confine your
communication to Mr. Oldfield. I will not have you speaking or writing
to a woman I don't know: and the more I think of her conduct the less I
understand it.”
“There are people who do good by stealth,” suggested Bella timidly.
“Fiddledeedee!” replied Sir Charles; “you are a goose--I mean an
angel.”