CHAPTER XVI.
Blairwas as good as his word, and sent immediately to England for a copy of Mrs. Skelton’s will. But in those days it was a matter of three months or more to get a thing of that kind attended to, and meanwhile affairs with him improved greatly. Old Tom Shapleigh, urged thereto by Sylvia, and also by Mrs. Shapleigh, who declared she never could tolerate a new neighbour at Newington, went quietly to work and bought up all of the most pressing claims against Blair. He knew that he could get as good interest on his money invested in Newington, under Blair’s admirable management, as anywhere else; and, besides, he was fond of the Blairs, and anxious to do them a good turn for the very bad one of selling Alabaster to Blair. So Blair suddenly found himself very much better placed than he expected, and with an excellent chance, if he lived ten years, of paying off his debts. He also had a strange sense of relief when his race horses were sold, at the feeling that it was now out of his power to be a turfite any longer. It had always been a nightmare as well as a vampire to him, and fortunately it was one of those passions which have a body to them, and can therefore be destroyed, at least temporarily. His horses brought uncommonly good prices, whichenabled him to pay some of the small debts that harassed him most. He began to think, with a sort of savage satisfaction, that what Skelton designed for his destruction might in the end be his salvation. Hilary, too, began to improve rapidly, and was in six weeks’ time perfectly recovered. Mrs. Blair was amazed at the turn affairs took; but there was yet an unspoken, still antagonism between Blair and herself in regard to his course about the Skelton money. They had been so happy together for so many years that the mere habit of love was strong. The children saw no shadow between their father and mother, but nevertheless it was there, and it pursued them; it sat down by them, and walked with them, and never left them. Elizabeth, seeing how happy they might have been without this, conceived a tender, womanish superstition against the money that might be theirs. She had a faint, quivering doubt that much money might be Blair’s destruction; and, anyhow, the mere hint of it had brought silent dissension between them, when nothing else ever had. Mrs. Blair, in the depths of her soul, heartily wished Bulstrode had never told her what he did, or that she had never told Blair. She had been able to hold up her head proudly before Richard Skelton in all the rivalry between him and her husband; but now, this unseemly looking after what might never be theirs and was never intended to be theirs, this hankering after dead men’s shoes, made her ashamed.
What Skelton thought or felt nobody knew. He expressed, however, to Sylvia, great solicitude in speaking of Hilary Blair’s recovery, and sent BobSkinny formally, once or twice, to ask how the boy was. Sylvia was making herself felt on Skelton’s heart and mind; but, like a man, he put off entertaining the great guest as long as he could. And there was his engagement to the world to do something extraordinary. In the long summer days he was haunted by that unfulfilled promise. He was so tormented and driven by it, and by his inability to settle down steadily to his book, that he looked about him for some distraction. He found it only too often, he began to think, in Sylvia Shapleigh’s soft eyes and charming talk.
Skelton was not averse to occasional hospitalities on a grand scale, and one day it occurred to him that he would give a great ball as a return for the invitations he had received.
On mentioning this embryonic scheme to Sylvia, that young woman received it with enthusiasm, and even slyly put Lewis Pryor up to reminding Skelton of it. Lewis, too, was immensely taken with the notion, and when Skelton found himself the victim of two such conspirators, he yielded gracefully enough. He declared that he would send for a man from Baltimore who knew all about balls, that he might not be bothered with it, and Sylvia forcibly encouraged him in everything calculated to make the ball a success. The man was sent for and plans were made, upon which Sylvia’s opinion was asked—to Mrs. Shapleigh’s delight and consternation and to old Tom’s secret amusement.
“Mr. Shapleigh, the county will say at once that Sylvia is engaged to Richard Skelton, and then what shall we do?�
“Do, ma’am? Do as the French do in a gale of wind.�
“What is that, Mr. Shapleigh?�
“The best they can.�
“Now, Mr. Shapleigh, why will you say such senseless things? Of course, there’s nothing for us to do—nothing; and, although Richard Skelton is the greatest match in the county, even if he does have to give up his wife’s money, yet there are drawbacks to him. You told me yourself he didn’t believe in the devil.�
“Well, he will if he ever gets married,� responded old Tom, with an enormous wink.
