The Pebbles
O no, no, no; 'tis true. Here, take this too;
It is a basilisk unto mine eye,
Kills me to look on't. Let there be no honour,
Where there is beauty; truth, where semblance; love,
Where there's another man.--Cymbeline
When Julius, according to custom, opened his study shutters, at
half-past six, to a bright sunrise, his eldest brother stood before
the window. "Well, how are they?" he said.
"All right, thank you; the child woke, had some food, and slept well
and naturally after it; and Rose has been quite comfortable and at
rest since midnight. You saved us from a great deal, Raymond."
"Ah!" with a sound of deep relief; "may Julia only turn out as sweet
a piece of womanhood as her mother. Julius, I never understood half
what that dear wife of yours was till yesterday."
"I was forced to cut our gratitude very short," said Julius, laying
his hand on his brother's shoulder. "You know I've always taken
your kindness as a matter of course."
"I should think so," said Raymond, the more moved of the two. "I
tell you, Julius, that Rosamond was to me the only redeeming element
in the day. I wanted to know whether you could walk with me to ask
after that poor girl; I hear she came home one with her
grandmother."
"Gladly," said Julius. "I ought to have gone last night; but what
with Rose, and the baby, and Terry, I am afraid I forgot
everything." He disappeared, and presently issued from the front
door in his broad hat, while Raymond inquired for Terry.
"He is asleep now, but he has been very restless, and there is
something about him I don't like. Did not Worth say he would come
and look at the baby?"
"Yes, but chiefly to pacify Rosamond, about whom he was the most
uneasy."
"She is quite herself now; but you look overdone, Raymond. Have you
had any sleep?"
"I have not lain down. When we came home at four o'clock, Cecil was
quite knocked up, excited and hysterical. Her maid advised me to
leave her to her; so I took a bath, and came down to wait for you."
Julius would have liked to see the maid who could have soothed his
Rosamond last night without him! He only said, however, "Is Frank
come down? My mother rather expected him."
"Yes, he came to the race-ground."
"Indeed! He was not with you when you came back, or were we not
sufficiently rational to see him?"
"Duncombe gave a dinner at the hotel, and carried him off to it.
I'm mortally afraid there's something amiss in that quarter. What,
didn't you know that Duncombe's filly failed?"
"No, indeed, I did not."
"The town was ringing with it. Beaten out-and-out by Fair Phyllida!
a beast that took them all by surprise--nothing to look at--but
causing, I fancy, a good deal of distress. They say the Duncombes
will be done for. I only wish Frank was clear; but that unhappy
engagement has thrown him in with Sir Harry's set, and he was with
them all day--hardly spoke to me. To a fellow like him, a veteran
scamp like old Vivian, with his benignant looks, is ten times more
dangerous than men of his own age. However, having done the damage,
they seem to have thrown him off. Miss Vivian would not speak to
him at the ball."
"Eleonora! I don't know how to think it!"
"What you cannot _think_, a Vivian can _do_ and does!" said Raymond,
bitterly. "My belief is that he was decoyed into being fleeced by
the father, and now they have done their worst, he is cast off. He
came home with us, but sat outside, and I could not get a word out
of him."
"I hope my mother may."
"If he be not too far gone for her. I always did expect some such
termination, but not with this addition."
"I don't understand it now--Lena!"
"I only wonder at your surprise. The girl has been estranged from
us all for a long time. If it is at an end, so much the better. I
only wish we were none of us ever to see the face of one of them
again."
Julius knew from his wife that there were hopes for Raymond, but of
course he might not speak, and he was revolving these words, which
had a vehemence unlike the wont of the speaker, when he was startled
by Raymond's saying, "Julius, you were right. I have come to the
conclusion that no consideration shall ever make me sanction races
again."
"I am glad," began Julius.
