6. “Poor things!”
6. “Poor things!”
“Dear old Engelmacher!” exclaimed Montella,sotto voce. “A voice of thunder, and a heart of gold!”
Then he turned to the mighty pioneer, and entered upon a serious conversation concerning the present crisis. It was a relief to him to be able to open his heart.
The doctor, having obtained permission, lit up his old and well-beloved briar, and puffed away in silence. He always believed that his pipe assisted his mental digestion, and never troubling to study conventionalities, was not deterred by the presence of the ladies. Lady Montella was too much interested in the discussion to mind the smoke. She considered this an opportunity which should certainly not be lost.
“It is money we want,” the doctor said, when the whole situation had been explained. “Another two millions, and Palestine will be ours. I have the best authority for saying this; our colleague Karl Lierhammer had an audience with the Sultan last week. Only one hundred thousand pounds is needed to allow us to start operations north-west of the Jordan at once, and I can lay my hands on fifty thousand Jewish artisans who are ready to begin. So you see our dream is not so far from being realised after all.”
Lady Montella’s face glowed.
“How splendidly you have worked while we thought the movement was at a standstill,” she said. “You may count on us for the hundred thousand; we will raise it among ourselves and our relations. We can safely promise this, I think?” she added, addressing her son.
Lionel answered in the affirmative.
“We do not require the money as a donation,” Dr. Engelmacher explained. “It will all go into the national debt. Palestine will be a self-supporting country in a comparatively short time; the fertility of the land is remarkable. Will you believe me, dear people, when I tell you that before the Zionistmovement was conceived, that country was barren from lack of water; but that since we began our operations there the rain has fallen in due season, and all Nature has conduced to further our aim?[7]Is not this a testimony—if such we need—to the righteousness of our cause?”
7. A fact attested by the Rev. Dr. Gaster.
7. A fact attested by the Rev. Dr. Gaster.
“Wonderful!” exclaimed Lady Montella, with glad surprise. “Yet people say that miracles do not happen nowadays. Why, even Christians believe that we are to be restored to our own land—the land of promise. Strange that some of the Jews themselves should be so reluctant to act on that belief.”
“Strange indeed,” returned the doctor. “I believe that prosperity and freedom have combined to dim their spiritual vision. They live only for the present, and being happy themselves, they are incapable of feeling for their persecuted brethren abroad. Ah, if I can only succeed in arousing the interest of all the rich Jews in England so far as to make them invest their money Zionwards, our cause will be won. It is for this purpose that I have come here.”
“If England expels the Jews, I’m afraid she will regret it before many months are past,” said Montella thoughtfully. “I believe the Government will not have the best side of the bargain after all.”
“The Government will find itself in the biggest pickle it has ever known,” was Dr. Engelmacher’s reply. “It is safe to say that when anti-Semitism attacks a country, that country is in a state of decline. England, the justice-loving happy queen of nations, will soon find out her mistake. She is but passing through a phase; she will come through the cloudstrengthened and purified. I know and love the English people well enough to be certain of this.”
“Then you think—?”
“I think nothing yet, my dear Montella. I prefer to wait for the course of events. For the present I must sayAuf Wiedersehen. I shall see you again before I leave London, I hope.”
He rose, and politely declining Lady Montella’s cordial invitation to dinner, took his departure; but they saw him again at a huge Zionist meeting on the following night. The hall was packed from door to door, rich and poor uniting for once under the sense of common danger. Like a drowning man catches at a straw, they clung to the new hope which was presented to them; for with anti-Semitism brought so near home, they could no longer afford to ignore the burning question. And what a hope it was that, clothed though it was in foreign accents, breathed through Engelmacher’s words! A land of their very own, where persecution would be forgotten, where they could lift their heads in freedom, and win back their good name. The promised land of their forefathers and of their glorious past—the promised land of the future, where they should behold the long-looked-for coming of the King! No wonder that their stricken hearts were inflamed by the national hope. The voices of the prophets—to which for so long they had turned deaf ears—were reaching them at last.
Who could tell what new revelations they might not have to unfold?
CHAPTER XPREMIER AND PEERESS
The new Grand Imperial Hotel at Brighton was very full; for it had become the fashion once again to spend the week-end away from town, and the Grand Imperial was the hotel temporarily favoured, not so much by the so-called “smart set” as by those who were popularly supposed to possess brains. Jaded barristers, glad to forget for the moment that there existed such a place as the Inner Temple, a trio of actor-managers who were “resting”; two or three of the most beautiful women in society, and a sprinkling of clerics were included among the guests. To-night—Saturday—the Right Hon. Athelstan Moore was expected, and the hotel complement would be complete.
It was the hour between tea and dinner—the children’s hour. Those who were not imbibing the salubrious air along the promenade were gathered in the lounge, whilst the children—there were not many—played hide-and-seek around the Corinthian pillars and behind the numerous Chesterfield couches. One of them, a tiny boy of scarcely five summers, was playing horses with a little girl three years his senior, and racing up and down as fast as his little legs would carry him, seemed bubbling over with health and merriment.
“You go too slow, Phyllis,” he piped, almost out of breath with his mimic galloping and plunging. “Why don’t you run?”
Phyllis Moore loosened the reins.
“If I run I shall make myself tired,” she replied demurely. “My governess told me to play quietly. I am going to wait up for father to-night.”
The air of maiden superiority jarred upon the little boy.
“I will wait up for father, too,” he announced sturdily. “Let’s both wait up.”
