Then Lord Tancred left the house in Park Lane he did not go on to the
supper party at the Savoy he had promised to attend. That sort of
affair had bored him, now for several years. Instead, he drove straight
back to his rooms in St. James' Street, and, getting comfortably into
his pet chair, he steadily set himself to think. He had acted upon a
mad impulse; he knew that and did not argue with himself about it, or
regret it. Some force stronger than anything he had hitherto known had
compelled him to come to the decision. And what would his future life
be like with this strange woman? That could not be exactly guessed.
That it would contain scenes of the greatest excitement he did not
doubt. She would in all cases look the part. His mother herself--the
Lady Tancred, daughter of the late and sister of the present Duke of
Glastonbury--could not move with more dignity: a thought which reminded
him that he had better write to his parent and inform her of his
intended step. He thought of all the women he had loved--or imagined he
had loved--since he left Eton. The two affairs which had convulsed him
during his second year at Oxford were perhaps the most serious; the
Laura Highford, his last episode, was fortunately over and had always
been rather tiresome. In any case none of those ladies of the world--or
other world--had any reasons to reproach him, and he was free and
happy. And if he wished to put down a large stake on the card of
marriage he was answerable to no one.
During the last eight hundred years, ever since Amaury Guiscard of that
house of Hauteville whose daring deeds gave sovereigns to half Europe,
had come over with his Duke William, and had been rewarded by the gift
of the Wrayth lands--seized from the Saxons--his descendants had
periodically done madly adventurous things. Perhaps the quality was
coming out in him!
Then he thought of his lady, personally, and not of the
extraordinariness of his action. She was exasperatingly attractive. How
delicious it would be when he had persuaded her to talk to him, taught
her to love him, because she certainly must love him--some day! It was
rather cold-blooded of her to be willing to marry him, a stranger; but
he was not going to permit himself to dwell upon that. She could not be
really cold-blooded with that face: its every line bespoke capability of
exquisite passion. It was not the least cunning, or calculating, either.
It was simply adorable. And to kiss! But here he pulled himself together
and wrote to his mother a note, short and to the point, which she
received by the first post next morning at her small, house in Queen
Street, Mayfair; and then he went to bed. The note ran:
"My Dear Mother:
"I am going to be married at last. The lady is a daughter of Maurice
Grey (a brother of old Colonel Grey of Hentingdon who died last year),
and the widow of a Pole named Shulski, Countess Shulski she is called."
(He had paused here because he had suddenly remembered he did not know
her Christian name!)
"She is also the niece of Francis Markrute whom you have such an
objection to--or had, last season. She is most beautiful and I hope you
will like her. Please go and call to-morrow. I will come and breakfast
with you about ten.
"Your affectionate son, Tancred."
And this proud English mother knew here was a serious letter, because he
signed it "Tancred." He usually finished his rare communications with
just, "love from Tristram."
She leaned back on her pillows and closed her eyes. She adored her son
but she was, above all things, a woman of the world and given to making
reasonable judgments. Tristram was past the age of a foolish
entanglement; there must be some strong motive in this action. He could
hardly be in love. She knew him so well, when he was in love! He had
shown no signs of it lately--not, really, for several years--for that
well conducted--friendship--with Laura Highford could not be called
being in love. Then she thought of Francis Markrute. He was so immensely
rich, she could not help a relieved sigh. There would be money at all
events. But she knew that could not be the reason. She was aware of her
son's views about rich wives. She was aware, too, that with all his
sporting tastes and modern irreverence of tradition, underneath he was
of a proud, reserved nature, intensely proud of the honor of his ancient
name. What then could be the reason for this engagement? Well, she would
soon know. It was half-past eight in the morning, and Tristram's "about
ten" would not mean later than, half-past, or a quarter to eleven. She
rang the bell for her maid, and told her to ask the young ladies to put
on dressing-gowns and come to her.
Soon Lord Tancred's two sisters entered the room.
They were nice, fresh English girls, and stood a good deal in awe of
their mother. They kissed her and sat down on the bed. They felt it was
a momentous moment, because Lady Tancred never saw any one until her
hair was arranged--not even her own daughters.
"Your brother Tristram is going to be married," she said and referred to
the letter lying on the coverlet, "to a Countess Shulski, a niece of
that Mr. Markrute whom one meets about."
"Oh! Mother!" and "Really!" gasped Emily and Mary.
"Have we seen her?"
"Do we know her?"
