"Ah, my child, you are late," said the Master of the Ceremonies, as
Claire ran to meet him and kissed his cheek. "`Early to bed and early
to rise makes a man healthy, wealthy, and wise.' It will do the same
for you, my child, and add bloom to your cheek, though, of course, we
cannot be early in the season."
"I am a little late, papa dear," said Claire, ringing a tinkling bell,
with the result that Isaac, in his striped jacket and the stiffest of
white cravats, entered, closed the door behind him, and then stood
statuesque, holding a brightly-polished kettle, emitting plenty of
steam.
"Any letters, Isaac?"
"No, sir, none this morning," and then Isaac carefully poured a small
quantity of the boiling water into the teapot, whose lid Claire had
raised, and stood motionless while she poured it out again, and then
unlocked a very small tea-caddy and spooned out three very small
spoonfuls--one apiece, and none for the over-cleaned and de-silvered
plated pot. This done, Isaac filled up, placed the kettle on the hob,
fetched a Bible and prayer-book from a sideboard, placed them at one end
of the table and went out.
"Why is not Morton down?" said the MC sternly.
"He came down quite an hour ago, papa. He must have gone for a walk.
Shall we wait?"
"Certainly not, my child."
At that moment there was a little scuffling outside the door, which was
opened directly after by Isaac, who admitted Eliza and a very
angular-looking woman with two pins tightly held between her lips--pins
that she had intended to transfer to some portion of her garments, but
had not had time. These three placed themselves before three chairs by
the door, and waited till the MC had gracefully replaced his snuff-box,
and taken two steps to the table, where he and Claire sat down. Then
the servants took their seats, and then "Master" opened the Bible to
read in a slow, deliberate way, and as if he enjoyed the names, that New
Testament chapter on genealogies which to youthful ears seemed to be
made up of a constant repetition of the two words, "which was."
This ended, all rose and knelt down, Isaac with the point of his elbow
just touching the point of Eliza's elbow, for he comforted his
conscience over this tender advance by the reflection that marriage,
though distant, was a sacred thing; and he made up for his unspiritual
behaviour to a great extent by saying the "Amens" in a much louder voice
than Cook, and finished off in the short space of silence after the
Master of the Ceremonies had read the last Collect, and when all were
expected to continue their genuflexions till that personage sighed and
made a movement as if to rise, by adding a short extempore prayer of his
own, one which he had repeated religiously for the past four years
without effect, the supplication being:
"And finally, may we all get the arrears of our wages, evermore. Amen."
Isaac had finished his supplementary prayer; the MC sighed and rose,
and, the door being opened by the footman, the two maids stepped out.
Isaac followed, and in a few minutes returned with a very coppery rack,
containing four thin pieces of toast, and a little dish whose contents
were hidden by a very battered cover. These were placed with the
greatest form upon the table, and the cover removed with a flourish, to
reveal two very thin and very curly pieces of streaky bacon, each of
which had evidently been trying to inflate itself like the frog in the
fable, but with no other result than the production of a fatty bladdery
puff, supported by a couple of patches of brown.
Isaac handed the toast to father and daughter, and then went off with
the cover silently as a spirit, and the breakfast was commenced by the
MC softly breaking a piece of toast with his delicate fingers and
saying:
"I am displeased with Morton. After yesterday's incident, he should
have been here to discuss with me the future of his campaign."
"Here he is, papa," cried Claire eagerly, and she rose to kiss her
brother affectionately as he came rather boisterously into the room,
looking tall, thin and pale, but healthy and hungry, as an overgrown boy
of nineteen would look who had been out at the seaside before breakfast.
"You were not here to prayers, Morton," said the MC sternly.
"No, father; didn't know it was so late," said the lad, beginning on the
toast as soon as he was seated.
"I trust that you have not been catching--er--er--dabs, this morning."
The word was distasteful when the fish was uncooked, and required an
effort to enunciate.
"Oh, but I have, though. Rare sport this morning. Got enough for
dinner."
The MC was silent for a few moments, and gracefully sipped his thin tea.
He was displeased, but there was a redeeming feature in his son's
announcement--enough fish for dinner. There would be no need to order
anything of the butcher.
"Hush, Morton," said Claire softly, and she laid her soft little hand on
his, seeing their father about to speak.
"I am--er--sorry that you should be so thoughtless, Morton," said his
father; "at a time, too, when I am making unheard-of efforts to obtain
that cornetcy for you; how can you degrade yourself--you, the son of a--
er--man--a--er--gentleman in my position, by going like a common boy
down below that pier to catch--er--dabs!"
"Well, we want them," retorted the lad. "A good dinner of dabs isn't to
be sneezed at. I'm as hungry as hungry, sometimes. See how thin I am.
