"Is that manly, Larry?"
"How can a man be manly when the manliness is knocked out of him? A man's courage lies in his heart;—but if his heart is broken where will his courage be then? I couldn't hold my head up here any more,—and I shall go."
"You must not do that," she said, getting up and laying hold of his arm.
"But I must do it."
"For my sake you must stay here, Larry;—so that I may not have to think that I have injured you so deeply. Larry, though I cannot be your wife I think I could die of sorrow if you were always unhappy. What is a poor girl that you should grieve for her in that way? I think if I were a man I would master my love better than that." He shook his head and faintly strove to drag his arm from out of her grasp. "Promise me that you will take a year to think of it before you go."
"Will you take a year to think of me?" said he, rising again to sudden hope.
"No, Larry, no. I should deceive you were I to say so. I deceived you before when I put it off for two months. But you can promise me without deceit. For my sake, Larry?" And she almost embraced him as she begged for his promise. "I know you would wish to spare me pain. Think what will be my sufferings if I hear that you have really gone from Chowton. You will promise me, Larry?"
"Promise what?"
"That the farm shall not be sold for twelve months."
"Oh yes;—I'll promise. I don't care for the farm."
"And stay there if you can. Don't leave the place to strangers. And go about your business,—and hunt,—and be a man. I shall always be thinking of what you do. I shall always watch you. I shall always love you,—always,—always,—always. I always have loved you;—because you are so good. But it is a different love. And now, Larry, good-bye." So saying, she raised her face to look into his eyes. Then he suddenly put his arm round her waist, kissed her forehead, and left the room without another word.
Mrs. Masters saw him as he went, and must have known from his gait what was the nature of the answer he had received. But yet she went quickly upstairs to inquire. The matter was one of too much consequence for a mere inference. Mary had gone from the sitting-room, but her stepmother followed her upstairs to her bed-chamber. "Mamma," she said, "I couldn't do it;—I couldn't do it. I did try. Pray do not scold me. I did try, but I could not do it." Then she threw herself into the arms of the unsympathetic woman,—who, however, was now somewhat less unsympathetic than she had hitherto been.
Mrs. Masters did not understand it at all; but she did perceive that there was something which she did not understand. What did the girl mean by saying that she had tried and could not do it? Try to do it! If she tried why could she not tell the man that she would have him? There was surely some shamefacedness in this, some overstrained modesty which she, Mrs. Masters, could not comprehend. How could she have tried to accept a man who was so anxious to marry her, and have failed in the effort? "Scolding I suppose will be no good now," she said.
"Oh no!"
"But—. Well; I suppose we must put up with it. Everything on earth that a girl could possibly wish for! He was that in love that it's my belief he'd have settled it all on you if you'd only asked him."
"Let it go, mamma."
"Let it go! It's gone I suppose. Well;—I ain't going to say any more about it. But as for not sorrowing, how is a woman not to sorrow when so much has been lost? It's your poor father I'm thinking of, Mary." This was so much better than she had expected that poor Mary almost felt that her heart was lightened.
The reader will have been aware that Arabella Trefoil was not a favourite at Mistletoe. She was so much disliked by the Duchess that there had almost been words about her between her Grace and the Duke since her departure. The Duchess always submitted, and it was the rule of her life to submit with so good a grace that her husband, never fearing rebellion, should never be driven to assume the tyrant. But on this occasion the Duke had objected to the term "thoroughly bad girl" which had been applied by his wife to his niece. He had said that "thoroughly bad girl" was strong language, and when the Duchess defended the phrase he had expressed his opinion that Arabella was only a bad girl and not a thoroughly bad girl. The Duchess had said that it was the same thing. "Then," said the Duke, "why use a redundant expletive against your own relative?" The Duchess, when she was accused of strong language, had not minded it much; but her feelings were hurt when a redundant expletive was attributed to her. The effect of all this had been that the Duke in a mild way had taken up Arabella's part, and that the Duchess, following her husband at last, had been brought round to own that Arabella, though bad, had been badly treated. She had disbelieved, and then believed, and had again disbelieved Arabella's own statement as to the offer of marriage. But the girl had certainly been in earnest when she had begged her aunt to ask her uncle to speak to Lord Rufford. Surely when she did she must have thought that an offer had been made to her. Such offer, if made, had no doubt been produced by very hard pressure;—but still an offer of marriage is an offer, and a girl, if she can obtain it, has a right to use such an offer as so much property. Then came Lord Mistletoe's report after his meeting with Arabella up in London. He had been unable to give his cousin any satisfaction, but he was clearly of opinion that she had been ill-used. He did not venture to suggest any steps, but did think that Lord Rufford was bound as a gentleman to marry the young lady. After that Lord Augustus saw her mother up in town and said that it was ad——shame. He in truth had believed nothing and would have been delighted to allow the matter to drop. But as this was not permitted, he thought it easier to take his daughter's part than to encounter family enmity by entering the lists against her. So it came to pass that down at Mistletoe there grew an opinion that Lord Rufford ought to marry Arabella Trefoil.
But what should be done? The Duke was alive to the feeling that as the girl was certainly his niece and as she was not to be regarded as a thoroughly bad girl, some assistance was due to her from the family. Lord Mistletoe volunteered to write to Lord Rufford; Lord Augustus thought that his brother should have a personal interview with his young brother peer and bring his strawberry leaves to bear. The Duke himself suggested that the Duchess should see Lady Penwether,—a scheme to which her Grace objected strongly, knowing something of Lady Penwether and being sure that her strawberry leaves would have no effect whatever on the baronet's wife. At last it was decided that a family meeting should be held, and Lord Augustus was absolutely summoned to meet Lord Mistletoe at the paternal mansion.
It was now some years since Lord Augustus had been at Mistletoe. As he had never been separated,—that is formally separated,—from his wife he and she had been always invited there together. Year after year she had accepted the invitation,—and it had been declined on his behalf, because it did not suit him and his wife to meet each other. But now he was obliged to go there,—just at the time of the year when whist at his club was most attractive. To meet the convenience of Lord Mistletoe,—and the House of Commons—a Saturday afternoon was named for the conference, which made it worse for Lord Augustus as he was one of a little party which had private gatherings for whist on Sunday afternoons. But he went to the conference, travelling down by the same train with his nephew; but not in the same compartment, as he solaced with tobacco the time which Lord Mistletoe devoted to parliamentary erudition.
The four met in her Grace's boudoir, and the Duke began by declaring that all this was very sad. Lord Augustus shook his head and put his hands in his trousers pockets,—which was as much as to say that his feelings as a British parent were almost too strong for him. "Your mother and I think, that something ought to be done," said the Duke turning to his son.
"Something ought to be done," said Lord Mistletoe.
"They won't let a fellow go out with a fellow now," said Lord Augustus.
"Heaven forbid!" said the Duchess, raising both her hands.
"I was thinking, Mistletoe, that your mother might have met Lady Penwether."
"What could I do with Lady Penwether, Duke? Or what could she do with him? A man won't care for what his sister says to him. And I don't suppose she'd undertake to speak to Lord Rufford on the subject."
