menu_book Chapter 13

Chapter 13 A Farewell to Nicola by Guy Boothby This LibriVox recording is in the public domain. Chapter 13 If I were offered my heart's desire in return for so doing, I could not tell you how I got home after my interview with Nicola at the Palace of Avicii.

I was unconscious of everything save that I had gone to Nicola's house, in the hope of being able to save the life of a man whom I had the best of reasons for hating, and that at the last moment I had turned coward and fled the field. No humiliation could have been more complete. Nicola had won a victory and I knew it, and despaired of retrieving it.

On reaching the hotel I was about to disembark from my gondola, when a voice hailed me from another craft proceeding in the direction I had come. Dick Hatteras, as I'm a sinner, it cried, don't you know me, Dick? I turned to see a face I well remembered smiling at me from the gondola. I immediately bade my own man put me out into the stream, which he did, and presently the

two gondolas lay side by side. The man who had hailed me was none other than George Beckworth, a Queensland sugar-planter, with whom I had been on terms of the most intimate friendship in bygone days, and as there was a lady seated beside him, I derived the impression that he had married since I had last seen him.

This is indeed a surprise, he said as we shook hands. By the way, let me introduce you to my wife, Dick. He said this with all the pride of a newly married man. My dear, this is my old friend Dick Hatteras, of whom I have so often spoken to you. What are you doing in Venice, Dick?

I have my wife and some friends travelling with me, I answered. We are staying at Gallagatti's Hotel yonder. Cannot you and your wife dine with us tonight? Possible, I'm afraid, he answered. We sail the night in the P&O boat.

Won't you come and dine with us? As equally impossible, I replied. We have friends with us, but I should like to see something of you more before you go, and if you will allow me, I'll run down after dinner for a chat about old times. I should be delighted, he answered.

Be sure that you do not forget it. Having assured him that I would not permit it to escape my memory, I bade him goodbye and then returned to my hotel. A more fortunate meeting could scarcely have occurred. For now I was furnished with an excellent excuse for leaving my party and for being

alone for a time. Once more I felt that I was a coward for not daring to face my fellow men. Under the circumstances, however, I knew that it was impossible. I could no more have spent the evening listening to Glen Bath's happy laughter than I could have jumped into the Grand Canal.

For the time being, the society of my fellow creatures was absolutely distasteful to me. On ascending to my rooms, I discovered my wife and the Duke in the drawing room, and was informed by the latter that Miss Trevor had again been compelled to retire to her room with a severe headache. In that case, I am afraid you will only be a small party for dinner, I said.

I am going to ask you to excuse me. You have often heard me speak, my dear, of George Beckworth, the Queensland sugar planter with whom I used to be on such friendly terms in the old days. My wife admitted that she remembered hearing me speak of the gentleman in question. Well, he's in Venice, I replied, and he sails tonight by the P&O boat for Colombo.

As it is the last time I shall be likely to see him for many years, I feel sure you will not mind my accepting his invitation. Of course not, if the Duke will excuse you, she said, and when the question was put to him, Glen Bath willingly consented to do so. I accordingly went to my room to make my toilet, and then having bade my wife goodbye, I chanted

a gondola and ordered the man to row me to the Piazza of St. Mark. Thence I set off for a walk through the city, caring little in which way I went. I was growing dark by this time, and I knew there was little chance of my being recognised, or of my recognising anybody else. All the time, however, my memory was haunted by the recollection of that room at the Palace

of Vici, and of what was in all probability going on in it. My gorge rose at the idea. All my manhood revolted from it. A loathing of Nicholas, such as I had never known before, was succeeded by a deathly chill, as I realised how impotent I was to avert the catastrophe.

What could I do? To have attempted to stay him in his course would have been worse than useless, while to have appealed to the authorities would only have the effect of putting myself in direct opposition to it. And who knew what would happen then?

I looked at it from another point of view. Why should I be so anxious to interfere on the wretched Spaniard's behalf? I had seen his murderous intention on the morning of the frustrated duel. I had heard from Nicola of the assassination of those unfortunate lads in Equitina. Moreover, I was well aware that he was a thief, and also a traitor to his country.

