A Rent In A Cloud

by Charles James Lever

A very few words will suffice to explain this: When Florence recovered from the shock Calvert had occasioned her on the memorable night of his visit, she had nothing but the very vaguest recollection of what had occurred. That some terrible tidings had been told her—some disastrous news in which Loyd and Calvert were mixed up: that she had blamed Calvert for rashness or indiscretion; that he had either shown a letter he ought never to have shown, or not produced one which might have averted a misfortune; and, last of all, that she herself had done or said something which a calmer judgment could not justify—all these were in some vague and shadowy shape before her, and all rendered her anxious and uneasy. On the other hand, Emily, seeing with some satisfaction that her sister never recurred to the events of that unhappy night, gladly availed herself of this silence to let them sleep undisturbed. She was greatly shocked, it is true, by the picture Calvert’s representation presented of Loyd. He had never been a great favourite of her own; she recognised many good and amiable traits in his nature, but she deemed him gloomy, depressed, and a dreamer—and a dreamer, above all, she regarded as unfit to be the husband of Florence, whose ill health had only tended to exaggerate a painful and imaginative disposition. She saw, or fancied she saw, that Loyd’s temperament, calm and gentle though it was, deemed to depress her sister. His views of life were very sombre, and no effort ever enabled him to look forward in a sanguine or hopeful spirit If, however, to these feelings an absolute fault of character were to be added—the want of personal courage—her feelings for him could no longer be even the qualified esteem she had hitherto experienced. She also knew that nothing could be such a shock to Florence, as to believe that the man she loved was a coward; nor could any station, or charm, or ability, however great, compensate for such a defect As a matter, therefore, for grave after-thought, but not thoroughly “proven,” she retained this charge in her mind, nor did she by any accident drop a hint or a word that could revive the memory of that evening.

As for Miss Grainger, only too happy to see that Florence seemed to retain no trace of that distressing scene, she never went back to it, and thus every event of the night was consigned to silence, if not oblivion. Still, there grew out of that reserve a degree of estrangement between the sisters, which each, unconscious of in herself, could detect in the other. “I think Milly has grown colder to me of late, aunt She is not less kind or attentive, but there is a something of constraint about her I cannot fathom,” would Florence say to her aunt While the other whispered, “I wonder why Florry is so silent when we are alone together? She that used to tell me all her thoughts, and speak for hours of what she hoped and wished, now only alludes to some commonplace topic—the book she has just read, or the walk we took yesterday.”

The distance between them was not the less wide that each had secretly confided to Calvert her misgivings about the other. Indeed, it would have been, for girls so young and inexperienced in life, strange not to have accorded him their confidence. He possessed a large share of that quality which very young people regard as sagacity. I am not sure that the gift has got a special name, but we have all of us heard of some one “with such a good head,” “so safe an adviser,” “such a rare counsellor in a difficulty,” “knowing life and mankind so well,” and “such an aptitude to take the right road in a moment of embarrassment.” The phoenix is not usually a man of bright or showy qualities; he is, on the contrary, one that the world at large has failed to recognise. If, however, by any chance he should prove to be smart, ready-witted, and a successful talker, his sway is a perfect despotism. Such was Calvert; at least such was he to the eyes of these sisters. Now Emily had confided to him that she thought Loyd totally unworthy of Florence. His good qualities were undeniable, but he had few attractive or graceful ones; and then there was a despondent, depressed tone about him that must prove deeply injurious to one whose nature required bright and cheery companionship. Calvert agreed with every word of this.

Florence, on her side, was, meanwhile, imparting to him that Loyd was not fairly appreciated by her aunt or her sister. They deemed him very honourable, very truthful, and very moral, but they did not think highly of his abilities, nor reckon much on his success in life. In fact, though the words themselves were spared her, they told her in a hundred modes that “she was throwing herself away;” and, strange as it may read, she liked to be told so, and heard with a sort of triumphant pride that she was going to make a sacrifice of herself and all her prospects—all for “poor Joseph.” To become the auditor of this reckoning required more adroitness than the other case; but Calvert was equal to it. He saw where to differ, where to agree with her. It was a contingency which admitted of a very dexterous flattery, rather insinuated, however, than openly declared; and it was thus he conveyed to her that he took the same view as the others. He knew Loyd was an excellent fellow, far too good and too moral for a mere scamp like himself to estimate. He was certain he would turn out respectable, esteemed, and all that. He would be sure to be a churchwarden, and might be a poor-law guardian; and his wife would be certain to shine in the same brightness attained by him. Then stopping, he would heave a low, faint sigh, and turn the conversation to something about her own attractions or graceful gifts. How enthusiastically the world of “society” would one day welcome them—and what a “success” awaited her whenever she was well enough to endure its fatigue. Now, though all these were only as so many fagots to the pile of her martyrdom, she delighted to listen to them, and never wearied of hearing Calvert exalt all the greatness of the sacrifice she was about to make, and how immeasurably she was above the lot to which she was going to consign herself.