"Lady Penwether is an honourable and an accomplished woman."
"I dare say;—though she gives herself abominable airs."
"Of course, if you don't like it, my dear, it shan't be pressed."
"I thought, perhaps, you'd see him yourself," said Lord Augustus, turning to his brother. "You'd carry more weight than anybody."
"Of course I will if it be necessary; but it would be disagreeable,—very disagreeable. The appeal should be made to his feelings, and that I think would better come through female influence. As far as I know the world a man is always more prone to be led in such matters by a woman than by another man."
"If you mean me," said the Duchess, "I don't think I could see him. Of course, Augustus, I don't wish to say anything hard of Arabella. The fact that we have all met here to take her part will prove that, I think. But I didn't quite approve of all that was done here."
Lord Augustus stroked his beard and looked out of the window. "I don't think, my dear, we need go into that just now," said the Duke.
"Not at all," said the Duchess, "and I don't intend to say a word. Only if I were to meet Lord Rufford he might refer to things which,—which,—which—.In point of fact I had rather not."
"I might see him," suggested Lord Mistletoe.
"No doubt that might be done with advantage," said the Duke.
"Only that, as he is my senior in age, what I might say to him would lack that weight which any observations which might be made on such a matter should carry with them."
"He didn't care a straw for me," said Lord Augustus.
"And then," continued Lord Mistletoe, "I so completely agree with what my father says as to the advantage of female influence! With a man of Lord Rufford's temperament female influence is everything. If my aunt were to try it?" Lord Augustus blew the breath out of his mouth and raised his eyebrows. Knowing what he did of his wife, or thinking that he knew what he did, he did not conceive it possible that a worse messenger should be chosen. He had known himself to be a very bad one, but he did honestly believe her to be even less fitted for the task than he himself. But he said nothing,—simply wishing that he had not left his whist for such a purpose as this.
"Perhaps Lady Augustus had better see him," said the Duke. The Duchess, who did not love hypocrisy, would not actually assent to this, but she said nothing. "I suppose my sister-in-law would not object, Augustus?"
"G—— Almighty only knows," said the younger brother. The Duchess, grievously offended by the impropriety of this language, drew herself up haughtily.
"Perhaps you would not mind suggesting it to her, sir," said Lord Mistletoe.
"I could do that by letter," said the Duke.
"And when she has assented, as of course she will, then perhaps you wouldn't mind writing a line to him to make an appointment. If you were to do so he could not refuse." To this proposition the Duke returned no immediate answer; but looked at it round and round carefully. At last, however, he acceded to this also, and so the matter was arranged. All these influential members of the ducal family met together at the ducal mansion on Arabella's behalf, and settled their difficulty by deputing the work of bearding the lion, of tying the bell on the cat, to an absent lady whom they all despised and disliked.
That afternoon the Duke, with the assistance of his son, who was a great writer of letters, prepared an epistle to his sister-in-law and another to Lord Rufford, which was to be sent as soon as Lady Augusta had agreed to the arrangement. In the former letter a good deal was said as to a mother's solicitude for her daughter. It had been felt, the letter said, that no one could speak for a daughter so well as a mother;—that no other's words would so surely reach the heart of a man who was not all evil but who was tempted by the surroundings of the world to do evil in this particular case. The letter began "My dear sister-in-law," and ended "Your affectionate brother-in-law, Mayfair," and was in fact the first letter that the Duke had ever written to his brother's wife. The other letter was more difficult, but it was accomplished at last, and confined itself to a request that Lord Rufford would meet Lady Augustus Trefoil at a place and at a time, both of which were for the present left blank.
On the Monday Lord Augustus and Lord Mistletoe were driven to the station in the same carriage, and on this occasion the uncle said a few strong words to his nephew on the subject. Lord Augustus, though perhaps a coward in the presence of his brother, was not so with other members of the family. "It may be very well you know, but it's alld——nonsense."
"I'm sorry that you should think so, uncle."
"What do you suppose her mother can do?—a thoroughly vulgar woman. I never could live with her. As far as I can see wherever she goes everybody hates her."
"My dear uncle!"
"Rufford will only laugh at her. If Mayfair would have gone himself, it is just possible that he might have done something."
"My father is so unwilling to mix himself up in these things."
"Of course he is. Everybody knows that. What the deuce was the good then of our going down there? I couldn't do anything, and I knew he wouldn't. The truth is, Mistletoe, a man now-a-days may do just what he pleases. You ain't in that line and it won't do you any good knowing it, but since we did away with pistols everybody may do just what he likes."
"I don't like brute force," said Lord Mistletoe.
"You may call it what you please:—but I don't know that it was so brutal after all." At the station they separated again, as Lord Augustus was panting for tobacco and Lord Mistletoe for parliamentary erudition.
Lady Augustus was still staying with the Connop Greens in Hampshire when she received the Duke's letter and Arabella was with her. The story of Lord Rufford's infidelity had been told to Mrs. Connop Green,—and, of course through her to Mr. Connop Green. Both the mother and daughter affected to despise the Connop Greens;—but it is so hard to restrain oneself from confidences when difficulties arise! Arabella had by this time quite persuaded herself that there had been an absolute engagement, and did in truth believe that she had been most cruelly ill-used. She was headstrong, fickle, and beyond measure insolent to her mother. She had, as we know, at one time gone down to the house of her former lover, thereby indicating that she had abandoned all hope of catching Lord Rufford. But still the Connop Greens either felt or pretended to feel great sympathy with her, and she would still declare from time to time that Lord Rufford had not heard the last of her. It was now more than a month since she had seen that perjured lord at Mistletoe, and more than a week since her father had brought him so uselessly up to London. Though determined that Lord Rufford should hear more of her, she hardly knew how to go to work, and on these days spent most of her time in idle denunciations of her false lover. Then came her uncle's letter, which was of course shown to her.
She was quite of opinion that they must do as the Duke directed. It was so great a thing to have the Duke interesting himself in the matter, that she would have assented to anything proposed by him. The suggestion even inspired some temporary respect, or at any rate observance, towards her mother. Hitherto her mother had been nobody to her in the matter, a person belonging to her whom she had to regard simply as a burden. She could not at all understand how the Duke had been guided in making such a choice of a new emissary;—but there it was under his own hand, and she must now in some measure submit herself to her mother unless she were prepared to repudiate altogether the Duke's assistance. As to Lady Augustus herself, the suggestion gave to her quite a new life. She had no clear conception what she should say to Lord Rufford if the meeting were arranged, but it was gratifying to her to find herself brought back into authority over her daughter. She read the Duke's letter to Mrs. Connop Green, with certain very slight additions,—or innuendos as to additions,—and was pleased to find that the letter was taken by Mrs. Connop Green as positive proof of the existence of the engagement. She wrote begging the Duke to allow her to have the meeting at the family house in Piccadilly, and to this prayer the Duke was obliged to assent. "It would," she said, "give her so much assistance in speaking to Lord Rufford!" She named a day also, and then spent her time in preparing herself for the interview by counsel with Mrs. Green and by exacting explanations from her daughter.
