A PRISONER.
Frank found it very difficult to make out, both at that and a subsequent
period, how it was that no dog-cart came for him from the Manor on that
Saturday night. To be sure, the circumstance was easily enough explained
as a matter of fact, and meant simply this, neither more nor less,--that
his letter, intimating his intention to spend the Sunday with his
mother, and giving instructions when he was to be sent for, reached Mrs.
Renton only on Sunday at noon. But what Providence meant by permitting
such a thing to happen, was of course a totally different matter. The
mistake fitted in wonderfully, as mistakes so often do, with the course
of events. Richmont might not be so refined as the Manor, but it
certainly was, at the present moment, much more amusing. And though of
course Frank, like a good son, had been quite willing to give up the
Sunday to his mother, yet he was aware of the fact beforehand that the
Sunday would be dull. Mrs. Renton had lived a semi-invalid life so long
that it was rather a pleasure to her, now she was alone, to relapse
into full and unmitigated invalidism. She had so many draughts to take,
and precautions to bear in mind, that her whole time was filled up, and
that not so unpleasantly as might have been supposed. She had her
favourite maid, who never permitted her to forget anything; and when
there was no draught to be taken, was always hovering in the background
with cups of tea or arrowroot to sustain her mistress’s strength. Mrs.
Renton was very fond of her boys, but still, her own circumstances being
of such a character, she was not entirely dependent upon them for her
happiness. To be sure, if any one had so much as mentioned happiness to
her, she would have wept, poor soul, and declared positively that no
such thing was possible to her, thus left alone in the vacant house, her
husband dead, and her sons absent. But, nevertheless, the draughts, and
the care, and the tea, and the arrowroot, occupied her time, and gave
that gentle support of routine which is so invaluable to a languid life.
But it may be supposed that her room was not the most lively place in
the world to a young man; and Frank, in the drawing-room at Richmont,
with Mrs. Rich making all sorts of comical speeches, and Nelly quite
disposed to flirt, and Alice ready to play, did not feel any sensation
of despair when he was informed that no dog-cart had come, and that it
was now too late to expect it. ‘All the better luck for us,’ said Mr.
Rich. ‘Nothing for making acquaintance like a Sunday in the country.
There is your room ready, and we’re delighted to have you. By Monday you
will know how you like us, and we shall have found out how much we like
you.’
‘We know that already,’ said Mrs. Rich, who was fond of little inuendos;
‘and I am sure I don’t know how far it is safe to keep a handsome young
Guardsman in the house along with two girls. For my part, I don’t answer
for the consequences. I can’t be sure how I shall stand it myself,’ she
added, with a laugh, which was a little vulgar, no doubt, but mellow,
and not unpleasant to hear. Nelly looked up at her mother as if she
could have pinched her; but as for papa Rich, this kind of humour was in
his way, and he laughed too.
‘I’ll risk it,’ he said, ‘especially as the Guardsman has other fish to
fry, my dear, and isn’t likely to interfere with you. What’s the matter,
little Nell? You need not knit your brows at me. I hope I may express
myself as I like in my own house, and no offence to any one. Mr. Frank,
here, understands what I mean; and I am very glad he is going to stop
with us, whatever you may be, you little flirt. And where has Alice
Severn gone to? I want to speak to her. Don’t you think you could play
us some nice, old-fashioned tunes, my dear? I don’t understand your
grand music. That’s why I like your mamma’s pictures, you know. ’Igh art
goes a step beyond me; but give me a pretty woman and a bunch of nice
children, and I know what that means. And it is just the same in
music;--“Sally in our Alley,” and two or three more,--I like them better
than your sonatas; but I suppose you think me an ignorant old wretch for
that?’
‘No, indeed,’ said Alice; ‘I will play whatever you please.’
‘Then come with me,’ said the patron of art, giving Alice his fat arm.
Alf of the Buffs, who had arrived by the train, and on whose account
dinner had been postponed, was the only other member of the party, and
he had stretched himself at full length on the sofa with all the
appearance of being asleep. The other people had gone away early; and
Frank had Mrs. Rich and Nelly, in the intimacy of the domestic circle,
all to himself. Old Rich took Alice quite to the other end of the great
drawing-room, to the piano, which stood there, and the conversation went
on with a distracting accompaniment of tunes and the clapping of hands,
with which Alice’s audience hailed each air in succession. Frank’s
attention in particular was sadly distracted,--he could neither listen
nor stop listening; and yet the talk had taken a turn which, on the
whole, was rather interesting.
