Peter Binney: A Novel

by Archibald Marshall

CHAPTER XII

LUCIUS MAKES ONE DISCOVERY AND MRS. TOLLER ANOTHER

Lucius was out and about again, not much the worse for his late encounter, by the time Tuesday came round, when he was to lunch with his cousin. He was in fairly good spirits as he walked down the King's Parade and Silver Street, towards the ancient pile of Queens' College. He and his father were better friends than they had been any time since Mr. Binney had come into residence at Cambridge. Mr. Binney now comported himself with the dignity that befitted his years, and no longer made his son's life a burden to him by those continued indiscretions which had brought shame and confusion of face to Lucius in the past. He had restored his full allowance, and Lucius was better off in pocket than he had been since Mr. Binney had come up. And then the Newnham girl, to whom somehow he seemed to be getting nearer, now that he had discovered that she and his cousin were fellow-students, had distinctly given him a glance of recognition when he had seen her in King's Chapel on the previous Sunday. It was not much to pride himself on, certainly, but such as it was he had hugged the thought of it ever since. She had been sitting with some other girls in the front row of seats as Lucius walked up the chapel, and he had taken particular notice of those other girls when he had manoeuvred himself into a seat opposite her, in case one of them should turn out to be his cousin.

John Jermyn kept in a charming set of oak-panelled rooms over-looking the river.

There was an elderly lady sitting in the window seat as Lucius entered, who rose to greet him. She was tall and graceful, with a sweet face and grey hair.

"You are very like your dear mother," she said, her eyes growing a little moist as she looked at him. "We used to be great friends in days gone by, but that is twenty years ago now."

Lucius sat and talked to her in the window seat, while John Jermyn wandered about the room with his hands in his pockets casting impatient glances at the clock on the mantelpiece and the lunch on the table. "Betty is late," he said. "I told her half-past one, and it is getting on for a quarter to two."

"We had better not wait any longer," said Mrs. Jermyn, rising. But just then light steps were heard on the staircase, the door opened, and disclosed to Lucius's astonished gaze the form and features of the Newnham girl.

Miss Betty Jermyn came forward, rosy and a little out of breath, with murmured apologies, kissed her mother and her brother, and then waited with a deepening blush and a mischievous light in her eyes, to be introduced to Lucius, for whom the low dark room seemed suddenly to have become filled with brilliant sunshine.

"This is jour cousin Lucius, Betty," said Mrs. Jermyn, and the two shook hands, but found no words with which to address one another.

In the course of luncheon it came out in the most natural way that Betty and Lucius had attended the same lecture in Trinity College all last term, and remembered one another perfectly.

"But you must have known who I was," said Lucius, a sudden light breaking in on him, as he remembered those little glances of amusement which had so thrilled his soul last term. "Gandey always used to read out our names after the lecture."

"Yes, I knew who you were," said Betty, with a little laugh. "And I wondered how long it would be before you knew who I was."

Lucius felt that when he was alone again he would be very angry with himself for not having cultivated the society of his cousin John more assiduously, and also for having refused Mrs. Jermyn's invitation to stay with them in the Christmas vacation, but at present he was so happy that there was no room for regrets.

It was quite apparent to the maternal eyes of Mrs. Jermyn before lunch was half over that this nice boy with his mother's eyes was head over ears in love with her pretty little daughter, whom she still looked upon as a child, in spite of the dignity conferred upon her by a scholarship at Newnham. Her son, of course, saw nothing of the sort, but he was pleased to find that his cousin, who was something of a hero in his eyes, seemed to have taken a fancy to his sister, whom he found it constantly necessary to keep in her place. He was afraid that Betty would never learn to show reverence where reverence was due, but it was a relief to find that Lucius apparently did not take her little audacities amiss, and indeed seemed to be even amused by them. What Mrs. Jermyn thought, it would not become us to disclose, but she accepted Lucius's invitation for the whole party to lunch with him on the next day, and her cordiality towards him had suffered no diminution when they parted.

It was curious that Mr. Binney's name was not once mentioned between them. John Jermyn had given his mother a rather highly coloured account of our hero's peccadillos, and Betty had added her little comments, for the fame of Mr. Binney's exploits had penetrated even the walls of Newnham College.

"Oh, mother," she had said, "you really can't have anything to do with cousin Peter. He is a horrid little man and leads Lucius such a life, so everybody says. And Lucius is so popular with all the men. It is a great shame."

"I never cared for Mr. Binney very much," said Mrs. Jermyn, "but I should like you to ask Lucius to meet us, John. I should like to see dear Lucy's boy, although I saw very little of her after her marriage."

So Lucius had come, been seen and had conquered, and went away again full of delighted wonder at the surprising thing that had happened. His first desire was to find the sympathetic Dizzy and impart to him the astounding news. He tracked him down at the racquet courts and brought him away when he had finished his game.

