THE RALSTONS
[Illustration: colophon]
THE RALSTONS
BY
F. MARION CRAWFORD
AUTHOR OF “A ROMAN SINGER,” “PIETRO GHISLERI,”
“KATHARINE LAUDERDALE,” ETC.
TWO VOLUMES IN ONE
New York
THE MACMILLAN COMPANY
LONDON: MACMILLAN & CO., LTD.
1902
_All rights reserved_
COPYRIGHT, 1893,
BY F. MARION CRAWFORD.
Set up and electrotyped January, 1894. Printed December,
1894. Reprinted January, February twice, 1895. Two volumes
printed in one, June, 1899; July, 1902.
_Twenty-second Thousand_
Norwood Press
J. S. Cushing & Co.--Berwick & Smith
Norwood Mass. U.S.A.
THE RALSTONS.
CHAPTER I.
Alexander Lauderdale Junior was very much exercised in spirit concerning
the welfare of his two daughters, of whom the elder was Charlotte and
the younger was Katharine. Charlotte had been married, nearly two years
before the opening of this tale, to Benjamin Slayback, the well-known
member of Congress from Nevada, and lived in Washington. Katharine was
still at home, living with her father and mother and grandfather, in the
old house in Clinton Place, in the city of New York.
Mr. Lauderdale, the son of the still living philanthropist, and the
nephew of the latter’s younger brother, the great millionaire, Robert
Lauderdale, sat in his carefully swept, garnished and polished office on
a Saturday morning early in April. In outward appearance, as well as in
inward sympathy, he was in perfect harmony with his surroundings. He
resembled a magnificent piece of mechanism exhibited in a splendid
show-case--a spare man, extremely well proportioned, with a severe cast
of face, hard grey eyes, and a look all over him which recalled a
well-kept locomotive. He sat facing the bright light which fell through
the clear plate glass. One of his hands, cool, smooth, lean, lay
perfectly still, spread out upon the broad sheet of a type-written
letter on the table; the other, equally motionless, hung idly over his
knee. They were grasping hands, with long, curved nails, naturally
highly polished. It was not probable that the great Trust Company, in
which Alexander Junior held such an important position, should ever lose
the fraction of a fractional interest through any oversight of his.
So far as his own fortune was concerned, he often said that he was poor.
He lived in an old house which had been his grandfather’s and father’s
in turn, but which, although his father was alive and continued to live
in it, had become his own property some years previous to the beginning
of this story. For Alexander Lauderdale Senior was a philanthropist; and
although his brother, the rich Robert, gave liberally toward the support
of the institutions in which he was interested, Alexander had little by
little turned everything he possessed into money, applying it chiefly to
the education of idiots. The consequence was that he depended, almost
unconsciously, upon his only son for the actual necessities of life.
The old house was situated on the north side of Clinton Place, which had
never been a fashionable street, though it lay in what had once been a
most fashionable neighbourhood. No one need be surprised if the near
relatives of such a very rich man as Robert Lauderdale lived very
quietly, so far as expenditure was concerned. He was a very generous
man, and would have done much more for his nephew and the latter’s
family if he had believed that they wished or expected it. But in his
sensible view, they had all they needed,--a good house, a sufficient
amount of luxury, and a very prominent position in society. He knew,
moreover, that, however much he might give, the money would either find
its way into the vast charities in which his brother was interested, or
would disappear, as other sums and bits of property had disappeared
before now, to some place--presumably one of safety--of which his nephew
never spoke. For he suspected that Alexander Junior was not nearly so
poor as he represented himself to be, and he was not exactly pleased
with the fact that he himself was the only person before whom Alexander
Junior bowed down and offered incense.
For this younger Lauderdale was a very rigid man in almost all respects:
in his religion, which took the Presbyterian form, and took it in
earnest; in his uprightness, which was cruelly sincere; and in his
outward manner, which was in the highest degree conventionally correct.
It was this extreme correctness which lay at the root of his present
troubles, since, in his opinion, both his daughters had departed from it
in opposite directions and in an almost equal degree. He did not
recognize himself in either of them, and, as he believed his own
character to be an excellent model for his family, his vanity was
wounded by nature’s perverseness. Furthermore, he distinctly disliked
that sort of social prominence which is the portion of those who are not
like the majority, or who do not think with the majority and say so.
