Marmaduke Muir's repentances, like many of his virtues and vices, were
apt to be evanescent. So the next week, it is to be feared, saw many a
lapse from his intention that drunkenness should not occur again. In
truth it needed a strong will to be sober in Drummuir Castle. The old
lord himself had a head which nothing could upset, and though he went
to his bed groaning with gout, no one could have said his wits were in
the least astray. Now Marmaduke had to a certain extent inherited this
toleration of alcohol, a fact which at once gratified his father and
set the old sinner to the graceless task of inciting his son to more
and more glasses of good claret, champagne, and port in order to see
how far the inheritance went. And Marmaduke, partly because he was
anxious to ingratiate himself with his irascible parent and partly
from sheer _joie de vivre_, fell in with the old man's whim. In
reality it meant much to him that he should get to the right side of
his father. He had a chance of his majority if only fifteen hundred
pounds odd could be found over and above the regulation purchase
money. It was a big price; but the vacancy was in a crack Highland
regiment and the majority would give him almost the certainty of
commanding in the future.
"The peer has never done anything for me in his life," he said angrily
to Jack Jardine. "I've gone into a West India regiment. I've lived on
my pay--and your allowance, old chap. By the way, I do wish you'd make
up accounts between us. We three brothers must owe you a lot already,
and though we've all given our _post obits_ on the property when the
old man dies, I myself don't like it. Worries me when I have a
headache, you know!"
Jack Jardine smiled. The proposition for a clear account had been made
many times in the past ten years, sometimes by one brother, sometimes
by another--but generally by Marmaduke--without in any way altering
the relative positions of creditor and debtor. So he set the point
aside.
"Why should you have a headache, Duke?" he began as a prelude to a
sermon on sobriety he had been meditating for some days; but
Marmaduke's candour took the words out of his mouth.
"Not the least reason in life, Jack, except that I want and will
have my majority, and I _must_ keep straight with the peer till I get
the money. Look here, I'll tackle the old man to-morrow, and if I
succeed I'll cut and run. I don't drink anywhere else, Jack, I don't
indeed--not, I mean to say, _drink_."
Looking at the speaker's clear, almost boyish, face his hearer could
well believe it.
"Your father is suffering a lot from the gout just now," he said,
dubiously.
"And he'll go on suffering as long as I'm here, and he wants to make
me drunk," retorted Marmaduke, whose perceptions were by no means
dense, "so the sooner it's over the better for both of us!"
Accordingly the very next day when, in accordance with his usual
custom, he wheeled his parent to the paternal visit to the dower
house, Marmaduke broached the subject of finance on the way back. It
was not a very auspicious moment, for the old gentleman had been made
at once irritable and pious by an unwary allusion on the part of his
youngest daughter, Margaret, to the new minister of the parish, the
Reverend Patrick Bryce. Now the reverend gentleman in question was at
the time Lord Drummuir's _bete noire_. To begin with, he had been
presented to the living by the Crown, and the Barons of Drummuir had
for generations claimed the right themselves. Evil thinking people,
indeed, said that it was this fact which made the old man so
wholehearted an advocate of that disruption in the Church of Scotland
which was then rending the country in twain. People talked of little
else, except railways, and on that point Lord Drummuir held the most
conservative of views. They would, he said, not without truth, play
the devil with country society and make it impossible for a nobleman
to travel in comfort. But no one who knew his lordship ever asked for
consistency in his opinions. He simply held them with a tenacity that
was perfectly appalling. So the mere mention of the Reverend Patrick
Bryce's name, with the addition of a fine blush on his daughter's face
when she discovered her slip of the tongue, had put him into a white
heat of politeness and piety.
"I am surprised at you, Margaret," he said. "I should prefer your
having nothing to do even with the school feasts of a man who, denying
the headship of the church to the Almighty, continues to batten on the
loaves and fishes of--of--and has the cursed impudence to find fault
with other people's meat and drink, too," he added, fiercely.
Despite this, Marmaduke, who had inherited no little of his father's
obstinacy, took the opportunity of the bath-chair reaching the finest
point of the view to say with a great show of courage--
"By the way, sir, don't you think it's about time to send that money
for my majority? Pringle is rather in a hurry to retire, and the price
may run up if we don't act soon."
