MR. BERESFORD IN PURSUIT.
The idea suggested by Simnel, after the interview with Dr. Prater at
the Flybynights, came upon Mr. Beresford with extraordinary force. It
opened up to him a new train of thought, gave a complete turn to his
intended course of life, afforded him matter for the deepest study and
reflection. As we have already seen, he was a man with a faultless
digestion, and without a scrap of heart--two qualities which had
undoubtedly greatly conduced towards his success in life, and towards
making him a careless, easy-going worldly philosopher. When he first
saw Miss Townshend at Bissett Grange, he remembered her as a cheery
little flirt whom he had met during the previous season; and finding
her companionable and amusing, determined to carry on a flirtation
which should serve as a pastime, and, at the break-up of the party, be
consigned to that limbo already replete with similar _amourettes_. The
presence of Captain Lyster, and the unmistakable evidence of his
passion for the young lady, gave Mr. Beresford very little annoyance;
he had a notion that, save in very exceptional cases, of which indeed
he had had no experience, women had a horror of an earnest lover; that
watchings and waitings, hangings on words, deep gazings into eyes, and
all outward signs of that passion which induces melancholy and affords
themes for poets, were as much _rococo_ and out of date as carrying a
lady's glove in your hat and perpetually seeking a fight with some one
on her account. He thought that women hated "dreary" lovers, and were
far more likely to be won by rattle, laughter, and raillery than by
the deepest devotion of a silent and sighing order. Moreover, as he
was only going in for flirtation, he would make his running while it
lasted, and leave the Captain to come in with the weight-carrying
proprieties after he had gone.
So far at first. Then came the recollection of his straitened
position, the reflection that Miss Townshend was an heiress, and the
determination to go in seriously for a proposal--a determination which
was very short-lived, owing to the discovery of the lady's engagement
to Gustav Schröder. From the time of her marriage, Mrs. Schröder was
by Beresford mentally relegated to a corps which included several
married ladies of his acquaintance; for the most part young and pretty
women, whose husbands were either elderly, or immersed in business,
or, what was equally available, immersed in pleasure, and more
attentive to other men's wives than to their own; ladies who required
"notice," as they phrased it, and who were sufficiently good-looking
to command it from some men, between whom and themselves there existed
a certain understanding. Nothing criminal, nor approaching to
criminality; for despite the revelations of the Divorce Court, there
is, I take it, a something, whether it be in what is called our
phlegmatic temperament, whether it be in the bringing-up of our
English girls,--bringing-up of domesticity utterly unknown to
Continental-bred young ladies, which hallows and keeps constantly
present the image of the doting father and the tender mother, and all
the sacred home-associations,--a something which strengthens the weak
and arrests the hand of the spoiler, and leaves the sacrifice
incomplete. The necessity for "notice," or for "being understood," or
"for having some one to rely on" (the husband engaged in business or
in the House being, of course, utterly untrustworthy), has created a
kind of society which I can only describe as a kind of solid
bread-and-butter _demi-monde_--a _demi-monde_ which, as compared with
that state of existence known in France under the title, is as a club
to a tavern, where the same things are carried on, but in a far more
genteel and decorous manner. The relations of its different members to
each other are as free from Wertherian sentimentalism as they are from
Parisian license, and would probably be considered severely correct by
that circle of upper Bohemians, of whose lives the younger Dumas has
constituted himself the chronicler.
Having, then, mentally appointed Mrs. Schröder a member of this
society, Mr. Beresford took upon himself the office of her cavalier,
and behaved to her in due form. When they were in company together, he
sedulously kept his eyes upon her, strove to anticipate her wishes,
and let her see that it was she who entirely absorbed him; he always
dropped his voice when he spoke to her, even though it were about the
merest trifle; and he invariably took notice of the arrangements of
her dress, hair, and appearance in general, and made suggestions
which, being in excellent taste, were generally approved and carried
out. Then he found out Mrs. Schröder's romantic side, a little bit of
nineteenth-century sentiment, dashed with drawing-room cynicism, which
found its exponent in Mr. Owen Meredith's weaker verses; and there
they found plenty of quotations about not being understood, and the
"little look across the crowd," and "what is not, might have been,"
and other choice little sentiments, which did not tend to elevate Mr.
