Chapter Twelve.
A Windfall for the Captain.
The impending birthday festivities at Maxfield were a topic of interest to others than merely the residents at the manor-house. There, indeed, the prospect was considerably damped by the failing health of Mrs Ingleton and the absence of Rosalind from the scene of action. The burden of the arrangements fell upon the tutor, who only half relished the duties of major domo, and heartily wished the uncomfortable date was past. Mrs Ingleton, however, ill as she was, was intent on celebrating the occasion in a manner becoming the hospitable traditions of the house of which her son was now the head, and accordingly, a large party of the neighbouring gentry was invited for the occasion.
Among the uninvited guests one individual was anticipating the event with considerable interest. This was Robert Ratman, Esquire, as he lounged comfortably on a sofa at the “Grand Hotel” in London, and perused a letter which had just reached him by the post.
“I shall have to get you to take another bill in place of the one I gave you, due on the 26th. The fact is, I forgot that was the day of my ward’s twentieth birthday, when there are to be celebrations at Maxfield,” (“What on earth has that to do with it?” grunted the reader). “If you will take my advice you will postpone your return here till after that date. In any case, please understand I am unable to attend to money matters at present. It may interest you to know that the tutor is under notice to leave,” (here the reader uttered a not very complimentary expletive), “also that I am on the best of terms with the fair widow.
“E.O.”
“Thinks I’m a fool, does he?” grunted Mr Ratman; “I shall have to undeceive him there.”
So he laid down his cigar and wrote—
“Dear Teddy,—It sounds very nice, but it’s not good enough. You’ve mistaken your man, my boy. You’ll have to stump up £100 on the day, and I’ll wait a month for the rest and interest. I shall be on the spot to receive it and join in the festivities. If you are not lying, you deserve credit for getting rid of the tutor. See he is packed off before I come; and see I get no more impertinence from those brats of yours, unless you wish trouble to their father.
“Yours,—
“R.R.”
The receipt of this genial epistle considerably marred the pleasure with which Captain Oliphant looked forward to the approaching festivities at Maxfield.
It had been bad enough to have the Oxford scheme and all it involved fall through. Roger had explained in his pleasant manner that he was not disposed to accept his guardian’s advice as to a University course at present; and as his decision was backed up by both Mrs Ingleton and Mr Armstrong, the poor man found himself in a minority, and no nearer a solution to his difficulties than before.
In addition to this, Roger was every day recovering health, and, in Rosalind’s absence, devoting himself more loyally than ever to his tutor’s direction and instruction.
Altogether Captain Oliphant had a dismal consciousness of being out in the cold. His carefully thought cut plans seemed to advance no further. Mrs Ingleton’s ill-health was an unlooked-for difficulty. He even began to suspect that when he did screw himself up to the point of proposing he should make by no means as easy a conquest of the fair widow as he had flattered himself. She, good lady, liked him as her boy’s guardian, but in his own personal capacity was disappointingly indifferent to his attentions.
With all these worries upon him it was little wonder if Mr Ratman’s letters hurt his feelings.
He was very much inclined to throw up the sponge and vanish from the Maxfield horizon, and might have attempted the feat had not a letter which arrived on the following day suggested another way out of his difficulties. It came from America, addressed to the late Squire, and read thus—
“Dear Ingleton,—I guess you’ve forgotten the scape-grace brother-in-law who, thirty-six years ago, on the day you married his sister Ruth, borrowed a hundred pounds of you without the slightest intention of paying you back. He has not forgotten you. Your hundred pounds started me in life right away here, where I am now a boss and mayor of my city. I’ve put off being honest as long as I can, but can’t well manage it any longer. I send you back the money in English bank-notes, and another hundred for interest. It won’t do you much good, but I reckon I’ll sleep better at night to have got rid of it. I saw in the papers the death of my sister, and her son, my nephew. Such is life! I got more good from that marriage than she did. I take for granted you are still in the old place, and, like all the Ingletons I ever met, alive and kicking.
“Yours out of debt,—
“Ralph Headland.”
Captain Oliphant read and re-read this curious letter, and hummed a tune to himself. He gave a professional twitch to each of the hundred-pound notes, and held them up one after the other to the light. Then he examined the post-mark on the envelope, and failed to decipher the name of the town.
“Very singular,” said he to himself, tapping his fingers on the envelope. “Quite like a chapter in a story. Really it restores one’s faith in one’s fellow-man to find honesty asserting itself in this way after thirty-six years’ suppression. Our dear one must have forgotten this debt years ago; or written it off as a gift. I’m sure he would not have liked to accept it now. Very singular indeed!”
Then he hummed on for five minutes, and tried to recall what he had been thinking about before the letter came. He fancied it was about Ratman. Yes, Ratman was a bad man, and must be got rid of, not so much on the captain’s account as for the sake of the innocent darlings whose happiness he threatened.
And as if there were some connection between the two ideas, captain Oliphant abstractedly put the two notes into his own pocket, and proceeded thoughtfully to tear up the letter and envelope of the American mayor.