The giving of a ball such as Skelton designed was in those days an undertaking little short of a crusade in the Middle Ages. A sailing vessel had to be sent to Baltimore for the supper, musicians, decorations, and everything the plantation did not supply; and it might return in one week, and it might return in two weeks, and it might never return at all. Sylvia Shapleigh hypocritically made light of these difficulties, and handsome cards were sent out to the whole county, including the Blairs. By some sort of hocus-pocus, Sylvia and Lewis obtained the privilege of addressing the invitations, so fearful were they of leaving Skelton a loophole of escape. It was done one June morning in the summerhouse on the bridge—Skelton sitting back smiling, while Sylvia and Lewis alternately conspired and squabbled. Skelton had a way of looking at Sylvia that always agitated her, although she thought she gave no sign of it. She had by this time acknowledged to herself that there were only two places in theworld for her—the one where Skelton was, and the other where he was not. She had not, with all her native acuteness, the slightest idea what Skelton felt for her. True, he had a manner of paying her small attentions and compliments, insignificant in themselves, but which he invested with a deep and peculiar meaning. On this very morning, as she and Lewis chattered, Skelton sat looking at her with an expression of enjoyment, as if her mere presence and talk gave him exquisite pleasure. It did give him pleasure to see how much he dominated her; it was a royal sort of overbearing, a refined and subtle tyranny, that gratified his secret inordinate pride.
Sylvia confided in him that she was to have a new white-lutestring gown, and Mrs. Shapleigh had ordered a turban with a bird of paradise on it for the occasion. Nothing could exceed Sylvia’s interest and delight, except Lewis’s.
Bulstrode locked and barred himself in his room when Bridges, the functionary who was to arrange the ball, arrived from Baltimore. Skelton took refuge in the library, which was the one spot in the house upon which Bridges dare not lay his sacrilegious hands. But even the fastidious and scholarly Skelton could not wholly escape the domestic hullabaloo of a ball in the country. Lewis Pryor, at first delighted, soon found that if he showed his nose outside of the library he was pounced upon by Bridges—a saturnine-looking person, who had exchanged the calling of an undertaker for that of a caterer—and sent on an errand of some sort. Lewis, who was not used to this sort of thing, would have promptly resented it, except that it was for the great, the grand,the wonderful ball. Why he should be so anxious about the ball, he did not know; there was nobody to take any notice of him; but still, he wanted it, and Sylvia had promised to dance the first quadrille with him. This invitation was given far in advance, with a view of out-generalling Skelton.
Bob Skinny’s disgust was extreme. The idea that he was to be superseded by a person of such low origin and inferior talents as Bridges was exasperating to the last degree.
“Dat ar owdacious Bridges man,� he complained to Lewis, “he think he know ev’ything. He come a-countin’ my spoons an’ forks, an’ he say, ‘How many spoons an’ forks has you got?’ An’ I say, ‘Millions on ’em—millions on ’em; de Skeltons allers had more’n anybody in de worl’. I nuvver count all on ’em, myse’f.’Heain’ nuvver been to furrin parts; an’ when I ax him, jist to discomfuse him, ef he couldn’ play on de fluke er nuttin’, he say he ain’ got no time fer sich conjurements. I tole him, maybe he so us’ ter settin’ up wid dade folks an’ undertakin’ dat he dunno nuttin’ ’bout a party; an’ he went an’ tole Mr. Skelton. But Mr. Skelton, he shet him up. He say, ‘Well, Bridges, I daresay you’ll have to put up wid Bob Skinny. De wuffless rascal done had he way fur so long dat nobody now kin hardly conflagrate him.’ So now, sence de Bridges man know my corndition, I jes’ walks out in de g’yardin, a-playin’ my fluke, an’ when he sen’ fur me, I tell him ter go long—I doan’ do no wuk dese days; ’tain’t none o’ my ball—’tis his’n—an’ ter be sho’ an’ doan’ make no mistake dat it is a funeral.�
As this was literally true, war to the knife wasinaugurated between Bridges and Bob Skinny. Bob consoled himself, though, by promising that, when the musicians arrived, “I gwi’ jine ’em, an’ take my place ’longside de hade man, an’ gwi’ show ’em how I play de fluke fo’ de Duke o’ Wellingcome, an’ de Prince Rejump, and Napoleon Bonyparte, an’ all dem high-flyers dat wuz allus arter Mr. Skelton ter sell me ter ’em when we wuz ’broad.�
Mrs. Shapleigh was in a state of much agitation, first, for fear the bird of paradise wouldn’t come, and then for fear it wouldn’t be becoming. Nor was Sylvia’s mind quite easy until the new white-lutestring ball dress was an accomplished fact.
And at Newington, too, was much concern. An invitation had been sent to the Blairs, of course, and as Hilary was now on the highroad to recovery, there was no reasonable excuse for the Blairs not going. According to the hospitable customs of the age, to decline to go to a certain house was an acknowledgment of the most unqualified enmity. The resources of the people were so few, that to refuse an invitation to a festivity could only proceed from the most deadly ill-will. People who avowedly disliked each other yet kept up a visiting acquaintance, for, as they were planted by each other in perpetuity, they were forced to be wary in their enmities.
