through the debaucheries of the last baronets its estates had become
impoverished and its reputation of an ill savour. It had ever been
known as a family noted for the great physical strength and beauty of
its men and women. For centuries the men of the house of Wildairs had
been the biggest and the handsomest in England. They had massive
frames, black eyes, thick hair and beards, and feared neither man nor
devil, but openly defied both. They were men who lived wildly, ate and
drank hugely, pursued women, were great at all deeds of prowess, and
bursting with rough health and lawless high spirits. 'Twas a saying of
their house that "a Wildairs who could not kill an ox with a blow and
eat half of him when he was roasted, was a poor wight indeed." The
present baronet, Sir Jeoffry, was of somewhat worse reputation than any
Sir Jeoffry before him. He lived a wild life in the country, rarely
going up to town, as he was not fond of town manners and town customs,
but liked better hunting, coursing, cock-fighting, bull-baiting, and
engaging in intrigues with dairy maids and the poppy-cheeked daughters
of his cottagers. He had married a sweet creature of fifteen, whom
after their brief honeymoon he had neglected as such men neglect a
woman, leaving her to break her heart and lose her bloom and beauty in
her helpless mourning for his past passion for her. He was at drawn
swords with his next of kin, who despised him and his evil, rough
living, and he had set his mind upon leaving sons enough to make sure
his title should be borne only by his own offspring. He being of this
mind, 'twas not to be wondered at that he had no welcome for the
daughters who should have pleased him by being sons. When the first was
born he flouted its mother bitterly, the poor young lady, who was but
sixteen and a delicate creature, falling into a fit of illness through
her grief and disappointment. The coming of the second threw him into a
rage, the third into a fury; and the birth of a fourth being announced,
he stormed like a madman, would not look at it, and went upon a debauch
so protracted and disgraceful as to be the scandal of the county and
the subject of gossip for many a day.
From that hour the innocent Lady Wildairs did not raise her head. Her
family had rejected her on account of her marriage with a rake so
unfashionable and of reputation so coarse. Wildairs Hall, ill kept, and
going to ruin through the wasteful living of its spendthrift master,
was no place for such guests as were ladies and gentlemen. The only
visitors who frequented it were a dozen or so chosen spirits who shared
Sir Jeoffry's tastes--hunted, drank, gambled with him, and were as
loose livers as himself. My Lady Wildairs, grown thin, yellow, and
haggard, shrank into her own poor corner of the big house, a bare west
wing where she bore her children in lonely suffering and saw them die,
one after the other, two only having the strength to survive. She was
her lord's hopeless slave, and at the same time the mere knowledge of
her existence was an irritation to him, she being indeed regarded by
him as a Sultan might regard the least fortunate of his harem.
"Damn her," he cried once to one of his cronies, a certain Lord
Eldershaw, "in these days I hate the sight of her, with her skinny
throat and face. What's a woman for, after she looks like that? If she
were not hanging about my neck I could marry some fine strapping girl
who would give me an heir before a year was out."
If young Roxholm did not hear this special anecdote, he heard others
from various sources which were productive in him of many puzzled and
somewhat anxious thoughts. "Why was it," he pondered, "that women who
had not the happy fortune of his mother seemed at so cruel a
disadvantage--that men who were big and handsome having won them, grew
tired of them and cast them aside, with no care for their loneliness
and pain? Why had God so made them that they seemed as helpless as poor
driven sheep? 'Twas not fair it should be so--he could not feel it
honest, though he was beset by grave fears at his own contumacy since
he had been taught that God ordained all things. Had he ordained this,
that men should be tyrants, and base, and cruel, and that women should
be feeble victims who had but the power to moan and die and be
forgotten? There was my Lord Peterborough, who had fought against
Algerine pirates, and at nineteen crowned his young brow with glory in
action at Tripoli. To the boyish mind he was a figure so brilliant and
gallant and to be adored that it seemed impossible to allow that his
shining could be tarnished by a fault, yet 'twas but a year after his
marriage with the fair daughter of Fraser of Mearns that he had wearied
of his love and gaily sailed for the Algerine coast again. Whether the
young Countess had bewailed her lot or not, Roxholm had not chanced to
hear, but having had for husband a young gentleman so dazzling and full
of fascination, how could she have found herself deserted and feel no
heartache and shed no tears? My lord could sail away and fight
corsairs, but her poor ladyship must remain behind and do battle only
with her heart, gaining no laurels thereby.
