Under the Red Dragon: A Novel
So poor Winifred Lloyd had been my chief good angel; yet _she_ was the
last whom I should have chosen as ambassadress in a love affair of
mine. She was a volunteer in the matter, and a most friendly one to
boot. Were this a novel, and not "an owre true tale," I think I should
have loved Winny; for "how comes it," asks a writer, "that the heroes
of novels seem to have in general a bad taste by their choice of
wives? The unsuccessful lady is the one we should have preferred.
Rebecca is infinitely more calculated to interest than Rowena."
My heart was brimming with joy, and with gratitude to Sir Madoc and
his elder daughter; the cloud that overhung me had been exhaled in
sunshine, and all again was happiness. I was about to pour forth my
thanks to my good old friend, whose beaming and rubicund face was as
bright as it could be with pleasure, when there came a sharp single
knock on the door of my room.
"Come in!" said I, mechanically.
My visitor was the sergeant-major of the dépôt battalion, a tall thin
old fellow who had burned powder at Burmah and Cabul, and who
instantly raised his hand to his forage-cap, saying,
"Beg pardon, sir; the adjutant's compliments--the route has just come
for your draft of the Royal Welsh, and all the others, for the East."
"Is this certain!" asked Sir Madoc, hurriedly.
"Quite, sir; it will be in orders this evening. They all embark
to-morrow at midday."
"Where?" asked I.
"At Southampton, as usual. The first bugle will sound after _réveil_
to-morrow."
The door closed on my formal visitor, who left me a little bewildered
by this sudden sequel to the visit of Sir Madoc, who wrung my hand
warmly and said,
"Heaven bless and protect you, Harry! I feel for you like a son of my
own going forth in this most useless war. And so we are actually to
lose you, and so soon, too!"
"But only for a little time, I hope, Sir Madoc," said I, cheerfully,
thinking more of my early meeting with Estelle than the long
separation the morrow must inevitably bring about. I ordered Evans to
pack up and prepare everything, to leave my P.P.C. cards with a few
persons I named; and avoiding Price, Clavell, Mostyn, and others, rode
with Sir Madoc towards Walcot Park, as my mind somehow foreboded, amid
all my joy and excitement, for what I feared would be the _last_ time.
CHAPTER XXVI.--WITHOUT PURCHASE.
Close to, and yet quietly secluded from, the mighty tide of busy
humanity that daily surges to and fro between the Bank and the Mansion
House, all up Cheapside and Cornhill, in a small dark court off the
latter, was the office of Messrs. Sharpus and Juggles, solicitors. The
brick edifice towered to the height of many stories; a score of names
appeared on each side of the doorway in large letters; and many long
dark passages and intricate stairs led to the two dingy rooms where
those human spiders sat and spun the webs and meshes of the law. Their
dens had a damp and mouldy odour; no ray from heaven ever fell into
them, but a cold gray reflected light came from the white encaustic
tiles, with which the opposite wall of the court was faced for that
purpose; and of that borrowed light even the lower room, where their
half-starved clerks worked into the still hours of the night--a
veritable cave of Trophonius, if one might judge by their sad, seedy,
and dejected appearance--was deprived from its situation; and in all
these courts and chambers gas was burned daily in those terrible
seasons when the London fogs assume somewhat the solidity and hue of
pea-soup. Mr. Sharpus sat in his private room, surrounded by boxes of
wood or japanned tin and ticketed dockets of papers, that were mouldy
and dirty--as their contents too probably were--while fly-blown
prospectuses, plans, and advertisements of lands, houses, and
messuages for sale, and so forth, covered the discoloured walls.
Juggles, his partner, was a suave, slimy, and meekly-mannered man,
"with the eye of a serpent and the voice of a dove;" but our present
business is with the former, who was a thin round-shouldered
individual, with a cold keen face, an impending forehead, sunken dark
gray eyes, the expression of which varied between cunning and
solemnity, pride, vulgar assurance, and occasionally restlessness.
Shrewd of head and stony of heart, he was not quite the kind of man at
whose mercy one would wish to be. He had a hard-worked and sometimes
worried aspect; but now an abject white fear, with an unmistakably
hunted expression, came over his face, when one of the clerks from the
lower den ushered in, without much ceremony, Mr. Guilfoyle, who had in
his hand a sporting paper, which he was reading as he entered.
"_You_ here again?" exclaimed Sharpus, laying down his pen, and
carefully closing the door.
"Yes, by Jove, again!" replied Guilfoyle, with barely a nod, and
seating himself with his hat on.
"So soon!" groaned Sharpus; and reseating himself, he eyed, with an
expression of haggard hate, Guilfoyle, who continued to read from the
paper hurriedly, excitedly, and half aloud, some report of a
steeplechase.
"The Devil--threw his rider--remounted; at the next fence Raglan took
the lead, followed by Fairy and Beauty, and Beau, the Devil lying
next; last fence but one taken by the quintette almost simultaneously,
when Raglan, Beauty, and Beau came away together, the first-named
winning a very fine race by half a length--Beauty being third, and
close upon Beau, but Fairy was nowhere. D--nation! there is a pot of
money gone, or not won, which amounts to the same thing in the end!"
and crushing up the paper, he threw it on the writing-table of
Sharpus.
"Wanting more money?" said the latter, in a hollow voice.
"Precisely so; out at the elbows--in low water--phrase it as you will.
I have sold even my horse at last," replied the other, folding his
arms, and regarding the lawyer mockingly.
