Meanwhile Maude had sought Lord Barmouth, whom she surprised in a corner
of the library, feeding his wolf and studying the wing of a chicken,
which he was picking with great gusto. He did not hear her entry, and
he was talking to himself as he lifted up and smelt his
pocket-handkerchief.
"Yes," he muttered; "damme, that's what it is. I could not make out
what made the chicken taste so queer. He--he--he! it's eau de Cologne.
He--he--he--_Poulet a la Jean Marie Farina_. Damme, that'll be a good
thing to say at the next dinner-party, or to-morrow morning. No," he
said sadly, "not then. Oh, dear, it's very hard to see them taken away
from me like this, and I must get my strength up a bit. Who's that?"
"It is only I, papa," said Maude, seating herself on the hearthrug by
his side, as the old man hastily popped the chicken bone out of sight.
"I'm glad to see you, my dear, glad to see you," said Lord Barmouth,
patting her soft glossy head. "Maude, my pet, I can hardly believe that
you are going away from me to-morrow."
"Pray, pray don't talk of it, dear papa," she faltered. "I've come to
stay with you and talk to you; and you must tell me what to do, papa."
"Yes, yes, yes, my dear," he said, "I will; and you must be strong, and
brave, and courageous, and not break down. Her ladyship would be so
upset, you see. Maudey, my darling, matrimony's a very different sort
of thing to what we used to be taught, and read of in books. It isn't
sentimental at all, my dear, it's real--all real--doosed real. There's
a deal of trouble in this world, my darling, especially gout, which you
women escape. It's very bad, my dear, very bad indeed, sometimes."
Maude's forehead wrinkled as she gazed piteously at her father, for her
heart was full to overflowing, and she longed to confide in him, to lay
bare the secrets of her laden breast; but his feeble ways--his
wanderings--chilled the current that was beating at the flood-gates, and
they remained closed.
"What can I do--what can I do?" she moaned to herself, and laying her
head upon the old man's knee, she drew his arm round her neck, and wept
silently as he chatted on.
"I--I--I remember, my dear, when Lady Susan Spofforth was married, she
was the thinnest girl I ever saw, and they said she hated the match--it
was Lord Barleywood she married--Buck Wood we used to call him at the
club. Well, next time I saw her, about three years after, I hardly knew
her, she had grown so plump and round. It's--it's--it's an astonishing
thing, Maudey, how plump some women do get after marriage. Look at her
ladyship. Doosed fine woman. Don't look her age. Very curious, damme,
yes, it is curious, I've never got fat since I was married. Do you
know, Maudey, I think I'm thinner than I used to be."
"Do you, papa?" she said, smiling up at him.
"Yes, my dear, I do indeed; but it don't matter much, and I don't think
her ladyship minds. Let me see, Sir Grantley's coming to dinner to-day,
isn't he, my dear?"
"Yes, papa."
"Ha! yes! A good dinner's a nice thing when you can enjoy it free and
unfettered, but it's like matrimony, my dear, full of restrictions, and
very disappointing when you come to taste it. Well, there, there,
there, now we have had our little talk and confidences, we will go
upstairs to the drawing-room. It will be more cheerful for you."
He rose, taking his child's hand, kissing it tenderly, and holding it
before he drew it through his arm, while Maude sighed gently, and
suffered herself to be led upstairs.
Her ladyship was better, and she smiled with a sweetly pathetic
expression in her countenance as Maude entered with her father, rising,
and crossing to meet them, and kissing her child upon her forehead.
"Bless you, my darling!" she said; "pray be happy in the knowledge that
you are doing your duty. Go now, Justine."
"Yes, my lady," said that sphinx; and as soon as they were alone her
ladyship continued--
"Yes, in the thought that you are doing your duty. At your age I too
had my little love romance, but I was forced to marry your poor papa."
"Oh, damn it, my dear!" cried his lordship, looking at his wife aghast;
"I was forced to marry you."
"Barmouth! That will do! Maude, my child, I begged Sir Grantley to
come and dine with us _en famille_ this evening."