Both Mrs. Slayback and Miss Lauderdale attracted attention in that way.
Mrs. Slayback was handsome and vain, and believed herself to be proud in
the better sense of the word. She had married her husband for two
reasons: because she found the paternal home intolerable, and because,
besides being rich, Benjamin Slayback was thought to be a man who had a
brilliant future before him in the world of politics. Charlotte had
believed that she could rule him, and herself become a power. In this
she had been disappointed at the outset, having been deceived by a
certain almost childlike simplicity of exterior, which was in reality
one of Slayback’s strongest weapons. He admired her very much; he
looked up to her with admiration for her superior social acquirements,
and he treated her with a sort of barbaric liberality to which she had
not been accustomed. But within himself he followed his own political
devices without consulting her, and with a smiling reticence which
convinced her most unpleasantly that she was not intellectually a match
for him. This was all the more painful as she considered him to be her
social inferior, a point of view which was popular with some of her
intimate friends in New York, but much less so in Washington, and not at
all in Nevada.
The immediate consequence of this state of affairs was that Charlotte
and her husband did not agree. Both were disappointed, though in an
unequal measure. Slayback claimed that any woman should be contented who
had what he gave his wife. Charlotte thought that she showed great
forbearance in not leaving a man whom she could not rule. It was not
worth while, she said to herself, to have accepted a man who had, at her
first acquaintance with him, worn a green tie; whose speech at home was
remarkable rather for its ‘burr’ than for its grammar, and who did queer
things with his knife and fork--unless his undeniable intelligence and
force were to be at her service in such a way as to make her feel that
she was at least as powerful a person as he. She had condemned the green
tie, and he had submitted, and she had successfully conveyed hints
against cutting fish and potatoes with a steel knife; but in the matter
of grammar she had been less successful. When Benjamin was on his legs
on the floor of the House, as he often was, he could speak very well
indeed, which made it all the more unpleasant when he relapsed into the
use of dialect, not to say slang, at his own table. He was a jovial man
over his dinner, too, and she particularly detested jovial men,
especially when they spoke English not altogether correctly. She had
vaguely hoped that Benjamin would be spoken of as Mrs. Slayback’s
husband, but it had turned out that, in spite of her beauty and
brilliant conversation, she was spoken of as Benjamin Slayback’s wife.
By way of outshining him, she had conceived the plan of outshining
everybody else in matters of fashion and fashionable eccentricity. She
had spoken to more than one member of the family of obtaining a divorce
on the ground of incompatibility of temper, which, she said, could be
managed in Nevada, since New York was so absurdly strict about divorces.
It was evidently within the bounds of the possible that she might have
spoken in this sense to friends who were not related to her, as her
father knew. Altogether, he was aware that she was talked of and he
suspected that she was laughed at. She had been seen to smoke
cigarettes, it was reported that she had driven four-in-hand, and
Alexander would have been less surprised than shocked if he had heard
that she played poker with her intimates and bet on horse-races.
It was hard that such a man should have such a daughter, he thought, and
that all this should be the result of so much careful and highly correct
training and education. It was harder still that his younger child
should be as completely out of sympathy with him as her elder sister,
especially as Katharine outwardly resembled him, at least a little,
whereas Charlotte had inherited her fair complexion from her mother.
Of the two, Katharine was the more difficult to deal with, and he was
glad that her peculiarities were mental rather than outwardly manifested
in her behaviour, as her sister’s were. But of their kind, they were
strong and caused him great anxiety. There was a mystery about her
thoughts, too, which he could not fathom, and which influenced her
conduct, as though she had some secret motive for some of her actions
and for many of her opinions, which might, perhaps, have explained both,
but which she was not willing to divulge. Katharine held views upon
religion which were of the most disquieting character, and Katharine
flatly refused to speak of being married. These were Alexander Junior’s
principal grievances against her.