Why, the boys laugh, and call me Lanky Denville."
"What is the opinion of boys to a young man with your prospects in
life?" said his father, carefully ignoring the question of food supply.
"Besides, you ought to be particular, sir, for the sake of your sister
May, who has married so well."
"What, to jerry-sneaky Frank Burnett? A little humbug."
"Morton!"
"Well, so he is, father. I asked him to lend me five shillings the day
before yesterday, and he called me an importunate beggar."
"You had no business to ask him for money, sir."
"Who am I to ask, then? I must have money. You won't let me go out to
work."
"No, sir; you are a gentleman's son, and must act as a gentleman."
"I can't act as a gentleman without money," cried the lad, eating away,
for, to hide the look of pain in her face, Claire kept diligently
attending to her brother's wants by supplying him with a fair amount of
thin tea and bread and butter, as well as her own share of the bacon.
"My dear son," said the MC with dignity, "everything comes to the man
who will wait. Your sister May has made a wealthy marriage. Claire
will, I have no doubt, do the same, and I have great hopes of your
prospects."
"Haven't any prospects," said the lad, in an ill-used tone.
"Not from me," said the MC, "for I am compelled to keep up appearances
before the world, and my fees and offerings are not nearly so much as
people imagine."
"Then why don't we live accordingly?" said the lad roughly.
"Allow me, with my experience, sir, to know best; and I desire that you
will not take that tone towards me. Recollect, sir, that I am your
father."
"Indeed, dear papa, Morton does not mean to be disrespectful."
"Silence, Claire. And you, Morton; I will be obeyed."
"All right, father. I'll obey fast enough, but it does seem precious
hard to see Ikey down in the kitchen stuffing himself, and us up in the
parlour going short so as to keep up appearances."
"My boy," said the MC pathetically, "it is Spartan-like. It is
self-denying and manly. Have courage, and all will end well. I know it
is hard. It is my misfortune, but I appeal to you both, do I ever
indulge myself at your expense? Do I ever spare myself in my efforts
for you?"
"No, no, no, dear," cried Claire, rising with tears in her eyes to throw
her arm round his neck and kiss him.
"Good girl!--good girl!" he said, smiling sadly, and returning the
embrace. "But sit down, sit down now, and let us discuss these very
weighty matters. Fortune is beginning to smile upon us, my dears. May
is off my hands--well married."
Claire shook her head sadly.
"I say well married, Claire," said her father sternly, "and though we
have still that trouble ever facing us, of a member of our family
debauched by drunkenness, and sunk down to the degradation of a common
soldier--"
"Oh! I say, father, leave poor old Fred alone," cried Morton. "He
isn't a bad fellow; only unlucky."
"Be silent, sir, and do not mention his name again in my presence. And
Claire, once for all, I forbid his coming to this house."
"He only came to the back door," grumbled Morton.
"A son who is so degraded that he cannot come to the front door, and
must lower himself to the position of one of our servants, is no
companion for my children. I forbid all further communication with
him."
"Oh, papa!" cried Claire, with the tears in her eyes.
"Silence! Morton, my son, I have hopes that by means of my interest a
certain person will give you a commission in the Light Dragoons, and--
For what we have received may the Lord make us truly thankful."
"Amen," said Morton. "Claire, I want some more bread and butter."
"Claire," said the Master of the Ceremonies, rising from the table as a
faint tinkle was heard, "there is the Countess's bell."
He drew the girl aside and laid a thin white finger upon her shoulder.
"You must give her a broader hint this morning, Claire. Six months, and
she has paid nothing whatever. I cannot, I really cannot go on finding
her ladyship in apartments and board like this. It is so unreasonable.
A woman, too, with her wealth. Pray, speak to her again, but don't
offend her. You must be careful. Delicately, my child--delicately. A
leader of fashion even now. A woman of exquisite refinement. Of the
highest aristocracy. Speak delicately. It would never do to cause her
annoyance about such a sordid thing as money--a few unsettled debts of
honour. Ah, her bell again. Don't keep her waiting."
"If you please, ma'am, her ladyship has rung twice," said Isaac,
entering the room; "and Eliza says shall she go?"
"No, Isaac, your mistress will visit her ladyship," said the MC with
dignity. "You can clear away, Isaac--you can clear away."
Stuart Denville, Esquire, walked to the window and took a pinch of
snuff. As soon as his back was turned Isaac grinned and winked at
Morton, making believe to capture and carry off the bread and butter;
while the lad hastily wrote on a piece of paper:
"Pour me out a cup of tea in the pantry, Ike, and I'll come down."
