Forrest Leo - The Gentleman

At that moment Lizzie comes into the room with a sparkle in her eyes. She says, ‘Nellie, I’m sorry, I’ve tried my utmost to be melancholy, but it’s no good: melancholia bores me.’ She notices my guest. ‘Hello, who are— Oh my God, you’re Ashley Lancaster.’ Roses bloom upon her cheeks and her breath comes a little quicker.

Lancaster, who has not taken his eyes off her since she entered the room, turns very pale, then very red, then very pale again. He tries to rise, becomes tangled in his own feet, sits down heavily, and rises again like a breaching whale. He is staring at Lizzie in a way I do not like. He opens and shuts his mouth several times, but doesn’t say anything. Finally he nods.

‘Nellie,’ says Lizzie to me with a disapproving look, still a little breathless but trying to pretend that she isn’t, ‘why didn’t you tell me we had company? Please forgive my brother, Mr Lancaster, he is at times shockingly impolite. I’m Elizabeth, and you don’t need to—’

‘Mr Lancaster and I were just— talking ,’ I say with a significance which I hope Lizzie will notice and Lancaster will not.

‘Oh!’ says Lizzie, noticing. ‘Oh. Good. I’ll leave you to it, then. Mr Lancaster, it was a pleasure. I trust I’ll be seeing more of you.’

Lancaster still has not said a word. He nods again.

Lizzie sweeps out of the room. She casts one last glance upon him before she shuts the door behind her, and I feel uncomfortable having witnessed it.

As soon as the door is closed, Lancaster locates his tongue. ‘That’s your sister? ’ he says with wonderment.

‘Yes,’ I reply tersely. I would like to move on to another subject— any subject — very quickly. But he is not finished.

‘She’s beautiful. ’

‘We need to talk,’ I say.

‘You don’t mind my saying that, do you?’ I mind very much. The goodwill I feel toward the man has gone up in smoke. I wonder that I could ever have supposed him charming. The papers were hopelessly mistaken. He is a lascivious cad. ‘I have travelled, Savage — I mean, I have travelled . But I have never, never seen anyone— Good Lord.’

‘LANCASTER!’

He comes back to the present. ‘What?’

‘Vivien’s been abducted by the Dev’l.’ It is a gamble, but I have been trying to get the words out for ten minutes and I am through with subtlety. If he may ogle my sister I may sell his.

He looks confused and says, ‘By the what?’

‘The Dev’l.’

‘Once more?’

‘The Dev’l.’

‘I’m sorry, old boy, I don’t have any idea what you’re saying.’

I decide that this once it can perhaps be two syllables.

‘For God’s sake don’t ask how,’ I say, annunciating very clearly, ‘but your sister has been abducted by the Dev-ill.’

I expect him to explode, but he does not. Instead, he becomes very businesslike. His eyes, which have been wandering around my study vaguely, as if on reconnaissance, snap into sharp focus. ‘Oh,’ he says, ‘the Devil. Wonderful. Yes, I see. How long ago?’

‘Fifteen hours, give or take.’

‘Are you sure?’

‘Quite sure.’

‘The Devil?’

‘Yes.’ I am still waiting for the explosion. I wonder if perhaps he hasn’t quite understood. It is a bit of a shock, I suppose — the sort of thing which any man could be excused for not processing entirely.

He is musing almost to himself. ‘My sister has been— Really ?’

‘Indeed.’

Suddenly, he smiles. ‘Poor chap,’ he says. ‘She’s a handful, as you know! Do you mind if I bring in my things? I’m going to be staying here for a few days.’ What is the matter with this man? Does he not understand plain English? Is he somehow demented? Perhaps he has ingested some tropical worm which has caused him to take leave of his senses.

‘You seem unperturbed,’ I say.

‘Why on earth should I be perturbed?’ he asks with what seems to be genuine curiosity.

‘Because your sister’s gone!’ I say. His lack of concern is increasing mine.

‘Gone?’ he says dismissively. ‘She isn’t gone, she’s just… missing. The Devil! Really?’

‘Yes, for God’s sake, the Devil!’

There is a glint in Lancaster’s eye I am not sure I like. It is the sort of glint I used to see in my mirror when I had found a poetical subject. I wonder what is going through his head, and if it is dangerous. He says almost mischievously, ‘Savage, this is a little bit exciting.’

‘What are you talking about?’ I cry.

‘Listen, old boy,’ says he. ‘There’s no problem without a solution. And luckily for us, this solution is particularly simple.’

‘It is?’ I say.

‘Of course! We just have to go get her!’

‘We what ?’ I don’t know what I was expecting, but it wasn’t this. Humans are continually surprising me today.

‘Come on Savage, show some spirit!’ he says. He seems almost bursting with happiness. ‘This is a great day! We’ve found ourselves an adventure!’ He pauses and looks at me, making sure I have understood fully the greatness of the day. I attempt to smile. I do not know what he means when he says that we have to go get her. How does one get someone back from the Devil? It does not sound like something I would be interested in, even if I had the slightest desire to get her back, which I have not. I am perfectly content with her absence. Or mostly content. Somewhat content, at the very least.

‘And you’re certain it was the Devil?’ he asks.

‘Quite certain.’ I say.

‘Extraordinary,’ he says.

‘Yes, I suppose so,’ I say absently. I am not really attending. I am wondering why it is that I do not feel more content — why I am, frankly, feeling rather wretched.

‘My God, man, you seem not to understand just how wonderful this all is. Is anything wrong?’

‘Oh, I’m fine,’ I say. ‘I suppose I’m waiting for the storm to hit.’

‘I don’t understand,’ says Lancaster.

‘Your little sister was just abducted by the Devil,’ I point out. I feel as though I am prodding an unexploded bomb — aware that it is an awful idea, but somehow fascinated by what the precise moment of explosion will look like.

Still it does not come. ‘Oh yes, yes, by all means. Don’t get me wrong, old boy, it’s perfectly dreadful what happened,’ he says, though he doesn’t sound full of dread. ‘Not very sporting of him, I daresay. But all the same, I can’t imagine any lasting harm will come of it, and it’s the most fantastic thing, by Christ!’

I am unclear how it is fantastic, but I say only, ‘Quite.’

‘And besides,’ ploughs on Lancaster merrily, ‘it’s hardly your fault!’ My gut wrenches. It is my fault. I do not say so, however. The man is clearly capable of crushing my head in one of his massive hands. ‘But come, you must tell me exactly what you said to one another. I’m terribly curious. The supernatural’s rather my area, you know.’

‘Oh?’ I did not know. It at least explains his morbid glee.

‘Surely Viv’s told you what I do.’

She has not. She could not have, for the simple reason that we never spoke. I do not know how to explain this to him, however, so I say instead, ‘Oh yes, she must have done. But then— You’ll have to excuse me if I… Be so good as to refresh me?’

He settles back onto the couch and becomes a storyteller. I suppose it must be a habit of his to pass time on long Arctic nights — in any event, it is clearly much practised. He stretches and clears his throat and says, ‘Well, I started with the Royal Geographical Society, of course. That was the beginning of it all — the first Tibet trip, the Peruvian debacle, the Greenland rambles. Surely you read about them?’