"I say, old man," he said in as calm a tone as he could muster, "I've found out the name of that girl at last. What do you think it is?"

"Oh, I don't know," said Dizzy, who had lost his match, and was as nearly inclined to pessimism as was consistent with his equable nature. "Henrietta, I should think, or Lulu, or Kate. Parents haven't any taste nowadays. Look at mine christening me Benjamin. Stubbs is bad enough, but Benjamin! 'Pon my word I sometimes feel inclined to get it changed by Act of Parliament."

"Her name is Elizabeth J——"

"Yes, it would be," interrupted Dizzy. "Elizabeth Jones. Just what I said. Well, what are you going to do about it?"

"I didn't say Elizabeth Jones," said Lucius. "Elizabeth is a very pretty name, especially when it's shortened to Betty. Her surname isn't Jones, it's Jermyn."

"Oh, is it? Well, I'm not so sure that—what! JERMYN!! You don't mean to say——?"

"Yes, I do," said Lucius triumphantly. "That very girl is my cousin at Newnham, and no other."

"Well, I'm blowed!" exclaimed Dizzy. "But there, Lucy, I always told you if you'd only take the trouble to hunt your cousin down, or rather up, she'd turn out to be a topper. And I was right. When are you going to have her to tea?"

"She's coming to lunch to-morrow," said Lucius.

"I'm engaged to-morrow, I'm afraid," said Dizzy. "Going to lunch with Blathgowrie. I dare say I could get off it, though."

"You needn't try," said Lucius; "but I'll get her to tea some day soon, before her mother goes away, and then you can come. Oh, my goodness! What a chance for a fellow! to be head over ears in love with a girl, and think he's never going to get to know her, and then for her to turn out to be his own cousin after all."

"Did she say anything about me?" inquired Dizzy.

"About you? No. Why should she?"

"Why shouldn't she, you mean. I'm a very striking looking feller. She must have noticed me in the lecture-room last term."

"You needn't trouble yourself that she'll waste many thoughts on you."

"Oh, all right, old man. Keep your wool on. Now, don't forget to ask me to tea one of these days. I won't try and cut you out; you can rely on me."

The remainder of that week passed like a happy dream to Lucius. He managed to spend some time every day with his cousins, found his way right inside Mrs. Jermyn's heart, and seemed to make very good headway up to a certain point with Betty. That is to say, they became excellent friends, and were on perfectly familiar terms, but at the end of the week he was no nearer knowing whether she reciprocated his admiration than at the beginning, for beyond a certain point he was never allowed to go. When Saturday came, Mrs. Jermyn went away and left Lucius desolated. But she had already asked him to stay with them in Norfolk during the Easter vacation, and he was left in by no means such a state of hopeless longing as before, for he managed to meet his cousin pretty often during the rest of the term, and although he was never allowed to enjoy the pleasure of her company for very long, she seldom met him without a few words of conversation passing between them, which gave Lucius something to live for now that the University boat had gone to Putney and left him behind in Cambridge.

Mrs. Jermyn had not been able to avoid Mr. Binney altogether during her stay at Cambridge. She thought that she ought to see something of him now that his son seemed likely to become an intimate friend in her family. Accordingly Mr. Binney was notified of her arrival, and called on her at the "Bull" where she was staying. Mr. Binney had not yet recovered from the events narrated in the last two chapters, and was in a depressed and dull state of mind. He quite forgot to patronize Mrs. Jermyn on the fact of her son being a scholar of Queens' College, while he was a pensioner of Trinity, as he certainly would have done a few months before. Mrs. Jermyn talked chiefly about his wife, and Mr. Binney, who had been a widower for fifteen years, and had set up the image of Mrs. Higginbotham in the niche left vacant by the death of Lucius's mother, followed her lead with some uneasiness of mind. There was no warmth of feeling between them, and each was mutually relieved when Mr. Binney rose to take his leave. He apologised for not asking his cousins to lunch, but explained that he had to be down on the river early every afternoon, and Mrs. Jermyn was not sorry that the invitation was not given.

