The night of the ball arrived at last. The stables in Rosmore, and all
the accommodation to be had in the neighbourhood, were filled with
horses and carriages of every description. Everybody had come. The great
element of success, which predetermines the question, the arrival of all
expected, made the hearts of the hosts glad. Rowland had forgotten that
little episode which still hung heavy on Archie’s soul, and stood
beaming, the proudest man in the county, to receive his guests. The
sound of the arrivals was music to his ears. That he, so simple as he
stood there, the foundry lad, the railway man, the creator of his own
fortune, should be receiving the best people in the countryside, opening
large and liberal doors of hospitality, entertaining in the superior
position of a host people whose names he had heard afar off in those
early days, was a sort of happiness which he could scarcely believe, and
which filled his heart with a glow of elation and proud delight. Perhaps
it was not a very elevated or elevating sentiment. To shake hands with
the Earl of Clydesdale, and welcome him to one’s house, might not fill
one’s own bosom with any sense of bliss. But Lord Clydesdale was to
James Rowland the king of his native district, high above all cavil or
partnership, and there could be no such evident sign to him of the
glorious position to which he had himself attained. This sense of
triumph beamed all over him, and made his accent more and more cordial,
his anxiety about the pleasure of his guests more and more warm. There
was nothing he would not have done to add to the brightness of the
joyous assembly. The least little momentary shade of dullness in any
corner went to his heart. When he saw either girl or boy who was not
dancing, he would come down upon them like a rescue party, providing
partner, or supper, or refreshment, or repose, whatsoever they wanted.
It could not be said that his success and glory made him selfish. He
wanted everybody to enjoy as he was himself enjoying. Impossible to
imagine a more beneficent form of success.
He had quite forgotten his censure of Archie. He clapped him on the
shoulder when he appeared, with an exhortation--“Now Archie, man! shake
yourself together--put your best foot foremost--make it go off! Mind we
are all upon our promotion. If it is not the finest ball that has been
given on Clydeside, I will never hold up my head more.” This address a
little lightened Archie’s heart, still sore and heavy from the blame to
which he had been subject--so undeservedly as he knew, but as nobody
else was aware. And he was young, and though alarmed by the part he had
himself to play, it was not in human nature not to feel some stir of
exhilaration in the arrival of all that fine company, the music striking
up, the crowd of other young people streaming in. What he would have
thought of admission to such a scene a year ago! To be sure, this was
chastened by the thought of the important part he had to play, as son of
the house. He found Rosamond at his elbow, after his father had given
him that exhortation.
“You should ask Lady Jean first,” said the young lady, holding, as
usual, her head high and not looking at him while she spoke.
“Me--ask Lady Jean! to what?” he asked, with an uneasy laugh.
“To dance, of course--unless the Duchess comes: is the Duchess coming?
Without her you have nothing better than a baronet and his wife.
Therefore, unless your father dances, you must take out Lady Jean.”
“My father--dances?” cried Archie, with an uncontrollable laugh. It
seemed to him the most ridiculous idea in the world.
“Most gentlemen do in their own houses,” said Rosamond, “but if he does
not, then you. Lady Jean first. Then Lady Marchbanks: and not for some
time that little pretty woman, whose husband was knighted the other day.
She is my lady too, and perhaps you would never know the difference. But
please to mind what I say.”
“Lady this, and Lady that--and when am I to come to you?” said Archie,
taking a little courage.
“Oh, I will keep one for you--not till you have got through all your
duty dances. That is the disadvantage many people say of a ball in one’s
own house. But I like responsibility,” said Rosamond. “It is better than
thinking merely what will be most fun.”
By the inspiration of this double charge, Archie became a new man. He
led Lady Jean very tremulously, it must be allowed, through a
quadrille--or she led him, it would perhaps be better to say; but he was
very docile and very humble, and her ladyship did not dislike the modest
young man, who, for the first time for some days, opened full his
mother’s eyes, innocent and honest, upon those to whom he spoke. She
said, “He’s not an ill lad, that young Rowland,” to the ladies about
her. And Miss Eliza repeated it up and down the room. “We all know what
dear Lady Jean means,” cried that lady. “She is maybe sparing of her
praises, but when she does say a good word, it comes from the heart. He
has many things to contend against, but he’s not an ill lad. I have
always said it myself. Few women have greater opportunities of studying
young folk than I have, though I’m only, as you may say, an old maid
myself. And so is Lady Jean for that matter. We are just a real
respectable fraternity--or would it be better to say sisterhood?--but
that’s a word with other meanings. No, he’s not an ill lad. He has
always been very civil to me, and the boys all like him. They say
there’s no humbug in him. But Lady Jean is the one to give a thing it’s
right name.”
