Forrest Leo - The Gentleman

Lancaster takes the gun and says, ‘I trust you’re aware that if a single hair on her head is harmed, I’m going to end your life with a roll of baling wire and a dull spoon.’

‘I’d assumed as much, yes,’ I say when the gun is again in my hands.

He takes it back. ‘And when we find her, if she hates you I’m not going to say a word in your favour. And if she wants me to kill you I will. And if she wants to kill you herself I’ll load the gun for her. And if she wants you to take her place in Hell, I will personally escort—’

I grab the gun. ‘Yes, yes, you’ve made yourself quite clear!’ I say, and hand it back.

He thinks, then he says, ‘Very well, then.’

We both look at Lizzie. She nods. Lancaster puts the gun down.* We enjoy the silence, knowing we once more have the ability to say anything we choose at any time we choose. At length Lancaster holds his hand out to me and says, ‘Help me move in my things from the foyer — I’m going to be staying here indefinitely.’

My heart, which was for a moment brought down to earth by the punching and the duel and the accusations, is once more borne aloft by thoughts of my wife. She really is the most wonderful woman in the world, I reflect — and that I should devote the rest of my life to winning her back from Hell, if it should take that long, sounds perfectly marvellous. My equanimity restored, I am inclined to once again look favourably upon Ashley Lancaster. Far from ruining my good opinion of him, the past quarter hour has made me view him as a much more interesting human than I had hitherto supposed. I wonder if perhaps I could not make three friends today.

‘Very well,’ I say, and shake his hand warmly. (I believe my knocking him down raised me up in his eyes also.) ‘Lizzie, we need to know all there is to know about how to retrieve one’s wife from the Devil. I leave it in your keeping, and put my library at your disposal.’

She looks at the shelves for a moment, then says, ‘I’m not entirely sure how we’re going to go about this, Nellie.’

I hesitate. ‘To be honest, neither do I. It sounded so simple in theory. Gather the troops and march right into Hell and grab my wife. Didn’t think about that fact that you need to find the bloody place first.’

‘It is an interesting dilemma,’ says Lancaster. ‘Makes you wish you could talk to Dulle Griet, doesn’t it?’

‘Who?’ says Lizzie.

‘Dulle Griet,’ he repeats. ‘Mad Meg? The woman who rounded up the peasant mothers and stormed the gates of Hell to reclaim the souls of their sons that were killed in battle.’

I am drawing a blank, and I can see from Lizzie’s face that she is, too. She says, ‘Who wrote it?’

‘Oh, no, it’s a painting,’ says Lancaster. ‘Bruegel, I think — or is it Bosch?’*

There is a brief silence. At length, Lizzie says, ‘I don’t know,’ in a small voice.

I don’t either. It is unlike us not to know something. I move forward quickly. ‘Here’s what we’ll do,’ I say. ‘Together we’ll pull out all the books which might have information on Hell, the Devil, supernatural abductions, and missing wives. We’ll split them up into three stacks, and we’ll look until we find something. I’m in love and I’ve the best private library in Britain. I have never known books or love ever to fail, so I don’t see why they’d do so now. Come on, Lancaster, let’s get your things.’

As we head toward the foyer, he says almost to himself, ‘Never thought I’d have to break in to Hell.’

Lancaster’s things are in the spare bedroom, and we are once more in my study. Books are strewn everywhere. It is very late at night. I sit at my desk, paging through Paradise Lost . Lizzie and Lancaster lounge on the sofa. I am trying to concentrate, but I cannot because they are chattering wantonly. (I like Lancaster, but I do not approve. Lizzie I believe needs a hiatus from men.) They reach the subject of his expeditions, about which he is very eager to talk, and Lizzie no less so. They do their best to impress one another.

‘I’ve read all about your expeditions!’ gushes Lizzie. ‘It must be so wonderful. I’ve never been out of England. Except in my head, of course. And in books. I think that should count, but for some silly reason it doesn’t. You must tell me all about it! Simmons said you were in Tibet, but that’s not right, is it? I read you were heading north, looking for Hyperborea. What did you find? Did you find it? Is it wonderful? Where exactly did you go? Tell me about the north! Does it really never get dark?’ Answer me in one word, she could add. I smile to myself.

‘Not in the summer,’ says Lancaster. ‘You see, the earth’s axis is tilted so that— Well, the higher you go — the higher in degrees, that is — latitude degrees, you know—’ The poor man is quite at sea. I wonder when he last carried on a tête-à-tête with an attractive woman. Lizzie seems to be wondering the same.*

‘Are you trying to explain to me why in Arctic latitudes the sun never sets during the summer months?’ she asks.

‘Yes.’

‘You really have no idea how to speak to a woman, do you?’

‘No. You see, I have not been in polite company for some time. I apologise if I am— I should really just stop talking. I’m sure to be at once completely boring and horridly coarse.’

‘Oh, don’t be silly, Ashley! May I call you Ashley? I’m going to call you Ashley. “Mr Lancaster” just sounds so stodgy. You couldn’t bore me if you tried — I’ve been in love with you since I was a little girl.’

I am too tired to tell her off, and not sure I have the inclination. Lizzie seems to be enjoying his discomfort and Lancaster chokes on his tea — so I am gratified.

‘Well never mind,’ she continues. ‘We’ll teach you to speak to women yet! In the meantime, try to think of me as a man.’

‘I’m afraid that’s going to be quite impossible,’ says Lancaster, wiping tea from his trousers. He casts me a sidelong glance. I think it makes him uncomfortable that I am present while Lizzie attempts to flirt with him. No more than I, I want to tell him — no more than I.*

‘Oh, very well,’ says Lizzie. ‘But at least don’t try to explain things to me. It’s very sweet of you and almost unbearably charming, but I promise you that although I must seem a very young girl I am not ignorant.’

‘No, God, no, I didn’t mean to imply that—’

Lizzie wearies quickly of people who are slaves to propriety. In this she is still my sister, misplaced affinity for society parties or no. She cuts off his apology and says, ‘Do you want to know a dreadful secret? I was expelled!’

‘Oh,’ says Lancaster, unsure how else to respond. ‘I’m so sorry.’

‘It’s a perfect scandal!’ says Lizzie with a twinkle. ‘You see, I was caught having a dalliance with the dean’s son.’

Oh good Lord, there it is. I can only bury my face in my book and wonder how I am ever to find her a husband.

‘Good Christ!’ cries Lancaster.

‘That’s what I said!’ says Lizzie. ‘They claim to be concerned with educating you, but they leave such glaring gaps — and when you attempt to rectify the situation and learn for yourself what they refuse to teach you, they behave as if you’ve killed someone. It’s a disgrace.’

Lancaster’s mouth opens and closes, but no words emerge. The trouble with Lizzie is, she does have a certain logic to her misbehaviour. What’s worse, we think enough alike that when she explains something I cannot but wonder if she isn’t right.