It was in honour of Morton Denville's reception into the regiment that
the Master of the Ceremonies received. There had been some difficulty
in the matter, but on the very first night that the young man dined at
the mess, when, urged by Major Rockley, his brother-officers had decided
to send him to Coventry, it so happened that "a certain gentleman" was
at Saltinville and had expressed his intention to Colonel Lascelles of
looking in.
Consequently, it was decided not to transport the young subaltern to the
Midlands that night; and as it happened His Royal Highness asked the
Colonel who the tall youth was, ordered him to be introduced, and shook
hands with the young man.
"Devilish gentlemanly fellow, your father, my lad. Always looks a
gentleman, and carries a devilish good pinch of snuff. My compliments
to him, and tell him I was glad to oblige Carboro'."
"They were all as civil to me as could be, after that, Clairy," said
Morton, relating the meeting at home. "Even Rockley shook hands after
dinner, when we'd had a lot of claret, and he apologised about being
carried away, he called it, and said we were brother-officers now, and
must be good friends. I don't like him, though."
Claire turned pale.
"I say, though, Clairy, I haven't said a word to the dad, but what am I
to do? I turned cold and hot, and queer as could be yesterday. Whom do
you think I met?"
Claire knew what was coming, but she did not speak.
"Fred. I'd half forgotten about him, and he's in my troop."
"Did--did Fred speak, Morton?"
"No; he cut me dead, and of course he is James Bell in the regimental
books; but, I say, isn't it awkward? I can't know him, you see, as my
brother: what shall I do?"
"Fred has shown you," said Claire huskily, as her troubles seemed to be
on the increase. "I will try and persuade him to leave the regiment.
We must buy him out."
"Yes, to be sure," cried the boy. "Oh, I say, what a clever old girl
you are, Sis! Why, you're better than a mother."
Claire smiled sadly as he kissed her and left the house.
That night she wrote to Private James Bell about the difficulty--a long
sisterly letter, offering to get the money to buy his discharge, and
alluding to everything as tenderly as the subject would allow.
In due time a crisp short reply came back:
"Dear Claire,
"No, I shall not leave the regiment. I want to keep my eye on the
Major. Tell Morton not to be afraid. I am only James Bell, and I shall
never presume. I am too well disciplined for that. Take care of your
dear self.
"Good-bye, F."
Claire wept over the letter, and hid it with her treasures. The
difficulty seemed to have passed away, and she felt lighter at heart.
She had to prepare too for the evening that the Master of the Ceremonies
had determined to give, not because he could afford it, but nominally,
as intimated, in honour of his son's receiving a commission, more
especially because Lord Carboro' had wished it, and said that he should
come.
With such a visitor to give _eclat_ to the proceedings, the difficulty
was how to arrange to issue invitations, for Denville, with throbbing
breast, felt that no one would decline.
He was in a tremor for days, as he thought the matter over, and was
swayed by his ambition and his true manhood, to and fro.
At times he raised his eyes to find that Claire was watching him, and
her cold candid look made him shrink within himself, as he thought of
the past, and he shivered in dread lest she should display that terrible
repugnance again, instead of the sad, half despondent distance that had
become her manner and her bearing towards him.
She never kissed him, but, when he took her hand, she suffered him to
press his lips to her brow without flinching as she had at first, and he
sighed and accepted his fate.
There had been times of late when the entanglement of his younger son's
position in the regiment, with an elder brother a private in the ranks,
had half driven him mad, keeping him awake night after night; and Claire
had lain weeping despairingly as she had heard him pace his room, but
the horrible difficulty he had been anticipating did not seem to come
home, and he waited for the Nemesis that would some day arrive, hoping
that he might be allowed time to complete his plans before the bolt
fell.
He sat one morning, deciding with Claire to whom invitations were to be
issued. Lady Drelincourt would come of course, as Lord Carboro' would
be there, and several other notables had been invited.
"Then the officers of the regiment, of course."
Claire half rose and looked in her father's face.
"We must forget that, my child," he said imploringly. "Major Rockley is
a gentleman, and he has in some sort apologised to Morton. He told me
so. To leave him out would be to insult him. He must be asked. His
good sense will keep him away. You must ask Colonel Mellersh, too. He
is a great friend of Colonel Lascelles."
"You will ask Mr and Mrs Barclay, father?" said Claire.
"Oh, yes, we must. Dreadfully vulgar people, but it is a necessity."
Claire sighed as she thought of what was behind Mrs Barclay's
vulgarity, and the note was written.
A couple of days passed, and everyone without exception had expressed
his or her intention of being present, when, as he was on the Parade,
Colonel Mellersh met the MC, and said:
"By the way, Denville, I want you to invite my young friend Linnell to
your party."