Gustav Schröder, then hard at work in the City, in his wife's good
opinion. Indeed, being a very weak little woman, with a parasitical
tendency to cling for support to something, and being without that
something, which she had hitherto found in Barbara, free from the
dread which her father's presence always imposed upon her, and having
no companion in her husband, Mrs. Schröder began to look forward with
more and more eagerness to her opportunities of meeting Charles
Beresford, to take greater and greater delight in his attentions and
his conversation, and to substitute a growing repugnance for her
hitherto passive endurance of Mr. Schröder. Charles Beresford was
gradually coming to occupy the principal position in her thoughts, and
this that gentleman perceived with mingled feelings of gratified
vanity and annoyance. "She's going a little too fast!" he had said to
himself; "this sort of thing is all very well; but she's making it a
mile too palpable! People will talk, and I'm not in a position to
stand any public scandal; and as for bolting, or any thing of that
sort, by Jove, it would be sheer ruin and nothing less." In this frame
of mind, it had more than once occurred to Mr. Beresford to speak to
Mrs. Schröder, and caution her as to her bearing towards him; but
fortunately for him, so thoroughly void of offence had been all their
relations hitherto, that he scarcely dared to hint at what he intended
to convey, without risking the accusation of imputing evil by his very
advice. And in the mean time, while he hesitated what course to take,
came Dr. Prater's information, which at once changed all his plans.
The day after the conversation at the Flybynights, Mr. Beresford left
town and remained away for a week. The first day after his return, he
went into Mr. Simnel's room at the Office, and found that gentleman as
usual surrounded with work. Contrary, however, to his general custom,
Simnel no sooner looked up and saw Beresford than he threw down the
pen which he was plying, rose, and advancing shook his friend heartily
by the hand.
"Glad to see you back, Charley!" he said; "I was afraid you were off
for a ramble by your leaving no message and no address. Some of the
old games, eh? You must give them up now, Master Charley, and live
circumspectly; by Jove, you must."
"Nothing of the sort," replied Beresford. "Gayford, who was chief here
before Maddox, was an old friend of our family; and he's ill, poor old
boy, so I went out of charity to stay with him. He's got a place at
Berkhampstead, and there's deuced good hunting-country round there. I
had three capital days; Gayford's daughters were out; clipping riders,
those girls; good as Kate Mellon any day!"
"Indeed!" said Mr. Simnel, wincing a little at the name: "I should
think flirting with any body's daughters, be they ever so 'clipping,'
as you call it, would be time wasted for you just now, wouldn't it?"
"What do you mean?" asked Beresford, knowing perfectly, but anxious
that the declaration should come from his companion.
"Mean!" said Simnel, somewhat savagely. "What ant I likely to mean?
That you ought to stick to your duties here and earn your salary; that
Sir Hickory has heard that you go to the Argyle Rooms, and is going to
speak to Lord Palmerston about it; that you're hurting your health or
spoiling your complexion by keeping late hours,--is that why I'm
likely to tell you to live circumspectly? What rubbish it is fencing
with me in this way! You know that the last time we met was at that
nightclub of yours; that we had a talk there with Dr. Prater; and that
you determined--"
"I know," interrupted Beresford with a start--"I know," he continued,
looking round, "I'm not over particular; but I confess this plotting
for a dead man's shoes seems to me infernal rascality."
"What do you mean by 'plotting,' Charles Beresford? _I_ am plotting
for no dead man's shoes. _I_ have no hope of marrying a pretty widow,
and having a splendid income; and as for rascality--"
"There, I didn't mean it; I only thought--"
"Nor, on the other hand," pursued Mr. Simnel, relentlessly, "am _I_
over head and ears in debt, pressed by Jews, horribly impecunious,
and--"
"Leave me alone, Simnel, can't you? I know all this; and as you must
be perfectly certain, I've turned this Schröder affair over in my mind
a hundred times already."
"And what have you decided?"
"To go in for it at all hazards."
"I think you're right," said Simnel quietly; "it seems to me your last
chance; and though it's not strictly a very nice business, there are
hundreds of men holding their heads up before the world, which very
much esteems them, who have made their money in far worse
transactions. You'll require an immense amount of patience and tact."
"The former undoubtedly. Prater said he might go at any moment
if--what was it?--any thing excited or annoyed him. Question is what
does excite a fellow of that sort--Muscovadoes being high, or
gray-shirtings scarce, or pig-iron in demand, or some of those things
one sees in the paper--banks breaking or stocks falling, eh? As for
the tact, I don't think that will be required now."
