Bartley Bradstone

“ With another groan, Bartley Bradstone obeyed. Faradeane took a sheet of paper from his breast-pocket and placed it before him.
Bartley Bradstone read it and uttered an exclamation, and staggered to his feet; then sank down again, as if too weak to stand. This is what Faradeane had written:
Your husband has left England forever. ”

“ That there should be any secret in common between a gypsy tramp and Bartley Bradstone, the wealthy owner of The Maples, seemed impossible and absurd; and yet the woman’s words and accents bore a terrible earnestness, a tone of solemn entreaty and truth which haunted Olivia.
What should she do? To this question the answer came readily enough. One knows what to do with an anonymous letter; throw it in the fire and forget it; and how, than with scorn, could she treat a vague accusation or insinuation made by a vagabond gipsy against a man of Bartley Bradstone’s respectability—her future husband? ”

“ Bartley Bradstone groaned and wiped his forehead.
“I’ve spent a wretched night,” he said; “wretched. I suppose you’ve heard the news?” he asked, suddenly.
The squire shook his head.
“They’ve held the inquest and brought in a verdict of willful murder against Faradeane.”
The squire sprang to his feet, then dropped down again.
“They must be mad!” he exclaimed, tremulously.
“I don’t know anything more than I’ve heard,” said Bartley Bradstone. “My man was there and—and told me what passed. They had Faradeane up, and he—he just behaved as he did here. Wouldn’t say anything, or give any explanation. ”

“ I hope things are all well down at The Maples, Mr. Bradstone? What a lovely place it is, to be sure; quite a palace. And Mrs. Bradstone, sir—I do trust she is better. What a painful, mysterious affair that murder is, sir!”
“Yes, yes,” said Bartley Bradstone. “Yes, Mrs. Bradstone [Pg 265] is better, and a man’s being tried for the murder. I think I’ll go down to the bank, while you sell that stock. Why the devil don’t you open the window in this room? It smells like a charcoal house,” and he wiped his burning forehead.
“Yes, yes, it is, sir,” said Mr. Mowle ”

“ It was difficult to realize that he—Bartley Bradstone—was—a murderer; that but for the noble heroism and self-sacrifice of the man he hated most in the world, he would at that moment be in the cell, instead of Faradeane, awaiting his trial!
He had been a cunning, an unscrupulous man, an adventurer who had never hesitated at any mean or base action, so long as it was just within the law; who had never hesitated to secure or push an unfair advantage, at whatever cost to others. But murder! With a shudder he shut the safe to, as if he would shut out all remembrance of his crime. ”

“ Bartley Bradstone, without a word, as if he were completely cowed, went to the sideboard and got out the brandy. Seth instantly took the decanter from his hand and helped himself.
“Now,” he said, “look sharp—the money—the money!”
Bartley Bradstone drew a checkbook from a drawer. Seth watched him suspiciously.
“What’s that?” he said.
“A check.”
“What’s the good of that to me?” said Seth. “I want money—gold, notes.”
Bartley Bradstone forced a smile.
[Pg 272]
“Do you think I keep a thousand pounds in the house in gold or notes?” he said. “You’re not so ignorant as you pretend ”

“ There was an instantaneous movement toward them, and amidst the excited whispering they entered the vestry. She carried in her hand the bouquet he had sent; but the snow-like flowers were not whiter than her face, and she clung to her father’s arm with a clasp which seemed as if it could never be loosened.
With downcast eyes she stood for a moment, scarcely seeming to breathe, more like a lovely statue than a living woman; then Bartley Bradstone, who had been standing in the center of a group, came toward her. ”

“ He haunted the Grange daily; but he had not seen Olivia since the wedding day.
“Keep him away from her, if you wish her recovery to continue,” the doctor had said, and the poor squire repeated his words.
“Oh, I won’t worry her,” said Bartley Bradstone, in the dull, apathetic manner which had settled upon him. “Sick people take all sorts of fancies; she’ll see me when she’s better, and—and we’ll get away.”
“Yes, yes,” said the squire, with a heavy sigh. “When all this trouble is over. It is this terrible murder which hangs like a dark cloud over us all.” ”