"Oh, mamma!" cried Maude, "was that wise?"
"Trust me, my dear, for doing what is best," said her ladyship.
There was a great bouquet of flowers on the table, which was littered
with presents from the bridegroom elect, and family friends; but Maude
did not seem to heed them, only the flowers, which she picked up, and as
Lady Barmouth smiled and shook her head at her husband, Maude went and
sat down by the open window, to begin picking the petals to pieces and
shower them down. Some fell fluttering out into the area; some littered
her dress and the carpet; and some were wafted by the wind to a
distance; but Maude's mind seemed far away, and her little white fingers
performed their task of destroying her present, as her head sank down
lower and lower, bowed down by its weight of care.
It was autumn, and the shades of evening were falling, and so were
Maude's spirits; hence a tear fell from time to time upon the flowers,
to lie amidst the petals like a dew-drop; but they fell faster as her
ladyship uttered an impatient cry, for just then the black-bearded
Italian stopped beneath the window, swung round his organ, and began to
grind out dolefully the _Miserere_ once more and its following melody
from _Trovatore_, the whole performance sounding so depressing in her
nervous state that the poor girl's first inclination was to bury her
face in her hands, and sob as if her heart would break. She set her
teeth though firmly, glanced back in the room, and then, smiling down at
the handsome simple face beneath her, she threw a sixpence which the man
caught in his soft hat.
"Grazie, signora," said the Italian, smiling and showing his white
teeth.
"Maude, how can you be so foolish?" cried her ladyship. "You have
encouraged those men about till it's quite dreadful: we never have any
peace."
"Poor fellows!" said Maude, "they seem very glad of a few pence, and
they are far away from home."
"Yes," said her ladyship, "where they ought to be sent back."
"I remember once," said Lord Barmouth, "in the old days when they used
to have moving figures dancing in front of their organs, one of Lady
Betty Lorimer's daughters actually got--he, he, he! carrying on a
clandestine correspondence with one of those handsome vagabonds."
Maude looked at her father in a startled way.
"Barmouth, be silent," cried her ladyship, as the butler entered the
room with a fresh present upon a tray. "Robbins," she said, "go
downstairs and tell that man that he will be given into custody if he
does not go away directly. Tell him some one is ill,"--for just then a
fresh strain was ground out in a most doleful fashion, and Maude began
softly humming the air to herself as she gazed down, still in the man's
handsome face.
"Some one ill, my lady?"
"Yes; I am ill. You should have sent him away without orders."
"I did try to dismiss him, my lady, when he came," said the butler.
"Well, and what did he say?"
"Only smiled, my lady."
"But did you say that the police should be sent to him?"
"Yes, my lady, but he only smiled the more; and then," continued the
butler, lowering his voice as he glanced at where Maude stood outside,
"he pointed up to the drawing-room window here, and wouldn't go. If you
please, my lady," he continued in an undertone, "he never will go while
Lady Maude gives him money."
"That will do: go away," said her ladyship, sighing; and Lord Barmouth
got up and toddled towards the window to look down and elicit a fresh
series of bows from the Italian, who kept on playing till the window was
closed, when he directed his attention to the area, where a couple of
the maids were looking up at him, ready to giggle and make signs to him
to alter the tune.
Tom came back into the drawing-room just as her ladyship had closed the
window and sent Lord Barmouth back to a chair, where he sat down to rub
his leg. Tryphie came back a few minutes later to glance timidly at her
aunt, who, however, thought it better to ignore the past for the time
being, fully meaning, though, to take up poor Tryphie's case when her
mind was more free.
"Will you come and see the dress that has just come in?" said Tryphie to
Maude, who was sitting gazing dreamily out of the window.
"No," she said, "no."
"My dear child," cried her ladyship, "pray, pray take a little interest
in your dresses."
"I cannot, mamma," cried Maude, passionately. "I have not the heart."
"Bah, Maude!" cried Tom, "be a trump, I say. When you are married and
have got your establishment, I'd jolly soon let some one know who was
mistress then."