The sentiment of the times was not one which rated women high or was
fraught with consideration for female weakness. Charles Stuart taught
men how women should be regarded, and the beauties of his Court had
aided him in such manner as deepened the impression he had produced. A
beauty had her few years of triumph in which she was pursued, intrigued
with, worshipped, flattered, had madrigals sung in her honour; those
years over, no one cared to hear of the remainder of her life. If there
were dregs left in her cup, she drank them alone. A woman who had no
beauty was often a mere drudging or child-bearing wife, scapegoat for
ill-humour and morning headaches; victim, slave, or unnoticed
appendage. This the whilom toast Lady Wildairs had become, and there
were many like her.
The Earl of Dunstanwolde, who was the nobleman who had spoken to the
Duke and Duchess of the Gloucestershire Baronet, was a distant kinsman,
and a somewhat frequent visitor both at their Graces' country estates
and at their town establishment, Osmonde House. His own estate was near
Gloucestershire, and he knew the stories of Wildairs Hall, as did so
many others.
This gentleman was somewhat past middle age, and was the owner of such
qualities of mind and heart as had won for him the friendship of all
thinking persons who knew him. A man of kindly refinement and dignity,
familiar with arts and letters, and generous in his actions both to his
equals and his inferiors, he was of ancient blood, and had large
estates in the country and a great house in town.
But, notwithstanding the honourableness of his position, and the ease
of his circumstances, he was not a happy gentleman, having made a
love-match in his youth, and lost his passionately worshipped consort
at the birth of her first child, who had lived but two hours. He had
been so happy in his union that, being of a constant nature, he could
not console himself for his bereavement, and had remained a widower,
content that his estates and titles should pass to a distant cousin who
was the next heir. He was a sad-faced gentleman with delicately cut
features, and eyes which looked as if they had beheld sorrow, there
being deep lines about them, and also about his mouth.
This nobleman had for Roxholm a great attraction--his voice, his
bearing, and his gentle gravity all seemed to convey a thing which
reached the boy's heart. On his own part the childless man had from the
first felt for his little kinsman a pathetic affection. Had fate been
kind, instead of cruel, the son of his own Alice might have so bloomed
and grown stalwart and fair. He liked to talk with the child even when
he was but a few years old, and as time passed, and he shot up into a
handsome, tall lad, their friendship became a singularly close one.
When my lord was at Camylott the country people became accustomed to
seeing the two ride through the lanes together, the gamekeepers in the
park were familiar with the sight of the elder gentleman and the young
Marquess walking side by side down unfrequented woodland paths engaged
in earnest conversation, his lordship's hand oftenest resting on the
young shoulder as they went.
There was a subject of which these two talked often, and with great
interest, it being one for which Roxholm had always felt a love, since
the days when he had walked through the picture gallery with his nurse,
looking up with childish delight at the ladies and gentlemen in the
family portraits, asking to be told stories of their doings, and
requiring that it be explained to him why they wore costumes which
seemed strange to him. Mistress Halsell had been able to tell him many
stories of them, as also had his father and mother and Mr. Fox, his
governour, and these stories had so pleased him that he had pondered
upon them until their heroes and heroines seemed his familiar friends,
and made of as firm flesh and real blood as the ladies and gentlemen
who were his kinswomen and kinsmen to-day. It had always been his
pleasure to remember that the stories to be told of them were such fine
ones. There were Crusaders among them who had done splendid deeds;
there were men who had fought by the side of their King in battle, and
there were those who had done high service for him with brain and
spoken word when his power stood in danger of being overthrown. To the
boy there seemed indeed to have been no battle either of Church or
State, or with enemies in open field in which Mertouns had not fought.
