A FRESH COAT OF PAINT
It was all very well to tell me that I must feel Fillingford's mind, but
that possession of his had always seemed to me to achieve a high degree
of intangibility. His words were not in the habit of disclosing more of
it than was necessary for his purpose--without any regard for his
interlocutor's--while his face reduced expression to a minimum. For all
you got from looking at him, you might pretty nearly as well have talked
with your eyes shut. That sudden stroke of surprise and relief at
Alison's stood out in my memory as unique--the only real revelation of
his feelings which I had seen reflected on his countenance. High demands
were being made on me as an amateur diplomatist!
My arrival at the Manor was early--untimely probably, and certainly
unexpected. The very butler showed surprise, and left me standing in the
hall while he went to discover whether Fillingford could see me. Before
this he had suggested that it was Lacey whom I really wanted and that,
since Lacey had gone out riding directly after breakfast, my errand was
vain. When I insisted that I knew whom I wanted, he gave way, still
reluctantly; several minutes passed before he returned with the message
that his lordship would receive me. He led me along a corridor, toward a
door at the far end of it. To my consternation, as we approached that
door, Lady Sarah came out of it--and came out with a good deal of
meaning. She flounced out; and she passed me with angry eyes and her
head erect. I felt quite sure that Lady Sarah had been against my being
received at all that morning.
During previous visits to the Manor, I had not enjoyed the privilege of
being shown Fillingford's study, in which I now found myself (not
without qualms). It was a large room which mere neglect would have left
beautiful; but, unlike the rest of the house, it appeared to have been
methodically rendered depressing. His dour personality had--in his own
sanctum--overpowered the native beauty of his house. Even the charming
view of the old park was more than half hidden by blinds of an
indescribably gloomy brown, which challenged to a match the melancholy
of a drab carpet. Two or three good portraits were killed by their
surroundings--but Fillingford himself seemed in a deadly harmony with
his room. His thin gray face and whitening hair, his dull weary eyes,
and his rounded shoulders, made him and his room rather suggestive of a
funeral card--broad-edged in black, with a photograph of the late
lamented in the middle--looking as dead as the intimation told one that
unfortunately he was.
He rose for a moment to shake hands, indicating a chair for me close by
the table at which he sat. The table was covered with papers and
bundles, very neatly arranged; everything in the room was in its place
to an inch.
"I'm glad to see you, Mr. Austin," he said in reply to my apology for so
early a visit, "and if you come on business, as you say, the hour isn't
at all too early for me." He was perfectly courteous--but dry as dust.
"I come on Miss Driver's behalf. As you are probably aware, your son
Lord Lacey has done Miss Margaret Octon the honor of making her a
proposal of marriage. Miss Octon is in the position of being under Miss
Driver's care--I may perhaps call her her ward--and Miss Driver is
anxious to know whether Lord Lacey's proposal has your approval."
"Has it Miss Driver's approval?" he asked.
"Most cordially--provided it has yours. Further than that she wouldn't
wish to go without knowing your views."
He spoke slowly and deliberately. "You and I have approached this
subject before--incidentally, Mr. Austin. I have little doubt that you
gathered from that conversation that I had had another idea in my mind?"
"Yes, I rather understood that--from what you let fall."
"That idea was entirely erroneous, I suppose? Or, at all events, if ever
entertained, is abandoned now?"
We had already got on to delicate ground. "The situation seems to speak
for itself, Lord Fillingford. And I'm sure that the arrangement now
proposed has always been desired by Miss Driver."
"Miss Driver has a very great influence over my son, I think," he
remarked.
"I don't think she would wish to deny that she has favored this
arrangement so far as she properly and legitimately could. She was
naturally desirous of promoting Miss Octon's happiness. If in other
respects the marriage was a very desirable one--well, she was entitled
to think of that also."
"You consider that Miss Octon's feelings are deeply engaged in this
matter?"
"If you ask me, I think the two young people are as much in love as any
young couple could be."
"I know my son's feelings; he has made me aware of them. And Miss Driver
thinks this marriage desirable?"
"She charged me to express the great pleasure she would take in it, if
it met with your approval."
He sat silent for a moment, his hand up to his mouth as he bit his
finger nail. For reasons I have given, to follow the trend of his
thoughts was quite beyond my powers of discernment.
"I suppose I seem to her--and perhaps to you--a very ineffectual
person?" he went on in his even voice, with his dull eyes (like a gas
jet turned low to save the light!)--"I have the bad luck to stand
half-way between two schools--two generations--of ideas. When I was
born, men of my order still had fortunes; nowadays many of them have to
set out to make fortunes--or at least careers--like other people. I've
been stranded half-way. The fortunes of my house are gone; I've neither
the power nor the taste to try to retrieve them; and I'm too old. Public
life used to be the thing, but I've not the manners for that." His
chilly smile came again. "So I sit on, watching the ruins falling into
more utter ruin still."