Five minutes later the room was cleared, and the MC turned from the
window to catch angrily from the table some half-dozen letters which the
footman had placed ready for him to see.
"Bills, bills, bills," he said, in a low, angry voice, thrusting them
unread into the drawer of a cabinet; "what am I to do? How am I to
pay?"
He sat down gracefully, as if it were part of his daily life, and his
brow wrinkled, and an old look came into his face as he thought of the
six months' arrears of the lady who occupied his first floor, and his
hands began to tremble strangely as he seemed to see open before him an
old-fashioned casket, in which lay, glittering upon faded velvet,
necklet, tiara, brooch, earrings and bracelets--large diamonds of price;
a few of which, if sold, would be sufficient to pay his debts, and
enable him to keep up appearances, and struggle on, till Claire was well
married, and his son well placed.
Money--money--always struggling on for money in this life of beggarly
gentility; while only on the next floor that old woman on the very brink
of the grave had trinkets, any one of which--
He made a hasty gesture, as if he were thrusting back some temptation,
and took up a newspaper, but let it fall upon his knees as his eyes lit
upon a list of bankrupts.
Was it come to that? He was heavily in debt to many of the
tradespeople. The epidemic in the place last year had kept so many
people away, and his fees had been less than ever. Things still looked
bad. Then there was the rent, and Barclay had said he would not wait,
and there were the bills that Barclay held--his acceptances for money
borrowed at a heavy rate to keep up appearances when his daughter May--
his idol--the pretty little sunbeam of his house--became Mrs Frank
Burnett.
"Barclay is hard, very hard," said the Master of the Ceremonies to
himself. "Barclay said--"
He again made that gesture, a gracefully made gesture of repelling
something with his thin, white hands, but the thought came back.
"Barclay said that half the ladies of fashion when short of money,
through play, took their diamonds to their jeweller, sold some of the
best, and had them replaced with paste. It took a connoisseur to tell
the difference by candlelight."
Stuart Denville, poverty-stricken gentleman, the poorest of men,
suffering as he did the misery of one struggling to keep up appearances,
rose to his feet with a red spot in each of his cheeks, and a curious
look in his eyes.
"No, no," he ejaculated excitedly as he walked up and down, "a
gentleman, sir--a gentleman, if poor. Better one's razors or a pistol.
They would say it was all that I could do. Not the first gentleman who
has gone to his grave like that."
He shuddered and stood gazing out of the window at the sea, which
glittered in the sunshine like--yes, like diamonds.
Barclay said he had often changed diamonds for paste, and no one but a
judge could tell what had been done. Half a dozen of the stones from a
bracelet replaced with paste, and he would be able to hold up his head
for a year, and by that time how changed everything might be.
Curse the diamonds! Was he mad? Why did the sea dance and sparkle, and
keep on flashing like brilliants? Was it the work of some devil to
tempt him with such thoughts? Or was he going mad?
He took pinch after pinch of snuff, and walked up and down with studied
dancing-master strides as if he were being observed, instead of alone in
that shabby room, and as he walked he could hear the dull buzz of voices
and a light tread overhead.
He walked to the window again with a shudder, and the sea still seemed
to be all diamonds.
He could not bear it, but turned to his seat, into which he sank
heavily, and covered his face with his hands.
Diamonds again--glistening diamonds, half a dozen of which, taken--why
not borrowed for a time from the old woman who owed him so much, and
would not pay? Just borrowed for the time, and paste substituted till
fate smiled upon him, and his plans were carried out. How easy it would
be. And she, old, helpless, would never know the difference--and it was
to benefit his children.
"I cannot bear it," he moaned; and then, "Barclay would do it for me.
He is secret as the tomb. He never speaks. If he did, what reputations
he could blast."
So easy; the old woman took her opiate every night, and slept till
morning. She would not miss the cross--yes, that would be the one--no,
a bracelet better. She never wore that broad bracelet, Claire said, now
she had realised that her arms were nothing but bone.
"Am I mad?" cried the old man, starting up again. "Yes, what is it?"
"Messenger from Mr Barclay, sir, to say he will call to-morrow at
twelve, and he hopes you will be in."
"Yes, yes, Isaac; say yes, I will be in," said the wretched man, sinking
back in his chair with the perspiration starting out all over his brow.
And then, as he was left alone, "How am I to meet him? What am I to
say?" he whispered. "Oh, it is too horrible to bear!"
Once more he started to his feet and walked to the window and looked out
upon the sea.
Diamonds--glittering diamonds as far as eye could reach, and the Master
of the Ceremonies, realising more and more the meaning of the word
temptation, staggered away from the window with a groan.
Volume One, Chapter III.