'Oh, no!' she said. 'It is all right now.'
The excitement had died away as soon as it had arisen. She fell back upon her pillows, pale and smiling. Tom left the room relieved on her account, but feeling more baffled than ever about his papers.
[CHAPTER VII]
THE RAJAH'S HEIR SPEAKS FOR HIMSELF
It is at this point that the troubles of the writer of the above record began. For Thomas Gregory—the Tom whom he had been following through these curious vicissitudes of condition and fortune—became suddenly dim to him. He heard rumours indeed—the rumours which were circulating in the neighbourhood at the time, but these were vague and contradictory. Moreover, they touched only the surface of Tom's life. That he tried, or pretended to try, to find the lost papers; that he was unsuccessful; that he passed through a period of severe mental depression; that his mother, feeling alarmed at his condition, tried her utmost to make him marry and settle down; that her wishes were frustrated, some said by his wilfulness, others by the pride and folly of the girl he loved, who, having been twitted about her attentions to a wealthy man, was piqued into holding Tom at arm's length; and that, at length, to his mother's great distress, he resolved to go out to India; all this the writer has heard from those who were living in Surbiton at the time. There were rumours, too, of spiritualistic visitations both to the boy and to the girl. Those were before the days when spirits played their pranks, for a monetary consideration, before public audiences; and some said it was in obedience to these bodiless voices that they kept apart.
But all this is mere guess-work. I know, however, as a certain fact, having heard it on no less authority than Lady Winter's, that Tom's first care, after he came into his property, was to surround his mother with all the comforts and luxuries that money can give. A pretty house, which became later one of the show places of the neighbourhood, was built for her after his own design; and, in the meantime, she had carriages and horses, and good dress and good living, with, what was more to her than all her other luxuries put together, the opportunity of doing boundless kindnesses to her friends, and of exercising a large and benignant charity. Had it not been for her son's eccentricities, which were more marked after he came into his inheritance than they had been before, Mrs. Gregory, the world says, would have been perfectly happy.
Lady Winter and her son, neither of whom had the least taint of peculiarity, did their best to bring round the young heir, so at least I have heard, to more healthy views of life; and Mr. Cherry backed them up with his wise counsels; but Tom declined absolutely to do anything like other people.
Now this I could understand; but when I heard of other things—of the flirtation, for instance, between him and handsome Vivien Leigh, who, it was reported, had thrown off a former lover for his sake, of days and nights when no one, not even his mother, knew where he was—eclipses from which he would emerge with a white face and sunken eyes that made his friends shake their heads dolefully over him; of some of his doings at Surbiton, and in particular the magnificent river fête that he gave just before he left for India, and the fame of which lingers in the neighbourhood to this day—then, I confess, I was surprised, beginning at last to wonder if my Thomas Gregory did really exist, as if he was not only a dream of my imagination. Various other reports, dealing mostly with his life in India, some of them curiously minute, had fallen under my notice; but they did not seem quite to fit in one with the other.
Then came the difficulty of selection. I had formed my own conception of his character—a conception seriously shaken already by what I had heard of him in Surbiton. Would not my selection, if I tried to choose amongst the materials offered to me, be coloured both by the conception I had previously formed and by the shock it had sustained, so that the image produced would be distorted, and, in no sense, answering to reality?