CHAPTER XXXVIII. AN ARRIVAL.
LET us go back a few hours in our history, and follow the short and burly figure which, emerging from the travelling-carriage in the courtyard of the palace, pushed his way through the noisy throng of duns, and entered the house.
“How are you, Proctor how is your master?” said he, as he threw off his great-coat, and unrolled a capacious muffler from his throat. “How is Sir Stafford?”
“Oh, Dr. Grounsell, glad you've come, sir. It will be a real pleasure to my master to see you again, sir.”
“How is he, man, how 's the gout?”
“Poorly, very poorly, sir. Things have gone badly here, doctor, since you left us,” said he, with a sigh.
“Yes, yes; I know it all; I have heard all about that. But his health tell me of his health.”
“Greatly broken, sir. No sleep o' nights without opium, and no real rest even with that.”
“And his spirits?”
“Broken too, sir. He's not what you remember him, sir, nor anything like it. No pleasant joke, sir, when anything goes amiss, as it used to be; no turning it off with a merry laugh! He 's fretful and impatient about the merest trifles, and he that never wanted attendance is now always complaining that he 's neglected, and deserted and forsaken by all the world.”
“Does the Captain come often to see and sit with him?”
“Every day, sir; but these visits do rather harm than good. Sir Stafford is vexed at what goes on in the house; and Master George, I don't know how it is, but he don't calm him down, and they have oftentimes angry words together; not but my master is frequently in the wrong, and taxes the young gentleman with what he can't help; for you see, sir, my Lady—”
“D—n! I mean, tell me about Sir Stafford; it is of him I want to hear. Does he read?”
“He makes me read to him every day, sir, all about the money-market and railroad shares; sometimes twice over, indeed; and when I ask if he would n't like to hear about what goes on in politics, he always says, 'No, Proctor, let's have the City article again.'”
“And his letters does n't he read them?”
“The Captain reads them for him, sir; and now and then writes the answers, for he can't hold a pen himself! Oh, you 'll not know him when you see him! He that was so large and fine a man, I lift him in and out of bed as if he were a baby.”
“Has he no acquaintance here?”
“None, sir.”
“Are there no inquiries after his health?”
“Yes, sir; there's plenty of people he used to give money to when he was up and about poor actors, and painters, and the like they come every day to know how he is. Some of them leave begging letters, which I never give him; but most go away without a word.”
“And his countrymen here are there none who ask after him?”
“No, sir. The only English we ever see visit my Lady, and never come to this side of the house at all.”
“Does Miss Dalton come to inquire for him?”
“Every morning and every night too, sir. I suppose it must be without my Lady's orders, or even knowledge; for once, when Sir Stafford was sitting up in his dressing-room, and I asked her if she would n't like to come in and sit a few minutes with him, she turned away without speaking; and I saw, from her manner, that she was crying.”
“What are all these people outside, who are they?”
“My Lady's tradespeople, sir. They've heard she's going for a few weeks to Como, and they 've come with all their bills, as if she was a runaway.”
“Go and tell them to leave this, send them away, Proctor. It would do your master great injury were he to overhear them. Say that everything shall be paid in a day or two; that Sir Stafford remains here, and is responsible for all.”
Proctor hastened out on his errand, and the doctor sat down and covered his face with his hands.
“Poor Stafford! is all your trustful affection come to this? Is it thus that your unbounded generosity, your noble hospitality, are requited?”
When Proctor returned, he proceeded to detail, for the doctor's information, the various events which had occurred during his absence. With most, Grounsell was already acquainted, and listened to the particulars without surprise or emotion.
“So it is, so it is,” muttered he to himself; “there may be more cant of virtue, a greater share of hypocrisy in our English morals, but, assuredly, these things do not happen with us as we see them here. There would seem a something enervating in the very air of the land, that a man like him should have sunk down into this besotted apathy! When can I see him, Proctor?”
“He 's dozing just now, sir; but about midnight he wakes up and asks for his draught. If that won't be too late for you—”
“Too late for me! Why, what else have I travelled for, night and day, without intermission? Be cautious, however, about how you announce me. Perhaps it would be better I should see the Captain first.”
“You 'll scarcely find him at home, sir, at this hour; he generally comes in between three and four.”
“Show me to his room. I 'll write a few lines for him in case we don't meet.”
Proctor accompanied the doctor across the courtyard, and, guiding him up a small stair, reached the terrace off which George Onslow's apartment opened. The window-shutters of the room were not closed, nor the curtains drawn; and in the bright light of several candles that shone within, Grounsell saw two figures seated at a table, and busily engaged in examining the details of a case of pistols which lay before them.
“That will do, Proctor,” said Grounsell; “you may leave me now. I'll be with you at twelve.” And thus saying, he gently pushed him towards the door of the terrace, which he closed and bolted after him, and then noiselessly returned to his former place.