It is the drip, drip, that eats away the rock, and iteration ever so faint, will cleave its way at last: so Florry, without in the slightest degree disparaging Loyd, grew at length to believe, as Calvert assured her, that “Master Joseph” was the luckiest dog that ever lived, and had carried off a prize immeasurably above his pretensions.

Miss Grainger, too, found a confessor in their guest: but it will spare the reader some time if I place before him a letter which Calvert wrote to one of his most intimate friends a short time after he had taken up his abode at the villa. The letter will also serve to connect some past events with the present now before us.

The epistle was addressed Algernon Drayton, Esq., Army and Navy Club, London, and ran thus:

“My dear Algy,—You are the prince of ‘our own
correspondents,’ and I thank you, ‘imo corde,’ if that be
Latin for it, for all you have done for me. I defy the whole
Bar to make out, from your narrative, who killed who, in
that affair at Basle. I know, after the third reading of it,
I fancied that I had been shot through the heart, and then
took post-horses for Zurich. It was and is a master-piece of
the bewildering imbroglio style. Cultivate your great gifts,
then, my friend. You will be a treasure to the court of
Cresswell, and the most injured of men or the basest of
seducers will not be able at the end of a suit to say which
must kneel down and ask pardon of the other. I suppose I
ought to say I’m sorry for Barnard, but I can’t. No, Algy, I
cannot. He was an arrant snob, and, if he had lived, he’d
have gone about telling the most absurd stories and getting
people to believe them, just on the faith of his stupidity.
If there is a ridiculous charge in the world, it is that of
‘firing before one’s time,’ which, to make the most of it,
must be a matter of seconds, and involves, besides, a
question as to the higher inflammability of one’s powder. I
don’t care who made mine, but I know it did its work well.
I’m glad, however, that you did not deign to notice that
contemptible allegation, and merely limited yourself to what
resulted. Your initials and the stars showered over the
paragraph, are in the highest walk of legerdemain, and I can
no more trace relatives to antecedents, than I can tell what
has become of the egg I saw Houdin smash in my hat.
“I know, however, I mustn’t come back just yet There is that
shake-of-the-headiness abroad that makes one uncomfortable.
Fortunately, this is no-sacrifice to me. My debts keep me
out of London, just as effectually as my morals. Besides
this, my dear Algy, I’m living in the very deepest of
clover, domesticated with a maiden aunt and two lovely
nieces, in a villa on an Italian lake, my life and comforts
being the especial care of the triad. Imagine an infant-
school occupied in the care of a young tiger of the spotted
species, and you may, as the Yankees say, realise the
situation. But they seem to enjoy the peril of what they are
doing, or they don’t see it, I can’t tell which.
“‘Gazetted out,’ you say; ‘Meno male,’ as they say here. I
might have been promoted, and so tempted to go back to that
land of Bores, Bearers, and Bungalores, and I am grateful to
the stumble that saves me from a fall. But you ask, what do
I mean to do? and I own I do not see my way to anything.
Time was when gentleman-riding, coach-driving, or billiards,
were on a par with the learned professions; but, my dear
Drayton, we have fallen upori a painfully enlightened age,
and every fellow can do a little of everything.
“You talk of my friends? You might as well talk of my Three
per Cents. If I had friends, it would be natural enough they
should help me to emigrate as a means of seeing the last of
me; but I rather suspect that my relatives, who by a figure
of speech represent the friends aforesaid, have a lively
faith that some day or other the government will be at the
expense of my passage—that it would be quite superfluous in
them to provide for it.
“You hint that I might marry, meaning thereby marry with
money; and, to be sure, there’s Barnard’s widow with plenty
of tin, and exactly in that stage of affliction that
solicits consolation; for when the heart is open to sorrow,
Love occasionally steps in before the door closes. Then, a
more practical case. One of these girls here—the fortune is
only fifteen thousand—I think over the matter day and
night, and I verily believe I see it in the light of
whatever may be the weather at the time: very darkly on the
rainy days; not so gloomy when the sky is blue and the air
balmy.
“Do you remember that fellow that I stayed behind for at
the Cape, and thereby lost my passage, just to quarrel with
Headsworth? Well, a feeling of the same sort is tempting
me sorely at this time. There is one of these girls, a poor
delicate thing, very pretty and coquettish in her way, has
taken it into her wise head to prefer a stupid loutish sort
of young sucking barrister to me, and treats me with an
ingenious blending of small compassion and soft pity to
console my defeat. If you could ensure my being an afflicted
widower within a year, I’d marry her, just to show her the
sort of edged tool she has been playing with. I’m often half
