THE LORD PROPRIETOR'S AUDIENCE
Sir Cæsar Hutchins, Lord Proprietor, paced the terrace of his great
house at Inniscaw, and paused ever and anon to survey the prospect with
a lordly proprietary eye. He had breakfasted, and at breakfast (to use
his own words) he always did himself justice. Indeed, throughout a
strenuous business career he had never failed to take very good care of
himself, and was now able to enjoy a clear conscience with an easy
digestion.
The reader may ask with some surprise how such a man, accustomed all
his life to the bustle and traffic of Finsbury Pavement, E. C., could
choose, in his middle age, to turn his back on these and purchase an
exile out in the Atlantic, where no one bought or sold shares, and
where only Mr. Fossell, perhaps--and he from a week-old
newspaper--caught an echo of the world's markets, whether they rose or
fell. But, in truth, Sir Cæsar had chosen carefully, deliberately. He
had always intended to enjoy in later life the wealth for which he had
worked hard in his prime; and as soon as his fortune was assured, he
had made several cautious but determined experiments to discover where
enjoyment might abide. He had, for instance, rented a grouse-moor, and
invited a large company to help him, by shooting the birds, to feel
that he was getting a return for his money. But somehow his guests,
though very good fellows in London, did not harmonize (to his mind)
with the highland wastes. He was glad when they departed; the scenery
improved at once--at any rate, he took more pleasure in it. He tried a
deer forest and found this tolerable, but he soon made the further
discovery that shooting bored him, that is to say, all shooting of
higher rank that the potting of rabbits. He was one of those enviable
persons who "know what they like." If he made trial of these expensive
recreations, it was simply because he saw men ambitious for them, and
supposed they would certainly yield some gratification to explain it;
but, having made trial for himself and missed the gratification, he
abandoned them without a sigh. Hence his wardrobe had come to include a
pair of deer-stalking breeches, very little the worse for wear. (He had
never anticipated any satisfaction in wearing a kilt).
At another time he had owned a steam yacht; and this had taught him
that he liked the sea and suffered no inconvenience from its motion.
But from the yacht itself he derived small satisfaction after he had
shown it to his friends, and been envied by poorer men for possessing
such a toy. It might have been amusing to carry these admirers about
with him in extended cruises; but they, being poor, were busy and could
not afford the time, while his rich acquaintances owned steam yachts of
their own. Moreover, though unaccustomed to sport, he had always taken
a fair amount of exercise; his liver required it; and at yachting--that
is to say, sitting on deck in a comfortable chair--he put on flesh at
an alarming rate. Therefore, from this pastime also he retired.
Though these experiments were in themselves uniformly unsuccessful, he
had not made them in vain; but, keeping his wits about him, had arrived
by a process of exhaustion at some of the essentials of pleasure; and
this, after all, was not so bad for a man who had started with no
knowledge concerning it and with a deal of false information. He knew
now that he required exercise, that he could be happy in solitude, and
that his landscape would be all the better if it neighboured on the
sea. (Of his immunity from sea-sickness he was honestly prouder than of
anything his money had been able, as yet, to purchase.) He had scarcely
made these discoveries when the lease of the Islands came into the
market.
Then, as he read the advertisement in the _Times_ newspaper, in a flash
he had divined his opportunity, had seen a happy future unrolled before
him. His error hitherto had lain, not in exchanging Finsbury Pavement
for scenes where the free elements had play, but in seeking to change
himself and do violence to his own habits of mind and body. In the
Islands he could practice, as a benevolent despot, that mastery of men
which had given him power in the city; he could devote uncontradicted
to the cause of philanthropy--or with only so much contradiction as
lent a spice to triumph--those faculties which he had been sharpening
all his life in quest of money. They remained sharp as ever, though the
old appetite had been dulled.