Mr. Binney, of course, still corresponded regularly with Mrs. Higginbotham. He had refrained from sending her the New Court Chronicle, or, indeed, from mentioning that feature of it which most nearly concerned him, for some slight sense of dignity, which he had appeared to have relinquished during the Michaelmas term, had returned to him, and he was not anxious to have it known that he was treated with ridicule. He wrote about his work and about the prospects of the First Trinity first Lent boat, and if his letter did betoken a depression of spirits, the tender Mrs. Higginbotham put this down to his separation from her and threw a wealth of affection and sympathy into her replies, which greatly consoled Mr. Binney during his trying time. She also expressed herself delighted with the improvement in conduct displayed by her undergraduate lover, for, although Mrs. Higginbotham liked to read stories of youthful daring and devilry, when theory resolved itself into practice her mind recoiled affrighted. Mr. Binney was fond of imagery, and he often assured Mrs. Higginbotham at this time that her love and confidence in him was the rock to which he clung while the waves of adversity buffeted him; it was also an anchor, and a port, and a city of refuge; a ray of sunshine, a star, a beacon, a lantern; a refreshing fountain, an oasis in the desert, a cup of cold water; a buckler, and a good many other things. Mrs. Higginbotham made no attempt to discover what the waves of adversity were that were reported to be buffeting Mr. Binney. She liked his poetical method of expressing himself; she said it made her feel warm all over, and there she let the matter rest.

But there was a serpent in this garden of mutual esteem. If Mrs. Higginbotham did not read the New Court Chronicle and was ignorant of the dreadful things that were being said about her Peter, there was someone else who was fully acquainted with them.

The day after Mr. Binney's dinner-party in Russell Square, Mrs. Toller called upon Mrs. Higginbotham, as she had announced her intention of doing. She waited for ten minutes alone in the drawing-room before Mrs. Higginbotham made her appearance. The first three or four she spent in refreshing her memory of the contents of the room. Then, growing bolder, she inspected the contents of Mrs. Higginbotham's Davenport writing-table, without, however, discovering anything that interested her. Thinking she heard a step on the stair she seated herself quickly beside the fire and snatched up a paper from the little table by her side. Nobody came, and Mrs. Toller then turning over the little pile of periodicals, lighted upon the creased copy of the New Court Chronicle which Mr. Binney had posted from Cambridge.

"Well! upon my word!" exclaimed Mrs. Toller to herself when she had perused the paragraph in "Madge's Letter" already referred to. She then turned to the title page of the paper and made a note of the publisher's address on the little ivory tablet she carried in her purse. When she had done that she heard Mrs. Higginbotham approaching, so, hastily burying the New Court Chronicle under the pile and taking up The Christian World instead, she affected to be so deeply interested in its varied contents as to be unaware of Mrs. Higginbotham's approach until that good lady had closed the door behind her and begun to make apologies for her delay, which had arisen through the arrival of a dressmaker to "try on."

When Cambridge University had once more got into the swing of term time, there appeared every Monday morning among Mrs. Toller's correspondence a wrapper enclosing a paper directed from that ancient seat of learning. Mrs. Toller always secreted this and opened it after breakfast when the Doctor had retired to his study, for her subscription to the New Court Chronicle cost her sixpence halfpenny a week, which was more than the good Doctor paid for having the Daily Chronicle served up hot with his breakfast every morning. University journalism is not apt to afford great entertainment to people outside the University where it is practised, but Mrs. Toller, although a woman of economical habits, counted the information which she derived from the New Court Chronicle cheap at the price which she paid for her subscription, and looked forward keenly to the budget of news which arrived for her every Monday morning.

It must not be supposed that Mrs. Toller intended to keep her information from her excellent husband; she was far too good a wife for that. What she meant to do was to keep the New Court Chronicle to herself until the end of the term, in order that Mr. Binney's infamies might heap themselves up until she had a good budget of scandal to lay before the Doctor. The game went merrily on for four or five weeks and there was matter of offence against Mr. Binney enough to have brought down upon him the wrath of the whole congregation of which he was so distinguished a member. But Mrs. Toller's appetite, whetted by the disclosure she had already surprised, thirsted for more. More she would have had, for Mr. Piper had got his hand thoroughly in, but, as we know, the New Court Chronicle had come to an untimely end, and great was Mrs. Toller's disappointment when she received, one Monday morning, instead of the journal she had so looked forward to during the whole of the Sunday's religious exercises, a letter from the publisher informing her that the publication had ceased, and that he begged to return to her the remainder of the term's subscription. However, there was quite enough upon which to act.

The Doctor retired to his study as usual after breakfast. Mrs. Toller got her daughter out of the way, produced the numbers she had already received, and refreshed her memory of the whole of the "Binney Correspondence." Then she sought her husband, who was taking a well-earned rest after his Sabbath labours over a novel, which he hastily secreted upon the entrance of his wife.

"What's that you're reading, Samuel?" said Mrs. Toller. "I shouldn't waste my time over that trash if I were you. I've got an important matter to talk to you about."

Dr. Toller breathed a sigh of resignation. He knew those important matters. If they were not complaints of the behaviour of various members of his congregation, they were generally household matters which Mrs. Toller could very well have settled for herself.

"You know how deep an interest I take in the welfare of the church," began Mrs. Toller, seating herself in the easy chair by the side of the fire.

Dr. Toller knew only too well. "Yes, my dear, certainly," he said.