"You would not be glad if you had seen all I saw yesterday. You
must have lent me your eyes, for when you spoke before of the evils,
I thought you had picked up a Utopian notion, and were running a-
muck with it, like an enthusiastic young clergyman. For my own part
I can't say I ever came across anything offensive. Of course I know
where to find it, as one does wherever one goes, but there was no
call to run after it; and as we were used to the affair, it was a
mere matter of society--"
"No, it could never be any temptation to you," said Julius.
"No, nor to any other reasonable man; and I should add, though
perhaps you might not allow it, that so long as a man keeps within
his means, he has a right to enhance his excitement and amusement by
bets."
"Umph! He has a right then to tempt others to their ruin, and
create a class of speculators who live by gambling."
"You need not go on trying to demolish me. I was going to say that
I had only thought of the demoralization, from the betting side; but
yesterday it was as if you had fascinated my eyes to look behind the
scenes. I could not move a step without falling on something
abominable. Roughs, with every passion up to fever-pitch, ferocity
barely kept down by fear of the police, gambling everywhere,
innocent young things looking on at coarseness as part of the humour
of the day, foul language, swarms of vagabond creatures, whose trade
is to minister to the license of such occasions. I declare that
your wife was the only being I saw display a spark of any sentiment
human nature need not blush for!"
"Nay, Raymond, I begin to wonder whose is the exaggerated feeling
now."
"You were not there," was the answer; and they were here interrupted
by crossing the path of the policeman, evidently full of an official
communication.
"I did not expect to see you so early, sir," he said. "I was coming
to the Hall to report to you after I had been in to the
superintendent."
"What is it?"
"There has been a burglary at Mrs. Hornblower's, sir. If you
please, sir," to Julius, "when is the Reverend Mr. Bowater expected
home?"
"Not before Monday. Is anything of his taken?"
"Yes, sir. A glass case has been broken open, and a silver cup and
oar, prizes for sports at college, I believe, have been abstracted.
Also the money from the till below; and I am sorry to say, young
Hornblower is absconded, and suspicion lies heavy on him. They do
say the young man staked heavily on that mare of Captain
Duncombe's."
"You had better go on to the superintendent now," said Raymond.
"You can come to me for a summons if you can find any traces."
Poor Mrs. Hornblower, what horror for her! and poor Herbert too who
would acutely feel this ingratitude. The blackness of it was beyond
what Julius thought probable in the lad, and the discussion of it
occupied the brothers till they reached the Reynolds colony, where
they were received by the daughter-in-law, a much more civilized
person than old Betty.
After Fanny's dislocated arm had been set, the surgeon had sent her
home in the Rectory carriage, saying there was so much fever in
Wil'sbro', that she would be likely to recover better at home; but
she had been suffering and feverish all night, and Dan Reynolds was
now gone in quest of 'Drake,' for whom she had been calling all
night.
"Is he her husband?" asked Julius.
"Well, I don't know, sir; leastways, Granny says he ought to be
answerable for what's required."
Mrs. Reynolds further betrayed that the family had not been ignorant
of Fanny's career since she had run away from home, leaving her
child on her grandmother's hands. She had made her home in one of
the yellow vans which circulate between fairs and races, driving an
ostensible trade in cheap toys, but really existing by setting up
games which were, in fact, forms of gambling, according to the taste
of the people and the toleration of the police. From time to time,
she had appeared at home, late in the evening, with small sums of
money and presents for her boy; and Mrs. Dan believed that she
thought herself as good as married to 'that there Drake.' She was
reported to be asleep, and the place 'all of a caddle,' and Julius
promised to call later in the day.
"Yes, sir," said Mrs. Reynolds; "it would be a right good thing,
poor girl. She've a kind heart, they all do say; not as I know, not
coming here till she was gone, nor wanting to know much on her, for
'twas a right bad way she was in, and 'twere well if them nasty
races were put down by Act of Parliament, for they be the very ruin
of the girls in these parts."
"There's a new suggestion, Raymond," said Julius as he shut the
garden gate.