Phyllis looked more superior than ever.
“You are very silly, Leslie,” she returned. “How can you wait up for your father when he is dead?”
“What’s dead?” demanded Leslie, with wide-open eyes.
“Dead? Oh, it’s being put down in a hole in the ground and being covered with a lot of nasty earth, and then having a great flat stone plumped down on top of you. That’s what your father is.”
“He isn’t,” denied Leslie, with indignation.
“He is, or else you would not be the Earl of Chesterwood.”
“He isn’t!” Leslie stamped his foot.
“He is!”
“He isn’t. You are a horrid little girl, and I don’t like you a bit.”
“Children, what are you quarrelling about?” said a lady’s voice from behind one of the pillars. “It is very naughty to quarrel. Come and tell me what is the matter.”
Leslie dissolved into tears, and hid his face in the folds of his mother’s skirt, whilst Phyllis stood by abashed. Lady Chesterwood, not wishing to haveher gown marred by her son’s emotion, produced a small cambric handkerchief, and placed it between the child’s face and her skirt.
“Now,” she said, addressing herself to Phyllis, “why did you make Leslie cry?”
“I didn’t make him cry,” the Premier’s daughter answered sulkily. “I only told him his father was dead. It is quite true. His fatherisdead.”
“He isn’t,” came from Leslie, in a stifled voice. “She says my father is in a hole in the ground, with a lot of nasty earth and a stone on top of him; and he isn’t! My father doesn’t live in a hole.”
The Countess maintained a calm demeanour.
“Your father is above the bright blue sky with the angels, sonnie,” she said soothingly. “Don’t you remember that I told you he had gone away to heaven?”
“Yes.” Leslie raised his head triumphantly, and glowered at Phyllis. “My father is in heaven with the angels. I knew he wasn’t down a nasty hole in the ground!”
Phyllis, still unconvinced, stalked away to rejoin her governess, and the Countess was spared the necessity of entering further into the problem. She wondered what Leslie would have to say if she were to provide him with a new father, and how he and Phyllis would agree. The letter which she had dashed off in Patricia’s boudoir had never been sent, for she had thought better of it before she reached home. She had not yet given a definite answer to her illustrious wooer, although a month had passed, but she knew that he was coming to Brighton expressly to hear what she had to say.
When the nurse came for her boy, she went torejoin the sister with whom she was staying—the Princess Charles von Felsen-Schvoenig. She felt unusually nervous, and could not settle down anywhere. The bravado she had shown in her conversation with Patricia had gradually evaporated until there was little left. The nearer it came to meeting the Premier the less courageous did she feel. She was not at all sure now that she considered it worth while to become the defender of the Jews.
The Princess was very much like her sister in appearance, but possessed stronger features and a firmer will. She considered Mamie foolish to wish to encumber herself with another husband, and to give up her widowed freedom. Her own husband—with whom she was not in love—was suffering with a disease of the spine; and as he allowed himself to be relegated to the castle in Felsen-Schvoenig whenever his presence was undesired by his wife, the Princess enjoyed life in her own way as a woman of independence. She was fond of travelling, and journeyed from one place to another as she felt inclined. Perhaps there was scarcely a wife in the whole of Europe so little troubled by domestic affairs.
“So the hour approaches!” she exclaimed, as her sister appeared in her boudoir. “Whence the pale cheeks and troubled brow?”
“Am I pale?” The Countess glanced at herself in the mirror. “I shall have plenty of colour when the lights are lit. I feel real stupid to-day; I don’t know why. When Moore begins rolling off his words to me in that curious manner of his, I know I shall have nothing to say for myself in return. I might be a girl in her first season instead of a widow and a woman of the world. And I just wanted tobe especially brilliant to-night. It’s very annoying, isn’t it?”
The Princess regarded her contemplatively. “I believe you are afraid of Moore,” she said.
“Afraid? What nonsense. As if I could be frightened of a little man scarcely a head taller than myself!”
“A little man certainly, but he has a great personality. It is said that the man or woman does not exist who can oppose Moore’s iron will. It is true enough that when he determines on a thing, that thing always comes to pass. Therefore, my dear Mamie, you will know what to expect.”
“Qui vivra verra,” returned her sister, as the dressing-bell resounded through the hotel; and then, with a careless nod, she left the room.
She looked much better when, an hour later, she descended to the salon. Her gown of filmy chiffon and lace suited her to perfection, and anticipation had lent a touch of colour to her cheeks. The Princess, who was in black relieved and studded by gems which glittered with every ray of light, glanced at her with satisfaction.
“Moore is here,” she announced quietly. “He arrived about ten minutes ago, and has gone up to see Phyllis and dress.”
Nevertheless the Premier was absent from the dinner-table, and the Countess was kept on tenter-hooks until the gentlemen rejoined the ladies, when she noticed his short, thick-set figure at the entrance to the lounge. The band in the north gallery had begun the overture to Faust, and his coming was—by a coincidence—heralded by the martial tones of the Soldiers’ Chorus. She put down the untastedcup of coffee on the little table at her side, and trifled nervously with the diamond collar on her neck. The next moment she had shaken hands and was exchanging commonplaces with the first man in England. Her nervousness suddenly vanished, leaving her natural and free.
