CHAPTER XXVI. MR. CUTBILL ARRIVES AT CASTELLO.
On the eve of that day on which the conversation in the last chapter occurred, Mr Cutbill arrived at Castello. He came full of town news. He brought with him the latest scandals of society, and the last events in politics; he could tell of what was doing in Downing Street, and what was about to be done in the City. In fact, he had the sort of budget that was sure to amuse a country audience; and yet, to his astonishment, he found none to question, none even to listen to him. Colonel Bramleigh's illness had thrown a gloom over all. The girls relieved each other in watches beside their father, and Augustus and Temple dined together alone, as Lord Culduff's gout still detained him in his room. It was as the dinner drew to its close that Mr. Cutbill was announced.
“It ain't serious, I hope? I mean, they don't think the case dangerous?” said he, as he arranged his napkin on his knee.
Augustus only shook his head in silence.
“Why, what age is he? not sixty?”
“Fifty-one—fifty-two in June.”
“That's not old; that's the prime of life, especially when a man has taken nothing out of himself.”
“He was always temperate,—most temperate.”
“Just so; even his own choice Mouton did n't tempt him into the second bottle. I remember that well. I said to myself, 'Tom Cutbill, that green seal would n't fare so well in your keeping.' I had such a bag of news for him. All the rogueries on 'Change, fresh and fresh. I suppose it is quite hopeless to think of telling him now?”
“Not to be thought of.”
“How he 'd have liked to have heard about Hewlett and Bell! They 're gone for close on two millions; they 'll not pay over sixpence in the pound, and Rinker, the Bombay fellow that went in for cotton, has caught it too! Cotton and indigo have ruined more men than famine and pestilence. I 'd be shot, if I was a Lord of the Council, if I would n't have a special prayer for them in the Litany. Well, Temple, and how are you, all this while?” said he, turning abruptly to the diplomatist, who sat evidently inattentive to the dialogue.
“What, sir, did you address me?” cried he, with a look of astonishment and indignation.
“I should think I did; and I never heard you were Premier Earl, or that other thing of England, that you need look so shocked at the liberty! You Foreign Office swells are very grand folk to each other; but take my word for it, the world, the real world, thinks very little of you.”
Temple arose slowly from his place, threw his napkin on the table, and turning to Augustus, said, “You 'll find me in the library,” and withdrew.
“That's dignified, I take it,” said Cutbill; “but to my poor appreciation, it's not the way to treat a guest under his father's roof.”
“A guest has duties, Mr. Cutbill, as well as rights. My brother is not accustomed to the sort of language you address to him, nor is he at all to blame if he decline to hear more of it.”
“So that I am to gather you think he was right.”
Augustus bowed coldly.
“It just comes to what I said one day to Harding; the sailor is the only fellow in the house a man can get on with. I 'm sorry, heartily sorry for him.”
The last words were in a tone of sincere feeling; and Augustus asked, “What do you mean by sorry? what has happened to him?”
“Have n't you seen it in the 'Times'—no, you could n't, though—it was only in this morning's edition, and I have it somewhere. There 's to be a court-martial on him. He's to be tried on board the 'Ramsay,' at Portsmouth, for disobedience and indiscipline, and using to his superior officer—old Colthurst—words unbecoming the dignity of the service and the character of an officer, or the dignity of an officer and the character of the service—it's all the one gauge; but he 'll be broke and cashiered all the same.”
“I thought that if he were to recall something, if he would make some explanation, which he might without any peril to honor—”
“That's exactly how it was; and when I heard he was in a scrape I started off to Portsmouth to see him.”
“You did?” exclaimed Augustus, looking now with a very different expression at the other.
“To be sure I did; I went down by the mail train, and stayed with him till the one-forty express started next day, and I might have saved myself the trouble.”
“You could make no impression upon him?”
“Not a bit,—as well talk to that oak sideboard there; he 'd sit and smoke, and chat very pleasantly, too, about anything, I believe. He 'd tell about his life up in town, and what he lost at the races, and how near he was to a good thing on the Riddlesworth; but not a word, not so much as a syllable would he say about his own hobble. It was growing late. We had had a regular bang-up breakfast—turtle steaks and a devilled lobster, and plenty of good champagne—not the sweet stuff your father gives us down here, but dry 'mum,' that had a flavor of Marco-brunner about it. He 's a rare fellow to treat a man, is Jack; and so I said,—not going about the bush, but bang into the thicket at once,—'What's this stupid row you 've got into with your Admiral? what's it all about?'
“'It's about a service regulation, Master Cutbill,' said he, with a stiff look on him. 'A service regulation that you would n't understand if you heard it.'
“'You think,' said I, 'that out of culverts and cuttings, Tom Cutbill's opinion is not worth much?'
“'No, no, not that, Cutbill. I never said that,' said he, laughing; 'but you see that we sailors not only have all sorts of technicals for the parts of a ship, but we have technical meanings for even the words of common life, so that though I might call you a consummate humbug, I could n't say as much to a Vice-Admiral without the risk of being judged by professional etiquette.'
