Ravenshoe
CHAPTER LII.
WHAT LORD SALTIRE AND FATHER MACKWORTH SAID WHEN THEY LOOKED OUT OF THEWINDOW.
"And how do you do, my dear sir?" said Lord Saltire.
"I enjoy the same perfect health as ever, I thank you, my lord," saidFather Mackworth. "And allow me to say, that I am glad to see yourlordship looking just the same as ever. You may have forgotten that youwere the greatest benefactor that I ever had. I have not."
"Nay, nay," said Lord Saltire. "Let bygones be bygones, my dear sir.By-the-bye, Mr. Mackworth--Lord Hainault."
"I am delighted to see you at Casterton, Mr. Mackworth," said LordHainault. "We are such rabid Protestants here, that the mere presence ofa Catholic ecclesiastic of any kind is a source of pleasurableexcitement to us. When, however, we get among us a man like you--a manof whose talents we have heard so much, and a man personally endeared tous, through the love he bore to one of us who is dead, we give him athreefold welcome."
Lord Saltire used, in his _tete-a-tetes_ with Lady Ascot, to wish to Gadthat Hainault would cure himself of making speeches. He was one of thebest fellows in the world, but he would always talk as if he was in theHouse of Lords. This was very true about Lord Hainault; but, although hemight be a little stilted in his speech, he meant every word he said,and was an affectionate, good-hearted man, and withal, a clever one.
Father Mackworth bowed, and was pleased with the compliment. His nervewas in perfect order, and he was glad to find that Lord Hainault waswell inclined towards him, though just at this time the Most Noble theMarquis of Hainault was of less importance to him than one of the groomsin the stable. What he required of himself just now was to act and lookin a particular way, and to do it naturally and without effort. Hisgenius rose to the situation. He puzzled Lord Saltire.
"This is a sad business," said Lord Saltire.
"A bitter business," said Mackworth. "I loved that man, my lord."
He looked suddenly up as he said it, and Lord Saltire saw that he was inearnest. He waited for him to go on, watching him intently with hiseyelids half dropped over his grey eagle eyes.
"That is not of much consequence, though," said Father Mackworth."Speaking to a man of the world, what is more to the purpose is, tohear what is the reason of your lordship's having sought this interview.I am very anxious to know that, and so, if I appear rude, I must craveforgiveness."
Lord Saltire looked at him minutely and steadily. How Mackworth lookedwas of more importance to Lord Saltire than what he said. On the otherhand, Mackworth every now and then calmly and steadily raised his eyesto Lord Saltire's, and kept them fixed there while he spoke to him.
"Not at all, my dear sir," said Lord Saltire. "If you will have businessfirst, however, which is possibly the best plan, we will have it, andimprove our acquaintance afterwards. I asked you to come to me to speakof family matters. You have seen our advertisement?"
"I have, indeed," said Mackworth, looking up with a smile. "I wasutterly taken by surprise. Do you think that you can be right about thismarriage?"
"Oh! I am sure of it," said Lord Saltire.
"I cannot believe it," said Mackworth. "And I'll tell you why. If itever took place I _must_ have heard of it. Father Clifford, mypredecessor, was Petre Ravenshoe's confessor. I need not tell you thathe must have been in possession of the fact. Your knowledge of the worldwill tell you how impossible it is that, in a house so utterlypriest-ridden as the House of Ravenshoe, an affair of such moment couldbe kept from the knowledge of the father-confessor. Especially when thedelinquent, if I may so express myself, was the most foolishly bigoted,and cowardly representative of that house which had appeared for manygenerations. I assure you, upon my honour, that Clifford _must_ haveknown it. And, if he had known of it, he must have communicated it tome. No priest could possibly have died without leaving such a secret tohis successor; a secret which would make the owner of it--that is, thepriest--so completely the master of Ravenshoe and all in it. I confessedthat man on his death-bed, my lord," said Mackworth, looking quietly atLord Saltire, with a smile, "and I can only tell you, if you can bringyourself to believe a priest, that there was not one word said about hismarriage."
"No?" said Lord Saltire, pensively looking out of the window. "And yetLady Ascot seems so positive."
