THE MARQUIS SEES HIS BROTHER.
When Lord George was summoned down to Manor Cross,--or rather, to Cross
Hall, he did not dare not to go. Lady Sarah had told him that it was
his duty, and he could not deny the assertion. But he was very angry
with his brother, and did not in the least wish to see him. Nor did he
think that by seeing him he could in any degree render easier that
horrible task which would, sooner or later, be imposed upon him, of
testing the legitimacy of his brother's child. And there were other
reasons which made him unwilling to leave London. He did not like to be
away from his young wife. She was, of course, a matron now, and
entitled to be left alone, according to the laws of the world; but then
she was so childish, and so fond of playing bagatelle with Jack De
Baron! He had never had occasion to find fault with her; not to say
words to her which he himself would regard as fault-finding words
though she had complained more than once of his scolding her. He would
caution her, beg her to be grave, ask her to read heavy books, and try
to impress her with the solemnity of married life. In this way he would
quell her spirits for a few hours. Then she would burst out again, and
there would be Jack De Baron and the bagatelle. In all these sorrows he
solaced himself by asking advice from Mrs. Houghton. By degrees he told
Mrs. Houghton almost everything. The reader may remember that there had
been a moment in which he had resolved that he would not again go to
Berkeley Square. But all that was very much altered now. He was there
almost every day, and consulted the lady about every thing. She had
induced him even to talk quite openly about this Italian boy, to
express his suspicions, and to allude to most distressing duties which
might be incumbent on him. She strenuously advised him to take nothing
for granted. If the Marquisate was to be had by careful scrutiny she
was quite of opinion that it should not be lost by careless confidence.
This sort of friendship was very pleasant to him, and especially so,
because he could tell himself that there was nothing wicked in it. No
doubt her hand would be in his sometimes for a moment, and once or
twice his arm had almost found its way round her waist. But these had
been small deviations, which he had taken care to check. No doubt it
had occurred to him, once or twice, that she had not been careful to
check them. But this, when he thought of it maturely, he attributed to
innocence.
It was at last, by her advice, that he begged that one of his sisters
might come up to town, as a companion to Mary during his absence at
Cross Hall. This counsel she had given to him after assuring him
half-a-dozen times that there was nothing to fear. He had named Amelia,
Mary having at once agreed to the arrangement, on condition that the
younger of the three sisters should be invited. The letter was of
course written to Lady Sarah. All such letters always were written to
Lady Sarah. Lady Sarah had answered, saying, that Susanna would take
the place destined for Amelia. Now Susanna, of all the Germain family,
was the one whom Mary disliked the most. But there was no help for it.
She thought it hard, but she was not strong enough in her own position
to say that she would not have Susanna, because Susanna had not been
asked. "I think Lady Susanna will be the best," said Lord George,
"because she has so much strength of character."
"Strength of character! You speak as if you were going away for three
years, and were leaving me in the midst of danger. You'll be back in
five days, I suppose. I really think I could have got on without
Susanna's--strength of character!" This was her revenge; but, all the
same, Lady Susanna came.
"She is as good as gold," said Lord George, who was himself as weak as
water. "She is as good as gold; but there is a young man comes here
whom I don't care for her to see too often." This was what he said to
Lady Susanna.
"Oh, indeed! Who is he?"
"Captain De Baron. You are not to suppose that she cares a straw about
him."
"Oh, no; I am sure there can be nothing of that," said Lady Susanna,
feeling herself to be as energetic as Cerberus, and as many-eyed as
Argus.
"You must take care of yourself now, master Jack," Mrs. Houghton said
to her cousin. "A duenna has been sent for."
"Duennas always go to sleep, don't they; and take tips; and are
generally open to reason?"
"Oh, heavens! Fancy tipping Lady Susanna! I should think that she never
slept in her life with both eyes at the same time, and that she thinks
in her heart that every man who says a civil word ought to have his
tongue cut out."
