A Terrible Temptation: A Story of To-Day
All the professions want it.”
“Well, you are a writer; publish a book, call it Medicina laici, and
send me a copy.”
“To slash in the _Lancet?_ Well, I will: when novels cease to pay and
truth begins to.”
In the course of the evening Mr. Rolfe drew Dr. Suaby apart, and said,
“I must tell you frankly, I mean to relieve you of one of your
inmates.”
“Only one? I was in hopes you would relieve me of all the sane people.
They say you are ingenious at it. All I know is, I can't get rid of an
inmate if the person who signed the order resists. Now, for instance,
here's a Mrs. Hallam came here unsound: religious delusion. Has been
cured two months. I have reported her so to her son-in-law, who signed
the order; but he will not discharge her. He is vicious, she
scriptural; bores him about eternity. Then I wrote to the Commissioners
in Lunacy; but they don't like to strain their powers, so they wrote to
the affectionate son-in-law, and he politely declines to act. Sir
Charles Bassett the same: three weeks ago I reported him cured, and the
detaining relative has not even replied to me.”
“Got a copy of your letter?”
“Of course. But what if I tell you there is a gentleman here who never
had any business to come, yet he is as much a fixture as the grates. I
took him blindfold along with the house. I signed a deed, and it is so
stringent I can't evade one of my predecessor's engagements. This old
rogue committed himself to my predecessor's care, under medical
certificates; the order he signed himself.”
“Illegal, you know.”
“Of course; but where's the remedy? The person who signed the order
must rescind it. But this sham lunatic won't rescind it. Altogether the
tenacity of an asylum is prodigious. The statutes are written with
bird-lime. Twenty years ago that old Skinflint found the rates and
taxes intolerable; and doesn't everybody find them intolerable? To
avoid these rates and taxes he shut up his house, captured himself, and
took himself here; and here he will end his days, excluding some
genuine patient, unless _you_ sweep him into the street for me.”
“Sindbad, I will try,” said Rolfe, solemnly; “but I must begin with Sir
Charles Bassett. By-the-by, about his crotchet?”
“Oh, he has still an extravagant desire for children. But the cerebral
derangement is cured, and the other, standing by itself, is a foible,
not a mania. It is only a natural desire in excess. If they brought me
Rachel merely because she had said, 'Give me children, or I die,' and I
found her a healthy woman in other respects, I should object to receive
her on that score alone.”
“You are deadly particular--compared with some of them,” said Rolfe.
That evening he made an appointment with Sir Charles, and visited him
in his room at 8 A. M. He told him he had seen Lady Bassett in London,
and, of course, he had to answer many questions. He then told him he
came expressly to effect his liberation.
“I am grateful to you, sir,” said Sir Charles, with a suppressed and
manly emotion.
“Here are my instructions from Lady Bassett; short, but to the point.”
“May I keep that?”
“Why, of course.”
Sir Charles kissed his wife's line, and put the note in his breast.
“The first step,” said Rolfe, “is to cut you in two. That is soon done.
You must copy in your own hand, and then sign, this writing.” And he
handed him a paper.
“I, Charles Dyke Bassett, being of sound mind, instruct James Sharpe,
of Gray's Inn, my Solicitor, to sue the person who signed the order for
my incarceration--in the Court of Common Pleas; and to take such other
steps for my relief as may be advised by my counsel--Mr. Francis
Rolfe.”
“Excuse me,” said Sir Charles, “if I make one objection. Mr. Oldfield
has been my solicitor for many years. I fear it will hurt his feelings
if I intrust the matter to a stranger. Would there be any objection to
my inserting Mr. Oldfield's name, sir?”
“Only this: he would think he knew better than I do; and then I, who
know better than he does, and am very vain and arrogant, should throw
up the case in a passion, and go back to my MS.; and humdrum Oldfield
would go to Equity instead of law; and all the costs would fall on your
estate instead of on your enemy; and you would be here eighteen months
instead of eight or ten days. No, Sir Charles, you can't mix champagne
and ditch-water; you can't make Invention row in a boat with Antique
Twaddle, and you mustn't ask me to fight your battle with a blunt
knife, when I have got a sharp knife that fits my hand.”
Mr. Rolfe said this with more irritation than was justified, and
revealed one of the great defects in his character.
Sir Charles saw his foible, smiled, and said, “I withdraw a proposal
which I see annoys you.” He then signed the paper.
Mr. Rolfe broke out all smiles directly, and said, “Now you are cut in
two. One you is here; but Sharpe is another you. Thus, one you works
out of the asylum, and one in, and that makes all the difference.
Compare notes with those who have tried the other way. Yet, simple and
obvious as this is, would you believe it, I alone have discovered this
method; I alone practice it.”
He sent his secretary off to London at once, and returned to Sir
Charles. “The authority will be with Sharpe at 2:30. He will be at
Whitehall 3:15, and examine the order. He will take the writ out at
once, and if Richard Bassett is the man, he will serve it on him
to-morrow in good time, and send one of your grooms over here on
horseback with the news. We serve the writ personally, because we have
shufflers to deal with, and I will not give them a chance. Now I must
go and write a lie or two for the public; and then inspect the asylum
with Suaby. Before post-time I will write to a friend of mine who is a
Commissioner of Lunacy, one of the strong-minded ones. We may as well
have two strings to our bow.”
Sir Charles thanked him gracefully, and said, “It is a rare thing, in
this selfish world, to see one man interest himself in the wrongs of
another, as you are good enough to do in mine.”