Whether any echo of this comforting report reached Archie’s ken it would
be hard to tell, but it somehow blew across his father’s ears, and made
him laugh till the tears came to his eyes. He sought out Evelyn in the
midst of her guests to report it to her. “It’s Scotch praise,” he said,
“but it means more than you would suppose.”
“I think it is very poor praise, and Archie deserves a great deal
better,” said his wife, which pleased him too.
“But that from Lady Jean is more than raptures from another,” he
replied.
As for Eddy Saumarez, though he was not much to look at, he was always a
popular man, as he himself said, in a ball-room. He did not dance very
gracefully, nor indeed, though his confidence in himself carried him
through all kinds of performances creditably, was he a graceful person
in anyway: but he was adroit, and despite his somewhat insignificant
person, strong, and carried his partner skilfully through the most
complicated crowd. His enjoyment of the evening was interrupted or
increased (it would be difficult to say which) by the appearance of a
man whom nobody knew, and most people took for one of the servants (a
supposition very injurious to Mr. Rowland’s servants, who were
well-made, well-set-up individuals, excellent specimens of humanity).
Johnson wore an evening coat with long tails, too long for him, and a
white tie with long ends too big for him, and gloves with half-an-inch
of vacant finger, which made his hands look like a bundle of loose
skeins of white yarn. His face wore an anxious look as he came in
unnoticed, eagerly looking for the only face he knew. Even the genial
Rowland, who was ready to welcome everybody, passed over this personage
with vague surprise, supposing that he must belong to some reserve force
of the pantry, or had been brought in in attendance on some guest. He
knew nobody but Eddy, and Eddy, who was dancing without intermission,
contrived never to catch his _protégé’s_ eyes. It was not that he was
unconscious of the presence of this visitor, whom nobody took any notice
of. On the contrary, Eddy kept a careful watch upon him in his corner.
“Look yonder,” he said to his partner; “but don’t look as if you were
looking. Do you see that queer little being in the corner? Oh, yes, I
know him; but I don’t mean to see him. He has got an invitation here by
mistake, and he depends on me to introduce him right and left.--Who is
he? ah, that’s what I can’t tell. He is not a man I shall introduce to
you. Did you ever see such a droll little beggar? I knew he would be
fun. There he goes prowling into the other corner, where he thinks he
will catch my eye. But I don’t mean him to catch my eye. Oh, you know
well enough, don’t you, how to avoid seeing any one you don’t want to
see? Cruel? no: he has no business to be here. The little brute must
pay for his impudence. Reverse, shall we? Ah, he thought he had me
then!” Eddy said with a laugh. “We were running right into him. But
you’ll see I shall get clear away.”
Perhaps Rosamond heard some part of this talk as her brother darted
past. For it was she in all her pride who sailed up to poor Johnson in
his corner, who was diving under the dancers’ arms and stretching over
their shoulders, in a vain attempt to attract the attention of his false
friend.
“You are looking for my brother,” she said, “and he is paying no
attention. He seldom does when it is not for his own advantage. But
perhaps I may do as well.”
Johnson murmured something about surprise and honour. “You will do just
as well, Miss Saumarez, if you will introduce me to some nice girls,” he
said eagerly. “Master Eddy promised me: but I know his promises is like
pie crust. May I have the pleasure of the next dance?”
Rosamond almost looked at him in her scorn--the next dance! as though
every place on her card had not been filled in the first five minutes.
“I will dance a quadrille with you,” she said, “if you will remain here
quietly till I am ready, and not ask any one else.”
“Oh, miss!” cried Johnson, in delight; “fancy my conducting myself like
a gay Lothario, and asking any one else, when I have an offer from you!”
Rosamond was not used to blushing, but she coloured high at this. She
did not see the fun of it as Eddy would have done. She had no sense of
humour.
“If you will wait here till I am ready, I will dance with you,” she
said.
Johnson had been very indignant and deeply disappointed, not to be
introduced to “the big-wigs,” as Eddy had promised. But when Eddy’s
beautiful sister proposed to him to dance with her, not even waiting to
be asked, his feelings sustained a wonderful change. He relaxed his
watch upon Eddy, and waited with wonderful patience for the blissful
moment when he should take his place among that dazzling throng. With
this before him, he could enjoy the sight and the ecstatic sensation of
forming part of the assembly, even though he knew no big-wigs. When they
saw him dancing with Miss Saumarez, who was one of the beauties, if not,
Johnson thought, flattered and flattering, _the_ beauty of the evening,
they would change their minds about him. And indeed, the shabby little
man made an extraordinary sensation when he joined, by the side of Miss
Saumarez, the next quadrille. Who was he? where did he come from?
everybody asked. And whispers ran among the throng, that a person so
shabby, dancing with Miss Saumarez, one of the house party, must to the
blood of the millionaires belong, and was probably the scion of a
secondary Rothschild. Much curiosity was roused concerning him, and
shabby as he looked, there is little doubt that after Rosamond he might
have danced with almost any one he pleased. As a matter of fact, Archie,
always good-natured, and unsuspicious of anything remarkable about
Johnson, introduced him to several ladies, who did not object to allow
him to inscribe his name upon their programmes. And Marion did more than
this. She was just standing up with him for a waltz, and with her hand
on his arm was about to enter the field, when another change occurred
which made Johnson’s appearance and behaviour more extraordinary than
ever. He suddenly stopped in the midst, just at the moment when he ought
to have put his limp hand upon her waist, a contact which Rosamond had
been unable to submit to, but which Marion, with her much less
cultivated sense, found quite unobjectionable.
