Complete Works of Wilkie Collins (1338 page)

My patience was not severely tried: he soon replaced the stopper in the bottle, and, looking up from it, saw me. With his free hand, he quickly removed the handkerchief, and spoke.

“Let me ask you to wait in the boat-house,” he said; “I will come to you directly.” He pointed round the corner of the new cottage; indicating of course the side of it that was farthest from the old building.

Following his directions, I first passed the door that he used in leaving or returning to his room, and then gained the bank of the river. On my right hand rose the mill building, with its big waterwheel — and, above it, a little higher up the stream, I recognised the boat-house; built out in the water on piles, and approached by a wooden pier.

No structure of this elabourate and expensive sort would have been set up by my father, for the miller’s convenience. The boat-house had been built, many years since, by a rich retired tradesman with a mania for aquatic pursuits. Our ugly river had not answered his expectations, and our neighbourhood had abstained from returning his visits. When he left us, with his wherries and canoes and outriggers, the miller took possession of the abandoned boat-house. “It’s the sort of fixture that don’t pay nohow,” old Toller remarked. “Suppose you remove it — there’s a waste of money. Suppose you knock it to pieces — is it worth a rich gentleman’s while to sell a cartload of firewood?” Neither of these alternatives having been adopted, and nobody wanting an empty boat-house, the clumsy mill boat, hitherto tied to a stake, and exposed to the worst that the weather could do to injure it, was now snugly sheltered under a roof, with empty lockers (once occupied by aquatic luxuries) gaping on either side of it.

I was looking out on the river, and thinking of all that had happened since my first meeting with Cristel by moonlight, when the voice of the deaf man made itself discordantly heard, behind me.

“Let me apologize for receiving you here,” he said; “and let me trouble you with one more of my confessions. Like other unfortunate deaf people, I suffer from nervous irritability. Sometimes, we restlessly change our places of abode. And sometimes, as in my case, we take refuge in variety of occupation. You remember the ideal narratives of crime which I was so fond of writing at one time?”

I gave the affirmative answer, in the usual way.

“Well,” he went on, “my literary inventions have ceased to interest me. I have latterly resumed the chemical studies, associated with that happy time in my life when I was entering on the medical profession. Unluckily for you, I have been trying an experiment to-day, which makes such an abominable smell in my room that I dare not ask you to enter it. The fumes are not only disagreeable, but in some degree dangerous. You saw me at the window, perhaps, with my nose and mouth protected before I opened the bottle?”

I repeated the affirmative sign. He produced his little book of blank leaves, and opened it ready for use.

“May I hope,” he said, “that your visit is intended as a favorable reply to my letter?”

I took the pencil, and answered him in these terms:

“Your letter has satisfied me that I was mistaken in treating you like a stranger. I have come here to express my regret at having failed to do you justice. Pray be assured that I believe in your better nature, and that I accept your letter in the spirit in which you have written it.”

He read my reply, and suddenly looked at me.

Never had I seen his beautiful eyes so brightly soft, so irresistibly tender, as they appeared now. He held out his hand to me. It is one of my small merits to be (in the popular phrase) as good as my word. I took his hand; well knowing that the action committed me to accepting his friendship.

In relating the events which form this narrative, I look back at the chain, as I add to it link by link — sometimes with surprise, sometimes with interest, and sometimes with the discovery that I have omitted a circumstance which it is necessary to replace. But I search my memory in vain, while I dwell on the lines that I have just written, for a recollection of some attendant event which might have warned me of the peril towards which I was advancing blindfold. My remembrance presents us as standing together with clasped hands; but nothing in the slightest degree ominous is associated with the picture. There was no sinister chill communicated from his hand to mine; no shocking accident happened close by us in the river; not even a passing cloud obscured the sunlight, shining in its gayest glory over our heads.

After having shaken hands, neither he nor I had apparently anything more to say. A little embarrassed, I turned to the boat-house window, and looked out. Trifling as the action was, my companion noticed it.

“Do you like that muddy river?” he asked.

I took the pencil again: “Old associations make even the ugly Loke interesting to me.”

He sighed as he read those words. “I wish, Mr. Roylake, I could say the same. Your interesting river frightens me.”

It was needless to ask for the pencil again. My puzzled face begged for an explanation.

“When you were in my room,” he said, “you may have noticed a second window which looks out on The Loke. I have got into a bad habit of sitting by that window on moonlight nights. I watch the flow of the stream, and it seems to associate itself with the flow of my thoughts. Nothing remarkable, so far — while I am awake. But, later, when I get to sleep, dreams come to me. All of them, sir, without exception connect Cristel with the river. Look at the stealthy current that makes no sound. In my last night’s sleep, it made itself heard; it was flowing in my ears with a water-music of its own. No longer my deaf ears; I heard, in my dream, as well as you can hear. Yes; the same water-music, singing over and over again the same horrid song: “Fool, fool, no Cristel for you; bid her good-bye, bid her good-bye.” I saw her floating away from me on those hideous waters. The cruel current held me back when I tried to follow her. I struggled and screamed and shivered and cried. I woke up with a start that shook me to pieces, and cursed your interesting river. Don’t write to me about it again. Don’t look at it again. Why did you bring up the subject? I beg your pardon; I had no right to say that. Let me be polite; let me be hospitable. I beg to invite you to come and see me, when my room is purified from its pestilent smell. I can only offer you a cup of tea. Oh, that river, that river, what devil set me talking about it? I’m not mad, Mr. Roylake; only wretched. When may I expect you? Choose your own evening next week.”