"No, I think we can none of us have seen her. She certainly was not with
Mr. Markrute at Cowes, and no one has been in town, except this last
week for Flora's wedding. I suppose Tristram must have met her in
Scotland, or possibly abroad. He went to Paris, you remember, at Easter,
and again in July."
"I wonder what she is like," said Emily.
"Is she young?" asked Mary.
"Tristram does not say," replied Lady Tancred, "only that she is
beautiful."
"We are so surprised," both girls gasped together.
"Yes, it is unexpected, certainly," agreed their mother, "but Tristram
has judgment; he is not likely to have chosen any one of whom I should
disapprove. You must be ready to call with me, directly after lunch.
Tristram is coming to breakfast, so you can have yours now--in your
room. I must talk to him."
And the girls, who were dying to ask a hundred thousand questions, felt
that they were dismissed, and, kissing their dignified parent, they
retired to their own large, back room, which they shared, in common
with all their pleasures and little griefs, together.
"Isn't it too wonderful, Em?" Mary said, when they were back there, both
curled up in the former's bed waiting for their breakfast. "One can see
Mother is very much moved; she was so stern. I thought Tristram was
devoted to Laura Highford, did not you?"
"Oh! he has been sick of that for ages and ages. She nags at him--she is
a cat anyway and I never could understand it, could you, Mary?"
"Men have to be like that," said Mary, wisely, "they must have some one,
I mean, to play with, and they are afraid of girls."
"How I hope she will like us, don't you?" Emily said. "Mr. Markrute is
very rich and perhaps she is, too. How lovely it will be if they are
able to live at Wrayth. How lovely to have it opened again--to go and
stay there!"
"Yes, indeed," said Mary.
Lady Tancred awaited her son in the small front morning-room. She was
quite as much a specimen of an English aristocrat as he was, with her
brushed-back, gray hair, and her beautiful, hard, fine-featured face.
She was supremely dignified, and dressed well and with care. She had
been brought up in the school which taught the repression of all
emotion--now, alas! rapidly passing away--so that she did not even tap
her foot from the impatience which was devouring her, and it was nearly
eleven o'clock before Tristram made his appearance!
He apologized charmingly, and kissed her cheek. His horse, Satan, had
been particularly fresh, and he had been obliged to give him an extra
canter twice round the Row, before coming in, and was breakfast
ready?--as he was extremely hungry! Yes, breakfast was ready, and they
went into the dining-room where the old butler awaited them.
"Give me everything, Michelham," said his lordship, "I am ravenous. Then
you can go. Her ladyship will pour out the coffee."
The old servant beamed upon him, with a "glad to see your lordship's
well!" and, surrounding his plate with hot, covered, silver dishes,
quietly made his exit, and so they were alone.
Lady Tancred beamed upon her son, too. She could not help it. He looked
so completely what he ought to look, she thought--magnificently healthy
and handsome, and perfectly groomed. No mother could help being proud of
him.
"Tristram, dear boy, now tell me all about it," she said.
"There is hardly anything to tell you, Mother, except that I am going to
be married about the 25th of October--and--you will be awfully nice to
her--to Zara--won't you?" He had taken the precaution to send round a
note, early in the morning, to Francis Markrute, asking for his lady's
full name, as he wished to tell his family; so the "Zara" came out quite
naturally! "She is rather a peculiar person, and--er--has very stiff
manners. You may not like her at first."
"No, dear?" said Lady Tancred hesitatingly, "Stiff manners you say? That
at least is on the right side. I always deplore the modern
free-and-easy-ness."
"Oh, there is nothing free-and-easy about her!" said Tristram, helping
himself to a cutlet, while he smiled almost grimly. His sense of humor
was highly aroused oven the whole thing; only that overmastering
something which drew him was even stronger than this.
Then he felt that there was no use in allowing his mother to drag
information from him; he had better tell her what he meant her to know.
"You see, Mother, the whole thing has been arranged rather suddenly. I
only settled upon it last night myself, and so told you at once. She
will be awfully rich, which is rather a pity in a sense--though I
suppose we shall live at Wrayth again, and all that--- but I need not
tell you I am not marrying her for such a reason."
"No, I know you," Lady Tancred said, "but I cannot agree with you about
its being a pity that she is rich. We live in an age when the oldest and
most honored name is useless without money to keep up its traditions,
and any woman would find your title and your position well worth all her
gold. There are things you will give her in return which only hundreds
of years can produce. You must have no feeling that you are accepting
anything from her which you do not equalize. Remember, it is a false
sentiment."