It was not for me to say anything to that. But I had a new sympathy for
him. His room, again, seemed to add a silent confirmation of all he
said.
"Once I did try to retrieve the situation. You know how--and how the
attempt ended. It served me right--and I've learned the lesson. Now the
same woman asks me for my son."
"Not for herself!"
"No, thank God!"
He said that very deliberately--not carried away, meaning to let me have
it for all it was worth. Well, my diplomacy failed--or I fear so. I did
not like to hear him thank God for being quit of Jenny.
"She might have," I declared impulsively.
"I think you're right. She's a very clever woman. Young men are wax in
hands like that."
"Shall we get back from what isn't in question to what is, Lord
Fillingford?"
"I don't think that the digression was due to me--not wholly anyhow. If
it were, I must seek excuse in the fact that I have lived a month under
that nightmare." I must have given some sign of protest or indignation.
"Well, I beg your pardon--under that impression."
"From that, at least, you're relieved--by the present arrangement."
"The proposed arrangement"--I noticed that he corrected my epithet--"has
not my approval, Mr. Austin. The other day I called it ridiculous. That
was perhaps too strong. But it is profoundly distasteful to me, and not
at all to my son's interest. I wish to say plainly that I am doing and
shall do my best to dissuade him from it."
"If he won't be dissuaded?"
"I venture to hope that we needn't discuss that eventuality. Time
enough, if it should occur."
"Miss Octon's feelings----"
"What Miss Driver has--properly and legitimately as you maintain--used
her efforts to promote, she will probably be able, with a little more
trouble, to undo. That seems to me not my affair."
His defense was very quiet, very stubborn. He told me no more than
suited him. But I was entitled to lay hold of the two grounds of
objection which he had advanced; the arrangement was distasteful to
him--and not at all to his son's interest.
"I thank you for your candor in putting me in possession of your views.
Miss Driver would wish me to be equally frank with you. She has
anticipated your objections."
"She could hardly do otherwise," he remarked, smiling faintly.
"As regards the first, her position is that this girl can't be held
responsible for anything in the past. She, at least, is blameless."
"I occupy the position of my parents--and bear their burdens, Mr.
Austin. So do you of yours. It's the way of the world, I'm afraid, and
Miss Driver can't alter it."
"She regards this sentimental objection----"
"You would apply that term to my objection to allying my family with the
late Mr. Octon's?"
I was not quite sure of my epithet myself. "I didn't say your objection
wasn't natural."
"Perhaps you might go so far as to admit that it is inevitable? I on my
part will admit that the girl herself appears to be unexceptionable.
Indeed, I liked her very much, when I met her at our friend Alison's.
That, however, doesn't in my view alter the case."
"I understand. Will you permit me to pass to the other point you
mentioned--that of your son's interest?"
"If you please," he said, with a slight inclination of his head, as he
leaned back in his chair. I could see that I had made no way with him.
The best that we had hoped for was not coming to pass. There was to be
no triumph of pure romance; even relief from the "nightmare" would not,
by itself, serve the turn.
"Having placed Miss Octon in the position which she now occupies, Miss
Driver naturally charges herself with Miss Octon's future."
"Miss Driver is well known to be generous. I had anticipated, in my
turn, that she would propose to make some provision for Miss Octon who,
as I understand, has only a very small income of her own."
"Miss Driver has recently concluded negotiations for the purchase of
Oxley Lodge, together with the whole of Mr. Bertram Ware's estate. It is
estimated that, freed from encumbrances, that estate will produce a net
rental of three thousand pounds a year. Miss Driver will present the
house and estate to Miss Octon on her marriage."
He raised his brows slightly, but made no other comment than, "I had
heard that she was in treaty for Ware's place. Aspenick told me."
"She will settle on Miss Octon a sum of money sufficient to make up this
income to the sum of ten thousand pounds a year. This income she will
increase to twenty thousand on Lord Lacey's succession to the title. She
will also present Miss Octon, on her marriage, with a lump sum of fifty
thousand pounds. She will execute a settlement of funds sufficient to
raise the income to thirty thousand on her death--this income to be
settled on Miss Octon for life, with remainder among her children as she
and her husband shall jointly appoint. I am also to inform you that,
without undertaking any further legal obligation, it is Miss Driver's
present intention to leave to Miss Octon, or (if Miss Octon predeceases
her) to any son of hers who is heir to your title, the estate of
Breysgate and the greater part of her Catsford property. I need not tell
you that that property is of great and growing value. In short, subject
to public claims and certain comparatively small private ones, Miss
Octon is to be regarded as her natural heir no less absolutely and
completely than if she were her own and her only child."