This was a very bad time for Arabella,—so bad, that had she known to what she would be driven, she would probably have repudiated the Duke and her mother altogether. "Now, my dear," she began, "you must tell me everything that occurred first at Rufford, and then at Mistletoe."
"You know very well what occurred, mamma."
"I know nothing about it, and unless everything is told me I will not undertake this mission. Your uncle evidently thinks that by my interference the thing may be arranged. I have had the same idea all through myself, but as you have been so obstinate I have not liked to say so. Now, Arabella, begin from the beginning. When was it that he first suggested to you the idea of marriage?"
"Good heavens, mamma!"
"I must have it from the beginning to the end. Did he speak of marriage at Rufford? I suppose he did because you told me that you were engaged to him when you went to Mistletoe."
"So I was."
"What had he said?"
"What nonsense! How am I to remember what he said? As if a girl ever knows what a man says to her."
"Did he kiss you?"
"Yes."
"At Rufford?"
"I cannot stand this, mamma. If you like to go you may go. My uncle seems to think it is the best thing, and so I suppose it ought to be done. But I won't answer such questions as you are asking for Lord Rufford and all that he possesses."
"What am I to say then? How am I to call back to his recollection the fact that he committed himself, unless you will tell me how and when he did so?"
"Ask him if he did not assure me of his love when we were in the carriage together."
"What carriage?"
"Coming home from hunting."
"Was that at Mistletoe or Rufford?"
"At Mistletoe, mamma," replied Arabella, stamping her foot.
"But you must let me know how it was that you became engaged to him at Rufford."
"Mamma, you mean to drive me mad," exclaimed Arabella as she bounced out of the room.
There was very much more of this, till at last Arabella found herself compelled to invent facts. Lord Rufford, she said, had assured her of his everlasting affection in the little room at Rufford, and had absolutely asked her to be his wife coming home in the carriage with her to Stamford. She told herself that though this was not strictly true, it was as good as true,—as that which was actually done and said by Lord Rufford on those occasions could have had no other meaning. But before her mother had completed her investigation, Arabella had become so sick of the matter that she shut herself up in her room and declared that nothing on earth should induce her to open her mouth on the subject again.
When Lord Rufford received the letter he was aghast with new disgust. He had begun to flatter himself that his interview with Lord Augustus would be the end of the affair. Looking at it by degrees with coolness he had allowed himself to think that nothing very terrible could be done to him. Some few people, particularly interested in the Mistletoe family, might give him a cold shoulder, or perhaps cut him directly; but such people would not belong to his own peculiar circle, and the annoyance would not be great. But if all the family, one after another, were to demand interviews with him up in London, he did not see when the end of it would be. There would be the Duke himself, and the Duchess, and Mistletoe. And the affair would in this way become gossip for the whole town. He was almost minded to write to the Duke saying that such an interview could do no good; but at last he thought it best to submit the matter to his mentor, Sir George Penwether. Sir George was clearly of opinion that it was Lord Rufford's duty to see Lady Augustus. "Yes, you must have interviews with all of them, if they ask it," said Sir George. "You must show that you are not afraid to hear what her friends have got to say. When a man gets wrong he can't put himself right without some little annoyance."
"Since the world began," said Lord Rufford, "I don't think that there was ever a man born so well adapted for preaching sermons as you are." Nevertheless he did as he was bid, and consented to meet Lady Augustus in Piccadilly on the day named by her. On that very day the hounds met at Impington and Lord Rufford began to feel his punishment. He assented to the proposal made and went up to London, leaving the members of the U. R. U. to have the run of the season from the Impington coverts.
When Lady Augustus was sitting in the back room of the mansion waiting for Lord Rufford she was very much puzzled to think what she would say to him when he came. With all her investigation she had received no clear idea of the circumstances as they occurred. That her daughter had told her a fib in saying that she was engaged when she went to Mistletoe, she was all but certain. That something had occurred in the carriage which might be taken for an offer she thought possible. She therefore determined to harp upon the carriage as much as possible and to say as little as might be as to the doings at Rufford. Then as she was trying to arrange her countenance and her dress and her voice, so that they might tell on his feelings, Lord Rufford was announced. "Lady Augustus," said he at once, beginning the lesson which he had taught himself, "I hope I see you quite well. I have come here because you have asked me, but I really don't know that I have anything to say."
"Lord Rufford, you must hear me."
"Oh yes; I will hear you certainly, only this kind of thing is so painful to all parties, and I don't see the use of it."
"Are you aware that you have plunged me and my daughter into a state of misery too deep to be fathomed?"
"I should be sorry to think that."
"How can it be otherwise? When you assure a girl in her position in life that you love her—a lady whose rank is quite as high as yourown—"
"Quite so,—quite so."
"And when in return for that assurance you have received vows of love from her,—what is she to think, and what are her friends to think?" Lord Rufford had always kept in his mind a clear remembrance of the transaction in the carriage, and was well aware that the young lady's mother had inverted the circumstances, or, as he expressed it to himself, had put the cart before the horse. He had assured the young lady that he loved her, and he had also been assured of her love; but her assurance had come first. He felt that this made all the difference in the world; so much difference that no one cognisant in such matters would hold that his assurance, obtained after such a fashion, meant anything at all. But how was he to explain this to the lady's mother? "You will admit that such assurances were given?" continued Lady Augustus.
"Upon my word I don't know. There was a little foolish talk, but it meant nothing."
"My lord!"
"What am I to say? I don't want to give offence, and I am heartily sorry that you and your daughter should be under any misapprehension. But as I sit here there was no engagement between us;—nor, if I must speak out, Lady Augustus, could your daughter have thought that there was an engagement."
"Did you not—embrace her?"
"I did. That's the truth."
"And after that you mean to say—"
"After that I mean to say that nothing more was intended." There was a certain meanness of appearance about the mother which emboldened him.
"What a declaration to make to the mother of a young lady, and that young lady the niece of the Duke of Mayfair!"
"It's not the first time such a thing has been done, Lady Augustus."
"I know nothing about that,—nothing. I don't know whom you may have lived with. It never was done to her before."
"If I understand right she was engaged to marry Mr. Morton when she came to Rufford."
"It was all at an end before that."
"At any rate you both came from his house."
"Where he had been staying with Mrs. Morton."
"And where she has been since,—without Mrs. Morton."
"Lady Ushant was there, Lord Rufford."
"But she has been staying at the house of this gentleman to whom you admit that she was engaged a short time before she came to us."
"He is on his death-bed, and he thought that he had behaved badly to her. She did go to Bragton the other day, at his request,—merely that she might say that she forgave him."
"I only hope that she will forgive me too. There is really nothing else to be said. If there were anything I could do to atone to her for this—trouble."
"If you only could know the brightness of the hopes you have shattered,—and the purity of that girl's affection for yourself!"
