No Name Wilkie Collins (e book reader android TXT) 📖

on the stage. I am disengaged⁠—I am competent⁠—I have trained others⁠—I can train you. Don’t trust my word: trust my eye to my own interests. I’ll make it my interest to take pains with you, and to be quick about it. You shall pay me for my instructions from your profits on the stage. Half your salary for the first year; a third of your salary for the second year; and half the sum you clear by your first benefit in a London theater. What do you say to that? Have I made it my interest to push you, or have I not?”

So far as appearances went, and so far as the stage went, it was plain that he had linked his interests and Magdalen’s together. She briefly told him so, and waited to hear more.

“A month or six weeks’ study,” continued the captain, “will give me a reasonable idea of what you can do best. All ability runs in grooves; and your groove remains to be found. We can’t find it here⁠—for we can’t keep you a close prisoner for weeks together in Rosemary Lane. A quiet country place, secure from all interference and interruption, is the place we want for a month certain. Trust my knowledge of Yorkshire, and consider the place found. I see no difficulties anywhere, except the difficulty of beating our retreat tomorrow.”

“I thought your arrangements were made last night?” said Magdalen.

“Quite right,” rejoined the captain. “They were made last night; and here they are. We can’t leave by railway, because the lawyer’s clerk is sure to be on the lookout for you at the York terminus. Very good; we take to the road instead, and leave in our own carriage. Where the deuce do we get it? We get it from the landlady’s brother, who has a horse and chaise which he lets out for hire. That chaise comes to the end of Rosemary Lane at an early hour tomorrow morning. I take my wife and my niece out to show them the beauties of the neighborhood. We have a picnic hamper with us, which marks our purpose in the public eye. You disfigure yourself in a shawl, bonnet, and veil of Mrs. Wragge’s; we turn our backs on York; and away we drive on a pleasure trip for the day⁠—you and I on the front seat, Mrs. Wragge and the hamper behind. Good again. Once on the highroad, what do we do? Drive to the first station beyond York, northward, southward, or eastward, as may be hereafter determined. No lawyer’s clerk is waiting for you there. You and Mrs. Wragge get out⁠—first opening the hamper at a convenient opportunity. Instead of containing chickens and champagne, it contains a carpetbag, with the things you want for the night. You take your tickets for a place previously determined on, and I take the chaise back to York. Arrived once more in this house, I collect the luggage left behind, and send for the woman downstairs. ‘Ladies so charmed with such and such a place (wrong place of course), that they have determined to stop there. Pray accept the customary week’s rent, in place of a week’s warning. Good day.’ Is the clerk looking for me at the York terminus? Not he. I take my ticket under his very nose; I follow you with the luggage along your line of railway⁠—and where is the trace left of your departure? Nowhere. The fairy has vanished; and the legal authorities are left in the lurch.”

“Why do you talk of difficulties?” asked Magdalen. “The difficulties seem to be provided for.”

“All but one,” said Captain Wragge, with an ominous emphasis on the last word. “The grand difficulty of humanity from the cradle to the grave⁠—money.” He slowly winked his green eye; sighed with deep feeling; and buried his insolvent hands in his unproductive pockets.

“What is the money wanted for?” inquired Magdalen.

“To pay my bills,” replied the captain, with a touching simplicity. “Pray understand! I never was⁠—and never shall be⁠—personally desirous of paying a single farthing to any human creature on the habitable globe. I am speaking in your interest, not in mine.”

“My interest?”

“Certainly. You can’t get safely away from York tomorrow without the chaise. And I can’t get the chaise without money. The landlady’s brother will lend it if he sees his sister’s bill receipted, and if he gets his day’s hire beforehand⁠—not otherwise. Allow me to put the transaction in a business light. We have agreed that I am to be remunerated for my course of dramatic instruction out of your future earnings on the stage. Very good. I merely draw on my future prospects; and you, on whom those prospects depend, are naturally my banker. For mere argument’s sake, estimate my share in your first year’s salary at the totally inadequate value of a hundred pounds. Halve that sum; quarter that sum⁠—”

“How much do you want?” said Magdalen, impatiently.

Captain Wragge was sorely tempted to take the reward at the top of the handbills as his basis of calculation. But he felt the vast future importance of present moderation; and actually wanting some twelve or thirteen pounds, he merely doubled the amount, and said, “Five-and-twenty.”

Magdalen took the little bag from her bosom, and gave him the money, with a contemptuous wonder at the number of words which he had wasted on her for the purpose of cheating on so small a scale. In the old days at Combe-Raven, five-and-twenty pounds flowed from a stroke of her father’s pen into the hands of anyone in the house who chose to ask for it.

Captain Wragge’s eyes dwelt on the little bag as the eyes of lovers dwell on their mistresses. “Happy bag!” he murmured, as she put it back in her bosom. He rose; dived into a corner of the room; produced his neat dispatch-box; and solemnly unlocked it on the table between Magdalen and himself.

“The nature of the man, my dear girl⁠—the nature of the man,” he said, opening one of his plump