There were few things less congenial to Grounsell's nature than playing the spy. It was a part he thoroughly detested, nor did he think that it admitted of defence or palliation; still, the whole habit of his mind through life had impressed him with a disparaging opinion of himself. The limited sphere of his duties, the humble routine of his daily walk, and the very few friendships he had inspired, all tended to increase this impression, till at last he looked upon himself as one who could only be useful by the sacrifice of personal feeling and the abnegation of all self-esteem; and thus he would have declined to know another man for what he deemed of no consequence in himself. His fault was not thinking too well of others, but thinking too meanly of himself.
The scene before him now was enough to suggest deep anxiety. Notes and letters littered the floor and the table; the embers of a large fire of papers lay on the hearth; open drawers and boxes stood on every side; all betokening preparation, the object of which the pistol-case sufficiently indicated. As they sat with their backs to the window, Grounsell could not recognize the figures; but the voice of one proclaimed him to be George Onslow.
“And where is this place on the way to Arezzo?” asked he.
“No; on the opposite side of the city, off the high-road to Bologna. It is a little park, surrounding a summer palace of the Grand Duke, they call Pratolino,” said the other. “They all agree that it is the best spot to be found; no molestation, nor interference of any kind; and a capital breakfast of fresh trout to be had at the inn.”
“An interesting consideration for such as have good appetites,” said Onslow, laughing.
“I never saw a Frenchman who had not, on such an occasion,” rejoined the other, snapping the pistol as he spoke. “I like these straight stocks; you are almost always certain of your man, with a stiff arm and a low aim.”
“I don't know that I 've forgotten anything, Norwood,” said Onslow, rising and pacing the room with folded arms.
“You 've written to the governor?”
“Yes; and mentioned those acceptances,” said Onslow, with a sneering severity that the other never seemed to notice. “You're quite safe, whatever happens.”
“Hang it, man, I wasn't thinking of that; curse the money, it never entered my thoughts.”
“My father will pay it,” said George, dryly, and continued his walk.
“As you have alluded to it, I hope you spoke of it as a loan, anything like a play transaction suggests a mess of scandal and stories.”
“I have called it a debt, and that is quite sufficient.”
“All right whatever you like. And now about this girl. Do you intend to let this mystery continue, or do you think that, under the circumstances, Lady Hester should still retain her as a friend and companion?”
“I know of nothing to her disparagement, nor have I yet met one who does. That there are circumstances which she does not deem fitting to entrust to my keeping is no just cause of allegation against her.”
“You are very honorable to say so, George; but I must confess it is more than she deserves at your hands.”
“How do you mean?”
“That she means to take the Russian, that's all.”
“Well, and why not? Would not such a match be a brilliant one for a girl of much higher rank and pretension?”
“What's the use of all this fencing, man?” said Norwood, half angrily, “I know better how matters stand. Do you remember the night you lost so heavily at Macao? Well, I was lying stretched on the sofa, yonder, by the light of the fire only, when the door opened, and she stepped gently in.”
“What, Kate Dalton?”
“Yes, Kate Dalton. Oh! impossible, if you like deny it as much as you please, but she has not equal hardihood, that I can tell you; and if she had, here is the proof that could condemn her, this fragment of her lace flounce was caught in the door as she banged it in her escape; and this very evening I compared it with the dress in question; ay, and showed her the rent from which it came.”
Twice did George compel Norwood to repeat over this story; and then sat down, overwhelmed with sorrow and shame.
“You swear to me, then, Onslow, that you never saw her here, never knew of her coming?” said he, after a long silence between them.
“Never, I swear!” said the other, solemnly.
“Then, some other is the fortunate man, that's all. How good if it should turn out to be Jekyl!” And he laughed heartily at the absurdity of the conceit.
“No more of this,” said Onslow, passionately. “The tone of the society we live in here would seem to warrant any or every imputation, even on those whose lives are spotless; and I know of no greater degradation than the facility of our belief in them. In this instance, however, my conscience is at ease; and I reject, with contempt, the possibility of a stain upon that girl's honor.”
“The sentiment does more credit to your chivalry than your shrewdness, George,” said the Viscount, sarcastically.
“But as you are about to stake your life on the issue, I cannot impugn your sincerity.”
A hasty movement of George towards the window here alarmed Grounsell, and he noiselessly withdrew, and descended the stairs again.
“A precious mess of trouble do I find ready for me,” muttered he, as he passed across the courtyard. “Debt, duelling, and sickness, such are the pleasures that welcome me; and these not the worst, perhaps, if the causes of them were to be made known!”
“My Lady has just heard of your arrival, doctor, and begs you will have the kindness to step up to her room,” said Proctor, coming to meet him.
“I 'm tired, I 'm fatigued. Say I 'm in bed,” said Grounsell, angrily.
“Her maid has just seen you, sir,” suggested Proctor, mildly.
“No matter; give the answer I tell you; or stay perhaps it would be better to see her. Yes, Proctor, show me the way.” And muttering to himself, “The meeting will not be a whit pleasanter for her than me,” he followed the servant up the stairs.