Blair and his wife discussed it amicably; they were more conciliatory and forbearing, now that there was an inharmonious chord between them, than before, when they had had their little differences, secure in their perfect understanding of each other. Blair promptly decided that they must go, else it would appear as if he were still unreasonablysore over his defeat. Mrs. Blair acquiesced in this. She could not, like Sylvia Shapleigh, have a new ball gown, but her white-silk wedding dress, that cherished gown, bought for her to be married to Skelton in, and in which she was actually married to Blair, was turned and furbished up for the occasion. Mrs. Blair felt the exquisite absurdity of this, and could not forbear smiling when she was engaged in her work.
The night of the ball arrived—a July night, cool for the season. By seven o’clock the roads leading to Deerchase were full of great, old-fashioned coaches, gigs, stanhopes, and chaises, bringing the county gentry to the grand and much-talked-of ball. Mrs. Shapleigh, whose remains of beauty were not inconsiderable, had begun making her toilet at three o’clock in the day, and was in full regalia at six. She had on a superb crimson satin gown, and the bird of paradise nodded majestically on her head, while she wore so many necklaces around her neck that she looked like a Christmas turkey. Old Tom was out in his best full dress, of swallow-tailed blue coat and brass buttons, with a fine lawn tie to muffle up his throat, after the fashion, and thread cambric ruffles rushing out of his yellow-satin waistcoat. Sylvia had resisted her mother’s entreaties to wear a sash, to wear another necklace, to wear a wreath of artificial flowers, and various other adornments, and by the charming simplicity of her dress was even more successful than usual in persuading the world that she was handsome.
At Deerchase, the house was lighted with wax candles as soon as it was dark. The grounds were illuminated with Chinese lanterns, a luxury neverbefore witnessed in those parts; there was to be a constant exhibition of fireworks on the river, and a band of musicians played in the grounds, and another band in the great hall, which was cleared for dancing. A ball upon a plantation was always as much enjoyed by the negroes as the white people, and every negro at Deerchase was out in his or her Sunday-go-to-meeting clothes, some to help in the house, some at the stables to take care of the carriages and horses, and others who merely enjoyed looking on with intense though regulated delight. Bob Skinny was simply immense, and fairly outshone Mrs. Shapleigh in the number and variety of his rings, chains, and breastpins. He stood on the square portico that faced the drive, with his arms magnificently folded, his “fluke� under his arm, and occasionally, with an air of tremendous solemnity, he consulted a huge silver watch which didn’t run, that Skelton had given him. Bob arrogated to himself the honour of receiving the guests as they alighted, while Skelton occupied a comparatively unimportant position in the hall. Bulstrode was prowling about, completely subdued by his evening coat and a pair of large white kid gloves. Lewis Pryor, full of delighted excitement, was surveying his handsome boyish figure in the glass over the hall chimney-piece, as Skelton descended the stairs, putting on his gloves.
“How do you like yourself?� he called out.
Lewis blushed furiously and laughed.
Meanwhile Bob Skinny and the “hade man� of the musicians were having a lively verbal scrimmage in the porch.
“Here you is!� remarked Bob, with an air of lofty patronage, as the leader of the band, a red-faced German, accompanied by his satellites, appeared on the porch with their instruments. “Now, I gwi’ show you how ter play de fluke, an’ I gwi’ play wid you, arter I done git th’u wid receivin’ de cump’ny. I kin play de fluke better’n anybody you ever see, but I ain’ proud; I doan’ min’ playin’ wid you.�
“You holt your tongue,� calmly remarked the German. “I got no dime der drifle.�
“Look a-here,� answered Bob Skinny severely, “doan’ you go fer to wex me; doan’ you wex nor aggrawate me. I done been ter Germany, and ’tain’t nobody d’yar ’cept po’ white trash.You’sde hade man o’ dem fiddlers, an’Iis de hade man o’ Mr. Richard Skelton, dat’s got mo’ lan’ an’ niggers en all de wuffless Germans put toge’rr.� Bob’s remarks were cut short untimely by Skelton’s appearing in the porch, when he became as mute as an oyster. Meanwhile the musicians had carried their instruments in, and began tuning up. Bob, however, could not refrain from tuning and blowing on his “fluke� at the most critical time, when his enemy, the German, was trying to give the pitch.
In a very little while the carriages began rolling up to the door, in the soft purple twilight of July. The Blairs and the Shapleighs were among the first to arrive. Sylvia was really pretty that night, and the excitement of the music and the Chinese lanterns and the fireworks that were being set off upon the river, which was all black and gold with the fire and darkness, was not lost upon her. Never hadshe seen such a ball; it was worth a dozen trips to the Springs.
