AN OPPRESSIVE ATMOSPHERE.
The Right Honourable Foster Belford, although not, like Mr. Pitt, famous
for "ruining Great Britain gratis"--perhaps merely from want of the
opportunity--had yet not made a fortune out of political life, and it
had suggested a pleasant addition to his means, when Willie Ruston
offered him the chairmanship of the Omofaga Company, with the promise of
a very comfortable yearly honorarium. He accepted the post with
alacrity, but without undue gratitude, for he considered himself well
worth the price; and the surprising fact is that he was well worth it.
He bulked large to the physical and mental view. His colleagues in the
Cabinet had taken a year or two to find out his limits, and the public
had not found them out yet. Therefore he was not exactly a fool. On the
other hand, the limits were certainly there, and so there was no danger
of his developing an inconvenient greatness. As has been previously
hinted, he enjoyed Harry Dennison's entire confidence; and he could be
relied upon not to understand Lord Semingham's irreverence. Thus his
appointment did good to the Omofaga as well as to himself, and only the
initiated winked when Willie Ruston hid himself behind this imposing
figure and pulled the strings.
"The best of it is," Ruston remarked to Semingham, "that you and Carlin
will have the whole thing in your own hands when I've gone out. Belford
won't give you any trouble."
"But, my dear fellow, I don't want it all in my hands. I want to grow
rich out of it without any trouble."
Ruston twisted his cigar in his mouth. The prospect of immediate wealth
flowing in from Omofaga was, as Lord Semingham knew very well, not
assured.
"Loring's stopped hammering us," said Ruston; "that's one thing."
"Oh, you found out he wrote them?"
"Yes; and uncommonly well he did it, confound him. I wish we could get
that fellow. There's a good deal in him."
"You see," observed Lord Semingham, "he doesn't like you. I don't know
that you went the right way about to make him."
The remark sounded blunt, but Semingham had learnt not to waste delicate
phrases on Willie Ruston.
"Well, I didn't know he was worth the trouble."
"One path to greatness is said to be to make no enemies."
"A very roundabout one, I should think. I'm going to make a good many
enemies in Omofaga."
Lord Semingham suddenly rose, put on his hat, and left the offices of
the Company. Mrs. Dennison had, a little while ago, complained to him
that she ate, drank, breathed and wore Omofaga. He had detected the
insincerity of her complaint, but he was becoming inclined to echo it in
all genuineness on his own account. There were moments when he wondered
how and why he had allowed this young man to lead him so far and so
deep; moments when a convulsion of Nature, redistributing Africa and
blotting out Omofaga, would have left him some thousands of pounds
poorer in purse, but appreciably more cheerful in spirit. Perhaps
matters would mend when the Local Administrator had departed to his
local administration, and only the mild shadow of him which bore the
name of Carlin trod the boards of Queen Street, Cheapside. Ruston began
to be oppressive. The restless energy and domineering mind of the man
wearied Semingham's indolent and dilettante spirit, and he hailed the
end of the season as an excellent excuse for putting himself beyond the
reach of his colleague for a few weeks. Yet, the more he quailed, the
more he trusted; and when a very great man, holding a very great office,
met him in the House of Lords, and expressed the opinion that when the
Company and Mr. Ruston went to Omofaga they would find themselves in a
pretty hornets' nest, Lord Semingham only said that he should be sorry
for the hornets.
"Don't ask us to fetch your man out for you, that's all," said the very
great man.
And for an instant Lord Semingham, still feeling that load upon his
shoulders, fancied that it would be far from his heart to prefer such a
request. There might be things less just and fitting than that Willie
Ruston and those savage tribes of Omofaga should be left to fight out
the quarrel by themselves, the civilised world standing aloof. And the
dividends--well, of course, there were the dividends, but Lord Semingham
had in his haste forgotten them.
"Ah, you don't know Ruston," said he, shaking a forefinger at the great
man.
"Don't I? He came every day to my office for a fortnight."
"Wanted something?"
"Yes, he wanted something certainly, or he wouldn't have come, you
know."
"Got it, I suppose?" asked Lord Semingham, in a tone curiously
indicative of resignation rather than triumph.
"Well, yes; I did, at last, not without hesitation, accede to his
request."