So far as the second of these was concerned, he might have found plenty
of excuse for her, had he sought it, in his own character. Whatever his
faults might be, he had been a very faithful man. He had married Emma
Camperdown, the famous beauty from Kentucky, when they had both been
very young, and he had loved her all his life, in spite of the fact that
she was a Roman Catholic and he a very puritanically inclined
Presbyterian of the older school. Love that will bear the strain of
religious differences, when religious conviction exists on both sides,
must be of a very robust nature, and Alexander’s had borne it for a
quarter of a century. It was true that his wife, who had been born a
Catholic, was not aggressively devout; but in his view of the matter,
her errors were mortal ones, and the thought of her probable fate in a
future existence had really saddened the hard man’s life. But it had not
diminished nor shaken his love. About that, there was nothing romantic,
nor Quixotic, nor emotional. It had none of the fine, outward qualities
which often belong abundantly to transient passions. There was in it a
good deal of the sense of property, which was very clearly defined with
him, and he lacked in most ways the delicacies and tendernesses which
are the rarest and most beautiful ornaments of the strong. But such as
it was, its endurance and good faith were unquestionable. Indeed,
endurance and uprightness were Alexander’s principal virtues. Both were
genuine, and both were so remarkable as to raise him high in the respect
of his fellow-men. If he had secrets, he had a right to keep them, for
they concerned nobody but himself, and he was naturally reticent.
Katharine had some similar qualities. She had loved her distant cousin,
John Ralston, a long time, and she was as faithful and enduring as her
father. Ralston loved her quite as dearly and truly, but Alexander
Junior would not have him for a son-in-law, and had told him so in an
exceedingly plain and forcible manner. His objection was that Ralston
seemed unable to do anything for himself, and had, moreover, acquired a
reputation for being fast and dissipated. He was not rich, either. His
father, Admiral Ralston, had been dead several years, and John lived
with his mother on twelve thousand a year. The young man had made two
attempts at steady work and was now making his third, the previous ones
having resulted in his leaving the lawyer’s office in which he had
placed himself, at the end of three months, and the great banking
establishment of Beman Brothers, in Broad Street, after a trial of only
six weeks. He had now gone back to Beman’s, having been readmitted as an
especial favour to Mr. Robert Lauderdale, with no salary and with an
unlimited period of probation before him. He was a popular young fellow
enough, but he was not what is called a promising youth, though his
ways had improved considerably during the last few months. Mr. Beman
said that he came regularly to the bank and seemed disposed to work, but
that his ignorance of business was something phenomenal. Nevertheless,
to please old Robert the Rich, John Ralston was tolerated, so long as he
behaved himself properly.
And Katharine loved him, in spite of her father’s disapproval and her
mother’s good advice. For during the preceding winter Mrs. Lauderdale,
who had once favoured the match, had gone over to the enemy, and showed
a very great and almost unbecoming anxiety to see Katharine married.
Hamilton Bright, another distant relative and the junior partner of
Beman Brothers, would have married her at any moment, and he was a very
desirable man. The fact that he was a relative was in his favour, too,
for both he and Katharine would probably in the end inherit a share of
the enormous Lauderdale fortune, and it would be as well that the money
should not go out of the family. Robert Lauderdale had never married,
and was now well over seventy years of age, though his strength had not
as yet come to labour and sorrow.
Katharine did not talk of John Ralston. Especially of late, she avoided
saying anything about him. But she would look at no one else, though she
had no lack of suitors besides Hamilton Bright, and in spite of her
reticence it was easy to see that her feelings towards Ralston had not
undergone any change. Once, during the preceding winter, Alexander had
been visited by a ray of hope. Ralston had been reported by the
newspapers as having got into a bad scrape, winding up with an encounter
with a pugilist, and ending in his being brought home by policemen in
the middle of the night. It had actually been said that he had been the
worse for too much champagne, and during a few hours Mr. Lauderdale had
hoped that Katharine would be disgusted and would give him up. But it
turned out to have been all a mistake. No less a personage than the
celebrated Doctor Routh had at once written to the papers, stating that
he had attended John Ralston when he had been brought home, that he had
met with an accident, and that the current statements about his
condition were utterly false and libellous. And there the matter had
ended. Alexander might congratulate himself upon having got the alliance
of his wife against John, but their united efforts to move their
daughter had proved as fruitless as his own had been when unassisted.
