"Rubbish!" cried my lady. "It's a trick. _I_ know the Ancrams, and there
isn't one of them, and never was one of them--of the Warwickshire
Ancrams, that is--who would stick at a lie!"
Lady Seely was in a towering passion. She had met Algernon Errington on
the stairs as he was leaving her husband's room for the second time that
afternoon. Algernon had slipped past her with a silent bow, and had
refused to return, although she screamed after him at the full pitch of
her lungs. Upon this Lady Seely had gone to her husband's room, and in a
few minutes had drawn from him the confession that he had promised
Algernon to use his utmost endeavours to obtain a post for him on the
Continent. And then, on her violent opposition to this scheme, Lord
Seely had been led on to tell her pretty nearly what Algernon had told
him; dwelling very strongly on the circumstance that Castalia was in a
strange, excited state, and might not be deemed responsible for her
actions. But neither did this terrible revelation make much impression
on my lady.
"Rubbish!" she said again. "And if she is in this queer excited
condition, what makes her so?"
"Belinda, you do not realise the full extent. This is a more serious, a
more frightful matter than you seem to think."
"Oh no it isn't, my lord! You'll see! A young rascal, to come here with
his cock-and-a-bull stories, and try to frighten you into getting a
berth for him! Why, there's nothing to be had, if one was willing to
try, except the consulate at what's-his-name, on the Mediterranean, that
Mr. Buller mentioned when you spoke to him about my nephew."
"I thought that might be got for Ancram, Belinda."
"Got for Ancram! Fiddlestick's end! What next? If the consulate is to be
had, Reginald shall have it, that's flat!"
Lord Seely lay back in his chair and groaned.
"Yes," cried his wife, her cheeks flaming with anger until the rouge she
wore seemed but a pale pigment on the hot colour beneath, "there it is!
He has made you ever so much worse; upset you completely; thrown you
back a fortnight, as Dr. Nokes said. He couldn't think what was the
matter when he came at one o'clock. No more could I. 'My lord appears to
have been agitated!' said he. Agitated! Yes; _I'd_ agitate that young
villain with a vengeance if I could get hold of him!"
"But you agitate me--_me_, Belinda. And, let me tell you, that you are
not showing a proper feeling in the case as regards Castalia; my niece
Castalia; poor unhappy girl!"
My lady stood up--she had risen to her feet in her wrath against
Algernon--big, florid, loud of voice, and vehement of will, and looked
down upon her husband in his invalid's chair. And as she looked into his
face she perceived, and acknowledged to herself, that it would not do to
drive him to extremities; that on this occasion neither indolence,
habit, and bodily weakness on the one hand, nor sheer force of tongue
and temper on the other, would avail to make him succumb to her. She
changed her tone, and began to give her view of the case. She gave it
the more effectively in that she spoke the truth, as far as the
representation of her genuine opinion went. She did not believe a word
about Castalia's having stolen money-letters. (Lord Seely winced when
she blurted out the accusation nakedly in so many words.) Not one word!
As to the gossip in Whitford, that might be, or might not; they had but
Ancram's word for it. If Castalia _was_ in this nervous, miserable state
of mind; if she did pry on her husband, and prowl about the
post-office, and even open his letters (_that_ might be; nothing more
likely!); if all these statements were true, what conclusion did they
point to? Not that Castalia was a thief (my lord put his hand up at the
word, as if to ward off a stab), but that she was _insanely jealous_.
The suggestion brought a gleam of comfort to Lord Seely. And it approved
itself to his reason. The one explanation was in harmony with all that
he knew of his niece's character. The other was not.
"Jealous, eh, Belinda?"
"Of course! _Insanely_ jealous, that always was her character, when she
lived in our house. She was jealous of Lady Harriet Dormer; she was
jealous of everybody and everything that Ancram looked at."
"Jealous!" repeated my lord musingly. "But to act so strangely--to
expose herself to animadversion--to go the length of opening desks and
letters!--She must have had some cause, some great provocation."
"Nothing more likely! Ancram is good-looking and young; and
Castalia--isn't."
"But where did she procure that money without her husband's knowledge?"
"Don't know, I'm sure."
"And her extravagance, and running him into debt as she has done--it
seems to point to some mental aberration, does it not, Belinda?"
"Oh, fiddle-faddle, my lord! _Why_ this, and _how_ that! How do we know
what truth there is in the whole story?"
"Belinda?"
"Oh, bless you, I'm too old a bird to be caught by any chaff the
_Ancrams_ can offer me."
"But, good heavens, Belinda, it is utterly incredible----"
"Nothing's incredible of an Ancram in the way of lying," returned the
great lady of that family with much coolness. "This young jackanapes has
got into a scrape down at What-do-ye-call-it. Things have gone wrong in
the office--(I'll be bound he don't mind his business a bit)--he and his
wife have got into debt between them. He don't like the place; and after
bothering your life out for money, he comes off here without 'with your
leave' or 'by your leave,' and asks to be sent abroad. That's my notion
of the matter. And any way, if I were you, Valentine, I should take no
sort of action, nor commit myself in any way, until I'd had Castalia's
version of the story."
Lord Seely pressed his hand to his forehead, and writhed on his chair.
"I wish to God that I could go to the place and speak with Castalia
myself!" he cried. "There are things that cannot be written. But here I
am a prisoner. It is a dreadful misfortune."
"_I_ can't undertake to go trapesing down there in this weather,"
exclaimed my lady. "And, besides, I wouldn't leave you just now."
Lord Seely by no means wished that his wife should interfere personally
in the matter. He well knew that nothing but discord was likely to arise
from any interview between Castalia and her aunt. "There is no one I
could send," he murmured. "No one I could trust."
