A STIRRING OF MUD
It is an old saying, founded on very correct observation, that
long-continued calm breaks up in storm. And the same holds good of
life, individual and national. Too long a calm leads at times to
somewhat of deterioration--at all events to a laxing of the fibres and
an indolent reliance on the continuance of things as they are; and
that, in a world whose essence is growth and change, is not without
its dangers. And--proverbially again--a storm always clears the air.
It seemed to Jim Carron that, of a sudden, the accumulated storms of
all the long quiet years burst upon him.
He had intended seeing Lord Deseret at the first possible moment and
questioning him as to that very curious remark of his. But he could
not broach such a matter at the theatre and in company, and his
lordship had driven off to some other appointment the moment the
curtain fell.
So, at twelve next day, having scrambled through his morning's duties
with a quite unusually preoccupied mind, he presented himself at Mme
Beteta's lodgings and was taken upstairs to her apartments.
She welcomed him graciously, and they sat down at once to the table.
He thought she looked decidedly older in the daylight, but it was only
in the texture of her face, devoid now of any artificial assistance,
and slightly lined in places.
The two great plaits of black hair showed no silver threads. The
luminous black eyes were still bright. The sinewy form the dancer was
full of exquisite grace.
"Now tell me about yourself," demanded madame, as they sipped their
final coffee, and the maid retired.
"I don't think there's anything to tell," said Jim, with his open
boyish smile.
"We have lived all our lives at Carne--Jack and I--until we went to
Harrow, and then he went to Woolwich and I came to London."
"Jack is your brother?"
"Yes; we're twins. He's the clever one. That's why he's at Chatham
now--in the Engineers. It was all I could do to scramble into the
Hussars." And he laughed reminiscently at the scramble, and then told
her about it.
"And which of you is the elder? Even in twins one of you must come
first."
"That's funny now. Lord Deseret was asking me that the first time we
met, and I couldn't tell him. We've really never troubled about it,
you see, or thought about it at all until a very short time ago. I
suppose it was the fellows at school wanting to know which was the
elder that set us thinking about it. We asked old Mrs. Lee--she keeps
house for us at Carne, you know--and Mr. Eager----"
"Who is Mr. Eager?"
"Oh, he's a splendid fellow. He's curate at Wyvveloe, and he's done
everything for us, he and Gracie "--and madame noted the softened
inflection as he said the word.
"And who is Gracie?"
"Mr. Eager's sister. They call her 'the Little Lady' in Wyvveloe."
"Is she pretty?"
"Oh, she's lovely, and as good and sweet as can be."
"You're in love with her, I suppose."
"Yes, I am," said Jim, colouring up, "and I'm not ashamed of it."
"And what about Jack?"
"He's in love with her, too."
"That's rather awkward, isn't it? What does Miss Gracie say to it
all?"
"Oh, she was terribly upset. You see she had never thought of us like
that. It was after the dance at Sir George Herapath's that we found it
out----"
"She had a low dress on, I suppose--bare arms and shoulders, and you
had never seen her so before."
"Yes," he said, surprised at such acumen, "I suppose that was it. We
all used to bathe together and run about the sands. But that night she
seemed to grow up all of a sudden--and so did we."
"And what does her brother say to it--and your grandfather?"
"We're to say nothing more about it for a year. You see, this war is
coming on and you never can tell----"
"War is horror," she said, with a shudder. "I have seen fighting in
Spain and in the streets of Paris. It is terrible. You may neither of
you come back alive. If only one comes, then, I suppose----"
"Yes, that would settle it all."
"And you do not remember your mother?" she asked, after a pause.
"We never knew her," he said thoughtfully, bethinking him suddenly of
Lord Deseret and that curious saying of his. "She died when we were
born, and nobody has told us about her. Old Mrs. Lee must remember
her, but she would never tell us, and Sir Denzil--well, you can't ask
him about anything--at least, not to get any good from it."
"He has been good to you both?"
"Oh yes, in his way. But if it hadn't been for Mr. Eager----. We were
growing up just little savages, running wild In the sand-hills, you
know. And then he came, and it has made all the difference in the
world to us."
"You owe him much, then?"
"Everything! Him and Gracie."
In his boyish Impulsiveness, having been led on to talk about himself,
he was half tempted to consult her about the matter that was troubling
his mind in connection with Lord Deseret. But how should this
half-foreign woman know anything about such matters. It was not likely
that she had ever heard tell of Lady Susan Sandys. How should she? And
so he lapsed into a brown study, thinking over it all.
