A Terrible Temptation: A Story of To-Day
regret is that it costs me nothing to obey you. But when did it ever?
My king!”
He had ordered her to do the very thing she wished to do.
She now gave her housekeeper minute instructions, settled the board
wages of the whole establishment, and sent her home in the carriage,
retaining her own boxes and packages at the inn.
Richard Bassett soon found out that Lady Bassett had left Huntercombe.
He called on Wheeler and told him. Wheeler suggested she had gone to be
near her husband.
“No,” said Bassett, “she has joined her lover. I wonder at our
simplicity in believing that fellow was gone to Italy.”
“This is rich,” said Wheeler. “A week ago she was guilty, and a
Machiavel in petticoats; for why? she had quarreled with her Angelo,
and packed him off to Italy. Now she is guilty; and why? because he is
not gone to Italy--not that you know whether he is or not. You reason
like a mule. As for me, I believe none of this nonsense--till you find
them together.”
“And that is just what I mean to do.”
“We shall see.”
“You will see.”
Very soon after this a country gentleman met Wheeler on market-day, and
drew him aside to ask him a question. “Do you advise Mr. Richard
Bassett still?”
“Yes.”
“Did you set him to trespass on Lady Bassett's lawn, and frighten her
with a great dog in the present state of her health?”
“Heaven forbid! This is the first I've heard of such a thing.”
“I am glad to hear you say that, Tom Wheeler. There, read that. Your
client deserves to be flogged out of the county, sir.” And he pulled a
printed paper out of his pocket. It was dated from the Royal Hotel,
Bath, and had been printed with blanks, as follows; but a lady's hand
had filled in the dates.
“On the day ---- of ----, while I was walking alone in my garden, Mr.
Richard Bassett, the person who has bereaved me by violence of my
protector, came, without leave, into my private grounds, and brought a
very large dog; it ran to me, and frightened me so that I nearly
fainted with alarm. Mr. Bassett was aware of my condition. Next day I
consulted my husband, and he ordered me to leave Huntercombe Hall, and
put myself beyond the reach of trespassers and outrage.
“One motive has governed Mr. Bassett in all his acts, from his
anonymous letter to me before my marriage--which I keep for your
inspection, together with the proofs that he wrote it--to the barbarous
seizure of my husband upon certificates purchased beforehand, and this
last act of violence, which has driven me from the county for a time.
“Sir Charles and I have often been your hosts and your guests; we now
ask you to watch our property and our legal rights, so long as through
injustice and cruelty my husband is a prisoner, his wife a fugitive.”
“There,” said the gentleman, “these papers are going all round the
county.”
Wheeler was most indignant, and said he had never been consulted, and
had never advised a trespass. He begged a loan of the paper, and took
it to Bassett's that very same afternoon.
“So you have been acting without advice,” said he, angrily; “and a fine
mess you have made of it.” And, though not much given to violent anger,
he dashed the paper down on the table, and hurt his hand a little.
Anger must be paid for, like other luxuries.
Bassett read it, and was staggered a moment; but he soon recovered
himself, and said, “What is the foolish woman talking about?”
He then took a sheet of paper, and said he would soon give her a Roland
for an Oliver.
“Ay,” said Wheeler, grimly, “let us see how you will put down _the
foolish woman._ I'll smoke a cigar in the garden, and recover my
temper.”
Richard Bassett's retort ran thus:
“I never wrote an anonymous letter in my life; and if I put restraint
upon Sir Charles, it was done to protect the estate. Experienced
physicians represented him homicidal and suicidal; and I protected both
Lady Bassett and himself by the act she has interpreted so harshly.
“As for her last grievance, it is imaginary. My dog is gentle as a
lamb. I did not foresee Lady Bassett would be there, nor that the poor
dog would run and welcome her. She is playing a comedy: the real truth
is, a gentleman had left Huntercombe whose company is necessary to her.
She has gone to join him, and thrown the blame very adroitly upon
“RICHARD BASSETT.”
When he had written this Bassett ordered his dog-cart.
Wheeler came in, read the letter, and said the last suggestion in it
was a libel, and an indictable one into the bargain.
“What, if it is true--true to the letter?”
“Even then you would not be safe, unless you could prove it by
disinterested witnesses.”
“Well, if I cannot, I consent to cut this sentence out. Excuse me one
minute, I must put a few things in my carpetbag.”
“What! going away?”
“Of course I am.”
“Better give me your address, then, in case anything turns up.”
“If you were as sharp as you pass for you would know my address--Royal
Hotel, Bath, to be sure.”
He left Wheeler staring, and was back in five minutes with his
carpet-bag and wraps.
“Wouldn't to-morrow morning do for this wild-goose chase?” asked
Wheeler.
“No,” said Richard. “I'm not such a fool. Catch me losing twelve hours.
In that twelve hours they would shift their quarters. It is always so
when a fool delays. I shall breakfast at the Royal Hotel, Bath.”
The dog-cart came to the door as he spoke, and he rattled off to the
railway.
He managed to get to the Royal Hotel, Bath, at 7 A.M., took a warm bath
instead of bed, and then ordered breakfast; asked to see the visitors'
book, and wrote a false name; turned the leaves, and, to his delight,
saw Lady Bassett's name.
But he could not find Mr. Angelo's name in the book.
