The Story of Antony Grace

“Ah,” said Bill sagely. “That’s the worst of eddication, it makes a man so uppish. No offence, Mr Hallett, sir, but you being a highly eddicated man – ”

“Tut – tut! nonsense!” said Hallett, smiling. “Oh, but you are, you know,” said Revitts. “Ant’ny says you are, and it’s wonderful what a power o’ stuff that there young chap’s got in his head. I come the top-sawyer over him when he first come up to London; but, Lor’ bless you! I give in to everything out o’ the ornerary in no time. It’s on’y nat’ral that eddication should make a man uppish. I’ve felt a deal more so since Ant’ny’s given me a lift in spellin’. I always was a good writer, but my spellin’, Mr Hallett, sir! Ha – ha – ha!” he cried, bursting out in a guffaw; “I know now when I looks back at some of my old books, it was a rum ’un. Them big words was just like so many forty-barred gates to my getting promoted.”

“I suppose so,” said Hallett; “but about payment for your wife’s services?”

“Why, you do pay me,” said Revitts sturdily. “She gets braxfuses, and dinners, and teas – no end.”

“Yes, but that counts for nothing.”

“Oh, don’t it,” said Revitts, laughing. “You ask Ant’ny about that, and how him and me used to dodge to make the money run to good meals. Look here, Mr Hallett, sir, I’m only a humble sort of a chap, but you’ve always been kindly to me, and I hope it ain’t no disrespect to you to call you a friend.”

“I’m only too glad to call you ‘friend,’ Revitts,” said Hallett, holding out his hand, which the other gripped like a vice, “and I thank Antony Grace for making me known to two such good hearted people as you and your worthy wife.”

“Thanky, sir, for Mary – thanky,” exclaimed Revitts, nodding his head. “She’s a good one, and no mistake; and as for her bit of temper, Antony,” he said, speaking as if he were very much moved, as he turned to me, “that bit of rough is like ballast to her, and keeps her down; for, if it wasn’t for her tantrums, I believe she’d have been an angel long ago, and then – what should I have done? Lor’ bless you both, they call us pleecemen lobsters, raw lobsters, to distinguish us from the soldiers, and because we’re dark blue and so hard; but I’m soft enough inside, and that woman knows it, too. Well, sir, about this remooneration – as you call it. Look here, she won’t take no money, so I’ll tell you what you do by-and-by when she’s nursed Miss Linny back to health – as she will, you mark my words if she don’t – better than any doctor. It’s a treat, to be ill under her. Lord’s truth!” cried the great fellow, smiling and looking as silly as a fat boy, “the way she’d wash my face and neck, and go in an’ out o’ my ears with the sponge and towel without hurting, was ’eavenly.”

Hallett could not forbear a smile, and I roared.

“Ah, you may grin, Ant’ny my lad, but you’ll see, some day when you’re on your back, she’s the best nuss that ever lived. There!”

“She is, indeed, Revitts,” cried Hallett, “and – Heaven bless her! my poor mother has not been so well for months as she has been since your wife has tended her.”

“There, Ant’ny, hear that!” cried Revitts. “She’s a woman to be proud on – that she is.”

“That she is, Bill,” I echoed, clapping the dear old fellow on the shoulder.

“Well, as I was saying,” he exclaimed, “just you give her a noo gownd, something bright and with some colour in it, and if so be as she isn’t at home when I get back, p’r’aps you wouldn’t mind my coming in for a snack here, for if I don’t get my corn reglar I’m nowhere.”

“My dear fellow, I shall never be able to thank you enough,” cried Hallett.

“Oh, that’s all right among friends, ain’t it, Ant’ny? He knows me better, and Mary, too, than you do, so let’s drop all that, sir; and now I want to talk serious to you about this here affair. I feel, sir, as a sergeant of police, that I oughtn’t to rest till I’ve brought that chap to justice.”

I saw Hallett start and change colour. Then, getting up, he began to walk up and down the room, ending by coming and laying his hand upon Revitts’ shoulder.

“Revitts,” he said, “that man has done you a very serious injury.”

“Never mind about that, Mr Hallett, sir; I dare say I shall put that square. I was thinking about you.”

“Yes, and he has done me a deadly injury,” said Hallett, in a low, dreamy voice; “but I cannot retaliate. You will think me strange and weak perhaps; but I cannot take any steps toward punishing this man.”

Revitts looked disappointed.