There was nothing for it but to wait patiently, and to hope that she
might forget her cousin in the course of time. Meanwhile, another
anxiety presented itself, almost as serious, in her father’s opinion.
She had been brought up as a Presbyterian, like her sister, in
accordance with his wishes, and in this respect Mrs. Lauderdale had
been conscientious, though her antagonism to her husband’s church was
deep-seated and abiding. But of late Katharine had begun to express very
dangerous and subversive opinions in regard to things in general and in
respect of religion in particular. Her mind seemed to have reached its
growth and to have entered upon its development. Katharine was going
astray after strange new doctrines, Alexander thought, and he did not
like the savour of mysticism in the fragments of her conversation which
he occasionally overheard. Though he could not with equanimity bear to
hear any one deny the existence of the soul, he disliked almost more to
hear it spoken of as though humanity could have anything to do with it
directly, beyond believing in its presence and future destiny. Whether
this was due to the form of the traditions in which he had been brought
up, or was the result of his own exceedingly vague beliefs in regard to
the soul’s nature, it is of no use to enquire. The fact was the same in
its consequences. He was very much disturbed about Katharine’s views, as
he called them, and at the same time he was conscious for the first time
in his life that no confidence existed between her and him, and that
their spheres of thought on all subjects were separated by a blank and
impenetrable wall.
Then, too, Katharine had of late shown a strong predilection for the
society of Paul Griggs, a man of letters and of considerable reputation,
who was said to have strange views upon many subjects, who had lived in
many countries, and who had about him something half mysterious, which
offended the commonplace respectability of Alexander Lauderdale’s
character. Not that Alexander thought himself commonplace, and as for
his respectability, it was of the solid kind which the world calls
social position, and which such people themselves secretly look upon as
the proud inheritance of an ancient and honourable family. Everything
that Paul Griggs said jarred unpleasantly on Alexander Lauderdale’s
single but sensitive string, which was his conservatism.
Griggs disclaimed ever having had anything to do with modern Buddhism,
for instance. But he had somehow got the reputation of being what people
call a Buddhist when they know nothing of Buddha. As a matter of fact,
he happened to be a Roman Catholic. But Mr. Lauderdale had heard him use
expressions which had fixed the popular impression in his mind. The
conversation of such a man could not be good for an impressionable girl
like Katharine, he thought. He took it for granted that Katharine was
impressionable because she was a girl and young. Mr. Griggs said very
paradoxical things sometimes, and Katharine quoted them afterwards. Mr.
Lauderdale hated paradox as he hated everything which was in direct
opposition to generally received opinion. It was most disagreeable to
him to hear that there was no such thing as a future, as distinguished
from past or present, when so much of his private meditation had for its
object the definition of the future state for himself and others. He did
not like Mr. Griggs’ way of referring to the popular idea of the Supreme
Being as a ‘magnified, non-natural man’--and when Griggs quoted Dante’s
opinion in the matter, Alexander Lauderdale set down Dante Alighieri as
an insignificant agnostic, which was unjust, and branded Mr. Griggs as
another, which was an exaggeration. Now, whatever the truth might be, he
considered that Katharine was in great danger, and that although
Providence was necessarily just, it might have shown more kindness and
discretion in selecting the olive branches it had vouchsafed to him.
It need hardly be said that of the two extremes to which his daughters
seemed inclined to go, he preferred the one chosen by Katharine. That,
at least, gave no open offence. Morally, it was worse to dissect the
traditional soul as it had been handed down in its accepted form through
many generations of religious men, than to smoke a cigarette after a
dinner party. But in practice, the effect of the cigarette upon the
opinion of society was out of all proportion greater, and Charlotte was
therefore worse than Katharine, as a daughter, though she might not be
so bad when looked upon as a subject for potential salvation.
All this disturbed Alexander Lauderdale very much, for he saw no
immediate prospect of any improvement in the condition of things. For
once in his life his daughters were almost his chief preoccupation. If
he had been subject to absence of mind, something might, perhaps, have
got out of order in the minute details of the Trust Company’s working.
In that respect, however, he was superior to circumstances. But when he
was momentarily idle, his mind reverted to its accustomed channels, and
the problem regarding the future of his daughters got into the way and
upset his financial calculations, and made him really unhappy. For his
financial calculations were apparently of a nature which made them
pleasant to contemplate, although he declared himself to be so very
poor.
