In regard to the School of Mines Report, Roger for acquitment of
conscience and because he always liked to do the right thing, sent a
resume of Professor Rutter's analysis to the F.O., stating that the
specimens referred to had been picked up by him on his recent tour
through the interior of German East Africa.
In reply, the Under Secretary of State Was directed to thank Captain
Brentham for this valuable information.
In reality it was decided to pigeon-hole the report, certainly to give
it no publicity. Let the Germans find out for themselves the value of
their territories. If they discovered they had bitten off more than they
could chew, why ... then....
In January, 1890, Lucy was delivered of a son. Roger was hugely
delighted. When he asked Lucy a week after the birth if she had any
preference for a name--_her_ father's, _his_ father's, his own--she said
in a faint voice but with some finality in the accent: "Let him be
called 'John'!" Then, as he did not reply, she added, "John loved me
and I wasn't worthy of his love...."
"Well, and don't _I_ love you?" answered Roger with a tinge of
compunction.
"She's a bit wandery in her mind, sir," said the nurse. "Don't pay any
attention to what she's a saying. She's mistook your name. Several
times since the baby was born she's seemed to be talking with a John,
but it was you she was a thinkin' about, _I'll_ be bound. She wants
keeping very quiet...."
Once Captain Brentham took up the affairs of the Silchester
estates--which he did definitely in October, 1889, he went very
thoroughly into their condition and their possibilities of development.
He was not, of course, a trained, professional land agent, which was why
his shrewd and original ideas of enhancing the value and productivity of
land made the Institute of Land Agents so angry. But he knew something
of surveying, and had been accustomed to value countries by the eye, to
judge of soils, espy defects in farming, by his boyish life at Farleigh
and his experiences in India and Africa.
Lord Silchester in his fondness for landscape beauty had preferred a
lovely, unkempt, autumn-wistful wilderness to a possible brick-field,
though to a geologist the clay was almost crying out to be turned to the
service of man. He liked great spaces without a sign of man's
habitation to mar the poem. Roger, though he had a strongly developed
sense of the beautiful in Nature, yet combined with it a realization
that much waste land in the England of latter days, and even in
Scotland, is an offence and a temptation to discontent on the part of
the landless. Another charm can be contributed to landscapes by the
handiwork of man, provided the cottage is tastefully and soundly built,
the manufactory--even the brick-kilns and chimneys--are of the right
material for the neighbourhood, of harmonious colour and appropriate
design.
In the Berkshire and Hampshire estates woodlands required thinning,
cattle wanted new blood and better breeding. The lobster fishery at
Sporran Bay should certainly be developed. A proportion of the deer in
Scotland and at Engledene might with advantage be sold. The farmer
tenants generally wanted shaking up. Some of them could well afford to
pay twice their present rent and let him out of the increased rent-roll
rebuild their houses, barns, granaries, pigsties and cow-sheds. Why,
the dairy business alone might be trebled in value with this proximity
of a milk-hungry London. Farmer Josling, a right-down superior man with
much self-given education, should help him in this. Incidentally, with
Sibyl's consent, he had given his father-in-law a life-lease of his farm
as some acknowledgment of his excellent use of it, and his progressive
influence on the other farmers.
The bracing outdoor life and constant riding, the hunting and shooting
did his health a world of good. He had never looked so well, so set up
and robust as he did at the age of thirty-two, as Sibyl's factotum. The
worst of this was that he seemed more desirable than ever in Sibyl's
eyes, as she admitted with her disarming frankness. "What a pity it is,
Roger, the silly laws of this sanctimonious country will not permit
polygamy. We are just in the prime of life, you and I. I am much
better looking than I was ten years ago--I shudder at my old
photographs--I wore a fringe then and a bustle, and a lot of hair down
my back, and a terrible simper when I faced the camera. It's a crime
against Nature that we can't marry. We should have the handsomest
children and we could easily arrange matters with Lucy. She's not
exacting."
Roger laughed at these speeches, but they made him a little
uncomfortable. Had Sibyl been a complete stranger to him he might have
succumbed long before to her wiles; few men of his build, his time, his
complexion were Josephs. But the slight relationship between them acted
as a barrier to concupiscence. It permitted a familiarity in speech and
address which made any closer intimacy repellent to his sense of
decency....
