The Unspeakable Gentleman Part 14
My father looked at her sharply, almost suspiciously.
"How are you here?" he demanded quickly, "Did not Brutus lock your door?"
"The lock was very rusty," she answered.
"Indeed?" said my father, "And how long ago did you find it out?"
"Only a minute back," she said, and again he glanced at her narrowly, and finally shrugged his shoulders. As I look back on it, it was his first mistake.
"Then I fear you have not seen much of the house," he said suavely, but she disregarded his remark.
"Pray do not be alarmed, my lady," "At almost any time I am glad to see you, but just at present--" he raised his voice to drown the din of the knocker--"just at present your appearance, I fear, is a trifle indiscreet. It is not the paper they wish, Mademoiselle. It is merely myself, your humble servant, they require. But pray calm yourself and rest a.s.sured they shall get neither. Let in our callers, Brutus."
He took her hand and bowed over it very low, and looked for an instant into her eyes, with a faint hint of curiosity.
"And you?" she asked. "You have it still?"
"Temporarily, yes," he answered. "Show Mademoiselle a chair, my son, over there behind me, where you both can witness the little drama. Perhaps it is as well she came, after all."
Brutus had not forgotten his days as a house servant. Erect and uncompromising he entered the room, facing toward us by the door.
"Mr. Penfield!" he called. "Captain Tracy! Captain Brown! Major Proctor!
Mr. Lane! Captain Dexter!"
"So," said Major Proctor, "you still have your d.a.m.ned party manners."
They had entered the room, and stood in a group before my father. Their faces were set grimly. Their manner was stern and uncompromising, as befitted men of unimpeachable position and integrity. As I watched them, I still was wondering at their errand. Why should they, of all people have paid this call? There was not one who did not own his ships and counting house, not one who was not a leading trader in our seaport. In all the years I had known them, not one had looked at me, or given me a civil word, and indeed, they had little reason to give one. And yet, here they were calling on my father.
It was an odd contradiction of the lesson books that of all the men in the room, he should appear the most prepossessing. Though many of them were younger, his clothes were more in fashion, and time had touched him with a lighter hand. If I had come on them all as strangers, I should have expected kindness and understanding from him first of any. His forehead was broader, and his glance was keener. Indeed, there was none who looked more the gentleman. There was no man who could have displayed more perfect courtesy in his gravely polite salute.
"This," said my father, smiling, "is indeed a pleasure. I had hoped for this honor, and yet the years have so often disappointed me that I had only hoped."
Captain Tracy, short and squat, his hands held out in the way old sailors have, as though ready instinctively to grasp some rope or bulwark, thrust a bull neck forward, and peered at my father with little, reddened eyes, opened in wide incredulity.
"You what?" he demanded hoa.r.s.ely.
"I said, Captain Tracy, that I hoped,"--and my father helped himself to snuff--"Will you be seated, gentlemen?"
"No," said Major Proctor.
"I have always noted," my father remarked, "that standing is better for the figure. The climate, Major, has agreed with you."
Major Proctor launched on a savage rejoinder, but Mr. Penfield leaned towards him with a whispered admonition.
"I take it," he said to my father, "that you did not read our letter. You made a mistake, Mr. Shelton, a grave mistake, in not doing so."
"I am fond of reading," said my father, "and I found your letter--pardon my rudeness--but I must be frank--I found your letter most amusing."
Mr. Lane stretched a claw-like hand toward him.
"You always did laugh," he cried shrilly.
"Never now, Mr. Lane," replied my father. "Yet I must admit, if laughter were my habit--" he paused and surveyed Mr. Lane's pinched and bony figure.
"You found the letter amusing, eh?" snapped Captain Tracy. "You found it funny when we ordered you out of this town, did you? I suppose you thought we were joking, eh? Well, by Gad, we weren't, and that's what we've come to tell you. Heaven help us if we don't see you out on a rail, you d.a.m.ned--"
"Gently, gently," interjected Mr. Penfield, in a soothing tone. "Let us not use any harder words than necessary. Mr. Shelton will agree with us, I am sure. Mr. Shelton did not understand. Perhaps Mr. Shelton has forgotten."
"My memory," said my father, "still remains unimpaired. I recall the last time I saw you was some ten years ago in this very house. I recall at the time you warned me never to return here. In some ways, perhaps, you were right, and yet at present I find my residence here most expedient.
Indeed, I find it quite impossible to leave. Frankly, gentlemen, the house is watched, and it is as much as my life is worth to stir outside the doors."
"Good G.o.d!" cried Mr. Lane, in the shrill voice that fitted him so well.
"We might have known it!"
There was a momentary silence, and Major Proctor whispered in Mr.
Penfield's ear.
"Captain Shelton," said Mr. Penfield, "I see your son and a woman are in the room. It might be better if you sent them away. Your son, I have heard, has learned to behave himself. There is no need for him to hear what we have to say to you."
There was a note of raillery in his voice that must have offended my father.
"Mr. Penfield is mistaken. I fear closed shutters make the room a trifle dark to see clearly. It is a lady, Mr. Penfield, who is with us."
Captain Tracy laughed. My father's hand dropped to his side. For a moment no one spoke. Captain Tracy moved his head half an inch further forward.
"Well?" he asked.
"Let us leave the matter for a moment," said my father. "It can wait.
Pray continue, Mr. Penfield. My son will be glad to listen."
Mr. Penfield cleared his throat, and looked at the others uncertainly.
"Go on, Penfield," said the Major.
"Mr. Shelton," began Mr. Penfield stiffly, "ten years ago you were a gentleman."
"Could it have been possible?" said my father with a bow.
"Ten years ago you were a man that every one of us here trusted and respected, a friend of several. In the War of the Revolution you conducted yourself like a man of honor. You equipped your own brig with a letter of marque, and sailed it yourself off Jamaica. You fought in three engagements. You displayed a daring and bravery which we once admired."
"Could it have been possible?" my father bowed again. "I do recall I failed to stay at home," he added, bowing again to Mr. Penfield.
Mr. Penfield frowned, and continued a little more quickly:
"And when you did return, you engaged in the China trade. You were a successful man, Mr. Shelton. We looked upon you as one of the more brilliant younger men of our seaport. We trusted you, Captain Shelton."
"Could it have been possible!" exclaimed my father.
"Yes," said Mr. Penfield in a louder tone, "we trusted you. You have only to look at your books, if you have kept them, to remember that."