‘How will your mamma bear your going away?’ said Mrs. Rich. ‘Her
youngest;--I can feel for her. My eldest are married, and out in the
world; and I know it’s best for themselves, and I don’t mind. But Alf
and Nelly are my babies, just as you are your mother’s, Mr. Frank. What
should I do, if any one came to carry my little girl off to the end of
the world? And it will be harder still on your poor, dear mamma.’
‘But I can’t help it,’ said Frank. ‘You know,--I suppose everybody
knows,--the peculiarity in our circumstances. I can’t go on as I am
doing. India’s the place when a man has no money. I don’t know what
would become of me if I were to stay at home.’
‘Well,--you might marry an heiress, you know,’ said Mrs. Rich.
‘Mamma,’ said Alf, from the sofa,--not asleep, though he looked like
it,--‘if you have any heiresses in your pocket remember your own flesh
and blood first of all; don’t turn them over to Renton;--he can manage
for himself.’
‘Oh, yes; I don’t doubt he can manage beautifully for himself,’ said
Mrs. Rich, nodding her head; ‘but still he may be the better for a
little advice. An heiress is the very thing for you, Mr, Frank. As for
Alf, of course,--though I say it that shouldn’t,--he’ll be very well
off, and a catch for any one; as you would have been, but for that fancy
of your poor papa’s; Mr. Rich’s opinion has always been that his brain
must have been touched. But that is the thing for you,--as clear as
daylight. Marry a girl with money, and settle down at home; and don’t
go and break your mother’s heart. You take my advice, and tell her it
was I who gave it, and she’ll order her carriage directly, and come over
to Richmont and hug me,--though she would not so much as call, you know,
only for me.’
‘Indeed you do her an injustice,’ said Frank; ‘she is a great
invalid,--she never goes anywhere now.’
‘Then her carriage goes to the Rectory, which is not half a mile off;
but never mind,’ said Mrs. Rich. ‘I am sure I don’t mind. Give us a
little time, and well make our way. Yes; that’s what you’ve got to do.
Marry a girl with money. I’m sure you’d make her a good husband all the
same.’
I hope, if I were a husband at all, I should be a good one,’ said Frank,
laughing; ‘but I don’t think I should like to marry money. A little
could do no harm, of course,--just enough to keep her comfortable, and
as she had been used to be.’ As he said this, Frank, without knowing it,
looked direct at Nelly; and, to his consternation, caught her eye, and
saw her grow suddenly crimson; an example which, man of the world as he
was, he immediately followed. Then, to make things worse, he came to an
alarmed, embarrassed pause. ‘The man who ought to marry money is my
brother Laurie,’ he said hastily, and then stopped. What had he done?
Was it the fifty thousand pounds he was thinking of?--or what was it?
This was only the second time he had been in her company, and yet he
had committed both himself and Nelly,--or, at least, in the
consternation of the moment, so he thought.
‘It must be pleasant for the heiress to be discussed so calmly,’ said
Nelly all at once. ‘Of course, any woman is ready to marry any man who
presents himself. That’s the conclusion, isn’t it? But some girls are of
a different way of thinking. Why should Mr. Laurence Renton marry money,
I should like to know? I think he is very nice,--a great deal nicer
than----most men,’ said Nelly, with emphasis. Her cheek was more
crimson than ever, and the defiance was an exquisite compliment which
went to Frank’s heart. Yes,--it was droll, but it did really seem to him
that if he was disposed he might have that fifty thousand pounds. With
that he could have his horse and a great many luxuries besides; and
Nelly was very pretty, sitting there, opposite to him, with that blush
on her cheek, and soft indignation in her eyes.
‘Laurie is the best fellow that ever lived,’ he cried, recovering
himself with an effort; ‘but he does things for other people with a much
better grace than for himself. He has always been like that. Lazy
Laurence everybody calls him. He will never make his own way. I don’t
know what he has gone to do in Italy. But, all the same, there never was
such a good fellow. He is the kind of fellow,’ said Frank, with a
little effusion, ‘that something out of the way should happen to. He
ought to find a beautiful princess in a wood, and fall in love with her,
and save her from the giant; and then find out after all that she was
the daughter of the king of the gold-mines, and had her pockets full of
diamonds. That is the fate I should like for Laurie. Somehow he seems to
deserve it; and it never would occur to him to plan anything for
himself.’