Sibyl it must be admitted, was shameless when they were together. She
would study his features attentively; admire the curl of his eyelashes,
the outline of his profile, even the not quite classical prominence of
the cheek bones, the virile twist upwards of his moustache, the firm
chin and strong white teeth, the well-set ear and close-cropped hair at
the back of his head: the while she pretended, pen in hand, to be
considering his propositions. Thought-transference told him what this
scrutiny meant, and he would colour a little in shame and become abrupt
in manner--even say to himself, "This _can't_ go on--I wish she'd think
of something else...."
He was conscientiously attentive to Lucy at this time and she was really
happy during this phase in Roger's life. In the spring she took up her
residence in the Lodge at Englefield and made a comfortable home for her
devoted husband, who seemed resolved to show her how happy he was in his
marriage. Maud, from Farleigh, was a constant visitor, stayed weeks
together with Lucy and Roger and served as a _trait d'union_ with Sibyl,
who allowed Maud to chaff her and scold her as she would no one else.
Sibyl was quite civil to Lucy, did not bother her, left her alone except
for an occasional greeting and the showing of some curiosity as to
little John. "You may call him _John_ as much as you like, but he's
certainly Roger's child."
Clithy and his nurse were often sent down to the Lodge to be with Lucy;
Sibyl deigning to say that her influence over children was a good one
and Clithy was never fretful with _her_. In her mocking moods she
called her little son "The Prince with the Nose" and declared he was
under an enchantment. He had for a child of three a preternaturally
large nose, and as she said to Roger, there could be no doubt as to his
paternity. "How pleased Francis would have been! He was always so proud
of the Mallard nose. Said it could be traced back in pictures to
Charles I's reign--Anne of Denmark, who was rather larky after she had
been married ten years, had a side-slip--you know what a _tipsy_ court
they were!--and bore a daughter to the Lord Chamberlain, who was
particularly active in the revels. James overlooked her breach of good
manners and ultimately gave the large-nosed little girl in marriage with
Silchester Manor to a favourite, who founded the House of Mallard.
Francis was going to have put this into his Memoirs, but he died, poor
dear, leaving them three-quarters finished. I think _I_ shall finish
them for a lark. Will you help me?"
One reason why Lucy was dreamily happy at Englefield Lodge was that she
seemed there to link up with the life of her girlhood. She had so often
strolled round the precincts of Engledene with John Tilehurst, she dared
not revisit for fear of meeting Mrs. Barnes. But she would sometimes
walk over the same path she had traced with John on that Sunday in June,
1886. She would sit on the seat at _The View_ and go over once more in
memory, and with a sad little smile her naive and petulant questions and
answers on that Sunday walk. How she had told John her desire to
encounter lions, and yet when a lion had visited their camp, what abject
terror she had shown! Hangodi! That name was first uttered to her in
Engledene Park and she remembered John saying it meant "The Place of
Firewood."
One day Roger brought over to see her in the dog-cart old Mr. Baines--as
he was beginning to be called. They both shed a few tears, but he told
her with more sincerity than he usually put into his husky voice that he
exonerated her from all blame in the catastrophe which had overtaken his
son (Lucy herself was not so sure). "Mother's taken it awfully bad,
Lucy. She's goin' out of her mind, I'm fearin'. First she was writin'
an' writin' to Lord Wiltshire, him as is Prime Minister, don't you know,
to give your husband the sack as bein' the real cause of John's death.
Then next she'd bother our member, wantin' 'im to ask questions in the
'Ouse of Commons, till at last they give up answerin' them. Then she
set to and slanged that Missionary Society that John belonged to, sayin'
they wasn't 'alf careful enough about 'is precious life. Now this
spring, blessed if she ain't cut our Connexion! She won't go to Salem
Chapel; goes to Church instead ... St. Michael's. Shouldn't wonder if
she ended up a papist! ... S'pose you know _Ann's_ in England? They're
makin' a lot of fuss about 'er in Reading and London. Call her a
Heroine. She's bin down with 'er 'usband--rather a half-baked feller--to
see us; but 'er talk with Mother ain't done Mother much good, partly
'cos Ann wouldn't join 'er in abusin' you. She says to Mother: 'I just
told you the plain truth in that letter. I'm not goin' to add nor
subtract one word, an' you've gone and put into it much more than I ever
said. Just leave Lucy alone to God's judgment. At any rate, John loved
her and died believin' her true; and I dessay she was. Africa's a funny
country and you must put down a lot to the climate.' ... Ann's going
back to Africa next autumn, with three more recruits and a lot of money
to spend on the Mission School. Old Mrs. Doland sent for 'er and give
'er five hundred pounds. I tell 'er she ought to come and see you
before she goes. P'raps she will, p'raps she won't. I told 'er you
called your baby 'John,' and the tears reg'lar came into 'er eyes...."