He heard me all through with an impassive face--even his brows had
returned to their natural level. "Miss Driver is a young woman herself.
She will probably marry."
"It is possible, and therefore she limits her legal obligation to the
amount I have mentioned--approximately one half of her present income. I
am, however, to inform you in confidence that it is her fixed intention
not to marry, and that it is practically certain that she will not
depart from that resolution--in which case the ultimate arrangement
which I have indicated will come into effect."
The bribe was out--and fewest possible words spent over it! Now--how
would he take it?
His manner showed nothing. He sat silent for a minute or two. Then he
said, "It's certainly princely." He smiled slightly again. "I think I
must apologize for my word 'provision.' This is a very large fortune,
Mr. Austin--or seems like it to poor folks like the Laceys."
"It's a very considerable fortune. As I have said, Miss Driver regards
Margaret Octon as in the place of her own daughter. Miss Driver thought
it only right that these circumstances should be placed before you as
possibly bearing on the decision you felt it your duty to make yourself,
or to recommend to your son."
"Why does she do it?" he asked abruptly.
"I've just given you the reason which I was directed to give. I wasn't
commissioned to give any other. She regards Miss Octon in the light of
an only child--the natural object of her bounty and, in due course of
time, her natural successor."
"We met once at Hatcham Ford, Mr. Austin," he said abruptly. "You
remember? I think you knew pretty well the state of things then existing
between Miss Driver and myself? I've charged you with possessing that
knowledge before. That piece of knowledge may enable you to understand
how the present proposition affects me. This isn't all love for Margaret
Octon."
"No, not all love for Margaret. But now you're asking me for my opinion,
not for my message."
"I didn't mean it as a question. But I see that you agree with me. Then
you may understand that I can feel no gratitude for this offer. It--and
consequently the arrangement of which it is a part--would transform
everything here. It would accomplish the task which I haven't even had
the courage to try to accomplish. It would blot out my great failure.
But, coming whence it does and why it does, I can feel no gratitude for
it."
"It would be very far from Miss Driver's thoughts to expect anything of
the kind."
Suddenly he pushed back his chair, rose to his feet, and went to the
window, impatiently letting one of the ugly brown blinds fly up to the
ceiling by a tug at its cord. He stood there two or three minutes. His
back was still toward me when he spoke again.
"I've been a steward more than an owner--a caretaker, I should rather
say. This would make my son and his son after him owners again. It's the
restoration of our house." His voice sank a little. "And it would come
through her and Leonard Octon!" Silence came again for a while; then he
turned round and faced me. "I've no right to decide this question. She
has taken the decision out of my hand by this. I have memories,
resentments, what I think to be wrongs and humiliations. Perhaps I have
cause for thinking so."
"I wasn't sent here to deny that, Lord Fillingford. If that hadn't been
so, not I should have been here, but she who sent me."
"And so," he went on slowly, "I'm no judge. I should sin against my
conscience if I were to judge. The question is not for me--let her go to
Amyas himself."
I was glad at heart--we had escaped bullying; only in one moment of
temper had I hinted at it, and that moment seemed now far away. It was
easy to see the defects of this man, and easier still to feel them as a
vaguely chilling influence. His virtues were harder to see and to
appreciate--his justice, his candor of mind, his rectitude, the humility
beneath his pride.
"Lord Lacey attaches enormous importance to your opinion. I know that as
well as you do. Can't you go a little further?"
"I thought I had gone about as far as could be expected."
"Not quite. Won't you tell your son what you would do if you were in his
place?"
"I think you'd better not ask me to do that. I'm less sure of what I
should do than I am of what he will do. What he'll do will, I think,
content you--I might think too much of who his father is, and of who her
father was, and from whose hand these splendid benefits come. I think
I'd better not advise Amyas."
"But you'll accept his decision? You'll not dissuade him?"
"I daren't dissuade him," he answered briefly and turned his back on me
again. He added in a tone that at least strove to be lighter, "My
grandchildren might rise up and call me cursed! But if she looks for
thanks--not from this generation!"
