CHAPTER XXV.
FATHER MACKWORTH BRINGS LORD SALTIRE TO BAY, AND WHAT CAME OF IT.
Old James was to be buried side by side with his old master in the vaultunder the altar. The funeral was to be on the grandest scale, and allthe Catholic gentry of the neighbourhood, and most of the Protestantwere coming. Father Mackworth, it may be conceived, was very busy, andseldom alone. All day he and the two Tiernays were arranging andordering. When thoroughly tired out, late at night, he would retire tohis room and take a frugal supper (Mackworth was no glutton), and sitbefore the fire musing.
One night, towards the middle of the week, he was sitting thus beforethe fire, when the door opened, and some one came in; thinking it wasthe servant, he did not look round; but, when the supposed servant cameup to the fireplace and stood still, he cast his eyes suddenly up, andthey fell upon the cadaverous face of Cuthbert.
He looked deadly pale and wan as he stood with his face turned to theflickering fire, and Mackworth felt deep pity for him. He held an openletter towards Mackworth, and said--
"This is from Lord Saltire. He proposes to come here the night beforethe funeral and go away in Lord Segur's carriage with him after it isover. Will you kindly see after his rooms, and so on? Here is theletter."
"I will," said Mackworth. "My dear boy, you look deadly ill."
"I wish I were dead."
"So do all who hope for heaven," said Mackworth.
"Who would not look worn and ill with such a scene hanging over theirheads?"
"Go away and avoid it."
"Not I. A Ravenshoe is not a coward. Besides, I want to see him again.How cruel you have been! Why did you let him gain my heart? I havelittle enough to love."
There was a long pause--so long that a bright-eyed little mouse ran outfrom the wainscot and watched. Both their eyes were bent on the fire,and Father Mackworth listened with painful intentness for what was tocome.
"He shall speak first," he thought. "How I wonder----"
At last Cuthbert spoke slowly, without raising his eyes--
"Will nothing induce you to forego your purpose?"
"How can I forego it, Cuthbert, with common honesty? I have foregone itlong enough."
"Listen now," said Cuthbert, unheedingly: "I have been reckoning up whatI can afford, and I find that I can give you five thousand pounds downfor that paper, and five thousand more in bills of six, eight, andtwelve months. Will that content you?"
Father Mackworth would have given a finger to have answered promptly"No," but he could not. The offer was so astounding, so unexpected, thathe hesitated long enough to make Cuthbert look round, and say--
"Ten thousand pounds is a large sum of money, Father."
It was, indeed; and Lord Saltire coming next week! Let us do the manjustice; he acted with a certain amount of honour. When you have readthis book to the end you will see that ten thousand pounds was only partof what was offered to him. He gave it all up because he would not lowerhimself in the eyes of Cuthbert, who had believed in him so long.
"I paused," said he, "from astonishment, that a gentleman could haveinsulted me by such a proposition."
"Your pause," said Cuthbert, "arose from hesitation, not fromastonishment. I saw your eyes blaze when I made you the offer. Think often thousand pounds. You might appear in the world as an English RomanCatholic of fortune. Good heavens! with your talent you might aspire tothe cardinal's chair!"
"No, no, no!" said Mackworth, fiercely. "I did hesitate, and I have liedto you; but I hesitate no longer. I won't have the subject mentioned tome again, sir. What sort of a gentleman are you to come to men's roomsin the dead of night, with your father lying dead in the house, andtempt men to felony? I will not."
"God knows," said Cuthbert, as he passed out, "whether I have lostheaven in trying to save him."
Mackworth heard the door close behind him, and then looked eagerlytowards it. He heard Cuthbert's footsteps die along the corridor, andthen, rising up, he opened it and looked out. The corridor was empty. Hewalked hurriedly back to the fireplace.
"Shall I call him back?" he said. "It is not too late. Ten thousandpounds! A greater stake than I played for; and now, when it is at myfeet, I am throwing it away. And for what? For honour, after I haveacted the----" (he could not say the word). "After I have gone so far. Imust be a gentleman. A common rogue would have jumped at the offer. Byheaven! there are some things better than money. If I were to take hisoffer he would know me for a rogue. And I love the lad. No, no! let thefool go to his prayers. I will keep the respect of one man at least.
