VICTORIA STREET.
Lounging in an arm-chair in a small but luxuriously furnished room in
Victoria Street sat Captain Mountjoy Scarborough, and opposite to him,
equally comfortably placed, as far as externals were concerned, but
without any of that lounging look which the captain affected, sat his
brother. It was nearly eight o'clock, and the sound of the dinner-plates
could be heard through the open doors from the next room. It was
evident, or at any rate was the fact, that Augustus found his brother's
presence a bore, and as evident that the captain intended to disregard
the dissatisfaction evinced by the owner of the chambers. "Do shut the
door, Mountjoy," said the younger. "I don't suppose we want the servant
to hear everything that we say."
"He's welcome for me," said Mountjoy, without moving. Then Augustus got
up and banged the door. "Don't be angry because I sometimes forget that
I am no longer considered to be your elder brother," said Mountjoy.
"Bother about elder brothers! I suppose you can shut a door?"
"A man is sometimes compelled by circumstances to think whether he can
or not. I'd've shut the door for you readily enough the other day. I
don't know that I can now. Ain't we going to have some dinner? It's
eight o'clock."
"I suppose they'll get dinner for you;--I'm not going to dine here." The
two men were both dressed and after this they remained silent for the
next five minutes. Then the servant came in and said that dinner was
ready.
All this happened in December. It must be explained that the captain had
come to London at his brother's instance, and was there, in his rooms,
at his invitation. Indeed, we may say that he had come at his brother's
command. Augustus had during the last few months taken upon himself to
direct the captain's movements; and though he had not always been
obeyed, still, upon the whole, his purposes had been carried out as well
as he could expect. He had offered to supply the money necessary for the
captain's tour, and had absolutely sent a servant to accompany the
traveller. When the traveller had won money at Monaco he had been
unruly, but this had not happened very often. When we last saw him he
had expressed his intention to Mr. Hart of making a return journey to
the Caucasian provinces. But he got no farther than Genoa on his way to
the Caucasus, and then, when he found that Mr. Hart was not at his back,
he turned round and went back to Monte Carlo. Monte Carlo, of all places
on the world's surface, had now charms for him.
There was no longer a club open to him, either in London or Paris, at
which he could win or lose one hundred pounds. At Monte Carlo he could
still do so readily; and, to do so, need not sink down into any
peculiarly low depth of social gathering. At Monte Carlo the _ennui_ of
the day was made to disappear. At Monte Carlo he could lie in bed till
eleven, and then play till dinner-time. At Monte Carlo there was always
some one who would drink a glass of wine with him without inquiring too
closely as to his antecedents. He had begun by winning a large sum of
money. He had got some sums from his brother, and when at last he was
summoned home he was penniless. Had his pocket been still full of money
it may be doubted whether he would have come, although he understood
perfectly the importance of the matter on which he had been recalled.
He had been sent for in order that he might receive from Mr. Grey a
clear statement of what it was intended to do in reference to the
payment of money to the creditors. Mr. Grey had, in the first place,
endeavored to assure him that his co-operation was in no respect made
necessary by the true circumstances of the case, but in order to satisfy
the doubts of certain persons. The money to be paid was the joint
property of his father and his brother,--of his father, as far as the use
of it for his life was concerned, and of his brother, as to its
continued and perpetual enjoyment. They were willing to pay so much for
the redemption of the bonds given by him, the captain. As far as these
bonds were concerned the captain would thus be a free man. There could
be no doubt that nothing but benefit was intended for him,--as though he
were himself the heir. "Though as to that I have no hesitation in
telling you that, you will at your father's death have no right to a
shilling of the property." The captain had said that he was quite
willing, and had signed the deed. He was glad that these bonds should be
recovered so cheaply. But as to the property,--and here he spoke with
much spirit to Mr. Grey,--it was his purpose at his father's death to
endeavor to regain his position. He would never believe, he said, that
his mother was--Then he turned away, and, in spite of all that had come
and gone, Mr. Grey respected him.
But he had signed the deed, and the necessity for his presence was over.
What should his brother do with him now? He could not keep him
concealed,--or not concealed,--in his rooms. But something must be done.
Some mode of living must be invented for him. Abroad! Augustus said to
himself,--and to Septimus Jones, who was his confidential friend,--that
Mountjoy must live "abroad."
"Oh yes; he must go abroad. There's no doubt about that. It's the only
place for him." So spoke Septimus Jones, who, though confidential
friend, was not admitted to the post of confidential adviser. Augustus
liked to have a depositary for his resolutions, but would admit no
advice. And Septimus Jones had become so much his creature that he had
to obey him in all things.
We are apt to think that a man may be disposed of by being made to go
abroad; or, if he is absolutely penniless and useless, by being sent to
the colonies,--that he may become a shepherd and drink himself out of the
world. To kill the man, so that he may be no longer a nuisance, is
perhaps the chief object in both cases. But it was not easy to get the
captain to go abroad unless, indeed, he was sent back to Monte Carlo.