Roger owned to Maud he felt a bit restless in the spring and early
summer of 1890. He couldn't get Africa out of his mind, somehow. There
was first the fuss about Stanley and the return of the Emin Pasha Relief
Expedition--surely one of the most wasted feats of heroism and brave
endeavour in the history of Africa. Then came the 1890 Agreement with
Germany. This left the Happy Valley pretty much where it had
lain--unmarked as yet--on the map, but by approximate latitude and
longitude entirely German, as Roger knew. But the discussion of
frontiers in Africa caused him to feel fretful and resentful at being
"out of it." Sir Mulberry Hawk, who had negotiated the treaty, might
surely have turned to him for enlightenment on this point and that?
Even though he had left the African Service, there were his reports of
1884-5 and -6, and of 1887-9. He felt impelled to go and see Broadmead,
always accessible to men of worth. Broadmead said it was a beastly
shame--spite perhaps on the part of Molyneux--but every one now was
thinking of the Recess.... London was becoming awfully stale.... He
and Roger should meet in the early autumn. Broadmead would perhaps come
down to Engledene and shoot Sibyl's pheasants, and talk over Africa....
If Roger was still hankering after East Africa, why didn't he suck up to
"Wully MacNaughten?" He had a show place somewhere up in the Highlands,
not an immeasurable distance from Glen Sporran.
"Who was Wully? Didn't Brentham know? Why, he had begun life as a small
grocer in some Scotch town, and bankrupted through giving credit to the
crofters. Not to be bested by Fate, he went out to China as a clerk and
in twenty years had made quite a respectable fortune. Friends said out
of tea, enemies out of opium, smuggled into India; probable cause, the
great coolie traffic between China and the rest of the world, which
prompted him to found a navy of tramp steamers to carry the coolies,
many of them over to Africa. Then he nibbled at East Africa; began with
missionary stations, sort of atonement, don't you know, for anything
naughty he'd done--Chaps in China used to call him
'MacNaughty-naughty'--s'posed to have had a half-caste family. Not a
word of truth in it. However, there it was, and he couldn't go on
refreshing Brentham's memory. Brentham had been in East Africa and must
know all about MacNaughten there?..."
"Why, yes, I know, of course, he's the Chairman of the Chartered Company
of Ibea--Mvita, you know."
"Well, they are going to extend their operations inland to the Victoria
Nyanza and they want a go-ahead man as Governor. The chap at present
out there is---- However, nothing can be done now. See you later on,
give you a letter to him.... Tata."
If Roger was restless with unavowed hankerings after his first mistress,
Africa, Sibyl, unconscious that he ever dreamed of release from her
Circe toils, was radiant in the spring and summer of that particularly
radiant year, 1890. Her prescribed mourning was over, so that the
"horrid old Queen" could have no ground of objection to her entertaining
like any other opulent peeress.
Roger had worked wonders with the estates, and before long the revenues,
over which she would have control till her son's majority, would be
increased by at least one-third. Her choice of him from a business
point of view was amply justified. Her pulse quickened and her eyes
grew brighter than their ordinary at the thought he might some day be
her lover. If only that tiresome Lucy died in one of her confinements,
he might even be her husband. Of course, she would most carefully avoid
any foolishness which might give the least ground for scandal. If she
did that, she could take life as pleasantly as Lady Ramsgate (the
ridiculous one, called "Popsy"), or Lady Ann Vizor. Every one knew that
Popsy Ramsgate had had a child by her farm bailiff and kept it at the
farm, and no one thought the worse of her. Ramsgate was dead. Lady
Ann's stockbroker was obviously her lover, but he was very gentlemanly
and no one would have guessed unless they had been specially told.