Mrs. Blair, too, was in great form, and her turned wedding-gown set so gracefully upon her that she looked to be one of the best-dressed women in the room. Blair put on all his most charming ways, and honey-fuggled Mrs. Shapleigh and several other ladies of her age most audaciously. The women all smiled on him, and Elizabeth suffered the most ridiculous pangs of jealousy that could be imagined. But she was not quite like her old self; the possibilities of the future were always before her; her mind was too often engaged in picturing that dim future when she and Blair and Skelton would be dust and ashes, and her children might be leading a strange, brilliant, dazzling existence, which would be immeasurably removed from any life that she had ever known. And that strong but impalpable estrangement between Blair and herself—she was ashamed and humiliated when she thought of his investigation and prying and peering into Skelton’s affairs; and suppose, after all, Skelton should find a way out of it, and then they would get no fortune at all; and what a mortifying position would be theirs! for the whole county must know it—the whole county knew everything.
There was dancing in the main hall and cards in the library, and the lofty and beautiful drawing-rooms were for lookers-on. Skelton, who when he greeted her had pressed Sylvia’s hand for the pleasure of seeing the blood mount in her smooth cheek, asked if she was engaged for the first dance.
There was dancing in the main hall, and the drawing-roomswere for lookers-on.—Page224
“Yes,� answered Sylvia. “I have been engaged for it for three weeks—� Skelton scowled; perhaps Sylvia was not as much under his spell as he fancied, but he smiled when Sylvia continued—“to Lewis Pryor.�
“The little scamp has circumvented me, I see,� he remarked, and did not seem displeased at the idea.
Lewis soon sidled up to Sylvia, proud and delighted at her notice. But it was all the notice he had, except from Mr. Conyers, who patted him on the head, and a smile from Mrs. Blair. The clergyman had come in response to a personal note as well as a card from Skelton, and walked about sadly, thinking on the vast and sorrowful spectacle of human nature even in the presence of so much fleeting joy. He had not been in the house an hour, though, before he came up to say good-night. There was not only much card playing going on in the library, but considerable betting, which was the fashion in those days, and to that Conyers was unalterably opposed.
“Mr. Skelton,� said he, coming up to him, “I must say good-night.�
“Why so early?� asked Skelton graciously. “Since you have done me the honour of coming, why not do me the pleasure of staying?�
“Because,� said Conyers, who spoke the truth in season and out of season, “it is against my conscience to stay where betting is going on. Forgive me, if I apparently commit a breach of hospitality, but consider, Mr. Skelton, you will one day be held accountable for the iniquity that is now taking place under your roof.�
“I accept the responsibility,� answered Skelton,with unabated politeness, “and I regret your decision. You are always welcome at Deerchase, Mr. Conyers, and you have the most perfect liberty of expressing your opinions.�
“Thank you,� replied poor Conyers, with tears in his eyes. “If everybody was as tolerant as you, my ministry would be easier than it is.�
As Conyers went one way, Skelton went off another, thinking to himself, “Was ever a man so openly defied as I?� True it was he could be openly defied, and everybody had full liberty, until Skelton’s own orbit was crossed: then there was no liberty.
Old Tom Shapleigh swung, like a pendulum, between cards and dancing. He danced with all the vigor of colonial days, and his small, high-bred feet, cased in white-silk stockings and low shoes, with silver buckles, twinkled like a ballet dancer’s as he cut the pigeon wing. Mrs. Blair, who danced sedately and gracefully, was his partner. Bob Skinny, his head thrown back and wearing an expression of ecstatic delight, watched the dancers from a corner, occasionally waving his “fluke� to mark the time. However, by some occult means he had become acquainted with the champagne punch, and when Skelton’s back was turned, Bob proceeded to cut the pigeon wing too, and to back-step and double-shuffle with the most surprising agility. In the midst of this performance, though, a hint of Skelton’s approach being given, Bob instantly assumed the most rigid and dignified pose imaginable.
Lewis, after dancing once with Sylvia and once with Mrs. Blair, who spoke to him kindly, wandered about, lonely enough. The people did not relax inthe least their aloofness towards him. He felt inexpressibly sad and forlorn, and at this ball, too, which, as a matter of fact, might never have been given but for him. But the beauty and splendour of the scene dazzled him. He could not tear himself away.
Something of the same spell was upon Bulstrode. He knew little and cared less for social life; he was one of those unfortunates who have but one single, solitary source of enjoyment—the purely intellectual; but the lights, the music, the gaiety, the festal air, had its effect even on his sluggish temperament. He sat in a corner of the drawing-room, his bulky, awkward figure filling up a great chair, and Lewis came and leaned silently upon the back of it. In some way, master and pupil felt strange to the rest of the world that night, and drawn together.