Then Lord Semingham, with no apparent excuse, laughed in the face of the
great man, left the House (much in the same sudden way as he had left
Queen Street, Cheapside), and passed rapidly through the lobbies till he
reached Westminster Hall. Here he met a young man, clad to perfection,
but looking sad. It was Evan Haselden. With a sigh of relief at meeting
no one of heavier metal, Semingham stopped him and began to talk. Evan's
melancholy air enveloped his answers in a mist of gloom. Moreover there
was a large streak on his hat, where the nap had been rubbed the wrong
way; evidently he was in trouble. Presently he seized his friend by the
arm, and proposed a walk in the Park.
"But are you paired?" asked Semingham; for an important division was to
occur that day in the Commons.
"No," said Evan fiercely. "Come along;" and Lord Semingham went,
exclaiming inwardly, "A girl!"
"I'm the most miserable devil alive," said Evan, as they left the Horse
Guards on the right hand.
Semingham put up his eyeglass.
"I've always regarded you as the favourite of fortune," he said. "What's
the matter?"
The matter unfolded itself some half-hour after they had reached the Row
and sat down. It came forth with difficulty; pride obstructed the
passage, and something better than pride made the young man diffuse in
the telling of his trouble. Lord Semingham grew very grave indeed. Let
who would laugh at happy lovers, he had a groan for the unfortunate--a
groan with reservations.
"She said she liked me very much, but didn't feel--didn't, you know,
look up to me enough, and so on," said poor Evan in puzzled pain. "I--I
can't think what's come over her. She used to be quite different. I
don't know what she means by talking like that."
Lord Semingham played a tune on his knee with the fingers of one hand.
He was waiting.
"Young Val's gone back on me too," moaned Evan, who took the brother's
deposal of him hardly more easily than the sister's rejection. Suddenly
he brightened up; a smile, but a bitter one, gleamed across his face.
"I think I've put one spoke in his wheel, though," he said.
"Ruston's?" inquired Semingham, still playing his tune.
"Yes. A fortnight ago, old Detchmore" (Lord Detchmore was the very great
man before referred to) "asked me if I knew Loring. You know Ruston's
been trying to get Detchmore to back him up in making a railway to
Omofaga?"
"I didn't know," said Lord Semingham, with an unmoved face.
"You're a director, aren't you?"
"Yes. Go on, my dear boy."
"And Detchmore had seen Loring's articles. Well, I took Tom to him, and
we left him quite decided to have nothing to do with it. Oh, by Jove,
though, I forgot; I suppose you'd be on the other side there, wouldn't
you?"
"I suppose I should, but it doesn't matter."
"Why not?"
"Because I fancy Ruston's got what he wanted;" and Lord Semingham
related what he had heard from the Earl of Detchmore.
Evan listened in silence, and, the tale ended, the two lay back in their
chairs, and idly looked at the passing carriages. At last Lord Semingham
spoke.
"He's going to Omofaga in a few months," he observed. "And, Evan, you
don't mean that he's your rival at the Valentines'?"
"I'm not so sure, confound him. You know how pretty she is."
Semingham knew that she was pretty; but he also knew that she was poor,
and thought that she was, if not too insipid (for he recognised the
unusual taste of his own mind), at least too immature to carry Willie
Ruston off his feet, and into a love affair that promised no worldly
gain.
"I asked Mrs. Dennison what she thought," pursued Evan.
"Oh, you did?"
"But the idea seemed quite a new one to her. That's good, you know. I
expect she'd have noticed if he'd shown any signs."
Lord Semingham thought it very likely.
"Anyhow," Evan continued, "Marjory's awfully keen about him."
"He'll be in Omofaga in three or four months," Semingham repeated. It
was all the consolation he could offer.
