“I beg you a thousand pardons,” said Lord Frogmore.
CHAPTER XI.
When Mrs. Parke came downstairs she exhausted herself in civilities to her old brother-in-law, and in apologies that she had not been there to receive him. She had been much upset she allowed by the appearance of her long-lost brother quite unexpectedly on the previous night. A brother who had given the family great anxiety, and whom it was most necessary to send home at once for family reasons. The explanation was very well given and very plausible, but there was one thing upon which Letitia insisted too much, and that was the fact that she had not expected Lord Frogmore until the afternoon. Her imperfect breeding and still more imperfect taste made her insist upon this with an emphasis which conveyed a reproach to Lord Frogmore for his premature arrival. He made her a very serious apology, though with a twinkle in his keen old eyes which Letitia (though so clever) was not clever enough to detect.
“It was very thoughtless on my part,” said Lord Frogmore. “I will be more considerate on future occasions. It is of course ridiculous to arrive in the morning, when the mistress of the house has of course a thousand engagements. I will remember the hint you give me to regulate my future conduct.” Mary, who was present, was very uneasy at this covert satire, but Letitia did not perceive it.
“I am sure I did not mean that you were not most welcome—at any time, Frogmore. I hope neither John nor I need to say that—but only that it is more usual later, and that I was not prepared. Nothing would have prevented me from being down in time, not if I had died for it, had I been prepared.”
“I can only be most happy that you were not prepared, for what would I have said for myself, or what would John have said to me, had a life so precious been placed in danger by my indiscretion,” said Lord Frogmore with a bow. He was a little formal in his modes of speech and in his civilities, which had an old school deference about them quite unknown to the new generation. There is nothing easier than to give a dangerous scratch under the cover of that velvet glove of supreme good manners, but it takes a delicate perception to perceive sarcasm, and Letitia did not find it out.
Lord Frogmore on his side felt himself much more amused than he had expected by the reception he had met with. He belonged to a class perhaps more frequent nowadays than in former times; the class to which the follies of its fellow creatures is more amusing than anything else that can be met with in the world. The old lord expected to pay a very dull duty visit to his brother, whom he esteemed as a good-hearted blockhead, and the sharp little underbred woman who was his wife. He had scarcely hoped to be amused, even by Letitia, whose little pretentions he believed himself to have fully fathomed and seen through, and he did not expect to find amusement in the society to be found in their house. It was a quite unexpected felicity to be received so unexpectedly by the big bushman with his stories of adventure, and the unexplained family complication coincident with his presence and the evident desire to get rid of him shown by all the house. Mary, too, who was not the governess, and who under her little middle-aged primness was an observer like himself, and saw what he meant when Mrs. John remained quite impervious, interested the old lord. There was something to see and note where he had expected nothing, something to find out in the perfectly banal household. The old gentleman’s little keen eyes quickened and sparkled, and that wonderful interest in human life which is nowhere so strong as among those who have reached its furthest limit, awoke in him with a grateful hope of satisfaction. In the midst of this, which was on the whole agreeable, there was one little prick which had been given quite unintentionally by the most innocent hand, yet which he could not forget, notwithstanding all his philosophy. It was what little Duke had said when he had welcomed his uncle with immediate recognition of what was due to him. “First, there’s you,” Duke had said, “and when you’re dead, papa, and when papa’s dead, me—I’ll be Lord Frogmore some day.” This was quite true and quite innocent, and meant no harm; but Lord Frogmore could not get it out of his mind. He had of course been aware since John Parke was born that he was to be his own successor, heir presumptive, as the peerage said: and of course little Marmaduke was John’s heir—heir apparent, the undoubted hope of the illustrious son of the Parkes. But, still, all the same, it jarred upon the old gentleman. He did not like to be put away in his coffin in the family vault in this summary way, not even the chief figure there but followed soon by John after him, in order that this cocksparrow should become Lord Frogmore. He knew it was absurd, and he was able to laugh a little at John’s dismissal too, thus accomplished by his little son. But with all the alleviations to be procured in this way, and the evident simplicity of the child who meant no harm, it was still not pleasant to contemplate. “First, there’s you, and when you’re dead, papa, and when papa’s dead, me.” Lord Frogmore laughed to himself and wondered how John would like it: but John was young, and probably would not mind a reference to such a remote possibility, and then it was John’s son, not an unknown little boy, who was the speaker. He wondered if that was the sting of it—an unknown little boy—his nephew, indeed, but young enough to be his great-grandchild—a mite of a boy! To realize a long life like Lord Frogmore’s, an important life, so much in it, so many people dependent upon it, a life which had lasted so long, an institution in the country—and then to think that it was to be swept away to make room for that imp in knickerbockers! It was ludicrous, it was laughable—but the thing which put a sting in it and made it so disagreeable, so taunting, viewing back and back, thrusting duty in among other thoughts of far more importance, was that it was true. “I’ll be Lord Frogmore some day.” It was so. Uncle and father must give way to him. They would be put away with their riches and he would reign. This kept coming back into Lord Frogmore’s mind as he walked about the place and inspected the gardens and shrubberies. It flew in upon his thoughts when they were occupied with matters quite different—little Duke’s look and his childish confidence. “I’ll be Lord Frogmore, some day,” came back to him with a persistency which he disliked very much but could not get rid of. It was quite true—unless in any way Providence should interpose.
There was only two ways in which Providence, even Providence, could interpose. One was a very sad way, that little Duke should die; that he should never come to the heritage which he was quite right in thinking certain. The little fellow might die. This was an alternative that Lord Frogmore, though distinctly irritated by Duke, and resentful of his self-confidence, did not like to contemplate. Die—oh, no! He would not have the little fellow die—a creature so full of hope and promise—oh, no! Let him say what childish follies he pleased he must not die. But if not, then he must succeed and be Lord Frogmore. Was it absolutely certain that he must be Lord Frogmore?
Frogmore turned this over in his mind as he took his walk—the walk which he never intermitted, and which had done so much to keep him in health. Needless to say that the dearest wish of this old gentleman was to keep in health. The young people may be indifferent to it; they may consent to all sorts of rashness, and run all manner of risks; but when a man is drawing near seventy he knows he must not be guilty of any of these follies. Frogmore thought a good deal about his health, avoided everything that could injure it, denied himself even things that he liked, eat sparely, rested often, and avoided all subjects that were disagreeable, on principle, that nothing might affect his precious health. But he could not get this childish brag—this little boy’s chatter out of his mind. It was very annoying; it was not worth troubling about; but he could not get it out of his mind. Nevertheless, for some reason or other, he stayed longer at Greenpark than he had any intention of doing. He remained on from day to day, to Mrs. Parke’s annoyance yet pleasure.
“It is clear that Frogmore likes being here,” she said to her husband with some pride.