Even if Roger were free, she was not sure she wanted exactly to marry
him. She would then lose her title or, at any rate, her social rights
as a peeress. And Roger as husband might be too masterful. She wanted
to "queen it" as a rich woman with intelligence and taste might do in
those days. Now her mourning was over she would commence at once to
give parties at 6A, Carlton House Terrace, which should put those of
Suzanne Feenix quite in the shade. She would create a salon, to which
should be attracted the younger bloods, the rebels of the Conservative
Party. She would revivify Lord Randolph, join hands with Mary March,
who had a wonderful _flair_ for inveigling millionaires. She and a few
other clever women--the Tennants, perhaps--should create a young and
intellectual Conservative Party--or Unionist Party, if you liked. They
would get hold of Choselwhit--perhaps Rhodes, if he came to England.
Lord Wiltshire should rue the day that he had snubbed her at a
Chapelmead week-end--the last time poor Francis went out anywhere--and
cut her at two Foreign Office receptions. The Brinsleys should be shown
their reign was over.
Her initiates--she really founded the half-legendary "Souls"--should
include the smartest writers and the most daring painters, the weirdest
poets of the day. They would have their own press, if it wasn't too
expensive, but Mary March's millionaires might manage that ... hadn't
she been introduced at one of Mary's theatre parties to an enormously
rich and humble person called Tooley? Lady Tarrington had asked him if
he owned Tooley Street and the stupid creature had said: "Beg pardon, me
lady?" Well, Tooley should be ensorcelled--perhaps an invitation up to
Glen Sporran--and buy their newspaper for them.
And then she had an idea of starting a monthly Review which she would
edit herself and which should tell the naked truth. No
squeamishness.... Praed, the architect, should send them one or two of
his queer storiettes....
As to mother and father, they would spoil any circles with their
banalities and old-fashioned ideas ... and father's stories would never
be followed to their finish by the modern young man or woman. They
would devastate her circle. No. They must stop in the country. Mother
seemed to be developing some internal complaint--probably indigestion or
something which could be cured at Aix or Homburg--and she was becoming
very strait-laced and anxious-eyed. Sibyl would take Roger's advice: buy
up father's three hundred acres; it could be made a most profitable milk
farm. Father should stay on as tenant at a nominal rent, with a bailiff
to manage--perhaps that young Harden, the cricketer, who had married
Lucy's sister.
Sibyl resolved to send mother to Aix at her expense and have Aunt
Christabel to stay with her indefinitely as long as she wanted a
chaperon.
As to her sisters: thank goodness, _they_ were off her hands. They had
married and gone away with their husbands to those blessed colonies,
Clara to New Zealand and Juliet to British Columbia. Long might they
remain there! Relations--unless very distant--were like reproaches or
bad replicas of one's self. They sapped all one's originality....
These were some of the musings of Sibyl when having her hair brushed by
Sophie, or when undergoing Swedish massage under the firm but soothing
hands of a blonde giantess; when breakfasting in bed; or undergoing a
long train journey in a first-class compartment with a defective lamp.
There was no question in this year of Lucy's accompanying her husband to
Glen Sporran. She was starting another baby and was firm about not
wishing to go. Sibyl took this decision most amiably; said Lucy was
quite wise, and further proposed that she should have Maud with her and
care-take for Sibyl at Engledene House. Clitheroe was likewise to be
left behind. His life in the Highlands was one long succession of
dangerous colds and there wasn't enough accommodation for his retinue of
nurses; especially as every one you asked nowadays must have with them a
maid or a valet. Clithy had grown so absurdly fond of Lucy that Sibyl
suggested jocosely they should change babies. She thought little John a
perfect darling--so like Roger--why hadn't Lucy chosen her as god-mother
instead of Maud? No doubt Clithy would grow up more like a normal boy
when the rest of his features balanced Anne of Denmark's nose....
Meantime, it was very fortunate things were as they were. And Lucy
would oblige her enormously by looking after her boy while she was
entertaining all those horrid people in the North.
Not that the house-party was to be a large one. It ran away with so
much money, and people were never grateful. There would just be Stacy
Bream; the Honble. Victoria Masham, the Maid of Honour--old Vicky
Long-i'-the-tooth, Sibyl called her behind her back, and never imagined
the nickname could be repeated and counteract the expense of a month's
hospitality. _Must_ have Vicky to keep in touch, you know, with what
the old Queen was saying and doing--and an acolyte of Stacy's named
Reggie, something in the Colonial Office--he could flirt with Vicky--and
p'raps Arthur Broadmead. Then--for a day or two--that insufferable cad,
Elijah Tooley--"but he's so frightfully, frightfully rich and _might_ be
useful." Aunt Christabel, of course, would come, to keep order, and
Aggie Freebooter and Gertie Wentworth would make up the house-party.