Long before the Conquest, Normandy had known their high-strung spirit
and fiery valour. At Senlac, Guilbert de Mertoun had stood near William
of Normandy when he gave his command to his archers that they should
shoot into the air, whereby an arrow sought English Harold for its mark
and pierced him through eye and brain, leaving him slain, and William
conqueror. This same Guilbert, William had loved for his fierce bravery
and his splendid aim in their hunting the high deer, of whom 'twas said
the monarch "loved them as if he had been their father;" and when the
Domesday Book was made, rich lands were given to him that, as the King
said--there should be somewhat worthy of his holding to be recorded
therein. It had been a Guilbert de Mertoun who rode with Rufus when he
would cross to Normandy to put down insurrection there. These two were
alike in their spirit (therefore little Roxholm had ever worshipped
both), and when they reached the seashore in a raging storm, and the
sailors, from fear, refused to put forth, and Rufus cried, "Heard ye
ever of a King who was drowned," 'twas Guilbert who sprang forward
swearing he would set sail himself if others would not, and so stirred
the cowards with his fierce passionate courage that they obeyed the
orders given them and crossed the raging sea's arm in the tempest,
Guilbert standing in their midst spurring them with shouts, while the
wind so raged that only a man of giant strength could have stood
upright, and his voice could scarce be heard above its fury. And 'twas
he who was at the front when the insurgents were overpowered. Of this
one, of whom 'twas handed down that he was of huge build, and had beard
and hair as flaming as Rufus's own, there were legends which made him
the idol of Roxholm's heart in his childhood. Again and again it had
been his custom to demand that they should be repeated to him--the
stories of the stags he had pierced to the heart in one day's hunting
in the New Forest--the story of how he was held in worship by his
villeins, and of his mercifulness to them in days when nobles had the
power of life and death, and to do any cruelty to those in servitude to
them.
In Edward the Third's time, when the Black Death swept England, there
had lived another Guilbert who, having for consort a lovely, noble
lady, they two had hand in hand devoted themselves to battling the
pestilence among their serfs and retainers, and with the aid of a
brother of great learning (the first Gerald of the house) had sought
out and discovered such remedies as saved scores of lives and modified
the sufferings of all. At the end of their labours, when the violence
of the plague was assuaged, the lovely lady Aloys had died of the
fatigues she had borne and her husband had devoted himself to a life of
merciful deeds, the history of which was a wondrous thing for an
impassioned and romance-loving boy to pore over.
Upon the romances of these lives the imagination of the infant Roxholm
had nourished itself, and the boy Roxholm being so fed had builded his
young life and its ideals upon them.
It was of these ancestors of his house and of their high deeds he found
pleasure and profit in talking to his kinsman and friend, and 'twas an
incident which took place during one of my Lord Dunstanwolde's visits
to Camylott which led them to this manner of converse.
Roxholm was but eleven years old when in taking a barred gate on a new
horse the animal leapt imperfectly and, falling upon his rider, broke a
leg and two ribs for him. The injuries were such as all knew must give
the boy sharp anguish of body, when he was placed upon a hurdle and
carried home. His father galloped to the Tower to break the news to her
Grace and prepare her for his coming. My Lord Dunstanwolde walked by
the hurdle side, and as he did so, watching the boy closely, he was
touched to see that though his beautiful young face was white as death
and he lay with closed eyes, he uttered no sound and his lips wore a
brave smile.
"Is your pain great, Roxholm?" my Lord asked with tender sympathy.
Roxholm opened his eyes and, still smiling, blushed faintly.
"I think of John Cuthbert de Mertoun," he said in a low voice. "It aids
me to hold the torment at bay."
He spoke the words with some shyness, as if feeling that one older than
himself might smile at the romantic wildness of his fancy. But this my
Lord Dunstanwolde did not, understanding him full well, and lying a
hand on his pressed it with warm affection. The story of John Cuthbert
was, that a hound suddenly going mad one day while he hunted deep in
the forest, it had attacked a poor follower and would have torn his
throat had his lord not come to his rescue, pulling the beast from him
and drawing its fury upon himself, whereby in his battle with it he was
horribly bitten; and when the animal lay dead upon the sward he drew
his hunting-knife and cut out the mangled flesh with his own hand, "and
winced not nor swouned," as the chronicle recorded with open joy in
him.
'Twas while Roxholm lay in bed recovering of his injuries that his
kinsman referred to this again, asking him what thoughts he had had of
this hero and wherein he had felt them an aid, and the boy's answers
and the talk which followed them had been the beginning of many such
conversations, his Lordship finding the young mind full of vigour and
fine imagination. Often, as they conversed in after times, the older
man was moved by the courageous fancies and strong, high ideals he
found himself confronting. 'Twas all so brave and beautiful, and there
was such tragedy in the thought that life might hold clouds to dull the
gold of it. 'Tis but human that those of maturer years who have known
sorrow should be reminded of it by the very faith and joyfulness of
youth. One of the fine features of the Tower of Camylott was its Long
Gallery, which was of such length and breadth and so finely panelled as
to be renowned through all the land. At each end the broad windows
looked out upon noble stretches of varying hill and tall and venerable
forest, and in wet weather, when the house was full the ladies and
gentlemen would promenade there, chatting or sometimes playing games to
amuse themselves.