“Mr. Bulstrode,� said Lewis presently, “I always feel alone in a crowd. Don’t you?�
“Yes, boy,� answered Bulstrode, glancing about him with an odd look of dejection. “And in a crowd of merry-makers my old heart grows chill with loneliness.�
“It is much worse to be lonely when you are young,� Lewis moralised. “But there is Miss Sylvia Shapleigh. I wonder if she will come up and talk to us?�
Sylvia did come up and speak to them. There was a new brilliancy in her smile, and a deep and eloquent flush upon her cheek. Bulstrode felt compelled to pay her one of his awkward compliments.
“My dear young lady,� he said, “to-night youlook like one of those fair Greek girls of old, who lived but to smile and to dance and to love.�
Sylvia’s colour deepened; she stood quite still, gazing at Bulstrode as if he had uttered a prophecy; but then Lewis, suddenly seeing people going out of the bay windows on the lawn, cried out excitedly: “Now the finest part of the fireworks is going off! Come along!� And, seizing her hand, they went out on the smooth-shaven lawn as far as the river.
In spite of the coloured lights, it was dim, as there was no moon. The house, with its great wings, was so illuminated, that it looked enormously large. Afar off came the strains of music, while in the half darkness figures moved about like ghosts. Lewis and Sylvia, standing hand in hand, watched the great golden wheels that rose from a boat in the river magnificently lighting up the blue-black sky, and reflected in the blue-black water as they burst in a shower of sparkles. How good, in those days, were beautiful things to eyes unjaded, to minds prepared to marvel, to tastes so simple that almost anything could inspire wonder and delight!
Sylvia had no wrap around her shoulders, and after a while, as she and Lewis watched the fireworks, she felt a shawl gently placed about her. She realised, without turning her head, that the hand was Skelton’s. The rest of the time he stood with them. They were separated from the house by great clumps of crape myrtle, then in its first pink glory. Some invisible bond seemed to unite all three. Skelton felt with the keenest delight the delicious emotions of youth—he was too true a philosopher not torejoice that he could still feel—and he had always feared and dreaded that chilling of his sensibilities which is the beginning of old age. How bewitching was Sylvia Shapleigh to him then, and if ever they should be married how kind she would be to Lewis! when suddenly came a piercing sense of chagrin and chafing rebellion. He was bound by a chain. All coercion was abnormally hateful to him; and, as Bulstrode had said, the wonder was that he had not gone mad in thinking over how he had been bound by the act of a dead woman.
Sylvia felt instinctively a change in him when he spoke. The fireworks were then over, and they went back to the house, where the dancers’ feet still beat monotonously and the music throbbed. They entered through the library windows, and Sylvia admired, as she always did, the noble and imposing array of books.
“Let them alone,� said Skelton, with his rare smile that always had something melancholy in it. “See what an old fossil it has made of me!�
Sylvia smiled at him archly, and said: “Yes, an old fossil, indeed! But then, when you have written your great book, you will be among the immortals. You will never grow old or die.�
The smile died away quickly from Skelton’s face. That book was another bond upon him—that unfulfilled promise to the world to produce something extraordinary. Nobody but Skelton knew the misery that unwritten book had cost him. It had shadowed his whole life.
Lewis Pryor had begun to be sleepy by that time, and after supper had been served he slipped backinto the library, to which the card players had not yet returned, and curled up on a leather sofa in the embrasure of a window, where he could see the river and listen to the music. He pulled the damask curtains around him, and lay there in a sort of tranquil, happy dream. How far away was the music, and how odd looked the negroes, peering in at the windows, with their great white eyeballs! and before Lewis knew it he was sound asleep, with only a part of his small, glossy-black head showing beyond the curtain.
Bulstrode, as usual, was attentive to the decanters. He hated cards, and after he had played a few games of loo in the early part of the evening, and had lost some money, he had had enough of it. He wandered aimlessly from one room to another. It was all excessively pretty to him, but childish. His eyes followed Mrs. Blair, and he began to speculate, as he lounged about, his hands in the pockets of his tight black trousers, what would be the result if the Blairs should get all of Skelton’s wife’s money.
“But I sha’n’t be here to see it,� he thought rather cheerfully, “for Skelton will outlast this old carcass.� Then he began to think, with the sardonic amusement that always inspired him when his mind was on that particular subject, how the bare possibility must infuriate Skelton; and, after all, it would be better to let Lewis alone, and give him Deerchase and all of Skelton’s own money—that would be quite as much as would be good for him. On the whole, he was glad he had told Mrs. Blair, and he hoped the dear soul would live to enjoy all that would be hers.
