ALTERED LOOKS
THE letter from Mrs. Fairbank to Colonel Baron, which Roy undertook to
read aloud to Denham, though somewhat verbose, was not without passages
of interest.
During the last four years, since the Barons had left their own country
for an enforced residence abroad, much had happened in European
history. Most notable among famous events had been the Battle of
Trafalgar in 1805, which crippled for half a century to come the Naval
power of France.
For three years at least previous to that date, England had been kept
on tenter-hooks of expectation, incessantly dreading a French invasion.
Napoleon had talked largely of such an invasion, and had openly made
preparations for it, on no mean scale. England also had made ready for
it, had feared it, had laughed at it. And at the last, partly through
Continental complications, causing Napoleon to withdraw most of the
great military force which had long sat at Boulogne, waiting for a safe
chance of crossing the Channel, but much more through the magnificent
and crushing victory of Nelson, in the course of which he received his
death-wound, England escaped it.
She escaped it by a narrow margin. But for Napoleon's pressing need of
more soldiers elsewhere, and but for this crowning victory of Nelson's,
the attempt might have been made. As everybody knows, Nelson chased the
combined fleets of France and Spain across the Atlantic to the West
Indies and back again. And had he, by one little slip, missed finding
those fleets at the critical moment, a landing of French troops might
actually have taken place.
Whether Napoleon could have done more than land his troops upon the
coast is a question difficult now to answer. That he could ever have
conquered Great Britain is absolutely inconceivable, despite his own
boastful assurance on that point, which lasted, or appeared to last, to
the end of his life.
However, these fears were at an end. Napoleon's career of conquest on
land continued unchecked; but at sea the flag of Great Britain reigned
supreme. Nelson's body lay in St. Paul's Cathedral; but before he died
he had done his work. He had saved his country from the iron heel of
Napoleon. So Mrs. Fairbank's letter contained no further descriptions
of invasion scares, such as she would have had to write two or three
years earlier, though it did contain certain references to the Emperor,
not too cautiously worded for a letter on its road to France. Some past
and futile hopes of a peace between England and France were alluded to
also.
"I'll read it aloud to you—may I?" asked Roy again, when Captain Ivor
had made his appearance, refreshed and smartened as to the outer man,
and had been made to sit down to a hastily prepared meal, to which he
failed to do justice. "And," Roy added, recalling Lucille's words, "you
can get on the sofa, and have a rest."
Ivor declined to pose as an invalid, and submitted only to being
installed in the Colonel's large arm-chair, while Roy plunged into Mrs.
Fairbank's epistle, wading through it on the whole successfully, though
not without an occasional suggestion of skipping.
"It's written, 'Bath, August 4th, 1806,'—ever so long ago," he remarked
as a preliminary. "But she didn't get it all done in one day—not near.
I can leave out the other dates. They don't matter."
"'MY DEAR SIR,—Though 'tis somewhat hopeless work writing under the
present aspect of affairs, I will send another letter, wishing that it
may by some means reach you in safety. We still look out perpetually,
with Constant Anxiety, for any sort of news of yourselves, which indeed
but seldom arrives. These passing years are truly melancholy to think
upon. Molly is now fifteen, and has not seen Roy for a space of three
years and more. Who could have thought—'"
"O I say, can't I skip this? She does go on so. Well, I won't, if you'd
rather not; but it's no good, you know."
"'Who could have thought it, my dear Sir, when you and your wife
unhappily decided to make that doleful excursion to France, intending
to stay but one fortnight, which resulted in this Continued separation?
Alas, how little man knows ever what lies Before him in the Future!'"
"But what's the good of her saying all that?"
"'The late tremendous storms about Lonⁿ have caused much Alarm, but
these terrors seem to be now somewhat Abating. I have been to the
Pump Room and to the Circulating Library, and find people are not
much elevated at the prospect of Mr. Fox concluding a Peace in the
present dolorous situation, it being confidently said he cannot live a
fortnight, and that he knows his situation."
"'Mackbeth said Lady Mackbeth
Should have died yesterday.'"
"'I presume that you with ourselves greatly lamented the death
of Mr. Pitt last spring; a sad event at so critical a period.'"
"But I don't see what she means about Macbeth, do you, Den? It's so
funny. Do you know, we got the 'Times' with all about the 'obsequies'
of Mr. Fox, and a picture of the hearse; and I kept it. I can show it
to you by and by."
"'A laughable jest was not long since in circulation here, that
Bonaparte intended to compel the Pope to marry his Mother. There are a
society of monied people in Bath, buying all the Houses they can meet
with, on Speculation, which raises them and also Lodgings, which, with
the taxes, are high beyond any former period, and in the end will be a
disadvantage to Bath; for the Keepers of Lodging Houses, if they can't
raise the price of rooms, oblige the strangers to take or at least
pay for more than they want. The times do indeed afford a Melancholy
Prospect. And still Bonaparte exists!'"
"'If you have not, do read the Secret History of the Cabinet of St.