He had hardly completed this function when the door opened and Rosalind sailed in, looking particularly charming after a breezy walk across the park.
She had rarely seen her father in better and more amiable spirits.
“Ah, my dear child,” said he; “it does one good to see you again. A week’s absence is a long time. And how are you getting on at the Vicarage?”
“They are awfully kind to me,” said Rosalind, “and I like my little pupils. I half wish it was harder work. As it is, I get time for a little art in between lessons. I’ve come over to-day to finish my picture of the old tower for Roger’s birthday.”
“Ah, to be sure. The dear boy’s birthday is getting near. We shall depend on you to help us here on the day, Rosalind. So they make you happy, do they? I am very glad to hear it. Have you all you want?”
“Everything, dear father; and it makes all the difference to me to feel I am supporting myself.”
“Brave little puss. See now,” added the fond parent, taking out a couple of sovereigns from his purse.
“I want you to take these to get any little trifle which may add to your comfort. I have not been very lavish with pocket-money, but I think just now you may find this useful. Take it, my dear child, and bless you.”
“Really, I have all I—”
“You must not refuse me, daughter; it will please me if you take it.”
So Rosalind kissed her father gratefully, and said she should be sure to find the money useful, if he could really spare it. And he, good man, only wished it were twice as much.
“I have just had a note,” said he, “from Mr Ratman, who announces his return on the 25th. During the few days he remains, my dear Rosalind, I think you should try, even if it cost you an effort, to be friendly. After all, he is an old comrade, and I have reasons for desiring not to offend him.”
“Oh, why ever do you let him come back after the unkind way he behaved to Jill? I’m sure he is a bad man, father. Indeed, I wonder at his thinking of coming at all after what has happened.”
“I dare say his manner may have been rough; but it was meant only in good-natured fun. Let us think no more about that. I was annoyed at the whole affair; but I must ask you, Rosalind, not to give him unnecessary offence when he comes again.”
“I can’t pretend to like people I detest,” said she; “but if he conducts himself like a gentleman, and goes away soon, there needn’t be any trouble about it.” And she went off to rejoice Roger with a visit.
During the week that followed, Captain Oliphant impressed the whole family with his chastened good-humour.
He paid a friendly call at the Vicarage, and expressed his obligations to the vicar and his wife for their consideration, and trusted his daughter, who (though he said so who should not), he was sure was a conscientious girl—would do her work well and requite them for their kindness.
He bought Tom his longed-for football, and ordered from town a handsome dressing-case for his dear ward. He delighted Miss Jill by allowing her to drive him in his rounds among the tenantry, when he had a friendly word for everybody.
Jill, in charge of the reins, was as happy as a queen, and quite captivated by her father’s cheerful good-humour.
“I wonder what makes you so jolly,” she said, as they spanked along the country lanes to Yeld, “dear, dear old daddy? I shall always drive you now, for you see I can manage the pony, can’t I? Mr Armstrong taught me. He says I shall make a first-rate whip. I’m sure I was very stupid when I first tried; but he is ever so patient. He scolds sometimes, but he always lets me know when he’s pleased; so I don’t mind. Do you know, father, I’d give my head for Mr Armstrong any day, I like him so?”
Captain Oliphant shrugged his shoulders. He wasn’t equal to coping with a case of sheer infatuation.
“I’m sure,” persisted Jill, flicking the pony into a trot, “he’s fifty million times as nice as that horrible Mr Ratman.”
“Mr Ratman is a friend of mine,” said her father, “and I fear he must think you a very silly little girl to object to a bit of fun as you did.”
“I don’t mind what he thinks. It wasn’t fun at all. He hurt me very much. Ugh!”
“Well, he was very much annoyed, and so was I, at what happened; and when he comes here again next week—”
“Is he coming again next week?”
“Yes.”
“All right. I shall run away then—or if I can’t do that, I shall keep a knife in my pocket. Please, father, don’t let him come!”
And the child nearly cried in her eagerness.
“Listen to me, Jill,” said her father sternly. “Unless you can behave yourself sensibly I shall be very angry indeed. I expect you to be polite to Mr Ratman while he is here.”
“He’d better be polite to young ladies,” said the irrepressible Jill. “If he doesn’t, I know somebody who will make him.”
“Be silent, miss, and bear in mind my wishes.”
That afternoon Captain Oliphant sent a polite message to his co-trustee requesting the favour of an interview.
Mr Armstrong found him in an unusually balmy frame of mind, anxious to go into the executorship accounts.
Everything was square and exact. The rents and other receipts were all in order, and the amount duly paid into the bank. The tutor quite admired his colleague’s aptitude for figures, and the lucid manner in which he accounted for every farthing which had passed through his hands. He was hardly prepared for such precision, and there and then modified the previous bad impression he had formed.
“It is necessary to be particular in money matters,” said the captain, “especially where the money of others is involved. Perhaps you will check my figures, sir, and let me know if you agree in the result.”