Well habituated to Lady Hester's extravagant and costly tastes, Grounsell was yet unprepared for the gorgeous decorations and splendid ornaments of the chambers through which he passed, and he stopped from time to time in amazement to contemplate a magnificence which was probably rather heightened than diminished by the uncertain light of the candles the servant carried. He peered at the china vases; he passed his hand across the malachite and jasper tables; he narrowly inspected the rich mosaics, as though doubtful of their being genuine; and then, with a deep sigh, almost deep enough to be a groan, he moved on in sadness. A bust of Kate Dalton the work of a great sculptor, and an admirable likeness caught his eye, and he gazed at it with signs of strong emotion. There was much beauty in it, and of a character all her own; but still the cold marble had caught up, in traits sterner than those of life, the ambitious bearing of the head and the proud elevation of the brow.
“And she has become this already!” said he, half aloud. “Oh, how unlike poor Nelly's model! how different from the simple and beauteous innocence of those saint-like features!”
“My Lady will see you, sir,” said Celestine, breaking in upon his musings. And he followed her into the chamber, where, seated in a deeply cushioned chair, Lady Hester reclined, dressed in all the perfection of an elegant deshabille.
Grounsell was, assuredly, not the man to be most taken by such attractions, yet he could not remain entirely insensible to them; and he felt a most awkward sense of admiration as he surveyed her. With all a woman's quickness, her Ladyship saw the effect she had produced, and languidly extending her hand, she vouchsafed the nearest approach to a smile with which she had ever favored him. As if suddenly recalling all his old antipathies and prejudices, Grounsell was himself in a moment, and, scarcely touching the taper and jewelled fingers, he bowed ceremoniously and took his seat at a little distance off.
“This is a very unexpected pleasure indeed,” sighed Lady Hester; “you only arrived to-night?”
“Half an hour ago, madam; and but for your Ladyship's summons I should have been in bed.”
“How do you find Sir Stafford looking poorly, I fear?”
“I haven't yet seen him, madam, but I am prepared for a great change.”
“I fear so,” sighed she, plaintively; “George says, quite a break up; and Buccellini calls it 'Gotta Affievolita,' and says it is very fatal with elderly people.”
“The vulgar phrase of a 'broken heart' is more expressive, madam, and perhaps quite as pathological.”
Lady Hester drew proudly up, and seemed preparing herself for a coming encounter. They were old antagonists, and well knew each other's mode of attack. On the present occasion, however, Grounsell did not seek a contest, and was satisfied by a single shot at the enemy, as if trying the range of his gun.
“You will probably advise a change of air and scene, Dr. Grounsell,” said she, calmly, and as though inviting pacific intercourse.
“It is precisely what I have come for, madam,” answered he, in a short, dry voice. “Sir Stafford's affairs require his immediate return to England. The vicissitudes that attend on great commercial enterprises threaten him with large very large losses.”
Lady Hester fell back in her chair, and this time, at least, her pale cheek and her powerless attitude were not feigned nor counterfeited; but Grounsell merely handed her a smelling-bottle from the table, and went on:
“The exact extent of his liabilities cannot be ascertained at once, but they must be considerable. He will be fortunate if there remain to him one fourth of his property.”
Lady Hester's head fell heavily back, and she fainted away.
The doctor rose, and sprinkled her forehead with water, and then patiently sat down with his finger on her wrist to watch the returning tide of circulation. Assured at length of her restored consciousness, he went on:
“A small establishment, strict economy, a watchful supervision of every domestic arrangement, together with the proceeds of the sale of all the useless trumpery by which he is at present surrounded, will do much; but he must be seconded, madam, seconded and aided, not thwarted and opposed. George can exchange into a regiment in India; the proper steps have been already taken for that purpose.”
“Have you been thoughtful enough, sir, in your general care of this family, to engage a small house for us at Brighton?”
“I have seen one at Ramsgate, madam,” replied he, dryly; “but the rent is more than we ought to give.”
“Are we so very poor as that, sir?” said she, sarcastically, laying emphasis on the pronoun.
“Many excellent and worthy persons, madam, contrive to live respectably on less.”
“Is Miss Onslow to go out as a governess, doctor? I am afraid you have forgotten her share in these transactions?”
“I have a letter from her in my pocket, madam, which would show that she herself is not guilty of this forgetfulness, wherein she makes the very proposition you allude to.”
“And me? Have you no sphere of self-denial and duty have you no degrading station, nor menial servitude, adapted to my habits?”
“I know of none, madam,” said Grounsell, sternly. “Varnish will no more make a picture than fine manners prove a substitute for skill or industry.”
“This is really too much, sir,” said she, rising, her face now crimson with anger; “and even if all you have said prove true, reverse of fortune can bring no heavier infliction than the prospect of your intimacy and obtrusive counsels.”
“You may not need them, madam. In adversity,” said Grounsell, with a smile, “healthy stomachs get on very well without bitters.” And so saying, he bowed and left the room.
For a few moments Lady Hester sat overwhelmed by the tidings she had just heard, and then, suddenly rising, she rang the bell for her maid.
“Send Miss Dalton to me, Celestine; say I wish to speak to her immediately,” said she. “This may be the last time we shall speak to each other ere we invert our positions,” muttered she to herself. And in the working of her features might be read all the agony of the reflection.