"I should be very sorry," pursued Mrs. Toller, "if any scandal occurred through the behaviour of one of our most prominent members, especially when he happens to be a deacon."

"Yes, my dear," interrupted Dr. Toller hastily, "but I think that is hardly likely to happen. All our deacons are men of irreproachable character."

"I am not so sure about that," said Mrs. Toller. "There is one of them who seems to be rapidly treading the broad road, and if he is not very sharply pulled up, I tremble to think of the catastrophe that may occur."

"Oh, nonsense, my dear," said Dr. Toller. "You must surely be exaggerating. There is an occasional tendency towards undue interference on the part of our officers, who are some of them men of more money than brains, although I wouldn't for the world have it known that I said so. But I have no reason to dread anything worse than that. You have got hold of some trivial matter and are magnifying it in your mind—quite unintentionally, I am sure," he added hastily, observing the ominous stiffening of Mrs. Toller's upper lip, "and with the best of intentions, I am sure."

"I am not aware," said Mrs. Toller, drawing herself up, "that drunkenness is a trivial matter, Samuel, or revelry. If it is so, I have misread the meaning of Scripture, and I should be glad to be corrected."

"Of course, my dear," said Dr. Toller, "such things are very dreadful, but you have surely no reason to charge one of our deacons with such—er—crimes."

"Read the passages I have marked with blue pencil in these papers," said Mrs. Toller, rising and handing the doctor her little bundle of ephemeral journalism. "And then say if you can justly accuse me of exaggeration, which I beg to say is not a habit of mine. I will leave you for a quarter of an hour and then return."

When Mrs. Toller did return she found the Doctor chuckling over some of the humorous sallies of Mr. Piper's young lions.

"Samuel!" she exclaimed, "is that the fashion in which you treat a serious matter like this? Such ill-timed levity is surely out of place."

"Quite so, my dear, quite so," said her husband, his face instantly becoming serious. "I was not laughing at the news about Mr. Binney, which I finished perusing some time ago. Some of these young men are very clever. But really, with regard to Mr. Binney, I fully share your feeling, my dear. Mr. Binney has always been rather erratic, curiously so for a man of his years and position, but I could never have believed that this sort of thing would happen. I—I—hardly know what to say about it. But how did you get hold of these papers?"

"Never mind that," said Mrs. Toller firmly. "We must act, and act promptly so as to save scandal."

Dr. Toller disliked acting at all on Monday morning, but he saw that his wife was not to be trifled with, and said, "Certainly. Yes. I quite agree with you. What shall I do?"

"You must go up to Cambridge instantly, and remonstrate with the misguided man."

Dr. Toller looked blank. "Do you think that is necessary?" he asked. "I should have thought a letter would have answered the purpose."

"Not at all," said Mrs. Toller. "Mr. Binney is in that state of mind in which he would take no notice of a letter. Severe expostulation and ghostly advice are what he wants. He must be checked in his profligate career at all costs, or worse may come of it. I should go with you, but I have my mothers' meeting this afternoon, and I am not one to neglect my duty."

"But, surely, my dear," exclaimed the Doctor, "you would not wish me to go to Cambridge to-day?"

"Certainly I should," replied Mrs. Toller. "Why procrastinate? And yet, I don't know. To-morrow perhaps I could accompany you. Perhaps there is no necessity."

"If it has to be done," said Dr. Toller, "perhaps it had better be done to-day. It is not a pleasant business, but I agree with you that the gravity of the occasion demands immediate action, and I shall not shrink from taking it. I am really astounded at the disclosures made in these papers. If the extraordinary course Mr. Binney appears to have taken were to come to the ears of the church committee, I don't know what would happen. I will go to Cambridge after the ladies' Bible class this afternoon, and I think I will stay the night, my dear. I should like to have a look round the colleges, that is if you have no objection."

"Yes, you can do that," said Mrs. Toller, "if you like. And you might call on Lucius and see how he is behaving himself, and on young Bromley, at Emmanuel College. And mind, Samuel, I shall expect a full account from you when you return home."

So Dr. Toller packed his bag and traveled up to Cambridge by the five o'clock train. He drove first of all to Corpus, where he had a friend among the Fellows. He was persuaded to dine in Hall before he set out on his visit to Mr. Binney, and enjoyed himself exceedingly at the High Table, and in the Combination room afterwards. He did not disclose his object in coming up to Cambridge, but heard quite enough about the extraordinary career of Mr. Binney, who enjoyed considerable notoriety at the University, to persuade him that his visit of expostulation was really needed. About nine o'clock he told his host that he wished to call on an undergraduate, and putting on his clerical cloak and hat, he went round to Trinity College, where he was directed by the porter to Mr. Binney's rooms in Jesus Lane.