"Tom, your language is disgraceful," cried her ladyship. "It is as low
and disrespectful as that of the people in the street."
"I wish your treatment of your children were half as good. Here's every
shilling a fellow wants screwed out, till I feel as if I should like to
enlist; and as for Maudey here, you've treated her as if she were a
piece of sculpture, to be sold to the highest bidder. I suppose she has
not got a heart."
"Lord Barmouth!" exclaimed her ladyship, faintly, as she lay back in her
chair, and lavishly used her smelling-salts, "if one of my brothers had
spoken to dear mamma as that boy speaks to me, dear papa would have
felled him to the earth."
"There you are, gov'nor, there's your chance," said Tom, grinning.
"Come and knock me down, but don't bruise your knuckles, for my head's
as hard as iron."
Lord Barmouth took out his pocket-handkerchief, and wiped his hands upon
it, not noticing that it was stained with gravy, gazing in a troubled
way from wife to son, and back, and then crossed to the former to say
something in a whisper, to which her ladyship replied--
"Pshaw."
"Thank you, Tom," whispered Tryphie, as he went to the window where she
stood. "I did not think you could stand up so bravely for your sister,
and be so true."
"Didn't you?" said Tom, sulkily. "It's a good job I can be true, for I
don't believe there's a spark of truth anywhere else in the world. If
Charley had had the spirit of a fly, he'd have come and walked her off.
Hang it all! I'm mad and savage. Pretty sort of a husband you've got
for her. Pretty sort of a brother-in-law to have! I'm ashamed of him.
I'm only a little one, and nothing to boast of, but he's no better than
a pantaloon. Truth indeed! There isn't such a thing in the world."
"Oh, Tom!" whispered Tryphie.
"More there isn't," cried Tom. "Pretty brother-in-law indeed!"
"Maude," exclaimed her ladyship, "I think you might have a word to say
on behalf of your intended husband."
The girl glanced at her in a stony way, and turned once more to the
window, where she had been looking out with Tryphie, listening with
aching heart to the encounter between mother and son.
"Such a brilliant match as I have made," cried her ladyship, harping on
her old string. "And such opposition as I have from the girl who owes
me so much."
"Indeed, mamma, I have yielded everything. You are having your own way
entirely," said Maude passionately.
"Have I not saved you from throwing yourself away upon a disreputable
creature?" sobbed her ladyship.
"Tryphie," whispered Maude, "I cannot bear this. It is dreadful. I
feel as if I should go mad."
"He saw plainly enough," whined her ladyship, "that it could not be--
that it would have been a complete _misalliance_."
"This is unbearable," whispered Maude, clasping her cousin's hand, which
pressed hers warmly and encouragingly, as they stood in the window
recess, half screened by the heavy curtains.
"Try not to listen, dear," whispered Tryphie.
"It nearly maddens me. I feel as if I could do anything wicked and
desperate."
"Oh, hush, hush, dear," whispered Tryphie; and Lady Barmouth maundered
on in tones asking for sympathy, as she set herself up as the suffering
ill-used mother whom no one tried to comfort in her distress.
"Saved you as I did from a life of misery," continued her ladyship,
whimpering. "Oh, dear! oh, dear! how children strive to throw
themselves away."
Maude moaned, and held her hand to her side.
"Are you ill, dear?" whispered Tryphie.
"No, no," was the reply. "It is past now--past."
"I shall be sorry when you are gone, Maude," said her father simply.
"Oh, papa, papa," she cried, running to him and throwing her arms round
his neck; for the tenderly-spoken sympathetic words brought the tears to
her eyes. Then, unable to bear it, she turned to leave the room, but
just then the door opened and the butler announced Sir Grantley Wilters.
"Ah, how do!" he said in a high-pitched voice, saluting all in turn, and
bending low over Maude's hand. "Thought I'd come soon, don't you know,
_sans ceremonie_, eh, mamma!" he said with a smile to Lady Barmouth, and
then gave his glass a screw, and brought it to bear on all present.