Mr Armstrong spent an afternoon painfully going over the agent’s and banker’s accounts, and satisfying himself that all was absolutely correct and in order. He countersigned the balance-sheet, and went out of his way to thank Captain Oliphant for taking so much of the labour as to save both him and Mrs Ingleton a great deal of time.
“Thank you,” said the captain drily; “a compliment from Signor Francisco is worth receiving. But it is uncalled-for. Good afternoon, sir.”
Mr Armstrong flushed, and screwed his glass violently in his eye.
“A civil, pleasant-spoken gentleman,” said he to himself as he returned to his room.
A few days later, the day before the birthday, Captain Oliphant received a telegram couched in the following lordly terms—
“Arrive 5.30. Send trap to meet me.—Ratman.”
He frowned to himself as he read it. The tone did not betoken peace. It rather called to mind a good many unpleasant reflections, the chief of which was that Mr Ratman would find matters no further advanced as regarded the widow, the heir, or the tutor. The only comfort was that he could hardly make himself disagreeable about the bill.
The coachman was sent down with the dogcart; but if Mr Ratman expected any further demonstration of welcome, he was disappointed. Mrs Ingleton was in bed; Jill was dining at the Rectory; Roger and Armstrong were taking a long ride; Tom was poaching on the Maxfield preserves. Only Captain Oliphant was at home.
“Oh, you’re here to receive me, are you?” snarled the visitor. “How long has it taken you to organise this flattering reception, I should like to know?”
“I really have nothing to do with other persons’ arrangements,” said the captain. “If they happen to be out, it’s not my concern.”
“But it’s mine. You ought to have sent the heir down to meet me—I’ve not seen him yet—and had those girls of yours here to give me afternoon tea. Where are they?”
The captain attempted to explain.
“That won’t do for me,” said the visitor, “not by any means. They should have been on the spot. When did the tutor leave?”
“He is still here.”
“Still here!” said Ratman, with a curse. “Didn’t I tell you he was to be packed off before I came?”
“You said a good many things, Ratman. I expected he would have gone a fortnight ago; but he can’t be moved.”
Ratman growled out a string of oaths.
“Get me some tea,” said he, “and tell them to take my traps upstairs. What time do we dine?”
“I was going to propose that we should dine together in my room at seven,” said the captain.
“Not good enough. I’ll dine with the lot of you at the big table. And now, about my bill.”
Now was the captain’s turn.
“What about it?” said he.
“What about it? I want the money for it—that’s what’s about it.”
“All right, keep your temper. You shall have the hundred to-morrow when it’s due.”
Ratman glanced up at his host with a leer.
“Whose till have you been robbing now?” he said.
Captain Oliphant frowned.
“You haven’t a very genial way about you, Ratman. Try a cigar.”
“Oh, bless you,” said he, “I ask no questions. It’s all one to me, so long as it’s solid pounds, shillings and pence.”
“You wait till to-morrow, and it will be all right,” said the Captain; “and meanwhile, my dear fellow, try to make yourself agreeable, and don’t spoil sport by being unreasonably exacting. Ah, here’s the tea!”
At dinner that evening, Mr Ratman found his only companions Captain Oliphant, Roger, and Mr Armstrong. The talk was difficult, the captain working hard to give his guest a friendly lead; Mr Armstrong trying to appear oblivious of the fact that he had knocked the fellow down twice for a cad; and Roger as head of the house, trying to be affable to a person whom he had expected to find detestable, and who quite came up to expectations.
As the meal went on Mr Ratman showed alarming symptoms of requiring no friendly lead to encourage his powers of conversation. Despite his host’s deprecatory signals, he began to tell stories of an offensive character, and joke about matters not generally held to be amusing in a company of gentlemen. Captain Oliphant grew hot and nervous. Mr Armstrong leant back coolly in his chair, and kept his eye curiously on the speaker, an apparently interested listener. Roger, after the first surprise, flushed wrathfully and fidgeted ominously with his napkin ring.
He was nearly at the end of his tether, and an awkward scene might have ensued, had not Tom opportunely broken in upon the party, very hungry and flushed with a good afternoon’s sport.
“Hullo, Ratman!” said he, greeting the visitor; “turned up again? Got over your black eye all right? I’ve told Armstrong to let me know when the next mill comes off, and I’ll hold the sponge? Been telling them some of your rummy stories? I roared over that you told me about the—”
“Be quiet, Tom, and go and wash yourself before dinner,” said his father.
“All right. But I say, Ratman, you’d better steer clear of my young sister Jill. She’s got a downer on you, and so has—”
“Do you hear, sir?” shouted the father.
Somehow this genial interruption robbed Mr Ratman of his ideas, and stopped the flow of his discourse, much to the relief of the remainder of the party.
“Well?” said Mr Armstrong, when he and his ward met afterwards in the room of the latter, “how do you like our new visitor?”
“So badly that I am thankful for once that Rosalind has gone.”
Mr Armstrong looked hard at his ward for a moment. Then he twitched his glass uncomfortably, and replied in an absent sort of way—
“Quite so—quite so.”