"I wonder how she'd take it if I were to say a civil word to herself?"
"You can try; but as far as Madame is concerned, you had better wait
till Monsieur is back again."
Lord George, having left his wife in the hands of Lady Susanna, went
down to Brotherton and on to Cross Hall. He arrived on the Saturday
after that first Sunday visit paid by the Marquis to his mother. The
early part of the past week had been very blank down in those parts. No
further personal attempts had been made to intrude upon the Manor Cross
mysteries. The Dean had not been seen again, even at Cross Hall. Mr.
Holdenough had made no attempt after the reception,--or rather
non-reception,--awarded to his wife. Old Mr. De Baron had driven over,
and had seen the Marquis, but nothing more than that fact was known at
Cross Hall. He had been there for about an hour, and as far as Mrs.
Toff knew, the Marquis had been very civil to him. But Mr. De Baron,
though a cousin, was not by any means one of the Germain party. Then,
on Saturday there had been an affair. Mrs. Toff had come to the Hall,
boiling over with the importance of her communication, and stating that
she had been--turned out of the house. She, who had presided over
everything material at Manor Cross for more than thirty years, from the
family pictures down to the kitchen utensils, had been absolutely
desired to--walk herself off. The message had been given to her by that
accursed Courier, and she had then insisted on seeing the Marquis. "My
Lord," she said, only laughed at her. "'Mrs. Toff,' he had said, 'you
are my mother's servant, and my sisters'. You had better go and live
with them.'" She had then hinted at the shortness of the notice given
her, upon which he had offered her anything she chose to ask in the way
of wages and board wages. "But I wouldn't take a penny, my Lady; only
just what was due up to the very day." As Mrs. Toff was a great deal
too old a servant to be really turned away, and as she merely migrated
from Manor Cross to Cross Hall, she did not injure herself much by
refusing the offers made to her.
It must be held that the Marquis was justified in getting rid of Mrs.
Toff. Mrs. Toff was, in truth, a spy in his camp, and, of course, his
own people were soon aware of that fact. Her almost daily journeys to
Cross Hall were known, and it was remembered, both by the Marquis and
his wife, that this old woman, who had never been allowed to see the
child, but who had known all the preceding generation as children,
could not but be an enemy. Of course it was patent to all the servants,
and to every one connected with the two houses, that there was war. Of
course, the Marquis, having an old woman acting spy in his stronghold,
got rid of her. But justice would shortly have required that the other
old woman, who was acting spy in the other stronghold, should be turned
out, also. But the Marchioness, who had promised to tell everything to
her son, could not very well be offered wages and be made to go.
In the midst of the ferment occasioned by this last piece of work Lord
George reached Cross Hall. He had driven through the park, that way
being nearly as short as the high road, and had left word at the house
that he would call on the following morning, immediately after morning
church. This he did, in consequence of a resolution which he had
made,--to act on his own judgment. A terrible crisis was coming, in
which it would not be becoming that he should submit himself either to
his eldest sister, or to the Dean. He had talked the matter over fully
with Mrs. Houghton, and Mrs. Houghton had suggested that he should call
on his way out to the Hall.
The ladies had at first to justify their request that he should come to
them, and there was a difficulty in doing this, as he was received in
presence of their mother. Lady Sarah had not probably told herself that
the Marchioness was a spy, but she had perceived that it would not be
wise to discuss everything openly in her mother's presence. "It is
quite right that you should see him," said Lady Sarah.
"Quite right," said the old lady.
"Had he sent me even a message I should have been here, of course,"
said the brother. "He passed through London, and I would have met him
there had he not kept everything concealed."
"He isn't like anybody else, you know. You mustn't quarrel with him. He
is the head of the family. If we quarrel with him, what will become of
us?"
"What will become of him if everybody falls off from him. That's what I
am thinking of," said Lady Sarah.