Aggie Freebooter was that tiresome Lady Towcester's daughter--"one of
six girls, my dear"--but when she was away from her mother's eye she was
deliciously larky and awfully plucky, and didn't mind what you played
at; while Gertie Wentworth--or the Honble. Gertrude--thirty-five, lots
of money, dresses like a man, whisky and cigars, takes the bank at
Roulette and loses everything but her temper.
"Well, at any rate," said Maud, "I'm glad Willowby Patterne is not in
the party, _this_ time...."
"My dear!..." said Sibyl with a scream. "I've absolutely dropped him,
after that row in the City and that extraordinary case in the courts
which was compromised and hushed up. He's gone out to East Africa.
Haven't you heard?"
Maud had not heard and cared very little what had happened to the
spendthrift baronet. But Roger had, and was a little uneasy as to his
cherished Happy Valley. Willowby Patterne, mixed up once more with a
very shady Company to take over and boom a new mineral water--some
proposition of Bax Strangeways--and a matter of slander and a club-steps
whipping, settled out of court ... and pending proceedings of his wife's
for a separation; had decided abruptly to make "peau neuve" in East
Africa. He had depicted the thrills of big-game shooting to one of his
dupes just come of age and into possession of a pot of money. This
young man would stand the racket of the expense--L5,000--and Willowby
would put him up to all the dodges. And perhaps they might find
minerals and get a concession....
Whilst he was up in Scotland Roger did manage, with the aid of Arthur
Broadmead, to obtain an interview with Sir William MacNaughten on the
subject of East African developments and the Company's future
administration. But Sir William seemed vague, and much more interested
and definite in regard to another question: King Solomon's Temple. Had
Captain Brentham, as an Orientalist, ever given his mind to that
problem, the shape and structure of the Temple, its adornment, and the
hidden meaning of the Divine ordinances? No, Captain Brentham had not
... but ... er ... no doubt it was very interesting and full of meaning
... only ... East Africa?...
"Oh, East Africa--our Charter--Oh, yes! Well, come and see me about that
when I'm back in London. You know my address there? Westminster Palace
Hotel?"
The Glen Sporran party broke up with the rain and chill winds of the
equinox; but Roger stayed on there with Sibyl and Aunt Christabel:
nominally to examine the affairs of the estate and the installation of
the lobster fishery; in reality because his resolves had all dissolved
before her insistence, her tears, her threats to make a scene. Circe
triumphed; preened herself; became once more gay and debonnaire. But
her wretched lover felt indeed a pig. Aunt Christabel, the very
servants seemed to guess what Sibyl thought was kept wholly secret from
the rest of the world.
A month's absence in Staffordshire and London, and a shamefaced visit to
Engledene Lodge did something to restore his self-respect. He called on
Sir William at his hotel, resolved to broach the subject of the East
Africa Governorship, but found him out. Nevertheless, to his delight
there came a note to Pardew's Hotel from Sir William with these words in
it: "Come to breakfast to-morrow morning at nine. I have something very
interesting to discuss with you, and should value your opinion."
He arrived punctually. Lady MacNaughten was there--rather vinegary and
with pursed lips. She dispensed the tea and coffee with a very strong
Glasgow accent. The materials of the breakfast were--Roger
thought--rather meagre for such wealthy people, who could afford to
retain by the year this large suite of rooms. As no mention of East
Africa was made during breakfast it was clearly more tactful to wait
till the subject was introduced. Perhaps Sir William preferred not to
discuss business in his wife's presence. At last, however, he finished
his second cup of coffee, wiped his lips, said a grace of thanks for
"our bounteous meal" in which Lady MacNaughten joined; and then asked
Roger to accompany him to his sitting-room.
The folding doors were opened and shut behind them by an officious
waiter; the window of the sitting-room looking out on incipient Victoria
Street was also closed because the west wind was chilly. And Sir
William then turned and said with great heartiness, pointing to a
cardboard and _papier-mache_ contraption under a glass case:
"There! _That's_ what I wanted to discuss with you, who know the East
so well: a Model of King Solomon's Temple, made to my own design!"