“ From Carter's expression as he gazed at the broken place in the bank, I could tell he believed the same. Only Patton seemed too dazed to comprehend what it might mean.
And then as our glances met, Bartley, for one of the few times in his life, uttered an oath and started to run toward the library. As the rest of us stood, hesitatingly, Bartley turned—turned to cry back at us in a voice that shook a little:
“For God's sake, hurry! We may be just in time to prevent another murder, and this time the most horrible one of all.” ”

“ And my ole gray pack-hoss, Filaree,
The world ain't got no rope on me:
Git along, cayuse, git along!
Bartley watched him as he crossed the railroad tracks and turned down a side street.
[pg 61] Back in his room Bartley paced up and down, keeping time to the tune of Cheyenne's trail song. The morning sun poured down upon the station roof opposite, and danced flickering across the polished tracks of the railroad. Presently Bartley stopped pacing his room and stood at the window. Far out across the mesa he saw a rider, drifting along in the sunshine, followed by a gray pack-horse. ”

“ There ensued, amidst Bartley's voluble greetings, a noise of shy shuffling about in the hall, as of a man not perfectly master of his footing under social pressure, a sound of husky, embarrassed whispering, a dispute about doffing an overcoat, and question as to the disposition of a hat, and then Bartley reappeared, driving before him the lank, long figure of a man who blinked in the flash of gaslight, as Bartley turned it all up in the chandelier overhead, and rubbed his immense hands in cruel embarrassment at the beauty of Marcia, set like a jewel in the pretty comfort of the little parlor. ”

“ He mused in that formless way in which a young man thinks about young girls; his soul is suffused with a sense of their sweetness and brightness, and unless he is distinctly in love there is no intention in his thoughts of them; even then there is often no intention. Bartley might very well have a good conscience about them; he had broken no hearts among them, and had only met them half-way in flirtation. What he really regretted, as he held their letters in his hand, was that he had never got up a correspondence with two or three of the girls whom he had met in Boston. ”

“ When I was about twenty, and knew three or four successive years of Mathews's At Homes from sitting in the pit to hear them, I wrote to Bartley who was stage manager at Covent-garden, and told him how young I was, and exactly what I thought I could do; and that I believed I had a strong perception of character and oddity, and a natural power of reproducing in my own person what I observed in others. There must have been something [206] in the letter that struck the authorities, for Bartley wrote to me, almost immediately, to say that they were busy getting up the Hunchback (so they were!) ”

“ Bartley recalled the fact that he had drawn back his arm, intending to take one good punch at Panhandle, even if it were his last. But Panhandle had crumpled down suddenly, silently, and Wishful had stood over him, gazing down speculatively and swinging his gun back and forth before he returned it to the holster. "They move quick, in this country," thought Bartley. "And speaking of material for a story--" Then he smiled.
Somewhere out on the mesa Cheyenne had spread his bed-roll and was no doubt sleeping peacefully. Bartley shook his head. ”

“ We Hear a Story—and—Discover It Is True
No one spoke for a moment. Perhaps we were all too surprised to say anything. The calmest one of all was the oriental. His black suit was rumpled and covered with dirt from the path, but his face was calm and impassive. Only the narrow eyes gave any hint of feeling, and the glare in them was not a pleasant one. Then as with a short command Bartley pushed the gun closer against the man's back, we went into the house, down the hall, and into the living room. ”

“ Almost imperceptible movement of river goes forward. The blameless Bartley on his feet, entrancing House with particulars of a silver cup, prized heirloom in the humble household in Victoria Street. It seems that one of Bartley's ancestors—he who came over with the Conqueror—had brought with him certain blades of buckwheat, which he industriously planted out on the site, then a meadow, on which the Army and Navy Stores now flourish. ”

“ A man who was obviously alive to sex and alert before women made her uncomfortable. The deep-eyed sly man--the man who was servile to women, who rushed to set chairs for them, who bowed to them and strove to catch their eye in public--these men she hated. Bartley was such a man, but he had long since perceived her dislike of gallantry and had given her no second cause to resent his attentions in that sort. ”

“ This free, joking way of Bartley’s was one of the things that made him popular; he passed the time of day, and would give and take right along, as his admirers expressed it from the first, in a community where his smartness had that honor which gives us more smart men to the square mile than any other country in the world. ”