On that particular Saturday morning he was interrupted in his solitude
by the sudden appearance of his wife. It was not often that she had
entered his office during the ten years since he had been installed in
it, and he was so much surprised by her coming that he positively
started, and half rose out of his chair.
Mrs. Lauderdale was a beautiful woman still, and would be beautiful if
she lived to extreme old age. But she was already past the period up to
which a woman may hope to preserve the freshness of a late youth. The
certainty that her beauty was waning had come over her very suddenly on
a winter’s evening not long ago, when she had noticed that the man who
was talking to her looked persistently at Katharine instead of at
herself; and just then, catching sight of her face in a mirror, and
being tired at the time, she had realized that she was no longer
supreme. It had been a bitter moment, and had left a wound never to be
healed. The perfect, classic features, the beautiful blue eyes, the fair
waving hair, were all present still. Her tall figure was upright and
active, and she had no tendency to grow stout or heavy. She had many
reasons for congratulating herself, but the magic halo was gone, and she
knew it. Some women never find it out until they are really old, and
they suffer less.
At the present moment, as she entered her husband’s office, it would
have been hard to believe that Mrs. Lauderdale could be more than five
and thirty years of age. The dark coat she wore showed her figure well,
and her thin veil separated and hid away the imperfections of what had
once been perfect. She was a little agitated, too, and the colour was in
her cheeks--a trifle too much of it, perhaps, but softened to the
delicacy of a peach blossom by the dark gauze.
She paused a moment as she closed the door behind her, glancing first
at her husband, and then looking about the unfamiliar room, to satisfy
herself that they were alone.
“This is an unexpected pleasure, Emma,” said Alexander Junior, rising
definitely and coming to meet her.
“Yes,” answered Mrs. Lauderdale. “I don’t often come, do I? I know you
don’t like to be disturbed. But as this is Saturday, and I knew you
would be coming up town early, I thought you wouldn’t mind. It’s rather
important.”
“I trust nothing bad has happened,” observed Alexander, drawing up a
chair for her.
“Bad? Well--I don’t know. Yes--of course it is! It’s serious, at all
events. Uncle Robert’s dying. I thought you ought to know--”
“Dying? Uncle Robert?”
Alexander Lauderdale’s metallic voice rang through the room, and his
smooth, lean hands grasped the arms of his chair.
An instant later he looked a little nervously at the door, as though
hoping that no one had heard his words, nor the tone in which he had
spoken them. A dark flush rose in his face and the veins at his temple
swelled suddenly, while his grip on the chair seemed to tighten, and he
turned his eyes on his wife.
“Dying!” he repeated in a low voice. “What has happened to him? When did
you hear of this?”
Mrs. Lauderdale had not expected him to show so much feeling. She,
herself, was far from calm, however, and did not notice his extreme
agitation as though it were anything unnatural.
“Doctor Routh came to tell me,” she answered. “He’s been there all the
morning--and as there was time before luncheon, I thought I’d come--”
“But what’s the matter with the old gentleman? This is very surprising
news--very sad news, Emma.”
A rather spasmodic, electric smile had momentarily appeared on Alexander
Lauderdale’s face, disappearing again instantly, as he uttered the last
words.
“I’m very much overcome by this news,” he added, after a short
hesitation.
He did not appear to be so deeply grieved as he said that he was, but
the words were appropriate, and Mrs. Lauderdale recognized the fact at
once.
“It will make a great difference,” she said.
“Yes, I should say so. I should say so,” repeated Alexander Junior, not
with emphasis, but slowly and thoughtfully. “However,” he continued,
suddenly, “we mustn’t count--I mean--yes--we--we mustn’t altogether
place our confidence in man--though Doctor Routh certainly stands at the
head of his profession. It’s our duty to see that other physicians are
called in consultation. We must do our utmost to help. Indeed--it might
have been wiser if you had gone there at once and had sent a messenger
for me, instead of coming here. But--yes--you haven’t told me what the
matter is, my dear. Is it--anything in the nature of apoplexy--or the
heart--you know? At his age, people rarely--but, of course, while
there’s life, there’s hope. We mustn’t forget that.”
