CHAPTER XI. MR ARTHUR HALDANE MAKES HIMSELF USEFUL.
SOME writers are very fond of describing interviews between betrothed persons, and there are undoubtedly readers who take a pleasure in reading such delicate details; and yet it seems strange that this should be so, with respect to the mère description of what in real life is undoubtedly tame and stupid to the looker-on; for what can be duller, or more uninteresting, except to one another, than “an engaged couple.” With what meaningless emphasis they smile; what mysterious secrets (known to every adult in the company) they interchange; and how they go blindly feeling after one another's hands under the table, whenever the opportunity offers. I think it even profane to mention such tender mysteries. Arthur Haldane and Letty Lisgard were not indeed a betrothed couple when they met upon the present occasion, but they became so before they parted. Their subject of conversation being the marriage of somebody else, it naturally enough strayed to their own. “I am not a good match for you, Letty, just at present,” said the young man frankly, during a lucid interval, “but I do not despair of removing the disparity of fortune. I am getting on in my profession better than I could have hoped for.”
“I don't see why 'disparity' of any sort, dear Arthur, should affect persons who really love one another.”
“That's my own sweet Letty,” replied the other (relapsing). “But then your family—no exertions of mine can procure for me such a pedigree as you can boast of.”
“That is a matter of genuine congratulation, Arthur. Dear Richard often makes me wish that there were no such things as ancestors. I suppose it is a dreadful heresy, but it seems to me so strange that people are not taken for what they are let their birth be what it will.”
“My Rose of Radicals!” exclaimed the young man with admiration; “your words deserve to be written in letters of gold.” And so saying, he took out his pocket-book, and, in spite of her opposition, transcribed them then and there.
“Of what possible good can that be, you dear foolish fellow?”
“I cannot say for certain, Letty,” answered he gravely. “But keep a thing long enough, and its use will come, folks say.”
Mr Arthur Haldane had, as we are aware, some other interviews awaiting him, less agreeable than the one on hand, which perhaps may account for his prolonging it to an inordinate length. There was no difference of opinion expressed in this one; and what is unusual in arguments between the sexes, the lady had not the last word at parting. Strictly speaking, neither had it. The farewell of each expired almost at the same instant, and was not breathed into the ear at all: I say “almost” advisedly, and from a desire to be accurate, for if each imprints a kiss upon the other's cheek, they cannot do it quite coincidently; and it is certain, if the statistics of the matter could be collected, that nine engaged couples (for, of course, no couple does it who are not engaged) out of every ten do salute one another in that way, and not press “lip to lip,” as the poets make out; in fact, it requires a particular and uniform conformation of nose—both must be “snubs”—to render the thing practicable.
Sir Richard, whom we have been compelled occasionally to represent in an unfavourable light, did not fall short, in his interview with Arthur Haldane, of the high estimate which the latter had formed of his chivalric nature; or perhaps it was through his overweening pride, that could not permit the woman upon whom his affections had once condescended to rest, to be inconvenienced by narrow circumstances; but, actuated by whatever motive, his behaviour towards the rash young couple was liberal in the extreme. He accepted very willingly the explanation, given by the young lawyer with great tact, of his refusal by Rose Aynton. No utterance was given to the remark, that if he had pressed his suit a little earlier, doubtless no thought of his younger brother would have entered the girl's brain; but the suggestion was, somehow or other, delicately conveyed, and in that Gilead there was balm. Strange as it may appear, the object of his rejected suit seemed to have won forgiveness not only for herself, but for her husband, to whose faults he had heretofore shewn himself so unfraternally alive. He certainty did not request Arthur to offer his congratulations to the young Benedict; but he sent by him a conciliatory message, and a special request that Captain and Mrs Lisgard would not fail to visit the Abbey upon the occasion of the approaching fête. The period of his own coming of age would be a very fitting one for the newly-married pair to introduce themselves to the people of the country, while their presence at such a time would evidence that there was no family breach. In all this, there was doubtless a leaven of selfishness; but there was considerable magnanimity also, and the manner in which the baronet spoke of Rose herself would have done honour to Bayard. In this matter, it must be even conceded that he shewed more nobility of spirit than the ladies of his household. His mother had forgiven the girl, after a fashion, it is true; but her feelings towards her were anything but genial. One's heart cannot be made to yearn towards a sly and deceitful young person, just because she happens to be one's daughter-in-law. Her pity for Walter was great, but it did not beget Love for her.