Why should he not be punished as he deserved? And why should not Nicola be his executioner? I endeavoured to convince myself that this was only fit and proper retribution. But this argument was no more successful than the last had been. Arguing in this way, I walked on and on, turning to right or left, just as the fancy took me.

Presently, I found myself in a portion of the town into which I had never hitherto penetrated. At the moment of which I am about to right, I was standing in a narrow lane, paved with large stones, having high dismal houses on either hand. Suddenly an old man turned the corner and approached me. As he passed, I saw his face, and recognised an individual to whom Nicola had spoken in

the little church on that memorable evening when he had taken us on a tour of inspection through the city. He was visibly agitated, and was moreover in hot haste. For some reason I cannot explain, nor I suppose I shall never be able to do so. An intense desire to follow him took possession of me.

It must have been more than a desire, for I felt that I must go with him whether I wished to or not. I accordingly dived into the house after him, and followed him along the passage and up the rickety flight of stairs that ascended from it. Having attained one floor, we continued our ascent.

The sounds and voices reached us from the different rooms, but we saw no one. On the second landing the old man paused before a door, opened it very softly and entered. I followed him and looked about me. It was a pathetic scene that met my eyes. The room was a poor one, and scantily furnished.

A rough table and a narrow bed were its only furniture. On the latter a young man was lying, kneeling on the floor beside him holding the thin hands in his arm. He was no less a person than Dr Nicola himself. I saw that he was aware of my presence, but he took no known notice of me than if I had

not existed. He had called me too late, when poor Antonio, he said, addressing the old man I followed. Nothing can save him now. He was dying when I arrived. On hearing this the old man fell on his knees beside the bed and burst into a flood of weeping.

Nicola placed his hand with a kindly gesture upon the other's shoulder, and at the moment that he did so the man upon the bed expired. Do not grieve for him, my friend, said Nicola. Believe me, it was hopeless from the first. He was better as he is.

Then with all the gentleness of a woman he proceeded to comfort the old man, whose only son lay dead upon the bed. I knew no more of this story than what I have seen, or have I heard more of it since, that I had been permitted to see another side of his character, and one which, in the light of existing circumstances, was not to be denied.

He had scarcely finished with his kindly officers before there was a heavy step outside, and a black-browed priest entered the room. He looked from Nicola to myself, and then at the dead man upon the bed. Farewell, my good Antonio, said Nicola. Have no fear.

Remember that your future is in my care. Then having said something in an undertone to the priest, he placed his hand upon my arm and led me from the room. When we had left him, he murmured in a voice not unlike that which he had addressed the old man.

Hatteras, this is another lesson. Is it so difficult to learn? I do not pretend that I made any answer. We passed down the stairs together, and when we reached the street stood for a moment at the house door.

You will not be able to understand me, he said. Nevertheless, I tell you that the end is brought nearer by that one scene. It will not be long before it comes now. All things considered, I do not know that I shall regret it. Then without another word he strode away into the darkness, leaving me to place what construction

I pleased upon his last speech. For some moments I stood where he had left me, pondering over his words, and then set off in the direction I had come. As maybe imagined, I felt even less inclined than before for the happy jovial party I knew I should fight on board the steamer.

But I had given my promise and could not get out of it. When I reached the Piazza of St. Mark once more, I went to the steps and hailed a gondola, telling the man to take me to the P&O vessel, then lying at anchor in the harbour. He did so, and I made my way up the accommodation ladder to the deck above to find that the passengers in the first saloon had just finished their dinner and were making their appearance

on the promenade deck. I inquired of the steward for Mr. Beckworth and discovered him in the act of lighting his cigar at the smoking-room door. He greeted me effusively and begged me to remain where I was a while while he went in search of his wife.