It was then that an idea—a low-minded idea occurred to Lord Rufford. While all this was going on he had of course made various inquiries about this branch of the Trefoil family and had learned that Arabella was altogether portionless. He was told too that Lady Augustus was much harassed by impecuniosity. Might it be possible to offer a recompense? "If I could do anything else, Lady Augustus;—but really I am not a marrying man." Then Lady Augustus wept bitterly; but while she was weeping, a low-minded idea occurred to her also. It was clear to her that there could be no marriage. She had never expected that there would be a marriage. But if this man who was rolling in wealth should offer some sum of money to her daughter,—something so considerable as to divest the transaction of the meanness which would be attached to a small bribe,—something which might be really useful throughout life, would it not be her duty, on behalf of her dear child, to accept such an offer? But the beginnings of such dealings are always difficult. "Couldn't my lawyer see yours, Lady Augustus?" said Lord Rufford.
"I don't want the family lawyer to know anything about it," said Lady Augustus. Then there was silence between them for a few moments. "You don't know what we have to bear, Lord Rufford. My husband has spent all my fortune,—which was considerable; and the Duke does nothing for us." Then he took a bit of paper and, writing on it the figures "£6,000," pushed it across the table. She gazed at the scrap for a minute, and then, borrowing his pencil without a word, scratched out his Lordship's figures and wrote "£8,000," beneath them; and then added, "No one to know it." After that he held the scrap for two or three minutes in his hands, and then wrote beneath the figures, "Very well. To be settled on your daughter. No one shall know it." She bowed her head, but kept the scrap of paper in her possession. "Shall I ring for your carriage?" he asked. The bell was rung, and Lady Augustus was taken back to the lodgings in Orchard Street in the hired brougham. As she went she told herself that if everything else failed, £400 a year would support her daughter, or that in the event of any further matrimonial attempt such a fortune would be a great assistance. She had been sure that there could be no marriage, and was disposed to think that she had done a good morning's work on behalf of her unnatural child.
Lady Augustus as she was driven back to Orchard Street and as she remained alone during the rest of that day and the next in London, became a little afraid of what she had done. She began to think how she should communicate her tidings to her daughter, and thinking of it grew to be nervous and ill at ease. How would it be with her should Arabella still cling to the hope of marrying the lord? That any such hope would be altogether illusory Lady Augustus was now sure. She had been quite certain that there was no ground for such hope when she had spoken to the man of her own poverty. She was almost certain that there had never been an offer of marriage made. In the first place Lord Rufford's word went further with her than Arabella's,—and then his story had been consistent and probable, whereas hers had been inconsistent and improbable. At any rate ropes and horses would not bring Lord Rufford to the hymeneal altar. That being so was it not natural that she should then have considered what result would be next best to a marriage? She was very poor, having saved only some few hundreds a year from the wreck of her own fortune. Independently of her her daughter had nothing. And in spite of this poverty Arabella was very extravagant, running up bills for finery without remorse wherever credit could be found, and excusing herself by saying that on this or that occasion such expenditure was justified by the matrimonial prospects which it opened out to her. And now, of late, Arabella had been talking of living separately from her mother. Lady Augustus, who was thoroughly tired of her daughter's company, was not at all averse to such a scheme;—but any such scheme was impracticable without money. By a happy accident the money would now be forthcoming. There would be £400 a year for ever and nobody would know whence it came. She was confident that they might trust to the lord's honour for secrecy. As far as her own opinion went the result of the transaction would be most happy. But still she feared Arabella. She felt that she would not know how to tell her story when she got back to Marygold Place. "My dear, he won't marry you; but he is to give you £8,000." That was what she would have to say, but she doubted her own courage to put her story into words so curt and explanatory. Even at thirty £400 a year has not the charms which accompany it to eyes which have seen sixty years. She remained in town that night and the next day, and went down by train to Basingstoke on the following morning with her heart not altogether free from trepidation.
Lord Rufford, the very moment that the interview was over, started off to his lawyer. Considering how very little had been given to him the sum he was to pay was prodigious. In his desire to get rid of the bore of these appeals, he had allowed himself to be foolishly generous. He certainly never would kiss a young lady in a carriage again,—nor even lend a horse to a young lady till he was better acquainted with her ambition and character. But the word had gone from him and he must be as good as his word. The girl must have her £8,000 and must have it instantly. He would put the matter into such a position that if any more interviews were suggested, he might with perfect safety refer the suggester back to Miss Trefoil. There was to be secrecy, and he would be secret as the grave. But in such matters one's lawyer is the grave. He had proposed that two lawyers should arrange it. Objection had been made to this, because Lady Augustus had no lawyer ready;—but on his side some one must be employed. So he went to his own solicitor and begged that the thing might be done quite at once. He was very definite in his instructions, and would listen to no doubts. Would the lawyer write to Miss Trefoil on that very day;—or rather not on that very day but the next. As he suggested this he thought it well that Lady Augustus should have an opportunity of explaining the transaction to her daughter before the lawyer's letter should be received. He had, he said, his own reason for such haste. Consequently the lawyer did prepare the letter to Miss Trefoil at once, drafting it in his noble client's presence. In what way should the money be disposed so as best to suit her convenience? The letter was very short with an intimation that Lady Augustus would no doubt have explained the details of the arrangement.
When Lady Augustus reached Marygold the family were at lunch, and as strangers were present nothing was said as to the great mission. The mother had already bethought herself how she must tell this and that lie to the Connop Greens, explaining that Lord Rufford had confessed his iniquity but had disclosed that, for certain mysterious reasons, he could not marry Arabella,—though he loved her better than all the world. Arabella asked some questions about her mother's shopping and general business in town, and did not leave the room till she could do so without the slightest appearance of anxiety. Mrs. Connop Green marvelled at her coolness knowing how much must depend on the answer which her mother had brought back from London, and knowing nothing of the contents of the letter which Arabella had received that morning from the lawyer. In a moment or two Lady Augustus followed her daughter upstairs, and on going into her own room found the damsel standing in the middle of it with an open paper in her hand. "Mamma," she said, "shut the door." Then the door was closed. "What is the meaning of this?" and she held out the lawyer's letter.
"The meaning of what?" said Lady Augustus, trembling.
"I have no doubt you know, but you had better read it."
Lady Augustus read the letter and attempted to smile. "He has been very quick," she said. "I thought I should have been the first to tell you."
"What is the meaning of it? Why is the man to give me all that money?"
"Is it not a good escape from so great a trouble? Think what £8,000 will do. It will enable you to live in comfort wherever you may please to go."
"I am to understand then you have sold me,—sold all my hopes and my very name and character, for £8,000!"
"Your name and character will not be touched, my dear. As for his marrying you I soon found that that was absolutely out of the question."
"This is what has come of sending you to see him! Of course I shall tell my uncle everything."
"You will do no such thing. Arabella, do not make a fool of yourself. Do you know what £8,000 will do for you? It is to be your own,—absolutely beyond my reach or your father's."
"I would sooner go into the Thames off Waterloo Bridge than touch a farthing of his money," said Arabella with a spirit which the other woman did not at all understand. Hitherto in all these little dirty ways they had run with equal steps. The pretences, the subterfuges, the lies of the one had always been open to the other. Arabella, earnest in supplying herself with gloves from the pockets of her male acquaintances, had endured her mother's tricks with complacency. She had condescended when living in humble lodgings to date her letters from a well-known hotel, and had not feared to declare that she had done so in their family conversations. Together they had fished in turbid waters for marital nibbles and had told mutual falsehoods to unbelieving tradesmen. And yet the younger woman, when tempted with a bribe worth lies and tricks as deep and as black as Acheron, now stood on her dignity and her purity and stamped her foot with honest indignation!