“'But you did n't call him that, did you?' said I.
“'I 'll call you worse, Cutty,' says he, laughing, 'if you don't take your wine.'
“'And now, Jack,' said I, 'it's on the stroke of one; I must start with the express at one-forty, and as I came down here for nothing on earth but to see if I could be of any use to you, don't let me go away only as wise as I came; be frank and tell me all about this business, and when I go back to town it will push me hard if I can't do something with the Somerset House fellows to pull you through.'
“'You are a good-hearted dog, Cutty,' says he, 'and I thought so the first day I saw you; but my scrape, as you call it, is just one of those things you 'd only blunder in. My fine brother Temple, or that much finer gentleman, Lord Culduff, who can split words into the thinnest of veneers, might possibly make such a confusion that it would be hard to see who was right or who was wrong in the whole affair; but you, Cutty, with your honest intentions and your vulgar good sense, would be sure to offend every one, There, don't lose your train; don't forget the cheroots and the punch, and some pleasant books, if they be writing any such just now.'
“'If you want money,' said I,—'I mean for the defence.'
“'Not sixpence for the lawyers, Cutty; of that you may take your oath,' said he, as he shook my hand. 'I 'd as soon think of sending the wardroom dinner overboard to the sharks.' We parted, and the next thing I saw of him was that paragraph in the 'Times.'”
“How misfortunes thicken around us. About a month or six weeks ago, when you came down here first, I suppose there was n't a family in the kingdom could call itself happier.”
“You did look jolly, that I will say; but somehow—you 'll not take the remark ill—I saw that, as we rail-folk say, it was a capital line for ordinary regular traffic, but would be sure to break down if you had a press of business.”
“I don't understand you.”
“I mean that, so long as it was only a life of daily pleasure and enjoyment was before you,—that the gravest question of the day was what horse you 'd ride, or whom you 'd invite to dinner,—so long as that lasted the machine would work well,—no jar, no friction anywhere; but if once trouble—and I mean real trouble—was to come down upon you, it would find you all at sixes and sevens,—no order, no discipline anywhere, and, what 's worse, no union. But you know it better than I do. You see yourself that no two of you pull together; ain't that a fact?”
Augustus shook his head mournfully, but was silent.
“I like to see people jolly, because they understand each other, and are fond of each other, because they take pleasure in the same things, and feel that the success of one is the success of all. There 's no merit in being jolly over ten thousand a year and a house like Windsor Castle. Now, just look at what is going on, I may call it, under our noses here. Does your sister Marion care a brass farthing for Jack's misfortunes, or does he feel a bit elated about her going to marry a viscount? Are you fretting your heart to ribbons because that fine young gent that left us a while ago is about to be sent envoy to Bogota? And that's fact, though he don't know it yet,” added he, in a chuckling whisper. “It's a regular fair-weather family, and if it comes on to blow, you 'll see if there 's a storm-sail amongst you.”
“Apparently, then, you were aware of what was only divulged to me this evening?” said Augustus. “I mean the intended marriage of Lord Culduff to my sister.”
“I should say I was aware of it. I was, so to say, promoter and projector. It was I started the enterprise. It was that took me over to town. I went to square that business of old Culduff. There was a question to be asked in the House about his appointment that would have led to a debate, or what they call a conversation—about the freest kind of after-dinner talk imaginable—and they 'd have ripped up the old reprobate's whole life—and I assure you there are passages in it would n't do for the 'Methodists' Magazine'—so I went over to negotiate a little matter with Joel, who had, as I well knew, a small sheaf of Norton's bills. I took Joel down to Greenwich to give him a fish-dinner, and talk the thing over, and we were right comfortable and happy over some red Hermitage,—thirty shillings a bottle, mind you,—when we heard a yell, just a yell, from the next room, and in walks—whom do you think?—Norton himself, with his napkin in his hand—he was dining with a set of fellows from the Garrick, and he swaggered in and sat down at our table. 'What infernal robbery are you two concocting here?' said he. 'When the waiter told me who were the fellows at dinner together, I said, These rascals are like the witches in Macbeth, and they never meet without there 's mischief in the wind.'”
“The way he put it was so strong, there was something so home in it, that I burst out and told him the whole story, and that it was exactly himself, and no other, was the man we were discussing.
“'And you thought,' said he, 'you thought that, if you had a hold of my acceptances, you 'd put the screw on me and squeeze me as flat as you pleased. Oh, generation of silkworms, ain't you soft!' cried he, laughing. 'Order up another bottle of this, for I want to drink your healths. You 've actually made my fortune! The thing will now be first rate. The Culduff inquiry was a mere matter of public morals; but here, here is a direct attempt to coerce or influence a member of Parliament. I 'll have you both at the Bar of the House as sure as my name is Norton.'