Raymond was long in answering, and when he spoke, it was to say, "I
shall withdraw from the subscription to the Wil'sbro' Cup."
"So much the better."
Then Raymond began discussing the terms of the letter in which he
would state his reasons, but with an amount of excitement that made
Julius say, "I should think it better not to write in this first
heat. It will take more effect if it is not so visibly done on the
spur of the moment."
But the usually deliberate Raymond exclaimed, "I cannot rest till it
is done. I feel as if I must be like Lady Macbeth, continually
washing my hands of all this wreck and ruin."
"No wonder; but I should think there was great need of caution--to
use your own words."
"My seat must go, if this is to be the price," said Raymond. "I
felt through all the speeches at that gilt-gingerbread place, that
it was a monument of my truckling to expediency. We began the whole
thing at the wrong end, and I fear we are beginning to see the
effects."
"Do you mean that you are anxious about that fever in Water Lane?"
"There was an oppressive sickly air about everything, strongest at
the ball. I can't forget it," said Raymond, taking off his hat, so
that the morning air might play about his temples. "We talked about
meddling women, but the truth was that they were shaming us by doing
what they could."
"I hope others will see it so. Is not Whitlock to be mayor next
time?"
"Yes. He may do something. Well, they will hardly unseat me! I
should not like to see Moy in my place, and it would be a sore thing
for my mother; but," he continued, in the same strange, dreamy
manner, "everything has turned out so wretchedly that I hardly know
or care how it goes."
"My dear old fellow!"
Raymond had stopped to lean over a gate, where he could look up to
the old red house in the green park, set in brightly-tinted trees,
all aglow in the morning sunshine. Tears had sprung on his cheeks,
and a suppressed sob heaved his chest. Julius ventured to say,
"Perhaps there may yet be a change of mind."
"No!" was the answer. "In the present situation there is nothing
for it but to sacrifice my last shred of peace to the one who has
the chief right--in a certain way."
They walked on, and he hardly spoke again till, as they reached the
Rectory, Julius persuaded him to come in and have a cup of tea; and
though he said he must go back and see his friend off, he could not
withstand the sight of Rosamond at the window, fresh and smiling,
with her child in her arms.
"Not a bit the worse for her dissipation," she merrily said. "Oh,
the naughty little thing!--to have begun with the turf, and then the
'Three Pigeons'! Aren't you ashamed of her, papa? Sit down,
Raymond; how horribly tired you do look."
"Ha! What's this?" exclaimed Julius, who had been opening the post-
bag. "Here's a note from the Bishop, desiring me to come to the
palace to-day, if possible."
"Oh!" cried Raymond. "Where is there vacant--isn't there a canonry
or a chaplaincy?"
"Or an archbishopric or two?" said Julius. "The pony can do it, I
think, as there will be a long rest. If he seems fagged, I can put
up at Backsworth and take a fly."
"You'll let James drive you," said Rosamond.
"I had rather not," said Julius. "It may be better to be alone."
"He is afraid of betraying his elevation to James," laughed
Rosamond.
"Mrs. Daniel Reynolds to see you, sir."
This was with the information that that there trapezing chap, Drake,
had fetched off poor Fanny in his van. He had been in trouble
himself, having been in custody for some misdemeanour when she was
thrown down; but as soon as he was released, he had come in search
of her, and though at first he seemed willing to leave her to be
nursed at home, he had no sooner heard of the visitors of that
morning than he had sworn he would have no parson meddling with his
poor gal! she was good enough for him, and he would not have a pack
of nonsense put in her head to set her against him.
"He's good to her, sir," said Mrs. Reynolds, "I think he be; but he
is a very ignorant man. He tell'd us once as he was born in one of
they vans, and hadn't never been to school nor nothin', nor heard
tell of God, save in the way of bad words: he've done nothin' but
go from one races and fairs to another, just like the gipsies,
though he bain't a gipsy neither; but he's right down attacted to
poor Fanny, and good to her."