“Excuse me, miss, for a moment,” Johnson said, dropping her arm, and
leaving her alone in the midst of the dancers.
He had seen something in the distance which made him turn pale. And it
happened that at that moment, after so long and so ineffectually
attempting to catch Eddy’s eye, he at last succeeded in doing so without
the slightest difficulty. Eddy had been startled beyond expression by
the sight of Johnson’s shabby figure by his sister’s side, and
distracted by this sight from all idea of fun; and restraining with
difficulty the impulse he had to seize the fellow by the shoulders and
turn him out--which evidently he had no right to do--had followed him,
no longer now with laughing eyes that saw every movement while appearing
to see nothing, but with the furious gaze of the plotter upon whom the
tables are turned. When Johnson started, shrank, and dropped Marion’s
arm, Eddy, watching, saw the whole pantomime, and saw also the fellow’s
almost imperceptible signal towards the window, which stood open behind
its drawn curtains for the ventilation of the great warm, heated hall.
Eddy turned his own sharp, suspicious eyes toward the spot at which
Johnson had looked, and there he saw a somewhat startling sight--a man
in morning dress, buttoned up in a warm overcoat, like a visitor newly
arrived, standing at the hall door, and gazing with astonishment as at a
totally unexpected scene. The sight startled him, though he did not know
why. It could be nothing to him, so far as he knew. He did not know what
it could be to Johnson. But he was startled. The man looked like some
commercial functionary, business-like, and serious, surprised beyond
measure to find himself suddenly introduced from the open air and quiet,
frosty, chilly night, to the crowded ball-room with all its decorations.
Eddy made a dive through the throng towards the window, with an
explanation to those around him that the draught was too much for Lady
Jean.
“I must try and draw the curtains down,” he said, with a shrug of his
shoulders at the unreasonableness of women. And in another moment was
outside, standing under the brilliant cold stars, which looked down
coldly upon this curious little unexpected effect.
“What’s the matter?” he said breathlessly to the other dark figure,
conspicuous only by the whiteness of his large shirt, among the bushes.
“I don’t know,” said Johnson, “unless you’ve been at it again, Master
Eddy. Did you see that man? that’s the clerk at the bank that cashed
your cheque. I don’t know what brings him here, if you don’t. Anyhow, I
thought it the best policy to slip away.”
Eddy’s teeth began to chatter--perhaps with the cold.
“You confounded fool,” he said, “did you give them the chance of
identifying you? I didn’t think you would have been such an ass.”
“As for that,” cried Johnson, “I’m square. I’ve only got to say it was
given me by you, my fine young fellow. By George, I never had no
suspicion. And p’raps it aint that--p’raps it’s something else; but it
looks fishy seeing that fellow in the middle of all the folks dancing.
It has given me a turn! I hope, Master Eddy, for your own sake, as you
have not been at it again.”
“Oh, what’s that to you?” cried Eddy impatiently. He was biting his
lower lip till it bled, unconsciously to himself.
“It might be a great deal to me,” said Johnson, “if it is not on the
square. They’ve a set of queer laws of their own in Scotland: you never
know where you are with them; and you didn’t trouble yourself very much
to get me partners, Mr. Eddy. Oh, ah, didn’t see me; tell that to them
as will believe it.”
“If you think you are in danger, Johnson, from the arrival of that
fellow,” said Eddy, “you’d better scuttle. They don’t understand a joke
these bank men.”
“A joke,” cried Johnson. “Me that am on the square if ever a man was!
and you that--”
“Have nothing at all to do with it,” said Eddy with cool superiority.
“If you think that you’re likely to get into trouble, take my advice
and walk home. I’ll pitch you out a coat, and it’s a fine night. You
should start to-morrow, as soon as it’s day; and I advise you to get
over the hills to Kilrossie, and take the boat there. Good-night--it’s
cold standing out here jabbering about nothing. You should never have
come; and how dared you touch a lady, you little snob!” Eddy cried.
“By George,” cried the other; and then he added with complacency in his
tone: “If it’s Miss Saumarez, she is a stunner, Master Eddy. It was
she--that offered to me.”