* * * * *
The Governorship of the Mombasa Concession was shortly after conferred
on Lady MacNaughten's nephew.
*CHAPTER XVII*
*BACK TO THE HAPPY VALLEY*
Roger, ever since he returned from Scotland, resolved that a break with
Sibyl should come as soon as he could see before him the re-opening of
an African career. Only fortified with such a resolve could he face his
wife's candid eyes and her unquestioning trust in him--or Maud's more
quizzical gaze and occasional sardonic remarks.... "That old fox,
MacNaughten," he said to himself, "had determined all along to evade the
well-meant suggestions of candidates from the Foreign, Colonial, and
India Offices, and as soon as he got his Baronetcy (which came with the
New Year's honours) to take a line of his own."
However, Fate for once hastened the denouement by causing Roger's father
to catch cold over the excavation of the Basilica at Silchester, to
neglect his cold, and to die of double pneumonia in the week preceding
Christmas, 1890. Roger could not help being profoundly grateful to his
archaeological parent for dying _before_ rather than after Christmas,
because this decease, with the conventions in force, and Queen Victoria
behind the conventions, absolutely freed him from the obligation to
attend the elaborate Christmas and New Year festivities ordained by
Sibyl at Engledene. She had set aside a suite of rooms--bedroom,
sitting-room and office--at 6A, Carlton House Terrace, and would no
longer hear of his staying at Pardew's Hotel when in London to transact
business with her. There were times when he seriously considered
shooting himself--and strange to say, all through this period of
episodical infidelity he had never loved Lucy better, or found her
smiling silence or unimportant, unexacting conversation more soothing.
Her approaching confinement and his father's death together constituted
a barrier of reserve that even Sibyl was bound to respect. He therefore
utilized this respite to work assiduously at his plans for flight from
the enchantress. He was most anxious after he was gone that no one
should say with justification that he had let Lady Silchester down, had
treated her badly, got things into a muddle, and then bolted.
As far back as the preceding October he had brought his younger brother,
Maurice, the barrister into the Estate Office to be his assistant.
Sibyl could suggest no one else and told him he could make what
arrangements he liked--if _only_--if--_only_ he would not be _cruel_ to
her, not talk of going at the end of the trial year. As he had not
complete confidence in Maurice becoming efficient for the head post, he
had entered into a provisional arrangement for a first-class man to put
over Maurice, selecting him at the Institute of Land Agents'
recommendation...
So much therefore had been done to safeguard h employer's interests.
Then as to his own. The administration of his father's estate would
eventually secure a total sum of L4,300 to each of the four children of
the Rev. Ambrose Brentham, including the amount they had recently
received by deed of gift. This with other odds and ends of savings,
gave Roger a capital of L5,000 to draw on.
As soon as Lucy was well over her accouchement in January (1891), he had
several long and confidential conversations with Arthur Broadmead, that
friend in need to so many men who had fallen into holes of their own
digging, and who sought rectification by extending the bounds of empire
and making two blades of grass to grow where but one had grown before.
Several great Anglo-German financiers were seen in the City. The
specimens and the School of Mines' report thereon were left in their
hands: with the result that a small and select Anglo-German Syndicate
was formed to prospect in the northern part of German East Africa. Into
this pool Captain Brentham put L2,000 and was constituted for three
years head of the enterprise with a good salary and very large
discretion as to means and methods of developing the Happy Valley.
To Maud he next imparted his plans, and to his surprise they were
received with cordial approval.
"You're _quite_ right, Roger, I'm sure you've taken the road that will
most probably lead to happiness and fortune. Lucy is certain to fall in
with your scheme. She can stay on in England till her baby's weaned--it
was sweet of you both to call it after me--I was so certain you were
going to name it 'Sibyl'! Then she can place both the children with
their grandparents at Aldermaston and come out and join you. And what
is more, _I_ will come too! I should _love_ to!"
There now remained--he could not say "only remained," it was too
portentous a crisis--the final scene with Sibyl. He thought it over
many a night when he could not sleep, many a morning when he was going
through estate business with her and she was leaning unnecessarily over
his shoulder or furtively pinching the lobe of his ear. A written
good-bye, and then immediate departure, would be cruel, and Sibyl might
afterwards revenge herself on Lucy, left behind defenceless; or on
Maurice. There were, besides, points of business he must discuss with
her before leaving; at any rate give her the chance of asking questions
and receiving answers.