The Press had often remarked on the apparent likeness between the Premier and Napoleon the Great. Certainly Athelstan Moore possessed eagle-eyes, a Roman nose, and somewhat round and stooping shoulders, and the brusqueness of his manner considerably strengthened the effect. He jerked out his words in the tone of one accustomed to command, and was absolutely devoid of the saving sense of humour. That was why some people found his society somewhat trying. He never could—or would—receive a joke.
“You are late,” the Countess said, as she made room for him beside her. “I expected you long ago.”
“Yes; I was detained in town. I could have been down to dinner, however, had not Phyllis insisted on my staying with her until she went to sleep.”
It was a curious fact that while the Premier never suffered himself to be dictated to by those whose powers of thought equalled his own, he was as wax in the hands of his child. The Countess smiled.
“Phyllis has been quarrelling with my little Leslie,” she informed him, with pretended gravity. “It is strange that they two can never agree.”
“I suppose it is because the girl is older than the boy,” he returned thoughtfully. “A boy does not like to be commanded by a girl, even if she be older than himself. I must have a serious talk withPhyllis. I do not wish her to quarrel with anyone, least of all your little boy.”
He laid stress on the pronoun. The Countess knew what he meant, but she said nothing, and turned over the pages of her book with apparent carelessness. The lounge was filling, and the music ceased. Espying the figure of a well-known political bore opposite, Moore leant farther back in shadow. He knew that if he were noticed he would be called upon to talk politics for the remainder of the evening; and although it was true that his life was bound up in his beloved Government, he was not anxious to enter into a controversy just now.
“I wish to speak to you, Mamie,” he said, lowering his voice. “Will you come out on the terrace? It is a glorious night; and if you put on a wrap you will not feel cold.”
The Countess rose obediently, and sent for her fur-lined cloak. It was just like a man to think that a bare neck and arms could be sufficiently protected by a flimsy “wrap.” The night was certainly calm, but as it was winter it could scarcely be otherwise than chilly. The terrace was deserted, save for a young man who was enjoying a smoke at the far end. Moore drew the young widow to a rustic seat at the most sheltered corner. There was no sound save the swish of the sea.
Athelstan Moore was not the man to indulge in sentimentality. He paid no heed to the moon and the stars and the stillness, but came to the point at once. Lady Chesterwood had been given a month to consider his offer of marriage, and as the time had expired, he awaited her answer now.
Lady Chesterwood was still undecided.
“You say you wish to marry me because you are particularly drawn towards me,” she said evenly. “But in your position as head of the State, is it wise to saddle yourself with a wife?”
“‘Amare simul et sapere ipsi jovi non datur,’” he quoted lightly. “Besides, I think it expedient for a Prime Minister to be married, since his wife can perform her duty to the State socially as hostess. Mrs. Moore, as you know, died a year after our marriage—when Phyllis was born. Don’t you think I owe a duty also to my motherless child?”
If there was a tender spot in the Premier’s heart, it was for his little girl. Mamie knew it, and thought she recognised what had prompted the man’s desire.
“You want a mother for Phyllis?” she asked softly. “Am I not right?”
“Yes; but I also want you for myself. It is not good for man to be alone, especially a man so harassed and worried by the affairs of the nation as I am. When a fellow’s brain is so severely taxed that sometimes the whole universe seems out of joint, he longs for the sympathy of an intelligent woman to steady his nerves. I am not a young man, and I do not offer you the passionate devotion which a hotheaded youth lavishes on a young girl in her teens; but I will do my best to make you a good husband, Mamie; and as you are a sensible woman, I think you will understand.”
Mamie did understand, and experienced a feeling of gratification. It seemed strange to hear Moore—the ostensibly stony-hearted, hard-headed Prime Minister—talk in this strain. It showed that, strong as he was, he was not too strong to be able todispense with sympathy. It showed that, in spite of all the logic of dry-as-dust professors, there was a force to be reckoned with in love.
The music had begun again, and the seductive strains of a valse floated out towards them. The waves, as they broke at regular intervals upon the beach, seemed to beat time to the melody, and the seething foam rushing backwards on the pebbles added a refrain. A sense of unreality affected the little Countess as she listened; it seemed almost as if she were living the past over again. She had had acquaintance with the man beside her for at least three years, but she had never liked him so well as at this moment. Perhaps it was because she saw him in a new light, and felt the undoubted fascination of his virile personality. She forgot the many stories she had heard of his despotic dealings, forgot altogether his hatred of the Jews. She remembered only that he was a great man, and that he had come toherfor sympathy. Was it a wonder that her small features glowed with pride!
“I will marry you because you want me,” she said, in a gentle voice at last, “and I will try and do my duty to your motherless girl, as I hope you will to my fatherless boy. But you will be good to me, won’t you, Athelstan?” she added, almost wistfully. “You will be our protector—Leslie’s and mine?”
He raised her hand to his lips.
“It will be my first care to protect you,” he replied, well pleased, although he had known all along that she would consent. And he decided that the marriage should take place in six weeks’ time; there was no occasion for a further delay.
It was getting cold, and Mamie suggested anadjournment within. They repassed the young man on their way, still unconcernedly smoking his cigar. The Princess watched their return, but failed to deduce from their manner what had happened. Before retiring to rest, however, she presented herself in her sister’s apartment. She was curious to know the result.
Mamie was sitting in front of her dressing-table shedding tears—though whether of joy or sadness she did not herself know. She felt as though she had just come through an ordeal, which, paradoxically, had not been an ordeal after all. She dried her eyes hastily, declaring that she was a goose; to which statement her sister unhesitatingly agreed.