"I sincerely hope," said Mackworth, "that she may be wrong. It would bea sad thing for me. I am comfortable and happy at Ravenshoe. Poor dearCuthbert has secured my position there during my lifetime. The presentMr. Ravenshoe is not so tractable as his brother, but I can get on wellenough with him. But in case of this story being true, and Mr. CharlesHorton coming back, my position would be untenable, and Ravenshoe wouldbe in Protestant hands for the first time in history. I should lose myhome, and the Church would lose one of its best houses in the west. Thebest, in fact. I had sooner be at Ravenshoe than at Segur. I am verymuch pleased at your lordship's having sought this conference. It showsyou have some trust in me, to consult me upon a matter in which my owninterests are all on one side."
Lord Saltire bowed. "There is another way to look at the matter, too, mydear sir. If we prove our case, which is possible, and in case of ourpoor dear Charles dying or getting killed, which is probable, why thenWilliam comes in for the estate again. Suppose, now, such a possibilityas his dying without heirs; why, then, Miss Ravenshoe is the greatestheiress in the West of England. Have you any idea where Miss Ravenshoeis?"
Both Lord Saltire and Lord Hainault turned on him as the former saidthis. For an instant Mackworth looked inquiringly from one to the other,with his lips slightly parted, and said, "Miss Ravenshoe?" Then he gavea half-smile of intelligence, and said, "Ah! yes; I was puzzled for amoment. Yes, in that case poor Ellen would be Miss Ravenshoe. Yes, andthe estate would remain in Catholic hands. What a prospect for theChurch! A penitent heiress! The management of L12,000 a year! Forgive mybeing carried away for a moment. You know I am an enthusiasticChurchman. I have been bound, body and soul, to the Church from a child,and such a prospect, even in such remote perspective, has dazzled me.But I am afraid I shall see rather a large family of Ravenshoes betweenme and such a consummation. William is going to marry."
"Then you do not know where poor Ellen is?" said Lord Saltire.
"I do not," said Mackworth; "but I certainly shall try to discover, andmost certainly I shall succeed. William might die on this veryexpedition. You might prove your case. If anything were to happen toWilliam, I most certainly hope you may, and will give you everyassistance. For half a loaf is better than no bread. And besides,Charles also might be killed, or die of cholera. As it is, I shall notmove in the matter. I shall not help you to bring a Protestant toRavenshoe. Now, don't think me a heartless man for talking like this; Iam nothing of the kind. But I am talking to two very shrewd men of theworld, and I talk as a man of the world; that is all."
At this point Lord Hainault said, "What is that?" and left the room.Lord Saltire and Mackworth were alone together.
"Now, my dear sir," said Lord Saltire, "I am glad you have spoken merelyas a man of the world. It makes matters so much easier. You could helpus if you would."
Mackworth laughed. "Of course I could, my lord. I could bring the wholeforce of the Catholic Church, at my back, to give assistance. With ourpowers of organisation, we could discover all about the marriage in notime (if it ever took place, which I don't choose to believe just now).Why, it would pay us to search minutely every register in England, if itwere to keep such a house in the hands of the Church. But the CatholicChurch, in my poor person, politely declines to move all its vastmachinery, to give away one of its best houses to a Protestant."
"I never supposed that the dear old lady would do anything of the kind.But, as for Mr. Mackworth, will nothing induce _him_ to move _his_ vastmachinery in our cause?"
"I am all attention, my lord."
"In case of our finding Charles, then?"
"Yes," said Mackworth, calmly.
"Twenty thousand?"
"No," said Mackworth. "It wouldn't do. Twenty
million wouldn't do. Yousee there is a difference between a soldier disguising himself, andgoing into the enemy's camp, to lie, and it may be, murder, to gaininformation for his own side, and the same soldier deserting to theenemy, and giving information. The one is a hero, and the other a rogue.I am a hero. You must forgive me for putting matters so coarsely, butyou distrust me so entirely that I am forced to do so."
"I do not think you have put it so coarsely," said Lord Saltire. "I haveto ask your forgiveness for this offer of money, which you have so noblyrefused. They say every man has his price. If this is the case, yours isa very high one, and you should be valued accordingly."
"Now, my lord, before we conclude this interview, let me tell you twothings, which may be of advantage to you. The first is, that you cannotbuy a Jesuit."
"A Jesuit!"
"Ay. And the next thing is this. This marriage of Petre Ravenshoe is alla fiction of Lady Ascot's brain. I wish you good morning, my lord."
There are two sides to every door. You grant that. A man cannot be intwo places at once. You grant that, without the exception made by theIrish member. Very well then. I am going to describe what took place onboth sides of the library door at the conclusion of this interview.Which side shall I describe first?
