



Produced by Dagny; John Bickers





STORIES BY ENGLISH AUTHORS

ITALY




CONTENTS

     A FAITHFUL RETAINER        James Payn
     BIANCA                     W. E. Norris
     GONERIL                    A. Mary F. Robinson
     THE BRIGAND'S BRIDE        Laurence Oliphant
     MRS. GENERAL TALBOYS       Anthony Trollope




A FAITHFUL RETAINER, By James Payn


When I lived in the country,--which was a long time ago,--our nearest
neighbours were the Luscombes. They were very great personages in the
country indeed, and the family were greatly "respected"; though not,
so far as I could discern, for any particular reason, except from
their having been there for several generations. People are supposed to
improve, like wine, from keeping--even if they are rather "ordinary" at
starting; and the Luscombes, at the time I knew them, were considered
quite a "vintage" family. They had begun in Charles II.'s time, and
dated their descent from greatness in the female line. That they had
managed to keep a great estate not very much impaired so long was
certainly a proof of great cleverness, since there had been many
spend-thrifts among them; but fortunately there had been a miser or two,
who had restored the average, and their fortunes.

Mr. Roger Luscombe, the present proprietor, was neither the one nor the
other, but he was inclined to frugality, and no wonder; a burnt child
dreads the fire, even though he may have had nothing to do with lighting
it himself, and his father had kicked down a good many thousands with
the help of "the bones" (as dice were called in his day) and "the
devil's books" (which was the name for cards with those that disapproved
of them) and race-horses; there was plenty left, but it made the old
gentleman careful and especially solicitous to keep it. There was no
stint, however, of any kind at the Court, which to me, who lived in the
little vicarage of Dalton with my father, seemed a palace.

It was indeed a very fine place, with statues in the hall and pictures
in the gallery and peacocks on the terrace. Lady Jane, the daughter of
a wealthy peer, who had almost put things on their old footing with her
ample dowry, was a very great lady, and had been used, I was told, to
an even more splendid home; but to me, who had no mother, she was simply
the kindest and most gracious woman I had ever known.

My connection with the Luscombes arose from their only son Richard
being my father's pupil. We were both brought up at home, but for very
different reasons. In my case it was from economy: the living was small
and our family was large, though, as it happened, I had no brothers.
Richard was too precious to his parents to be trusted to the tender
mercies of a public school. He was in delicate health, not so much
natural to him as caused by an excess of care--coddling. Though he and I
were very good friends, unless when we were quarreling, it must be owned
that he was a spoiled boy.

There is a good deal of nonsense talked of young gentlemen who are
brought up from their cradles in an atmosphere of flattery _not_
being spoiled; but unless they are angels--which is a very exceptional
case--it cannot be otherwise. Richard Luscombe was a good fellow in
many ways; liberal with his money (indeed, apt to be lavish), and
kind-hearted, but self-willed, effeminate, and impulsive. He had
also--which was a source of great alarm and grief to his father--a
marked taste for speculation.

After the age of "alley tors and commoneys," of albert-rock and
hard-bake, in which we both gambled frightfully, I could afford him no
opportunities of gratifying this passion; but if he could get a little
money "on" anything, there was nothing that pleased him better--not
that he cared for the money, but for the delight of winning it. The next
moment he would give it away to a beggar. Numbers of good people look
upon gambling with even greater horror than it deserves, because they
cannot understand this; the attraction of risk, and the wild joy of
"pulling off" something when the chances are against one, are unknown to
them. It is the same with the love of liquor. Richard Luscombe had not
a spark of that (his father left him one of the best cellars in England,
but he never touches even a glass of claret after dinner; "I should as
soon think," he says, "of eating when I am not hungry"); but he dearly
liked what he called a "spec." Never shall I forget the first time he
realised anything that could be termed a stake.

When he was about sixteen, he and I had driven over to some little
country races a few miles away from Dalton, without, I fear, announcing
our intention of so doing. Fresh air was good for "our dear Richard,"
and since pedestrian exercise (which he also hated) exhausted him, he
had a groom and dog-cart always at his own disposal. It was a day of
great excitement for me, who had never before seen a race-course. The
flags, the grand stand (a rude erection of planks, which came down,
by-the-bye, the next year during the race for the cup, and reduced the
sporting population), the insinuating gipsies, the bawling card-sellers,
and especially the shining horses with their twisted manes, all excited
my admiration.

I was well acquainted with them in fiction; and these illustrations of
the books I loved so well delighted me. Richard, who had read less and
seen more, was bent on business.

He was tall for his age, but very slight and youthful-looking, and the
contrast of his appearance with that of the company in the little ring,
composed as it was of a choice selection of the roughest blackguards in
England, was very striking.