"What a curious jumble and puzzle it all is, to be sure. Am I any worsethan my neighbours? I have made a desperate attempt at power, for aname, and an ambition; and then, because the ball comes suddenly at myfeet, from a quarter I did not expect, I dare not strike it because Ifear the contempt of one single pair of eyes from which I have been usedto receive nothing but love and reverence.
"Yet he cannot trust me, as I thought he did, or he would not have madethe offer to me. And then he made it in such a confident way that hemust have thought I was going to accept it. That is strange. He hasnever rebelled lately. Am I throwing away substance for shadow? I havebeen bound to the Church body and soul from my boyhood, and I must goon. I have refused a cardinal's chair this night, but who will ever knowit?
"I must go about with my Lord Saltire. I could go at him with moreconfidence if I had ten thousand pounds in the bank though, in case offailure. I am less afraid of that terrible old heretic than I am ofthose great eyes of Cuthbert's turned on me in scorn. I have lived solong among gentlemen that I believe myself to be one. He knows, and heshall tell.
"And, if all fails, I have served the Church, and the Church shall serveme. What fools the best of us are! Why did I ever allow thatstraightforward idiot Tiernay into the house? He hates me, I know. Irather like the fool. He will take the younger one's part on Monday; butI don't think my gentleman will dare to say too much."
After this soliloquy, the key to which will appear very shortly, FatherMackworth took off his clothes and got into bed.
The day before the funeral, Cuthbert sent a message to Charles, to begthat he would be kind enough to receive Lord Saltire; and, as the oldman was expected at a certain hour, Charles, about ten minutes beforethe time, went down to the bottom of the hall-steps on to the terrace,to be ready for him when he came.
Oh, the glorious wild freshness of the sea and sky after the darkenedhouse! The two old capes right and left; the mile-long stretch of sandbetween them; and the short crisp waves rolling in before the westerlywind of spring! Life and useful action in the rolling water; buddingpromise in the darkening woods; young love in every bird's note!
William stood beside him before he had observed him. Charles turned tohim, and took his arm in his.
"Look at this," he said.
"I am looking at it."
"Does it make you glad and wild?" said Charles. "Does it make the lastweek in the dark house look like twenty years? Are the two good soulswhich are gone looking at it now, and rejoicing that earth should stillhave some pleasure left for us?"
"I hope not," said William, turning to Charles.
"And why?" said Charles, and wondering rather what William would say.
"I wouldn't," said William, "have neither of their hearts broke withseeing what is to come."
"Their hearts broke!" said Charles, turning full round on hisfoster-brother. "Let them see how we behave under it, William. That willnever break their hearts, my boy."
"Charles," said William, earnestly, "do you know what is coming?"
"No; nor care."
"It is something terrible for you, I fear," said William.
"Have you any idea what it is?" said Charles.
"Not the least. But look here. Last night, near twelve, I went down tothe chapel, thinking to say an ave before the coffin, and there layMaster Cuthbert on the stones. So I kept quiet and said my prayer. Andof a sudden he burst out and said, 'I have risked my s
oul and my fortuneto save him: Lord, remember it!'"
"Did he say that, William?"
"The very words."
"Then he could not have been speaking of me," said Charles. "It ispossible that by some means I may not come into the property I have beenled to expect; but that could not have referred to me. Suppose I was toleave the house, penniless, to-morrow morning, William, should I goalone? I am very strong, and very patient, and soon learn anything.Cuthbert would take care of me. Would you come with me, or let me goalone?"
"You know. Why should I answer?"
"We might go to Canada and settle. And then Adelaide would come overwhen the house was ready; and you would marry the girl of your choice;and our boys would grow up to be such friends as you and I are. And thenmy boy should marry your girl, and----"
Poor dreaming Charles, all unprepared for what was to come!
A carriage drove on to the terrace at this moment, with Lord Saltire'ssolemn servant on the box.
