FOR PITY’S SAKE.
When Usk returned to England, he found his parents in London,
established in a corner of the vast mansion which had been built by
Lord Caerleon’s grandfather, the Peninsular General, and much adorned
by his son, the Crimean hero, in the palmy days of landowning. Both
these veterans took a keen professional interest in battle-pictures,
and had embellished Caerleon House with many square yards of warlike
frescoes, which their civilian descendant sometimes wished had been
painted on canvas, so that they could be removed and sold. When his
father’s death, or, strictly speaking, the duties consequent thereon,
left Lord Caerleon unable to keep up two establishments, he succeeded
in letting the town house on a long lease to a Northern magnate who
had made a fortune in sugar-refining, but now sugar, as well as land,
had fallen upon evil days. The house was on its owner’s hands once
more, and it was cheaper to encamp in some of the smaller rooms than
to live in lodgings, especially since Lady Caerleon’s chief desire was
for a drawing-room which she could lend for meetings. Thus, while in
the state apartments the blinds remained down, and the furniture
looked ghostly in holland wrappings, Usk and his parents lived and
worked, interviewed political friends and opponents, and furthered
various religious and philanthropic schemes, in the modest suite
traditionally allotted to the heir of the house, and called the
Viscount’s rooms. It did not occur to them to feel ashamed of their
obvious poverty, and they found pleasure in entertaining the few,
chiefly old friends or fellow-workers, who did not consider that
stinted means and lack of “smartness” placed the Caerleons beyond the
pale of decent society.
As for Usk, he threw himself so completely into his parents’ interests
that he had no time to think even of running down to Llandiarmid, and
thus the peace of mind of Gwladys and Myfanwy Jones remained
undisturbed. Lord Caerleon’s Temperance measure had hitherto escaped
the different snares and pitfalls in its path, and was rapidly nearing
the goal which was the usual fate of the Bills he brought forward--a
piteous request from the Government for its withdrawal, since to press
it further would jeopardise the success of the complete and carefully
drawn scheme of reform which His Majesty’s Ministers intended to
introduce next session. It is a striking instance of the vanity of
human wishes that never in any case did the next session see the
introduction of such a Bill.
This was the state of affairs when one afternoon, about the middle of
April, Cyril walked into Caerleon House, and found his brother and
sister-in-law in the great desolate conservatory, which was sparsely
sprinkled with pots of flowers sent up from Llandiarmid. Lady Caerleon
thought the conservatory the most country-like place in the house; and
her husband preferred it because to smoke in any of the other rooms
seemed like sacrilege.
“Why, Cyril!” cried Lady Caerleon, catching sight of him first. “Is
the--is Ernestine here?”
“No, I have run over alone. Usk’s out, I hope? I wanted to catch you
two together. Bill flourishing, Caerleon? The session onward plods its
weary way, I suppose? How does Usk work?”
“Splendidly. When we have him in the Commons, we shall begin to move
at last, I feel certain.”
“Good. No chance that the Southumberland seat will fall vacant just
yet, is there, though? Morrell will hang on until death or a general
election unseats him, and there’s no present likelihood of either, I
believe?”
“Not that I know of.”
“That’s all right, then. I want Usk.”
Lady Caerleon turned pale. “Oh, Cyril, has Félicia repented?”
“Never further from it. She is making splendid progress towards her
heart’s desire. But your maternal instinct was not at fault, Nadia. It
is on behalf of a prospective daughter-in-law that I am come to you.”
“But Usk has never said anything----”
“About her? I think he has. Has he never mentioned the Princess Helene
of Schwarzwald-Molzau?”
“A Schwarzwald-Molzau!” cried Lord Caerleon, but his wife broke in--
“Yes, of course. We saw her engagement to the Grand-Duke Ivan, and Usk
was quite unhappy about it. He said the man was a brute.”
“Well, it was broken off about a week ago, but I suppose the news has
not got into the English papers yet. That is the young lady.”
“But, Cyril, I am quite sure Usk has never thought of her in that
way.”
“It’s just possible he might learn to do it.”
“But why should he? Oh, you can’t mean that she has fallen in love
with him, and let other people see it, when he hasn’t said a word to
her?”
