The Beautiful Wretch; The Pupil of Aurelius; and The Four Macnicols

by William Black

CHAPTER XXII.

A CATASTROPHE.

However, Madge's ill-temper was never of long duration; and at this particular time, instead of sinking farther into sulks over the absence of her lover, she grew day by day more joyous and generous and affectionate. The change was most marked; and Nan, who was her sister's chief confidant, could not make it out at all. Her gaiety became almost hysterical; and her kindness to everybody in the house ran to extravagance. She bought trinkets for the servants. She presented Mr. Tom with a boot-jack mounted in silver; and he was pleased to say that it was the first sensible present he had ever known a girl make. But it was towards Nan that she was most particularly affectionate and caressing.

'You know I'm not clever, Nan,' she said, in a burst of confidence, 'and I haven't got clockworks in my brain, and I daresay I'm not interesting—to everybody. But I know girls who are stupider than I am who are made plenty of. And of course, if you don't have any romance when you're young, when are you likely to get it after?'

'But I don't know what you mean, Madge!' Nan exclaimed.

Nor did Madge explain at the moment. She continued—

'I believe it was you, Nan, who told me of the young lady who remarked,
"What's the use of temptation if you don't yield to it?"'

'That was only a joke,' said Nan, with her demure smile.

'Oh, I think there's sense in it,' said the practical Madge. 'It doesn't do to be too wise when you're young.'

'It so seldom happens, Madge!' said her sister.

'There you are again, old Mother Hubbard, with your preaching! But I'm not going to quarrel with you this time. I want your advice. I want you to tell me what little thing I should buy for Frank, just to be friends all round, don't you know?'

'Friends? Yes, I hope so!' said Nan, with a grave smile. 'But how can
I tell you, Madge? I don't know, as you ought to know, what Captain
King has in the way of cigar-cases or such things——'

'But call him Frank, Nan! Do, to please me. And I know he would like it.'

'Some time I may,' said Nan evasively. 'Afterwards, perhaps.'

'When you come to Kingscourt,' said Madge, with a curious kind of laugh.

Nan was silent, and turned away; she never seemed to wish to speak of
Kingscourt or her going there.

Frank King's stay in London was prolonged for some reason or other; at length he announced his intention of returning to Brighton on a particular Thursday. On the Tuesday night Nan and Madge arranged that they would get fresh flowers the next day for the decoration of the rooms.

'And this is what I will do for you, Madge, as it is a special occasion,' remarked Miss Anne, with grave patronage. 'If you will get up early tomorrow, I will take you to a place, not more than four miles off, where you will find any quantity of hart's-tongue fern. It is a deep ditch, I suppose a quarter of a mile long, and the banks are covered. Of course I don't want any one to know, for it is so near Brighton it would be harried for the shops; but I will show you the place, as you will soon be going away now; and we can take a basket.'

'But how did you find it out, Nan?'

'Some one showed it to me.'

'The singing-woman, I suppose?'

'Yes. Think of that. I believe she could get twopence a root; and she might fill a cart there. But she won't touch one.'

'No,' said Edith, with a superior smile. 'She leaves that for young ladies who could very well afford to go to a florist's.'

'What I shall take won't hurt,' said Nan, meekly.

So, next morning, Nan got up about eight; dressed, and was ready to start. That is to say, she never arranged her programme for the day with the slightest respect to meals. So long as she could get an apple and a piece of bread to put in her pocket she felt provided against everything. However, she thought she would go along to Madge's room, and see if that young lady had ideas about breakfast.

Madge's room was empty; and Nan thought it strange she should have gone downstairs without knocking at her door in passing. But when Nan also went below she found that Madge had left the house before any one was up. She could not understand it at all.

Mr. Tom came down.

'Oh,' said he, indifferently, 'she wants to be mighty clever and find out those ferns for herself.'

'But I did not tell her where they were. I only said they were on the road to ——' said Nan, naming the place: the writer has reasons of his own for not being more explicit.

'All the cleverer if she can find out. The cheek of the young party is pyramidal,' said Mr. Tom, as he rang for breakfast.

But at lunch, also, Madge had not turned up.

'It is very extraordinary,' said Lady Beresford, though she was too languid to be deeply concerned.

'Oh no, it isn't, mother,' said Mr. Tom. 'It's all Nan's fault. Nan has infected her. The Baby, you'll see, has taken to tramping about the country with gipsies; and prowling about farmers' kitchens; and catching leverets, and stuff. We lives on the simple fruits of the earth, my dears; we eats of the root, and we drinks of the spring; but that doesn't prevent us having a whacking appetite somewhere about seven forty-five. Edith, my love, pass me the cayenne-pepper.'

'Boys shouldn't use cayenne-pepper,' said Nan.

'And babies should speak only when they're spoken to,' he observed. 'Mother, dear, I have arrived at the opinion that Madge has run away with young Hanbury. I am certain of it. The young gentleman is fool enough for anything——'

'You always were spiteful against Mr. Hanbury,' said Edith, 'because his feet are smaller than yours.'

