SIR GILBERT’S DECISION
The Mrs. Burton referred to by Sir Gilbert was housekeeper at the
Chase, having held that position since the death of the second Lady
Clare. She was a widow, middle-aged, thin, prim, and as upright as a
dart, and was still able to pride herself on the slimness of her
figure. Her manners pertained to what might be termed the severely
genteel school. She was careful to impress upon everyone with whom she
was brought into contact that she was “a lady by birth,” but it was a
statement which she evidently intended people to accept unfortified by
any particulars of her parentage and early history, with regard to
which, indeed, it was noticed that she was studiously reticent. Her
peculiarities notwithstanding, she made an excellent housekeeper, and
the baronet valued her accordingly.
It had not been often in the course of her uneventful existence that
anyone had succeeded in more than faintly stirring the chilly shallows
of Mrs. Burton’s gentility, but this morning she had been more nearly
startled out of her propriety than had happened to her since her advent
at Withington Chase.
Sir Gilbert had sent for her immediately after breakfast, and without a
word of preface, and with no more apparent concern than if he were
giving his orders about dinner, had said:
“Mrs. Burton, I am expecting two people to luncheon to-day whom you
have never yet seen, and probably never as much as heard of. They are
my daughter-in-law and my grandson. After luncheon I should like them
to be shown by you over the house. Mr. Lisle will accompany them in my
place. So if you will kindly hold yourself in readiness and meanwhile
give orders for the shutters of the unused rooms to be thrown open, and
for an article or two of furniture here and there to be uncovered, I
shall feel obliged.”
Mrs. Burton had issued the requisite orders and had then shut herself
up in her room to think over the astounding news which had just been
told her, while endeavouring to regain her much-disturbed equanimity.
She was one of those women who seem to have a special faculty for
ferreting out every particular, or incident of consequence in the
career of anyone in whom they are interested, and she had flattered
herself that there was no fact of any moment in the life of Sir Gilbert
with which she was not already acquainted. To-day, however, he had
proved to her how egregiously she had been mistaken. A daughter-in-law
and a grandson, and she, Felicia Burton, not to have known of their
existence! She felt as if Sir Gilbert had put a grievous personal
affront upon her.
But she was her usual prim, precise, close-lipped self when in her
dress of black satin, a heavy gold chain round her neck, her faded hair
crowned with a tasteful lace cap, and carrying a bunch of highly
polished keys, she proceeded to show the little party over what might
be termed the state apartments of the old mansion, not one of which had
been entered by Sir Gilbert since his second wife’s death. From room to
room they went in leisurely fashion—the large drawing-room, the small
ditto, “my lady’s boudoir,” the state dining-room, and so on, taking
each in turn; and then upstairs, where a couple of the “best bedrooms”
invited inspection—each and all being denuded of carpets and curtains,
and of everything except its own special suite of furniture. Still, no
great exercise of the imagination was needed to picture what those
spacious and stately apartments must at one time have looked like, nor
what they might very easily be made to look like again. Last of all
they came to the picture-gallery, where the housekeeper, with an
elaborate courtesy and a thin acid smile, took her leave.
“What a rummy old card!” was Luigi’s outspoken comment almost before
her back was turned.
“Lewis, how can you speak of her in that way?” exclaimed Giovanna. “To
me she has something of the air of a broken-down duchess.”
“As if you had ever seen a broken-down duchess, mother!” retorted the
young man flippantly.
“Mrs. Burton is a lady by birth—at least, so she gives everyone to
understand,” remarked Everard drily. “And now, Mr. Clare, here we are
among the painted effigies of your ancestors. I have already made the
acquaintance of most of them, as far as it is possible for a man still
in the flesh to do so. Would you like me to introduce you to any of
them?”
“N—no, I think not. Fact is, I don’t care a rap about the whole boiling
of ’em.”
“Idiot!” hissed Giovanna in his ear. Then turning to Everard with a
smile, she said:
“I am afraid my son is falling into an absurd habit—sadly too common
among the young men of to-day—of depreciating things which they really
understand and care about, although they won’t admit it. One day I must
show you some of Lewis’s drawings and water-colours. He has done
nothing in oils as yet, I believe. I fancy they will rather surprise
you.”
“What rubbish you talk, mother!” exclaimed Luigi.
“By the way,” continued Mrs. Clare without heeding him, “if among these
portraits there is one of my son’s namesake, the Colonel Lewis Clare
who was killed in battle, I should certainly like to have it pointed
out to me.”
Luigi yawned openly.
“I am sorry not to be able to gratify your wish,” responded Lisle. “No
portrait of Colonel Clare is known to be in existence.”
From the gallery they made their way by a side door into the grounds,
where Shotover, the gardener, was awaiting them.
Among other things at the Chase which had suffered from neglect since
Lady Clare’s death, owing to Sir Gilbert’s penurious style of living,
were the gardens and glass-houses, for whereas Shotover had formerly
had four able-bodied assistants under him, himself and a youth had now
to attend to everything. As a consequence, many things had to be left
undone, or only half done, much to the old fellow’s disgust: To-day,
however, a whisper had reached him that the young gentleman whom he was
presently to show over the grounds was none other than his master’s
grandson and heir—although where he had so suddenly sprung from nobody
seemed to know—and he determined to turn the opportunity to account in
the way of pointing out the difference between past and present as far
as his department was concerned, in the hope that his doing so might be
the means before long of bringing about a more desirable state of
affairs.