“Why that tone of deep disgust? I seem to remember a young lady once
whom I only dissuaded with the greatest difficulty from sending a
refusal, in writing, to a man who had never proposed to her.”
“Unfair, Cyril!” cried Lord Caerleon. “Nadia couldn’t help knowing
that I cared for her.”
“I can’t stand up against the two of you, that’s certain. Well, Nadia,
let me tell you the circumstances, and I think you will acquit poor
little Princess Lenchen of any worse crimes than a romantic
disposition, and an ingenuous readiness to take Usk on trust on the
strength of a childlike adoration for his uncle.”
“Of course I don’t wonder at her falling in love with Usk,” said Usk’s
mother.
“Of course you don’t. And she never told her love, at any rate, which
is an extenuating circumstance. You mustn’t think there was ever any
affection between her and Ivan Petrovitch. Her parents had been
pressing her to accept him, and she yielded suddenly at last,
about--yes, it must have been just about the time Usk came
home--simply because she had not vitality enough to hold out longer, I
should think. She looked like a ghost after the engagement, but she
was dragged out to all the gaieties there were, which in itself was
nearly enough to kill a delicate girl brought up very quietly in the
mountains. She looked worse and worse as the days went on, and
Ernestine almost broke her heart over her; but when she spoke to the
Grand-Duchess, she only wept, and said her husband was determined the
marriage should take place, and she dared not cross him. The climax
came at the time of the Mi-Carême Battle of Flowers. The Grand-Duke
and the lover insisted upon the poor girl’s going, though she had a
perfect terror of it, after the fright she got at the Carnival, where
Usk met her first. She fainted twice while she was dressing, and the
Grand-Duchess was alarmed at last, and sent for a doctor. Very
fortunately, the English doctor whom Ernestine had advised her to call
in was in the hotel at the moment, visiting Usk’s friend Nicholson,
who was his patient. He put an absolute veto on the girl’s going out
that day, and promised to come and examine her thoroughly in the
morning. They told him nothing of the circumstances, but after seeing
her he said there was some trouble pressing upon her mind, and if it
was not removed she would die of sheer terror. The Grand-Duke stormed,
but could not shake him, and as no one could pretend not to know what
the trouble was, Ivan Petrovitch was sent about his business. I should
imagine the Grand-Ducal family went through stormy times for a day or
two. The Grand-Duke is not a pleasant man to oppose, but if you have
to do it, it’s as well to do it with spirit. Félicia and he get on
excellently, because if she doesn’t like what he tells her to do, she
says so, and the matter is at an end. Well, the doctor continued his
visits, as the Grand-Duchess asked him, but he told Ernestine
privately that it was useless. There was no organic disease, but the
child did not seem to have any wish to live. She knew that her parents
quarrelled over her, I suppose, and had not the courage to assert
herself. She was quiet and fairly happy when once her engagement was
broken off, but she didn’t get better. And only just seventeen,
Nadia!”
“Much too young to be thinking about engagements at all,” said Lady
Caerleon, decisively but not harshly.
“Ah, well, her parents had put the thought into her mind, you see.
Then, three days ago, she had a dreadful shock. Usk’s friend Nicholson
had another attack of hæmorrhage, and died in the hotel. Ernestine
thought him very much softened lately, and he used to like her to read
to him. She was with him just before the end, and the Grand-Duchess
asked her not to go and see Helene that day, lest she should inquire
for him. She took an interest in him as an invalid, you see, and used
to send him some of the flowers which were sent her. That afternoon
the Grand-Duke came to our rooms in a terrible state of mind. The
Grand-Duchess’s maid had let out to Helene that Nicholson was dead,
and, somehow, it seemed to awaken the child to the fact that she
wasn’t very far from dying herself. It did not disturb her to realise
it, but the Grand-Duke complained that his wife and the other women
looked at him as if he was a murderer. He begged Ernestine to go and
see them, and even promised that anything she thought might be any
good should be done. Of course Ernestine went, and you can imagine the
state of things she found--the lady-in-waiting weeping in the _salon_,
the maid sobbing in the passage, and the Grand-Duchess herself in
Helene’s room in floods of tears. I suppose the poor girl thought she
had no time to lose, for without giving her mother any opportunity of
recovering from the first shock, she had asked for her jewels and
other little things, and was saying who she would like to have them.
