IN LORD VERNEY'S LIBRARY.
WHO should light upon Cleve that evening as he walked homeward but our
friend Tom Sedley, who was struck by the anxious pallor and melancholy
of his face.
Good-natured Sedley took his arm, and said he, as they walked on
together,--
"Why don't you smile on your luck, Cleve?"
"How do you know what my luck is?"
"All the world knows that pretty well."
"All the world knows everything but its own business."
"Well, people do say that your uncle has lately got the oldest
peerage--one of them--in England, and an estate of thirty-seven thousand
a year, for one thing, and that you are heir-presumptive to these
trifles."
"And that heirs-presumptive often get nothing but their heads in their
hands."
"No, you'll not come Saint Denis nor any other martyr over us, my dear
boy; we know very well how you stand in that quarter."
"It's pleasant to have one's domestic relations so happily arranged by
such very competent persons. I'm much obliged to all the world for the
parental interest it takes in my private concerns."
"And it also strikes some people that a perfectly safe seat in the House
of Commons is not to be had for nothing by every fellow who wishes it."
"But suppose I _don't_ wish it."
"Oh! we may suppose anything."
Tom Sedley laughed as he said this, and Cleve looked at him sharply, but
saw no uncomfortable meaning in his face.
"There is no good in talking of what one has not tried," said he. "If
you had to go down to that tiresome House of Commons every time it sits;
and had an uncle like mine to take you to task every time you missed a
division--you'd soon be as tired of it as I am."
"I see, my dear fellow, you are bowed down under a load of good luck."
They were at the door of Tom Sedley's lodgings by this time, and opening
it, he continued, "I've something in my room to show you; just run up
with me for a minute, and you'll say I'm a conjuror."
Cleve, not to be got into good spirits that evening, followed him
upstairs, thinking of something else.
"I've got a key to your melancholy, Cleve," said he, leading the way
into his drawing-room. "Look _there_," and he pointed to a clever copy
in crayons of the famous Beatrice Cenci, which he had hung over his
chimney-piece.
Tom Sedley laughed, looking in Cleve's eyes. A slight flush had suddenly
tinged his visitor's face, as he saw the portrait. But he did not seem
to enjoy the joke, on the contrary, he looked a little embarrassed and
angry. "That's Guido's portrait--well, what about it?" he asked, rather
surlily.
"Yes, of course; but who is it like?"
"Very few, I dare say, for _it_ is very pretty; and except on canvas,
there is hardly such a thing as a pretty girl to be seen. Is that all?
for the life of me, I can't see where the conjuring lies."
"Not in the picture, but the _likeness_; don't you see it?"
"_No_" said Cleve. "I must go; are you coming?"
"Not see it!" said Tom. "Why if it were painted for her, it could not be
more like. Why, it's the Flower of Cardyllian, the Star of Malory. It is
_your_ Miss Fanshawe--_my_ Margaret--_our_ Miss Margaret Fanshawe. I'm
making the fairest division I can, you see; and I would not be without
it for all the world."
"She would be very much gratified if she heard it. It is so flattering
to a young lady to have a fellow buy a coloured lithograph, and call it
by her name, and crack jokes and spout mock heroics over it. It is the
modern way of celebrating a lady's name. Don't you seriously think,
Sedley, it would be better to smash it with a poker, and throw it into
the fire, than go on taking such liberties with any young lady's name?"
"Upon my honour, Cleve, you mistake me; you do me great injustice. You
used to laugh at me, you know, when I'm quite sure, thinking over it
now, you were awfully gone about her yourself. I never told any one but
you why I bought that picture; it isn't a lithograph, but painted, or
drawn, or whatever they call it, with chalks, and it cost five guineas;
and no one but you ever heard me mention Miss Fanshawe's name, except
the people at Cardyllian, and then only as I might mention any other,
and always with respect."