His lordship rather admired this home thrust without warning, but he
was on his guard at once and cleared his throat for a speech.
"It's a positive disgrace to our army, and so I told poor Brougham the
last time I saw him, that promotion should not only go by purchase but
that private individuals should have power to fill their pockets with
the proceeds of further extortion. It is a kind of simony; it is the
sale of valour, of one's country's good!"
Lord Drummuir was a noted orator when he chose, even in those days
when everyone could string words together into high-sounding phrases,
and when Edmund Burke's foaming fulminations were held up to the young
as models of eloquence; but Marmaduke was obdurate.
"Possibly, sir," he interrupted, "but I want to do it. You see, sir,"
he warmed with his subject, "I'll be dashed if I've troubled you much
in the last ten years--now have I? You've made me an allowance on
which I couldn't live in a gentlemanly way at home. So I've exchanged
again and again for foreign service, going down and down till I've
landed in the West Indies. And now I have this chance of getting back
to my old regiment, to a soldier's life that is worth having----"
"No soldier's life is worth having. If you will be kind enough to
remember, I objected from the first to the army," interrupted the old
man, with icy politeness.
Marmaduke groaned aloud.
"Oh, don't let us go back so far as that, sir. The thing's done, and
practically you have to decide now whether you're going to wreck my
fortune or make it."
Lord Drummuir took out his pocket-handkerchief solemnly.
"And this is what I am asked to do, when my physicians insist on
absolute rest of body and mind. I am asked to consider, to take all
the responsibility. No, Marmaduke, you are old enough to decide for
yourself!"
"Then you wish me to go back to that miserable hole?" began the young
man vehemently.
"I am informed on the best authority that the climate of the West
Indies has sensibly improved of late years," remarked his lordship,
imperturbably. "The discovery of the cinchona plant----"
"Damn the cinchona plant!" burst out Marmaduke. But at that instant a
silvery artificial little laugh rose behind them and Mdlle. Fantine Le
Grand appeared tripping over the grass with the daintiest of sandalled
feet.
She had again been watching father and son from her window, and after
a week's hesitation she had suddenly decided that something must be
done to stop what seemed to be growing confidence. She had hitherto
played with the plan of arousing the old man's jealousy, confining
herself to half-hearted flirtations with Marmaduke, who, also on the
watch, had fallen in with the amusement quite pleasantly. But that
morning Colonel Compton had spoken out his fears.
"You'll have to look to your p's and q's, Fan, or that youngster will
be running away with some of the peer's loose cash. And as the estate
is strictly entailed that won't suit us. I overheard that weasel, Jack
Jardine, talking to the captain about the purchase of his majority, so
you had better look sharp."
The words echoed in her brain as she had stood watching father and son
in an apparently amicable conversation which clinched her decision.
The result being her appearance before the two conspirators,
provocative to the very tilt of her carefully held pink parasol.
"Oh, pardon," she began, in the stage French accent she affected in
society, "but I mean not to disturb! Only the filial picture of milor
and his too charming son was irresistible to poor me--so _sans
famille_."
She did not look in the least forlorn, and Lord Drummuir's clear,
wicked old eyes, that had seen to the bottom of so many evil things,
took her in from head to foot, and his clear wicked old brain
considered what she would be at. Then he chuckled softly, thinking he
had found out.
"No apologies needed, dear little Fan," he said affectionately; "you
are almost one of the family already, so we've no secrets. Marmaduke
and I were just discussing the purchase of his majority. It will take
more than two thousand five hundred pounds, I'm afraid, won't it, dear
boy?--what with the regulation and non-regulation figures. A big sum,
my dear, a big sum. It will make a hole in what's available for
wedding presents, eh, little woman?"
He looked at her with amused malevolence, thinking he had settled her
hash; for little Fan was not the woman to flirt with a man who was to
do her out of a farthing. And Fantine's eyes were steel as she made a
little curtsey.
"Who, my lord," she warbled tenderly, "could regret money spent in
such a good cause? Pardon," she added, remembering her accent, "was
that not right said? I mean that Marmaduke"--her voice cooed the
name--"is welcome to all zat I could give to him."