As the night wore on and the fumes of the liquor Bulstrode had drank mounted to his brain, clearing it, as he always protested, the sense of slavery to Skelton vanished. He was a free man; he was not simply an embodied intellect kept by Skelton for his uses, as the feudal barons of old kept the wearers of the motley. Bulstrode began to walk about jovially, to hold up his head, to mend his slouchy gait and careless manners. He strolled up to Mrs. Blair, standing by the library door, with as much of an air as if he owned Deerchase. Skelton, who was not far off, said, smiling, to Sylvia:
“Drinkdoesimprove Bulstrode. He always declares that it makes a gentleman of him.�
It was now getting towards four o’clock, and people with drives of ten and fifteen miles before them began to make the move to go. A few dancers were yet spinning about in the hall. Bulstrode gallantly complimented Mrs. Blair upon her looks, her gown—everything. Elizabeth, with a smile, received his praises. Then, emboldened, he began to be rash, saying:
“And when the time comes, my dear madam, that you are in the commanding place you ought to have—when you are possessed of the power which money gives—when what is Skelton’s now shall be yours and your children’s—�
“Hush!� cried Mrs. Blair nervously and turning pale. Her eyes sought for Skelton; he was not five feet off, and one look at him showed that he had heard every word, and he was too acute and instant of comprehension not to have taken it in at once. Sylvia Shapleigh had just gone off with her father,and practically Skelton and Mrs. Blair and Bulstrode were alone.
“You think, perhaps,� said Bulstrode, laughing wickedly, “that I am afraid Mr. Skelton will hear—� Bulstrode had not seen Skelton, and thought him altogether out of earshot. “But, to use a very trifling standard of value, madam, I don’t at this moment care a twopenny damn whether Skelton hears me or not! The money ought to be yours one day, and it will be—� As he spoke, there was Skelton at his elbow.
Skelton’s black eyes were simply blazing. He looked ready to fell Bulstrode with one blow of his sinewy arm. His first glance—a fearful one—seemed to sober Bulstrode instantly. The music was still crashing melodiously in the hall; the warm, perfumed air from the long greenhouse with its wide-open doors floated in; the yellow light from a group of wax candles in a sconce fell upon them.
Skelton said not a word as he fixed his eyes wrathfully on Bulstrode, but Bulstrode seemed actually to wither under that look of concentrated rage.
“Skelton,� said Bulstrode in an agony, the drops appearing upon his broad forehead, “I have violated no promise.� He stopped, feeling the weakness of the subterfuge.
“I would scarcely exact a promise from one so incapable of keeping one,� answered Skelton in calm and modulated tones. He had but one wish then, and that was to get Mrs. Blair out of the way that he might work his will on Bulstrode. The restraint of her presence infuriated him, the more when she said, in trembling tones:
“Pray, forgive him; he was imprudent, but the secret is safe with us.�
“With us!� Then Blair knew as well.
“I have no secret, Mrs. Blair,� answered Skelton with indomitable coolness. “What this—person told you is no secret. As it is very remote, and as there are chances of which Bulstrode himself does not take into account, I thought it useless to inform you. But, if you desire, I will, to-morrow morning, explain the whole thing to you and your husband.�
“Pray—pray, do not!� cried Elizabeth.
Skelton bowed, and said: “As you please. But rest assured that, although I never volunteered the information as this man has, yet I stand ready to answer all questions from those who are authorised to ask them.�
Bulstrode gazed helplessly from one to the other, strangely overcome. There was something inexpressibly appealing in the look; he feared that he had lost the regard of the only woman who had for him any tenderness of feeling, had revealed a stain upon the boy he loved better than any creature in the world, and had mortally offended the man upon whom he depended for bread.
“Skelton,� he cried, almost in tears, “I told her when the ruin that you promised Jack Blair seemed to be accomplished; when she,� indicating Mrs. Blair, “was likely to be houseless and homeless; when her only son lay stretched upon his bed more dead than alive; when, I tell you, any man who had not a stone in his bosom for a heart would have felt for her; when I would have laid down my worthless life for her to have brought ease. Can you blame me?�
It was getting to be too much of a scene. Skelton turned towards Bulstrode, who was utterly abject and pitiable. The collapse of any human being is overpowering, but of a man with an intellect like Bulstrode’s it became terrible. Mrs. Blair’s large and beautiful eyes filled with tears that rolled down her cheeks and upon her bare, white neck. She put her hand on Bulstrode’s arm; it was the first kind touch of a woman’s hand that he had felt for thirty years.
“It was your kindness, your tenderness for me and mine that made you tell me; and if all the world turns against you, I will not.�
Bulstrode raised her hand to his lips and kissed it reverently, and her womanly compassion seemed to awaken some spark of manliness in him. He made no further appeal.
Skelton all this time was cold with rage. He had been in rages with Bulstrode many times, and he had wreaked vengeance on him; he could say words to Bulstrode that would make him wince, but he could not say them before Mrs. Blair. After a moment he bowed low to her again.