With Letty, again, Rose stood even lower, or perhaps seemed to do so, from the higher eminence which she had previously occupied in the affections of her school-friend. A young lady who has sworn an eternal friendship, does not relish the discovery that the other party to that solemn transaction has been making a fool of her under her own roof for months; nay, has been systematically deceiving her upon a matter mutual confidences concerning which form the very basis of such compacts—namely, the Beloved Object. Young men do not encourage one another to communicate their honest love-secrets, although some are boastful enough of their conquests over the sex, where there is no pretence of the heart being concerned; but with young ladies, this sort of information is the most prized of all. There is a tacit, if not an expressed understanding between female friends, that the first genuine “attachment” formed by either shall at once be revealed to the other. The expectation of that tender avowal is what is uppermost in their minds whenever they meet; and when it has been made, what an endless subject of sympathy does the unconscious swain become between these devoted young persons! How the qualities of his mind are canvassed, and the colour of his hair; how his religious principles are eulogised, and also his small feet; and how, in short, the Betrothed and her faithful Confidante construct a mental and physical ideal for Jones, out of what they have read of the Admirable Crichton and the Apollo Belvedere. Betty Lisgard was as good a girl—in my opinion—as ever drew breath; but she was human, and when she kissed Rose the first time after she learned she had become her sister, it was by no means the impassioned salute which it had used to be, nor had her “my dear,” although delivered with emphasis, at all the genuine ring.
As for the other females at the Abbey, it was fortunate for Rose that she had not to apply to them for a character; for although Mistress Forest knew her place better than to circulate scandal, Miss Anne Rees, no longer restrained by terror of the constabulary, indemnified herself for previous reticence, by favouring her fellow-servants with some very curious details indeed with respect to Mrs Walter Lisgard. My Lady's proposal, that Rose should take advantage of Mr Arthur Haldane's escort on the morrow to her aunt's house, until she should receive her husband's directions as to her future place of abode, was, I think, very generally welcomed, and felt to be a relief by the whole house.
During the long railway journey to town, however, she made herself agreeable enough to her companion, as she was well able to do, when so disposed, to all his sex.
The young barrister was prudent and sagacious beyond his years, and what he knew of the lady's behaviour, did not certainly prepossess him in her favour; but, nevertheless, he was obliged to confess to himself (although he omitted to do so to Letty) that Mrs Walter Lisgard was a very charming person. It is undeniable that a married woman may make herself twice as pleasant, for any short interval, like a railway journey, as any single one can do; she is not afraid of being considered too forward, or of laying herself out to captivate; while, if you are a bachelor with whose tendresse for any fair one she is acquainted, she will take you under her patronage, notwithstanding that you may be twice her age, and so sympathise with you, and identify herself with your absent intended, that you are half inclined to squeeze her hand, and cover it with kisses.
Mr Arthur Haldane had much too judicial a mind to give way to any impulse of that kind, but it was very nice to hear Rose eulogise her “darling Letty,” and protest that the man who married her would find himself united with an angel. He quite forgot, under this soothing treatment, that his impression on leaving the Abbey was, that the two young ladies were not very good friends; nor did it occur to him at all that this privilege of matronly talk was being exercised by a bride not two months wedded, and whose surreptitious marriage had only been discovered about a week ago. When they had reached London, and were approaching her aunt's residence in the late afternoon, they found themselves suddenly in a broad stream of vehicles, for the most part furnished with four horses, but very unlike the usual spick-and-span London equipages, being covered with white dust, and bearing traces of recent rapid travel.
“I quite forgot it was the Derby Day,” exclaimed Arthur: “these are the gentlemen of the road, and I daresay your husband is among them.”
Rose turned quite pale, and leaning back in the cab, did not again look out of window until they arrived at her aunt's door, where the two companions parted very good friends indeed. Rose gave a little sigh as she thanked him for his escort, which went—not indeed to the young man's heart, but a good way too.
“I hope Master Walter does not ill-treat that poor girl,” soliloquised Arthur as he drove away; “but I am almost certain that she s afraid of him.”