Soon after this all the horrors that had taken place,--horrors which
could not be entrusted to a letter,--were narrated him. The Marquis had
insulted Dr. Pountner, he had not returned the Bishop's visit, he had
treated the Dean with violent insolence, and he had refused to receive
his brother-in-law, Mr. Holdenough, though the Holdenoughs had always
moved in county society! He had declared that none of his relatives
were to be introduced to his wife. He had not as yet allowed the
so-called Popenjoy to be seen. He had said none of them were to trouble
him at Manor Cross, and had explained his purpose, of only coming to
the Hall when he knew that his sister Sarah was away. "I think he must
be mad," said the younger brother.
"It is what comes of living in a godless country like Italy," said Lady
Amelia.
"It is what comes of utterly disregarding duty," said Lady Sarah.
But what was to be done? The Marquis had declared his purpose of doing
what he liked with his own, and certainly none of them could hinder
him. If he chose to shut himself and his wife up at the big house, he
must do so. It was very bad, but it was clear that they could not
interfere with his eccentricities. How was anybody to interfere? Of
course, there was present in the mind of each of them a feeling that
this woman might not be his wife, or that the child might not be
legitimate. But they did not like with open words among themselves to
accuse their brother of so great a crime. "I don't see what there is to
be done," said Lord George.
The Church was in the park, not very far from the house, but nearer to
the gate leading to Brotherton. On that Sunday morning the Marchioness
and her youngest daughter went there in the carriage, and in doing so,
had to pass the front doors. The previous Sunday had been cold, and
this was the first time that the Marchioness had seen Manor Cross since
her son had been there. "Oh, dear! if I could only go in and see the
dear child," she said.
"You know you can't, mamma," said Amelia.
"It is all Sarah's fault, because she would quarrel with him."
After Church the ladies returned in the carriage, and Lord George went
to the house according to his appointment. He was shown into a small
parlour, and in about half an hour's time luncheon was brought to him.
He then asked whether his brother was coming. The servant went away,
promising to enquire, but did not return. He was cross and would eat no
lunch,--but after awhile rang the bell, loudly, and again asked the
same question. The servant again went away and did not return. He had
just made up his mind to leave the house and never to return to it,
when the Courier, of whom he had heard, came to usher him into his
brother's room. "You seem to be in a deuce of a hurry, George," said
the Marquis, without getting out of his chair. "You forget that people
don't get up at the same hour all the world over."
"It's half-past two now."
"Very likely; but I don't know that there is any law to make a man
dress himself before that hour."
"The servant might have given me a message."
"Don't make a row now you are here, old fellow. When I found you were
in the house I got down as fast as I could. I suppose your time isn't
so very precious."
Lord George had come there determined not to quarrel if he could help
it. He had very nearly quarrelled already. Every word that his brother
said was in truth an insult,--being, as they were, the first words
spoken after so long an interval. They were intended to be insolent,
probably intended to drive him away. But if anything was to be gained
by the interview he must not allow himself to be driven away. He had a
duty to perform,--a great duty. He was the last man in England to
suspect a fictitious heir,--would at any rate be the last to hint at
such an iniquity without the strongest ground. Who is to be true to a
brother if not a brother? Who is to support the honour of a great
family if not its own scions? Who is to abstain from wasting the wealth
and honour of another, if not he who has the nearest chance of
possessing them? And yet who could be so manifestly bound as he to take
care that no surreptitious head was imposed upon the family. This
little child was either the real Popenjoy, a boy to be held by him as
of all boys the most sacred, to the promotion of whose welfare all his
own energies would be due,--or else a brat so abnormously distasteful
and abominable as to demand from him an undying enmity, till the
child's wicked pretensions should be laid at rest. There was something
very serious in it, very tragic,--something which demanded that he
should lay aside all common anger, and put up with many insults on
behalf of the cause which he had in hand. "Of course I could wait,"
said he; "only I thought that perhaps the man would have told me."
"The fact is, George, we are rather a divided house here. Some of us
talk Italian and some English. I am the only common interpreter in the
house, and I find it a bore."