“I will not detain you further. Only, pray remember that you are at liberty to take me at my word at any time.�
Mrs. Blair paused a moment, and then, recovering herself, replied, with something like haughtiness:
“I have no desire to inquire further; and since this knowledge has certainly not made me any happier, and as I am clear that the affair is in the hands of the law, I have no intention of making it known to anybody whatever.� Then she said to Bulstrode: “Good-night, my friend.�
Skelton accompanied her quite to her carriage. He doubted the capacity of any woman to keep a secret, and he was in that state of furious displeasure and disappointment that the betrayal of what he earnestly desired to keep secret would place any man. But he had an unshakable composure. Mrs. Blair, knowing him as well as she did, could not but admire his coolness under agitating circumstances.
Everybody then was going. Great family carriages were being drawn up before the broad porch. The lights had burned low, and there was a greyness over everything; a cloud of white mists lay over the green fields; the woods were bathed in a ghostly haze; it was the unearthly morning hour which is neither night nor day.
Skelton stood in the middle of the hall telling everybody good-bye, receiving calmly and smilingly congratulations on his charming ball. Sylvia Shapleigh, her eyes languid with excitement and want of sleep, followed in her mother’s wake to say good-bye. She knew Skelton’s countenance perfectly, and she alone perceived that something strange and displeasing had happened.
At last everybody was gone, even the musicians, the negroes—everybody. Skelton stood in the porch watching the rosy dawn over the delicious landscape, his face sombre, his whole air one of tension. His fury against Bulstrode had partly abated. On the contrary, a feeling of cynical pleasure at the way he would confute him took its place. So, the heedless old vagabond had gone over to Newington with that cock-and-bull story of a fortune whenever he, Skelton, was married or buried; and Mrs. Blair and herhusband had been foolish enough to believe him. Well, they would find out their mistake in short order.
Skelton went straight to the library. Bulstrode was still there, sitting in a great chair leaning heavily forward. The daylight had begun to penetrate through the heavy curtains, and the candles were spluttering in their sockets. The first shock over, Bulstrode had got back some of his courage. Skelton, with an inscrutable smile on his face, walked up to him. Never was there a greater contrast between two men—one, a thoroughbred from the crown of his head to the sole of his foot, accustomed to the habit of command; the other, bourgeois all over, and only asserting himself by an effort. Bulstrode, meaning to show that he was not cowed, began, like a vulgarian, to be violent.
“Look here, Skelton,� he began aggressively, “it’s done, and there’s no use talking. But recollect that I’m Lewis Pryor’s guardian—recollect—I—er—� Here Bulstrode began to flounder.
“I recollect it all,� answered Skelton contemptuously; “and I recollect, too, that you are still half drunk. When you are sober—�
“Sober,� said poor Bulstrode with something like a groan of despair. “When I’m sober I’m the most miserable, contemptible man on God’s earth. When I’m sober you can do anything with me. I’m sober now, I’m afraid.�
He was grotesque even in his deepest emotions. Skelton’s quick eye had caught sight of Lewis Pryor lying asleep on the sofa. He went towards him and drew back tenderly the curtains that half envelopedhim. The boy was sleeping the sleep of youth and health, a slight flush upon his dark cheek, his hair tumbled over his handsome head, one arm thrown off; there was something wonderfully attractive in his boyish beauty.
“Look at him well,� said Skelton, with a new, strange pride in his voice. “See how manly, how well formed he is—slight, but a powerful fellow—worth two of that hulking Blair boy. See his forehead; did you ever see a fool with a forehead like that? and the cut of the mouth and chin! Think you, Bulstrode, that with this boy I will ever let the Blairs get any of that money that you foolishly told them they would? Could not any father be proud of such a boy? I tell you there are times when I yearn over him womanishly—when I cannot trust myself near him for fear I will clasp him in my arms. I envy Blair but one thing, and that is, that he can show the fondness for his son that I feel for mine but cannot show. Did you think, did you dream for a moment, that I would not see this boy righted?� He said “this boy� with an accent of such devoted pride that Bulstrode could only gaze astounded, well as he knew Skelton’s secret devotion to the boy. He had never in all his life seen Skelton so moved by anything. Skelton bent down and kissed Lewis on the forehead. If the portrait of Skelton’s great-grandfather that hung over the mantelpiece had stepped down from its frame and kissed the boy, Bulstrode could scarcely have been more surprised. No mother over her first-born could have shown more fondness than Skelton.