"I don't think you can understand it," said Lady Augustus.
"I can understand this,—that you have betrayed me; and that I shall tell him so in the plainest words that I can use. To get his lawyer to write and offer me money!"
"He should not have gone to his lawyer. I do think he was wrong there."
"But you settled it with him;—you, my mother;—a price at which he should buy himself off! Would he have offered me money if he did not know that he had bound himself to me?"
"Nothing on earth would make him marry you. I would not for a moment have allowed him to allude to money if that had not been quite certain."
"Who proposed the money first?"
Lady Augustus considered a moment before she answered. "Upon my word, my dear, I can't say. He wrote the figures on a bit of paper; that was the way." Then she produced the scrap. "He wrote the figures first,—and then I altered them, just as you see. The proposition came first from him, of course."
"And you did not spit at him!" said Arabella as she tore the scrap into fragments.
"Arabella," said the mother, "it is clear that you do not look into the future. How do you mean to live? You are getting old."
"Old!"
"Yes, my love,—old. Of course I am willing to do everything for you, as I always have done,—for so many years, but there isn't a man in London who does not know how long you have been about it."
"Hold your tongue, mamma," said Arabella jumping up.
"That is all very well, but the truth has to be spoken. You and I cannot go on as we have been doing."
"Certainly not. I would sooner be in a workhouse."
"And here there is provided for you an income on which you can live. Not a soul will know anything about it. Even your own father need not be told. As for the lawyer, that is nothing. They never talk of things. It would make a man comparatively poor quite a fit match. Or, if you do not marry, it would enable you to live where you pleased independently of me. You had better think twice of it before you refuse it."
"I will not think of it at all. As sure as I am living here I will write to Rufford this very evening and tell him in what light I regard both him and you."
"And what will you do then?"
"Hang myself."
"That is all very well, Arabella, but hanging yourself and jumping off Waterloo Bridge do not mean anything. You must live, and you must pay your debts. I can't pay them for you. You go into your own room, and think of it all, and be thankful for what Providence has sent you."
"You may as well understand that I am in earnest," the daughter said as she left the room. "I shall write to Lord Rufford to-day and tell him what I think of him and his money. You need not trouble yourself as to what shall be done with it, for I certainly shall not take it."
And she did write to Lord Rufford as follows:
My Lord,I have been much astonished by a letter I have received from a gentleman in London, Mr. Shaw, who I presume is your lawyer. When I received it I had not as yet seen mamma. I now understand that you and she between you have determined that I should be compensated by a sum of money for the injury you have done me! I scorn your money. I cannot think where you found the audacity to make such a proposal, or how you have taught yourself to imagine that I should listen to it. As to mamma, she was not commissioned to act for me, and I have nothing to do with anything she may have said. I can hardly believe that she should have agreed to such a proposal. It was very little like a gentleman in you to offer it.Why did you offer it? You would not have proposed to give me a large sum of money like that without some reason. I have been shocked to hear that you have denied that you ever engaged yourself to me. You know that you were engaged to me. It would have been more honest and more manly if you had declared at once that you repented of your engagement. But the truth is that till I see you myself and hear what you have to say out of your own mouth I cannot believe what other people tell me. I must ask you to name some place where we can meet. As for this offer of money, it goes for nothing. You must have known that I would not take it.Arabella.
My Lord,
I have been much astonished by a letter I have received from a gentleman in London, Mr. Shaw, who I presume is your lawyer. When I received it I had not as yet seen mamma. I now understand that you and she between you have determined that I should be compensated by a sum of money for the injury you have done me! I scorn your money. I cannot think where you found the audacity to make such a proposal, or how you have taught yourself to imagine that I should listen to it. As to mamma, she was not commissioned to act for me, and I have nothing to do with anything she may have said. I can hardly believe that she should have agreed to such a proposal. It was very little like a gentleman in you to offer it.
Why did you offer it? You would not have proposed to give me a large sum of money like that without some reason. I have been shocked to hear that you have denied that you ever engaged yourself to me. You know that you were engaged to me. It would have been more honest and more manly if you had declared at once that you repented of your engagement. But the truth is that till I see you myself and hear what you have to say out of your own mouth I cannot believe what other people tell me. I must ask you to name some place where we can meet. As for this offer of money, it goes for nothing. You must have known that I would not take it.
Arabella.
It was now just the end of February, and the visit of the Trefoil ladies to the Connop Greens had to come to an end. They had already overstaid the time at first arranged, and Lady Augustus, when she hinted that another week at Marygold,—"just till this painful affair was finally settled,"—would be beneficial to her, was informed that the Connop Greens themselves were about to leave home. Lady Augustus had reported to Mrs. Connop Green that Lord Rufford was behaving very badly, but that the matter was still in a "transition state." Mrs. Connop Green was very sorry,but—.So Lady Augustus and Arabella betook themselves to Orchard Street, being at that moment unable to enter in upon better quarters.
What a home it was,—and what a journey up to town! Arabella had told her mother that the letter to Lord Rufford had been written and posted, and since that hardly a word had passed between them. When they left Marygold in the Connop Green carriage they smiled, and shook hands, and kissed their friends in unison, and then sank back into silence. At the station they walked up and down the platform together for the sake of appearance, but did not speak. In the train there were others with them and they both feigned to be asleep. Then they were driven to their lodgings in a cab, still speechless. It was the mother who first saw that the horror of this if continued would be too great to be endured. "Arabella," she said in a hoarse voice, "why don't you speak?"
"Because I've got nothing to say."
"That's nonsense. There is always something to say."
"You have ruined me, mamma; just ruined me."
"I did for you the very best I could. If you would have been advised by me, instead of being ruined, you would have had a handsome fortune. I have slaved for you for the last twelve years. No mother ever sacrificed herself for her child more than I have done for you, and now see the return I get. I sometimes think that it will kill me."
"That's nonsense."
"Everything I say is nonsense,—while you tell me one day that you are going to hang yourself, and another day that you will drown yourself."
"So I would if I dared. What is it that you have brought me to? Who will have me in their houses when they hear that you consented to take Lord Rufford's money?"
"Nobody will hear it unless you tell them."
"I shall tell my uncle and my aunt and Mistletoe, in order that they may know how it is that Lord Rufford has been allowed to escape. I say that you have ruined me. If it had not been for your vulgar bargain with him, he must have been brought to keep his word at last. Oh, that he should have ever thought it was possible that I was to be bought off for a sum of money!"
Later on in the evening, the mother again implored her daughter to speak to her. "What's the use, mamma, when you know what we think of each other? What's the good of pretending? There is nobody here to hear us." Later on still she herself began. "I don't know how much you've got, mamma; but whatever it is, we'd better divide it. After what you did in Piccadilly we shall never get on together again."
"There is not enough to divide," said Lady Augustus.