Mamie pushed back her chair, and regarded her with an unnecessary expression of defiance.
“Well, it’s all settled,” she said carelessly. “I am just going to write to Poppa. We shall be married on the 10th of February if the fates propend.”
The Princess gave her a sisterly kiss.
“I suppose you know your own business best, so I will congratulate you,” she remarked. “Did you keep your promise to Patricia and impose some condition about the Jews?”
Mamie shook her head.
“It would not have been wise to ruffle Athelstan’s feelings just then by talking about the Jews,” was her reply. “To tell you the truth, I entirely forgot their existence. However, there is time yet. I will introduce the subject to-morrow.”
She was not over-anxious to show the red rag to the bull.
CHAPTER XITHE PREMIER OUTWITTED
The next day Lady Chesterwood sat down and wrote the following letter to her husband’s cousin:
“My dear Patricia,—I have just been up Queen’s Road to see Athelstan off by the 6.40 to town, but he will be here again in the middle of the week (Parliament permitting), so the parting will not be for long. Not forgetting my promise to you, I had a long conversation with him this afternoon on the Jewish question, and as you know his feelings on the matter, I think I wasmost courageousin introducing the subject at all. He says that the affair has now passed out of his hands, and that in speaking as he did, he merely voiced the opinion of the great bulk of the British workmen. That the Bill will be passed is an absolute certainty, and he thinks the Edict of Banishment will be proclaimed in about a month from now. I then told him about your engagement to Mr. Montella, and he said it wasabsolutely suicidalon your part to become the wife of a Jew. He was so angry about it that I dared not say a word in defence. He has begged me to do my utmost to persuade you to break off the engagement; and really, Patricia, I think you will bemost foolishif you persist. Have you not realised that, as the wifeof Montella, you will either be banned and cut in society, or else you will have to be separated from him when the new Act comes into force? I don’t know what your father can be about that he does not interfere. Athelstan intends to pay him a visit during the course of the week, to acquaint him of his duty. Don’t think me unkind for taking this view of the matter. What I really desire is yourultimatehappiness.—Ever your affectionate cousin,
“Mamie Chesterwood.”
“Mamie Chesterwood.”
“Mamie Chesterwood.”
“Mamie Chesterwood.”
The caligraphy was somewhat sprawling in effect, and much underlined. A student of graphology would have noticed weakness, and a disposition easily amenable to persuasion in the unconnected and carelessly formed characters. Patricia absorbed the contents of the letter with very little surprise. Knowing how easy it was to influence the Countess in almost any direction, she had been certain all along that the Prime Minister would soon persuade her to his way of thinking. That was why she had been so horror-stricken at Mamie’s anticipated engagement to Moore.
The Premier did not pay his visit that week, but he came before the month was out. The Earl received him in the state drawing-room, and listened attentively to what he had to say. He and Moore had been at Balliol together, and although they had never been actual friends, they had always entertained a mutual respect for each other. Therefore he did not think of resenting the Minister’s interference in the matter, and went so far as to acknowledge the apparent reasonableness of his opinions.
Nevertheless he did not consider it necessary tobe greatly concerned. If it had been his son who wished to marry a Jewess, the case would have been different; he seemed to think a daughter of much less consequence.
“Patricia is of age and able to decide for herself,” he said, with an air of nonchalance. “As she makes her bed, so must she lie upon it—that is all.”
“But it is such a disgrace,” persisted Moore, determined on carrying his point. “It is a case which will excite public comment, and therefore is not merely a personal matter. For the sake of example it ought not to be allowed.”
The Earl’s face was impassive.
“What is it you object to?” he asked. “The race or the religion?”
“Both, though if Montella dropped his Judaism it would not be so bad. But Montella never will; the matter will be solved by your daughter joining the Jewish Church. That is where the disgrace comes in—for a woman in these days of grace to voluntarily go back to the religion of the pre-Christian Era, to fling away the Christianity which has done more than anything else to civilise the world. Why, it’s absolutely ridiculous. She might just as well put away her modern dress, education, and culture. I have never known such an absurd thing in my life.”
“I am afraid my daughter is angry with Christianity just now,” said the Earl imperturbably, “since it is used as a cloak to cover the persecution of the Jews. She thinks the end does not justify the means.”
“Nonsense! she does not understand anything at all about it. The rulers of the State have to look far ahead; what we legislate now is for the benefit of the future generations. It is surely better that thesepeople should be expelled than that the whole nation should suffer later on.”
He paced up and down the room, his face crimson with indignation. He could have shaken the noble Earl for being so dense as not to see the enormity of the situation. He continued to harangue him for another forty minutes, until the Earl was so weary that he promised faithfully to insist on the dissolution of the betrothal. Then just as he was about to conclude his remarks, the door opened to admit the happy—or unhappy—pair. To the Premier their appearance was most opportune.
They both bowed to the visitor, but neither attempted to shake hands. Patricia, forgetting that he was Mamie Chesterfield’s fiancé, saw in him only the virulent Jew-hater, and could not bring herself to give him a friendly greeting, even though at this particular moment she felt at peace with all the world. Montella looked unusually flushed, but the anxious expression which had been his of late had vanished, and there was an eager glow in his eyes. He took not the slightest notice of the Premier’s glance of hatred, and stood by his sweetheart’s side with an air of self-possession. He knew, without requiring to be told, that the visit of his enemy was in some way connected with himself; but an event had happened which caused him to view this visit with equanimity almost amounting to unconcern.