He was aroused from it by another leading question from madame.
"And your father? Is he alive? Can he not help to solve your
difficulty?"
"Well--you must think us a queer lot--we never saw our father till a
short time ago. He has been living in France. We thought he was dead.
He killed a man in a gaming quarrel long ago and had to live abroad,
and he's been there ever since."?
"Truly, as you say, you are an odd family. Will you bring your brother
to see me sometime?"
"I'm sure he would like it, but he's not often in town. You see, he
has the brains and he's putting them to use. I'll bring him, though,
the first time he's up."
It was not till afterwards that her interest in him and his struck him
as somewhat unusual, and then he had other things to think about.
That same afternoon he went to Park Lane, and found Deseret House and
asked for Lord Deseret.
"Now, this is good of you," was his lordship's greeting--"to look up
an old man when all the world is young and calling to you."
"I wanted to ask you something, sir, if I may."
"Say on, my boy. Anything I can tell you is very much at your
service."
"When you were speaking about Jack and me the other night, you said
something which has been puzzling me ever since. You asked, 'Which of
you is Lady Susan Sandys's boy?'"
"Yes--well?" asked the old man, with a glint of surprise in the keen
dark eyes, which rested on the boy's ingenuous face.
"Was Lady Susan Sandys our mother, sir?"
"Good heavens, boy, do you mean to say you don't know who your own
mother was?"
"We don't know anything sir. That was the first time I had ever heard
her name."
"Good God!" And there was no doubt about the vast surprise in the calm
white face now, as its owner stood for a moment staring at Jim and
then began to pace the room in very deep thought.
"Your grandfather? Has he never discussed these things with you?"
"Never, sir. We have never had very much to do with him, you see.
Until quite lately we supposed our father was dead too. Then, one day,
he came to Carne--from France, where he lives, and it was a great
surprise to us."
"And you know nothing about your mother?"
"Nothing whatever, sir. But since you said that, I have been thinking
of very little else. You said, 'Which of you is Lady Susan Sandys's
boy?' Does that mean that we are not both Lady Susan Sandys's boys?
That would mean that we had different mothers. But how could that be
when we are both the same age? I wish you would tell me what it all
means, for I've thought and thought till my brain is getting all
twisted up with thinking."
Lord Deseret paced the long room with bent head and his thin white
hands clasped behind him.
It seemed to him shameful that these boys should have been kept in
such ignorance of matters so vital. He was not aware, of course, of
their strange upbringing in the wilds of Carne.
On the other hand, if their father and grandfather had not thought fit
to enlighten them it would hardly become him to do so. Moreover, as he
turned it all over in his mind, he perceived that there might be
something to be said on the other side.
The boys had obviously been brought up in perfect equality. Any
revelation of the mystery of their births could only make for
upsetting--must introduce elements of doubt into their minds, might
work disastrously upon their fellowship.
Quite unconsciously, supposing they knew all about it, he had stirred
up the muddy waters that had lain quiescent for twenty years.
"This is a great surprise to me, my boy," he said quietly at
length--"a very great surprise. I should never have said what I did
had I not supposed you knew all about it. As matters lie . . . I'm
afraid you must absolve me from my promise. If your grandfather and
your father have deemed it wise to keep silence in regard to certain
family matters, it would hardly be seemly in me to discuss them
without their permission. You see that, don't you?"
"I see it from your point of view, sir, but not at all from my own,"
said Jim stubbornly. "There is something we do not know and we
certainly ought to know it. If you won't tell me I must go elsewhere.
I wish I had Jack's head. I think I'll go down to Chatham and talk it
over with him."
The mischief was done. Lord Deseret saw that the only thing left to
him was to direct the boy's quite legitimate curiosity into right
channels.
"If I were you I would go straight to Sir Denzil. Tell him just what
has happened, and that you will know no peace of mind till you
understand the whole matter."
"Thank you, sir. I will do that, but I think I will see Jack first and
perhaps we could go down together. It's right he should know, and he's
got a better head than I have."
"It concerns you both, of course. Perhaps it would be as well you
should go together," said Lord Deseret, and long after Jim had gone he
pondered the matter and wondered what would come of it, and yet took
no blame to himself. For who could have imagined that any boys could
have grown to such an age in such complete ignorance of their father
and mother and all their family concerns?