The baron burst into a huge rough guffaw.
"Come, that is a real good 'un!" he cried, highly amused. "I declare
you're as good as a play. But it's not settled yet." Here he glanced
at his son, keen to tantalise him too, and with reckless devilry
sowing the seeds of evil broadcast. "I shall have to choose between
diamonds for my wife and promotion for my son. Meanwhile, my lady,
don't get your pretty little feet damp on the grass. Remember you have
to dance to us to-night. Ogilvie and all the good fellows for miles
round are coming to see you, and you mustn't be a failure."
When the bath-chair and its wheezy occupant had been handed over to
the valet, Fantine Le Grand and Marmaduke lingered on the steps
together in silence.
"You have not yet seen me dance?" she said, suddenly. "Well, you shall
see me this evening! I will dance for you alone, monsieur."
His eyes laughed into hers boldly.
"It is a bargain, mademoiselle; but I shall ask for more, I warn you."
"_Dieu merci_," she said, with a tiny shrug of her shoulders, "you
must not ask too much!"
So with provocative laughter she fled up the steps with the prettiest
of little glissades and disappeared, leaving Marmaduke gratified at
the impression he had evidently made, and with a certain new
admiration for the demure daintiness of Mademoiselle Fantine. His
father, devil take him, hadn't a bad taste.
He said nothing of all this, however, to Jack Jardine when he raged
for a full hour over his father's absolute lack of human sympathy.
"Why only yesterday," he stormed, "he signed a cheque for one thousand
pounds because he wanted to pose as the patron of these dispossessed
parsons. It isn't moral, it isn't Christian. He doesn't care if he
ruins me body and soul. Anyhow, I've done with him for ever."
"Then you will leave at once?" suggested Jack Jardine.
In truth he was anxious to get the young man away from temptation as
soon as possible, and he knew well that in the end he himself would
have somehow or another to negotiate the money for the majority.
"No," replied Marmaduke. "I'm going to stop on for a bit."
And he set his nether lip hard. He was not going to give a cheek to
the enemy. He meant to hit back if he could. If his father couldn't
spare two thousand pounds because he wanted to spend it on a dancing
woman, he might find himself in the position of not having the dancing
woman on whom to spend it. He, Marmaduke, would have a try at it,
anyhow. It was mean and horrible, of course, but so was the old man.
He began it.
Peter Muir, coming in yawning, exclaimed at his brother's face.
"What's up, Duke?" he asked. "You look in the devil of a temper."
"So I am," retorted Duke. "And so would you be if you had the spunk to
ask anything of the baron. But you haven't, you see."
"Phew!" said Peter. "So you've been attacking the money bags. I could
have told you it was no go. That's why I learnt picquet of that
Italian count the governor got hold of last year and sent about his
business when he had rooked him of a thou! Now I can get a guinea or
two off everybody who comes in to the house--except you, Jack. You
never will play."
"I don't wish to add to your pocket-money, Peter; you've too much
already," replied Jack Jardine sternly. "Ah, I've heard of your
beguiling that wretched girl!"
"Not for the first time, old man," put in Peter. "You shouldn't talk
about things you don't understand; and a fellow must have some
amusement in this cursed hole, especially when the river is low. But
for the life of me, Duke, I can't see why you shouldn't go on half pay
and stop at home a bit. We should have some fine fun together, and I'd
teach you picquet, if you like."
Marmaduke stood gazing at his young brother for a second or two
angrily. Then his face softened, he went over to him and laid his
hands on his shoulders, and so remained looking down on the weak
effeminate face.
"You're talking what they call 'bosh' at school, Peter. You're not a
bit content here. How could you be? Give it up and come along with me
when I go. The old man doesn't deserve to have a son."
Peter wriggled himself away from his brother's hold.
"I don't really see why you should go."
"Don't you? Well, I'll tell you. Because I'm a soldier born and bred.
I don't suppose I shall die on the field of glory, but I shall have a
try at it. And I mean to have my majority in my old regiment if I have
to forge the old man's name to get it."
With that he gloomed away and loafed about, irritated at all things
and everything, even at the preparations that were being made for the
festivities of the evening, for these necessitated his being turned
out of his comfortable room in order to accommodate some of the
guests.