‘Now I like that,’ cried Mrs. Rich; ‘I like you for being so proud of
your brother. There are heaps of heiresses, you know, in Italy--at least
so one reads in books; ladies travelling alone, that a young man could
make himself very useful to, and then in common gratitude---- Why it is
quite like a fairy tale. And when will your brother go? and what will he
do in Italy? Mr. Rich has promised to take us there next winter. I have
wanted to go all my life, Mr. Frank. It has been my dream. How strange
it would be if we should meet him! But, alas! we have no heiresses,’
said Mrs. Rich, casting a glance at Nelly, who, for her part, gave her
mother a quick, indignant look.
‘We shall go like a caravanserai,’ said Nelly, ‘with servants, and
companions, and all sorts of dead-weights. Papa says he means to take
that Count with him who is sick, and heaps of people. What I should like
to do would be to go all by myself, and live out of the English
quarter, and see all the pictures, and never say a word to anybody.
Fancy going to Rome and somebody saying to you, “ Isn’t it lovely?” as
if it were a scene in a pantomime! I do so hate all that. I hate the
books about parties to the Colosseum and rides in the Campagna. I want
to go to Rome, and live and work. I wish I were your brother. I wish I
could go wherever I pleased, and run about everywhere alone.’
‘I wish you could go with Laurie,’ said Frank, and for the moment it was
said with absolute simplicity, without a thought of his scheme; ‘that is
precisely what he will do; and he knows everything,--where to go, and
what to see.’ Then he caught the odd, inquiring glance Nelly shot at
him, and grew confused, he could scarcely tell why. ‘Of course, that is
nonsense,’ he said, with a laugh. ‘But it must be the pleasantest of all
when two people, just two, can ramble all about the world alone.’
Then there was another pause. What did he mean? He asked himself the
question, and could not answer it. Was it that he himself would like to
be one of the two, with a bright, little, vivacious, enthusiastic
creature by his side to make everything interesting? Or was it Laurie
who should take that place? Frank was so bewildered that he did not
know; and Nelly, sitting opposite to him, was so softened by this
curious talk, and looked so much a sweeter version of herself, as with
her face crimsoned and her eyes lit up, she sent a glance at him now and
then, half stealthy, half candid, that the heart began to beat in the
Guardsman’s bosom. Not that he cared much for Rome, or for rambling
about the world in general. The pictures would bore him. The rides in
the Campagna and the parties to the Colosseum would be best for Frank;
and as for running about among all the old holes and corners as Laurie
did, would not India be a thousand times better, with promotion, and
fighting, and tigers, and general novelty? Clearly Providence had made a
mistake about that dog-cart. It was Laurie who should have been stranded
at Richmont, and left to concert an Italian tour with Nelly Rich. How
perfectly they would have suited each other! But all the time Frank’s
heart felt soft to the bright, sparkling creature, who was actually
waiting, expecting the next words which he should speak.
‘It is very stupid on my part to talk like this,’ he said, with a little
forced laugh. ‘I shall be crossing the Desert most likely when you are
on your way, or creeping about Bombay or Calcutta, or some other
wretched place. But I must tell Laurie to look out for you, Mrs, Rich.
He is sure to be of use,’ he added, hastily. And then Frank’s temples
throbbed and grew crimson, and his heart gave a jump. Was it that Nelly
sighed, and gave her head a little, scarcely perceptible shake, like one
who has relinquished some pleasant thought? It was intensely flattering,
and Frank could not but feel the compliment. What a dear little thing
she was! How warm-hearted and how discriminating in her judgment! Frank
felt disposed to kiss her hand, or even her cheek, out of pure
gratitude. But still he was not disposed to give up India and his own
way, and wander over the world with her, even had she possessed twice
fifty thousand pounds.
And there was still the music going on at the other end of the room, and
Mr. Rich clapping his hands at the conclusion of each melody. It was
very different certainly from the programme up-stairs in the dark in the
music-room; but yet there was a charm in the quaint old airs which Alice
went on playing one after another, over and over again, without a sign
of weariness. A distant, visionary, unconscious creature, still
unawakened to any sense of personal life, rapt in the strains of her own
music--half child, half angel--as calmly indifferent to him and every
man as though they had all been like old Rich! Somehow this was the
image which most captivated the young man’s perverse fancy. He turned
his chair round and listened when the talk had come to this point. And
Nelly did not wonder. It seemed as if all had been said that could be
said thus. And Mrs. Rich began to applaud loudly. And then the Saturday
came to an end. It was only the second time he had been in this house.
That was the extraordinarily ludicrous part of it! In such a house men
grow quickly intimate.