"What does it signify?" interrupted Cleve, in the middle of a forced
yawn. "I'm tired to-day, and cross--don't you see; and man delights not
me, nor woman neither. So, if you're coming, come, for I must go."
"And, really, Cleve, the Cardyllian people do say (I've had letters)
that you were awfully in love with her yourself, and always haunting
those woods of Malory while she was there, and went away immediately she
left, and have never been seen in Cardyllian since."
"Those Cretans were always liars, Tom Sedley. That comes direct from the
club. I can fancy old Shrapnell in the light of the bow-window,
composing his farrago of dreams, and lies, and chuckling and cackling
over it."
"Well, I don't say that Shrapnell had anything to do with it; but I did
hear at first they thought you were gone about little Agnes Etherage."
"Oh! they found that out--did they?" said Cleve. "But you know those
people--I mean the Cardyllian people--as well, or better than I, and
really, as a kindness to me, and to save me the trouble of endless
explanations to my uncle, I would be so much obliged if you would not
repeat their follies--unless, of course, you happen to believe them."
Cleve did not look more cheerful as he drove away in a cab which he took
to get rid of his friend Tom Sedley. It was mortifying to find how vain
were his clever stratagems, and how the rustic chapmen of that Welsh
village and their wives had penetrated his diplomacy. He thought he had
killed the rumours about Malory, and yet that grain of mustard seed had
grown while his eye was off it, with a gigantic luxuriance, and now was
large enough to form a feature in the landscape, and quite visible from
the windows of Ware--if his uncle should happen to visit that
mansion--overtopping the roofs and chimneys of Cardyllian. His uncle
meditated an early visit to Cardyllian, and a short stay at Ware, before
the painters and gilders got possession of the house; a sort of ovation
in demi-toilette, grand and friendly, and a foretaste of the splendours
that were coming. Cleve did hope that those beasts would be quiet while
Lord Verney was (as he in his grand manner termed it) "among them." He
knew the danger of a vague suspicion seizing on his mind, how fast it
clung, how it fermented like yeast, fantastic and obstinate as a foolish
woman's jealousy--and as men sometimes will, he even magnified this
danger. Altogether, Cleve was not causelessly anxious and alarmed. He
had in the dark to navigate a channel which even in broad daylight
tasked a good steersman.
When Cleve reached Verney House it was eight o'clock. Lord Verney had
ordered his brougham at half-past, and was going down to the House; he
had something to say on Lord Frompington's bill. It was not very new,
nor very deep, nor very much; but he had been close at it for the last
three weeks. He had amused many gentlemen--and sometimes even ladies--at
many dinner parties, with a very exact recital of his views. I cannot
say that they were exactly _his_, for they were culled, perhaps
unconsciously, from a variety of magazine articles and pamphlets, which
happened to take Lord Verney's view of the question.
It is not given to any mortal to have his heart's desire in everything.
Lord Verney had a great deal of this world's good things--wealth,
family, rank. But he chose to aim at official station, and here his
stars denied him.
Some people thought him a goose, and some only a bore. He was, as we
know, pompous, conceited, obstinate, also weak and dry. His grandfather
had been a cabinet minister, respectable and silent; and was not he
wiser, brighter, and more learned than his grandfather? "Why on earth
should not _he_?" His influence commanded two boroughs, and virtually
two counties. The minister, therefore, treated him with distinction; and
spoke of him confidentially as horribly foolish, impracticable, and at
times positively impertinent.
Lord Verney was subject to small pets and huffs, and sometimes was
affronted with the Premier for four or five weeks together, although the
fact escaped his notice. And when the viscount relented, he would make
him a visit to quiet his mind, and show him that friendly relations were
re-established; and the minister would say, "Here comes that d----d
Verney; I suppose I must give him half-an-hour!" and when the peer
departed, thinking he had made the minister happy, the minister was
seriously debating whether Lord Verney's boroughs were worth the price
of Lord Verney's society.