She’s such a simple little soul that it didn’t occur to her she was
doing anything hackneyed--it was just the most natural thing in the
world to her. There were bracelets and so on for her sisters and
cousins, and some trifle for me, and then she touched a ring which she
always wears, which was given her at her confirmation, and said she
would like Usk to have it. Her mother was so much astonished that she
didn’t answer for a moment, and Helene said piteously, ‘You won’t mind
then, will you, mamma? I shall never see him again, you know.’
Ernestine thought the Grand-Duchess had gone out of her mind, for she
got up suddenly and seized her by the arm and took her out of the
room. When the door was shut, she said, ‘That’s what the child wants!
You will help me. We will take her to the mountains at once, and she
shall marry your nephew instead of Ivan Petrovitch, and get well.
Come, let us tell her about it.’ Ernestine begged her to wait and
consult the Grand-Duke, but she absolutely refused. She went back into
Helene’s room, and swept all the jewels into their box again.
‘Nonsense, Lenchen!’ she said. ‘You are not going to die. This place
is too hot for you. We will go back to the mountains, to our own
Lauterbach, just you and I, and your aunt will come and stay with us.’
Ernestine felt obliged to back her up by saying that as I could not
leave Nice just at present, she would ask Usk to come and escort her
to Lauterbach, and they would stay at the cottage close to the
Schloss, so that Helene might be quite quiet. She says she didn’t dare
to look at the child as she spoke, but she heard her whisper, ‘Then I
shall see him again, after all!’ and for the first time she felt there
was some hope.”
“But the Grand-Duke!” cried Lord Caerleon. “What did he think about
it?”
“Well, Ernestine and the Grand-Duchess very prudently came to our
rooms to have it out with him, lest Helene should be disturbed. Of
course he vowed he would never hear of such a thing, but for once his
wife seemed to have lost her fear of him. She told him plainly that
she would separate from him rather than let Helene die when she could
be saved; and as the money is nearly all hers, that brought him round.
At last he calmed down sufficiently to allow the doctor to be
consulted, and he was called in. He approved highly of the mountain
plan, and recommended very strongly that the girl’s inclination should
not be forced in any way. She was so sensitive, he said, that only a
man of a most sympathetic type could hope to make her happy. In
deference to the Grand-Duke’s feelings, his wife consented to leave
that part of the programme in abeyance, but they start for the
mountains to-morrow, and I should like to pack Usk off to join them,
if you have no objection.”
“On what footing?” asked Lord Caerleon sharply. “I won’t have him
bandied about according to the state of the Grand-Duke’s temper.”
“My dear Caerleon, haven’t you learnt yet that the honour--the
punctilio, I might say--of the family is safe with me? Usk will be
received as a suitor approved by the young lady’s parents, though he
will not be formally presented to her as such.”
“Well,” said Lady Caerleon, “if I were in Princess Helene’s place, it
would not make me better to know that a young man was being brought to
marry me, quite irrespective of his own wishes.”
“She knows nothing of the kind, and no one has suggested it to her. I
don’t pretend to say what may be passing in her mind, but I should
imagine she flatters herself that she regards him merely as a dear
friend. But I seem to be unfortunate in my advocacy, Nadia. Since my
words only prejudice you further against the poor little girl, I shall
be obliged to show you this, which I didn’t mean to bring out if I
could help it, for it’s not flattering.”
He handed Lady Caerleon a photograph, which she took with a stern and
unbending aspect, but her look changed suddenly.
“Oh, Cyril, what a sad little face!--and how very----”
“Plain?” suggested Cyril, as she hesitated. “If you saw her, you
wouldn’t think so. It’s the expression that is wanting in the
photograph.”
“She must have beautiful eyes and hair,” said Lady Caerleon slowly.
“But, Cyril, Carlino, think of the difference from Félicia! Do you
think Usk would ever care for her? And so badly dressed! I should like
to take her in hand.”