He seemed unable to wait for his wife’s answer to his questions.
“Why, no, my dear,” she replied. “You know he’s not been very well for
some days. He’s worse--that’s all. It was nothing but a cold at first,
but it’s turned into pneumonia.”
“Pneumonia? Dear me! At his age, people rarely live through it--however,
he’s very strong, of course. Difference!” he exclaimed, softly. “Yes--a
great difference. It--it will make a great gap in the family, Emma.
We’re all so fond of him, and I’m deeply attached to him, for my part.
As for my poor father, he will be quite overcome. I hope he has not been
told yet.”
“No--I thought I’d wait and see you first.”
“Quite right, my dear--quite right--very wise. In the meantime, I think
we should be going. Yes--it’s just as well that you didn’t take off your
hat.”
He rose as he spoke, and touched one of the row of electric buttons on
his desk. A man in the livery of the Company appeared at the door, just
as Alexander was taking up his overcoat.
“I’m going up town a little earlier than usual, Donald,” he said.
“Inform Mr. Arbuckle. If anything unusual should occur, send to Mr.
Harrison Beman.”
“Yes, sir.”
“That’s all, Donald.”
The man faced about and left the office, having stood still for several
seconds, staring at Alexander. Donald had been twenty years in the
Company’s service, and did not remember that Mr. Lauderdale had ever
left the office before hours in all the ten years since he had been
chief, nor in the preceding ten during which he had occupied more or
less subordinate positions.
Mrs. Lauderdale daintily pulled down her veil and pulled up her gloves,
shook out her frock a little and looked at the points of her shoes, then
straightened her tall figure and stood ready. Alexander had slipped on
his coat, and was smoothing his hat with a silk handkerchief which he
always carried about him for that purpose. He had discovered that it
made the hat last longer. Both he and his wife had unconsciously assumed
that indescribable air which people put on when they are about to go to
church.
“We’ll take the Third Avenue Elevated,” said Mr. Lauderdale. “It’s
shorter for us.”
Robert Lauderdale’s house was close to the Park. The pair went out
together into Broad Street, and the people stared at them as they
threaded their way through the crowd. They were a handsome and striking
couple, well contrasted, the dark man, just turning grey, and the fair
woman, still as fair as ever. It might even be said that there was
something imposing in their appearance. They had that look of
unaffectedly conscious superiority which those who most dislike it most
strenuously endeavour to imitate. Moreover, when a lady, of even
passably good looks, appears down town between eleven and twelve o’clock
in the morning, she is certain to be stared at. Very soon, however, the
Lauderdales had left the busiest part of the multitude behind them. They
walked quickly, with a preoccupied manner, exchanging a few words from
time to time. Lauderdale was gradually recovering from his first
surprise.
“Did Routh say that there was no hope?” he asked, as they paused at a
crossing.
“No,” answered Mrs. Lauderdale. “He didn’t say that. He said that uncle
Robert’s condition caused him grave anxiety. Those were his very words.
You know how he speaks when a thing is serious. He said he thought that
we all ought to know it.”
“Of course--of course. Very proper. We should be the first, I’m sure.”
It would not be fair, perhaps, to say that Alexander’s voice expressed
disappointment. But he spoke very coldly and his lips closed
mechanically, like a trap, after his words. They went on a little
further. Then Mrs. Lauderdale spoke, with some hesitation.
“Alexander--I suppose you don’t know exactly--do you?” She turned and
looked at his face as she walked.
“About what?” he asked, glancing at her and then looking on before him
again.
“Well--you know--about the will--”
“My dear, what a very foolish question!” answered Alexander, with some
emphasis. “We have often talked about it. How in the world should I know
any better than any one else? Uncle Robert is a secretive man. He never
told me anything.”
“Because there are the Ralstons, you know,” pursued Mrs. Lauderdale.
“After all, they’re just as near as you are, in the way of
relationship.”
“My father is the elder--older than uncle Robert,” said Alexander.
“Katharine Ralston’s father was the youngest of the three.”
“Does that make a difference?” asked Mrs. Lauderdale.
“It ought to!” Alexander answered, energetically.