"If I had not you to go about with me I could get taken in pretty nearly all the year round."
"Who'd take you?"
"Leave that to me. I would manage it, and you could join with some other old person. We shall kill each other if we stay like this," said Arabella as she took up her candle.
"You have pretty nearly killed me as it is," said the old woman as the other shut the door.
Day after day old Mrs. Morton urged her purpose with her grandson at Bragton, not quite directly as she had done at first, but by gradual approaches and little soft attempts made in the midst of all the tenderness which, as a nurse, she was able to display. It soon came to pass that the intruders were banished from the house, or almost banished. Mary's daily visits were discontinued immediately after that last walk home with Reginald Morton which has been described. Twice in the course of the next week she went over, but on both occasions she did so early in the day, and returned alone just as he was reaching the house. And then, before a week was over, early in March, Lady Ushant told the invalid that she would be better away. "Mrs. Morton doesn't like me," she said, "and I had better go. But I shall stay for a while at Hoppet Hall, and come in and see you from time to time till you get better." John Morton replied that he should never get better; but though he said so then, there was at times evidence that he did not yet quite despond as to himself. He could still talk to Mrs. Morton of buying Chowton Farm, and was very anxious that he should not be forgotten at the Foreign Office.
Lady Ushant had herself driven to Hoppet Hall, and there took up her residence with her nephew. Every other day Mr. Runciman's fly came for her and carried her backwards and forwards to Bragton. On those occasions she would remain an hour with the invalid, and then would go back again, never even seeing Mrs. Morton, though always seen by her. And twice after this banishment Reginald walked over. But on the second occasion there was a scene. Mrs. Morton to whom he had never spoken since he was a boy, met him in the hall and told him that his visits only disturbed his sick cousin. "I certainly will not disturb him," Reginald had said. "In the condition in which he is now he should not see many people," rejoined the lady. "If you will ask Dr. Fanning he will tell you the same." Dr. Fanning was the London doctor who came down once a week, whom it was improbable that Reginald should have an opportunity of consulting. But he remembered or thought that he remembered, that his cousin had been fretful and ill-pleased during his last visit, and so turned himself round and went home without another word.
"I am afraid there may be—I don't know what," said Lady Ushant to him in a whisper the next morning.
"What do you mean?"
"I don't know what I mean. Perhaps I ought not to say a word. Only so much does depend on it!"
"If you are thinking about the property, aunt, wipe it out of your mind. Let him do what he pleases and don't think about it. No one should trouble their minds about such things. It is his, to do what he pleases with it."
"It is not him that I fear, Reginald."
"If he chooses to be guided by her, who shall say that he is wrong? Get it out of your mind. The very thinking about such things is dirtiness!" The poor old lady submitted to the rebuke and did not dare to say another word.
Daily Lady Ushant would send over for Mary Masters, thinking it cruel that her young friend should leave her alone and yet understanding in part the reason why Mary did not come to her constantly at Hoppet Hall. Poor Mary was troubled much by these messages. Of course she went now and again. She had no alternative but to go, and yet, feeling that the house was his house, she was most unwilling to enter it. Then grew within her a feeling, which she could not analyse, that he had ill-used her. Of course she was not entitled to his love. She would acknowledge to herself over and over again that he had never spoken a word to her which could justify her in expecting his love. But why had he not let her alone? Why had he striven by his words and his society to make her other than she would have been had she been left to the atmosphere of her stepmother's home? Why had he spoken so strongly to her as to that young man's love? And then she was almost angry with him because, by a turn in the wheel of fortune, he was about to become, as she thought, Squire of Bragton. Had he remained simply Mr. Morton of Hoppet Hall it would still have been impossible. But this exaltation of her idol altogether out of her reach was an added injustice. She could remember, not the person, but all the recent memories of the old Squire, the veneration with which he was named, the masterdom which was attributed to him, the unequalled nobility of his position in regard to Dillsborough. His successor would be to her as some one crowned, and removed by his crown altogether from her world. Then she pictured to herself the stately dame who would certainly come, and she made fresh resolutions with a sore heart.
"I don't know why you should be so very little with me," said Lady Ushant, almost whining. "When I was at Cheltenham you wanted to come to me."
"There are so many things to be done at home."
"And yet you would have come to Cheltenham."
"We were in great trouble then, Lady Ushant. Of course I would like to be with you. You ought not to scold me, because you know how I love you."
"Has the young man gone away altogether now, Mary?"
"Altogether."
"And Mrs. Masters is satisfied?"
"She knows it can never be, and therefore she is quiet about it."
"I was sorry for that young man, because he was so true."
"You couldn't be more sorry than I was, Lady Ushant. I love him as though he were a brother.But—"
"Mary, dear Mary, I fear you are in trouble."
"I think it is all trouble," said Mary, rushing forward and hiding her face in her old friend's lap as she knelt on the ground before her. Lady Ushant longed to ask a question, but she did not dare. And Mary Masters longed to have one friend to whom she could confide her secret,—but neither did she dare.
On the next day, very early in the morning, there came a note from Mrs. Morton to Mr. Masters, the attorney. Could Mr. Masters come out on that day to Bragton and see Mrs. Morton. The note was very particular in saying that Mrs. Morton was to be the person seen. The messenger who waited for an answer, brought back word that Mr. Masters would be there at noon. The circumstance was one which agitated him considerably, as he had not been inside the house at Bragton since the days immediately following the death of the old Squire. As it happened, Lady Ushant was going to Bragton on the same day, and at the suggestion of Mr. Runciman, whose horses in the hunting season barely sufficed for his trade, the old lady and the lawyer went together. Not a word was said between them as to the cause which took either of them on their journey, but they spoke much of the days in which they had known each other, when the old Squire was alive, and Mr. Masters thanked Lady Ushant for her kindness to his daughter. "I love her almost as though she were my own," said Lady Ushant. "When I am dead she will have half of what I have got."
"She will have no right to expect that," said the gratified father.
"She will have half or the whole,—just as Reginald may be situated then. I don't know why I shouldn't tell her father what it is I mean to do." The attorney knew to a shilling the amount of Lady Ushant's income and thought that this was the best news he had heard for many a day.
While Lady Ushant was in the sick man's room, Mrs. Morton was closeted with the attorney. She had thought much of this step before she had dared to take it and even now doubted whether it would avail her anything. As she entered the book-room in which Mr. Masters was seated she almost repented. But the man was there and she was compelled to go on with her scheme. "Mr. Masters," she said, "it is I think a long time since you have been employed by this family."
"A very long time, Madam."
"And I have now sent for you under circumstances of great difficulty," she answered; but as he said nothing she was forced to go on. "My grandson made his will the other day up in London, when he thought that he was going out to Patagonia." Mr. Masters bowed. "It was done when he was in sound health, and he is now not satisfied with it." Then there was another bow, but not a word was spoken. "Of course you know that he is very ill."
"We have all been very much grieved to hear it."
"I am sure you would be, for the sake of old days. When Dr. Fanning was last here he thought that my grandson was something better. He held out stronger hopes than before. But still he is very ill. His mind has never wavered for a moment, Mr. Masters." Again Mr. Masters bowed. "And now he thinks that some changes should be made;—indeed that there should be a new will."
