Reading books romantic stories you will plunge into the world of feelings and love. Most of the time the story ends happily. Very interesting and informative to read books historical romance novels to feel the atmosphere of that time.Dead Men Tell No Tales by E. W. Hornung (historical books to read .txt) 📖
- Author: E. W. Hornung
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“It is strange,” he said, with a shudder, followed by the biggest sip of brandy-and-water he had taken yet. “It must have been horrible - horrible!” he added to himself, his dark eyes staring into the fire.
“Ah!” said I, “it was even more horrible than you suppose or can ever imagine.”
I was not thinking of myself, nor of my love, nor of any particular incident of the fire that still went on burning in my brain. My tone was doubtless confidential, but I was meditating no special confidence when my companion drew one with his next words. These, however, came after a pause, in which my eyes had fallen from his face, but in which I heard him emptying his glass.
“What do you mean?” he whispered. “That there were other circumstances - things which haven’t got into the papers?”
“God knows there were,” I answered, my face in my hands; and, my grief brought home to me, there I sat with it in the presence of that stranger, without compunction and without shame.
He sprang up and paced the room. His tact made me realize my weakness, and I was struggling to overcome it when he surprised me by suddenly stopping and laying a rather tremulous hand upon my shoulder.
“You - It wouldn’t do you any good to speak of those circumstances, I suppose?” he faltered.
“No: not now: no good at all.”
“Forgive me,” he said, resuming his walk. “I had no business - I felt so sorry - I cannot tell you how I sympathize! And yet - I wonder if you will always feel so?”
“No saying how I shall feel when I am a man again,” said I. “You see what I am at present.” And, pulling myself together, I rose to find my new friend quite agitated in his turn.
“I wish we had some more brandy,” he sighed. “I’m afraid it’s too late to get any now.”
“And I’m glad of it,” said I. “A man in my state ought not to look at spirits, or he may never look past them again. Thank goodness, there are other medicines. Only this morning I consulted the best man on nerves in London. I wish I’d gone to him long ago.”
“Harley Street, was it?”
“Yes.”
“Saw you on his doorstep, by Jove!” cried Rattray at once. “I was driving over to Hampstead, and I thought it was you. Well, what’s the prescription?”
In my satisfaction at finding that he had not been dogging me intentionally (though I had forgotten the incident till he reminded me of it), I answered his question with unusual fulness.
“I should go abroad,” said Rattray. “But then, I always am abroad; it’s only the other day I got back from South America, and I shall up anchor again before this filthy English winter sets in.
Was he a sailor after all, or only a well-to-do wanderer on the face of the earth? He now mentioned that he was only in England for a few weeks, to have a look at his estate, and so forth; after which he plunged into more or less enthusiastic advocacy of this or that foreign resort, as opposed to the English cottage upon which I told him I had set my heart.
He was now, however, less spontaneous, I thought, than earlier in the night. His voice had lost its hearty ring, and he seemed preoccupied, as if talking of one matter while he thought upon another. Yet he would not let me go; and presently he confirmed my suspicion, no less than my first impression of his delightful frankness and cordiality, by candidly telling me what was on his mind.
“If you really want a cottage in the country,” said he, “and the most absolute peace and quiet to be got in this world, I know of the very hing on my land in Lancashire. It would drive me mad in a week; but if you really care for that sort of thing - “
“An occupied cottage?” I interrupted.
“Yes; a couple rent it from me, very decent people of the name of Braithwaite. The man is out all day, and won’t bother you when he’s in; he’s not like other people, poor chap. But the woman s all there, and would do her best for you in a humble, simple, wholesome sort of way.”
“You think they would take me in?”
“They have taken other men - artists as a rule.”
“Then it’s a picturesque country?”
“Oh, it’s that if it’s nothing else; but not a town for miles, mind you, and hardly a village worthy the name.”
“Any fishing?”
“Yes - trout - small but plenty of ‘em - in a beck running close behind the cottage.”
“Come,” cried I, “this sounds delightful! Shall you be up there?”
“Only for a day or two,” was the reply. “I shan’t trouble you, Mr. Cole.”
“My dear sir, that wasn’t my meaning at all. I’n only sorry I shall not see something of you on your own heath. I can’t thank you enough for your kind suggestion. When do you suppose the Braithwaites could do with me?”
His charming smile rebuked my impatience.
“We must first see whether they can do with you at all,” said he. “I sincerely hope they can; but this is their time of year for tourists, though perhaps a little late. I’ll tell you what I’ll do. As a matter of fact, I’m going down there to-morrow, and I’ve got to telegraph to my place in any case to tell them when to meet me. I’ll send the telegram first thing, and I’ll make them send one back to say whether there’s room in the cottage or not.”