In such weather my Lord Dunstanwolde and his young kinsman sometimes
paced whole mornings away together, and 'twas on such an occasion that
there first entered into Roxholm's life that which later filled and
ruled it and was its very self. But at this time he was scarcely
fourteen, and 'twas but the first strange chapter of a story he heard,
in no way dreaming that 'twas one of which his own deepest pain and
highest raptures would be part.
Often as the years passed, my Lord Dunstanwolde looked back upon this
December day and remembered how, as they walked to and fro, he had
marked for the hundredth time how beautiful and picturesque a figure
the boy made in his suit of rich-coloured brocade, his curling, warm
brown hair falling on his shoulders in thick, natural curls such as no
perruquier could imitate, the bloom of health and out-door life upon
his cheek, his handsome, well-opened eye sparkling or melting in kindly
warmth as he conversed. He was a tall, straight-limbed lad, and had by
this time attained such height and so bore himself that there were but
few inches between his noble kinsman and himself, though the years
between them were so many, and my Lord Dunstanwolde was of no mean
stature.
Outside a heavy rain fell, deluging the earth and drenching such grass
as the winter had left, covering with its faded tussocks the sweep of
the park lands. The sky was heavy with leaden clouds from which the
water fell in sweeping dashes. Having walked for some time, the two
stopped before the wide bay window at the east end of the Long Gallery
and watched the deluge for a space, marking how the drops splashed upon
the terrace, how the birds flew before it, and how the deer huddled
together under the stripped trees as if glad of the small shelter their
trunks and bare branches could afford.
"Such a day brings back to a man the gloomiest things he knows," said
Lord Dunstanwolde after a few moments' silent gazing upon the scene. "I
no sooner paused here to look forth at the greyness than there came
back to me a hard tale I heard before I left Gloucestershire. 'Twas
another tale of Wildairs, Gerald."
"Of Sir Jeoffry?" said Roxholm, with interest. It had happened that
some time before Lord Dunstanwolde had heard of the impression made
upon him by the story of the poor lady and her brutal lord and master.
More than once they had spoken together of Wildairs Hall, and those who
rioted, and those who suffered, in it, and Roxholm had learned that,
year by year the Gloucestershire baronet's living had grown wilder and
more dissolute, until his mad follies had cut him off from the
companionship of all reputable persons, and he spent his days in brutal
sports, drink, and rough entertainment with a dozen men as little
respected as himself. His money he had squandered and gambled away at
dice, his estate fell to greater ruin every year, and no heir had come
to him, his poor helpmeet having at length given him eight daughters,
but two of whom had lived. His rage at this had increased even beyond
its first fury as he realised that each new blunder of her ladyship was
a new jest for the county. So it was that the boy turned towards his
kinsman with interest, for in some manner the mishaps of this wretched
family always moved him.
"Of Sir Jeoffry?" he said.
"Of Sir Jeoffry," my Lord Dunstanwolde answered; "but not so much of
himself as of his poor lady. At last she is dead."
"Dead!" Roxholm exclaimed. "Dead!" and his voice fell, and he stood a
moment and watched the driving rain, full of strange thoughts.
"'Tis happier for her, surely," he said. "I--one cannot feel sorrow for
her. How did she die, my lord?"
"As woefully and as neglected as she lived," his lordship answered.
"She had given birth to another female infant, and 'twas plain the poor
thing knew her last hour had come. She was alone with the one ignorant
woman who was all she had to aid her in her hour of trial. The night
before Sir Jeoffry had held a drinking bout with a party of his boon
companions, and in the morning, when they were gathered noisily in the
courtyard to go forth hunting, the old woman appeared in their midst to
acquaint her master of the infant's birth and to bring a message from
her mistress, who begged her lord to come to her before he rode forth,
saying that she felt strangely ill, and wished greatly to see him." His
lordship paused a moment, and a shadow passed swiftly across his
countenance, brought there by a sad memory.
Young Roxholm turned towards him and waited with a speaking look for
his next words.
"Then--my lord--?" he broke forth inquiringly. Lord Dunstanwolde passed
his hand over his forehead.
"He would not go," he answered; "he would not go. He sent a ribald
message to the poor soul--cursing the child she had brought into the
world, and then he rode away. The servants say that the old woman had
left her mistress alone in her chamber and came down to eat and drink.
When she went back to her charge the fire had gone out--the room was
cold as the grave, and the poor lady lay stone dead, her head fallen
upon her wailing infant's body in such manner that, had not the child
been stronger than most new-born things and fought for its life, it
would have been smothered in its first hour."