London after the Derby is more like Pandemonium even than on the night before; the winners are wild with joy, and inclined for any sort of dissipation; the losers also crave for the Circean cup, that they may temporarily forget their misfortunes. With the unusual roar of wheel and hoof in the streets, there mixes a still more unusual shouting; and from the open windows of places of entertainment, there streams forth the tangled talk which is confined within doors at other times. Before Arthur could reach the Turf Hotel, he learned from these sources, without further inquiry, that The King had won the race, in consequence of some mischance having happened to the jockey of Menelaus. He knew, therefore, that Walter Lisgard had lost money. Still, when upon reaching his lodging he first set eyes upon the young dragoon, moodily stretched upon the sofa, with eyes staring straight before him, and a face as pale as the tablecloth, on which stood an untasted meal, he was astonished and shocked. For the moment—such a rigidity was there about those exquisite features—Arthur thought with a shudder that he was dead. Even after he entered the room, lit only from the glaring street, not a limb stirred, not a muscle moved to mark any consciousness of his presence; but when he exclaimed: “Walter! what's the matter, man?” the figure leapt up with a cry of pleasure, and took both his hands in his.
“I am glad to see you, Arthur,” cried he.
“This is very kind of you, and I do not deserve it. I thought it was that infernal scoundrel Derrick.”
“He is not here, then?”
“No; he may have come and gone, for all I know, for I believe I have been in a sort of nightmare; only it was a horse that caused it. Derrick's partner—or Derrick himself, for what I know—sold the race. I know what you are going to say, that you always told me how it would be”——
“No, indeed, Walter,” interrupted Arthur kindly. “I am not come hither to reproach you. I am only the bearer of good news.”
“I should like to hear some of that,” said the other bitterly. “Where is it? Have you brought a loaded pistol with you? That would be the most friendly action you could do me just now, I believe.”
“Walter, you should not talk like that,” answered Arthur very gravely, for there was a look in his friend's eyes which seemed to harmonise only too well with his despairing words. “When we kill ourselves so philosophically, we forget how we wound others by that selfish act. Think of your mother, lad.”
“Yes. She would be sorry, would she not?”
“It would break her heart, Walter; that's all. And besides, you have a wife now—yes, we all know it, and you're both forgiven—and why you have not written to her in answer to the letter she wrote you, none of us can imagine.”
“I only got it this very day,” groaned Walter. “Am I in a fit state to write upon business, think you?”
“Business!” echoed Arthur contemptuously; “you're in a fit state to take a cab to Mayfair, and ask your poor wife's pardon, I brought her up to her aunt's house today myself.”
“That's well,” observed Walter reflectively; “for between you and me, Arthur Haldane”——
“Well, what?” exclaimed the barrister impatiently.
“Why, I think she'd better stay at her aunt's house altogether. The fact is, I've got no money to keep her.”
“We know all about that, man”——
“The devil you do!” ejaculated Walter grimly; “then bad news must indeed fly apace. Look here, Haldane—I've lost everything. All that I have at present; all that I was to have when I came of age; all that I can expect from any human being who is fool enough to leave me anything in time to come. I am a beggar, and worse than that, for I am a defaulter, and shall be proclaimed as such in a few days. That is the whole state of the case. Now, do you not think that the kindest office which a friend could do me, would be to help me with the means of blowing out, what would be in another man, his brains? For not only do I recognise myself a scoundrel, but as a senseless dolt and idiot, a fool of the first quality, and a”——
“You must owe, then, near seven thousand pounds,” interrupted Arthur, with something like a groan.
“Just about that, so far as I have dared to look the thing in the face; all lost within twenty-four hours—most of it within three minutes.”
“We must keep this from your mother somehow, Walter. She has been sadly tried, and I doubt whether she could bear it.”
“She must know it sooner or later, man, even if she doesn't read it in the papers. When your Turf gentry do not get paid, they make a noise about it, you see, that being all they can do. I've a precious good mind to take myself off to Cariboo—that's where this fellow Derrick made his money—the climate's good, and with a little capital, one may do a good deal. Why should I not go there, and never let them have a penny? The law looks upon it as a swindle, you know that well enough; and it was a swindle, by Jove! Come, you 're a barrister, Haldane; now, what do you say about it?”