His lordship was now in that sacred apartment, his library; where not
even Cleve had a right to disturb him uninvited. Preliminaries, however,
were now arranged; the servant announced him, and Cleve was commanded to
enter.
"I have just had a line to say I shall be in time at half-past ten
o'clock, about it. Frompington's bill won't be on till then; and take
that chair and sit down, about it, won't you? I've a good many things on
my mind; people put things upon me. _Some_ people think I have a turn
for business, and they ask me to consider and direct matters about
_theirs_, and I do what I can. There was poor Wimbledon, who died,
about it, seven years ago. You remember Wimbledon--or--I say--you either
remember him or you don't recollect him; but in either case it's of no
importance. Let me see: Lady Wimbledon--she's connected with you, about
it--your mother, remotely--remotely also with us, the Verneys. I've had
a world of trouble about her settlements--I can't describe--I can't
describe--I was not well advised, in fact, to accept the trust at all.
Long ago, when poor Frompington--I mean poor Wimbledon, of course--have
I been saying Wimbledon?"
Cleve at once satisfied him.
"Yes, of course. When poor Wimbledon looked as healthy and as strong as
I do at this moment, about it--a long time ago. Poor Wimbledon!--he
fancied, I suppose, I had some little turn, about it, for
business--_some_ of my friends _do_--and I accepted the trust when poor
Wimbledon looked as little likely to be hurried into eternity, about it,
as I do. I had a regard for him, poor Wimbledon, and he had a respect
for me, and thought I could be of use to him after he was dead, and I
have endeavoured, and people think I _have_. But Lady Wimbledon, the
dowager, poor woman! She's very long-winded, poor soul, and gives me an
infinity of trouble. One can't say to a lady, 'You are detaining me;
you are wandering from the subject; you fail to come to the point.' It
would be taking a liberty, or something, about it. I had not seen Lady
Wimbledon, simple 'oman, for seven years or more. It's a very entangled
business, and I confess it seems rather unfair, that I should have my
time, already sufficiently occupied with other, as I think, more
important affairs, so seriously interrupted and abridged. There's going
to be a bill filed--yes, and a great deal of annoyance. She has one
unmarried daughter, Caroline, about it, who is not to have any power
over her money until she is thirty-one. She's not that now. It was
hardly fair to me, putting it in trust so long. She is a very superior
person--a young woman one does not meet with every day, about it;
and--and very apprehensive--a great deal of mind--quite unusual. Do you
know her?"
The viscount raised his eyes toward the ceiling with a smile that was
mysterious and pleased.
Cleve did know that young lady of eight-and-twenty, and her dowager
mamma, "simple 'oman," who had pursued him with extraordinary spirit and
tenacity for several years, but that was past and over. Cleve
experienced a thrill of pain at his heart. He suspected that the old
torturing idea was again active in his uncle's mind.
Yes, he _did_ know them--ridiculous old woman; and the girl--he believed
she'd marry any one; he fancied she would have done _him_ that honour at
one time, and he fancied that the trust, if it was to end when she was
thirty-one, could not be very long in force.
"My dear Cleve, don't you think that's rather an odd way of speaking of
a young lady? People used not in my time--that is, when I was a young
man of two or three-and-twenty, about it--to talk so of young ladies. It
was not considered a thing that ought to be done. I--I never heard a
word of the kind."
Lord Verney's chivalry had actually called a little pink flush to his
old cheeks, and he looked very seriously still at the cornice, and
tapped a little nervous tattoo with his pencil-case on the table as he
did so.
"I really did not mean--I only meant--in fact, uncle, I tell _you_
everything; and poor Caroline is _so_ much older than I, it always
struck me as amusing."
"Their man of business in matters of law is Mr. Larkington, about it.
_Our_ man, you know--you know him."
"Oh, yes. They could not do better. Mr. Larkin--a very shrewd fellow. I
went, by-the-by, to see that old man, Dingwell."