"Oh, I expect so--and she is well bred, you know, so she won't throw it
in my teeth." And Lord Tancred smiled.
"I remember old Colonel Grey," his mother continued; "years ago he drove
a coach; but I don't recollect his brother. Did he live abroad,
perhaps?"
This was an awkward question. The young fiancé was quite ignorant about
his prospective bride's late father!
"Yes," he said hurriedly. "Zara married very young, she is quite young
now--only about twenty-three. Her husband was a brute, and now she has
come to live with Francis Markrute. He is an awfully good fellow,
Mother, though you don't like him; extremely cultivated, and so quaintly
amusing, with his cynical views on life. You will like him when you know
him better. He is a jolly good sportsman, too--for a foreigner."
"And of what nation is Mr. Markrute, Tristram, do you know?" Lady
Tancred asked.
Really, all women--even mothers--were tiresome at times with their
questions!
"'Pon my word, I don't." And he laughed awkwardly. "Austrian, perhaps,
or Russian. I have never thought about it; he speaks English so well,
and he is a naturalized Englishman, in any case."
"But as you are marrying into the family, don't you think it would be
more prudent, dear, to gather some information on the subject?" Lady
Tancred hazarded.
And then she saw the true Tancred spirit come out, which she had often
vainly tried to combat in her husband during her first years of married
life, and had desisted in the end. Tristram's strong, level eyebrows
joined themselves in a frown, and his mouth, clean-shaven and chiseled,
shut like a vice.
"I am going to do what I am going to do, Mother," he said. "I am
satisfied with my bargain, and I beg of you to accept the situation. I
do not demand any information, and I ask you not to trouble yourself
either. Nothing any one could say would change me--Give me some more
coffee, will you, please."
Lady Tancred's hand trembled a little as she poured it out, but she did
not say anything, and there was silence for a minute, while his lordship
went on with his breakfast, with appetite unimpaired.
"I will take the girls and call there immediately after lunch," she said
presently, "and I am to ask for the Countess Shulski. You pronounce it
like that, do you not?"
"Yes. She may not be in, and in any case, perhaps, for to-day only leave
cards. To-morrow or next day I'll go with you, Mother. You see, until
the announcement comes out in the _Morning Post_, everything is not
quite settled--I expect Zara would like it better if you did not meet
until after then."
That was probably true, he reflected, since he had not even exchanged
personal pledges with her yet himself!
Then, as his mother looked stiffly repulsed, his sense of humor got the
better of him, and he burst into a peal of laughter, while he jumped up
and kissed her with the delightful, caressing boyishness which made her
love him with a love so far beyond what she gave to her other children.
"Darling," she murmured, "if you are so happy as to laugh like that I am
happy, too, and will do just what you wish." Her proud eyes filled with
mist and she pressed his hand.
"Mum, you are a trump!" he said, and he kissed her again and, holding
her arm, he led her back into the morning-room.
"Now I must go and change these things," he announced, as he looked down
at his riding clothes. "I am going to lunch with Markrute in the City to
discuss all the points. So good-bye for the present. I will probably see
you to-night. Call a taxi," he said to Michelham who at that moment came
into the room with a note. He had kissed his mother and was preparing to
leave, when just as he got to the door he turned and said:
"Don't say a word to any one, to-day, of the news--let it come out in
the _Morning Post_, to-morrow. I ask it--please?"
"Not even to Cyril? You have forgotten that he is coming up from Uncle
Charles' to go back to Eton," his mother said, "and the girls already
know."
"Oh! Cyril. By Jove! I had forgotten! Yes, tell him; he is a first class
chap, he'll understand, and, I say"--and he pulled some sovereigns from
his pocket--"do give him these from me for this term."
Then with a smile he went.
And a few minutes afterwards a small, slender boy of fourteen, with only
Eton's own inimitable self-confidence and delicious swagger printed upon
his every line, drove up to the door, and, paying for the taxi in a
lordly way, came into his mother's morning-room. There had been a gap in
the family after Tristram's appearance, caused by the death, from
diphtheria, of two other boys; then came the two girls of twenty and
nineteen respectively and, lastly, Cyril.
His big, blue eyes rounded with astonishment and interest when he heard
the important news. All he said was:
"Well, she must be a corker, if Tristram thinks her good enough. But
what a beastly nuisance! He won't go to Canada now, I suppose, and we
shan't have that ranch."