That is entirely as I choose, and I choose to describe the outsidefirst. The side where Father Mackworth was. This paragraph and the lastare written in imitation of the Shandean-Southey-Doctorian style. Theimitation is a bad one, I find, and approaches nearer to the lower styleknown among critics as Swivellerism; which consists in saying the firstthing that comes into your head. Any style would be quite allowable,merely as a rest to one's aching brain, after the dreadfully keenencounter between Lord Saltire and Father Mackworth, recorded above.
When Mackworth had closed the library door behind him, he looked at itfor a moment, as if to see it was safe, and then his whole faceunderwent a change. It grew haggard and anxious, and, as he parted hislips to moisten them, the lower one trembled. His eyes seemed to growmore prominent, and a leaden ring began to settle round them; he pausedin a window, and raised his hand towards his head. When he had raised ithalf way he looked at it; it was shaking violently.
"I am not the man I was," he said. "These great field-days upset me. Mynerve is going, God help me. It is lucky that I was really puzzled byhis calling her Miss Ravenshoe. If I had not been all abroad, I couldnever have done so well. I must be very careful. My nerve ought not togo like this. I have lived a temperate life in every way. Possibly alittle too temperate. I won't go through another interview of this kindwithout wine. It is not safe.
"The chances are ten to one in favour of one never hearing of Charlesagain, Shot and steel and cholera. Then William only to think of. Inthat case I am afraid I should like to bring in the elder branch of thefamily, to that young gentleman's detriment. I wish my nerve was better;this irritability increases on me in spite of all my care. I wish Icould stand wine.
"Ravenshoe, with Ellen for its mistress, and Mackworth living there asher master! A penitential devotee, and a clever man for confessor! Andtwelve thousand a year! If we Jesuits were such villains as theProtestants try to make us out, Master William would be unwise to livein the house with me.
"I wonder if Lord Saltire guesses that I hold the clue in my hand. Ican't remember the interview, or what I said. My memory begins to go.They should put a younger man in such a place. But I would not yield toanother man. No. The stakes are too high. I wish I could remember what Isaid.
"Does William dream that, in case of Charles's death, he is standingbetween me and the light? At all events, Lord Saltire sees it. I wonderif I committed myself. I remember I was very honest andstraightforward? What was it I said at last? I have an uneasy feelingabout that, but I can't remember.
"I hope that Butler will keep the girl well in hand. If I was to getill, it would all rest with him. God! I hope I shall not get ill."
Now we will go to the other side of the door. Lord Saltire sat quietlyupright in his chair until the door was safely closed. Then he took apinch of snuff. He did not speak aloud, but he looked cunningly at thedoor, and said to himself--
"Odd!"
Another pinch of snuff. Then he said aloud, "Uncommon curious, by Ged."
"What is curious?" said Lord Hainault, who had come into the room.
"Why, that fellow. He took me in to the last moment. I thought he wasgoing to be simply honest; but he betrayed himself by over-eagerness atthe end. His look of frank honesty was assumed; the real man came out inthe last sentence. You should have seen how his face changed, when heturned sharply on me, after fancying he had lulled suspicion to sleep,and told me that the marriage was a fiction. He forgot his manners forthe first time, and laid his hand upon my knee."
Lord Hainault said, "Do you think that he knows about the marriage?"
"I am sure he does. And he knows where Ellen is."
"Why?"
"Because I am sure of it."
"That is hardly a reason, my dear Lord Saltire. Don't you think, eh?"
"Think what?"
"Think that you are--well," said Lord Hainault, in a sort ofdesperation, "are not you, my dear lord, to put it very mildly,generalising from an insufficient number of facts? I speak with allhumility before one of the shrewdest men in Europe; but don't you thinkso?"
"No, I don't," said Lord Saltire.
"I bow," said Lord Hainault. "The chances are ten to one that you areright, and I am wrong. Did you make the offer?"
"Yes."
"And did he accept it?"
"Of course he didn't. I told you he wouldn't."
"That is strange, is it not?"
"No," said Lord Saltire.
Lord Hainault laughed, and then Lord Saltire looked up and laughed too."I like being rude to you, Hainault. You are so solemn."
"Well," said Lord Hainault with another hearty laugh. "And what are weto do now?"
"Why, wait till William comes back," said Lord Saltire. "We can donothing till then, my dear boy. God bless you, Hainault. You are a goodfellow."