“He then arose and began to rehearse the speech he 'd make when we were arraigned, and a spicier piece of abuse I never listened to. The noise he made brought the other fellows in from the next room, and he ordered them to make a house; and one was named speaker and another black rod, and we were taken into custody and duly purged of our contempt by paying for all the wine drank by the entire company,—a trifle of five-and-thirty pounds odd. The only piece of comfort I got at all was getting into the rail to go back to town, when Norton whispered me, 'It's all right about Culduff. Parliament is dissolved; the House rises on Tuesday, and he 'll not be mentioned.'”
“But does all this bear on the question of marriage?”
“Quite naturally. Your father pulls Culduff out of the mire, and the Viscount proposes for your sister. It's all contract business the whole world over. By the way, where is our noble friend? I suppose, all things considered, I owe him a visit.”
“You 'll find him in his room. He usually dines alone, and I believe Temple is the only one admitted.”
“I 'll send up my name,” said he, rising to ring the bell for the servant: “and I 'll call myself lucky if he'll refuse to see me.”
“His Lordship will be glad to see Mr. Cutbill as soon as convenient to him,” replied the servant on his return.
“All my news for him is not so favorable as this,” whispered Cutbill, as he moved away. “They won't touch the mine in the City. That last murder, though it was down in Tipperary, a hundred and fifty miles away from this, has frightened them all; and they say they 're quite ready to do something at Lagos, or the Gaboon, but nothing here. 'You see,' say they, 'if they cut one or two of our people's heads off in Africa, we get up a gun-brig, and burn the barracoons and slaughter a whole village for it, and this restores confidence; but in Ireland it always ends with a debate in the House, that shows the people to have great wrongs and great patience, and that their wild justice, as some one called it, was all right; and that sir, that does not restore confidence.' Good-night!”
CHAPTER XXVII. THE VILLA ALTIERI.
There is a short season in which a villa within the walls of old Rome realizes all that is positive ecstasy in the life of Italy. This season begins usually towards the end of February, and continues through the month of March. This interval—which in less favored lands is dedicated to storms of rain and sleet, east winds and equinoctial gales, tumbling chimney-pots and bronchitis—is here signalized by all that Spring, in its most voluptuous abundance, can pour forth. Vegetation comes out, not with the laggard step of northern climes,—slow, cautious, and distrustful,—but bursting at once from bud to blossom, as though impatient for the fresh air of life and the warm rays of the sun. The very atmosphere laughs and trembles with vitality. From the panting lizard on the urn to the myriad of insects on the grass, it is life everywhere; and over all sweeps the delicious odor of the verbena and the violet, almost overpowering with perfume, so that one feels, in such a land, the highest ecstasy of existence is that same dreamy state begotten of impressions derived from blended sense, where tone and tint and odor mingle almost into one. Perhaps the loveliest spot of Rome in this loveliest of seasons was the Villa Altieri. It stood on a slope of the Pincian, defended from north and east, and looking eastward over the Campagna towards the hills of Albano. A thick ilex grove, too thick and dark for Italian, though perfect to English taste, surrounded the house, offering alleys of shade that even the noonday's sun found impenetrable; while beneath the slope, and under shelter of the hill, lay a delicious garden, memorable by a fountain designed by Thorwaldsen, where four Naiades splash the water at each other under the fall of a cataract,—this being the costly caprice of the Cardinal Altieri, to complete which he had to conduct the water from the Lake of Albano. Unlike most Italian gardens, the plants and shrubs were not merely those of the south, but all that the culture of Holland and England could contribute to fragrance and color were also there, and the gorgeous tulips of the Hague, the golden ranunculus and crimson carnation, which attain their highest beauty in moister climates, here were varied with chrysanthemums and camellias. Gorgeous creepers trailed from tree to tree or gracefully trained themselves around the marble groups, and clusters of orange-trees, glittering with golden fruit, relieved in their darker green the almost too glaring brilliancy of color.
At a window which opened to the ground—and from which a view of the garden, and beyond the garden the rich woods of the Borghese Villa, and beyond these again, the massive dome of St. Peter's, extended—sat two ladies, so wonderfully alike that a mere glance would have proclaimed them to be sisters. It is true the Countess Balderoni was several years older than Lady Augusta Bramleigh; but whether from temperament or the easier flow of an Italian life in comparison with the more wearing excitement of an English existence, she certainly looked little, if anything, her senior.
They were both handsome,—at least, they had that character of good looks which in Italy is deemed beauty; they were singularly fair, with large, deep-set blue-gray eyes, and light brown hair of a marvellous abundance and silkiest fibre. They were alike soft-voiced and gentle-mannered, and alike strong-willed and obstinate, of an intense selfishness, and very capricious.
“His eminence is late this evening,” said Lady Augusta, looking at her watch. “It is nigh eight o'clock.”