“Come,” said Cyril, “this is a ray of hope. Now you realise that she
needs comforting and dressing, Nadia, you won’t steel your heart
against her for long.”
“I don’t want to steel my heart against her, poor little thing! but
you don’t seem to see--I daresay it sounds very selfish, but you feel
it too, don’t you, Carlino?--when Phil is so far away, to have to give
up Usk too! I know I ought to be willing to do it, if it’s to help
some one, but for him to have to go and live in Germany--it would be
like losing him altogether.”
“No, no, Nadia,” said her husband quickly, as she turned to him with
streaming eyes, “that’s out of the question. Usk has his duties here,
and he won’t give them up with my consent.”
“You both seem to have the worst possible opinion of me,” lamented
Cyril. “Is it likely that I should deliberately arrange for Usk to
become a hanger-on at a petty German Court, where he wouldn’t even be
welcomed? No; the Grand-Duchess quite sees that her husband and her
daughter agree best at a distance. ‘The young people will live in
England, of course,’ she said to me, ‘but they must come and see me in
the mountains every year, and sometimes I will come and see them.’”
“Is that Usk coming in?” cried Lady Caerleon, starting up.
“Suppose you break the idea to him, Nadia, and see how he takes it,”
suggested Cyril. “No one wants to force him into anything, of course,
but I hardly see how he can do better. And you will manage it much
more artistically than I should, for with you I began by giving the
poor little girl away, which was the last thing I meant to do.”
Lady Caerleon hurried into the house, and the brothers were left
together.
“I hope Usk will be able to see his way to it,” said Cyril. “Ernestine
and I are quite foolish over this child Helene. Imagine my tearing
across Europe just to get her what she wants!”
“I can’t understand even now how the Grand-Duke came to give in. One
has always heard that his views on unequal marriages were so very
strict.”
“I’m going to give you a tip,” said Cyril. “You mustn’t allow that it
is unequal, on any account. Play the _grand seigneur anglais_ for all
you’re worth when you meet him. Be impassive, bored, contemptuously
tolerant of all you see, and let him know that you have much better at
home.”
“Anything else?”
“It’s perfectly true. None of the Grand-Duke’s palaces can hold a
candle to this house, and there’s no need to mention that you can’t
afford to live in it. And as for Llandiarmid, though Félicia was
pleased to turn up her pretty nose at it, it would make him miserably
discontented with all his country seats, even if he saw it as it is.
To German ears your rent-roll sounds magnificent, and the family
jewels are historic. I’m thankful you never parted with them--but they
are heirlooms, aren’t they? so it was not any virtue on your part. If
you have to come to Molzau--for the wedding--make Nadia wear the
emeralds, and have the pearls mounted afresh for Helene. That will
smooth your path wonderfully.”
“If you exalt me much higher, I shall begin to think that it is Usk
who is making the _mésalliance_.”
“Oh, the rest of the Schwarzwald-Molzau family will soon undeceive you
in that case. It’s the Grand-Duke’s bitterest pill that he has imbued
his children so thoroughly with his views that they will all look
askance at him now. The youngest son, Prince Franz, who married the
daughter of Félicia’s uncle, Don Florian, is the only one from whom
he can expect any sympathy. Princess Resi is _recht demokratisch_, I
understand.”
“Nice to be received upon sufferance into a family where only the
Radicals will tolerate you!”
“You must make allowance for the susceptibilities of young people who
have all married as they were told, and done excellently for
themselves. I don’t know whether they married for rank, but they have
certainly married where rank is. The Grand-Duke has always warned them
against the romantic taint which crops out in the family with such
curious persistency, and their feelings will naturally be hurt when it
turns out that the taint has reappeared and vanquished him in the
youngest and most timid of them all.”
“And this taint is merely a disposition to marry for love, I suppose?”
“Exactly; the sort of thing which can’t be allowed in a semi-royal
house. The men in whom it appeared have generally gone to the bad, I
believe, and the women become _dévotes_, after experiences which
proved how wise their family were in refusing to listen to their
wishes. It doesn’t seem to have struck the family that it would have
been cheaper, and saved a good deal of scandal, to allow the
delinquents to resign their rank, and settle down in private life with
the objects of their affections. Their domestic squabbles would have
served as awful warnings to the next generation. Perhaps that is the
secret of the Grand-Duke’s yielding now.”