Many of these knew who he was, and were very glad to see him, but only
one of the book-makers secured his patronage. The fact was, Master
Richard had but one five-pound note to lay; he had been saving up his
pocket-money for weeks for this very purpose, and he took ten to one
about an outsider, "Don Sebastian,"--a name I shall remember when all
other historical knowledge has departed from me,--not because he knew
anything of the horse, but because the longest odds were laid against
him.

I didn't like the look of the "gentleman sportsman" who took custody
of that five-pound note, but Richard (who had never seen him before)
assured me, with his usual confidence, that he was "straight as a die"
and "as honest as the day."

The race excited me exceedingly; Richard had lent me a field-glass (for
everything he had was in duplicate, if not triplicate), and I watched
the progress of that running rainbow with a beating heart. At first
Yellow Cap (the Don) seemed completely out of it, the last of all; but
presently he began to creep up, and as they drew near the winning-post,
shouts of "Yellow Cap wins!" "Yellow Cap wins!" rent the air. He did
win by a head, and with a well-pleased flush on my face at my friend's
marvellous good fortune, I turned to congratulate him. He was gone. The
tumult and confusion were excessive; but looking toward the exit gate, I
just caught a glimpse of the book-maker passing rapidly through it, and
then of Richard in pursuit of him.

A stout young farmer, whom I knew, was standing behind me, and in a few
hurried words I told him what had happened. "Come with me," he said,
and off we ran, as though we had been entered for the cup ourselves. The
other two were already a field ahead, and far away from the course; but,
fast as the book-maker ran, the delicate Richard had come up with him. I
could imagine how pumped he was, but the idea of having been swindled by
this scoundrel, who was running off with his five-pound note, as well as
the fifty pounds he owed him, had no doubt lent him wings. It could not,
however, lend him strength, nor teach him the art of self-defence,
and after a few moments, passed doubtless in polite request and blunt
refusal, we saw the miscreant strike out from the shoulder and Richard
go down.

The time thus lost, however, short-lived as was the combat, was fatal
to the victor. There were few better runners in Dalton than my companion
and myself, and we gained on the book-maker, who had probably trained on
gin and bad tobacco, hand over hand. As we drew near him he turned round
and inquired, with many expletives, made half inarticulate by want
of breath, what we wanted with a gentleman engaged on his own private
affairs.

"Well," I said,--for as I could trust my agricultural friend with the
more practical measures that were likely to follow I thought it only
fair that I should do the talking,--"we want first the five-pound note
which that young gentleman, whom you have just knocked down, intrusted
to your care, and then the fifty pounds you have lost to him."

He called Heaven to witness that he had never made a bet in his life
with any young gentleman, but that, having been molested, he believed by
a footpad, as he was returning home to his family, he had been compelled
to defend himself.

"I heard you make the bet and saw you take the money," I remarked, with
confidence.

"That's good enough," said the farmer. "Now if you don't shell out that
money this instant, I'll have you back in the ring in a brace of shakes
and tell them what has happened. Last year they tore a welsher pretty
nigh to pieces, and this year, if you don't 'part,' they'll do it
quite."

The book-maker turned livid,--I never saw a man in such a funk in my
life,--and produced a greasy pocket-book, out of which he took Richard's
bank-note, and ten quite new ones; and I noticed there were more left,
so that poverty was not his excuse for fraud.

"Let me look at 'em against the sun," said the farmer, "to see as the
water-mark is all right."

This was a precaution I should never have thought of, and it gave me
for the first time a sense of the great intelligence of my father's
parishioner.

"Yes, they're all correct. And now you may go; but if ever you show your
face again on Southick (Southwick) race-course it will be the worst for
you."

He slunk away, and we returned to Richard, who was sitting on the
ground, looking at his nose, which was bleeding and had attained vast
dimensions.

"Did you get the money?" were his first words, which I thought very
characteristic.

"Yes, there it is, squire--ten fivers and your own note."

"Very good; I should never have seen a shilling of it but for you and
Charley, so we will just divide it into three shares."

The farmer said, "No," but eventually took his L16 13s. 4d., and quite
right too. Of course I did not take Richard's money, but he afterward
bought me a rifle with it, which I could not refuse. The farmer, as may
be well imagined, could be trusted to say nothing of our adventure; but
it was impossible to hide Richard's nose. He was far too honest a fellow
to tell a lie about it, and the whole story came out. His father was
dreadfully shocked at it, and Lady Jane in despair: the one about his
gambling propensities, and the other about his nose; she thought, if the
injury did not prove fatal, he would be disfigured for life.

