Tales of the Wonder Club Volume III Part 28

"Yes, my dear," replied Oldstone; "I know what you mean. You would like--there, never mind. The thing can't be, so what is the use of thinking about him?"

"Why not, if it makes me happy?" was the rejoinder.

"There, there, I can never argue with a woman," muttered Oldstone. "I've a good mind not to read you any more of his nonsense."

"Mr. Oldstone," cried Helen, "you know you couldn't be so cruel."

"Well, my dear," asked her friend, "what more do you want to know? I can't wade knee-deep through all this. There isn't time. Your mother will be calling you soon."

"Oh, yes, sir, please. Just a little more before mother calls. Then I'll go at once," pleaded Helen, coaxingly.

The antiquary was as wax in her hands. "Well, then, he goes on to say:"

"As soon as I was fairly recovered, I thought I would delay my holiday no longer, and accordingly took the diligence, only too glad to leave the infected city behind me, and to breathe a little fresh mountain air.

What a complete change of climate I experienced high up in these mountain regions! And, oh! I cannot describe to you the extreme beauty and wildness of the scenery; the quaintness of some of these mountain villages, and the primitive state of their inhabitants! I had not been long in one of these out-of-the-way places when one morning I was tramping along in search of the picturesque, laden with my painting materials, when from behind some rocky crags some dozen brigands surrounded me.

"'_Faccia in terra_' (face on the ground), cried the brigand chief and the rest of the band in chorus, as they levelled their carbines at me.

"I was alone and unarmed, so had no choice but to do as I was commanded, so I prostrated myself, face to the ground. Several brigands came forward to search me, robbed me of my gold watch and all my loose cash.

Then they opened my pocket-book, where, besides finding paper money, they came upon my pa.s.sport. This they handed to their chief.

"'So,' said he, after perusing it; 'so it seems you are an Englishman.

Good. The English are rich. You must put up with our company until your friends can disburse the sum of ten thousand pounds sterling.'

"In vain I tried to explain to him that I was only a poor artist, who earned his living by the sweat of his brow. I saw I was not believed.

"'But you have rich friends,' he persisted. 'I know it by your face; so you don't fool me.'

"He then made a sign for me to follow them, so I had to tramp higher and higher up into the mountains, till I was ready to drop, while these well trained mountaineers leapt from crag to crag with the agility of a chamois, till they reached a cave, where they halted."

"There, Helen, run along," said Mr. Oldstone, as he had got thus far.

"There's your mother calling you."

Off rushed Helen to her mother, who was waiting for her at the door of the kitchen.

"Come, girl," cried Dame Hearty, "I can't think what you find to talk about with Mr. Oldstone every day. You are quite losing your head. Now, set to work, for we are terribly behind-hand."

The door once closed upon Helen, our antiquary read his friend's letter slowly through to the end. It gave an elaborate account of our artist's experience with the brigands, which we need not relate. Stay!--here was something at the end of the letter, marked "Private," that promised to be interesting. What could it be?

"(_Private._)--I must now touch upon a subject which causes me the greatest anxiety. A report has reached me through an artist friend, who was staying on a visit to Lord Landborough, who, you will remember, bought my picture ent.i.tled 'The Landlord's Daughter.'

Amongst other visitors at his country seat who were there at the time was one Lord Scampford, a young sprig of n.o.bility, rich, accomplished, but of infamous character; a gamester, and a profligate of the first water, who had become so enamoured of my portrait of Helen, then hanging on the walls of the Academy, that in his cups he swore, by Gumdragon, that he would search the world over to find out the original, and that, w.i.l.l.y-nilly, he would make her his paramour.

Likewise, he would shoot any man dead who dared to stand in his way.

Turning to my friend, he asked him if he knew the painter of the work: and upon his answering in the affirmative, he next asked him if he knew the model who had sat for the picture. This my friend was unable to tell him, as he was ignorant himself who it was. He then asked for my address, and being informed I lived in Rome, he at once set out for Italy, and, in fact, arrived here, and called upon me at my studio, but was denied admittance, as I was then laid up with the fever. After I had recovered, I heard that he had been the round of all the studios, and that of every artist he had been asking if, perchance, they could tell him where I had got my model from. Not one of them knew. Shortly after his arrival I heard that he had received a letter which necessitated his immediate return to England.

"This letter, it seems, was from his valet, a big powerful man, who generally accompanied him as his bully, and who aids him in his nefarious schemes. This man he had left behind him in England, with orders to scour the country for miles round about London, and to inform himself at every wayside inn, if the original of the picture on the Academy walls lived there. For a long time his search was fruitless. At last chance came to his aid. On one of his visits to the Royal Academy, just to refresh his memory of the features in the picture, he overheard a broadbacked old farmer, just up from the country, say to his wife,

"'Why, dash my wig, Sally, if here ain't the face of dear little Helen Hearty, daughter of my old friend, Jack Hearty, as keeps the 'Headless Lady,' at the cross-roads.'