“Cyril!” Lord Caerleon turned and looked fixedly at his brother. “I
hope there’s no morganatic foolery about this business? That I won’t
stand.”
“Certainly not. Our Plantagenet blood, which your Radical friends
think so lightly of except when they want you to push their Bills in
Parliament, has stood us in good stead here, as I have often found
before. But I own I never expected to be grateful for poor old
O’Malachy’s descent from Irish kings. It was a happy thought of his to
have that elaborate pedigree drawn out, though I believe it was the
only thing he had to leave Nadia at his death, wasn’t it? I must have
it copied to take back with me, though I remembered enough of it to
quiet the Grand-Duke’s apprehensions as to Usk’s mother’s possessing
the regulation number of quarterings. But it is a curious thing that
you, the most typical Englishman I know, should apparently be doomed
to associate with foreigners. You have a foreign wife, so have I, and
now everything is conspiring to provide you with a foreign
daughter-in-law.”
Lord Caerleon growled impatiently. “It doesn’t seem to have struck any
one to ask how Usk and his wife are to live,” he said. “Has the
Princess any money?”
“In Germany she is regarded as something of an heiress, and her
fortune undoubtedly looks rather imposing reckoned in marks. I should
say she would have about eight hundred a-year--pounds, I mean.”
“Even with what I can give Usk, it’ll be precious little to support
such a lot of grandeur upon. They won’t have much margin.”
“She is sure to be a good housekeeper. All German girls are. By the
bye, what about that new railway which was to pass Llandiarmid and
open up the hill district? Is it still on the _tapis_?”
“Rather. But Nadia and I both felt that we ought not to run up the
price of the land, as the line is so much needed.”
“You didn’t tell the Company that, I hope? Don’t, pray, feel that you
must love your neighbour better than yourself. Let them make the first
offer. You may be sure they won’t propose to give more than the land
is worth, but you certainly ought to get enough out of them to
increase Usk’s allowance to something a little more in accordance with
his position.”
In the meantime, Lady Caerleon had intercepted her son in the hall,
and drawn him aside into the library.
“Your uncle is here, Usk, and he and your father are having a little
talk. Come in here. I--I want to speak to you.”
“Anything wrong?” he asked in surprise. “Why, you’ve been crying,
mater! What is it?”
“No, dear, there is nothing wrong. It was foolish of me to cry. I
ought to feel very glad and proud, after what I have just heard about
you.”
“There’s little enough about me to make you either glad or proud, I’m
afraid,” he said bitterly. “But I’m glad you’re pleased, mater,
whatever it is.”
“But I am not pleased!” cried Lady Caerleon. “At least, as I say, I
ought to be. But if it is to make you happy, I _will_ be pleased.”
Usk changed colour. “Mother,” he said, almost breathlessly, “if it’s
any message about--anything from Félicia, it’s no good. I don’t want
to hear from her. I could never trust her again.”
“No, no! It’s about the Princess Helene of Schwarzwald-Molzau. Her
engagement to the Scythian Prince is broken off.”
“Is that all?” cried Usk. “What a start you gave me! And what in the
world has it to do with me?--though of course I’m glad for the poor
little girl’s own sake.”
“Usk,” said his mother quickly, “had you any idea she cared for you?”
“For me? Princess Helene? What an idea! Of course not.”
“She has been very ill, and when she thought she was dying, she begged
that the ring she always wore might be given to you. And now--they
hope she will not die.”
“I--I don’t think you ought to have told me this,” said Usk awkwardly.
He looked with a kind of reproach at his mother, who could not meet
his eyes. “You see,” he went on more firmly, “she’s such a nice little
girl that it’s a shame to say that sort of thing about her. She’s as
innocent as a baby, and it would get her into dreadful trouble with
her people if they thought it was true.”
“It is true,” said Lady Caerleon desperately, “and your uncle would
like you to marry her. Could you care for her at all, Usk?”
“No one could help caring for her, she’s such a gentle, friendly
little thing. But not in that way! Mater, say you’re joking.”
