AGAIN THE MAGIAN CONFLICT
They heard at Raynham that Richard was coming. Lucy had the news
first in a letter from Ripton Thompson, who met him at Bonn. Ripton
did not say that he had employed his vacation holiday on purpose to
use his efforts to induce his dear friend to return to his wife; and
finding Richard already on his way, of course Ripton said nothing to
him, but affected to be travelling for his pleasure like any
cockney. Richard also wrote to her. In case she should have gone to
the sea he directed her to send word to his hotel that he might not
lose an hour. His letter was sedate in tone, very sweet to her.
Assisted by the faithful female Berry, she was conquering an
Aphorist.
"Woman's reason is in the milk of her breasts," was one of his rough
notes, due to an observation of Lucy's maternal cares. Let us
remember, therefore, we men who have drunk of it largely there, that
she has it.
Mrs. Berry zealously apprised him how early Master Richard's
education had commenced, and the great future historian he must
consequently be. This trait in Lucy was of itself sufficient to win
Sir Austin.
"Here my plan with Richard was false," he reflected: "in presuming
that anything save blind fortuity would bring him such a mate as he
should have." He came to add: "And has got!"
He could admit now that instinct had so far beaten science; for as
Richard was coming, as all were to be happy, his wisdom embraced
them all paternally as the author of their happiness. Between him
and Lucy a tender intimacy grew.
"I told you she could talk, sir," said Adrian.
"She thinks!" said the baronet.
The delicate question how she was to treat her uncle, he settled
generously. Farmer Blaize should come up to Raynham when he would:
Lucy must visit him at least three times a week. He had Farmer
Blaize and Mrs. Berry to study, and really excellent Aphorisms
sprang from the plain human bases this natural couple presented.
"It will do us no harm," he thought, "some of the honest blood of
the soil in our veins." And he was content in musing on the
parentage of the little cradled boy. A common sight for those who
had the entry to the library was the baronet cherishing the hand of
his daughter-in-law.
So Richard was crossing the sea, and hearts at Raynham were beating
quicker measures as the minutes progressed. That night he would be
with them. Sir Austin gave Lucy a longer, warmer salute when she
came down to breakfast in the morning. Mrs. Berry waxed thrice
amorous. "It's your second bridals, ye sweet livin' widow!" she
said. "Thanks be the Lord! it's the same man too! and a baby over
the bed-post," she appended seriously.
"Strange," Berry declared it to be, "strange I feel none o' this to
my Berry now. All my feelin's o' love seem t'ave gone into you two
sweet chicks."
In fact, the faithless male Berry complained of being treated badly,
and affected a superb jealousy of the baby; but the good dame told
him that if he suffered at all he suffered his due. Berry's position
was decidedly uncomfortable. It could not be concealed from the
lower household that he had a wife in the establishment, and for the
complications this gave rise to, his wife would not legitimately
console him. Lucy did intercede, but Mrs. Berry was obdurate. She
averred she would not give up the child till he was weaned. "Then,
perhaps," she said prospectively. "You see I ain't so soft as you
thought for."
"You're a very unkind, vindictive old woman," said Lucy.
"Belike I am," Mrs. Berry was proud to agree. We like a new
character, now and then. Berry had delayed too long.
Were it not notorious that the straightlaced prudish dare not listen
to the natural chaste, certain things Mrs. Berry thought it
advisable to impart to the young wife with regard to Berry's
infidelity, and the charity women should have towards sinful men,
might here be reproduced. Enough that she thought proper to broach
the matter, and cite her own Christian sentiments, now that she was
indifferent in some degree.
Oily calm is on the sea. At Raynham they look up at the sky and
speculate that Richard is approaching fairly speeded. He comes to
throw himself on his darling's mercy. Lucy irradiated over forest
and sea, tempest and peace--to her the hero comes humbly. Great is
that day when we see our folly! Ripton and he were the friends of
old. Richard encouraged him to talk of the two he could be eloquent
on, and Ripton, whose secret vanity was in his powers of speech,
never tired of enumerating Lucy's virtues, and the peculiar
attributes of the baby.
"She did not say a word against me, Rip?"
"Against you, Richard! The moment she knew she was to be a mother,
she thought of nothing but her duty to the child. She's one who
can't think of herself."
"You've seen her at Raynham, Rip?"
"Yes, once. They asked me down. And your father's so fond of
her--I'm sure he thinks no woman like her, and he's right. She is so
lovely, and so good."