“I’d been hoping, sir,” he said, “that you’d got to know who I was, and could give me a hint or two, so that I could put my ban upon him. You know who it is, sir?”

Hallett looked at him searchingly, and a deep frown came upon his forehead.

“Yes,” he said, “I know who it is; but for many reasons I cannot stir in the matter. Besides, what could I do? He has committed no punishable offence against me.”

“No, that’s true,” said Revitts quickly; “but he has against me. Assaulting the police is ’most as bad as high-treason, and if you’ll give me his name, sir, or put me in the way of getting a hand on him, I’ll give him a twelvemonths’ imprisonment.”

Hallett shook his head.

“No, Revitts,” he said, “I look upon him as my most deadly enemy, and some day I may take the scoundrel by the throat, but I cannot help you here.”

“Now, that’s where you’re wrong, sir, if you’ll ’scuse me. A man mustn’t take the law into his own hands. You think better of it, sir. You can’t punish, though he richly deserves it, but I can; and if ever I get a chance, I will.”

Revitts soon after rose to go, Mary having announced her intention of sitting up all night with Linny, and Hallett and I were left alone.

“No, Antony,” he said, looking me in the face, just as if I had spoken to him on the subject. “My hands are tied: John Lister must go free. I can do nothing.”

“He deserves flogging!” I exclaimed, “and I feel that I ought to tell Miss Carr.”

He started, and half turned away.

“Have you told Miss Carr, Antony?”

“No,” I said, “I can’t be so mean; but she ought to know, for she believes him to be very true and honourable. I wish some one would tell her. Can’t you?”

“I? Tell Miss Carr? Antony, are you mad?” he cried, with a show of excitement that I could not understand. “No, I could not tell her. What would she think of me?”

“Yes, she is so high-minded and good,” I replied, “that she would think anybody a miserable talebearer who told her what a scoundrel Mr Lister is. I don’t think she would believe it, either.”

“No,” he said softly, “she could not believe such a thing of the man she loves.”

“Do you know,” I said, innocently enough, “I don’t think she does love Mr Lister very much.”

His eyes flashed as he looked at me; but he made no reply, and only sat gazing before him in a wistful, saddened way that I did not comprehend then as I went on chatting to him.

“No, I shall not tell her – I couldn’t,” I said. “It would be too mean, and yet it would be horrible for her to marry such a man as that. Have you seen him, since, Hallett?”

“Seen him? – Since? No, Antony, I have not been to the office since that night. I could never go there again.”

I looked at him anxiously, for his ways and looks were very strange; but I attributed everything to anxiety on Linny’s behalf, and we very soon changed the topic; and after hearing the last account about Linny, I rose to go, Hallett coming downstairs, and out into the starlit street, walking a few hundred yards with me towards my lodgings, before finally taking his leave, and going thoughtfully away.

Chapter Forty Three.

A Scene

I have often thought since upon the magnanimity of Hallett’s character. Loving Miss Carr, as he did, with a passionate, hopeless love, he knew her to be engaged to John Lister, and feeling bound in honour to be just to the man he served, he crushed down his passion, and hid it in his breast. Hopeless he knew it was, from his position; but, however hopeless, it must have been agony to him to hear of his rival’s success. How much greater, then, must his sufferings have been when he found that the man to whom the woman he adored had promised to give her hand was a scoundrel of the basest kind!

He loved her so well that her future happiness must have been his constant thought, and now he learned that she was bound to the man who cared so little for the treasure of her love that he was ready to engage in any intrigue; while the very fact that the object chosen for this cruel intrigue was Hallett’s own sister must have been maddening.

He must have felt fettered by his position, for he could not accuse John Lister to the woman he loved. He felt that he was too full of self-interest, and besides, how could he speak words that would inflict such a sorrow upon the peaceful life of Miriam Carr?

No: he felt bound in honour to be silent, and, crushing down his love and his honest indignation against John Lister, he sought employment elsewhere, and spent his leisure in keeping watch over his home.

He took one step, though, that I did not know of till long afterwards; he wrote to John Lister, telling him that his perfidy was known, and uttering so fierce a warning against him if he pursued Linny, or even wrote to her again, that the careful watch and ward kept over the house in Great Ormond Street proved to be unnecessary, for the sensual tiger, foiled in his spring, had slunk away.

On the day after my talk with Hallett, and Revitts’ visit to the house, I made my way after office-hours to Miss Carr’s, to find my welcome warmer than ever; for she flushed with pleasure, and sat for some time talking to me of her sister, who had written to her from abroad.