"I am so glad," said her ladyship; "so is Maude; but don't take any
notice," she whispered. "Poor child, she is _distrait_, and seems cold.
So deeply attached to Lord Barmouth. Ready to break her heart at
leaving him."
"Yas, oh, yas," said Sir Grantley; and he took his seat beside Maude.
"Tryphie," said Tom, "I can't help it. I must be off. This fellow
makes me ill. May I go?"
She gave him a nod of intelligence, and he said something about being
ready for dinner, and left the room to go out, take a hansom, and bowl
down to one of the clubs, where he was soon so busily engaged in a game
of pool that he forgot all about the dinner.
Very shortly after, Maude rose, bowed to Sir Grantley, and left the room
with Tryphie, when the baronet crossed to Lady Barmouth's side, and was
soon engaged in a most interesting conversation, whose murmur sent Lord
Barmouth into a pleasant slumber, out of sight in a lounging chair,
where he was quite forgotten, when her ladyship suggested that Sir
Grantley should go with her to her boudoir to see the last new presents
sent in for Maude.
"And you would like to wash your hands, too, before dinner," said her
ladyship. "We will not trouble about dressing to-night."
Sir Grantley opened the door, and the old gentleman was left alone to
wake up about a quarter of an hour later to find it was dark, and sit up
rubbing his leg.
"Oh, damme, my leg," he said, softly. "Where--where are they all gone?
Why it's--it's past dinnertime," he said, looking at his watch by the
dim light. "I shall be doosed glad when everybody's married and--and--
and--why the doose doesn't the dressing-bell ring? Heigh--oh--ha--hum!"
he added, yawning. "There's--there's--there's another of those
abominable organs. I--I--I wish that all the set of them were at the
bottom of the sea, for I lie at night with all their tunes coming back
again, and seeming to grind themselves to fit the pains in my leg. Poor
girl! she was always encouraging the fellows. Why dear me! Damme,
haven't I got a single sixpence left to give him, to go away. No, that
I haven't," he continued fumbling, "not a sou. She--she--she does keep
me short," he muttered, opening the French window and looking out. "Oh,
he's done playing now, so I shan't want the money. Why eh--eh--eh?
Why--he--he, he! the fellow's talking to one of the maids. He--he--he!
Hi--hi--hi! They will do it. I--I--I was a devil of a fellow amongst
the girls when I was a young man; but now--oh, dear, oh dear! this wind
seems to give me tortures, that it does."
He closed the window, but stood looking out.
"You'd better take care, you two, that my lady don't catch you, or
there'll be such a devil of a row. He's--he's going down into the area.
Well, well, well, I shan't tell tales. He--he--he! Hi--hi--hi!" he
chuckled, sitting down and nursing his leg. "I remember when I was
about twenty, and Dick Jerrard and I--he's Lord Marrowby now, and a
sober judge!--when we got over the wall at a boarding-school to see
pretty Miss Vulliamy. Oh, dear, dear, dear, those were days. They
preach and talk a deal now about being wicked, but it was very nice. I
used to be a devil of a wicked fellow when I was young, and--and flirted
terribly, while lately I've been as good as gold, and, damme, I haven't
been half so happy."
He stopped rubbing his leg for a while.
"Everything's at sixes and sevens, damme, that it is. I'm nearly
famished, that I am. If it hadn't been for that bit of chicken I should
have been quite starved. Her ladyship's too bad, that she is. Cold
boiled sole, rice pudding, and half a glass of hock in a tumbler of
water. I can't stand it, that I can't. Damme, I'll make a good dinner
to-night, that I will, if I die for it. I'll--I'll--I'll, damme, I'll
kick over the traces for once in a way. Tom will help me, I know. He's
a good boy, Tom is, and he'll see that I have a glass of port, and--
damme, where's Maude and her ladyship, and why isn't dinner ready? and--
eh--what?--what the devil's that. There's something wrong."
For at that moment a piercing shriek rang through the house, and there
was the sound of a heavy fall upon the floor.