“I fancy, Gusta, he was not quite pleased with you last night. On going away he said something, I did n't exactly catch it, but it sounded like 'leggierezza;' he thought you had not treated his legends of St. Francis with becoming seriousness.”
“If he wanted me to be grave he oughtn't to tell me funny stories.”
“The lives of the saints, Gusta!”
“Well, dearest, that scene in the forest where St. Francis asked the devil to flog him, and not to desist, even though he should be weak enough to implore it—was n't that dialogue as droll as anything in Boccaccio?”
“It's not decent, it's not decorous to laugh at any incident in the lives of holy men.”
“Holy men, then, should never be funny, at least when they are presented to me, for it's always the absurd side of everything has the greatest attraction for me.”
“This is certainly not the spirit which will lead you to the Church!”
“But I thought I told you already, dearest, that it 's the road I like, not the end of the journey. Courtship is confessedly better than marriage, and the being converted is infinitely nicer than the state of conviction.”
“Oh, Gusta, what are you saying?”
“Saying what I most fervently feel to be true. Don't you know, better even than myself, that it is the zeal to rescue me from the fold of the heretics surrounds me every evening with monsignori and vescovi, and attracts to the sofa where I happen to sit, purple stockings and red, a class of adorers, I am free to own, there is nothing in the lay world to compare with; and don't you know, too, that the work of conversion accomplished, these seductive saints will be on the look-out for a new sinner?”
“And is this the sincerity in which you profess your new faith? is it thus that you mean to endow a new edifice to the honor of the Holy Religion?”
“Cara mia! I want worship, homage, and adoration myself, and it is as absolute a necessity of my being, as if I had been born up there, and knew nothing of this base earth and its belongings. Be just, my dearest sister, and see for once the difference between us. You have a charming husband, who never plagues, never bores you, whom you see when it is pleasant to see, and dismiss when you are weary of him. He never worries you about money, he has no especial extravagance, and does not much trouble himself about anything—I have none of these. I am married to a man almost double my age, taken from another class, and imbued with a whole set of notions different from my own. I can't live with his people; my own won't have me. What then is left but the refuge of that emotional existence which the Church offers?—a sort of pious flirtation with a runaway match in the distance, only it is to be heaven, not Gretna Green.”
“So that all this while you have never been serious, Gusta?”
“Most serious! I have actually written to my husband,—you read the letter,—acquainting him with my intended change of religion, and my desire to mark the sincerity of my profession by that most signal of all proofs,—a moneyed one. As I told the Cardinal last night, Heaven is never so sure of us as when we draw on our banker to go there!”
“How you must shock his eminence when you speak in this way!”
“So he told me; but I must own he looked very tenderly into my eyes as he said so. Isn't it provoking?” said she, as she arose and moved out into the garden. “No post yet! It is always so when one is on thorns for a letter. Now, when one thinks that the mail arrives at daybreak, what can they possibly mean by not distributing the letters till evening? Did I tell you what I said to Monsignore Ricci, who has some function at the Post Office?”
“No, but I trust it was not a rude speech; he is always so polite.”
“I said that as I was ever very impatient for my letters, I had requested all my correspondents to write in a great round legible hand, which would give the authorities no pretext for delay, while deciphering their contents.”
“I declare, Gusta, I am amazed at you. I cannot imagine how you can venture to say such things to persons in office.”
“My dear sister, it is the only way they could ever hear them. There is no freedom of the press here; in society nobody speaks out. What would become of those people if they only heard the sort of stories they tell each other; besides, I 'm going to be one of them. They must bear with a little indiscipline.' The sergeant always pardons the recruit for being disorderly on the day of enlistment.”
The Countess shook her head disapprovingly, and was silent.
“Oh, dear! oh, dear!” sighed Lady Augusta. “I wonder what tidings the post will bring me! Will my affectionate and afflicted husband comply with my prayer, and be willing to endow the Church, and secure his own freedom; or will he be sordid, and declare that he can't live without me? I know you'd laugh, dear, or I'd tell you that the man is actually violently in love with me. You 've no notion of the difficulty I have to prevent him writing tender letters to me.”
“You are too, too bad, I declare,” said the other, smothering a rising laugh.
“Of course I 'd not permit such a thing. I stand on my dignity, and say, 'Have a care, sir.' Oh, here it comes! here's the post! What! only two letters, after all? She's a dun! Madame la Ruelle, Place Vendôme,—the cruellest creature that ever made a ball-dress. It is to tell me she can't wait; and I 'm so sick of saying she must, that I 'll not write any more. And who is this? The postmark is 'Portshandon.' Oh! I see; here's the name in the corner. This is from our eldest son, the future head of the house. Mr. Augustus Bramleigh is a bashful creature of about my own age, who was full of going to New Zealand and turning sheep-farmer. True, I assure you; he is an enthusiast about independence; which means he has a grand vocation for the workhouse.”
“By what strange turn of events has he become your correspondent?”