The day was raw and cold, but Patricia was dressed in the palest shade of grey, the delicate appearance of which was enhanced by the choice white flowers at her breast and attached to her ermine muff. She looked so fair and radiant, that Athelstan Moore’s indignation increased, and he determined yet againthat this beautiful girl should not be lost to England and the Church by becoming Montella’s bride. He asked for an interview with her and her father, minus the presence of her lover; but to this request the girl refused to accede. She was quite willing to listen to whatever the Premier might wish to say, but it must be said before Mr. Montella or not at all.
The Premier met the steady glance from her grey eyes without flinching.
“Very well, Lady Patricia, you give me no alternative but to speak out my mind before one to whom my words must be extremely disagreeable,” he said, with a glance at Montella. “I will not beat about the bush then; I will come to the point at once. I have just had a long conversation with your father, in which I have tried to point out to him the many disadvantages which would accrue from your marriage with Mr. Montella. Not to mention the many minor points which I might put forth for his consideration and yours, I will repeat three great impedimenta to such a marriage. Firstly, you would have to become an apostate from the Christian religion—an action, the gravity of which it is possible you could not realise for many years; secondly, you would be ostracised by society, and for your father’s sake you should remember the mottonoblesse oblige—you are not justified in renouncing your birthright; and thirdly, you would perform an action contrary to the spirit and temper of the nation at the present time, by not only advocating the Jewish cause, but by becoming the wife of a Jew. These three reasons are surely of sufficient weight to deter you from such a course, especially as you would give not only personal, but national offence. Of course I take it forgranted that you are not actuated purely by a motive of selfishness. I presume that you are not unwilling to weigh the pros and cons of the case?”
Patricia had sunk on to one of the little Chippendale chairs, and was looking up at him with an air of artlessness, whilst the Earl and Montella stood inertly by.
“You are very kind to take so much interest in me, Mr. Moore,” she said quietly, when he had finished. “May I be so bold as to inquire the reason?”
“Certainly; the reason is not far to seek. Having the honour and pleasure of your acquaintance, your contemplated marriage would grieve me inexpressibly. And not only that; as I said before, the marriage of a lady of high rank and noble family with a leader of insurgent Jews is a matter of national importance. Your father has agreed with me that such is the case.”
At the word “insurgent” Montella started forward as though he wished to speak, but his sweetheart, with a gesture, restrained him.
“The Jews are not insurgents,” she corrected quietly. “It is you and your party who are endeavouring to make them so. I think it a pity that the nation has not enough to do to look after its own affairs without troubling about mine. I am afraid I do not appreciate an interest of this sort.”
The Premier scowled, and Lord Torrens, noticing it, advanced.
“I wish you to give Mr. Moore a proper answer, my dear child,” he said amicably. “Since he has taken the trouble to come here expressly on your account, it is fitting that you should make your defence.”
“Defence?” repeated the girl, with rising colour.“Am I in a court of law?” She gulped down her angry feelings, and added, in a quieter tone: “Very well, Mr. Moore, my defence is simply this: If I am of noble birth, Mr. Montella’s lineage is more ancient than my own, and there is no member of my family who has ever done so much to promote the general welfare of his country as did the late Sir Julian Montella for England. Lionel himself is in every way worthy of respect; and the brilliance of his university and parliamentary careers has proved that a more gifted man of his age cannot be found. That he is a Jew is to me an additional attraction, and for the senseless opinions of society at large I care nothing whatever. In regard to the religious point of view, I feel justified in seceding from Christianity if the circumstances necessitate my doing so. Perhaps had I received a more careful religious training, I might not have found it so easy to renounce, but since my mother died I have been left to flounder about in the maze of conflicting and contradictory doctrines; consequently I have nothing to cling to, and no treasured sentiment to forego. Finally, I love Mr. Montella with all my heart, and therefore I am determined to be faithful to my promise.”
She gave a sigh of relief as her voice dropped into silence. Her listeners could not help admiring the staunch spirit of her words. Lionel hated to be eulogised, but his heart warmed towards his sweet and zealous advocate. The Premier realised the futility of his intervention, but he was not yet willing to throw up the sponge.
“I see that to discuss the matter with you is useless,” he returned, with equanimity. “It is seldom possible to argue with a woman, I find. However, Inow make my appeal to your father. Lord Torrens, you have heard my opinion both as politician and friend, and I hope you now realise the importance and truth of what I have said. It is your duty to prohibit this marriage by every means in your power; but if you do not feel disposed to exert your prerogative, will you accept me as deputy in your place? Do you give me the authority to work for you in this matter? If so, I think I shall be able to find—by means of the law—an impediment which cannot be surmounted. If I undertake to fight out the matter, the marriageshall not take place!”
He jerked out the last words as though he were pronouncing final judgment, and brought his fist down on the table with force. The lovers looked at each other, and Montella made as though he would speak; but again Patricia restrained him.
“Father,” she said, approaching the Earl, with a look of appeal, “do you not think this interview has lasted long enough? I have listened to Mr. Moore with all the patience I could manage; but when he threatens to prevent my marriage by means of the law, it is like trying to frighten a child. We may not know much—Lionel and I—but we are wise enough to know that the law has no power where we are concerned. Besides, you would not give Mr. Moore permission to act for you in this matter, would you, dear?”
The Earl was getting impatient, and took no notice of her caress.