The boy Marquess turned suddenly away and took several hurried steps up
the Long Gallery. When he returned his forehead was flushed, his eyes
sparkled with an inward fire, and his breath came quickly--but he found
no words to utter.
"Once," said Lord Dunstanwolde, slowly, "I saw a tender creature die
after her travail--but she was beloved to worship, and our hearts stood
still in our bosoms as we waited. Mine has truly never seemed to beat
since then. Her child--who might, perchance, have aided me to live
again, and who would have been my hope and joy and pride, died with
her. This poor thing, unwanted, hated, and cast aside to live or
die--as if it were the young of some wild creature of the woods--this
one, they say, has the strength of ten, and will survive. God have
mercy on its evil fortunes."
Young Roxholm stood with folded arms gazing straight before him again
into the driving rain. His brow was knit, and he was biting his boyish
red lip.
"Is there mercy?" he said in a low voice, at length. "Is there justice,
since a human thing can be so cast into the world--and left alone?"
Lord Dunstanwolde put his hand upon his shoulder.
"All of us ask," he said. "None of us knows."
_CHAPTER V_
_My Lord Marquess Plunges into the Thames_
A rich young nobleman at the University of Oxford, who, having all the
resources of wealth and rank at his disposal, chose in these times to
devote himself to scholarly pursuits, made in the minds of his
fellow-collegians a singular and eccentric figure; but that one, more
splendidly endowed by fortune than any other, should so comport
himself, and yet no man find it possible to deride or make coarse jokes
on him, was, indeed, unheard of.
Yet, when the young heir of the house of Osmonde entered the
University, this was the position he held and which none disputed.
There were gay young rakes and ardent young toadies who, hearing of his
coming among them, fell into anticipation: the first, of more splendid
frolics, the second, of richer harvests; and though each party was
disappointed in its expectation, neither found opportunity to display
its chagrin according to the customary methods.
It is, indeed, a strange thing, how a man's physical body may be his
fortress or his enemy. All the world has at times beheld those whom an
insignificant figure and an ill-modelled face handicapped with a
severity cruel to the utmost. A great man but five feet high, and
awkward of bearing, has always added to his efforts at accomplishing
great deeds the weight of an obstacle which he must first remove from
about his neck--the obstacle his own poor exterior creates. An eloquent
man whose voice is cracked and harsh by nature must be fire itself
before he can burn away the barrier between himself and his hearers; a
prophet with an ignobly featured countenance and a small, vague eye
must needs be a god of wisdom to persuade his disciples that high
nobleness can dwell in a temple so mean and poor. The physical body of
the young Marquess of Roxholm was a fortress well-nigh impregnable.
'Tis not well to take liberties with a creature who takes none himself,
and can strike a blow which would fell an ox, if need be. Besides this,
there was in this young man's look and temper a something which, while
it forbade idle familiarities, won to itself the pleasurable admiration
and affection of all beholders. His eye was full of fire and meaning,
of laughter and friendliness; his mouth curved into the finest sweet
smile in the world, as also it could curl into a look of scorn which
could scathe as finely. He had a keen wit, and could be ironic and
biting when he chose, but 'twas not his habit to use his power
malevolently. Even those who envied his great fortunes, and whose
spite would have maligned him had he been of different nature, were in
a measure restrained from their bitterness by a certain powerful
composure, which all felt who looked on him and heard him speak.
'Twas this composure and commandingness of bearing which were more
marked in him than all else. 'Twas not mere coolness, but a great power
over himself and all his weaknesses, which years of self-study had
begot in him, the truth being indeed that he himself had early realised
in a measure a thing one of the gravest instructors at the University
had once said: "Were all the strength of his great body and his fervid
mind, all the power of his wealth and rank, all the influence of his
beauty and passion turned to evil and dishonourable courses, instead of
to more noble things, good God! what a devil he might be--devil enough
to ruin half England. What weak woman could resist him; what vicious
man help following where he led!"
"'Tis not so easy for a man who will be Duke one day to keep straight
courses," Roxholm had once said to Mr. Fox, "as 'tis for a man who must
live a narrower life and work for his daily bread. And a man who is six
feet three in height has six feet and three inches of evil to do battle
with, if he has not six feet three of strength and honesty to fight for
him. 'Tis Gerald Mertoun I may live in dread of, if Gerald Mertoun is
not my help and stay."