'My love,' retorted Mr. Tom, with imperturbable good-nature, 'his feet may be small. It is in his stupidity that he is really great. Jack Hanbury can only be described in the words of the American poet: he is a commodious ass.'

Now this conjecture of Mr. Tom's about the cause of Madge's disappearance was only a piece of gay facetiousness. It never did really occur to him that any one—that any creature with a head capable of being broken—would have the wild audacity to run away with one of his sisters, while he, Mr. Tom Beresford, was to the fore. But that afternoon post brought Nan a letter. She was amazed to see by the handwriting that it was from Madge; she was still more alarmed when she read these words, scrawled with a trembling hand, and in pencil:

'Dearest, dearest Nan, don't be angry. By the time you get this Jack and I will be married. It is all for the best, dear Nan; and you will pacify them; and it is no use following us; for we shall be in France until it is all smoothed down. Not a single bridesmaid—we daren't—but what wouldn't I do for Jack's sake? It is time I did something to make up for all he has suffered—he was looking so ill—in another month he would have died. He worships me. You never saw anything like it. Jack has just come back; so good-bye; from your loving, loving sister, MARGARET HANBURY.—Do you know who that is, Nan?'

Nan, not a little frightened, took the letter to her brother, and gave it him without a word. But Mr. Tom's rage was at once prompt and voluble. That she should have disgraced the family—for, of course, the whole thing would be in the papers! That she should have cheated and jilted his most particular friend! But as for this fellow Hanbury——

'I said it all along. I told you what would come of it! I knew that fellow was haunting her like a shadow. Well, we'll see how a shadow likes being locked up on bread and water. Oh, it's no use your protesting, Nan; I will let the law take its course. We'll see how he likes that. "Stone walls do not a prison make"—that's what love-sick fellows say; don't they? Wait a bit. Mr. Jack Hanbury will find that stone walls make a very good imitation of a prison, at all events——'

'But, Tom—dear Tom,' Nan pleaded, 'it is no use making matters worse. Let us try to make them better. If Madge is married, it can't be helped now. We must make the best of it——'

He paid no attention to her; he was still staring at the ill-written letter.

'That's all gammon about their going to France. He hasn't money for travelling. She spent all hers in nick-nacks—to propitiate people, the sneak! They're in London.'

He looked at his watch.

'I can just catch the 5.45 express. Nan, you go and tell the others; they needn't squawk about it all over Brighton.'

'What are you going to do, Tom?' said his sister, breathlessly.

'Find out where they are first. Then Colonel Fitzgerald and Mr. Mason must take it up. Then Mr. Jack Hanbury will suddenly find himself inside Millbank prison.'

She caught him by the hand.

'Tom, is it wise?' she pleaded again. 'They are married. What is the use of revenge? You don't want to make your own sister miserable?——'

'She has brought it on herself,' he said, roughly.

'Then that is what I am to think of you,' she said, regarding him, 'that some day I may hear you talk in that way about me?'

He never could resist the appeal of Nan's clear, faithful eyes.

'You wouldn't be such a fool,' he said. 'And they won't touch Madge. It's only that fellow they'll go for—the mean hound, to marry a girl for her money.'

'How do you know it was for her money, Tom?' Nan pleaded. 'I am certain they were fond of each other——'

'I don't want to miss my train,' said he. 'You go and tell the maternal I'm off to London. I suppose you don't know the address of Hanbury's father?'

'No, I don't.'

'Well, I'm off. Ta, ta!'

So the irate Mr. Tom departed. But in the comparative silence of the Pullman car the fury of his rage began to abate; and it dawned upon him that, after all, Nan's counsel might have something in it. No doubt these two young fools—as he mentally termed them—were married by this time. He still clung to the idea that Jack Hanbury deserved punishment—a horsewhipping or something of the kind; but Madge was Madge. She was silly; and she had 'got into a hole;' still, she was Madge. She might be let off with a serious lecture on her folly and on her disregard of what she owed to the other members of the family. Only, the first thing was to find out their whereabouts.

On arriving in London he drove to his club, and after some little searching discovered that Mr. Gregory Hanbury's address was Adelphi Terrace, whither he at once repaired. Mr. Hanbury was at dinner. He sent up his card nevertheless, and asked to be allowed to see Mr. Hanbury on particular business. The answer was a request that he would step upstairs into the dining-room.

He found that occupied by two gentlemen who were dining together at the upper end of a large table. One came forward to meet him. He took it for granted this was Mr. Hanbury—a slight, short man, with black hair and eyes, and a very stiff white cravat.

'Mr. Beresford,' said he, 'I can guess what has brought you here. Let me introduce you to my brother—Major Hanbury. It is an unfortunate business.'

The other gentleman—also slight and short, but with a sun-browned, dried-up face, and big gray moustache—bowed and resumed his seat.

'You know, then, that your son has run away with my sister,' said Mr.
Tom, somewhat hotly—though he had determined to keep his temper.
'Perhaps you know also where they are?'

