Chapter Twelve.
Late for Dinner.
“Ah, Mrs Denton! What have we here?”
It was Mr Hampton who asked the question as he returned one afternoon from town, to find a van in the yard at The Mynns, and some workmen about to leave.
“The men brought down a billiard-table, sir, and have been putting it up in the west room.”
“Oh!”
The old lawyer hung up his hat and coat, and then turned to find the old lady looking at him very piteously.
“Well, Mrs Denton, what is it?”
“Nothing, sir, nothing,” said the old lady; and she sighed as she smothered down her feelings and went away.
“Humph!” ejaculated the lawyer. “Don’t like it, poor old soul.”
He went into the drawing-room, where he found Gertrude seated with his wife.
“Ah, my dear, I was afraid I was late. Not dressed for dinner?”
“No, Mr Hampton; George wished it to be an hour later.”
“Oh! Lawrence is coming, is he not?”
“Yes; and George said he should bring back Mr Saul Harrington. I think I’ll go now and dress.”
She smiled at him as he took and patted her little hand, and he followed her to the door before returning to where Mrs Hampton was seated bolt upright.
“Well?” he said.
“Well?”
“My lord out, then?”
“Yes; gone to some races or something with that beautiful Saul Harrington. He’ll make ducks and drakes of all this money.”
“He has a perfect right to it, my dear. It is his own.”
“Now, Phineas, don’t talk in that cold-blooded way. I am getting terribly uncomfortable.”
“My dear wife, I have already grown terribly uncomfortable, and I want to get back home.”
“He’s going on shockingly, Phineas. Drinks heavily, and Saul encourages him. Don’t you think we ought to do something?”
“No. Impossible.”
“About him, perhaps; but about dear Gertrude.”
“What can we do?”
“Get her away from here. I am so sick of it. It’s terrible the way he goes on. Really, I think sometimes the old man would have done better to have left his money to Saul.”
“Oh, hang it, no, my dear. We’re in for it, though. Can’t we go home?”
“Decidedly not—without Gertrude.”
“But she isn’t our child.”
“Now, if you are going to talk rubbish, Phineas, I’ve done. I know she is not our child, but is that any reason why we should shut our bowels of compassion against her?”
“No, my dear.”
“I like the girl very much, and so do you, and we’re going to do our duty.”
“Of course, my dear.”
“Then we must get her away to our place.”
“Delighted to have her.”
“She must not stay here—that’s certain; and if we get her away, perhaps she’ll escape this odious engagement.”
“To a young man with a large fortune.”
“Don’t talk rubbish, Phineas! What’s the good of a large fortune to a tipsy man? He’ll pour it all down the sink.”
“Humph! His own.”
“And break her heart in a year.”
“Poor child!”
“I know. Why, he’s bordering on delirium tremens now.”
“My dear Rachel, how can you know anything about DT?”
“Do you think I’m a fool, Phineas?”
“No, my dear, I certainly don’t.”
“Then give me credit for having eyes in my head. I’d give anything to have that cellar bricked-up.”
“I should like a few dozen of that choice port and the old East Indian sherry first.”
“Pish! You’re better without.”
“I don’t know, Rachel. And there’s a fine old Madeira, too.”
“He is quite transforming the place. Why, he’s having a horrible gaming-table set up in the west room.”
“My dear, prejudiced old wife, you have one at home, so why should not he?”
“For shame, Phineas! Nothing of the kind.”
“Why, there’s a card-table in the drawing-room, where you play rubbers of whist.”
“Well, that’s not a gambling-table. This is a—”
“Billiard-table, Rachel. Don’t talk such nonsense. I’d rather see him play billiards all day than sit drinking with Saul Harrington.”
“Oh, don’t tell me. I know better. And now mind this, we must get Gertrude away, and I shall not be happy till we do.”
“Well, I’ll think about it; but it’s a serious thing, my dear. If we get her away the marriage will not come off, and it was the old man’s wish.”
“Because he did not know what his beautiful grandson was like. There, it’s growing late, and I’ve got to change my frock.”
Mrs Hampton, who looked very nettled and upset, was half way to the door when the gate-bell rang.
“Here’s Lawrence,” said the old lawyer, going to the window, an announcement which sent Mrs Hampton off with a loud whishing sound of silk over the carpet and against the door-post, as she hurried out. “Ah, Hampton! how are you?”
“Don’t want any pills or any other medicine,” said the dry old lawyer grimly, as the doctor entered the room.
“Well, shake hands,” said the fresh comer, as he finished making a neat packet of his gloves by stuffing one in the other.
“Hands clean?”
“Bless my soul, man, yes!”
“Not been handling any contagious patients?”
“Get out! Of course not. How are things looking?” said the doctor, after a long conversation on things in general.
“Horribly.”
“You don’t say so. Well, I’m very, very sorry.”
“For little Gertrude’s sake? So am I.”
“You’ve heard something.” The lawyer nodded.
“Well, as brother executor, speak out.” The lawyer drew a long breath, screwed up his face, and half shut his eye.