"Where are they putting me?" he asked angrily of Andrew Fraser, whom
he found, very long and lank in consequence of repeated attacks of
malarial fever, busy packing up his dressing things.
"It will be tae whatten they used to ca' the 'Agaepemoan' in the old
lord's young days, sir," replied Andrew. "Jest yon big room wi' the
outside stair in the west wing close to the keep, sir. 'Tis a bonny
eneuch room with a fire to it, an' Marrion Paul has ben reddin' it up
a' day."
Marrion Paul! The name came as a relief and a regret, for he had not
seen her--not anyhow for speech--since their dawn-tide swim together.
Now the mere memory of it in its coolness and freshness and beauty
calmed his irritation, and half aimlessly he strolled across the
quadrangle to inspect his new quarters. She might be there still.
Apparently she was, for a sound of determined sweeping came down the
stairway.
"Hullo, Marmie, is that you?" he cried joyously, bounding up the steps
two at a time.
"Aye, Mr. Duke, it's me," replied the figure with the broom
laconically.
Certainly it was a nice comfortable room with the fire blazing and the
casement window, still somewhat hung with cobwebs, set wide to the
summer sunshine. Marmaduke passed to it and looked out. Beneath him,
far down the slanting red cliffs dotted here and there with sombre
pines, lay the castle pool, and over yonder to the right were the
rocks on the other side where he had found Marmie combing her hair
like any mermaid. It was hidden now under a most unbecoming dust
kerchief; still the memory was pleasant.
"I say, Marmie," he remarked, "that swim of ours was stunning, wasn't
it?"
"It's aye nice in the dawning," replied Marrion comfortably. "I've
been out twice since then, and I'm no saying which I enjoyed the
maist."
Marmaduke made a wry face.
"You look as if I were interrupting your work," he said tenderly.
"So you are, Captain Duke," she assented calmly. He clapped his hands
to his ears in mock alarm, and with a laugh raced headlong downstairs,
calling back half-way that 'Andry' would have his work cut out for him
getting his master to bed if so be the latter had had a glass too
much.
When he had gone Marrion ceased sweeping and rested her cheek on the
broom handle for a bit.
He--there was but one he in her life and she faced the fact
quietly--did not look so well as he did at first, but of that Andrew
Fraser had warned her. He had, in fact, told her of many things which
otherwise she would not have known, for she had seen much of him in
the last week. The racket of the noisy servants' hall, the whole
dissolute life of masters and men up at the castle had not been to his
taste, and he had taken to going over to the keep-house for quiet, if
not for peace. But even that was coming to him by degrees as he
realised the utter hopelessness of his love for Marrion. But he
realised also that if she was not for him neither was she for any
other man--except one; and that was impossible. So, indeed, he had
told her plainly but a day or two before, when half-dazed with fever
and ague which had attacked him suddenly, in the keep-house.
She had insisted on his lying down in her grandfather's room, and when
she went in to bring him a cup of hot tea he had slipped his feet to
the ground apologetically, and sitting up, a lank figure among the
blankets, his small pathetic eyes full of fever, had laid a hot hand
on hers and said--
"I'll no be troubling you again, Marrion. I canna help loving you and
you canna help loving him. It's no oorsels, ye see. It's just
Providence; sae we must just both thole it."
She had stood silent, startled by the sudden attack for a second; then
she had said gravely--
"Aye, Andry, we must just thole it."
Since then a strange confidence as to Marmaduke's sayings and doings
had sprung up between the two, and even at dinner-time that very day
he had told of his master's irritability.
"Things have gone ajee," he remarked, "an' I'm thinkin' it's the money
for the majority. But what's filthy lucre to health?--and sure as
death the captain is no what he was. Gin' it wad make him quit yon bad
auld man an' the whore-woman he is takin' to wife, I'd be heart glad."
For Andrew Fraser, being acquainted with his Bible, did not mince
words. Neither did Marrion; but having more wits than Andrew she
appraised the evils more reasonably, yet with more prejudice. Lord
Drummuir was Lord Drummuir, and therefore in a way must be accepted;
but the woman was different.
Marrion Paul's eyebrows levelled themselves to a straight bar as she
went on with her work.