“I should say, Dora, it looks ill as regards the money. I'm afraid that this bodes a refusal.”
“Would not the shorter way be to read it?” said the other, simply.
“Yes, the shorter, but perhaps not the sweeter. There are little events in life which are worse than even uncertainties; but here goes:—
“'Castello.”
“'My dear Lady Augusta,—
“A very pretty beginning from my son—I mean my husband's son; and yet he could not have commenced 'Dearest Mamma.'”
“'I write my first letter to you at a very painful moment. My poor father was seized on Tuesday last with a most serious and sudden illness, to which the physician as yet hesitates to give a name. It is, however, on the brain or the membranes, and deprives him of all inclination, though not entirely of all power, to use his faculties. He is, moreover, enjoined to avoid every source of excitement, and even forbidden to converse. Of course, under these afflicting circumstances, everything which relates to business in any way is imperatively excluded from his knowledge; and must continue to be so till some change occurs.
“'It is not at such a moment you would expect to hear of a marriage in the family, and yet yesterday my sister Marion was married to Lord Viscount Culduff.'”
Here she laid down the letter, and stared with an expression of almost overwhelmed amazement at her sister. “Lord Culduff! Where's the 'Peerage,' Dora? Surely it must be the same who was at Dresden when we were children; he wasn't married—there can be no son. Oh, here he is: 'Henry Plantagenet de Lacey, fourteenth Viscount Culduff; born 9th February, 17—.' Last century. Why, he 's the patriarch of the peers, and she 's twenty-four! What can the girl mean?”
“Do read on; I'm impatient for more.”
“'The imperative necessity for Lord Culduff to hold himself in readiness for whatever post in the diplomatic service the Minister might desire him to occupy, was the chief reason for the marriage taking place at this conjuncture. My father, however, himself, was very anxious on the subject; and indeed, insisted strongly on being present. The ceremony was accordingly performed in his own room, and I rejoice to say that, though naturally much excited, he does not appear to have sustained any increase of malady from this trying event. I need not tell you the great disparity of age between my sister and her husband: a disparity which I own enlisted me amongst those who opposed the match. Marion, however, so firmly insisted on her right to choose for herself, and her fortune being completely at her own disposal, that all continued opposition would have been not alone unavailing for the present, but a source of coldness and estrangement for the future.
“'The Culduffs'—(how sweetly familiar)—'the Culduffs left this for Paris this day, where I believe they intend to remain till the question of Lord Culduff's post is determined on. My sister ardently hopes it may be in Italy, as she is most desirous to be near you.'
“Can you imagine such a horror as this woman playing daughter to me, and yet going in to dinner before me, and making me feel her rank on every possible occasion! All this here I see is business,—nothing but business. The Colonel, it would seem, must have been breaking before they suspected, for all his late speculations have turned out ill. Penstyddin Copper Mine is an utter failure; the New Caledonian Packet Line a smash; and there 's a whole list of crippled enterprises. It 's very nice of Augustus, however, to say that, though he mentions these circumstances, which might possibly reach me through other channels, no event that he could contemplate should in any way affect my income, or any increase of it that I deem essential to my comfort or convenience; and although in total ignorance as he is of all transactions of the house, he begs me to write to himself directly when any question of increased expense should arise—which I certainly will. He 's a buon figliuolo, Dolly, that must be said, and it would be shameful not to develop such generous instincts.
“'If my father's illness should be unhappily protracted, means must be taken, I believe, to devolve his share in business matters upon some other. I regret that it cannot possibly be upon myself; but I am totally unequal to the charge, and have not, besides, courage for the heavy responsibility.'
“That's the whole of it,” said she, with a sigh; “and all things considered, it might have been worse.”
CHAPTER XXVIII. CASTELLO.
Castello had now become a very dreary abode. Lord and Lady Culduff had taken their departure for Paris. Temple had gone up to town to try and manage an exchange, if by good luck any one could be found to believe that Bogota was a desirable residence, and a fine field for budding diplomacies; and none remained but Nelly and Augustus to relieve each other in watches beside their father's sick-bed.
Young, and little experienced in life as she was, Nelly proved a great comfort and support to her brother in these trying hours. At first he told her nothing of the doubts and fears that beset him. In fact they had assumed no shape sufficiently palpable to convey.
It was his daily custom to go over the letters that each morning brought, and in a few words—the very fewest he could employ—acquaint Mr. Underwood, the junior partner, of his father's precarious state, and protest against being able, in the slightest degree, to offer any views or guidance as to the conduct of matters of business. These would now and then bring replies in a tone that showed how little Underwood himself was acquainted with many of the transactions of the house, and how completely he was accustomed to submit himself to Colonel Bramleigh's guidance. Even in his affected retirement from business, Bramleigh had not withdrawn from the direction of the weightiest of the matters which regarded the firm, and jealously refused any—the slightest—attempt of his partner to influence his judgment.