He was a widower. He had no ambition but his own to consult; he alone
would suffer if he made a mistake--and he felt sure he was not making a
mistake. Though not given to day-dreams (Finsbury Pavement discouraged
him), he had an ounce of imagination distributed about his brain (few,
even among money-making men, succeed with less), and it had once or
twice occurred to him that a king's must be, in spite of drawbacks, a
highly enviable lot--at any rate in countries west of Russia. Well,
here was his chance.
He took it boldly; and to-day, had you asked him, he would have
acknowledged with a smile that he did not repent. All kings, to be
sure, have their worries. The army had not shown itself too well
affected towards the new reign. But when an army consists of three
soldiers....
The Lord Proprietor, gazing down from his terrace upon the twinkling
waters of the roadstead, caught sight of a row-boat coming across from
St. Lide's, and as it drew near, recognised its sole occupant for
Sergeant Archelaus.
He felt for his cigar case, chose and lit a cigar, and rested his
elbows on the balustrade of the terrace, watching, while the old man
brought his boat to the landing-quay, landed leisurely, and crossed the
meadow to the foot of the gardens, where, at the pace he was keeping,
one might allow him a couple of minutes at least before he re-emerged
into view at the foot of the steps leading up to the terrace. But, as
it happened, a bare fifty seconds elapsed before he came darting out of
the boscage and scrambled up the stairway in a sweating hurry, two
steps at a time.
"You shouldn't, Sergeant; you really shouldn't--at your time of life,"
expostulated the Lord Proprietor, kindly, withdrawing the cigar from
his mouth.
"Then you shouldn't keep ostriches," retorted Sergeant Archelaus, as he
gained the topmost step and, after a fearful glance behind him, sank
against a pilaster and mopped his brow.
"Take care of that urn!" cried the Lord Proprietor, in a warning voice.
"It contains a _Phormium tenax_ that I wouldn't lose on any account."
"A what?"
"A New Zealand Flax.... The ostriches chased you, did they?"
"They did--the pair of 'em. It goes against a man's stomach, too, being
chased by a bird."
"To me," said the Lord Proprietor, "it is gratifying evidence that they
are recovering their spirits, which were hipped after the long voyage
from Cape Town. But here, in the Gulf Stream, my theory is that we can
acclimatise almost anything, animal or vegetable. Already they begin to
feel its invigorating influence."
"Talking of vegetables, sir"--Archelaus shifted a canvas bag from his
shoulders to the ground and began to untie the string which bound its
neck.
"Pray take breath," suggested the Lord Proprietor. "At your age--and
with the little exercise you get on Garrison Hill----"
"We don't keep ostriches," said Archelaus, curtly. "But, talking of
vegetables, the Governor sends his compliments to you, sir, and begs
your acceptance of a few choice plants in return for the small clothes
you lent me."
"'Lent' you, Archelaus? 'Gave,' you mean."
"Oh, sir, but--excuse me--I couldn't--there was them ostriches to be
considered."
"It has occurred to me," went on the Lord Proprietor, who was in the
best of moods this morning, "that those--er--breeches might be a trifle
conspicuous--a shade too highly pronounced in pattern--to be worn with
uniform."
"As for that, sir," answered Archelaus, tactfully, "life on the Islands
isn't like active service, where a man has to be careful about exposing
himself to marksmanship."
"In Inverness a pattern like that would excite no comment."
"I've never been there," said Archelaus.
"It--er--harmonises, as it were, with the natural surroundings: with
the loch, the glen, the strath. So with those curious tartans to which
the Scottish highlanders are--er--addicted. Seen by themselves, and to
a sensitive, artistic eye, they appear crude and almost violent in
their contrast of colours; but seen in conjunction with the expanse of
native moorland, the undulating stretches of the heather----"
"'Tis but niggling scenery we have in these parts, to be sure," agreed
Archelaus.
"I have sometimes thought that _mutatis mutandis_ the same may be true
of the bagpipes, the strains of which--'skirl,' I believe, is the
proper expression--are not altogether discordant with the moaning of
the wind over those desolate moors or the cries uttered by their wilder
denizens; though, speaking personally, I never could endure the
instrument."