Who could help pitying him? Compared with my sound sweet dreamless sleep, what dreadful nights were his!

I accepted his invitation as a matter of course. When we had completed our arrangements, it was time for me to think of returning to Trimley Deen. Moving towards the door, I accidentally directed his attention to the pier by which the boat-house was approached.

His face instantly reminded me of Cristel’s description of him, when he was strongly and evilly moved. I too saw “his beautiful eves tell tales, and his pretty complexion change to a colour which turned him into an ugly man.” He seized my arm, and pointed to the pier, at the end of it which joined the river-bank. “Pray accept my excuses; I can’t answer for my temper if that wretch comes near me.” With this apology he hurried away; and sly Giles Toller, having patiently waited until the coast was clear, accosted me with his best bow, and said: “Beautiful weather, isn’t it, sir?”

I had no remarks to make on the weather; but I was interested in discovering what had happened at the cottage.

“You have mortally offended the gentleman who has just left me,” I said. “What have you done?”

Mr. Toller had purposes of his own to serve, and kept those purposes (as usual) exclusively in view:
he
presented deaf ears to me now!

“I don’t think I ever remember such wonderful weather, sir, in my time; and I’m an old fellow, as I needn’t tell you. Being at the mill just now, I saw you in the boat-house, and came to pay my respects. Would you be so good as to look at this slip of paper, Mr. Gerard? If you will kindly ask what it is, you will in a manner help me.”

I knew but too well what it was. “The repairs again!” I said resignedly. “Hand it over, you obstinate old man.”

Mr. Toller was so tickled by my discovery, and by the cheering prospect consequent on seeing his list of repairs safe in my pocket, that he laughed until I really thought he would shake his lean little body to pieces. By way of bringing his merriment to an end, I assumed a look of severity, and insisted on knowing how he had offended the Lodger. My venerable tenant, trembling for his repairs, drifted into a question of personal experience, and seemed to anticipate that it might improve my temper.

“When you have a woman about the house, Mr. Gerard, you may have noticed that she’s an everlasting expense to you — especially when she’s a young one. Isn’t that so?”

I inquired if he applied this remark to his daughter.

“That’s it, sir; I’m talking of Cristy. When her back’s up, there isn’t her equal in England for strong language. My gentleman has misbehaved himself in some way (since you were with us this morning, sir); how, I don’t quite understand. All I can tell you is, I’ve given him notice to quit. A clear loss of money to me every week, and Cristy’s responsible for it. Yes, sir! I’ve been worked up to it by my girl. If Cristy’s mother had asked me to get rid of a paying lodger, I should have told her to go to —
 
— we won’t say where, sir; you’ll know where when you’re married yourself. The upshot of it is that I have offended my gentleman, for the sake of my girl: which last is a luxury I can’t afford, unless I let the rooms again. If you hear of a tenant, say what a good landlord I am, and what sweet pretty rooms I’ve got to let.”

I led the way to the bank of the river, before Mr. Toller could make any more requests.

We passed the side of the old cottage. The door was open; and I saw Cristel employed in the kitchen.

My watch told me that I had still two or three minutes to spare; and my guilty remembrance of the message that I had pinned to the door suggested an immediate expression of regret. I approached Cristel with a petition for pardon on my lips. She looked distrustfully at the door of communication with the new cottage, as if she expected to see it opened from the other side.

“Not now!” she said — and went on sadly with her household work.

“May I see you to-morrow?” I asked.

“It had better not be here, sir,” was the only reply she made.

I offered to meet her at any other place which she might appoint. Cristel persisted in leaving it to me; she spoke absently, as if she was thinking all the time of something else. I could propose no better place, at the moment, than the spring in Fordwitch Wood. She consented to meet me there, on the next day, if seven o’clock in the morning would not be too early for me. My German habits had accustomed me to early rising. She heard me tell her this — and looked again at the Lodger’s door — and abruptly wished me good evening.

Her polite father was shocked at this unceremonious method of dismissing the great man, who had only to say the word and stop the repairs. “Where are your manners, Cristy?” he asked indignantly. Before he could say another word, I was out of the cottage.

As I passed the spring on my way home, I thought of my two appointments. On that evening, my meeting with the daughter of the lord. On the next morning, my meeting with the daughter of the miller. Lady Lena at dinner; Cristel before breakfast. If Mrs. Roylake found out
that
social contrast, what would she say? I was a merry young fool; I burst out laughing.

CHAPTER IX

MRS ROYLAKE’S GAME: FIRST MOVE

The dinner at Trimley Deen has left in my memory little that I can distinctly recall. Only a faintly-marked vision of Lady Lena rewards me for doing my best to remember her. A tall slim graceful person, dressed in white with a simplicity which is the perfection of art, presents to my admiration gentle blue eyes, a pale complexion delicately touched with colour, a well-carried head crowned by lovely light brown hair. So far, time helps the reviving past to come to life again — and permits nothing more. I cannot say that I now remember the voice once so musical in my ears, or that I am able to repeat the easy unaffected talk which once interested me, or that I see again (in my thoughts) the perfect charm of manner which delighted everybody, not forgetting myself. My unworthy self, I might say; for I was the only young man, honoured by an introduction to Lady Lena, who stopped at admiration, and never made use of opportunity to approach love.