“Go, now,� presently cried Skelton. His angerhad quite vanished. It seemed as if in that one burst of paternal feeling all pride and anger had melted away. He could defy the Blairs now. Bulstrode might have retaliated on him what he had said to Mrs. Blair about it. He might have said: “How can you prove it? So anxious you were to give this child a respectable parentage, that you cannot now undo, if you will, your own work. And who could not see an object in it that would make people believe you seized upon this boy merely as an instrument against the Blairs?� But he said not a word. He got up and went out, and, as he passed, he laid his hand upon the boy’s head.
“I, too, have loved him well,� he said.
“Yes,� said Skelton, “and that may help you yet. No man that loves that boy can my anger hold against.�
And so poor Lewis, who often felt and said sadly that he had no one to love him, was fondled adoringly by the last person in the world that he would have expected.
Skelton shut and locked the library door, and, tenderly placing the boy’s head in a more comfortable position, sat down in a great chair and watched him. He could not at that moment bear to have Lewis out of his sight. Yes, the time had now come that he could tell him what had burned within him for so long. The boy was in himself so graceful, so gifted, there was so much to give him, that the foolish world would be compelled to court him and to forget that stain upon him. Skelton said to himself that, had he the choice of every quality a boy should have, he would have chosen just such a mind andcharacter as Lewis had. He was so thoroughly well balanced; he had a fine and vigorous mind, high up in the scale of talent, but far removed from the abnormal quality of genius; there would be for him no stupendous infantile performances to haunt the whole of his future life, no overweighting of any one faculty to the disproportion of the rest. And then, he had an eaglet’s spirit. Skelton smiled when he remembered that no human being had ever so stood upon punctilio with him as this little black-eyed boy. He had, too, an exquisite common sense, which enabled him to submit readily to proper authority; he was obedient enough to Bulstrode. And then, he had so much pride that he could never be vain; and he had naturally the most modest and graceful little air in the world. Ah, to think that with such a boy the Blairs should dream that heaven and earth would not be moved to see him righted! And, since the boy was the instrument to defeat the Blairs, there was no reason that Skelton should not follow up that fancy for Sylvia Shapleigh. On the whole, he could part with the money with an excellent grace to Lewis, and he would still be rich, according to the standard of the people about him. Sylvia would forgive Lewis’s existence. Skelton was no mean judge of women, and he knew instinctively that Sylvia Shapleigh would be the most forgiving woman in the world for what had happened in the past, and the most unforgiving one of any future disloyalty. He even smiled to himself when he imagined the discomfiture of the Blairs. He would give them no warning; and he felt perfectly certain that Blair would not avail himself of that suggestionmade to Mrs. Blair to ride over to Deerchase and see for himself. And then, if Sylvia would marry him, imagine the excitement of the Blairs, the fierce delight, and then the chagrin, the disappointment of finding out that Lewis Pryor was to step in and get all that they had looked upon as theirs. Skelton even began to see that possibly this forcing a decision upon him was not half a bad thing. He had been haunted for some months by Sylvia Shapleigh’s wit and charm; her beauty, he rightly thought, was overestimated, but her power to please was not esteemed half enough. He had begun lately for the first time to look forward apprehensively to old age. He sometimes fancied himself sitting alone in his latter days at his solitary hearth, and the thought was hateful to him. He realised well enough that only a woman in a thousand could make him happy, but Sylvia Shapleigh, he began to feel, was the woman. And, considering the extreme affection he felt for Lewis, it was not unlikely—here Skelton laughed to himself—that he was by nature a domestic character. He began to fancy life at Deerchase with Sylvia, and became quite fascinated with the picture drawn by his own imagination. She was a woman well calculated to gratify any man’s pride, and deep down in his own heart Skelton knew that was the great thing with him. And she had a heart—in fact, Skelton would have been a little afraid of a creature with so much feeling if she had not had likewise a fine understanding. And if that one boy of his gave him such intense happiness, even with all the wrath and humiliation that had been brought upon him thereby, what could he not feel for other children in whoseexistence there was no shame? And then, the thought of a lonely and unloved old age became doubly hateful to him. Until lately he had not really been able to persuade himself that he must bear the common fate; that he, Richard Skelton, must some day grow old, infirm, dependent. Seeing, though, that youth had departed in spite of him, he began to fear that old age might, after all, come upon him. But growing old soothed by Sylvia’s charming companionship and tender ministrations, and with new ties, new emotions, new pleasures, was not terrifying to him. He revolved these things in his mind, occasionally looking fondly at the sleeping boy, who was indeed all that Skelton said he was. Skelton had no idea of falling asleep, but gradually a delicious languor stole on him. How merrily the blackbirds were singing outside, and the sparrows chirped and chattered under the eaves! Afar off he heard in the stillness of the summer morning the tinkling of the bells as the cows were being driven to the pasture, then all the sweet country sounds melted away into golden silence, and he slept.