Charles and William assisted Lord Saltire to alight. His lordship saidthat he was getting devilish stiff and old, and had been confoundedlycut up by his old friend's death, and had felt bound to come down toshow his respect to the memory of one of the best and honestest men ithad ever been his lot to meet in a tolerably large experience. And then,standing on the steps, went on--
"It is very pleasant to me to be greeted by a face I like as yours,Charles. I was gratified at seeing your name in the _Times_ as being oneof the winners of the great boat-race the other day. My man pointed itout to me. That sort of thing is very honourable to a young fellow, ifit does not lead to a neglect of other duties, in which case it becomesvery mischievous; in yours it has not. That young man is, I believe,your foster-brother. Will he be good enough to go and find Miss Corby,and tell her that Lord Saltire wants her to come and walk with him onthe terrace? Give me your shoulder." William ran right willingly on hiserrand.
"Your position here, Charles," continued Lord Saltire, "will be adifficult one."
"It will, indeed, my lord."
"I intend you to spend most of your time with me in future. I want someone to take care of me. In return for boring you all day, I shall getyou the run of all the best houses, and make a man of you. Hush! not aword now! Here comes our Robin Redbreast. I am glad I have tempted herout into the air and the sunshine. How peaked you look, my dear! How areyou?"
Poor Mary looked pale and wan, indeed, but brightened up at the sight ofher old friend. They three walked and talked in the fresh spring morningan hour or more.
That afternoon came a servant to Lord Saltire with a note from FatherMackworth, requesting the honour of ten minutes' conversation with LordSaltire in private.
"I suppose I must see the fellow," said the old man to himself.
"My compliments to Mr. Mackworth, and I am alone in the library. Thefool," continued he, when the man had left the room, "why doesn't he letwell alone? I hate the fellow. I believe he is as treacherous as hismother. If he broaches the subject, he shall have the whole truth."
Meanwhile, Father Mackworth was advancing towards him through the darkcorridors, and walking slower, and yet more slow, as he neared the roomwhere sat the grim old man. He knew that there would be a fencing match;and of all the men in broad England he feared his lordship most. Hisdetermination held, however; though, up to the very last, he had almostdetermined to speak only about comparatively indifferent subjects, andnot about that nearest to his heart.
"How do you do, my good sir," said Lord Saltire, as he came in; "I haveto condole with you on the loss of our dear old friend. We shall neitherof us ever have a better one, sir."
Mackworth uttered some commonplaces; to which Lord Saltire bowed,without speaking, and then sat with his elbows on the arms of his chair,making a triangle of his two fore-fingers and thumbs, staring at FatherMackworth.
"I am going, Lord Saltire, to trouble you with some of my earlyreminiscences as a boy."
Lord Saltire bowed, and settled himself easily in his chair, as one doeswho expects a good story. Mackworth went on--
"One of my earliest recollections, my lord, is of being at a Frenchlycee."
"The fault of those establishments," said Lord Saltire, pensively, "isthe great range of subjects which are superficially taught. I ask pardonfor interrupting you. Do you take snuff?"
Mackworth declined, with great politeness, and continued--
"I was taken to that school by a footman in livery."
"Upon my honour, then, I owe you an apology. I thought, of course, thatthe butler had gone with you. But, in a large house, one never reallyknows what one's people are about."
Father Mackworth did not exactly like this. It was perfectly evident tohim, not only that Lord Saltire knew all about his birth and parentage,but also was willing to tell.
"Lord Saltire," he said, "I have never had a parent's care, or any namebut one I believe to be fictitious. You can give me a name--give me,perhaps, a parent--possibly, a brother. Will you do this for me?"
"I can do neither the one thing nor the other, my good sir. I entreatyou, for your own sake, to inquire no further."
There was a troubled expression in the old man's face as he answered.Mackworth thought he was gaining his point, and pressed on.
"Lord Saltire, as you are a gentleman, tell me who my parents were;"and, as he said this, he rose up and stood before him, folding his arms.