"I shall be charmed," said Denville, with a smile, for he could not
refuse; and in due course Richard Linnell received an invitation and
replied.
A little farther on, Denville came upon Lady Drelincourt in her chair.
"Ah, Denville, bad man," she said, tapping him with her folded fan. "I
feel as if I could not come to your house. My poor dear sister!"
The houses on the Parade seemed to reel before the MC's eyes.
"But one cannot grieve for ever. I shall come. Have you asked that
wicked Rockley?"
Denville bowed.
"And Sir Matthew Bray?"
"All the officers whom duty will allow are coming."
"That's well; and now, Denville, you must send an imitation with
apologies to Mrs Pontardent."
"Lady Drelincourt!"
"I can't help it. She wishes to come, and I have promised that she
shall."
The result was that Mrs Pontardent was invited, and in turn she
expressed a wish that her dear friends the Deans, whom Mr Denville had
introduced to her, should not be left out.
The Master of the Ceremonies had the deciding who should be in society,
and who should not; and here he was making a stand when Lord Carboro'
came up--it was on the pier--and was appealed to by Mrs Pontardent.
"Oh, yes, Denville," he said good-humouredly; "ask Mrs and Miss Dean."
The Master of the Ceremonies ruled the roost, but he was everybody's
slave; and, in this case, the only way out of the difficulty after they
had been neglected so long was to call with Claire and invite them
personally.
"If you wish it, papa," Claire said, when spoken to on the subject.
"I do not, my dear," he replied, with a sigh. "My position compels it."
They went trembling: Claire in agony lest she should encounter Richard
Linnell; her father about the expenses into which he was drifting, for
the tradespeople were giving him broad hints, especially the
confectioner, that money must be forthcoming if the refreshments were to
be supplied.
Cora Dean's eyes flashed with pride and jealousy as the visitors were
shown in, but she received Claire courteously, and the wonderfully
different pair were left together by the open window, while Mrs Dean
drew the Master of the Ceremonies aside.
"I am pleased, Mr Denville," she whispered. "This is real good of you.
I knew you would get us into society at last. Mrs Pontardent has been
very kind, but she ain't everybody. I wanted my Bet--my Cora--to meet
my Lady Drelincourt and the other big ones. After this, of course, it's
all plain sailing, and we shall go on. I say, just look at 'em."
Denville turned with a sigh towards the bay window where Claire and Cora
were seated, talking quietly, but with eyes that seemed to fight and
fence, as if each feared the other.
"You go into a many houses and don't see such a pair as that."
"Your daughter is a beautiful woman, Mrs Dean."
"_Lady_," said the latter correctively; "and so's yours, only too cold
and pale. And now, look here, Denville, as friends--I know what's
what."
"Really, Mrs Dean, you puzzle me."
"Hush! Don't speak so loud. Look here, you've done me a thoroughly
good turn, and I'm a warm woman, and not ungrateful. As I said before,
I know what's what--Parties ain't done well for nothing, and expenses
comes heavy sometimes. If you want to borrow thirty or forty pounds--
there, stuff! you must have your fees. I'm going to put half a dozen
five-pound notes under the chany ornament in the back room. You can
look round and admire the rooms and get it."
His spirit rebelled, but his breeches pocket gaped horribly, and wincing
in spirit, he rose and went forward to talk to Cora in his society way,
starting, in spite of himself, as he heard the chink of china on marble,
while, after a time, he began in the most graceful way to gaze through
his eyeglass at the pictures and china from Mr Barclay's ample store,
ending by securing the notes in the most _nonchalant_ way.
After letting a sufficient time elapse, the Denvilles took their leave,
and Mrs Dean broke out in ecstasy:
"There, Betsy, at last. You'll be a real lady now."
"Yes, mother," said Cora dreamily.
"I say, Denville isn't a bad one, only he has to be paid."
"It's the custom, mother."
"Oh, yes. You know what 'Amlet says, as your poor father used to make
jokes about, and call breeches; but I say, isn't she a milk-and-water
chit beside you, my gal? Didn't you feel as if you 'ated her?"
"No, mother," said Cora thoughtfully. "She's different to what I
expected. I don't think she'll live."
"Don't talk like that. Now, let's see what about your noo dress."
"And yours, mother?"
"Of course. And feathers."
And as this conversation went on, Stuart Denville and his daughter
Claire walked homeward, the latter with the gloom deepening, so it
seemed, over her young life, the former with the six crisp notes riding
lightly in his pocket, and the load of misery and shame growing heavier
day by day.
Volume Two, Chapter XII.