Richard was too full of blame of himself to blame his father: too
British to expose his emotions. Ripton divined how deep and changed
they were by his manner. He had cast aside the hero, and however
Ripton had obeyed him and looked up to him in the heroic time, he
loved him tenfold now. He told his friend how much Lucy's mere
womanly sweetness and excellence had done for him, and Richard
contrasted his own profitless extravagance with the patient beauty
of his dear home angel. He was not one to take her on the easy terms
that offered. There was that to do which made his cheek burn as he
thought of it, but he was going to do it, even though it lost her to
him. Just to see her and kneel to her was joy sufficient to sustain
him, and warm his blood in the prospect. They marked the white
cliffs growing over the water. Nearer, the sun made them lustrous.
Houses and people seemed to welcome the wild youth to common sense,
simplicity, and home.
They were in town by mid-day. Richard had a momentary idea of not
driving to his hotel for letters. After a short debate he determined
to go there. The porter said he had two letters for Mr. Richard
Feverel--one had been waiting some time. He went to the box and
fetched them. The first Richard opened was from Lucy, and as he read
it, Ripton observed the colour deepen on his face, while a quivering
smile played about his mouth. He opened the other indifferently. It
began without any form of address. Richard's forehead darkened at
the signature. This letter was in a sloping feminine hand, and
flourished with light strokes all over, like a field of the bearded
barley. Thus it ran:
"I know you are in a rage with me because I would not consent
to ruin you, you foolish fellow. What do you call it? Going to
that unpleasant place together. Thank you, my milliner is not
ready yet, and I want to make a good appearance when I do go. I
suppose I shall have to some day. Your health, Sir Richard. Now
let me speak to you seriously. _Go home to your wife at once._
But I know the sort of fellow you are, and I must be plain with
you. Did I ever say I loved you? You may hate me as much as you
please, but I will save you from being a fool.
"Now listen to me. You know my relations with Mount. _That
beast Brayder_ offered to pay all my debts and set me afloat,
if I would keep you in town. I declare on my honour I had no
idea why, and I did not agree to it. But you were such a
handsome fellow--I noticed you in the park before I heard a
word of you. But then you fought shy--you were just as tempting
as a girl. You _stung_ me. Do you know what that is? I would
make you care for me, and we know how it ended, without any
intention of mine, I _swear_. I'd have cut off my hand rather
than do you any harm, upon my honour. Circumstances! Then I saw
it was all up between us. Brayder came and began to chaff about
you. I dealt the animal a stroke on the face with my
riding-whip--I shut him up pretty quick. Do you think I would
let a man speak about you?--I was going to swear. You see I
remember Dick's lessons. O my God! I do feel unhappy.--Brayder
offered me money. Go and think I took it, if you like. What do
I care what anybody thinks! Something that blackguard said made
me suspicious. I went down to the Isle of Wight where Mount
was, and your wife was just gone with an old lady who came and
took her away. I should so have liked to see her. You said, you
remember, she would take me as a sister, and treat me--I
laughed at it then. My God! how I could cry now, if water did
any good to a _devil_, as you politely call poor me. I called
at your house and saw your man-servant, who said Mount had just
been there. In a minute it struck me. I was sure Mount was
after a woman, but it never struck me that woman was your wife.
Then I saw why they wanted me to keep you away. I went to
Brayder. You know how I hate him. I made love to the man to get
it out of him. Richard! my word of honour, they have planned to
carry her off, if Mount finds he cannot seduce her. Talk of
devils! He's one; but he is not so bad as Brayder. I cannot
forgive a mean dog his villainy.
"Now after this, I am quite sure you are too much of a man to
stop away from her another moment. I have no more to say. I
suppose we shall not see each other again, so good-bye, Dick! I
fancy I hear you cursing me. Why can't you feel like other men
on the subject? But if you were like the rest of them I should
not have cared for you a farthing. I have not worn lilac since
I saw you last. I'll be buried in your colour, Dick. That will
not offend you--will it?
"You are not going to believe I took the money? If I thought
you thought that--it makes me _feel_ like a devil only to fancy
you think it.
"The first time you meet Brayder, _cane him publicly_.
"Adieu! Say it's because you don't like his face. I suppose
devils must not say _Adieu_. Here's plain old good-bye, then,
between you and me. Good-bye, dear Dick! You won't think that
of me?
"May I eat dry bread to the day of my death if I took or ever
will touch a scrap of their money.
BELLA."
Richard folded up the letter silently.
"Jump into the cab," he said to Ripton.
"Anything the matter, Richard?"
"No."