For the first time--though I sacrifice finally my character for morality
by that confession--I was genuinely, in my heart and not in my pretenses
or professions, inclined to regret the night at Hatcham Ford--the
discovery and the flight. All said, he was a man. After much conflict
they might have come together. If she had known then that it was man
against man--not man against name, title, position, respectability--why,
the case might have seemed changed, the issue have been different. But
he was so seldom able to show what he was. He had no spontaneous power
of expressing himself; the revelation had to be wrung out by
force--_peine forte et dure_; he had to be pressed almost to death
before he would plead for himself, for his case, for what he felt deep
down within him. All that was too late to think about--unless some day,
in the future, it might avail to make them decently friendly--avail
against the deep wound to pride on one side, against the obstinate
championship of the dead on the other.
But to-day he had opened himself frankly enough to absolve me from
formalities.
"Gratitude isn't asked. I imagine that the proper forms would be."
He turned to me very quickly. "I'm on terms of acquaintance with a lady,
or I'm not. If I am, I hope that I omit no courtesy."
"Nor give it grudgingly?"
"She told you to say that?"
"No--nor some other things I've said. But I know how she'd take any
paring down of what is requisite." I ventured a smile at him. "You would
have to call, I think, to-morrow." I let that sink in. "And Lady Sarah a
few days afterwards."
He gave a short laugh. "You're speaking of matters of course, if this
thing is decided as it looks like being."
I got up from my chair. "I go back with the promise of your neutrality?"
I asked.
"Neutrality is surrender," he said.
"Yes, I think so. Young blood is in the question. Besides--as you see
yourself--the prospect may to a young man seem--rather dazzling."
"Let me alone, Mr. Austin, let me alone, for God's sake!"
"I go the moment you wish me to, Lord Fillingford. I carry my answer
with me--isn't it so?"
Wonderfully recovering himself--with the most rapid transition to an
orderly self-composure--he came and sat down at his table again.
"I shall see my son on this matter directly after lunch. It will be
proper to convey immediate news of our decision to Breysgate Priory. I
shouldn't like--in the event we both contemplate--to appear tardy in
paying my respects to Miss Driver. At what hour to-morrow afternoon do
you suppose that it would be convenient to her to receive me?"
"I should think that about four o'clock would be quite convenient," I
answered.
With that, I rose to my feet--my mission was ended. Neither quite as we
had hoped, nor quite as we had feared. We had not bullied--we had hardly
threatened. If we had bribed, we had not bribed the man himself. He--he
himself--would have had none of us; for him--himself--the betrayal at
Hatcham Ford governed the situation and his feelings about it. But he
saw himself as a trustee--a trustee for unborn generations of men, born
to inherit--yet, as things stood, born more than half disinherited!
There was no telling what Jenny thought of. Very likely she had thought
of that, when she made her bribe no mere provision--nor even merely that
"handsome thing"--but the new bestowal of a lost ancestral heritage.
Amid profound incompatibilities, they both had broad views, long
outlooks--a large conception of the bearings of what men do. Jenny had
not been so wrong in thinking of him--nor he in thinking that he could
take her with what she brought. Powerfully had Octon, in his rude
irresistible natural force, and its natural appeal, broken the current,
real if subtle, between them.
I went up to him, holding out my hand. We had won the victory; I did not
feel very triumphant.
"Mr. Austin," he said, as he shook hands, "we make a mistake if we
expect not to have done to us as we do to others, I learn that as I grow
older. Do you understand what I'm at, when I say this?"
"Not very well, I confess, Lord Fillingford."
"Once I went to Miss Driver, holding what I have--my old name, my old
place, my position, my title--I can't think of anything they've given me
except care and a hopeless sense of my own inadequacy--holding those in
my hand and asking for her money. I see now the opposite thing--she
comes holding the money, and asks for what I have. I didn't have my way.
She'll have hers."
"There are the young people." It was all I had to say.
"Ask her to leave me a little of my son. Because there's no doubt.
You've taken away all my weapons, Mr. Austin."
"I wish you'd had this conversation with her--you two together."
He relapsed into his formal propriety of demeanor. "I shall, I trust,
give Miss Driver no reason to complain of any want of courtesy--if Amyas
persists."
"You've accepted it that he will."
"Yes--that's truth," he said. "I may be expected at Breysgate to-morrow
at four."
"Then try to make it happy!"
He gave me a slow pondering look. "There is much between me and her--not
all against her nor for me. I've come to see that. I'll do my best, Mr.
Austin."
He escorted me to the door, and walked in silence with me down a broad
walk, bordered on either side by stately trees, till we came to his
gates. He looked up at the venerable trees, then pointed to the
tarnished coronets that crowned the ironwork, itself rather rusty.
"A fresh coat of paint wanted!" he observed with his chilly smile--and I
really did not know whether his remark involved a reference to our
previous conversation or not.
[Illustration: "_A fresh coat of paint wanted!_"]