Tales of the Wonder Club, Volume II

by M. Y. Halidom

He could have waylaid and murdered his rival, if he chose; have introduced poison in his cup, or bribed an assassin to murder him, but none of these modes suited De Chevron. The law was vigilant, inquiries would be made, and the murder probably traced to his own door. His reputation would suffer, to say nothing of his own life being endangered. He would have no accomplices, as he knew that no man was to be depended upon; he would trust to no one but himself and his own resources.

Like a wily Jesuit, he would work in the dark, would be the cause of all the mischief that his own atrocious brain could dictate, but himself remain hid. Now, when Richard de Chevron first met John Archer at my father's house, he treated him with coldness, not to say haughtiness. He now completely changed his tactics. He saw that the least show of contempt or dislike towards the young gamekeeper, who was a general favourite—and especially with Claribel—would be construed into jealously on his part; and though this was really the case, it did not suit him that everyone should know it; therefore he entirely altered his conduct towards his rival, and nothing now could be more kind and courteous, more apparently generous than his treatment of his uncle's gamekeeper.

He apologised if by any former brusqueness of manner he had offended him, pleading that he had not had the opportunity hitherto of studying his estimable character, but that after long observation he had learnt to appreciate his noble qualities, and should henceforth entertain for him the highest esteem and friendship. He would pat him playfully on the shoulder, call him his friend, would make him every now and then some trifling present, and even put in a good word for him to my friend Claribel.

All this had the appearance of generosity, as De Chevron designed it should have, and thus avert suspicion from himself. We were all of us at home much surprised and pleased at this extraordinary change, especially as he had ceased for a time to persecute Claribel with his attentions.

Richard de Chevron appeared to be turning over a new leaf. When I say we were all deceived in De Chevron's behaviour, I must not omit to state that there was one exception, and that was Claribel herself, who from the first had behaved with a freezing coldness towards De Chevron, and, little as she knew of the world and its wickedness, had such an instinctive distrust of this man, that when he began to speak favourably to her of John Archer, she trembled violently, and looked into his face with such a searching glance that it seemed to peer into the inmost recesses of his soul.

De Chevron cowered beneath her gaze; he felt himself distrusted, and was probably little flattered at the opinion of himself he saw written in her eyes. Nevertheless, he would not have shown for the world that he was disconcerted; he was a practised dissembler, and instead of being abashed, grew more witty and talkative than ever, more and more friendly to his rival, only I noticed that he avoided the eyes of Claribel as much as possible.

The fact was, he feared her; he, the artful, experienced man of the world, crouched like an abject slave before a simple village maiden. His guilty soul could not brook the chaste glance of innocence. He knew himself to be a false degraded wretch, and quailed before her moral superiority.

However, Richard de Chevron had worked himself into favour with all of us; in fact, we grew delighted with him, still excepting Claribel, who seemed very unreasonably prejudiced against him, as we all thought. She would declare to me in private that from the very first the aspect of De Chevron had been repulsive to her; but of late, so far from having overcome her impression, he had grown perfectly intolerable in her eyes; nay, that she was seized with such horror and loathing when he was in the room as she could not find words to express.

She had a presentiment of evil, and it seemed to her, moreover, as if he were using some occult power over her that she, however, was determined to resist.

I tried to laugh her out of these fancies as being quite unfounded, and attributed them to her nerves being over-wrought from want of sufficient air and exercise; but all without avail; she remained as confirmed as ever in her prejudices. It is now some time since I made allusion to Claribel's spiritual visitant. She had long been undisturbed by its visits; indeed, ever since De Chevron and John had commenced calling at the house, and even before. It is uncertain whether either of them had ever heard of the phenomenon. I rather think not, as De Chevron, who mixed almost entirely in the upper circles, would not easily have come in the way of our village cackle, especially as he was often absent from the village for months at a time; and as for John, being constantly engaged on Lord Edgedown's estate, he knew comparatively little of the world without. But whether they did or not, it is certain that the subject was never broached during all that time.