"Me either," agreed Archelaus again, shuffling a little on his feet, as
the dreadful truth began to dawn on him, that the Lord Proprietor meant
to present him with yet another pair of trousers.
Sir Cæsar, however, chose to play for a minute with his benevolent
design.
"There is no more delicate study," he went on, "than that of
acclimatisation. None which requires a nicer union of artistic daring
with artistic judgment, patience, with decision.... I propose to go in
for it pretty extensively on Inniscaw."
"Yes, sir?"
"The ostriches have been a great encouragement."
"I suppose, now, when you get accustomed to 'em----"
"Though I have yet to prove that they will breed here. Yet, why not?
The Gulf Stream, I am assured, has a stimulating influence upon all
forms of organic life, animal as well as vegetable. It may be compared
with that inward volcanic heat which, in and around the Bay of Naples,
clothes the shore with verdure, and is not without responsibility for
the passions of the inhabitants.... But, as I was saying, a man must
use judgment. A plant may thrive when transferred across a thousand
miles of ocean, may propagate itself even more freely than in its
native habitat, and yet, to the artistic eye, be never truly at home.
Its colour, of flower or foliage, refuses to blend with our landscape,
to adapt itself to our Atlantic skies. It is my hobby, Sergeant, to
discover not only what imported plants will flourish with our soil and
climate, but what particular one is worthiest of cultivation; and,
having discovered that, I propose to bend all my best energies upon
it.... Eh? But where did you get those remarkably fine bulbs?"
Archelaus held out three in the palm of his hand.
"From the garrison garden, sir; with the Governor's compliments, and
understanding you to take an interest in bulbs."
"Daffodils? Some species of narcissus, at any rate."
The Lord Proprietor took one of the bulbs and examined it, turning it
over. "I had no idea that Major Vigoureux--er--went in for this sort of
thing, or I'd have done myself the pleasure of visiting his garden."
"You wouldn't find much in it, sir," said Archelaus, hastily,
remembering yesterday's adventure. "At least not much to interest you.
To tell the truth, the Governor sets very little store by these, though
they look pretty enough in March month. But wanting to show his
feelings in the matter of those trousers----"
"You shall have another pair!"
"Oh!" said Archelaus, in spite of himself, and though he had miserably
foreseen the offer for ten minutes past.
"And you may take back my thanks to the Commandant, and tell him that I
hope, within the next few days, to pay him a call."
Archelaus touched his forelock, bringing up his palm at the right
military salute--in those days a complicated operation. To himself he
breathed a thanksgiving that the Fair Lady (as he and the Treachers
called Vashti) had taken her departure from Garrison Hill overnight.
Ever since breakfast he had been feeling sadly dejected about it and so
(if appearances might be trusted) had his master. There is a fearful
joy, after all, in living on a volcano.
But, alas, for Sergeant Archelaus! He was at this moment standing on
the crust of a volcano, and that crust was momentarily wearing thinner.
The shore beneath the great house of Inniscaw has two landing quays, of
which the eastern (Archelaus had used the western) lies hidden from
view of the terrace, and can be approached by a boat keeping close
under St. Lide's shore. Engrossed in his lecture upon acclimatisation,
the Lord Proprietor had missed to perceive a boat making for this
eastern quay; and so had Archelaus, for the simpler reason that he
stood with his back to the view.
"Step into the house with me, and you shall make your choice between
half-a-dozen pairs," the Lord Proprietor invited him.
"If you are sure it's not troubling you," said Archelaus.
"My good man--" began the Lord Proprietor, leading the way; and with
that he turned about, surprised that Archelaus was not following. "Eh?
What's the matter?"
But Archelaus, speechless, was staring along the terrace to its eastern
end, where, at the head of a flight of steps leading down among the
shrubberies, a head had suddenly uprisen into view--a head in a gray
bonnet with trimmings of subdued violet--the head of Miss Gabriel.
"H'm!" said Miss Gabriel, and turned to Mr. and Mrs. Pope, who were
mounting the stairway at her heels.