"Does he wish me to see him, Mrs. Morton?"
"Not to-day, I think. He is not quite prepared to-day. But I wanted to ask whether you could come at a moment's notice,—quite at a moment's notice. I thought it better, so that you should know why we sent for you if we did send,—so that you might be prepared. It could be done here, I suppose?"
"It would be possible, Mrs. Morton."
"And you could do it?"
Then there was a long pause. "Altering a will is a very serious thing, Mrs. Morton. And when it is done on what perhaps may be a death-bed, it is a very serious thing indeed. Mr. Morton, I believe, employs a London solicitor. I know the firm and more respectable gentlemen do not exist. A telegram would bring down one of the firm from London by the next train."
A frown, a very heavy frown, came across the old woman's brow. She would have repressed it had it been possible;—but she could not command herself, and the frown was there. "If that had been practicable, Mr. Masters," she said, "we should not have sent for you."
"I was only suggesting, madame, what might be the best course."
"Exactly. And of course I am much obliged. But if we are driven to call upon you for your assistance, we shall find it?"
"Madame," said the attorney very slowly, "it is of course part of my business to make wills, and when called upon to do so, I perform my business to the best of my ability. But in altering a will during illness great care is necessary. A codicil might beadded—"
"A new will would be necessary."
A new will, thought the attorney, could only be necessary for altering the disposition of the whole estate. He knew enough of the family circumstances to be aware that the property should go to Reginald Morton whether with or without a will,—and also enough to be aware that this old lady was Reginald's bitter enemy. He did not think that he could bring himself to take instructions from a dying man,—from the Squire of Bragton on his death-bed,—for an instrument which should alienate the property from the proper heir. He too had his strong feelings, perhaps his prejudices, about Bragton. "I would wish that the task were in other hands, Mrs. Morton."
"Why so?"
"It is hard to measure the capacity of an invalid."
"His mind is as clear as yours."
"It might be so,—and yet I might not be able to satisfy myself that it was so. I should have to ask long and tedious questions, which would be offensive. And I should find myself giving advice,—which would not be called for. For instance, were your grandson to wish to leave this estate away from theheir—"
"I am not discussing his wishes, Mr. Masters."
"I beg your pardon, Mrs. Morton, for making the suggestion;—but as I said before, I should prefer that he should employ—some one else."
"You refuse then?"
"If Mr. Morton were to send for me, I should go to him instantly. But I fear I might be slow in taking his instructions;—and it is possible that I might refuse to act on them." Then she got up from her chair and bowing to him with stately displeasure left the room.
All this she had done without any authority from her grandson, simply encouraged in her object by his saying in his weakness that he would think of her proposition. So intent was she on her business that she was resolved to have everything ready if only he could once be brought to say that Peter Morton should be his heir. Having abandoned all hopes for her noble cousin she could tell her conscience that she was instigated simply by an idea of justice. Peter Morton was at any rate the legitimate son of a well-born father and a well-born mother. What had she or any one belonging to her to gain by it? But forty years since a brat had been born at Bragton in opposition to her wishes,—by whose means she had been expelled from the place; and now it seemed to her to be simple justice that he should on this account be robbed of that which would otherwise be naturally his own. As Mr. Masters would not serve her turn she must write to the London lawyers. The thing would be more difficult; but, nevertheless, if the sick man could once be got to say that Peter should be his heir she thought that she could keep him to his word. Lady Ushant and Mr. Masters went back to Dillsborough in Runciman's fly, and it need hardly be said that the attorney said nothing of the business which had taken him to Bragton.
This happened on a Wednesday,—Wednesday the 3rd of March. On Friday morning, at 4 o'clock, during the darkness of the night, John Morton was lying dead on his bed, and the old woman was at his bedside. She had done her duty by him as far as she knew how in tending him,—had been assiduous with the diligence of much younger years; but now as she sat there, having had the fact absolutely announced to her by Dr. Nupper, her greatest agony arose from the feeling that the roof which covered her, probably the chair in which she sat, were the property of Reginald Morton—"Bastard!" she said to herself between her teeth; but she so said it that neither Dr. Nupper, who was in the room, nor the woman who was with her should hear it.
Dr. Nupper took the news into Dillsborough, and as the folk sat down to breakfast they all heard that the Squire of Bragton was dead. The man had been too little known, had been too short a time in the neighbourhood, to give occasion for tears. There was certainly more of interest than of grief in the matter. Mr. Masters said to himself that the time had been too short for any change in the will, and therefore felt tolerably certain that Reginald would be the heir. But for some days this opinion was not general in Dillsborough. Mr. Mainwaring had heard that Reginald had been sent away from Bragton with a flea in his ear, and was pretty certain that when the will was read it would be found that the property was to go to Mrs. Morton's friends. Dr. Nupper was of the same opinion. There were many in Dillsborough with whom Reginald was not popular;—and who thought that some man of a different kind would do better as Squire of Bragton. "He don't know a fox when he sees 'un," said Tony Tuppett to Larry Twentyman, whom he had come across the county to call upon and to console.
On that Saturday the club met at Dillsborough,—even though the Squire of Bragton had died on Friday morning. Through the whole of that Saturday the town had been much exercised in its belief and expressions, as to the disposition of the property. The town knew very well that Mr. Masters, the attorney, had been sent for to Bragton on the previous Wednesday,—whence the deduction as to a new will, made of course under the auspices of Mrs. Morton,—would have been quite plain to the town, had not a portion of the town heard that the attorney had not been for a moment with the dying man during his visit. This latter piece of information had come through Lady Ushant, who had been in her nephew's bedroom the whole time;—but Lady Ushant had not much personal communication with the town generally, and would probably have said nothing on this subject had not Mr. Runciman walked up to Hoppet Hall behind the fly, after Mr. Masters had left it; and, while helping her ladyship out, made inquiry as to the condition of things at Bragton generally. "I was sorry to hear of their sending for any lawyer," said Mr. Runciman. Then Lady Ushant protested that the lawyer had not been sent for by her nephew, and that her nephew had not even seen him. "Oh, indeed," said Mr. Runciman, who immediately took a walk round his own paddock with the object of putting two and two together. Mr. Runciman was a discreet man, and did not allow this piece of information to spread itself generally. He told Dr. Nupper, and Mr. Hampton, and Lord Rufford,—for the hounds went out on Friday, though the Squire of Bragton was lying dead;—but he did not tell Mr. Mainwaring, whom he encountered in the street of the town as he was coming home early, and who was very keen to learn whatever news there was.
Reginald Morton on Friday did not go near Bragton. That of course was palpable to all, and was a great sign that he himself did not regard himself as the heir. He had for awhile been very intimate at the house, visiting it daily—and during a part of that time the grandmother had been altogether absent. Then she had come back, and he had discontinued his visits. And now he did not even go over to seal up the drawers and to make arrangements as to the funeral. He did not at any rate go on the Friday,—nor on the Saturday. And on the Saturday Mr. Wobytrade, the undertaker, had received orders from Mrs. Morton to go at once to Bragton. All this was felt to be strong against Reginald. But when it was discovered that on the Saturday afternoon Mrs. Morton herself had gone up to London, not waiting even for the coming of any one else to take possession of the house,—and that she had again carried all her own personal luggage with her,—then opinion in Dillsborough again veered. Upon the whole the betting was a point or two in favour of Reginald, when the club met.