"And the ring given you by--by the King of Bavaria?" said Sharpus,
with a sickly smile.
"I retain but a paste imitation of that remarkable brilliant; and that
I may present you as a mark of my regard and esteem."
"I thought you had made something by a mercantile transaction, as you
phrased it, when last on the Continent?"
"So I did; 'the mercantile transaction' being nothing less than
breaking the bank at Homburg, by steadily and successfully backing the
red, and sending home all those who came for wool most decidedly
_shorn_."
"You should have saved some of those ill-gotten gains for future
contingencies," said Sharpus.
"How much easier it is to advise and to speculate than to act with
care and decision!" sneered Guilfoyle.
"I pity your poor wife," said the lawyer, sincerely enough.
"She has no documentary proof that she is such," replied Guilfoyle,
angrily. "Pshaw! what is pity? an emotion that is often at war with
reason and with sense, too; for a handsome face or a well-turned ankle
may make us pity the most undeserving object."
The lawyer sighed, and at that moment sincerely pitied himself; for it
had chanced that, in earlier years, an intimacy with Guilfoyle led to
the latter discovering that which gave him such absolute power as to
reduce him--Sharpus--to be his very slave. This was nothing less than
the _forgery_ of a bill in the name of Guilfoyle; who, before
relinquishing the privilege of prosecution, on retiring the document,
had obtained a complete holograph confession of the act, which he now
retained as a wrench for money, and held over the head of Sharpus,
thereby compelling him to act as he pleased. After a minute's silence,
during which the two men had been surveying each other, the one with
hate and fear, the other with malignant triumph, Guilfoyle said, "I
did Lady Naseby, as you know, a service at Berlin, when at very low
water; being seen with her won me credit, which I failed not to turn
to advantage. I followed her and her daughter through all Germany--at
Ems, Gerolstein, Baden, and then to Wales, where I was in clover at
Craigaderyn. I was a fool to fly my hawks at game so high as the
peerage; and I feel sure it was that beast of a fellow Hardinge, of
the Royal Welsh, who blew the gaff upon me, and prevented me from
entering stakes, as I intended to do, for one of the daughters of that
horse-and-cow-breeding old Welsh baronet; and they are, bar one, the
handsomest girls in England."
"And that one?"
"Is Lady Estelle Cressingham."
Even the ghastly lawyer smiled at his profound assurance.
"Have you no remorse when you think of Miss Franklin?"
"No more than you have, when you have sucked a client dry, and leave
him to die in the streets," replied Guilfoyle, with his strange dry
mocking laugh; "remorse is the word for a fool--the unpunished crime,
I have read somewhere, is never regretted. Men mourn the consequences,
but never the sin or a crime itself. As for Hardinge, d--n him!" he
added, grinding his teeth; "I thought to put a spoke in his wheel, by
passing off Georgette as his wife, but Taffy came to his aid, and the
true story was told; and yet, do you know, there were times when I
played my cards exceedingly well with the Cressinghams. Besides, you
always represented me to be a man of fortune."
"I have invariably done so," groaned Sharpus.
"And have stumped out pretty well to maintain the story, while hinting
of--"
"Coal-mines in Labuan, shares in others in Mexico, and all manner of
things, to account for the sums wrung from me--from my wife and
children. But, God help me, I can do no more!"
"Bah! what do they or you want with that villa at Hampstead? But you
are a good fellow, Sharpus; and, thanks to your assistance, I worked
the oracle pretty well at Walcot Park for Mr. Henry Hardinge."
"Against him, you mean?"
"Of course; but, unluckily, our story wouldn't stand testing."
"Could you expect it to do so?"
"But I put a hitch in his gallop there, anyhow. By Jove, I was a great
fool not to make love to the old woman, instead of her daughter."
"Meaning Lady Naseby?" said Sharpus, with surprise.
"So Burke and Debrett name her. She is just at that age--twice her
daughter's--when the soft sex become remarkably soft indeed, and apt
to make fools of themselves."
"She would indeed have been one had she listened to you."
"Thanks, old tape-and-parchment; I did not come here for a character,
but to show you the state of my cash-book."
Again the lawyer groaned, and Guilfoyle laughed louder than ever.
Delight to have a lawyer under his heel rendered him merciless; but
even a worm will turn, so Sharpus said sternly, "How have you lived
since the last remittance--extortion?"
"Call it as you will," replied the other, putting his glass in his
eye, and smilingly switching his leg with his cane; "I have lived as
most men do who live by their wits, and the follies, or it may be the
_crimes_--O, you wince!--of others; meeting debts and emergencies as
they come, content with the peace or action of the present, and never
regretting the past, or fearing the future! With the help of an ace,
king, and queen, when my betting-book or a stroke of billiards failed
me, and with your great kindness, my dear old Sharpus, I have, till
now, always kept my funds far above zero."
"Your life is a great sham--a very labyrinth of deceit!" exclaimed the
lawyer, furiously.
"And yours, friend Sharpus?"
"Is spent in slaving for my family, and endeavouring to atone for, or
to buy the concealment of, one great error--the error that made
you--ay, men such as you--my master!"
Guilfoyle laughed heartily, and said,
"I require 600_l_. instantly!"
"Not a penny--not another penny!"
"We shall see. Sharpus, though a bad lot, I know that you are not the
utter rogue that most of your profession are--"
"Leave my office, scoundrel, or I shall kill you!" said Sharpus, in a