“Oh,” said Rolfe, “all work and no play makes Jack a dull boy. My
business is Lying; and I drudge at it. So to escape now and then to the
play-ground of Truth and Justice is a great amusement and recreation to
poor me. Besides, it gives me fresh vigor to replunge into Mendacity;
and that's the thing that pays.”
With this simple and satisfactory explanation he rolled away.
Leaving, for the present, matters not essential to this vein of
incident, I jump to what occurred toward evening.
Just after dinner the servant who waited told Dr. Suaby that a man had
walked all the way from Huntercombe to see Sir Charles Bassett.
“Poor fellow!” said Dr. Suaby; “I should like to see him. Would you
mind receiving him here?”
“Oh, no.”
“On second thoughts, James, you had better light a candle in the next
room--in case.”
A heavy clatter was heard, and the burly figure of Moses Moss entered
the room. Being bareheaded, he saluted the company by pulling his head,
and it bobbed. He was a little dazzled by the lights at first, but soon
distinguished Sir Charles, and his large countenance beamed with simple
and affectionate satisfaction.
“How d'ye do, Moss?” said Sir Charles.
“Pretty well, thank ye, sir, in my body, but uneasy in my mind. There
be a trifle too many rogues afoot to please me. However, I told my
mistress this morning, says I, 'Before I puts up with this here any
longer, I must go over there and see him; for here's so many lies
a-cutting about,' says I, 'I'm fairly mazed.' So, if you please, Sir
Charles, will you be so good as to tell me out of your own mouth, and
then I shall know: be you crazy or hain't you--ay or no?”
Suaby and Rolfe had much ado not to laugh right out; but Sir Charles
said, gravely, he was not crazy. “Do I look crazy, Moss?”
“That ye doan't; you look twice the man you did. Why, your cheeks did
use to be so pasty like; now you've got a color--but mayhap” (casting
an eye on the decanters) “ye're flustered a bit wi' drink.”
“No, no,” said Rolfe, “we have not commenced our nightly debauch yet;
only just done dinner.”
“Then there goes another. This will be good news to home. Dall'd if I
would not ha' come them there thirty miles on all-fours for't. But,
sir, if so be you are not crazy, please think about coming home, for
things ain't as they should be in our parts. My lady she is away for
her groaning, and partly for fear of this very Richard Bassett; and him
and his lawyer they have put it about as you are dead in law; that is
the word: and so the servants they don't know what to think; and the
village folk are skeared with his clapping four brace on 'em in jail:
and Joe and I, we wants to fight un, but my dame she is timorous, and
won't let us, because of the laayer. And th' upshot is, this here
Richard Bassett is master after a manner, and comes on the very lawn,
and brings men with a pole measure, and uses the place as his'n mostly;
but our Joe bides in the Hall with his gun, and swears he'll shoot him
if he sets foot in the house. Joe says he have my lady's leave and
license so to do, but not outside.”
Sir Charles turned very red, and was breathless with indignation.
Dr. Suaby looked uneasy, and said, “Control yourself, sir.'”
“I am not going to control _myself,”_ cried Rolfe, in a rage. “Don't
you take it to heart, Sir Charles. It shall not last long.”
“Ah!”
“Dr. Suaby, can you lend me a gig or a dog-cart, with a good horse?”
“Yes. I have got a WONDERFUL roadster, half Irish, half Norman.”
“Then, Mr. Moss, to-morrow you and I go to Huntercombe: you shall show
me this Bassett, and we will give him a pill.”
“Meantime,” said Dr. Suaby, “I take a leaf out of your Medicina laici,
and prescribe a hearty supper, a quart of ale, and a comfortable bed to
Mr. Moss. James, see him well taken care of. Poor man!” said he, when
Moss had retired. “What simplicity! what good sense! what ignorance of
the world! what feudality, if I may be allowed the expression.”
Sir Charles was manifestly discomposed, and retired to bed early.
Rolfe drove off with Moss at eight o'clock, and was not seen again all
day. Indeed, Sir Charles was just leaving Dr. Suaby's room when he came
in rather tired, and would not say a word till they gave him a cup of
tea: then he brightened up and told his story.
“We went to the railway to meet Sharpe. The muff did not come nor send
by the first train. His clerk arrived by the second. We went to
Huntercombe village together, and on the road I gave him some special
instructions. Richard Bassett not at home. We used a little bad
language and threw out a skirmisher--Moss, to wit--to find him. Moss
discovered him on your lawn, planning a new arrangement of the flower
beds, with Wheeler looking over the boundary wall.
“We went up to Bassett, and the clerk served his copy of the writ. He
took it quite coolly; but when he saw at whose suit it was he turned
pale. He recovered himself directly, though, and burst out laughing.
'Suit of Sir Charles Bassett. Why, he can't sue: he is civiliter
mortuus: mad as a March hare: in confinement.' Clerk told him he was
mistaken; Sir Charles was perfectly sane. 'Good-day, sir.' So then
Bassett asked him to wait a little. He took the writ away, and showed
it Wheeler, no doubt. He came back, and blustered, and said, 'Some
other person has instructed you: you will get yourself into trouble, I
fear.' The little clerk told him not to alarm himself; Mr. Sharpe was
instructed by Sir Charles Bassett, in his own handwriting and
signature, and said, 'It is not my business to argue the case with you.
You had better take the advice of counsel.' 'Thank you,' said Bassett;
'that would be wasting a guinea.' 'A good many thousand guineas have