One of Underwood's letters completely puzzled Augustus; not only by the obscurity of its wording, but by the evident trace in it of the writer's own inability to explain his meaning. There was a passage which ran thus: “'Mr. Sedley was down again, and this time the amount is two thousand five hundred; and though I begged he would give me time to communicate with you before honoring so weighty a draft, he replied—I take pains to record his exact words:—'There is no time for this; I shall think myself very fortunate, and deem Colonel Bramleigh more fortunate still, if I am not forced to call upon you for four times as much within a fortnight.'” After referring to other matters, there was this at the end of the letter—
“S———has just repaid the amount he so lately drew from the bank; he appeared chagrined and out of spirits, merely saying, 'Tell the Colonel the negotiation has broke down, and that I will write to-morrow.'”
The promised letter from Sedley had not come, but in its place was a telegram from him, saying, “I find I must see and speak with you, I shall go over by Saturday, and be with you on Sunday morning.”
“Of course he cannot see papa,” said Nelly; “the doctor more strongly than ever insists on perfect repose.”
“And it's little worth his while to make the journey to see me,” said he, dispiritedly.
“Perhaps he only wants your sanction, your concurrence to something he thinks it wise to do—who knows?”
“Just so, Nelly; who knows? All these weighty speculations entered upon to convert thousands into tens of thousands have no sympathy of mine. I see no object in such wealth. The accumulation of what never spares one a moment for its enjoyment, seems to me as foolish as the act of a man who would pass his life scaling a mountain to obtain a view, and drop down of fatigue before he had once enjoyed it. You and I, I take it, would be satisfied with far humbler fortune?”
“You and I, Gusty,” said she, laughingly, “are the ignoble members of this family.”
“Then there comes another difficulty; Sedley will at once see that I have not shared my father's confidence, and he will be very cautious about telling me of matters which have not been intrusted to me already.”
“Perhaps we are only worrying ourselves for nothing, Gusty. Perhaps there are no secrets after all; or at worst, only those trade secrets which are great mysteries in the counting house, but have no interest for any not deep in speculation.”
“If I only thought so!”
“Have you sufficient confidence in Mr. Cutbill to take him into your counsel? He will be back here to morrow.”
“Scarcely, Nelly. I do not exactly distrust, but I can't say that I like him.”
“I hated him at first; but either I have got used to his vulgarity, or I fancy that he is really good-natured, or from whatever the cause, I incline to like him better than when he came, and certainly he behaved well to poor Jack.”
“Ah, there 's another trouble that I have not thought of. Jack, who does not appear to know how ill my poor father is, asks if he could not be induced to write to—somebody—I forget whom, in his behalf. In fact, Nelly, there is not a corner without its special difficulty, and I verily believe there never was a man less made to meet them than myself.”
“I 'll take as much of the load as I have strength for,” said she, quietly.
“I know that; I know it well, Nelly. I can scarcely say what I 'd do without you now. Here comes the doctor. I 'm very anxious to hear what he 'll say this evening.”
Belton had made a long visit to the sick room, and his look was graver than usual as he came down the stairs. “His head is full of business; he will give his brain no respite,” said he; “but for that, I 'd not call his case hopeless. Would it not be possible to let him suppose that all the important matters which weigh upon him were in safe hands and in good guidance?”
Augustus shook his head doubtingly.
“At least could he not be persuaded to suffer some one—yourself, for example—to take the control of such affairs as require prompt action till such time as he may be able to resume their management himself?”
“I doubt it, Doctor; I doubt it much. Men who, like my father, have had to deal with vast and weighty interests, grow to feel that inexperienced people—of my own stamp, for instance—are but sorry substitutes in time of difficulty; and I have more than once heard him say, 'I'd rather lash the tiller and go below, than give over the helm to a bad steersman.'”
“I would begin,” continued the doctor, “by forbidding him all access to his letters. You must have seen how nervous and excited he becomes as the hour of the post draws nigh. I think I shall take this responsibility on myself.”
“I wish you would.”
“He has given me, in some degree, the opportunity; for he has already asked when he might have strength enough to dictate a letter, and I have replied that I would be guided by the state in which I may find him to-morrow for the answer. My impression is that what he calls a letter is in reality a will. Are you aware whether he has yet made one?”
“I know nothing—absolutely nothing—of my father's affairs.”
“The next twelve hours will decide much,” said the doctor, as he moved away, and Augustus sat pondering alone over what he had said, and trying to work out in his mind whether his father's secrets involved anything deeper and more serious than the complications of business and the knotty combinations of weighty affairs.
Wearied out—for he had been up the greater part of the night—and fatigued, he fell off at last into a heavy sleep, from which he was awoke by Nelly, who, gently leaning on his shoulder, whispered, “Mr. Sedley has come, Gusty; he is at supper in the oak parlor. I told him I thought you had gone to lie down for an hour, for I knew you were tired.”