When she arrived I found her to be a pretty little woman with big brown eyes and a sympathetic manner. She was good enough to say that she had heard such a lot concerning me from her husband and had always looked forward to making my acquaintance. I accepted a cigar for Beckworth's case and we then adjoined to the smoking-room for a

long talk together. When we had comfortably installed ourselves, my friend's fly-off conversation commenced and I was made aware of all the principal events that had occurred in Queensland since my departure, was favoured with his opinion of England, which he had never before visited, and was furnished with the details as to how he had met his wife and of the happy event

with which their courtship had been concluded. Altogether, he said, taking one thing with another, I don't know that you'd be able to find a much happier fellow in the world than I am at this moment. I said I was glad to hear it, and as I did so contrasted his breezy happy-go-lucky manner and those of certain other people I had been brought in contact with that day.

My interview with him must have done me good, for I stayed on and the hour was consequently late when I left the ship. Indeed, it wanted only a few minutes of eleven o'clock, as I went down the accommodation ladder to the gondola which I had ordered to come for me at ten. Galagatis Hotel, I said to the man, as quickly as you can.

When I had bade my friend's goodbye and left the ship, I felt comparatively cheerful, but no sooner had the silence of Venice closed in upon me again than all my old despondency returned to me. A foreboding of coming misfortune settled upon me, and do what I would or could not shake it off.

When I reached the hotel, I found that my party had retired to rest. My wife was sleeping quietly, and not feeling inclined for bed, and dreading lest if I did go I might be assailed by more dreams of a similar description to that I had had on the previous night. I resolved to go back to the drawing room and read there for a time.

This plan I carried into execution. I was reading up a new book in which I was very much interested. I seated myself in an easy chair and determined to peruse it. I found some difficulty, however, in concentrating my attention upon it. My thoughts continuously reverted to my interview that afternoon with Nicola, and also to the

scene I had witnessed in the poorer quarter after dark. I suppose eventually I must have fallen asleep. I remember nothing else, so I awoke to find myself sitting up and listening to a light step in the corridor outside. I looked at my watch to discover the time was exactly quarter to one.

In that case, as we monopolised the whole of the corridor, who could it be? In order to find out, I went to the door and softly opened it. A dim light was always left in the passage throughout the night, and by it I was able to see a tall and graceful figure, which I instantly recognised making for the secondary stairs at the further end.

Now these stairs, so I had been given to understand, led to another portion of the hotel to which I had never penetrated. Why, therefore, Miss Trevor was using it to such an hour, and above all dressed for going out, I could not for the life of me determine. I could see that if I was anxious to find out, I must have been in a state of panic

and I must have been in a state of panic. By the time I reached the top of the stairs, she was at the bottom and was speeding along another passage to the right. At the end of this was a door, the fastenings of which she undid, with an ease and assurance that both of us could enter.

I was not sure what was going on, but I was sure that she had been able to see the door and that she had been able to see the door. The fastenings of which she undid, with an ease and assurance that bewildered me. So certain was she of her whereabouts, and so easily did she manipulate the heavy door. Though I felt inclined to believe, she must have used that passage many times before.

At last she opened it and passed out into the darkness, drawing it to after her. I paused to watch her. Now I hastened on even faster than before, fearing that if I were not careful I might have been caught outside. Having passed the door, I found myself in a narrow lane, bound in an either side by high

walls, and some fifty or sixty yards in extent. The lane in its turn opened into a small square, out of which led two or three other narrow streets. She turned to the left and passed down one of these. I followed close upon her heels.

Of all the strange experiences to which I stay in Venice had given rise, this was certainly one of the most remarkable. That Gertrude Trevor, the honest English girl, the daughter of a dignitary of the Church, and a prospective bishop, should leave her hotel in the middle of the night in order to wander about the streets with which she was most imperfectly acquainted, was a mystery

I found difficult to solve. When she had crossed the bridge which spanned a small canal, she once more turned to the left, passed along the footway before a dilapidated palace, and then entered a narrow passage on the right. The buildings hereabouts were all large, and as a natural consequence the streets were

so dark that I had some difficulty in keeping her in sight. As a matter of fact she had stopped, and I was almost upon her before I became aware of it. Even then she did not seem to realise my presence. She was standing before a small door, which she was endeavouring to push open, and at

last she succeeded, and without hesitation began to descend some steps inside. Once more I took up the chase, though where we were and what we were going to do there I had not the least idea. The small yard in which we found ourselves was stone-paved, and for this reason I wondered that she did not hear my footsteps.

