England -- Social life and customs -- Fiction; Short stories, English
"As you please. You will find a pen and ink on the table. If you will
ring the bell when you are ready, I will come and bring the servants."
"Thank you. You are very good," he said smoothly, adding, when she had
left the room, "and the devil take your impudence, madam! As for your
cursed pride--well, it has saved me twenty-five pounds a-year, and so
you are welcome to it. I was a fool to make the offer." With that, now
grumbling at the absence of the lawyer's clerk, and now congratulating
himself on the saving of a lawyer's fee, my lord sat down to his task.
A hansom cab, on its way to the East India Club rattled through the
square, and, under cover of the noise, I stole out from behind the
screen, and stood in the middle of the room, looking down at the
unconscious worker. If for a minute I felt the desire to raise my hand
and give his lordship such a surprise as he had never in his life
experienced, any other man might have felt the same; and as it was I
put it away and only looked quietly about me. Some rays of sunshine,
piercing the corner pane of a dulled window, fell on the Wetherby coat
of arms blazoned over the wide fireplace, and so created the one
bright spot in the bare, dismantled room; which had once, unless the
tiers of empty shelves and the lingering odour of Russia lied, been
lined from floor to ceiling with books. My lord had taken the
furniture; my lord had taken the books; my lord had taken--nothing but
his rights.
Retreating softly to the door by which I had entered, and rattling the
handle, I advanced afresh into the room. "Will your lordship allow
me?" I said, after I had in vain coughed to gain his attention.
He turned hastily and looked at me with a face full of suspicion. Some
surprise on finding another person in the room was natural; but
possibly also there was something in the atmosphere of that house
which threw his nerves off their balance. "Who are you?" he cried in a
tone which matched his face.
"You left orders, my lord," I explained, "with Messrs. Duggan and
Poole that a clerk should attend here at eleven. I very much regret
that some delay has been caused."
"Oh, you are the clerk!" he replied ungraciously. "You do not look
much like a lawyer's clerk."
Involuntarily I glanced aside, and saw in a mirror the reflection of a
tall man with a thick beard and moustaches, grey eyes, and an ugly
scar seaming the face from nose to ear. "Yet I hope to give you
satisfaction, my lord," I murmured, dropping my eyes. "It was
understood that you needed a confidential clerk."
"Well, well, sir, to your work!" he replied irritably. "Better
late than never; and after all it may be better that you should be
here and see it executed. Only you will not forget," he continued,
with a glance at the papers, "that I have myself copied four--well,
three--three full folios, for which an allowance must be made. But
there! Get on with your work. The handwriting will speak for itself."
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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