“I give Mr. Moore permission to do as he likes,” he answered, a trifle pettishly. “If the matter is of national importance, it is in his domain, and he can take what steps he chooses. Personally, I likeMontella, and have no objection to him as a son-in-law. You must fight it out between you; I wash my hands of the whole affair.”
The two young people looked triumphant, but so did the Premier.
“Then it is unnecessary to prolong this interview further,” he said, taking up his hat and stick. “Since you give me authority, Lord Torrens, I shall know what course to pursue.”
Montella at last came forward.
“One moment, Mr. Moore, before you go,” he put in, drawing his beloved towards him. “Lady Patricia and I have no wish to maintain a personal enmity towards you, and we should like to part as friends. It may be that we shall never cross your path again, for when the barbarous Edict is published, it is probable that we shall leave England for good. Meanwhile, we may assure you that whatever steps you may take to prevent our marriage will be absolutely useless, for the simple reason that—in order to save further controversy on the matter—we were married this morning.”
He had no occasion to repeat his statement; his words carried conviction with them. The Earl started in surprise, and then gave vent to a chuckle of amusement. The Premier was quite taken aback, but in spite of the sudden pallor which overspread his face, he managed to retain his self-possession.
“Since you have taken the law into your own hands, then there is no more to be said,” he returned, in a voice from which all the bombast had departed. “May I ask where the ceremony was performed?”
The bridegroom produced sundry documents from his breast pocket.
“We were married first at the registrar’s office at Knightsbridge, then by the Chief Rabbi in my mother’s drawing-room. If you wish to see the certificate you are welcome to do so,” he said.
The Premier condescended to give the papers his examination. Then he suddenly veered round, and astonished them all by offering his congratulations. The newly-married pair were too happy to bear malice, and accepted them with satisfaction. But they could not help remarking on his sudden change of feeling when the Premier eventually took his leave.
The Earl chuckled for the remainder of the day, and in his admiration for Montella’s smartness, forbore to be angry. He considered that the interfering Premier had been nicely fooled, and expressed the hope that the lesson would do him good. Montella wondered what Moore’s next move would be; he knew that he was not the man to swallow defeat.
“What a strange wedding-day, dearest!” he exclaimed on the drive towards his mother’s flat—their temporary home. “We could not have been married in a quieter manner had we been the poorest couple in England. Why, even our footman had his wedding-breakfast, and a fortnight at Southend; but we have had to dispense both with festivities and honeymoon.”
Patricia smiled up at him reassuringly.
“Never mind, Lal, we will make up for it later on,” she returned happily. “It is Parliament’s fault, and you are still in mourning, you know. There will be plenty of time for our honeymoon when the Edict is proclaimed.”
“There will be hardships for us both,” he said, witha sigh, his brow clouding. “I quail when I think of what I have brought upon you, my beloved.”
She drove away his forebodings with a gentle caress.
“I can bear all hardships and all troubles,” she answered, in an eager voice. “I can undergo anything—so long as I have you!”
CHAPTER XIIMONTELLA’S OLD NURSE
The Montella-Byrne alliance evoked no little comment in society and the Press, and it was tacitly agreed that Lady Patricia should be socially punished for her offence. Nevertheless, friends sprang up in defence of the newly-married pair from the most unexpected quarters, and Patricia found that she was not to lose all her Christian acquaintance after all. When Parliament adjourned for the Christmas recess, she and her husband travelled to a village near Thorpe Burstall, in the vicinity of which was situated the Montellas’ country seat. They arrived there at noon on Christmas Eve, and to their complete surprise, received an ovation at the railway station. The villagers, too loyal to be affected by the anti-Jewish agitation, remembered only the never-failing kindness they had received at the hands of the late Sir Julian Montella, and turned out in full force to welcome his son’s bride. Between the station and Burstall Abbey two arches of welcome had been erected, and although the quantity of highly-coloured paper with which they were adorned conduced to a somewhat crude effect, to the happy pair they were not lacking in beauty. When the second was reached, four stalwart men insisted on taking the horses out of the carriage, and themselves draggedthe vehicle to its destination. Surely there could be no greater honour than this!
Amidst the joyous sound of cheering they alighted and entered the house. Montella’s heart was so full that he could scarcely find words in which to frame his thanks. The devotion of the people, coming at a time when he had had nothing but unfavourable criticism on all sides, could not fail to touch him deeply. It showed him that the burning fever of anti-Semitism had at least not been permitted to penetrate here, and that it was still possible to show good feeling towards a Jew. He reciprocated by inviting them to dinner in the large hall on New Year’s Day, an invitation which, needless to say, was unanimously accepted.
Burstall Abbey—which was built in the Gothic style—had come into the Montellas’ possession in 1870. It was a fine old place, and Sir Julian had taken pride in seeing that it was kept in good repair. There had been two chapels attached, the first of which had fallen into decay many years ago. The second had been transformed into a dining-room, and was one of the finest apartments in the house. The altar had long since been done away with, and its place was now occupied by a massive chiffonier; but the oak wainscot and mullioned windows remained, as well as the high-pointed arches and lofty roof.
“What would the old monks say if they could see us enjoying our lunch here?” remarked Patricia laughingly, as she sat down to the table. “They would call us vandals and barbarians, I suppose.”
She was so delighted with everything in the place, that Lionel was all the more grieved that the property would so soon pass out of his hands. Itseemed such a great pity to have to give up the Abbey, where both he and his father had been born. There were so many tender memories and associations of his childhood connected with it, that it would be like renouncing part of his own personality. But when the Edict was proclaimed there would be no other alternative; and sell it he must.