"Another product of the system," said Raymond.
"Like the gleeman, whom we see through a picturesque medium," said
Julius; "but who could not have been pleasant to the mediaeval
clergyman. I have hopes of poor Fanny yet. She will drift home one
of these days, and we shall get hold of her."
"What a fellow you are for hoping!" returned Raymond, a little
impatiently.
"Why not?" said Julius.
"Why! I should say--" replied Raymond, setting out to walk home,
where he presided over his friend's breakfast and departure, and
received a little banter over his solicitude for the precious
infant. Cecil was still in bed, and Frank was looking ghastly, and
moved and spoke like one in a dream, Raymond was relieved to hear
him pleading with Susan for to his mother's room much earlier than
usual.
Susan took pity and let him in; when at once he flung himself into a
chair, with his face hidden on the bed, and exclaimed, "Mother, it
is all over with me!"
"My dear boy, what can have happened?"
"Mother, you remember those two red pebbles. Could you believe that
she has sold hers?"
"Are you sure she has? I heard that they had a collection of such
things from the lapidary at Rockpier."
"No, mother, that is no explanation. When I found that I should be
able to come down, I sent a card to Lady Tyrrell, saying I would
meet them on the race-ground--a post-card, so that Lena might see
it. When I came there was no Lena, only some excuse about resting
for the ball--lying down with a bad headache, and so forth--making
it plain that I need not go on to Sirenwood. By and by there was
some mild betting with the ladies, and Lady Tyrrell said, 'There's a
chance for you, Bee; don't I see the very fellow to Conny's charm?'
Whereupon that girl Conny pulled out the very stone I gave Lena
three years ago at Rockpier. I asked; yes, I asked--Lena had sold
it; Lena, at the bazaar; Lena, who--"
"Stay, Frank, is this trusting Lena as she bade you trust her? How
do you know that there were no other such pebbles?"
"You have not seen her as I have done. There has been a gradual
alienation--holding aloof from us, and throwing herself into the
arms of those Strangeways. It is no fault of her sister's. She has
lamented it to me."
"Or pointed it out. Did she know the history of these pebbles?"
"No one did. Lena was above all reserved with her."
"Camilla Tyrrell knows a good deal more than she is told. Where's
your pebble? You did not stake that?"
"Those who had one were welcome to the other."
"O, my poor foolish Frank! May it not be gone to tell the same tale
of you that you think was told of her? Is this all?"
"Would that it were!"
"Well, go on, my dear. Was she at the ball?"
"Surrounded by all that set. I was long in getting near her, and
then she said her card was full; and when I made some desperate
entreaty, she said, in an undertone that stabbed me by its very
calmness, 'After what has passed to-day, the less we meet the
better.' And she moved away, so as to cut me off from another
word."
"After what had passed! Was it the parting with the stone?"
"Not only. I got a few words with Lady Tyrrell. She told me that
early impressions had given Lena a kind of fanatical horror of
betting, and that she had long ago made a sort of vow against a
betting man. Lady Tyrrell said she had laughed at it, but had no
notion it was seriously meant; and I--I never even heard of it!"
"Nor are you a betting man, my Frank."
"Ay! mother, you have not heard all."
"You are not in a scrape, my boy?"
"Yes, I am. You see I lost my head after the pebble transaction. I
couldn't stand small talk, or bear to go near Raymond, so I got
among some other fellows with Sir Harry--"
"And excitement and distress led you on?"
"I don't know what came over me. I could not stand still for fear I
should feel. I must be mad on something. Then, that mare of
Duncombe's, poor fellow, seemed a personal affair to us all; and Sir
Harry, and a few other knowing old hands, went working one up, till
betting higher and higher seemed the only way of supporting
Duncombe, besides relieving one's feelings. I know it was being no
end of a fool; but you haven't felt it, mother!"
"And Sir Harry took your bets?"
"One must fare and fare alike," said Frank.
"How much have you lost?"