So he summoned up courage one morning and telegraphed he wished to see
her that afternoon in London. She was up for the "little season" which
follows Christmas.
He was shown into her library at 6A, Carlton House Terrace. She had
come in from skating at Princes, had changed into a wonderful tea-gown
and was lying on a long couch over which a magnificent tiger skin had
been thrown. A small inlaid Moorish table held a tea-tray.
_Sibyl_: "Have some tea? Tell him before he goes out" (referring to the
retreating footman).
_Roger_: "Thanks very much, no. I have had tea and I've got a lot to
tell you. So I don't want to lose time." (The door clicks to.)
_Sibyl_: "Well. You're very solemn. Draw up a chair. Come to give me
a month's warning? But to do that you ought to stand...."
_Roger_: "That's exactly what I _have_ come for...."
_Sibyl_: "Roger! _Don't_ make horrid jokes. You wouldn't be so
base--so--ungrateful--as that...."
_Roger_: "It isn't an act of baseness, that's certain; and as to
ingratitude, I think by going away I am doing the best thing altogether,
so far as _you_ are concerned. No!" (she is rising and pushing the
tea-table out of her way as a preparation for drama). "You must let me
explain myself--and _do_ let us discuss this _quietly_, not as though we
were acting a scene on the stage. Sibyl! Really the least said,
soonest mended. We are in an _impossible_ position.... I blame myself
more than you...." (Sibyl: "Thank you!") "I am a cad ... an _utter_
cad. I loathe myself sometimes so much I can't look at my face in the
glass or meet my wife's eyes. I am going back to Africa ... going out
of your life.... You must forget all about me ... and marry some decent
man." (His voice sounds strangled and he turns away to recover
himself.)
_Sibyl_: "It seems to me it is you that are becoming stagey. What does
all this mean? Has Lucy found out we've been lovers and made a fuss?
... Or is it money? Have you got into debt? _Do_ be explicit!"
_Roger_: "It's none of these things. I only mean I have out-stayed my
year with you, my trial year, and now I claim my liberty. I am going
once more to try for a career in Africa ... and..."
_Sibyl_ (white with anger): "Well, _go_ to Africa! I never wish to see
you again! _Go_! _Go_! _Go_!" (She half rises as if to expel him
with her hands, but he saves her the trouble, takes up his hat, gloves
and stick, walks out, closes the door of the library gently and lets
himself out of the house.)
The next day he leaves at the door a tin despatch box and a letter
containing its key. The box has amongst its contents the bunch of keys
he has used on the Estate, a great bundle of accounts, notes, and
suggestions for the immediate future. In the letter which accompanies
this box he tells Sibyl all about the arrangement he has made in her
Estate Office, advises her to keep on his brother Maurice who shows
signs of uncommon ability, but for some time yet to retain as Head Agent
Mr. Flower, provisionally engaged for a year, who is highly recommended
by the Institute of Land Agents. Both alike are now well acquainted
with the affairs of the Silchester Estate.... He asks her to be kind to
Lucy who will remove as soon as she is strong enough to Aldermaston and
meantime remains at the Lodge under Maud's care. Later on, when her
child is old enough to be left in the grand-parents' keeping, Lucy and
Maud will join him in East Africa. His address in London till he leaves
for Marseilles on February 28 will be Pardew's Hotel....
He will never forget her kindness ... _never_ ... at a critical time in
his life. And will not say "good-bye," because when he has "made good"
in Africa he will come back on a holiday and hope to find the Estate
flourishing and Silchester grown into a sturdy boy.
From what I knew of Sibyl I should say she at first took the breaking
off of their relations very hardly.... "Agony, rage, despair" ... much
pacing up and down the library.... Passionate letters half-written,
then torn up into small fragments and thrown into the fire. Then--for
she was a slave to her large household and magnificent mode of life--her
maid Sophie enters the library and reminds My Lady that she is due that
night to dine at the Italian Embassy. So Sibyl has to submit to be
coiffed, dressed, jewelled, and driven off in a brougham--a little late,
and that intrudes on her mind, because she has heard you should never be
late to an Ambassador's invitation, it is a sort of _lese-majeste_. But
to cope with the demands made on her, she has to force her heart-break
to the back of her mind and sustain her reputation for gay beauty,
daring expression, and alert wit--in French as well as English. There
was a Royalty there to whom she had to curtsey and with whom she had to
sustain a raillery, shot with malice, which required considerable
brain-concentration; for though the retorts must call forth further
bursts of laughter from the chorus that watched the duel, they must be
free from the slightest impertinence.