He was well in a week, but the circumstances had the gravest
consequences. It was decided that something must be done with the heir
of the Luscombes to wean him from low company (this was not me, but
grooms and racing people); but even this predilection was ascribed in
part to his fragile constitution. A fashionable physician came down from
London to consider the case. He could not quite be brought to the point
desired by Lady Jane, to lay Richard's love of gambling at the door of
the delicacy of his lungs; but he was brought very near it. The young
fellow, his "opinion" was, had been brought up too much like a hothouse
flower; his tastes were what they were chiefly because he had no
opportunities of forming better ones; with improved strength his moral
nature would become more elevated. That he was truthful was a great
source of satisfaction (this was with reference to his distinct refusal
to give up gambling to please anybody) and a most wholesome physical
sign. "My recommendation is that he should be temporarily removed from
his present dull surroundings; there is not scope in them for his mind;
he should be sent abroad for a month or two with his tutor. That will do
him a world of good."

If it was not very good advice, it was probably quite as judicious
as other "opinions" for which a hundred and fifty guineas have been
cheerfully paid. It was at all events a great comfort to hear that there
was nothing constitutionally wrong with "dearest Richard," and that he
only wanted a tonic for mind and body. The doctor's verdict was accepted
by both parents, but there was an insurmountable obstacle to its being
carried into effect in Master Richard himself. My father could not
leave his parish and his family, and with no other tutor could the young
gentleman be induced to go.

Now it happened that the butler at the Court, John Maitland, who, as
is often the case in such households, had the gravity and dignity of a
bishop, was so fortunate as to be a favourite both with the old folks
and the young one. He really was a superior person, and not only
"honest as the day" in Richard's eyes (which, as we have seen, was not
a guarantee of straightforwardness), but in those of every one else. He
had been born in the village, had been page to Mr. Luscombe's father,
and had lived more than fifty years at the Court. The relations between
master and servant were feudal, mingled with the more modern attachment
that comes of good service properly appreciated. He thought the
Luscombes, if not the only old family in the world, the best, and
worshipped--though in a dignified and ecclesiastical manner--the ground
trodden on both by the squire and Master Richard. My own impression
was that under pretence of giving way to the latter he played into the
parental hands; but as this was certainly for my young friend's good,
I never communicated my suspicions to him. Maitland, at all events,
had more influence over him than any man except my father. Still it
astonished us all not a little, notwithstanding the high opinion we
entertained of him, when we heard that the butler was to be intrusted
with the guardianship of Richard abroad. Such a thing could not have
happened in any other family, but so it was arranged; and partly as
valet, partly as confidential companion and treasurer Maitland started
with his young master on his travels.

These were to last for not less than six months, and Italy, because
of its warm climate, was the country to which they were bound. That it
would do the young fellow good, both moral and physical, we all hoped;
but my father had his doubts. He feared that Maitland's influence over
his companion would wane when away from the Court; but it never entered
into his mind that he would willingly permit any wrong doing, and still
less that the man would himself succumb to any temptation that involved
dishonesty.

They travelled by easy stages; though they used the railway, of course,
they did so only for a few hours a day, and got out and remained at
places of interest. Richard was very amenable, and indeed showed no
desire for dissipation; his one weakness--that of having a "spree"--had
no opportunity of being gratified; and Maitland wrote home the most
gratifying letters, not only respecting the behaviour of his charge, but
of the improvement in his health. As they drew nearer to Italy, Richard
observed one day that he should spend a day or two at Monte Carlo.
Maitland had never heard of the place or of its peculiar attractions;
and "Master Richard" only told him that it was very picturesque. The
horror of the faithful retainer may therefore be imagined when he found
that it was a gambling resort.

He could not prevent his young master frequenting the tables, and
though he kept the purse, with the exception of a few pounds, and would
certainly have stood between him and ruin, he could not prevent his
winning. Richard had the luck, and more, that proverbially attends young
people--he had the luck of the devil; his few napoleons swelling to a
great many on the very first day, and he was in the seventh heaven of
happiness. The next day and the next he won largely, immensely; in vain
Maitland threatened to write to his father, and even to leave him.

"All right," replied the reckless youth. "You may do as you like; even
if the governor disinherits me I can make my fortune by stopping here.
And as to leaving me, go by all means; I shall get on very well with a
French valet."

It was dreadful.

Richard grew happier and happier every day, as the golden flood flowed
in upon him, but also extremely hectic. He passed the whole day at the
tables, and the want of air and exercise, and, still more, the intense
excitement which possessed him, began to have the most serious effect.
That prescription of "seeing the world," and "escaping from his dull
surroundings," was having a very different result from what had
been expected. "The paths of glory lead but to the grave"; the young
Englishman and his luck were