"I've lost Lena, that's all I know," said the poor boy; but he
produced his book, and the sum appalled him. "Mother," he said in a
broken voice, "there's no fear of its happening again. I can never
feel like this again. I know it is the first time one of your sons
has served you so, and I can't even talk of sorrow, it seems all
swallowed up in the other matter. But if you will help me to meet
it, I will pay you back ten or twenty pounds every quarter."
"I think I can, Frankie. I had something in hand towards my own
possible flitting. Here is the key of my desk. Bring me my
banker's book and my cheque book."
"Mother! mother!" he cried, catching her hand and kissing it, "what
a mother you are!"
"You understand," she said, "that it is because I believe you were
not master of yourself, and that this is the exception, not the
habit, that I am willing to do all I can for you."
"The habit! No, indeed! I never staked more than a box of gloves
before; but what's the good, if she has made a vow against me?"
Mrs. Poynsett was silent for a few moments, then she said, "My poor
boy, I believe you are both victims of a plot. I suspect that
Camilla Tyrrell purposely let you see that pebble-token and be
goaded into gambling, that she might have a story to tell her
sister, when she had failed to shake her constancy and principle in
any other way."
"Mother, that would make her out a fiend. She has been my good and
candid friend all along. You don't know her."
"What would a friend have done by you yesterday?"
"She neither saw nor heard my madness. No, mother, Lenore's heart
has been going from me for months past, and she is glad of this plea
for release, believing me unworthy. Oh! that stern face of hers!
set like a head of Justice with not a shade of pity--so beautiful--
so terrible! It will never cease to haunt me."
He sat in deep despondency, while Mrs. Poynsett overlooked her
resources; but presently he started up, saying, "There's one shadow
of a hope. I'll go over to Sirenwood, insist on seeing one her and
having an explanation. I have a right, whatever I did yesterday;
and you have forgiven me for that, mother!"
"I think it is the most hopeful way. If you can see her without
interposition, you will at least come to an understanding. Here,
you had better take this cheque for Sir Harry."
When he was gone, she wondered whether she had been justified in
encouraging him in defending Eleonora. Was this not too like
another form of the treatment Raymond had experienced? Her heart
bled for her boy, and she was ready to cry aloud, "Must that woman
always be the destroyer of my sons' peace?"
When Frank returned, it was with a face that appalled her by its
blank despair, as he again flung himself down beside her.
"She is gone," he said.
"Gone!"
"Gone, and with the Strangeways. I saw her."
"Spoke to her?"
"Oh no. The carriage turned the corner as I crossed the road. The
two girls were there, and she--"
"Going with them to the station?"
"I thought so; I went to the house, meaning to leave my enclosure
for Sir Harry and meet her on her way back; but I heard she was gone
to stay with Lady Susan in Yorkshire. Sir Harry was not up, nor
Lady Tyrrell."
Mrs. Poynsett's hope failed, though she was relieved that Camilla's
tongue had not been in action. She was dismayed at the prone
exhausted manner in which Frank lay, partly on the floor, partly
against her couch, with his face hidden.
"Do you know where she is gone?"
"Yes, Revelrig, Cleveland, Yorkshire."
"I will write to her. Whatever may be her intentions, they shall
not be carried out under any misrepresentation that I can
contradict. You have been a foolish fellow, Frankie; but you shall
not be painted worse than you are. She owes you an explanation, and
I will do my best that you shall have it. My dear, what is the
matter?"
She rang her bell hastily, and upheld the sinking head till help
came. He had not lost consciousness, and called it giddiness, and
he was convicted of having never gone to bed last night, and having
eaten nothing that morning; but he turned against the wine and soup
with which they tried to dose him, and, looking crushed and
bewildered, said he would go and lie down in his own room.
Raymond went up with him, and returned, saying he only wanted to be
alone, with his face from the light; and Mrs. Poynsett, gazing at
her eldest son, thought he looked as ill and sunken as his younger
brother.