"No, no! It would never do to send anybody at all. This kind of family
wash had better be done in private. I tell you what you do,
Valentine--you just dictate a letter to me to be sent to Castalia. Send
it off _at once_. When does Ancram return? To-morrow? Very well, then.
Send it off _at once_, so that it shall reach Whitford before he does."
"Why so, Belinda?" asked my lord anxiously.
"Why so? Dear me, Valentine; how st----unsuspicious you are! If Ancram
was there when the letter arrived, do you suppose she would ever get
it?"
Lord Seely stared at the florid, fat, unfeeling face before him, with a
sensation of oppression and dismay. How was it possible to attribute
such actions and motives to persons of one's own family with an air of
such matter-of-fact indifference? It was not the first time that his
wife's coarseness of feeling had been thrust on his observation to the
shocking of his own finer taste and sentiment--for my lord was a
gentleman at heart--but this was an amount of phlegmatic cynicism which
hurt him to the core. He could not forget that it was his wife who had
promoted the marriage of Castalia with this young man. It was his wife
who had declared that the Honourable Miss Kilfinane was not likely to
make a better match. It was his wife who had urged him to put young
Errington into the Whitford Post-office, declaring that the place was in
every way a suitable one for him. And now it was his wife who coolly
described Ancram as a wretch, full of the vilest duplicity!
The fact was, that my lady was by no means so indifferent on the subject
as her words and manner would seem to imply. She was--not pained as Lord
Seely was, but--angered excessively. She foresaw various troubles to
herself and her husband--even the distant possibility of having Castalia
"returned upon their hands," as she phrased it, and of having, sooner or
later, to find money, or make interest, to get Ancram a berth which she
would more willingly have bestowed on some of her nearer kith and kin.
And her fashion of venting her anger was roundly to declare Ancram
Errington capable of anything! And in her heart she believed him
capable of a good deal of falsehood.
Lord Seely made no immediate reply to his wife's suggestion. He was ill
and grieved, and he felt as if his final exit from this world of
troubles might not be altogether undesirable. His interview with
Algernon had agitated him terribly. His interview with his
wife--although she had opened the door for a ray of hope that things
might be not quite so terribly bad as he had feared--had certainly not
soothed him. But before the departure of the evening mail that night, he
had completed and despatched a letter to Castalia. He had insisted on
writing it with his own hand, sitting up in bed to do so, although his
fingers were scarcely able to guide the pen.
Meanwhile, Algernon was spending a very pleasant evening. He went to the
club to which the Honourable Jack Price had introduced him during the
brief butterfly period of his London existence. There he found the
genial Jack, friendly, affectionate, expansive, as ever: a trifle
balder, maybe, but otherwise unchanged. There, too, he found several of
his former acquaintances ("old friends," he called them), who, after
having his name recalled to their recollection by Jack Price, said,
"Hulloa, Errington, where the dooce have you been hiding yourself?" and
shook hands with the utmost cordiality. Then Jack Price insisted on
adjourning to a favourite haunt of his, and ordering supper in
celebration of Algernon's unexpected visit. And the "old friends" were
flatteringly willing to do Algernon the honour of eating it. They were
mostly unfledged lads, such as affected very often the society of Jack
Price, who was really a kind companion, and gave the boys long lectures
on steadiness of purpose and energy, illustrated by warning examples
from his own career, and delivered amid such agreeable accompaniments to
moral reflection as hot whisky-punch and first-rate Havanas. But there
were one or two older men: a newspaper editor from Dublin, who had been
at college with Jack; and a grey-whiskered major of cavalry, who had
served with Jack during his brief military career; and a middle-aged
attaché to His Majesty's legation at the Grand Duchy of Prundenhausen,
who had been a contemporary of Jack in the Foreign Office. And all these
gentlemen, being warmed by wine and meat, became excessively
companionable and entertaining. The Dublin editor, a fat, short, rather
humorous-looking individual, sang Irish sentimental ballads with a sweet
tenor voice, and, at the whisky-punch stage of the entertainment,
brought tears into the eyes of the cavalry major and Jack Price. The
middle-aged attaché did not cry; he considered such a manifestation
beneath the dignity of the diplomatic service. And although he affected
a bitter tone, and secretly considered himself to be a mute inglorious
Talleyrand, much injured and unappreciated by the blundering chiefs at
the Foreign Office, yet to outsiders he maintained the dignity of the
service, at the cost of a good deal of trouble and starch.
Algernon did not cry either. Indeed, the combination of sentimental
ballad and stout Dublin editor struck him as being pleasantly comic. But
he paid the singer so easy and well-turned a compliment as put to shame
the clumsy "Thanks, O'Reilly!" "By Jove, that was delightful!" "What a
sweet whistle you have of your own!" and the general shout of "Bravo!"
by which the others expressed their approbation. And then he sang
himself--one of the French romances for which he had gained a little
reputation among a certain society in town. The romance was somewhat
thread-bare, and the singer's voice out of practice; still, the
performance was favourably received. But Algernon soon changed his
ground, and, eschewing music altogether, began to entertain his hearers
with stories about the eccentric worthies of Whitford, illustrated by
admirable mimicry of their peculiarities of voice, face, and
phraseology, so that he soon had the table in a roar of laughter, and
achieved a genuine success. Jack Price was enchanted--partly with the
consciousness that it was he who had provided his friends with this
diverting entertainment, and explained to every one who would listen to
him: "Oh, you know, it's great! What? Great, sir! Mathews isn't a patch
on him. Inimitable, what? He is the dearest, brightest, most lovable
fellow! What a burning shame that a thing of this sort should be hidden
under a bushel--I mean, down in what-d'ye-call-it! _By_ George! What?"
Yes; Algernon spent a very agreeable evening, and thoroughly enjoyed
himself. He certainly had a wonderful share of what his mother called
"the Ancram elasticity!"