"How do you mean--_now?_"
"Because it's all squared already," said Beresford complacently.
"I've only to go in and win whenever I like I imagine. To tell the
truth--though a man doesn't talk of these things, of course--I've
being fighting shy of it lately, rather than pressing it on."
"Yes, yes, of course," said Simnel impatiently; "I know all about
that; but don't you see that the greatest tact will be required
because your plan of operations must be entirely changed? You have
been carrying on a very animated flirtation within certain limits; but
now you are going in for a totally different thing. You are going
in--sit down, and let us talk this over quietly, it's rather
important: I know you've great experience in such matters; but just
listen to my humble advice, it may be worth hearing,--you are going in
to make sure of marrying a woman after her husband's death; an event
likely to occur at any time. To insure success there are two ways--one
by compromising her--"
"By Jove, Simnel!" exclaimed Beresford through his shut teeth.
"Be quiet, and don't interrupt--I'm not going to brush the down off
your virtue! As I said, by compromising her, by which you gain a hold
upon her which she cannot shake off, and must always acknowledge and
bow to, when required. But this, besides being wrong and unjust, and
all that sort of thing--which I don't so much mind--is risky, which I
dislike; and if detected, brings the whole fabric to the ground. So we
may put that on one side."
"Ah!" said Beresford, with a sigh of relief; "and the other?"
"The other is a totally different method, and unlike any thing you
have ever tried, I suspect, with any one. It is simply by professing
hopeless, unswerving, unconquerable spooniness. You have
hitherto--pardon the question--merely looked and sighed, &c.? Ah, I
thought so; that gesture was quite satisfactory as to the amount of
tenderness. Well now, then, you must declare yourself. Quietly, of
course, and, if you please, without any manifestations, which would
entirely spoil our plan, the essence whereof is virtue. You declare
yourself to this effect: that you are so completely smitten that you
can keep silence no longer; that previous to going away for a
lengthened period (for you believe that expatriation is the only thing
that will afford temporary relief), you have determined on speaking to
her, fearing she might think your absence strange, or hear its cause
wrongly explained by somebody else; that yours is not like the feeble
sentiment of the butterflies who flutter around her, &c. &c.; but a
deep and stedfast passion, which will only cease with life. You know
all that business. Then, that your respect for her is so great, that
you will not give scandal the smallest chance of a whisper. Had you
met in happier times--oh! you did, eh? Well, then, had you been in a
position, when you first met, to have offered, &c.; but now, too late!
love for ever; but leave for ever--foreign climes."
"Yes; but you know well enough I can't go abroad, and--"
"My dear fellow, she'll never dream of your doing any thing of the
sort. If I've any knowledge of women, she'll be deeply affected, as
she ought to be by your deucedly romantic story. She'll say a good
deal about 'if,' in reference to former years; she'll state her full
determination to do nothing approaching the smallest shadow of wrong;
but she'll avow she should be miserable at the idea of being the cause
of your banishment, and therefore she'll entreat you to stop in
England and be her brother."
"Be her brother?"
"Ay, and a first-rate position you'll have of it as her brother.
There'll be an immense amount of sentiment in the connexion; she'll
defer to you in every thing; your presence will always keep every body
else off, and she'll never dream of carrying on with any one but you.
How could she expect again to meet with such delicacy as you've shown?
And if any thing _should_ happen, you're safe to be first in the field
and to carry off the cup. Now do you see the line of country?"
"Oh, yes, I see it fast enough, and I've no doubt I can manage it.
It's rather a duffing business altogether; however, needs must, and I
musn't risk any more flukes. One thing I _am_ curious about, Simnel."
"What's that?"
"Why you take such an interest in this business? You first put me on
to it, and you've evidently given it some of your precious time in
thinking it out while I've been away. Be frank for once in your life,
and say--"
"Why does it interest _me?_" said Simnel, nursing his leg, and giving
a grin which showed all his big teeth. "Well, Master Charley, your
memory has never been good, but you might occasionally recollect that
you owe me eight hundred pounds!"
"Yes," said Beresford, "I know that well enough; but it isn't for that
alone. You'll be safe to get that, if I marry and come into money; but
there's something more in it than that, I know. It's that business
with the name of that firm that you made me say to old Townshend,
isn't it now, eh?"