Some Monte Carlo, such as a club might be with stakes practically
unlimited, was the first desire of his heart. But behind that, or
together with it, was an anxious longing to remain near Tretton and "see
it out," as he called it, when his father should die. His father must
die very shortly, and he would like "to see it out," as he told Mr.
Grey; and, with this wish, there was a longing also for the company of
Florence Mountjoy.
He used to tell himself, in those moments of sad thoughts,--thoughts
serious as well as sad, which will come even to a gambler,--that if he
could have Tretton and Florence Mountjoy he would never touch another
card. And there was present to him an assurance that his aunt, Mrs.
Mountjoy, would still be on his side. If he could talk over his
circumstances with Mrs. Mountjoy, he thought that he might be encouraged
to recover his position as an English gentleman. His debts at the club
had already been paid, and he had met on the sly a former friend, who
had given him some hope that he might be re-admitted. But at the present
moment his mind turned to Brussels. He had learned that Florence and her
mother were at the embassy there, and, though he hesitated, still he
desired to go. But this was not the "abroad" contemplated by Augustus.
Augustus did not think it well that his father's bastard son, who had
been turned out of a London club for not paying his card debts, and had
then disappeared in a mysterious way for six months, should show himself
at the British embassy, and there claim admittance and relationship. Nor
was he anxious that his brother should see Florence Mountjoy. He had
suggested a prolonged tour in South America, which he had declared to be
the most interesting country in the world. "I think I had rather go to
Brussels," Mountjoy had answered, gallantly, keeping his seat in the
arm-chair and picking his teeth the while. This occurred on the evening
before that on which we found them just now. On the morning of that day
Mountjoy had had his interview with Mr. Grey.
Augustus had declared that he intended to dine out. This he had said in
disgust at his brother's behavior. No doubt he could get his dinner at
ten minutes' notice. He had not been expelled from his club. But he had
ordered the dinner on that day with a view to eat it himself, and in
effect he carried out his purpose. The captain got up, thinking to go
alone when the dinner was announced, but expressed himself gratified
when his brother said that he "had changed his mind." "You made yourself
such an ass about shutting the door that I resolved to leave you to
yourself. But come along." And he accompanied the captain into the other
room.
A very pretty little dinner was prepared,--quite such as one loving
friend might give to another, when means are sufficient,--such a dinner
as the heir of Tretton might have given to his younger brother. The
champagne was excellent, and the bottle of Leoville. Mountjoy partook of
all the good things with much gusto, thinking all the while that he
ought to have been giving the dinner to his younger brother. When that
conversation had sprung up about going to Brussels or South America,
Mountjoy had suggested a loan. "I'll pay your fare to Rio, and give you
an order on a banker there." Mountjoy had replied that that would not at
all suit his purpose. Then Augustus had felt that it would be almost
better to send his brother even to Brussels than to keep him concealed
in London. He had been there now for three or four days, and, even in
respect of his maintenance, had become a burden. The pretty little
dinners had to be found every day, and were eaten by the captain alone,
when left alone, without an attempt at an apology on his part. Augustus
had begun with some intention of exhibiting his mode of life. He would
let his brother know what it was to be the heir of Tretton. No doubt he
did assume all the outward glitter of his position, expecting to fill
his brother's heart with envy. But Mountjoy had seen and understood it
all; and remembering the days, not long removed, when he had been the
heir, he bethought himself that he had never shown off before his
brother. And he was determined to express no gratitude or thankfulness.
He would go on eating the little dinners exactly as though they had been
furnished by himself. It certainly was dull. There was no occupation for
him, and in the matter of pocket-money he was lamentably ill-supplied.
But he was gradually becoming used to face the streets again and had
already entered the shops of one or two of his old tradesmen. He had
quite a confidential conversation with his boot-maker, and had ordered
three or four new pairs of boots.
Nobody could tell how the question of the property would be decided till
his father should have died. His father had treated him most cruelly,
and he would only wait for his death. He could assure the boot-maker
that when that time came he should look for his rights. He knew that
there was a suspicion abroad that he was in a conspiracy with his father
and brother to cheat his creditors. No such thing. He himself was
cheated. He pledged himself to the boot-maker that, to the best of his
belief, his father was robbing him, and that he would undoubtedly assert
his right to the Tretton property as soon as the breath should be out of
his father's body. The truth of what he told the boot-maker he certainly
did believe. There was some little garnishing added to his tale,--which,
perhaps, under the circumstances, was to be forgiven. The blow had come
upon him so suddenly, he said, that he was not able even to pay his card
account, and had left town in dismay at the mine which had been exploded
under his feet. The boot-maker believed him so far that he undertook to
supply his orders.
When the dinner had been eaten the two brothers lit their cigars and
drew to the fire. "There must, unfortunately, come an end to this, you
know," said Augustus.
"I certainly can't stand it much longer," said Mountjoy.