"I dare say it is troublesome."
"And what can I do for you now you are here?"
Do for him! Lord George didn't want his brother to do anything for him.
"Live decently, like an English nobleman, and do not outrage your
family." That would have been the only true answer he could have made
to such a question. "I thought you would wish to see me after your
return," he said.
"It's rather lately thought of; but, however, let that pass. So you've
got a wife for yourself."
"As you have done also."
"Just so. I have got a wife too. Mine has come from one of the oldest
and noblest families in Christendom."
"Mine is the granddaughter of a livery-stable keeper," said Lord
George, with a touch of real grandeur; "and, thank God, I can be proud
of her in any society in England."
"I dare say;--particularly as she had some money."
"Yes; she had money. I could hardly have married without. But when you
see her I think you will not be ashamed of her as your sister-in-law."
"Ah! She lives in London and I am just at present down here."
"She is the daughter of the Dean of Brotherton."
"So I have heard. They used to make gentlemen Deans." After this there
was a pause, Lord George finding it difficult to go on with the
conversation without a quarrel. "To tell you the truth, George, I will
not willingly see anything more of your Dean. He came here and insulted
me. He got up and blustered about the room because I wouldn't thank him
for the honour he had done our family by his alliance. If you please,
George, we'll understand that the less said about the Dean the better.
You see I haven't any of the money out of the stable-yard."
"My wife's money didn't come out of a stable-yard. It came from a
wax-chandler's shop," said Lord George, jumping up, just as the Dean
had done. There was something in the man's manner worse even than his
words which he found it almost impossible to bear. But he seated
himself again as his brother sat looking at him with a bitter smile
upon his face. "I don't suppose," he said, "you can wish to annoy me."
"Certainly not. But I wish that the truth should be understood between
us."
"Am I to be allowed to pay my respects to your wife?" said Lord George
boldly.
"I think, you know, that we have gone so far apart in our marriages
that there is nothing to be gained by it. Besides, you couldn't speak
to her,--nor she to you."
"May I be permitted to see--Popenjoy?"
The Marquis paused a moment, and then rang the bell. "I don't know what
good it will do you, but if he can be made fit he shall be brought
down." The Courier entered the room and received certain orders in
Italian. After that there was considerable delay, during which an
Italian servant brought the Marquis a cup of chocolate and a cake. He
pushed a newspaper over to his brother, and as he was drinking his
chocolate, lighted a cigarette. In this way there was a delay of over
an hour, and then there entered the room an Italian nurse with a little
boy who seemed to Lord George to be nearly two years old. The child was
carried in by the woman, but Lord George thought that he was big enough
to have walked. He was dressed up with many ribbons, and was altogether
as gay as apparel could make him. But he was an ugly, swarthy little
boy, with great black eyes, small cheeks, and a high forehead,--very
unlike such a Popenjoy as Lord George would have liked to have seen.
Lord George got up and stood over him, and leaning down kissed the high
forehead. "My poor little darling," he said.
"As for being poor," said the Marquis, "I hope not. As to being a
darling, I should think it doubtful. If you've done with him, she can
take him away, you know." Lord George had done with him, and so he was
taken away. "Seeing is believing, you know," said the Marquis; "that's
the only good of it." Lord George said to himself that in this case
seeing was not believing.
At this moment the open carriage came round to the door. "If you like
to get up behind," said the Marquis, "I can take you back to Cross
Hall, as I am going to see my mother. Perhaps you'll remember that I
wish to be alone with her." Lord George then expressed his preference
for walking. "Just as you please. I want to say a word. Of course I
took it very ill of you all when you insisted on keeping Cross Hall in
opposition to my wishes. No doubt they acted on your advice."
"Partly so."
"Exactly; your's and Sarah's. You can't expect me to forget it,
George;--that's all." Then he walked out of the room among the
servants, giving his brother no opportunity for further reply.