“ Oh, Bartley, can't you make it up?"
"We have, long ago. We're quite friendly. 'Tis no more now than a sporting fixture for ten pounds a side. There'll be twenty pounds more for furniture for your new home, Madge--if I'm licked."
"Don't talk like that. 'Twould always be covered wi' bloodstains in my eyes. Can't you use the gloves? Why do you want to knock your poor noses crooked for? 'Tis like savage tigers more than Christian men."
"Don't you worry. The colours be coming Monday. Of course I can't ask you to wear mine; but they're prettier far than David's. 'Twas Mr. Fogo's idea. ”

“ Fate sometimes pursues people, even if they are not willing to be pursued. Certainly it was fate pursued Thurley Precore. As she came to Betsey Pilrig’s gate tingling with excitement, inclined to laugh and then to protest against the abuse of Dan, and, finally, to cry a little like a true woman, she glanced in the letter-box to find an offer from Rufus Westcott, manager of the South Wales county fair. ”

“ There is many a thing I would do for you, Bartley Fallon, but I won't do that!
Shawn Early. I tell you there is no man will give you any help or any encouragement for this day's work. If it was something agrarian now—
Bartley. If no one at all will take it, maybe it's best to give it up to the police.
Tim Casey. There'd be a welcome for it with them surely! [Laughter.]
Mrs. Tully. And it is to the police Kitty Keary herself will be brought.
Mrs. Tarpey [rocking to and fro] . I wonder now who will take the expense of the wake for poor Jack Smith?
Bartley. The wake for Jack Smith! ”

“ Dissatisfied with his remuneration, he quitted London and played in the country. In 1809–11 he managed unsuccessfully the Glasgow theatre. Subsequently he acted with increasing reputation as a comedian in Manchester, Liverpool, and other towns. In 1814 he married his second wife, Sarah Smith, a tragic actress, by whose reputation his own has been overshadowed. On 13 Oct. of the same year, Mrs. Bartley [q. v.] played Ophelia at Drury Lane, and on 12 April following Bartley reappeared at the same house as Falstaff, which was thenceforward his favourite character. ”

“ Don’t tell me that rascal of a Sam had you behind for tea.”
“He did.” Thurley suddenly found her old wild-rose self as she told him of the matinée.
When she finished he said, those curious gray eyes of his narrowing, “A good singer should have a good—” holding out the white tissue paper parcel.
“Oh, what?” she demanded. “It’s the only present I’ve had that was done in white tissue paper. Nothing came from home and the others laugh at Christmas. Miss Clergy gave me this bracelet—but the bill was in the box,” she added resentfully. ”

“ Bartley: It is what I often said to myself, if [Pg 17] there is ever any misfortune coming to this world it is on myself it is sure to come!
(All turn round and face him.)
Bartley: To be going about with this fork and to find no one to take it, and no place to leave it down, and I wanting to be gone out of this—Is that you, Shawn Early? (Holds out fork.) It’s well I met you. You have no call to be leaving the fair for a while the way I have, and how can I go till I’m rid of this fork? Will you take it and keep it until such time as Jack Smith——
Shawn Early: (Backing.) ”

“ Broderick Miss Joyce Cracked Mary Davideen, HER BROTHER, AN INNOCENT
THE FULL MOON Scene: A shed close to Cloon Station; Bartley Fallon is sitting gloomily on a box; Hyacinth Halvey and Shawn Early are coming in at door.
Shawn Early: It is likely the train will not be up to its time, and cattle being on it for the fair. It's best wait in the shed. Is that Bartley Fallon? What way are you, Bartley?
Bartley Fallon: Faith, no way at all. On the drag, on the drag; striving to put the bad times over me. ”

“ Bartley laughed at these business-turns of Marcia's as he called them; but sometimes they enraged him, and he had days of sullen resentment when he resisted all her advances towards reconciliation. But he kept hard at work, and he always owned at last how disinterested her most ridiculous alarm had been.
Once, when they had been talking as usual about that permanent place on some newspaper, she said, “But I should only want that to be temporary, if you got it. I want you should go on with the law, Bartley. I've been thinking about that. I don't want you should always be a journalist.” ”