"You, at any rate, have had the best of it. I have endeavored to make my
little crib comfortable for you."
"The grub is good, and the wine. There's no doubt about that. Somebody
says somewhere that nobody can live upon bread alone. That includes the
whole _menu_, I suppose."
"What do you suggest to do with yourself?"
"You said, go abroad."
"So I did--to Rio."
"Rio is a long way off,--somewhere across the equator, isn't it?"
"I believe it is."
"I think we'd better have it out clearly between us, Augustus. It won't
suit me to be at Rio Janeiro when our father dies."
"What difference will his death make to you?"
"A father's death generally does make a difference to his eldest son,
particularly if there is any property concerned."
"You mean to say that you intend to dispute the circumstances of your
birth?"
"Dispute them! Do you think that I will allow such a thing to be said of
my mother without disputing it? Do you suppose that I will give up my
claim to one of the finest properties in England without disputing it?"
"Then I had better stop the payment of that money, and let the gentlemen
know that you mean to raise the question on their behalf."
"That's your affair. The arrangement is a very good one for me; but you
made it."
"You know very well that your present threat means nothing. Ask Mr.
Grey. You can trust him."
"But I can't trust him. After having been so wickedly deceived by my own
father, I can trust no one. Why did not Mr. Grey find it out before, if
it be true? I give you my word, Augustus, the lawyers will have to fight
it out before you will be allowed to take possession."
"And yet you do not scruple to come and live here at my cost."
"Not in the least. At whose cost can I live with less scruple than at
yours? You, at any rate, have not robbed our mother of her good name, as
my father has done. The only one of the family with whom I could not
stay is the governor. I could not sit at the table with a man who has so
disgraced himself."
"Upon my word I am very much obliged to you for the honor you do me."
"That's my feeling. The chance of the game and his villany have given
you for the moment the possession of all the good things. They are all
mine by rights."
"Cards have had nothing to do with it."
"Yes; they have. But they have had nothing to do with my being the
eldest legitimate son of my father. The cards have been against me, but
they have not affected my mother. Then there came the blow from the
governor, and where was I to look for my bread but to you? I suppose, if
the truth be known, you get the money from the governor."
"Of course I do. But not for your maintenance."
"On what does he suppose that I have been living since last June? It
mayn't be in the bond, but I suppose he has made allowance for my
maintenance. Do you mean to say that I am not to have bread-and-cheese
out of Tretton?"
"If I were to turn you out of these rooms you'd find it very difficult
to get it."
"I don't think you'll do that."
"I'm not so sure."
"You're meditating it,--are you? I shouldn't go just at present, because
I have not got a sovereign in the world. I was going to speak to you
about money. You must let me have some."
"Upon my word, I like your impudence!"
"What the devil am I to do? The governor has asked me to go down to
Tretton, and I can't go without a five-pound note in my pocket."
"The governor has asked you to Tretton?"
"Why not? I got a letter from him this morning." Then Augustus asked to
see the letter, but Mountjoy refused to show it. From this there arose
angry words, and Augustus told his brother that he did not believe him.
"Not believe me? You do believe me! You know that what I say is the
truth, He has asked me with all his usual soft soap. But I have refused
to go. I told him that I could not go to the house of one who had
injured my mother so seriously."
All that Mountjoy said as to the proposed visit to Tretton was true. The
squire had written to him without mentioning the name of Augustus, and
had told him that, for the present, Tretton would be the best home for
him. "I will do what I can to make you happy, but you will not see a
card," the squire had said. It was not the want of cards which prevented
Mountjoy, but a feeling on his part that for the future there could be
nothing but war between him and his father. It was out of the question
that he should accept his father's hospitality without telling him of
his intention, and he did not know his father well enough to feel that
such a declaration would not affect him at all. He had, therefore,
declined.
Then Harry Annesley's name was mentioned. "I think I've done for that
fellow," said Augustus.
"What have you done?"
"I've cooked his goose. In the first place, his uncle has stopped his
allowance, and in the second place the old fellow is going to marry a
wife. At any rate, he has quarrelled with Master Harry _à outrance_.
Master Harry has gone back to the parental parsonage, and is there
eating the bread of affliction and drinking the waters of poverty.
Flossy Mountjoy may marry him if she pleases. A girl may marry a man now
without leave from anybody. But if she does my dear cousin will have
nothing to eat."
"And you have done this?"
"'Alone I did it, boy.'"
"Then it's an infernal shame. What harm had he ever done you? For me I
had some ground of quarrel with him, but for you there was none."
"I have my own quarrel with him also."
"I quarrelled with him--with a cause. I do not care if I quarrel with
him again. He shall never marry Florence Mountjoy if I can help it. But
to rob a fellow of his property I think a very shabby thing." Then
Augustus got up and walked out of the chambers into the street, and
Mountjoy soon followed him.
"I must make him understand that he must leave this at once," said
Augustus to himself, "and if necessary I must order the supplies to be
cut off."