"Confound the impudent, theatrical jackanapes!" thought Lord Saltire."His mother all over. I will gratify your curiosity sir," he said aloud,angrily. "You are the illegitimate son of a French ballet-dancer!"
"But who was my father, my lord? Answer me that, on your honour."
"Who was your father? _Pardieu_, that is more than I can tell. If anyone ever knew, it must have been your mother. You are assuming a tonewith me, sir, which I don't intend to put up with. I wished to spare youa certain amount of humiliation. I shall not trouble myself to do sonow, for many reasons. Now listen to me, sir--to the man who saved youfrom the kennel, sir--and drop that theatrical attitude. Your mother wasmy brother's mistress, and a clever woman in her way; and meeting herhere and there, in the green-room and where not, and going sometimes toher house with my brother, I had a sort of acquaintance with her, andliked her as one likes a clever, brilliant woman of that sort. Mybrother died. Some time after your mother fell into poverty and disgraceunder circumstances into which I should advise you not to inquire, andon her death-bed recommended you to my care as an old acquaintance,praying that you might be brought up in her own religion. The requestwas, under the circumstances, almost impudent; but remembering that Ihad once liked the woman, and calling to mind the relation she had heldto poor dear John, I complied, and did for you what I have done. Youwere a little over a twelvemonth old at the time of your mother's death,and my brother had been dead nearly or quite five years. Your mother hadchanged her protector thrice during that time. Now, sir!"
Mackworth stood before Lord Saltire all this time as firm as a rock. Hehad seen from the old man's eye that every word was terribly true, buthe had never flinched--never a nerve in his face had quivered; but hehad grown deadly pale. When Lord Saltire had finished he tried to speak,but found his mouth as dry as dust. He smiled, and, with a bow, reachingpast Lord Saltire, took up a glass of lemonade which stood at his elbowand drank it. Then he spoke clearly and well.
"You see how you have upset me, my lord. In seeking this interview, Ihad some hopes of having forced a confession from your lordship of myrelationship with you, and thereby serving my personal ambition. I havefailed. It now remains to me to thank you heartily and frankly for thebenefits I have received from you, and to beg you to forgive myindiscretion."
"You are a brave man, sir," said Lord Saltire. "I don't think you are anhonest one. But I can respect manliness."
"You have a great affection for Charles Ravenshoe, my lord?"
"Yes," said Lord Saltire; "I love Charles Ravenshoe more than any otherhuman being."
"Perhaps the time m
ay come, my lord, when he will need all your love andprotection."
"Highly possible. I am in possession of the tenor of his father's will;and those who try to set that will aside, unless they have a very strongcase, had better consider that Charles is backed up by an amount ofready money sufficient to ruin the Ravenshoe estate in law."
"No attempt of the kind will be made, my lord. But I very much doubtwhether your lordship will continue your protection to that young man. Iwish you good afternoon."
"That fellow," said Lord Saltire, "has got a card to play which I don'tknow of. What matter? I can adopt Charles, and he may defy them. I wishI could give him my title; but that will be extinct. I am glad littleMary is going to Lady Hainault. It will be the best place for her tillshe marries. I wish that fool of a boy had fallen in love with her. Buthe wouldn't."
Mackworth hurried away to his room; and, as he went, he said, "I havebeen a fool--a fool. I should have taken Cuthbert's offer. None but afool would have done otherwise. A cardinal's chair thrown to the dogs!
"I could not do it this morning; but I can do it now. The son of afigurante, and without a father! Perhaps he will offer it again.
"If he does not, there is one thing certain. That young ruffian Charlesis ruined. Ah, ah! my Lord Saltire, I have you there! I should like tosee that old man's face when I play my last card. It will be a finersight than Charles's. You'll make him your heir, will you, my lord? Willyou make him your groom?"
He went to his desk, took out an envelope, and looked at it. He lookedat it long, and then put it back. "It will never do to tempt him withit. If he were to refuse his offer of this morning, I should be ruined.Much better to wait and play out the ace boldly. I can keep my hold over_him_: and William is mine, body and soul, if he dies."
With which reflections, the good Father dressed for dinner.