Cloud. I have had quite a levée this Morning. Two ladies quite in a pet
that they cannot get Genteel Lodgings for themselves and Maids under 80
or 90 pounds a year. Bath fills with company. It is rumoured that the
Country Bankers are expected to have a run upon them for a little time;
on what account I don't clearly understand; therefore shall endeavour
to get as many of their five-pound notes changed as I can at the shops,
by buying store of Candles, Sugar, etc., for they, the Bankers, will
not part with any cash.'"
"Now we're going to get something more interesting."
"'Jack is with us for a fortnight, and he and Polly went this
morning to the Public Library, and heard a Group of Gentlemen's very
serious opinions on the condition of Affairs at the present moment.
What a succession of triumphs attends the Corsican, wicked Elf!
Poor old England stands alone; but how long—?'"
"'General Moore, who, as you doubtless are aware, is now Sir John
Moore, and has been these two years past, continues to Befriend Jack,
when opportunity offers. Jack is sorely disappointed at not being of
the number sent on this Expedition to Sicily. He hopes he may yet be
ordered thither, if more troops are wanted. I don't for my part know
precisely what they may be doing there; but doubtless the Government
has good reasons for all that's done. How much you in your long
banishment may hear of Public News we have no means of guessing, my
dear Sir, but most heartily do I wish it were over, and the Blessings
of an assured Peace once more restored to Europe. Alas, while that
persistent Disturber of Peace continues to flourish, what can be looked
for but persistent War? 'Tis said that Mr. William Wilberforce declares
that Austerlitz was the death-blow to Mr. Pitt.'"
"'Polly desires me to send her due Remembrances to Captain Ivor, and
her hopes that he continues well in health. She writ him awhile since
a long letter, tho' 'tis disheartening work, none knowing if ever the
letters sent do arrive. Polly is extremely well, and has her Roses
in full bloom, and is in vastly good spirits, albeit she was greatly
disappointed at the failure of the Peace negotiations, on which Mr. Fox
built much, but without cause. 'Tis said that she grows a more elegant
young woman each year; and for my part I know not if this be not the
truth. Molly is fast becoming a grown-up young woman; and there is in
her face—altho' she is not handsome—an expression of such fine Moral
Sensibility as cannot but gratify the Beholder.'"
Roy made a slight pause when Polly's name came up, as if wondering
whether Denham would say anything; but the break was not taken
advantage of, and his still face said nothing. So Roy went on to the
end, gabbling rather hurriedly through Molly's affectionate and prim
little composition to himself, which somehow always gave him a sense of
stricture in the throat.
"That's all. Nothing more."
"There may be scores of letters buried in official bureaux," suggested
Mrs. Baron. "From—Polly and all of them."
Denham was looking steadily down, with an expression which to her, as
to Roy, was inscrutable. No response came to the suggestion. He merely
said, after a pause:
"I think that letter should be destroyed, Colonel. Unsafe to keep."
Colonel Baron made a sound of assent. Home subjects then were dropped,
and Denham was plied with questions as to his manner of life at
Valenciennes. He had a good deal to tell, and his account of the
Commandant there contrasted favourably with their experiences of
General Wirion.
The next day was by common consent granted to Roy as a whole holiday.
His studies had been carried on partly under the young clergyman, Mr.
Kinsland, partly under his father, during the last eighteen months; but
a free day seemed only fair, in honour of Denham's return. The boy was
in wild spirits, full of schemes for hunting up old friends in Denham's
company. Denham did not appear at all till after breakfast, just in
time to attend appel; and Roy, having been withheld from disturbing
him, was off on some business of his own. When, after appel, he rushed
in, it was to find Denham in the Colonel's chair, with a book open
which he was not reading, and with the look of a man who would not be
easily dislodged. His face told its own tale; and Roy's look became
suddenly blank.
"I'm afraid there's no help for it, Roy. You must give me a day's
grace. I've done a good deal of walking, you see;"—which was a mild
statement of the case.
"I thought you'd be rested by this morning."
"Ought! but Morpheus declined to be courted."
"Couldn't you sleep? And you don't want to go out?"
"I don't think a team of horses could drag me a mile. But you will look
up the Curtises for me."
"Yes, of course. Where are they? O you don't know. I'll find out. Is
that it?"
"See where Carey is, too."
"Carey? Wasn't it he that had your horse—the horse you ought to have
ridden?"
"No 'ought' in the question. Don't say a word of that sort to him. I
want to know where he is putting up. And—Franklyn—"
"Roy, do not make him talk," as Denham's hand went over his eyes.
"No, ma'am, I won't. Only just to know—but 'tis all right now. I'll
look everybody up, Den; and don't you mind about anything till your
head is better."
Roy went off, and Lucille came softly to where Mrs. Baron stood. "So
changed!" Mrs. Baron murmured.
"Oui," assented Lucille, under her breath. "There are creatures,
Madame, that cannot live in captivity."
"Somebody over there is talking not very good sense," murmured Denham.
Lucille stopped instantly, with a blush. The remark had been on her
part involuntary, and she had not imagined that he could hear.