“No, Walter, I cannot advise you to act in that manner, and I am sure you did not propose it seriously yourself.”
“O no, certainly not; I was only having a bit of fun,” rejoined the other bitterly. “I am just in the humour for joking now, and can't resist it. Thousand devils! would you have me go to the workhouse, man, or where?”
“Nothing of that sort is at all necessary, Walter,” answered the other quietly. “Of course, I was not prepared for this very unfortunate position of affairs; I had brought news that, through, I must say, the very generous behaviour of your elder brother, your income as a married man would in future be a very tolerable one; it has been made up to at least double what the interest of the sum you have lost would have produced. Thus, in addition to your pay, you would have had about six hundred a year, besides whatever your wife's aunt might think proper to allow her. Your mother, on the other hand, undertakes, if you should scruple to accept this kindness at Sir Richard's hands”——
“Scruple? Certainly not,” ejaculated Walter angrily. “I confess that I did not think my brother would have had so much proper feeling, and I am much obliged to him, of course; but, after all, he has only done his duty. What is three hundred a year out of the Lisgard rent-roll?”
“Still, he was not obliged to do it,” observed Arthur drily.
“That is true; and, of course, you take the lawyer's view of it. Moreover, when he comes to hear of these debts, perhaps his Serene Highness may think proper to withdraw his gracious assistance.”
“You do him very wrong, Walter,” answered Arthur with warmth. “Your trouble makes you say things you ought to be ashamed of—yes, ashamed of. Your brother, with all his faults, is incapable of committing such an act of cruelty. He is quite willing that you should both return to Mirk as soon as you please, but particularly that you should be present at his Coming of Age, which I am sure you will not fail to be. But if you will take my advice, you will not make your position known at Mirk, for, as I have said before, your mother has had enough to trouble her. You must let your sporting friends understand it, however, and we must make the best arrangements we can for your paying your debts within a year; and for the future, till something turns up, instead of six hundred per annum, you must manage to do on three. Your wife, I am sure, is a most sensible young lady, and will easily perceive the necessity for economy.”
“Thank you,” answered the dragoon coldly. “Perhaps you would like to run down to Canterbury, and choose our lodging for us; or do you think we ought to be content to live in barracks? I know that there is a great temptation to insult a man when he is down; but for giving unpalatable advice in an offensive manner, I do not know your equal, Mr Arthur Haldane.”
“Well, Walter, I have said what I thought right, and I do not intend to quarrel with you. I should wish, on the contrary, to remain your friend, if it were only for your dear mother's sake”——
“And somebody else's,” interrupted the captain with a sneer.
“Yes; for your sister Letty's, Walter; I frankly own that. Come, give us your hand, man.—Well, another time, then, when you are more like yourself.—But before I go, I want to find this man Derrick, for I have a letter for him of importance from Mistress Forest.”
“You had better ask as you go down stairs, Mr Haldane; I know nothing about him.” And with that, Captain Walter Lisgard deliberately turned his back upon his visitor, and looked gloomily out of the window; while his white hand stroked his silken moustaches as though it were a pumice-stone, and it was his intention to stroke them off.
Arthur made his inquiry of the servant who opened the hall-door to let him out.
“Mr Derrick—if that was the gentleman with the large beard—had come and gone within the last quarter of an hour, while he (Haldane) had been talking with the other gentleman up stairs. He had called for his bill, and paid it, and packed his portmanteau, and there it was in the passage at the present moment.”
“Then he must come back for that,” exclaimed Arthur eagerly.
“No. He had left directions that it was to be sent on to him in a week or so to some place in the South. He had said that he should be walking, and therefore would not be there himself for several days. He had taken a knapsack with him as for a regular tour. He was a strange gentleman altogether.”
Arthur Haldane stooped down, and read the address on the portmanteau—Mr R. Derrick, Coveton; then stepped very thoughtfully into the roaring street. “I don't know exactly why, and I certainly have no desire to know,” muttered the young barrister to himself; “but of all the bad news I have learned to-night, I fear ma mère will consider this the worst. Why the deuce should this fellow be going to Coveton, of all places least calculated to attract such a scampish vagabond? Coveton, Coveton—yes, that is the place where my Lady came ashore from the wreck of the North Star.”