“I wish my father would take it over,” Patricia said eagerly, when they had discussed the question several times. “We can ask him to hold it in trust for us; some day we may be able to have it back again. Shall I write to him about it, Lionel?”
“If you like, dear; but there is no immediate hurry. You are more hopeful than I am,” he added half sorrowfully. “Some day to me means no day.”
Patricia looked up quickly and noticed the little furrow on his brow.
“It is not like you to be despondent, Lal,” she said, with a touch of reproach. “You have worried too much, and eaten too little of late I think. I want you to promise me not to give another thought to the Jews whilst we are down here. Let us be happy as long as we can.”
Had she been less unselfish, the girl would have been jealous of the subject which engrossed so much of her husband’s attention; but she was so anxious to be his helpmate as well as his wife, that she concentrated her own interest on the same question. She knew that when the call to action came he was the man of all men to be inspired with hope, and to press on towards the end he had in view. It was the forced inaction—the waiting for events—which proved such a strain to his mental system, and it was for this reason that she sought to divert his thoughtselsewhere. She encouraged him to go out as much as possible, and scoured the surrounding country with him in his motor. There were also his numerous cottages to be inspected and his favourite tenants to be visited, for Montella was not only landlord, but friend.
It was while they were on their peregrinations through the village that they came across one Anne Whiteside, who had once been Lionel’s nurse. They happened to meet her just outside her own dwelling, and she insisted on their entering to partake of tea. The Montellas, nothing loath, stepped into her little parlour, and settled themselves comfortably on the stiff horse-hair sofa. It was a pleasant little room in spite of its plainness, and everything in it was scrupulously clean. There was an old-fashioned piano which had probably not been opened for years, and a still more old-fashioned cabinet. The table—round in shape—was covered by an elaborately worked cloth, upon whose surface rested a number of books, including a huge Family Bible.
The old dame took such evident pleasure in preparing the tea, that the visitors felt no compunction in giving her the trouble. She toasted the cakes in the kitchen, but popped into the parlour every few minutes, fork in hand, to assure them that she would not be long. When all was ready, she donned her best widow’s cap, and took her seat at the head of the table. Then Montella inquired after Tom.
“Oh, Tom’s well enough,” she replied, with affability. “He’s grown mightily since you saw him last, Master Linie, only his poor brain seems to stand still. He is sitting in his corner of the kitchen, looking at a picture-book the lady up at the lodgehas given him. He’s mighty fond of pictures, is my Tom.”
The “Master Linie” caused a smile to flit across Patricia’s face, and immediately she called up the vision of her husband as a child in frocks and pinafores.
“Is Tom your little grandson?” she asked.
The old nurse nodded.
“Yes; leastways, he isn’t a little boy, for he will be fifteen next March, and he’s an orphan, poor lad! Perhaps you would like to see him, my lady, after tea?”
Patricia answered in the affirmative, and proceeded to attack a somewhat substantial toasted bun. She knew that if she did not do justice to the tea, Mrs. Whiteside would feel aggrieved, so she strove courageously to demolish her share of the feast. Her duty fulfilled, she followed her kindly hostess to the kitchen, where the shining cleanliness of the stove and culinary utensils excited her admiration. In a corner by the window sat the afflicted boy. Patricia went over to him, and held out her hand.
He was small for his age, but he had a large and peculiarly-shaped head. His abnormally developed forehead contrasted almost grotesquely with the receding chin, and his small nose was out of proportion with both. His eyes were large, and surmounted by heavy lids, but there was little intelligence in their depths. They roamed shiftily from one object to another, never concentrating their gaze on anything for more than two or three seconds at a time. His mouth was large and weak, and he was unable to close it with firmness. Moreover, he was afflicted by an impediment in his speech, whichadded to the difficulty he experienced in making himself understood. To strangers, it was hard to understand the purpose of the poor lad’s existence, for to the end of his life he could be nothing but a useless burden. But his grandmother loved him, and never considered him a load of care. Since her husband’s death, she had saved and pinched in order to put by enough to keep the boy when she was gone. It was nothing to her that he could not understand and appreciate her self-denial; all the wealth of her affection was lavished on the lad. He took no notice of Patricia’s outstretched hand, but glanced at her out of the corner of his eyes, whilst Mrs. Whiteside coaxed him to say “How do you do?” to the lady. Montella’s deep voice seemed to attract his attention more than Patricia’s gentle tones, and an expression which was almost intelligent passed over his countenance as he gazed steadily for a moment at the stalwart figure of the man. Montella noticed it, and smiled back encouragingly, but he could not persuade the boy to speak.
“Do you think he has improved at all?” he inquired of the grandmother, whose face beamed with pride. “I suppose he is not able to go to school?”
“Oh, no; I couldn’t bear to trust him out of my sight, and to think that the other boys might make game of him. Besides, he could not learn anything, poor lamb. There will be time enough for him to learn when he has put off this mortal flesh, and received his incorruptible inheritance.”
She spoke so cheerfully that Lionel was puzzled.
“Do you mean when he has finished with this life?” he asked.
She nodded.
“That thought is my greatest comfort, Master Linie,” she replied. “You see, if poor Tom cannot do any work in the world by reason of his poor weak brain, he cannot commit sins either. I would far rather have him as he is than see him grow up to drink and gamble like Widow Robson’s son next door. And I know that the Lord will make up to him in the next world for all he has missed in this; so you see that it will all come right in the end, after all.”