“You know that there was a good balance at the bank.”
“Yes, excellent.”
“All gone.”
“The devil!”
“Yes; and he came to me three days ago about raising some more before the rents came in.”
“And you refused him, of course?”
“Refused, of course! Lawrence, you’re mad.”
“Not I, my dear sir. What do you mean?”
“If he came to you to doctor him after some long course of dissipation, would you refuse to prescribe, and drive him to some quack?”
“Why, of course not.”
“Well, then, is it likely that I should refuse to raise him money, when I can do it for four per cent, and send him post haste to some confounded gang of scoundrels who would charge him sixty, and make him take half the money in bad wine and cigars.”
“No, no, of course not. I was wrong.”
“Hist! Here’s Gertrude.”
“Ah, my dear child,” cried the doctor, kissing her affectionately. “Why, hullo! Here’s checks! Dark marks under the eyes, too! This won’t do. Here, Hampton, you’ll have to turn out, and I must come into residence.”
“Oh, I’m quite well,” said Gertrude laughingly. “I’m so glad you’ve come.”
“Are you? That’s right. Where’s Mr George?”
“Not come back yet. He said the dinner was to be kept back an hour.”
“Well, well, better appetites. And where is Mrs Hampton?”
“Here,” said that lady’s sharp, decisive voice, as, after making a hurried change of costume, she returned to the drawing-room.
“That the new fashion, Rachel?” said the lawyer drily.
“Eh? What do you mean?” and Mrs Hampton turned to one of the glasses, “Why, bless me?”
She ran out of the room, for, in her hurry, she had come down without her cap—a very stately edifice of lace and wire; and Mrs Hampton’s natural coiffure was—
Well, she was long past sixty.
The lawyer chuckled, Gertrude coloured, and began hurriedly to talk upon something irrelevant, which was kept up till Mrs Hampton returned, looking very severe, and ready to snub her husband at the first chance.
Then the conversation flagged, and at last Mrs Denton came in upon a secret mission to her young mistress, which was prefaced by the words: “Cook says.”
For it was long past the time arranged for the dinner.
An hour passed, and then another, during which space of time Mrs Denton appeared four times. But at the last Mrs Hampton spoke out.
“I’m quite sure, Gertrude, dear, that Mr Harrington would not wish us to wait longer. It’s nine o’clock, and Doctor Lawrence has to go back to town.”
“Yes, you lucky sojourners here—I have.”
“And I am famished,” continued Mrs Hampton. “Depend upon it, Harrington and Mr Saul have forgotten us, and are dining together somewhere else.”
“Would you have the dinner up, then?” faltered Gertrude, whose countenance plainly told of the shame and annoyance she felt.
“If you don’t, my dear, Lawrence and I are going out to have a debauch on buns,” said the lawyer merrily.
“And cook says, Miss Gertrude, that—”
“Yes, yes, Denton; have the dinner up directly.”
Five minutes later they were in the severe-looking dining-room, partaking of burnt soup, dried fish, overdone entrées, and roast joints that were completely spoiled, while all the time the stern countenance of the old man gazed down from the canvas on the wall.
The dinner was naturally a failure, and her elders noted how Gertrude struggled to keep up appearances, but with ear attent and eyes constantly turning towards the door.
“Well,” said the doctor, in the course of conversation, “it is late, certainly, but I don’t know but what I like it. It seems going back to the pleasant old times.”
“Ah, when the day’s work was done, and one settled down to a comfortable supper.”
“Like to have been a lawyer; a doctor’s work is never done.”
“Pray don’t fidget so, my dear,” said Mrs Hampton, as they left the gentlemen to their wine.
“Do you think there is anything the matter, Mrs Hampton?”
“No, my dear, of course not,” was the quick reply, while to herself the stern-looking old lady said, “Yes, and far too much.”
In due time, after a chat over the slate of affairs, the gentlemen rose to go to the drawing-room.
“Yes, Hampton,” said the doctor, “I agree with you; she ought to leave here at once; and—By George! I did not know it was so late. I must be getting back.”
“Eleven o’clock?” exclaimed the lawyer, referring to his watch.
“And if I don’t mind I shall miss my train. Come to say good-night, my dear. Later than I thought.”
“Going, Doctor Lawrence?” said Gertrude uneasily; and she looked at him with her eyes full of trouble.
“Yes; time and trains, you see. Hullo!”
There was the stopping of some vehicle at the gate, a loud ring of the great bell, and Bruno shot from beneath one of the couches, to utter a loud bark.
“Hark!” exclaimed Gertrude, who was pale and trembling, as voices were heard shouting hurriedly, some one calling loudly as the front door was opened.
“He’s pretty late,” said the doctor jocosely. “By George! I shouldn’t wonder if he has come in the station-fly. It shall take me bark.”
“Oh, Doctor Lawrence!” said Gertrude, running to the door; “there has been some accident. I am so glad you are here.”
“Your plan won’t work, Hampton,” said the doctor to himself. “She’s fond of him, after all;” and he followed the others into the hall.