Roger's abrupt leave-taking only remained like a dull ache behind her
vivid consciousness of triumph, of celebrated men, bestarred with
orders, swathed with ribbons; of women sparkling with jewels and
rippling in silks; of a Prince who might "make" you with a smile or
"mar" you with a frown; of many enemies concealed as friends; of
wonderful music and exquisite food, for which she had no appetite. It
was not until she had re-entered her dressing-room to be unrobed that
she had once more the mind-space to reconsider Roger's farewell and what
life would mean to her without his constant companionship. Then,
foreseeing otherwise a ghastly night of turning things over and over in
her thoughts, she told Sophie she had bad neuralgia; and opening a tiny
little casquet with a tiny little gold key on her bangle she took from
it the materials for a sleeping draught, compounded them cautiously--she
was the last person in the world to commit suicide, even by
mistake--swallowed the dose and half an hour afterwards slipped into
oblivion.
The next morning she awoke with the inevitable headache, and the
heartache returned. But there was the breakfast tray to distract her
thoughts, and there were the morning letters. Among these was an
invitation to meet an Oriental Potentate in very select company--an
opportunity for display which she had coveted--and an invitation to dine
with the Archbishop of Canterbury and Mrs. Benson, which she had sought
for, as she wanted to allure the young Bensons into her circle of
"souls."
She then reflected, while having her hair brushed, that it might be just
as well that the breach with Roger had come before she had been in any
way tarnished by the breath of scandal. People had already chaffed her
about her handsome Land Agent. She would act so as to throw dust in
their eyes, and certainly not play the part of _la maitresse delaissee_.
Later on in the morning, therefore, she wrote to Lucy saying she had
accepted Roger's resignation with the _deepest_ regret, but would not
stand between him and his beloved Africa. Yet she hoped Lucy would not
_think_ of leaving the Lodge until she was perfectly strong. She also
told Roger's successor, Mr. Flower, she had confirmed the arrangement
Captain Brentham had outlined and requested him to call on her in the
following week.
In the afternoon of that day she issued the instruction "Not at home,"
intending to retire to her bedroom and have a good cry. But the full
indulgence in this luxury was baulked by the announcement of her cousin
Maud Brentham. Maud's name some while ago had been put on the short
list of people to whom "Not at home" did not apply.
Maud had really been asked to call by the timorous Roger to see how
Sibyl was "taking it." So Sibyl, divining this, received her
affectionately; and only complained of the excessive brilliance of the
ambassadorial party of the night before and the dead set made at her by
the Prince having reduced her this following afternoon to the condition
of a doll with the sawdust escaping from every seam. She talked quite
calmly of Roger's approaching departure and the arrangement of Lucy's
affairs after he had gone. "Why can't you and she transfer yourselves
from the Lodge to the House at Engledene and stay there indefinitely,
till you take ship for Africa and golden joys? Lucy's a god-send with
poor nervous, peevish little Clithy. I _must_ leave the child there a
good deal at present. He looks very peeky if he comes to London. And
at Easter I shall shut up this house and go off to travel for a long
time...."
"But not to East Africa, I trust...?" said Maud with some anxiety.
"Maud! You're a _toad_!"
When two very sad women came to Victoria on an appallingly cold and
foggy morning to take leave of Roger--who was departing for
Paris-Marseille to join his steamer--they were joined by a third,
accompanied by an aloof footman carrying wraps; and books for Roger's
solace on the journey. Sibyl put her arm round Lucy's waist, as they
were saying farewell; and Roger having kissed his wife--most
tenderly--and his sister--hesitated for one second, and then kissed
Sibyl too.
* * * * *
_From Roger Brentham to his Wife._
H.B.M. Agency,
Unguja,
_March_ 29, 1891.
[Very near the second anniversary of our happy marriage. Barely two
years married and already two children. I wonder how baby Maud is
getting on?]