It was by no means displeasing to Luigi to be addressed by Shotover in
such deferential terms, and to be appealed to almost as if he were
already master of everything he saw around him. In return he put on a
very gracious and affable demeanour, which secretly tickled Lisle even
while it annoyed him, and agreed with Shotover that matters were in a
very bad way indeed, and that he would not fail to bear in mind all
that he had seen and heard while they had been together. He had already
decided in his own mind upon several alterations and improvements
originating in certain hints skilfully thrown out by the old man.
But all his new-found sense of self-importance vanished the moment he
found himself back in Sir Gilbert’s presence. He could not have told
himself why it should be so, but the fact was that under the baronet’s
keen and penetrating gaze he seemed to shrink and wither, to have, as
it were, every rag of self-deception stripped off him and made to
recognise himself for the sorry scamp and swindler that he was. Small
wonder that he felt he would rather be anywhere than in the company of
his “grandfather.” Had he had to deal with almost any other kind of man
he would have tried to curry favour by fawning and flattery, but
something told him that in the present case such a course would be
about the worst he could adopt. He tried to console himself with the
hope that when he should have seen more of Sir Gilbert, and so have
become more accustomed to his presence, this very disagreeable feeling
would gradually wear itself away.
Lisle having some outdoor business to attend to left the others at the
door of the library and went his way. Mrs. Clare’s stately beauty had
not failed to impress him. He had found her somewhat reserved, and,
while listening with apparent interest to all he had to say,
originating few remarks of her own. He had, however, judged this
reticence to be natural to her and not merely put on as a cloak for the
occasion; and, in so thinking, he was not very wide of the mark, for at
no time had Giovanna been a talkative woman, and now that she found
herself in a sphere so new and strange it seemed to her that, for the
present at all events, her wisest course was to listen to everyone and
say as little as possible in return, and by so doing afford others no
opportunity of gauging the depths of her ignorance.
Lisle found himself somewhat at sea when it came to a question of
summing up Luigi. Sir Gilbert had furnished him with no information as
to how and where the young man had been brought up, and, in lack of
some such data, he felt as if he were floundering in the dark. Lewis
Clare spoke English with the ease and fluency of one to the manner
born, even to the point, judging from certain of his remarks, of being
an adept in slang. That he was not a gentleman in himself was certain,
and it was equally certain that he lacked the indefinable _cachet_ of
one who has been in the habit of mixing in good society. Yet it would
be perhaps scarcely correct to call, him vulgar, using the term in its
commoner acceptation. “None the less, he’s a conceited, ignorant young
puppy,” concluded Lisle, “and the chances are that, with a free hand
given him, he will develop by-and-by into something still more
objectionable. Where has he sprung from, I wonder? and for what reason,
has he been kept in the background all these years? Can it have been
that Sir Gilbert himself had no knowledge till lately of the existence
of such a descendant?”
But these were vain questions, as Everard Lisle was well aware.
“And now,” said Sir Gilbert after he had put a few questions, chiefly
to Giovanna, on her and Luigi’s return from their round—“and now the
time has come for me to enlighten you with regard to my intentions—that
is to say, as far as they have reference to the present state of
affairs. In what way I may see fit in time to come to change, modify,
or even to wholly cancel the arrangements I now propose to make it is
of course impossible for me even to conjecture. As for you, young sir,”
turning to Luigi, “you will, for the present, take up your quarters
here. There are certain acquirements to which you have hitherto had no
opportunity of devoting yourself, but without at least a smattering of
which no gentleman’s education can be considered complete. You are not
too old to learn, and I shall look to you to do your utmost, under
proper tuition and surveillance, to remedy the defects in question. I
shall, of course, make you a certain money allowance, the amount of
which I have not yet determined, but I tell you at once that although
it will, in my opinion, be amply sufficient to meet the unavoidable
_menus frais_ of a person in your position, it will not admit of your
launching into any extravagances or unnecessary expenses. And now one
word of caution. See to it that on no account you allow yourself to
become involved in debt. That is one of the few things I should find it
difficult to overlook.”
Poor Luigi felt as if his heart were on the point of sinking into his
boots.
Without waiting for a word in reply the baronet turned to Giovanna.
“What I have to propose, my dear madam, for your acceptance as the
widow of my eldest son, is an allowance of four hundred pounds per
annum to be paid you quarterly in advance. I am also in a position to
place at your service, of course rent-free, a certain house known as
Maylings, which belongs to me and is at the present time unoccupied. It
is old-fashioned, but roomy and comfortable, and stands in its own plot
of ground at the north-east corner of the park. Should you decide upon
occupying it, I shall at once issue instructions to have it fitted up
out of the spare furniture at the Chase. What say you, madam, what say
you?”
It is not needful to record what Giovanna said. It was brief, but to
the purpose. The baronet, who hated wordiness, although a little given
to indulge in it himself on occasion, was evidently well pleased at the
way she expressed herself. It was a matter of course that she should
accept Maylings as her future home, although with certain unspoken
reservations which, however, concerned no one but herself.
Luigi and she stayed to dinner, the hour for which at the Chase was the
primitive one of five. Before leaving it was arranged that they should
return on the Thursday following, Luigi to remain _en permanence_, and
Giovanna to make the Chase her home till Maylings should be ready to
receive her. Sir Gilbert did not fail to present her with a cheque for
her first quarter’s allowance. To Luigi he gave one for fifty pounds,
together with a note to his tailor, in order that the young man might
be enabled to furnish himself with an outfit such as became the
grandson of Sir Gilbert Clare and the heir of Withington Chase. His
last words as he held Luigi’s hand for a moment at parting were——
“My boy, as you behave to me, so will you find that I shall behave to
you.”