“What faith you have!” exclaimed Patricia, in admiration. “I suppose that you would have him cured if you could, all the same?”
“Certainly, my lady; I would travel to the other side of the earth if I thought that I should find an infallible cure at the end of the journey; but as the doctors have assured me over and over again that nothing can be done for the boy, I am resigned to the inevitable. As long as the Lord spares him to me I shall never complain.”
“Your resignation is exemplary, nurse,” said Montella, as they returned to the little parlour; and then Patricia having refastened her jacket, they took their leave.
They saw more of Mrs. Whiteside, however, before they went back to town. She had heard something of the anticipated Edict, and desired full information on the subject. Leaving Tom in the charge of a neighbour, she came up to the Abbey one morning, dressed in her best. The Montellas were in the library discussing a letter they had received from Dr. Engelmacher. The news was good, insomuch as building operations on the portion of land between Haifa and Akka, stretching to the Sea of Galilee, had now commenced.
“Haifa will be our capital for the present,” the great leader wrote, after he had given vent to his jubilant feelings. “There is a fairly good harbour here, except when the wind is in the north-west. The town seems more capable of improvement and extension than any other on the coast of Palestine, and there is already a Jewish colony near by. By the time you and your charming wife come out, my dear Montella, your place of residence will be ready for your occupation. Picture to yourself a magnificent white-painted, flat-roofed house situated amidst olive-trees, with Mount Carmel to look down upon you, and hill after hill as far as eye can reach. Why, you will wonder how you could have remained in prosaic London for so many months at a time. And the thought that we are no longer on sufferance, but that this is our own country—our own little republic—will be best of all!”
He was not lacking in enthusiasm, this big, burly, and usually matter-of-fact doctor. His letter brimmed over with expressions of cheery optimism, and he refused to be disheartened by those who opposed his schemes. What mattered the growlings of France and Russia so long as Turkey could be conciliated bybacksheesh? Once the Palestinian negotiations were concluded and the treaty signed, he was certain his people need have no fear.
Montella put the letter away as Mrs. Whiteside was shown into the room. To the old nurse every chair in the place was familiar, and she entered with the air of one who knew her way about. She remained standing, however, and refused to be seated. She did not wish to detain Master Linie and her ladyship; she had only come to make a request. Lionelexpressed his willingness to grant it whatever it might be. He thought she might want to change her abode, or to have some improvements made to the cottage, or something of a like nature. He was always ready to meet the wishes of his tenants, including this one, in spite of the fact that she lived rent free. But Mrs. Whiteside’s desire lay in another direction altogether; she was quite satisfied with the present condition of her house.
“Is it true that if Parliament persecutes the Lord’s ancient people you will go and live in the Holy Land?” she asked, in her quaint way. “Mr. Bell, the policeman, said you might; but I said you would never leave Burstall Abbey for good.”
“It will be a case of needs must, I am afraid, Anne,” Montella replied, noticing the look of concern on her face. “If it comes to being false to Judaism or leaving the country, Lady Patricia and I will have to go. But I will not sell the Abbey except to some good and responsible man, and you need have no fear that you will suffer by the change. Your house belongs to you, nurse, and no one shall rob you of it. I will tell my solicitor to prepare a document to that effect.”
The dame’s eyes filled with tears.
“Oh, I wasn’t thinking of that, Mr. Linie,” she said quickly, with a touch of reproach. “Only it will nearly break my heart to see strangers in the old place. It was your grandfather who first got me a situation down here, and I’ve been here ever since. I remember every birth, marriage, and death in the family, and I’ve just counted time by those events.”
“You have always been a faithful retainer, nurse,”he rejoined kindly. “It is gratifying to know that our departure will be regretted.”
“Ay, it will be regretted by every man, woman, and child in the place, but by me most of all. Mr. Linie, will you do me a favour—the greatest I’ve ever asked of you? Will you take me and my boy with you when you go?”
It was out at last, and the old woman’s form quivered with excitement. If he were to refuse, it would be the greatest disappointment she had ever received. She was so devoted to the very name of Montella that she could not bear to be left behind. She watched Lionel’s face as she put the question, and awaited his answer in an agony of suspense. Lady Patricia drew forward a chair, and made her sit down. She could see that the nurse was intensely moved.
“We intend dismissing our staff of servants both in London and down here if we go,” the young man replied thoughtfully. “We shall be expected to employ Jewish labour as much as possible in the new land.”
“But you will have to employ some Gentile servants to work for you on your Sunday, sir,” she interposed eagerly. “I could see to that for you, and I could do all sorts of odd jobs for your lady and Lady Montella. I am getting old, maybe, but I can get about just as well as ever I could. I am sure you could manage the matter, Mr. Linie, if you were to try.”
The pleading in her manner touched Patricia.
“Say yes, Lionel,” she said to her husband, in a quiet voice. “As Mrs. Whiteside seems so anxious to accompany us, it would be a pity not to take her with us if we go.”
Lionel smiled.
“The Queen hath spoken: so be it,” he returned lightly. “Very well, nurse, I will promise you this. If we go, you shall go with us.”
“And Tom, too, sir?”
“Yes, certainly. We should not think of parting you from your boy.”
The old nurse was not effusive in her gratitude, but her eyes shone as she thanked them and went away.
“I believe that woman would be faithful to the death,” Lionel said, as the door closed behind her. He felt that it was good to be the possessor of such loyal allegiance.