Presently Evan got up and strode away. Lord Semingham sat on, musing on
the strange turmoil the coming of the man had made in the little corner
of the world he dwelt in. He was reminded of what was said concerning
Lord Byron by another poet. They all felt Ruston. His intrusion into the
circle had changed all the currents, so that sympathy ran no longer
between old friends, and hearts answered to a new stimulus. Some he
attracted, some he repelled; none did he leave alone. From great to
small his influence ran; from the expulsion of Tom Loring to the
christening of the Omofaga mantle. Semingham had an acute sense of the
absurdity of it all, but he had seen absurd things happen too often to
be much relieved by his intuition. And when absurd things happen, they
have consequences just as other things have. And the most exasperating
fact was the utter unconsciousness of the disturber. He had no
mystery-airs, no graces, no seeming fascinations. He was relentlessly
business-like, unsentimental, downright; he took it all as a matter of
course. He did not pry for weak spots. He went right on--on and
over--and seemed not to know when he was going over. A very Juggernaut
indeed! Semingham thanked Adela for teaching him the word.
He was suddenly roused by the merry laughter of children. Three or four
little ones were scampering along the path in the height of glee. As
they came up, he recognised them. He had seen them once before. They
were Carlin's children. Five there were, he counted now; three ran
ahead; two little girls held each a hand of Willie Ruston's, who was
laughing as merrily as his companions. The whole group knew Semingham,
and the eldest child was by his knees in a moment.
"We've been to the Exhibition," she cried exultantly; "and now
Willie--Mr. Ruston, I mean--is taking us to have ices in Bond Street."
"A human devil!" said the astonished man to himself, as Willie Ruston
plumped down beside him, imploring a brief halt, and earnestly
asseverating that his request was in good faith, and concealed no
lurking desire to evade the ices.
"I met young Haselden as we came along," Ruston observed, wiping his
brow.
"Ah! Yes, he's been with me."
The children had wandered a few yards off, and stood impatiently looking
at their hero.
"He's had a bit of a facer, I fancy," pursued Willie Ruston. "Heard
about it?"
"Something."
"It'll come all right, I should think," said Ruston, in a comfortably
careless tone. "He's not a bad fellow, you know, though he's not
over-appreciative of me." Lord Semingham found no comment. "I hear
you're going to Dieppe next week?" asked Ruston.
"Yes. My wife and Mrs. Dennison have put their heads together, and fixed
on that. You know we're economising."
Ruston laughed.
"I suppose you are," he said through his white teeth. The idea seemed to
amuse him. "We may meet there. I've promised to run over for a few days
if I can."
"The deuce you have!" would have expressed his companion's feelings; but
Lord Semingham only said, "Oh, really?"
"All right, I'm coming directly," Ruston cried a moment later to his
young friends, and, with a friendly nod, he rose and went on his way.
Lord Semingham watched the party till it disappeared through the Park
gates, hearing in turn the children's shrill laugh and Willie Ruston's
deeper notes. The effect of the chance meeting was to make his fancies
and his fancied feelings look still more absurd. That he perceived at
once; the devil appeared so very human in such a mood and such
surroundings. Yet that attribute--that most demoniac attribute--of
ubiquity loomed larger and larger. For not even a foreign land--not even
a watering-place of pronounced frivolity--was to be a refuge. The man
was coming to Dieppe! And on whose bidding? Semingham had no doubt on
whose bidding; and, out of the airy forms of those absurd fancies, there
seemed to rise a more material shape, a reality, a fabric not compounded
wholly of dreams, but mixed of stuff that had made human comedies and
human tragedies since the world began. Mrs. Dennison had bidden Willie
Ruston to Dieppe. That was Semingham's instant conclusion; she had
bidden him, not merely by a formal invitation, or by a simple
acquiescence, but by the will and determination which possessed her to
be of his mind and in his schemes. And perhaps Evan Haselden's innocent
asking of her views had carried its weight also. For nearly an hour
Semingham sat and mused. For awhile he thought he would act; but how
should he act? And why? And to what end? Since what must be must, and in
vain do we meddle with fate. An easy, almost eager, recognition of the
inevitable in the threatened, of the necessary in everything that
demanded effort for its avoidance, had stamped his life and grown deep
into his mind. Wherefore now, faced with possibilities that set his
nerves on edge, and wrung his heart for good friends, he found nothing
better to do than shrug his shoulders and thank God that his own wife's
submission to the man went no deeper than the inside lining of that
famous Omofaga mantle, nor his own than the bottom, or near the bottom,
of his trousers' pocket.
"Though that, in faith," he exclaimed ruefully, as at last he rose, "is,
in this world of ours, pretty deep!"