Chapter Twenty Three.
Uncle Luke Grows Harder.
“I would not stop over these, my dears,” said Vine, as they sat at breakfast, which was hardly tasted, “but if I neglect them they will die.”
He had a glass globe on the table, and from time to time he went on feeding with scraps of mussel the beautiful specimens of actinia; attached to a fragment of rock.
“We’ll all go on directly and see if we can be of any use. I’m glad Knatchbull called as he went by.”
“But what news!” said Louise sadly. “It seems so terrible. Only yesterday evening so well, and now—”
She finished her remark with a sob.
“It is very terrible,” said her father; “but I hope we shall soon hear that the villains are caught.”
Harry sat holding the handle of his tea-cup firmly, and gazing straight before him.
“You’ll go up to the office, of course, my boy?” said Vine.
“Eh? Go up to the office?” cried Harry, starting.
“Yes, as if nothing had happened. Do all you can to assist Crampton.”
“Yes, father.”
“He was very quiet and reserved when I went in at seven; quite snappish, I might say. But he was too much occupied and troubled, I suppose, to be very courteous to such an old idler as I am. Ah!” he continued, as a figure passed the window, “here’s Uncle Luke.”
A cold chill had run through Harry at the mention of Crampton—a chill of horror lest he should suspect anything; and now, at the announcement of his uncle’s approach, he felt a flush run up to his temples, and as if the room had suddenly become hot.
“Morning,” said Uncle Luke, entering without ceremony, a rush basket in one hand, his strapped-together rod in the other.
“Breakfast? Late for breakfast, isn’t it?”
“No, Luke, no; our usual time,” said his brother mildly.
“You will sit down and have some, uncle?”
“No, Louy, no,” he replied, nodding his head and looking a little less hard at her. “I’ve had some bread and skim milk, and I’m just off to catch my dinner. The idiot know?”
“My dear Luke!” said his brother mildly, as Uncle Luke made a gesture upward towards Aunt Marguerite’s room; “why will you strive to increase the breach between you and our sister?”
“Well, she tells every one that I’m mad. Why shouldn’t I call her an idiot? But nice goings on, these. Wonder you’re all alive.”
“Then you have heard?”
“Heard? Of course. If I hadn’t I could have read it in your faces. Look here, sir,” he cried, turning sharply on his nephew, “where were you last night?”
Harry clutched the table-cloth that hung into his lap.
“I? Last night?” he faltered.
“Yes; didn’t I speak plainly? Where were you last night? Why weren’t you down at Van Heldre’s, behaving like a man, and fight for your master along with your henchman?”
“Uncle, dear, don’t be so unreasonable,” said Louise, leaning back and looking up in the old man’s face—for he had thrown his basket and rod on a chair, and gone behind her to stand stroking her cheek—“Harry was at home with Mr Pradelle.”
“Pradelle, eh?” said the old man sharply. “Not up?”
“Mr Pradelle has gone,” said Louise.
“Gone, eh?” said Uncle Luke sharply.
“Yes,” said his brother. “Mr Pradelle behaved very nicely. He left this note for me.”
“Note, eh? Bank note—”
Harry winced and set his teeth.
“No, no, Luke. Nonsense!”
“Nonsense? I mean to pay for his board and lodging all the time he has been here.”
“Absurd, Luke!” said his brother, taking up a liberal meal for a sea-anemone on the end of a thin glass rod. “He said that under the circumstances he felt that he should be an encumbrance to us, and therefore he had gone by the earliest train.”
“Like the sneak he is, eh, Harry?”
The young man met his uncle’s eyes for the moment, and then dropped his own.
“You’ll kill those things with kindness, George. Any one would think you were fattening them for market. So Master Pradelle has gone, eh? Don’t cry, Louy; perhaps we can coax him back.”
He chuckled, and patted her cheek.
“Uncle, dear, don’t talk like that. We are in such trouble.”
“About Van Heldre, that boy’s master. Yes, of course. Very sad for Mrs Van and little Madelaine. Leslie was down there as soon as one of the miners brought up the news, trying to comfort them.”
Harry’s teeth gritted slightly, but he relapsed into his former semi-cataleptic state, as if forced to listen, and unable to move.
“I like Leslie,” said Vine sadly.
“So do I. At least, I don’t dislike him so much as I do some folks. Now if he had been there, he’d have behaved better than you did, Master Harry.”
“Uncle, dear, don’t be so hard on poor Harry.”
“Poor Harry! Good job he is poor. What’s the good of being rich for thieves to break through and steal?”
“Ah! what indeed!” said his brother sadly.
“Look at Van Heldre, knocked on the head and going to die.”
“Uncle!”
“Well, I dare say he will, and be at rest. Knocked on the head, and robbed of five hundred pounds. My money, every penny.”
“Yours, Luke?” said his brother, pointing at him with the glass rod.
“Thanks, no, George; give it to the sea-anemone. I don’t like raw winkle.”
“But you said that money was yours?”
“Yes; a deposit; all in new crisp Bank of England notes, Harry. Taking care of it for me till I got a fresh investment.”
“You surprise me, Luke.”
“Always did. Surprised you more if Margaret had had five hundred pounds to invest, eh?”
“Then the loss will fall upon you, uncle,” said Louise sympathetically, as she took the old man’s hand.
“Yes, my dear. But better have the loss fall upon median Crampton’s heavy ebony ruler, eh, Harry?”
The young man looked once more in the searching malicious eyes, and nodded.
“Bad job though, Louy. I’d left poor Harry that money in my will.”
“Oh, uncle!” cried Louise, holding his hand to her cheek.
“Yes; but not a penny for you, pussy. There, it don’t matter. I shan’t miss the money. If I run short, George, you’ll give me a crust, same as you do Margaret.”
“My dear Luke, I’ve told you a hundred times, I should be glad if you would give up that—that—”
“Dog kennel?” sneered the old cynic.
“That hut on the cliff, and come and share my home.”
“Yes, two hundred times. I’ll swear,” said Uncle Luke. “You always were weak, George. One idiot’s enough for you to keep, and very little does for me. There’s my larder,” he continued, pointing toward the sea; “and as to Harry here, he won’t miss the money. He’s going to be the Count des Vignes, and take Aunt Marguerite over to Auvergne, to live in his grand château. Five hundred pounds is nothing to him.”
The perspiration stood on Harry’s brow, cold and damp, and he sat enduring all this torture. One moment he felt that his uncle suspected him, the next that it was impossible. At times a fierce sensation of rage bubbled up in his breast, and he felt as if he would have liked to strangle the keen-eyed old man; but directly after he felt that this was his punishment called down by his weakness and folly, and that he must bear it.
“Going, Harry?” said his father, as the young man rose.
“Yes; it is time I went on to the office.”
“Good boy. Punctuality’s the soul of business,” said Uncle Luke. “Pity we have no corporation here. You might rise to be mayor. Here, I don’t think I shall go fishing to-day. I’ll stop, and go on with you two to see old Van. Louy, dear, go and tell your aunt I’m here. She might like to come down and have a snarl.”
“Uncle, dear,” said Louise, rising and kissing him, “you can’t deceive me.”
She went out after Harry.
“Not a pair, George,” said Uncle Luke, grimly. “Louy’s worth live hundred of the boy.”
“He’d drive me mad, Lou, he’d drive me mad,” cried Harry, tearing his hand from his sister’s grasp, and hurrying away; but only to run back repentant and kiss her fondly before hurrying away.