The driver received instructions. Richard sat without speaking. His
friend knew that face. He asked whether there was bad news in the
letter. For answer, he had the lie circumstantial. He ventured to
remark that they were going the wrong way.
"It's the right way," cried Richard, and his jaws were hard and
square, and his eyes looked heavy and full.
Ripton said no more, but thought.
The cabman pulled up at a Club. A gentleman, in whom Ripton
recognized the Hon. Peter Brayder, was just then swinging a leg over
his horse, with one foot in the stirrup. Hearing his name called,
the Hon. Peter turned about, and stretched an affable hand.
"Is Mountfalcon in town?" said Richard, taking the horse's reins
instead of the gentlemanly hand. His voice and aspect were quite
friendly.
"Mount?" Brayder replied, curiously watching the action; "yes. He's
off this evening."
"He _is_ in town?" Richard released his horse. "I want to see him.
Where is he?"
The young man looked pleasant: that which might have aroused
Brayder's suspicions was an old affair in parasitical register by
this time. "Want to see him? What about?" he said carelessly, and
gave the address.
"By the way," he sang out, "we thought of putting your name down,
Feverel." He indicated the lofty structure. "What do you say?"
Richard nodded back at him, crying, "Hurry." Brayder returned the
nod, and those who promenaded the district soon beheld his body in
elegant motion to the stepping of his well-earned horse.
"What do you want to see Lord Mountfalcon for, Richard?" said
Ripton.
"I just want to see him," Richard replied.
Ripton was left in the cab at the door of my lord's residence. He
had to wait there a space of about ten minutes, when Richard
returned with a clearer visage, though somewhat heated. He stood
outside the cab, and Ripton was conscious of being examined by those
strong grey eyes. As clear as speech he understood them to say to
him, "You won't do," but which of the many things on earth he would
not do for he was at a loss to think.
"Go down to Raynham, Ripton. Say I shall be there to-night
certainly. Don't bother me with questions. Drive off at once. Or
wait. Get another cab. I'll take this."
Ripton was ejected, and found himself standing alone in the street.
As he was on the point of rushing after the galloping cab-horse to
get a word of elucidation, he heard some one speak behind him.
"You are Feverel's friend?"
Ripton had an eye for lords. An ambrosial footman, standing at the
open door of Lord Mountfalcon's house, and a gentleman standing on
the door-step, told him that he was addressed by that nobleman. He
was requested to step into the house. When they were alone, Lord
Mountfalcon, slightly ruffled, said: "Feverel has insulted me
grossly. I must meet him, of course. It's a piece of infernal
folly!--I suppose he is not quite mad?"
Ripton's only definite answer was a gasping iteration of "My lord."
My lord resumed: "I am perfectly guiltless of offending him, as far
as I know. In fact, I had a friendship for him. Is he liable to fits
of this sort of thing?"
Not yet at conversation-point, Ripton stammered: "Fits, my lord?"
"Ah!" went the other, eying Ripton in lordly cognizant style. "You
know nothing of this business, perhaps!"
Ripton said he did not.
"Have you any influence with him?"
"Not much, my lord. Only now and then--a little."
"You are not in the Army?"
The question was quite unnecessary. Ripton confessed to the law, and
my lord did not look surprised.
"I will not detain you," he said, distantly bowing.
Ripton gave him a commoner's obeisance; but getting to the door, the
sense of the matter enlightened him.
"It's a duel, my lord?"
"No help for it, if his friends don't shut him up in Bedlam between
this and to-morrow morning."
Of all horrible things a duel was the worst in Ripton's imagination.
He stood holding the handle of the door, revolving this last chapter
of calamity suddenly opened where happiness had promised.
"A duel! but he won't, my lord,--he mustn't fight, my lord."
"He must come on the ground," said my lord, positively.
Ripton ejaculated unintelligible stuff. Finally Lord Mountfalcon
said: "I went out of my way, sir, in speaking to you. I saw you from
the window. Your friend is mad. Deuced methodical, I admit, but mad.
I have particular reasons to wish not to injure the young man, and
if an apology is to be got out of him when we're on the ground, I'll
take it, and we'll stop the damned scandal, if possible. You
understand? I'm the insulted party, and I shall only require of him
to use formal words of excuse to come to an amicable settlement. Let
him just say he regrets it. Now, sir," the nobleman spoke with
considerable earnestness, "should anything happen--I have the honour
to be known to Mrs. Feverel--and I beg you will tell her. I very
particularly desire you to let her know that I was not to blame."
Mountfalcon rang the bell, and bowed him out. With this on his mind
Ripton hurried down to those who were waiting in joyful trust at
Raynham.