driven to distraction by her impertinent commiseration. I
tried to get into a row with the man, but he would not have
it. Don’t you hate the fellow that won’t quarrel with you,
worse even than the odious wretch who won’t give you credit?
“I might marry the sister, I suppose, to-morrow; but that
alone is a reason against it. Besides, she is terribly
healthy; and though I have lost much faith in consumption,
from cases I have watched in my own family, bad air and bad
treatment will occasionally aid its march. Could you, from
such meagre data as these, help me with a word of advice?
for I do like the advice of an unscrupulous dog-like
yourself—so sure to be practical Then there is no cant
between men like us—we play ‘cartes sur table.’
“The old maid who represents the head of this house has been
confidentially sounding me as to an eligible investment for
some thousands which have fallen in from a redeemed
mortgage. I could have said, ‘Send them to me, and you shall
name the interest yourself;’ but I was modest, and did not.
I bethought me, however, of a good friend, one Algy Drayton,
a man of large landed property, but who always wants money
for drainage. Eh, Algy! Are your lips watering at the
prospect? If so, let your ingenuity say what is to be the
security.
“Before I forget it, ask Pearson if he has any more of that
light Amontillado. It is the only thing ever sets me right,
and I have been poorly of late. I know I must be out of
sorts, because all day yesterday I was wretched and
miserable at my misspent life and squandered abilities. Now,
in my healthier moments, such thoughts never cross me. I’d
have been honest if Nature had dealt fairly with me; but
the younger son of a younger brother starts too heavily
weighted to win by anything but a ‘foul’ You understand this
well, for we are in the same book. We each of us pawned our
morality very early in life, and never were rich enough to
redeem it. Apropos of pledges, is your wife alive? I lost a
bet about it some time ago, but I forget on which side. I
backed my opinion.
“Now, to sum up. Let me hear from you about all I have
been asking; and, though I don’t opine it lies very much in
your way, send me any tidings you can pick up—to his
disadvantage, of course—of Joseph Loyd, Middle
Temple. You know scores of attorneys who could trace him.
Your hint about letter writing for the papers is not a bad
one. I suppose I could learn the trick, and do it at
least as well as some of the fellows whose lucubrations I
read. A political surmise, a spicy bit of scandal, a
sensation trial wound up with a few moral reflections upon
how much better we do the same sort of things at home. Isn’t
that the bone of it? Send me—don’t forget it—send me some
news of Rocksley. I want to hear how they take all that I
have been doing of late for their happiness. I have half of
a letter written to Soph—a sort of mild condolence, blended
with what the serious people call profitable reflections and
suggestive hints that her old affection will find its way
back to me one of these days, and that when the event
occurs, her best course will be to declare it. I have
reminded her, too, that I laid up a little love in her heart
when we parted, just as shrewd people leave a small balance
at their bankers’ as a title to reopen their account at a
future day.
“Give Guy’s people a hint that it’s only wasting postage-
stamps to torment me with bills. I never break the envelope
of a dun’s letter, and I know them as instinctively as a
detective does a swell-mobsman. What an imaginative race
these duns must be. I know of no fellow, for the high
flights of fancy, to equal one’s tailor or bootmaker. As to
the search for the elixir vitae, it’s a dull realism after
the attempts I have witnessed for years to get money out of
myself.
“But I must close this; here is Milly, whose taper fingers
have been making cigarettes for me all the morning, come to
propose a sail on the lake!—fact Algy!—and the wolf is
going out with the lambs, just as prettily and as decorously
as though his mother had been a ewe and cast ‘sheep’s eyes’
at his father. Address me, Orta, simply, for I don’t wish it
to be thought here that my stay is more than a day by day
matter. I have all my letters directed to the post-office.
“Yours, very cordially,
“Harry Calvert.”

The pleasant project thus passingly alluded to was not destined to fulfilment; for as Calvert with the two sisters were on their way to the lake, they were overtaken by Miss Grainger, who insisted on carrying away Calvert, to give her his advice upon a letter she had just received. Obeying with the best grace he could, and which really did not err on the score of extravagance, he accompanied the old lady back to the house, somewhat relieved, indeed, in mind, to learn that the letter she was about to show him in no way related to him nor his affairs.

“I have my scruples, Mr. Calvert, about asking your opinion in a case where I well know your sympathies are not in unison with our own; but your wise judgment and great knowledge of life are advantages I cannot bring myself to relinquish. I am well aware that whatever your feelings or your prejudices, they will not interfere with that good judgment.”