Mrs. Masters, who had been much quelled of late, had been urgent with her husband to go over to the Bush; but he was unwilling, he said, to be making jolly while the Squire of Bragton was lying unburied. "He was nothing to you, Gregory," said his wife, who had in vain endeavoured to learn from him why he had been summoned to Bragton—"You will hear something over there, and it will relieve your spirits." So instigated he did go across, and found all the accustomed members of the club congregated in the room. Even Larry Twentyman was present, who of late had kept himself aloof from all such meetings. Both the Botseys were there, and Nupper and Harry Stubbings, and Ribbs the butcher. Runciman himself of course was in the room, and he had introduced on this occasion Captain Glomax, the master of the hunt, who was staying at his house that night,—perhaps with a view to hunting duties on the Monday, perhaps in order that he might hear something as to the Bragton property. It had already been suggested to him that he might possibly hire the house for a year or two at little more than a nominal rent, that the old kennels might be resuscitated, and that such arrangements would be in all respects convenient. He was the master of the hunt, and of course there was no difficulty as to introducing him to the club.
Captain Glomax was speaking in a somewhat dictatorial voice,—as becomes a Master of Hounds when in the field, though perhaps it should be dropped afterwards—when the Attorney entered. There was a sudden rise of voices striving to interrupt the Captain, as it was felt by them all that Mr. Masters must be in possession of information; but the Captain himself went on. "Of course it is the place for the hounds. Nobody can doubt that who knows the country and understands the working of it. The hunt ought to have subscribed and hired the kennels and stables permanently."
"There would have wanted two to that bargain, Captain," said Mr. Runciman.
"Of course there would, but what would you think of a man who would refuse such a proposition when he didn't want the place himself? Do you think if I'd been there foxes would have been poisoned in Dillsborough wood? I'd have had that fellow Goarly under my thumb."
"Then you'd have had an awful blackguard under your thumb, Captain Glomax," said Larry, who could not restrain his wrath when Goarly's name was mentioned.
"What does that matter, if you get foxes?" continued the Master. "But the fact is, gentlemen in a county like this always want to have everything done for them, and never to do anything for themselves. I'm sick of it, I know. Nobody is fonder of hunting a country than I am, and I think I know what I'm about."
"That you do," said Fred Botsey, who, like most men, was always ready to flatter the Master.
"And I don't care how hard I work. From the first of August till the end of May I never have a day to myself, what with cubbing and then the season, and entering the young hounds, and buying and selling horses, by George I'm at it the whole year!"
"A Master of Hounds looks for that, Captain," said the innkeeper.
"Looks for it! Yes; he must look for it. But I wouldn't mind that, if I could get gentlemen to pull a little with me. I can't stand being out of pocket as I have been, and so I must let them know. If the country would get the kennels and the stables, and lay out a few pounds so that horses and hounds and men could go into them, I wouldn't mind having a shot for the house. It's killing work where I am now, the other side of Rufford, you may say." Then he stopped;—but no one would undertake to answer him. The meaning of it was that Captain Glomax wanted £500 a year more than he received, and every one there knew that there was not £500 a year more to be got out of the country,—unless Lord Rufford would put his hand into his pocket. Now the present stables and the present kennels had been "made comfortable" by Lord Rufford, and it was not thought probable that he would pay for the move to Bragton.
"When's the funeral to be, Mr. Masters?" asked Runciman,—who knew very well the day fixed, but who thought it well to get back to the subject of real interest in the town.
"Next Thursday, I'm told."
"There's no hurry with weather like this," said Nupper professionally.
"They can't open the will till the late squire is buried," continued the innkeeper, "and there will be one or two very anxious to know what is in it."
"I suppose it will all go to the man who lives up here at Hoppet Hall," said the Captain,—"a man that was never outside a horse in his life!"
"He's not a bad fellow," said Runciman.
"He is a very good fellow," said the Attorney, "and I trust he may have the property. If it be left away from him, I for one shall think that a great injustice has been done." This was listened to with attention, as every one there thought that Mr. Masters must know.
"I can't understand," said Glomax, "how any man can be considered a good fellow as a country gentleman who does not care for sport. Just look at it all round. Suppose others were like him what would become of us all?"
"Yes indeed, what would become of us?" asked the two Botseys in a breath.
"Ho'd 'ire our 'orses, Runciman?" suggested Harry Stubbings with a laugh.
"Think what England would be!" said the Captain. "When I hear of a country gentleman sticking to books and all that, I feel that the glory is departing from the land. Where are the sinews of war to come from? That's what I want to know."
"Who will it be, Mr. Masters, if the gent don't get it?" asked Ribbs from his corner on the sofa.
This was felt to be a pushing question. "How am I to know, Mr. Ribbs?" said the Attorney. "I didn't make the late squire's will;—and if I did you don't suppose I should tell you."
"I'm told that the next is Peter Morton," said Fred Botsey. "He's something in a public office up in London."
"It won't go to him," said Fred's brother. "That old lady has relations of her own who have had their mouths open for the last forty years."
"Away from the Mortons altogether!" said Harry. "That would be an awful shame!"
"I don't see what good the Mortons have done this last half century," said the Captain.
"You don't remember the old squire, Captain," said the innkeeper, "and I don't remember him well. Indeed I was only a little chap when they buried him. But there's that feeling left behind him to this day, that not a poor man in the country wouldn't be sorry to think that there wasn't a Morton left among 'em. Of course a hunting gentleman is a good thing."
"About the best thing out," said the Captain.
"But a hunting gentleman isn't everything. I know nothing of the old lady's people,—only this that none of their money ever came into Dillsborough. I'm all for Reginald Morton. He's my landlord as it is, and he's a gentleman."
"I hate foreigners coming," said Ribbs.
"'E ain't too old to take it yet," said Harry. Fred Botsey declared that he didn't believe in men hunting unless they began young. Whereupon Dr. Nupper declared that he had never ridden over a fence till he was forty-five, and that he was ready now to ride Fred across country for a new hat. Larry suggested that a man might be a good friend to sport though he didn't ride much himself;—and Runciman again asserted that hunting wasn't everything. Upon the whole Reginald was the favourite. But the occasion was so special that a little supper was ordered, and I fear the attorney did not get home till after twelve.
Till the news reached Hoppet Hall that Mrs. Morton had taken herself off to London, there was great doubt there as to what ought to be done, and even then the difficulty was not altogether over. Till she was gone neither Lady Ushant nor her nephew would go there, and he could only declare his purpose of attending the funeral whether he were asked or not. When his aunt again spoke of the will he desired her with much emphasis not to allude to the subject. "If the property is to come to me," he said, "anything of good that may be in it cannot be much sweeter by anticipation. And if it is not I shall only encourage disappointment by thinking of it."