"What, Pigott and Wells!" said Simnel, rocking to and fro--"Pigott and
Wells of Combcardingham? Well, perhaps that has something to do with
it; who knows? Meantime, stick to what I've told you; begin at once,
and in a month's time come to me with a good report."
And so ended the colloquy between this precious pair.
* * * * *
Pursuing his instructions with a certain amount of relish, and all the
experience of an accomplished and versatile actor, Mr. Beresford threw
himself into his new character with spirit, and made a decided hit in
it. All the raillery and nonsense, all the smiles and laughter, had
vanished. Owen Meredith had been exchanged for Lord Byron; and Mr.
Beresford as a nineteenth-century London-made Giaour was doing
terrible execution to that feeble little bit of Mrs. Schröder's
anatomy which she called her heart. There was no one to say a kind
word, to give proper advice, to the poor little woman in her need.
Barbara was absolutely lost to her: she had been two or three times to
Great Adullam Street, and Barbara had returned the call; but there was
evident restraint on both sides. The outside show of friendship
remained, but there was no animating spirit; none such, at least, as
to call for the kind of confidence which Alice Schröder would gladly
have made, had she received the slightest invitation. But Barbara was
not the Barbara of old days: she looked worn and anxious, was
constantly preoccupied, and answered at random; she confined herself,
moreover, to the merest commonplaces in her conversation, so that
Alice got no help from her. Nor from her father had she any
supervision: strict to a fault before her marriage, Mr. Townshend,
having once settled his daughter, imagined that his duty in life was
done, and that henceforth he might devote himself entirely to
pleasure, consisting in haunting the City by day and the whist-tables
at the Travellers by night. And it began to be noticed that this
hitherto model British merchant drank a great deal of wine with his
dinner, and a great deal of brandy after it; and there were ugly
rumours running about 'Change and drifting through Garraway's; and
Townshend's clerks were rather in request at the Bay Tree, and were
manifestly pumped as to whether there was any thing wrong with their
governor, under the guise of being requested to "put a name" to what
they would like to drink. It may be imagined, therefore, that under
this state of circumstances Mr. Townshend had neither time nor
inclination to bestow any advice upon that daughter, who, as he was in
the habit of saying, "had made such a splendid alliance." With her
husband Alice had, as has before been said, nothing in common. He
was a cold, proud, well-meaning man, who gloried as much as a
white-blooded elderly person can be said to glory in his riches and
his state, and who liked to have a pretty, elegant, well-dressed woman
before him at table, in the same way that he liked to have a stout
big-whiskered butler in a white waistcoat behind him. He liked his
wife, when he had time to think about her; but he had been brought up
in business, and that absorbed his whole attention by day; while
giving or going to parties, in which he could spend the result of what
he had attained by business, occupied him at night. But he had the
highest opinion of Mrs. Schröder's conduct, which he imagined was on a
par with every thing else in the establishment--real and genuine; and
he paid her bills, and presented her with cheques, with lavish
generosity. Only he was not exactly the man on whose bosom a wife
could lay her head and confess that she was tempted beyond her
strength.
There was a man who, without being much mixed up with this little
episode in the great drama of human life, overlooked some of the
scenes, and saw the dangers to which one of the characters was rapidly
exposing herself. That man was Fred Lyster, the one sentiment of whose
life--his love for Alice Townshend--was as fresh and as green and as
pure as ever. The announcement of her engagement was a great shock to
him, and he had taken care only to meet her face to face once or twice
since her marriage. The meeting upset him; and though she was
apparently unconscious of any feeling in the matter, it did her no
good; and there was no earthly reason why it should be. But he went
every where where she went, and watched her in the distance; his ears
were always on the alert whenever her name was mentioned in club
smoke-rooms and suchlike haunts of gossip; and he found, as he had
dreaded with fatal prescience, at Bissett, that Beresford was on the
trail. Long and earnestly he deliberated with himself as to what
course he should pursue. Should he pick a quarrel on some other topic
with Beresford, and shoot him? Shooting had gone out of fashion; and
if he killed his man, he should be exiled from England; if he didn't
kill him, where was the use of challenging him? Should he speak to Mr.
Townshend? or was there no female friend to whom he could apply? Yes;
Barbara Churchill. In Barbara Churchill he had the greatest
confidence, and to her he would go at once.