“You confounded, miserable little cad,” said Eddy, furiously driving him
back among the bushes with a sudden blow. But he stole back to the house
on the outskirts of the crowd, and seizing the first coat he could find,
pitched it out of a window above, on Johnson’s head. He had humanity
enough, though he was not unwilling to sacrifice the scapegoat, to give
him something warm to wrap himself in. After this he returned to the
ball-room, with a thousand apologies to his partner, and eloquent
description of the difficulty he had found in so arranging the curtains
as to keep the draught from Lady Jean. “The shortest way would have been
to shut the window, I know,” said Eddy, “but we can’t have the ball-room
made into a black hole of Calcutta, can we? So I compromised matters, as
I always do.”
“Do you, Mr. Saumarez?” said the young lady with a look of faith, such
as young ladies often wear--ready to receive what he said as truth, or
to laugh at it as transparent humbug, it did not matter which. And Eddy
danced all night undisturbed and imperturbable. The bank clerk was
nothing to him. He sat out two square dances with Miss Monteith, the
heiress. But every other on the programme Eddy danced, even the Scotch
reel, of which he said, “I shall only make you all laugh, of course, but
never mind.” Everybody did laugh, no doubt, at his performance, but they
liked him all the better for trying it. It was a part of the programme
into which Archie entered with spirit, for once sure of his ground. This
was at a tolerably advanced period, when the guests who lived at the
greatest distance were already ordering their carriages, and Archie, in
the absence of his father, after the reel was over, had to preside over
all the arrangements for the conclusion of the most successful
entertainment that had ever been known in Rosmore, and to give Lady Jean
his arm to the door. “It has been a pleasant party,” said Lady Jean.
“And you must come over and see us, and have a day or two with my
brother on the moors. Clydesdale, I am telling young Mr. Rowland he must
come over and see what he can do among the grouse, some fine day very
soon.”
“You must do that,” said the Earl himself. “You must do that. I will
write and fix a day.”
What greater honour could have been done to the son of the railway man?
He felt the glory of it, though the thought of such a visit was enough
to take all the courage out of Archie. He stood a little dazed by the
honour that had been done him, watching the carriage as it drove away,
and pleased to feel the cold fresh air upon his forehead, when the
butler came up to him with a serious face. “Mr. Archibald,” he said,
“the Master would like to see you in the library as soon as the
principal people are gone.”
“Very well,” said Archie, a little surprised; but he made no haste to
obey his father’s call. There were a few more dances after the great
people were gone, and Miss Eliza had made three or four ineffectual
starts before she could collect her party together, who were the last to
go. “Indeed, Mr. Archie,” she said, “you will just be worn off your feet
hunting up these wild lassies for me. For the moment you’ve found one,
there’s a new waltz started, and the other three are on the floor. And
when they’ve done, Helen’s off again just to have a last turn, and
there’s nothing left for it that I can see but for you and me to perform
a _pas seul_ to frighten them all away--Here they are at last, the whole
four, which is all that can be squeezed into Alick Chalmers’s coach,
whatever we do. And the lads must just walk, it will do them good after
the three or four suppers they’ve had. And it has been a beautiful ball.
I see your mammaw and papaw have stolen away, which I’m not surprised
at, considering how late it is. You will say good-night to them for me,
and many thanks for a delightful evening. And ye must all come up to
your tea to-morrow and talk it over. Good-night--and good-night.”
Eddy was at the carriage door also, superintending with much laughter
the packing in of the five ladies in their ball-dresses into Alick’s
fly. All the dignified and ceremonious leave-takings were over--this was
pure light-hearted fun and frolic. While Miss Eliza’s four young ladies
were still waving their handkerchiefs from the windows of the coach as
it disappeared into the darkness, and “the boys,” an equal number of
them, four young men, were buttoning their coats and lighting their
cigars, the butler appeared again. Once more he touched Archie on the
shoulder, this time with more solemnity than ever. “Mr. Archibald,” he
said, “the Master is waiting for you in the library. You’re to go to him
without another moment’s delay.”
“What have you been doing, Rowland--are you going to get a wigging?”
said Eddy. “Thank heaven,” he added with a yawn, “my governor’s several
hundred miles away.”
Archie did not make any reply: but he was not at that moment in any fear
of a wigging. Lady Jean’s gracious words, and the fun of Miss Eliza’s
good-humoured party, had brought warmth and confidence to his heart.
There could be nothing to be laid to his charge to-night. He knew that
he had done his duties well, better than ever before. He had been
careful of everybody’s comfort, emancipating himself by that thought
from his native shyness and fear of putting himself forward. Perhaps his
father meant to say something kind to him, to express some satisfaction.
It was with this feeling of confidence and ease, a feeling so unusual to
him, and even with a little pleasureable sense of expectation, that
Archie turned the handle of the library door.