It is certain, however, that she did not, for she made for a door I could just discern on the opposite side to that by which we had entered, without turning her head. It was at this point that I began to wish I had brought a revolver or some weapon with me. When she was about to open the door I have just mentioned, I called her softly by name

and implored her to wait for me, but still she took no notice. Could she be a synambulist? I asked myself. But if this was so, why had she chosen this particular house? Having passed the door we stood in a second and larger courtyard.

It was then that the whole mystery became apparent to me. The house to which I had followed her was the Palace Ravici. She was on her way to Nicola, but for what reason? Was this a trick of Nicola's? Or had her terrible dreams taken such a hold upon her that she was not responsible for

her actions? Either alternative was bad enough. Pausing for a moment in the courtyard beside the well, she turned quickly to her right hand and began to ascend the stairs towards that awful room, which, so far as I knew, she had never visited before.

When she reached it I scarcely knew how to act. Should I enter behind her and accuse Nicola of having enticed her there? Or should I wait outside and overhear what transpired between them? At last I made up my mind to adopt the latter course, and when she had entered I according remained outside and waited for her.

Through the half-open door I could see Nicola stooping over what looked like a microscope at a side table. He looked up as Miss Trevor entered, and uttered a cry of surprise. As I heard this a sigh of relief descrpate me, for his action proved to me that her visit had not been anticipated.

Miss Trevor, he said, moving forward to greet her. What does this mean? How did you get here? I have come to you, she faltered, because I could not remain away. I have come to you that I may beg of you that wretched man's life.

Dr Nicola, I implore you to spare him. My dear young lady, said Nicola, with a softness in his voice that reminded me of that I had heard in the death chamber a few hours before. You cannot understand what you are doing. You must let me take you back to your friends.

You should not be here at this hour of the night. But I was bound to come. Don't I tell you I could not remain away? Spare him, or for God's sake spare him. You do not know what you are asking.

You are not yourself tonight. I only know that I am thinking of you, she answered. You must not do it. You are so great, so powerful that you can afford to forgive. Take my life rather than harm him.

I will yield it gladly to save you from this sin. To save me, I heard him mutter to himself. She would save me? God would never forgive, she continued, still in the same dreamy voice. He moved away from her, and from where I stood I could see how agitated he was.

For some moment she knelt looking up at him, with arms outstretched in supplication. Then he said something to her in a low voice which I could not catch. Her answer, however, was plain to me. Yes, I have known it always in my dreams, she said. And knowing that, he would still wish me to pardon him.

In the name of God I would urge you to do so, she answered. The safety of your soul depends upon it. Once more Nicola turned away and paced the room. Are you aware that Sir Richard Hatteras was here on the same errand as afternoon, he asked? I know it, she replied, though, how she could have done so.

I could not conceive, nor have I been able to do so since. And does he know that you have come to me now, asking me to forgive? He knows it, she answered, as before. He followed me here. As she had never looked behind her, how had she known this also?

And Nicola approached the door and threw it open. Come in, Hatteras, he said. Your presence is discovered. For heaven's sake, Nicola, tell me what this means, I cried, seeing that the girl did not turn towards me. Is she asleep, or have you brought your diabolical influence upon her?

She is not asleep, and yet she is not conscious of her actions, he answered. There is something in this that passes our philosophy. Had I any idea that she contemplated such a thing, I would have used every effort to prevent it. Miss Trevor, believe me, you must go home with Sir Richard. He continued tenderly, raising the girl to her feet as he spoke.

I cannot go until you have sworn to forgive, was her reply. I must have time to think, he answered. In the morning you will know everything. Trust me until then, and remember always that while Nicola lives, he will be grateful. Then he assisted me to conduct her downstairs and across the two courtyards,

to the little post and door through which we had entered the palace. Have no fear for her, he said, addressing me. She would go home as she came, and in the morning she would remember nothing of what has transpired. Then taking her hand in his, he raised it to his lips, and a moment later bade me farewell, and had vanished into the palace once more.