“No, not tired, Nelly,” said he, arousing himself, half-ashamed of being caught asleep. “I came in here to think, and I believe I dropped into a doze. What is he like,—this Mr. Sedley? What manner of man is he?”
“He is small and gray, with a slight stoop, and a formal sort of manner. I don't like him. I mean his manner checked and repelled me, and I was glad to get away from him.”
“My father thinks highly of his integrity, I know.”
“Yes, I am aware of that. He is an excellent person, I believe; rather non-attractive.”
“Well,” said he, with a half-sigh, “I'll go and see whether my impression of him be the same as yours. Will you come in, Nelly?”
“Not unless you particularly wish it,” said she, gravely.
“No; I make no point of it, Nelly. I 'll see you again by-and-by.”
Augustus found Mr. Sedley over his wine He had despatched a hasty meal, and was engaged looking over a mass of papers and letters with which a black leather bag at his side seemed to be filled. After a few words of greeting, received by the visitor with a formal politeness, Augustus proceeded to explain how his father's state precluded all questions of business, and that the injunctions of the doctor were positive on this head.
“His mind is clear, however, isn't it?” asked Sedley.
“Perfectly. He has never wandered, except in the few moments after sleep.”
“I take it I shall be permitted to see him?”
“Certainly; if the doctor makes no objection, you shall.”
“And possibly, too, I may be allowed to ask him a question or two? Matters which I know he will be well prepared to answer me.”
“I am not so confident about that. Within the last hour Doctor Belton has declared perfect quiet, perfect repose, to be of the utmost importance to my father.”
“Is it not possible, Mr. Bramleigh, that I may be able to contribute to this state by setting your father's mind at rest, with reference to what may press very heavily on him?”
“That is more than I can answer,” said Augustus, cautiously.
“Well,” said Sedley, pushing back his chair from the table, “if I am not permitted to see Colonel Bramleigh, I shall have made this journey for nothing—without, sir, that you will consent to occupy your father's position, and give your sanction to a line of action?”
“You know my father, Mr. Sedley, and I need not tell you how so presumptuous a step on my part might be resented by him.”
“Under ordinary circumstances, I am sure he would resent such interference: but here, in the present critical emergency, he might feel, and not without reason, perhaps, more displeased at your want of decision.”
“But when I tell you, Mr. Sedley, that I know nothing of business, that I know no more of the share list than I do of Sanscrit, that I never followed the rise and fall of the funds, and am as ignorant of what influences the exchanges as I am of what affects the tides,—when I have told you all this, you will, I am sure, see that any opinion of mine must be utterly valueless.”
“I don't exactly know, Mr. Bramleigh, that I'd have selected you if I wanted a guide to a great speculation or a large investment; but the business which has brought me down here is not of this nature. It is, besides, a question as to which, in the common course of events, you might be obliged to determine what line you would adopt. After your father, you are the head of this family, and I think it is time you should learn that you may be called upon tomorrow, or next day, to defend your right, not only to your property, but to your name.”
“For Heaven's sake, what do you mean?”
“Be calm, sir, and grant me a patient hearing, and you shall hear the subject on which I have come to obtain your father's opinion; and failing that, yours—for, as I have said, Mr. Bramleigh, a day or two more may make the case one for your own decision. And now, without entering into the history of the affair, I will simply say that an old claim against your father's entailed estates has been recently revived, and under circumstances of increased importance; that I have been, for some time back, in negotiation to arrange this matter by a compromise, and with every hope of success; but that the negotiations have been unexpectedly broken off by the demands of the claimant,—demands so far above all calculation, and, indeed, I may say above all fairness,—that I have come over to ask whether your father will accede to them or accept the issue of the law as to his right.”
Augustus sat like one stunned by a heavy blow, not utterly unconscious, but so much overcome and so confused that he could not venture to utter a word.
“I see I have shocked you by my news, Mr. Bramleigh; but these are things not to be told by halves.”
“I know nothing of all this; I never so much as heard of it,” gasped out Augustus. “Tell me all that you know about it.”
“That would be a somewhat long story,” said the other, smiling; “but I can, in a short space, tell you enough to put the main facts before you, and enable you to see that the case is, with all its difficulties of proof, a very weighty and serious one, and not to be dismissed, as your father once opined, as the mere menace of a needy adventurer.”
With as much brevity as the narrative permitted, Sedley told the story of Pracontal's claim. It was, he said, an old demand revived; but under circumstances that showed that the claimant had won over adherents to his cause, and that some men with means to bring the case to trial had espoused his side. Pracontal's father, added he, was easily dealt with; he was a vulgar fellow, of dissipated habits, and wasteful ways; but his taste for plot and intrigue—very serious conspiracies, too, at times—had so much involved him that he was seldom able to show himself, and could only resort to letter-writing to press his demands. In fact, it was always his lot to be in hiding on this charge or that; and the police of half Europe were eager in pursuit of him. With a man so deeply compromised, almost outlawed over the whole Continent, it was not difficult to treat, and it happened more than once that he was for years without anything being heard of him; and, in fact, it was clear that he only preferred his claim as a means of raising a little money, when all other means of obtaining supplies had failed him. At last, news of his death arrived. He died at Monte Video; and it was at first believed that he had never married, and consequently, that his claim, if it deserved such a name, died with him. It was only three years ago that the demand was revived, and this man, M. Anatole Pracontal, as he called himself, using his maternal name, appeared in the field as the rightful owner of the Bramleigh estates.