'No farther,' said the black-haired gentleman, with perfect calmness, 'than that I believe them to be in London. It is only about a couple of hours since I heard of the whole affair. I immediately sent for my brother. It is a most distressing business altogether. Of course you are chiefly concerned for your sister; but my son is in a far more serious position.'

'Yes, I should think so!' exclaimed Mr. Tom. 'I should think he was!
But you don't know where they are?'

'No; I only know they are in London. I received a letter from my son this afternoon, asking me to intercede for him with the Court of Chancery; and it is from this letter that I learn how serious his position is—more serious than he seems to imagine. He appears to think that now the marriage has taken place, the Vice-Chancellor will condone everything——'

'He won't: I will take good care that he shan't!' Mr. Tom said.

'My dear sir, I am sorry to say that my son is in a very awkward situation, even although no personal vindictiveness be shown towards him. Your sister is not of age, I believe?'

'Of course not. She's just turned eighteen.'

'Ah. Then you see, Jack had to declare that she was of age. And he appears to have stated that he had resided three weeks in the parish, whereat he only came up from Brighton yesterday morning. And, again, marrying in the direct teeth of an order of the Court—I am afraid, sir, that he is in a bad enough predicament without any personal vengeance being shown him.'

This seemed to strike Mr. Tom.

'I don't hit a man when he's down. I will let the law take its course.
I shan't interfere.'

'Don't you think, sir,' said this man with the calm black eyes and the quiet manner, 'that it might be wiser, in the interests of your sister, if you were to help us to arrange some amicable settlement which we could put before the Court? I believe the guardians of the young lady were very much misinformed about my son's character and his intentions with regard to her. I am certain that it was not her fortune that attracted him, or that could have led him into the perilous position he now occupies. Now, if we could go before the Vice-Chancellor, and say, "The marriage is not so unsuitable, after all. The young man comes of a highly respectable family. His relations (that is, my brother and myself, sir) are willing to place a substantial sum at his disposal for investment in a sound business—indeed there is a brewery at Southampton that my brother has just been speaking of——"'

'A brewery!' exclaimed Mr. Tom; but he instantly recollected that beer was as good as soda-water from a social point of view.

'And if we could say to the Vice-Chancellor that the friends of the young lady were willing to condone his offence—always providing, of course, and naturally, that your sister's fortune should be strictly settled upon herself—then, perhaps, he might be let off with a humble apology to the Court; and the young people be left to their own happiness. My dear sir, we lawyers see so much of the inevitable hardship of human life that when a chance occurs of friendly compromise——'

'That's all very well,' blurted out Mr. Tom. 'But I call it very mean and shabby of him to inveigle my sister away like that. She was engaged to be married to an old friend of mine; a much better fellow, I'll be bound! I call it very shabby.'

'My dear sir,' said the lawyer, placidly, 'I do not seek for a moment to excuse my son's conduct, except to remind you that at a certain period of life romance counts for something. I believe many young ladies are like the young lady in the play—I really forget what her name was—who was disappointed to find that she was not to be run away with. However, that is a different matter. I put it to you whether it would not be better for every one concerned if we were to try to arrive at an amicable arrangement, and give the young people a fair start in life.'

'Of course I can't answer for all our side,' said Mr. Tom, promptly. 'You'd better come with me to-morrow, and we'll talk it over with Colonel Fitzgerald and Mr. Mason. I don't bear malice. I think what you say is fair and right—if the settlement is strict. And if it came to be a question of interceding, there's an old friend of ours, Sir George Stratherne, who, I know, knows the Vice-chancellor very intimately——'

'My dear sir!' the lawyer protested, with either real or affected horror, 'do not breathe such a thing!—do not think of such a thing. The duty of the Vice-chancellor to his wards is of the extremest kind; his decisions are beyond suspicion; what we have got to say we must say in open court.'

'But if they were to lock your son up in prison,' said Mr. Tom, with a gentle smile, 'that couldn't prevent Sir George taking my sister to call on the Vice-Chancellor some afternoon at his own house. And Madge is rather pretty. And she might cry.'

'Will you take a glass of wine, Mr. Beresford?' said the lawyer, effusively; for he saw that he had quite won over Mr. Tom to his side.

'No, thank you,' said the latter, rising; 'I must apologise for interrupting your dinner. I'll look up Colonel Fitzgerald and Mason to-morrow morning; and bring them along here most likely; that will be the simplest way. I suppose you are likely to know sooner than any one where these two fugitives have got to?'

'I think so. I have sent an advertisement to the morning papers. I shall certainly counsel my son to surrender at once and throw himself on the mercy of the Court. My dear sir, I am exceedingly obliged to you for your kindness, your very great kindness in calling.'

'Oh, don't mention it,' said Mr. Tom, going to the door. And then he added, ruefully, 'Now I've got to go and hunt up my friend; and tell him that my own sister has jilted him. You've no idea what a treat that will be!'