“I wish I could, but everything is arranged in a way. They think she
is pining after you--no, I know it doesn’t sound kind to say it, Usk,
but what am I to say? You were kind to her, weren’t you? and she
misses you, and they say it would cheer her if you went and stayed
with your aunt near her, and saw her every day. It doesn’t sound much
to ask, but then it involves a good deal more.”
“But why?” asked Usk quickly. “I shouldn’t a bit mind seeing her as
much as she liked, and--anything of that sort. Why shouldn’t it stop
there?”
“I suppose people would talk--I don’t know. Besides, if she
really----”
Usk stopped her. “Please don’t. It would make her so awfully miserable
if she knew things of that kind were being said about her. Feeling as
I do, I have no business to listen to it. If I cared for her, it might
be different.”
“But couldn’t you? Do you never mean----”
“To marry? I don’t know. Perhaps some day it will seem more possible
than it does now. Mother, think! If you knew how I loved and trusted
Félicia, you would know that I could never feel the same to any woman
again, never! If she had even broken it off at one wrench, it would
not be so bad; but she played me like a salmon, pretending to let me
go, and then drawing me back again, until every feeling of that sort
seems quite dried up.”
“But you are young, Usk. You will get over it some day.”
“Possibly. I don’t feel like it just yet.”
“And a good girl--not one like Félicia----”
“Do you realise what Félicia is--how beautiful?--‘witchlike’ Princess
Helene called it once, I remember. If she was looking at me, I should
know it, though I was at the other end of the room and there was a
crowd of people between,--I should feel it all over me, somehow. I
couldn’t feel like that for the little Princess. I should like to make
her happy, to take her away from her father and be kind to her, and
see her begin to assert herself, and hear the funny things she says,
but I couldn’t marry her on that, could I?”
“But pity is akin to love.”
“Mater, you’re weakening! You don’t mean to say you would wish it?”
“I don’t wish it, but--I’m beginning to be afraid it may be your
duty.”
“And then it’s all up, isn’t it? What a thing it is to have a mother
with a conscience!”
“Don’t talk so hardly, Usk. I can’t help thinking how we should feel
if the poor girl died. You say you would not make it up with Félicia
if you could; don’t you think you may be called to make this
sacrifice?”
“It’s not a sacrifice altogether,” admitted Usk. “I really do like
her, you know, but not in that way. The question is, is it fair to
Princess Helene herself? No; certainly it would not be such a
sacrifice as marrying one of the Jones girls,” he added with a laugh.
“What, Gwladys or Myfanwy? My dear Usk!”
“Why, mater, I had made up my mind to propose to one of them in due
time, simply because I thought you were so fond of them.”
“As helpers in the parish, perhaps. But not to marry you.”
“It’s just as well that we have had this explanation, then, for I
should certainly have done it.”
“I am most thankful you haven’t. And Mr Jones--oh, Usk!”
“Mater, I’m afraid you’re a very worldly woman.”
“Am I? I hope not. But perhaps I am, though I don’t think there’s
anything wrong in preferring a Princess of Schwarzwald-Molzau to Miss
Jones. No, I’m afraid you’re right. I have always been so anxious
people should not think your father had done himself harm in marrying
me. It was pride, of course, because I used to hope you would both
make brilliant marriages. But I couldn’t wish Phil to have chosen
differently--though I wish she lived in England. But I should like you
to marry well, Usk.”
“Then, on your own rule of conduct, I ought to go and propose to Miss
Jones at once, so as to mortify your pride, oughtn’t I?”
“No, it would not be fair to Princess Helene. We have her to think of
too, you know.” Usk raised his eyebrows at this sophistry. “I--I
should like you to go back with your uncle, Usk.”
“And propose immediately to the poor little girl?”
“Oh no, that’s not necessary. Only go and be kind to her. You may find
that she doesn’t care for you, after all, or you may come to care for
her, in time.”
“And in any case I shall be safe from your friends?”
“Don’t, Usk. I only want to see you happy, you know that. Any woman
that can make you happy again will be welcome to me.”
“Then the Princess Helene shall have the honour of trying the
experiment,” said Usk.