“Now this man is a very different sort of person from his father. He has been well educated, mixed much with the world, and has the manners and bearing of a gentleman. I have not been able to learn much of his career; but I know that he served as a lieutenant in a French hussar regiment, and subsequently held some sort of employment in Egypt. He has never stooped to employ threat or menace, but frankly appealed to the law to establish his claim; and his solicitor, Kelson, of Furnivars Inn, is one of the most respectable men in the profession.”
“You have seen this Monsieur Pracontal yourself?”
“Yes. By a strange accident I met him at your brother's, Captain Bramleigh's, breakfast table. They had been fellow-travellers, without the slightest suspicion on either side how eventful such a meeting might be. Your brother, of course, could know nothing of Pracontal's pretensions; but Pracontal, when he came to know with whom he had been travelling, must have questioned himself closely as to what might have dropped from him inadvertently.”
Augustus leaned his head on his hand in deep thought, and for several minutes was silent. At last he said, “Give me your opinion, Mr. Sedley,—I don't mean your opinion as a lawyer, relying on nice technical questions or minute points of law, but simply your judgment as a man of sound sense, and, above all, of such integrity as I know you to possess,—and tell me what do you think of this claim? Is it,—in one word, is it founded on right?”
“You are asking too much of me, Mr. Bramleigh. First of all, you ask me to disassociate myself from all the habits and instincts of my daily life, and give you an opinion on a matter of law, based on other rules of evidence than those which alone I suffer myself to be guided by. I only recognize one kind of right,—that which the law declares and decrees.”
“Is there not such a thing as a moral right?”
“There may be; but we are disputatious enough in this world, with all our artificial aids to some fixity of judgment, and for Heaven's sake let us not soar up to the realms of morality for our decisions, or we shall bid adieu to guidance forever.”
“I 'm not of your mind there, sir. I think it is quite possible to conceive a case in which there could be no doubt on which side lay the right, and not difficult to believe that there are men who would act, on conviction, to their own certain detriment.”
“It's a very hopeful view of humanity, Mr. Bramleigh,” said the lawyer, and he took a pinch of snuff.
“I am certain it is a just one. At least, I will go this far to sustain my opinion. I will declare to you here, that if the time should ever come that it may depend upon me to decide this matter, if I satisfy my mind that M. Pracontal's claim be just and equitable,—that, in fact, he is simply asking for his own,—I 'll not screen myself behind the law's delays or its niceties; I 'll not make it a question of the longest purse or the ablest advocate, but frankly admit that the property is his, and cede it to him.”
“I have only one remark to make, Mr. Bramleigh, which is, keep this determination strictly to yourself; and above all things, do not acquaint Colonel Bramleigh with these opinions.”
“I suspect that my father is not a stranger to them,” said Augustus, reddening with shame and irritation together.
“It is therefore as well, sir, that there is no question of a compromise to lay before you. You are for strict justice and no favor.”
“I repeat, Mr. Sedley, I am for him who has the right.”
“So am I,” quickly responded Sedley; “and we alone differ about the meaning of that word; but let me ask another question. Are you aware that this claim extends to nearly everything you have in the world; that the interest alone on the debt would certainly swallow up all your funded property, and make a great inroad, besides, on your securities and foreign bonds?”
“I can well believe it,” said the other, mournfully.
“I must say, sir,” said Sedley, as he rose and proceeded to thrust the papers hurriedly into his bag, “that though I am highly impressed—very highly impressed, indeed, with the noble sentiments you have delivered on this occasion—sentiments, I am bound to admit, that a long professional career has never made me acquainted with till this day—yet, on the whole, Mr. Bramleigh, looking at the question with a view to its remote consequences, and speculating on what would result if such opinions as yours were to meet a general acceptance, I am bound, to say I prefer the verdict of twelve men in a jury-box to the most impartial judgment of any individual breathing; and I wish you a very good-night.”
What Mr. Sedley muttered to himself as he ascended the stairs, in what spirit he canvassed the character of Mr. Augustus Bramleigh, the reader need not know; and it is fully as well that our story does not require it should be recorded. One only remark, however, may be preserved; it was said as he reached the door of his room, and apparently in a sort of summing up of all that had occurred to him,—“These creatures, with their cant about conscience, don't seem to know that this mischievous folly would unsettle half the estates in the kingdom; and there 's not a man in England would know what he was born to, till he had got his father in a madhouse.”