"Upon hearing this, the valet stepped forward. 'Do I understand you to say that you know the original of this portrait?' he asked.

"'Know her!' exclaimed the farmer, 'Ay, marry do I. Why she is my G.o.d-daughter? I've danced her on my knee since she were a kid, bless her heart! And now I remember, I did hear as how one o' them paintin'

fellers--limners, they call 'em, was a puttin' up at the 'Headless Lady,' and a paintin' 'er likeness. Well, now, I never!--eh Sally?'

"'Dear me!' remarked the valet, 'How _very_ strange! Really, this is _most_ interesting. Tell me, good man, what part of the country is this you speak of?'

"'What! the hostel of the 'Headless Lady'? Why, at the cross-roads-parish of Littleboro', near Muddleton, on Slush Slopshire.'

"'Ah, in that part, I see. Fine country they tell me, about there.

Bracing air, good shooting--eh?' inquired the valet, as he opened his pocket-book and jotted down all the farmer told him.

"'Yes, sir, good air, good shooting, and as fine a bit of country, though I ses it, as shouldn't, seeing as how its my birthplace.'

"Here, the valet took out his watch, and exclaimed, 'G.o.d bless my soul! How time flies! Why, it's just upon one o'clock, and I had an appointment at twelve, on urgent business. Good-day, my friend.

Good-day, Ma'am,' addressing himself to the farmer's wife, and off he goes.

"'A pleasant, affable gentleman,' remarked the countryman to the wife of his bosom.

"'Ah, just ain't un,' acquiesced his spouse.

"That very day the valet penned a note to his lord and master, who returned to England in a great hurry at the news. You may imagine, my friend, what anxiety I feel, knowing that villain to be at large, and ready at any time to swoop down like a vulture into your peaceful dovecot and carry on his work of destruction, whilst I, being so far away, am unable to strike a blow in her defence. Though, G.o.d knows, I would willingly lay down my life, rather than that dear child should come to any harm. I write at once, having only just heard the news.

G.o.d grant I may be in time for my warning to be of some avail. For all I know, the villain may be there before this letter arrives. I tremble at the thought. He is sure to travel in his own private coach, accompanied by his bully, and, doubtless, both of them will be armed to the teeth. You had better warn Jack Hearty at once, in order that he may put his daughter out of harm's way, until he has taken his departure. His lordship will stick at nothing--even at drugging her, and carrying her off insensible, and being armed, it will be dangerous work to oppose him. I would advise Jack Hearty, as soon as he can find an opportunity to extract the bullets from his horse pistols, for depend upon it he means mischief. This is all the advice I can give him. Do whatever you can to frustrate the plot of this villian, and write me the result. No time for more. With kind remembrances to all your friends, as well as to our worthy host and family,

"Your anxious friend, "VANd.y.k.e MCGUILP."

"Dear! dear! dear!" muttered Oldstone to himself. "This is terrible news indeed. I must seek Jack Hearty at once, and inform him." Then, thrusting the letter into his pocket, and with a troubled expression on his face, he left the room, and beckoning to the landlord, whom he found outside, he took him by the arm and walked with him some considerable distance down one of the cross-roads, and read to him the latter part of our artist's letter. The landlord looked grave and stern.

"Humph," he grunted at length, "and this is all through me allowin' my daughter's portrait to be exhibited at the Royal Academy. If I had only known!"

"Look here, Jack," said Oldstone. "This is a thing that no one could foresee. Let us now think of the remedy."

"What remedy?" asked Jack, gloomily. "Can I refuse to take a traveller in--a n.o.bleman, too, with a handle to his name?"

"It is a desperate case, and we must be on the alert," observed Oldstone. "I would suggest that we take Dr. Bleedem into our confidence."

"Why?"

"Perhaps he may be able to administer to them both a sleeping draught on going to bed, and whilst they are both sound asleep, you can enter their rooms and extract the bullets from their pistols, so that if perchance they should attempt to use them against us, we shall have nothing to fear on that score."

"The very thing!" exclaimed our host. "Let us seek the doctor at once."

This was done. At first the man of medicine hummed and hawed, put on a look of importance, and talked of his reputation, etc., but at length allowed himself to be over-ruled, seeing the extreme urgency of the case, and consented to give the landlord a little harmless sleeping dose, which he could mix with their wine or whatever they called for.

Dr. Bleedem now went inside, presumably to concoct the charm by which occult power the evil designs of their enemies were to be frustrated, leaving our host and the antiquary discoursing together outside in low tones. As these two individuals were gazing towards the horizon, a small cloud of dust was presently discernible.

"Seems to be coming this way," said our host, after a pause. "Wonder if----"

"Ah, just so," broke in Oldstone. "Shouldn't wonder if it _were_ our expected guest. He won't make any unnecessary delay, I warrant."

"Sure enough it's a carriage and pair with a liveried coachman and footman," observed the landlord. "How they tear along! Oh, it's his lordship, without doubt. I must go and warn my daughter."