I thanked him warmly, but asked if the cottage was close to Kirby Hall, and whether this would not be giving a deal of trouble at the other end; whereupon he mischievously misunderstood me a second time, saying the cottage and the hall were not even in sight of each other, and I really had no intrusion to fear, as he was a lonely bachelor like myself, and would only be up there four or five days at the most. So I made my appreciation of his society plainer than ever to him; for indeed I had found a more refreshing pleasure in it already than I had hoped to derive from mortal man again; and we parted, at three o’clock in the morning, like old fast friends.
“Only don’t expect too much, my dear Mr. Cole,” were his last words to me. “My own place is as ancient and as tumble-down as most ruins that you pay to see over. And I’m never there myself because - I tell you frankly - I hate it like poison!”
My delight in the society of this young Squire Rattray (as I soon was to hear him styled) had been such as to make me almost forget the sinister incident which had brought us together. When I returned to my room, however, there were the open window and the litter on the floor to remind me of what had happened earlier in the night. Yet I was less disconcerted than you might suppose. A common housebreaker can have few terrors for one who has braved those of mid-ocean single-handed; my would-be visitor had no longer any for me; for it had not yet occurred to me to connect him with the voices and the footsteps to which, indeed, I had been unable to swear before the doctor. On the other hand, these morbid imaginings (as I was far from unwilling to consider them) had one and all deserted me in the sane, clean company of the capital young fellow in the next room.
I have confessed my condition up to the time of this queer meeting. I have tried to bring young Rattray before you with some hint of his freshness and his boyish charm; and though the sense of failure is heavy upon me there, I who knew the man knew also that I must fail to do him justice. Enough may have been said, however, to impart some faint idea of what this youth was to me in the bitter and embittering anti-climax of my life. Conventional figures spring to my pen, but every one of them is true; he was flowers in spring, he was sunshine after rain, he was rain following long months of drought. I slept admirably after all; and I awoke to see the overturned toilet-table, and to thrill as I remembered there was one fellow-creature with whom I could fraternize without fear of a rude reopening of my every wound.
I hurried my dressing in the hope of our breakfasting together. I knocked at the next door, and, receiving no answer, even ventured to enter, with the same idea. He was not there. He was not in the coffee-room. He was not in the hotel.
I broke my fast in disappointed solitude, and I hung about disconsolate all the morning, looking wistfully for my new-made friend. Towards mid-day he drove up in a cab which he kept waiting at the curb.
“It’s all right!” he cried out in his hearty way. “I sent my telegram first thing, and I’ve had the answer at my club. The rooms are vacant, and I’ll see that Jane Braithwaite has all ready for you by to-morrow night.”
I thanked him from my heart. “You seem in a hurry!” I added, as I followed him up the stairs.
“I am,” said he. “It’s a near thing for the train. I’ve just time to stick in my things.”
“Then I’ll stick in mine,” said I impulsively, “and I’ll come with you, and doss down in any corner for the night.”
He stopped and turned on the stairs.
“You mustn’t do that,” said he; “they won’t have anything ready. I’m going to make it my privilege to see that everything is as cosey as possible when you arrive. I simply can’t allow you to come to-day, Mr. Cole!” He smiled, but I saw that he was in earnest, and of course I gave in.
“All right,” said I; “then I must content myself with seeing you off at the station.”
To my surprise his smile faded, and a flush of undisguised annoyance made him, if anything, better-looking than ever. It brought out a certain strength of mouth and jaw which I had not observed there hitherto. It gave him an ugliness of expression which only emphasized his perfection of feature.
“You mustn’t do that either,” said he, shortly. “I have an appointment at the station. I shall be talking business all the time.”
He was gone to his room, and I went to mine feeling duly snubbed; yet I deserved it; for I had exhibited a characteristic (though not chronic) want of taste, of which I am sometimes guilty to this day. Not to show ill-feeling on the head of it, I nevertheless followed him down again in four or five minutes. And I was rewarded by his brightest smile as he grasped my hand.
“Come to-morrow by the same train,” said he, naming station, line, and hour; “unless I telegraph, all will be ready and you shall be met. You may rely on reasonable charges. As to the fishing, go up-stream - to the right when you strike the beck - and you’ll find a good pool or two. I may have to go to Lancaster the day after to-morrow, but I shall give you a call when I get back.”
With that we parted, as good friends as ever. I observed that my regret at losing
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