A Whim, and Its Consequences / Collection of British Authors Vol. CXIV

by G. P. R. James

"And have you grieved for me, Chandos Winslow?" said the woman. "I knew you pitied me; but I thought not the bold, brave boy would long think of her he sought to see righted. I found sympathy and kindness with those who saved my life, and I became one of them; but I thought all the rest of the world had forgotten me. And you grieved for me! God's blessing be upon you for it; be you blest in your love, and in your fortune, and in your children; be you blessed in health of body and of heart; be your age tranquil and your death calm. But, hark! There are people calling. What can they want? It is not any of our people. They know themselves better than to make such a noise."

"It is most likely some of the people from the inn seeking me," replied Chandos. "I sent on the post-boy with orders to have a chaise ready for Northferry; and I am so late, they may think me lost, or murdered."

"Go then, go quick," cried the woman; "do not let them come hither: and forget not in a fortnight to return."

"I will remember," answered Chandos; and bidding her adieu in a kindly tone, he left the churchyard.

It was as he thought. The people of the inn had become alarmed at his long absence, and had sent out to seek him. He gave no account of his detention, however, when he met the messengers, but merely said he had stopped a while by the way.

On his arrival at the inn, he found the chaise he had ordered at the door, ready to carry him to Northferry; but a change had come over his purpose. He paused, indeed, and meditated for a moment or two, asking himself if he could depend upon the woman's information, and considering whether it might not be better to proceed as he had at first proposed. But he speedily concluded in favour of the more impetuous course; and, ordering the ticket to be changed, and the chaise to drive towards London, gave occasion for some marvel on the part of the landlord, at what the worthy host thought fit to call "the gentleman's queer ways."

CHAPTER XXXVI.

There is a nice little country inn at Mantes, on the Seine. The rooms are plain and small, but neat; and those three which were at the end of the corridor, that is to say, a sitting-room and two bed-rooms, were occupied by an English gentleman and his valet de chambre. The English gentleman's name appeared in his passport as Mr. Somers; but the valet when he was dressing him in the morning, or serving him at dinner, which he did not trust to the waiters of the inn, called him "Sir William." This valet was an Italian, but he spoke English perfectly well; and nothing but his complexion and a very slight foreign accent betrayed that he was not a native of Great Britain. He was a quiet, exceedingly quiet man, with none of the vivacity of the South about him; saying very little to any one, but that little of the civilest possible character. Yet there was that in his eye which seemed to say the spirit was not quite as tranquil as the body--a sharp, quick glance when anything was said, be the subject what it might; a flush when he was blamed, which supplied the place of words. He had been brought over by Sir William (then Mr.) Winslow, from Rome, three or four years before; and had remained with him ever since. His fellow-servants loved him not; and it had been observed, that if any of them ventured to offend him, that man did not remain long in Sir William's service.

Now the people of the inn remarked two or three thing which they thought somewhat strange in their guest. He very seldom went out in the middle of the day, although the weather was by no means yet so warm as to render the early mornings and late evenings pleasant, or the high noon unpleasant. He seemed very restless, too, when he was in the house, would walk up and down the room by the hour together, or wander from his bed-room to his sitting-room and back, with unmeaning activity. Then he never read anything but a newspaper: but he was an Englishman, and that passed. He frequented no cafe either; and did not even go to see the three great ostriches when they were exhibited in the marketplace. All this seemed very strange; but the valet held his tongue, and neither landlord, nor landlady, nor head-waiter could make anything of it. They could not find out even whether he had lost his wife or not; though such was the landlady's opinion, for he was dressed in deep mourning. The head-waiter had vague notions of his having stolen silver spoons, and being uneasy in his mind.

One morning he had either passed a very good or a very bad night, for he rose before it was light; and as soon as it was, went and walked upon the bank of the river. At a little after seven he came in again, hurried up stairs, called loudly for Benini, his valet, did not find him, and went into his bed-room to conclude his toilet, which was only half finished when he went out. At the end of half-an-hour he was in his sitting-room, and found the cloth laid for breakfast. He rang, and his servant appeared.