He got hold of Boots, and feed him liberally, then asked him if there
was a handsome young parson there--very dark.
Boots could not say there was.
Then Bassett made up his mind that Angelo was at another hotel, or
perhaps in lodgings, out of prudence.
“Lady Bassett here still?” said he.
Boots was not very sure; would inquire at the bar. Did inquire, and
brought him word Lady Bassett had left for London yesterday morning.
Bassett ground his teeth with vexation.
No train to London for an hour and a half. He took a stroll through the
town to fill up the time.
How often, when a man abandons or remits his search for a time, Fate
sends in his way the very thing he is after, but has given up hunting
just then! As he walked along the north side of a certain street, what
should he see but the truly beautiful and remarkable eyes and eyebrows
of Mr. Angelo, shining from afar.
That gentleman was standing, in a reverie, on the steps of a small
hotel.
Bassett drew back at first, not to be seen. Looking round he saw he was
at the door of a respectable house that let apartments. He hurried in,
examined the drawing-room floor, took it for a week, paid in advance,
and sent to the Royal for his bag.
He installed himself near the window, to await one of two things, and
act accordingly. If Angelo left the place he should go by the same
train, and so catch the parties together; if the lady doubled back to
Bath, or had only pretended to leave it, he should soon know that, by
diligent watch and careful following.
He wrote to Wheeler to announce this first step toward success.
CHAPTER XXVIII.
SOME days after this Mr. Rolfe received a line from Lady Bassett, to
say she was at the Adelphi Hotel, in John Street. He put some letters
into his pocket and called on her directly.
She received him warmly, and told him, more fully than she had by
letter, how she had acted on his advice; then she told him of Richard
Bassett's last act, and showed him her retort.
He knitted his brows at first over it; but said he thought her
proclamation could do no harm.
“As a rule,” said he, “I object to flicking with a lady's whip when I
am going to crush, but--yes--it is able, and gives you a good excuse
for keeping out of the way of annoyances till we strike the blow. And
now I have something to consult you upon. May I read you some extracts
from your husband's letters to me?”
“Oh, yes.”
“Forgive a novelist; but this is a new situation, reading a husband's
letters to his wife. However, I have a motive, and so I had in
soliciting the correspondence with Sir Charles.” He then read her the
letters that are already before the reader, and also the following
extracts:
“Mr. Johnson, a broken tradesman, has some imagination, though not of a
poetic kind; he is imbued with trade, and, in the daytime, exercises
several, especially a butcher's. When he sees any of us coming, he
whips before the nearest door or gate, and sells meat. He sells it very
cheap; the reason is, his friends allow him only a shilling or two in
coppers, and as every madman is the center of the universe, he thinks
that the prices of all commodities are regulated by the amount of
specie in his pocket. This is his style, 'Come, buy, buy, choice mutton
three farthings the carcass. Retail shop next door, ma'am. Jack, serve
the lady. Bill, tell him he can send me home those twenty bullocks, at
three half-pence each--' and so on. But at night he subsides into an
auctioneer, and, with knocking down lots while others are conversing,
gets removed occasionally to a padded room. Sometimes we humor him, and
he sells us the furniture after a spirited competition, and debits the
amounts, for cash is not abundant here. The other night, heated with
business, he went on from the articles of furniture to the company, and
put us all up in succession.
“Having a good many dislikes, he sometimes forgot the auctioneer in the
man, and depreciated some lots so severely that they had to be passed;
but he set Miss Wieland in a chair, and descanted on her beauty, good
temper, and other gifts, in terms florid enough for Robins, or any
other poet. Sold for eighteen pounds, and to a lady. This lady had
formed a violent attachment to Miss W.; so next week they will be at
daggers drawn. My turn came, and the auctioneer did me the honor to
describe me as 'the lot of the evening.' He told the bidders to mind
what they were about, they might never again be able to secure a live
baronet at a moderate price, owing to the tightness of the money
market. Well, sir, I was honored with bids from several ladies; but
they were too timid and too honest to go beyond their means; my less
scrupulous sex soared above these considerations, and I was knocked
down for seventy-nine pounds fifteen shillings, amid loud applause at
the spirited result. My purchaser is a shop-keeper mad after gardening.
Dr. Suaby has given him a plot to cultivate, and he whispered in my
ear, 'The reason I went to a fancy price was, I can kill two birds with
one stone with you. You'll make a very good statee stuck up among my
flowers; and you can hallo, and keep those plaguy sparrows off.'”
“Oh, what creatures for my darling to live among!” cried Lady Bassett
piteously.
Mr. Rolfe stared, and said, “What, then, you are like all your sex--no
sense of humor?”
“Humor! when my husband is in misery and degradation!”
“And don't you see that the brave writer of these letters is steeled
against misery, and above degradation? Such men are not the mere sport
of circumstances. Your husband carries a soul not to be quelled by
three months in a well-ordered mad-house. But I will read no more,
since what gives me satisfaction gives you pain.”
“Oh, yes, yes! Don't let me lose a word my husband has ever uttered.”
“Well, I'll go on; but I'm horribly discouraged.”
“I'm so sorry for that sir. Please forgive me.”
Mr. Rolfe read the letter next in date--
“We are honored with one relic of antiquity, a Pythagorean. He has