"Ah, well, very good. We'll talk of that by-and-by, if you please; but
it has been occurring to my mind, Cleve, that--that you should look
about you. In fact, if you don't like one young lady, you may like
another. It strikes me I never saw a greater number of pretty young
women, about it, than there are at present in town. I do assure you, at
that ball--where was it?--the place I saw you, and sent you down to the
division--don't you remember?--and next day, I told you, I think, they
never said so much as 'I'm obliged to you' for what I had done, though
it was the saving of them, about it. I say I was quite struck; the
spectacle was quite charming, about it, from no other cause; and you
know there is Ethel--I always said Ethel--and there _can_ be no
objection there; and I have distinct reasons for wishing you to be well
connected, about it--in a political sense--and there is no harm in a
little _money_; and, in fact, I have made up my mind, my dear Cleve, it
is indispensable, and you _must_ marry. I'm quite clear upon the point."
"I can promise you, my dear uncle, that I shan't marry without your
approbation."
"Well, I rather took that for granted," observed Lord Verney, with dry
solemnity.
"Of course. I only say it's very difficult sometimes to see what's
wisest. I have you, I know, uncle, to direct me; but you must allow I
have also your example. You relied entirely upon yourself for your
political position. You made it without the aid of any such step, and I
should be only too proud to follow your example."
"A--yes--but the cases are different; there's a difference, about it. As
I said in the debate on the Jewish Disabilities, there arc no two cases,
about it, precisely parallel; and I've given my serious consideration to
the subject, and I am satisfied that for every reason you ought to
choose a wife _immediately_; there's _no_ reason against it, and you
ought to choose a wife, about it, immediately; and my mind is made up
quite decidedly, and I have spoken repeatedly; but now I tell you I
recognise no reason for further delay--no reason against the step, and
every reason for it; and in short, I shall have no choice but to treat
any dilatory procedure in the matter as amounting to a distinct trifling
with my known wishes, desire, and opinion."
And the Right Hon. Lord Viscount Verney smote his thin hand emphatically
at these words, upon the table, as he used to do in his place in the
House.
Then followed an impressive silence, the peer holding his head high, and
looking a little flushed; and Cleve very pale, with the ghost of the
smile he had worn a few minutes before.
There are instruments that detect and measure with a beautiful accuracy,
the presence and force of invisible influences--heat, electricity, air,
moisture. If among all these "meters"--electronometers, hygrometers,
anemometers--an _odynometer_, to detect the presence and measure the
intensity of hidden _pain_, were procurable, and applied to the breast
of that pale, smiling young man at that moment, I wonder to what degree
in its scale its index would have pointed!
Cleve intended to make some slight and playful remark, he knew not what,
but his voice failed him.
He had been thinking of this possibility--of this _hour_--for many a
day, as some men will of the Day of Judgment, and putting it aside as a
hateful thought, possibly never to be embodied in _fact_, and here it
was come upon him, suddenly, inevitably, in all its terrors.
"Well, certainly, uncle,--as you wish it. I must look about
me--seriously. I know you wish me to be happy. I'm very grateful; you
have always bestowed so much of your thought and care upon me--_too_
good, a great deal."
So spoke the young man--white as that sheet of paper on which his uncle
had been pencilling two or three of what he called his thoughts--and
almost as unconscious of the import of the words he repeated.
"I'm glad, my dear Cleve, you are sensible that I have been, I may say,
kind; and now let me say that I think Ethel has a great deal in her
favour. There are others, however, I am well aware, and there is time to
look about, but I should wish something settled _this_ season--in fact,
before we break up, about it; in short I have, as I said, made up my
mind. I don't act without reasons; I never do, and mine are conclusive;
and it was on this topic, my dear Cleve, I wished to see you. And now I
think you may as well have some dinner. I'm afraid I've detained you
here rather long."
And Lord Verney rose, and moved toward a book-case with Hansard in it,
to signify that the conference was ended, and that he desired to be
alone in his study.