As I tracked her from the hotel, so I followed her back to it again. I was nonetheless anxious, however, if only Nicola would abandon his purpose and release his enemy, her action and my anxiety would not be in vain. But would he do so? And in the event of his doing this, would his prophecy that Miss Trevor would in the morning

remember nothing of what had transpired prove true? Turning, twisting as before, we proceeded on our way. My chief fear was that the door through which we had made our exit would be found to be shut on our return. Happily, however, this did not prove to be the case. I saw Miss Trevor enter, and then swiftly followed her.

She hastened down the passage, ascended the stairs, passed along the corridor, and made her way to her own room. As soon as I had made certain that she was safely there, I went on to my own dressing room, and, on entering my wife's apartment, had the good fortune to find her still asleep. I was still more thankful in the morning when I discovered that she had not missed me, and being satisfied on this point, I decided to say nothing whatsoever concerning our adventure.

Miss Trevor was the last to put in an appearance at breakfast, and as you may suppose, I scanned her face with some anxiety. She looked pale and mourn, but it was evident from her manner when she greeted me, that she had not the least idea of what she had done during the night. Nicholas' promise had proved to be true, and for that reason I was more determined than ever to keep my information to myself. Events could not have turned out more fortunately for all parties concerned.

Shortly after breakfast, a letter was handed to me, and glancing at the writing, I saw that it was from Nicholas. I was alone at the time of receiving it, a fact for which I was grateful. I will leave you to imagine with what impatience I opened it. It was short, and merely contained a request that I would call at the Palace of Avicii before noon that day, if I could spare the hour. I had decided to do so, and reach the Palace twenty minutes or so before the appointed time.

The old servant to whom by this time I had become familiar with my face, opened the door and permitted me to enter. I inquired if Dr Nicola were at home, and to my surprise was informed that he was not. Perhaps Your Excellency would like to see the other senor, the old man asked, pointing up the stairs. I was about to decline this invitation with all possible haste, when a voice I recognised as that of the Don greeted me from the gallery above. Would you come upstairs, Sir Richard, it said, I have a letter for you from my friend Dr Nicola.

I could scarcely believe the evidence of my eyes and ears, and when I reached the room of which I had such terrible recollections, my surprise was intensified rather than lessened. Martinos had gone a complete metamorphosis. In outward appearance he was no longer the same person who only the day before had filled me with such terrible repulsions. If such a thing could be believed, he was more like his old self as I had first seen him. Whereas Dr Nicola, I inquired, when I looked around the room and noticed the absence of the chemical paraphernalia, the multitude of books and the general change in it. He went away early this morning, the Don replied. He left a letter for you and requested me to give it to you as soon as you should call.

I have much pleasure in doing so now. I took it and placed it almost mechanically in my pocket. Are you aware when he will return, I asked? He will never do so, Martinos replied. I heard the old man below wailing this morning because he had lost the best master he had ever had.

And you? I am ruined as you know, he said, without any reference to his illness. But the good doctor has been good enough to place twenty thousand lira to my credit. I should go elsewhere to attempt to double it. He must have been much better, for he smiled in the old deceitful way as he said this. Remembering what I knew of him, I turned from the man in disgust.

A bidding him good day left the room which I hoped never to see again as long as I might live. In the courtyard I encountered the old caretaker once more. So the senior Nicola has gone away never to return, I said. That is so, senior, said the old man with a heavy sigh. He's left me a rich man, but I do not like to think that I shall never see him again.

Sitting down upon the edge of the well, I took from my pocket the letter the Don had handed me. Farewell, friend Hatteras, it began. By the time you received this, I shall have left Venice. Never more to set foot in it. We shall not meet again.

I go to the fate which claims me, of which I told you. Think of me sometimes, and if it be possible, with kindness. Nicola. I rose and moved towards the door, placing a gold piece in the old man's hands as I passed in. Then, with a last look at the courtyard, I went down the steps and took my place in the gondola.

With a feeling of sadness in my heart, and for the sad destiny of the most wonderful man I have ever known. End of chapter 13