When the old man was left alone, he rose and looked out of the window.The bucks were feeding together close under the windows; and, fartheroff, under the shadow of the mighty cedars, the does and fawns werestanding and lying about lazily, shaking their broad ears and stampingtheir feet. Out from the great rhododendron thickets, right and left ofthe house, the pheasants were coming to spend the pleasant evening-tidein running to and fro, and scratching at the ant-hills. The rabbits,too, were showing out among the grass, scuttling about busily. Thepeacock had lit down from the stable roof, and was elegantly picking hisway and dragging his sweeping train among the pheasants and the rabbits;and on the topmost, copper-red, cedar-boughs, some guinea fowl werenoisily preparing for roost. One hundred yards from the window the parkseemed to end, for it dropped suddenly down in a precipitous, almostperpendicular slope of turf, three hundred and fifty feet high, towardsthe river, which you could see winding on for miles through the richlywooded valley; a broad riband of silver, far below. Beyond, woodedhills: on the left, endless folds of pearl-coloured downs; to the right,the town, a fantastic grey and red heap of buildings, lying along fromthe river, which brimmed full up to its wharves and lane ends; and, overit, a lazy cloud of smoke, from which came the gentle booming ofgolden-toned bells.
Casterton is not a show place. Lord Hainault has a whim about it. Butyou may see just such a scene, with variations, of course, fromPark-place, or Hedsor, or Chiefden, or fifty other houses on the king ofrivers. I wonder when the tour of the Thames will become fashionable. Ihave never seen anything like it, in its way. And I have seen a greatmany things.
Lord Saltire looked out on all this which I have roughly described (fora reason). And, as he looked, he spoke to himself, thus, or nearly so--
"And so I am the last of them all; and alone. Hardly one of them left.Hardly one. And their sons are feeding their pheasants, and plantingtheir shrubberies still, as we did. And the things that were
terriblerealities for us, are only printed words for them, which they try torealise, but cannot. The thirty mad long years, through which we stoodwith our backs to the wall, and ticketed as "the revolutionary wars,"and put in a pigeon-hole. I wish they would do us justice. We _were_right. Hainault's pheasants prove it. They must pay their twenty milliona year, and thank us that they have got off so easy.
"I wonder what _they_ would do, in such a pinch as we had. They seem tobe as brave as ever; but I am afraid of their getting too muchunbrutalised for another struggle like ours. I suppose I am wrong, for Iam getting too old to appreciate new ideas, but I am afraid of ourgetting too soft. It is a bygone prejudice, I am afraid. One comfort is,that such a struggle can never come again. If it did, they might havethe will to do all that we did, and more, but have they the power? Thisextension of the suffrage has played the devil, and now they want toextend it farther, the madmen! They'll end by having a House full ofWhigs. And then--why, then, I suppose, there'll be nothing but Whigs inthe House. That seems to me near about what will happen. Well! well! Iwas a Whig myself once on a time.
"All gone. Every one of them. And I left on here, in perfect health andpreservation, as much an object of wonder to the young ones as a dodowould be to a poultry-fancier. Before the effect of our deeds has beenfully felt, our persons have become strange, and out of date. But yet I,strange to say, don't want to go yet. I want to see that Ravenshoe boyagain. Gad! how I love that boy. He has just Barkham's sweet, gentle,foolish way with him. I determined to make him my heir from the firsttime I saw him at Ranford, if he turned out well. If I had announced it,everything would have gone right. What an endless series of unluckyaccidents that poor boy has had.
"Just like Barkham. The same idle, foolish, lovable creature, with angerfor nothing; only furious, blind indignation for injustice and wrong. Iwish he would come back. I am getting aweary of waiting.
"I wonder if I shall see Barkham again, just to sit with my arm on hisshoulder, as I used to on the terrace in old times. Only for one shorthalf-hour----"
I shall leave off here. I don't want to follow the kind old heathenthrough his vague speculations about a future state. You see how he hadloved his son. You see why he loved Charles. That is all I wished toshow you.
"And if Charles don't come back? By Gad! I am very much afraid thechances are against it. Well, I suppose, if the poor lad dies, I mustleave the money to Welter and his wife, if it is only for the sake ofpoor Ascot, who was a good fellow. I wonder if we shall ever get at thebottom of this matter about the marriage. I fancy not, unless Charlesdies, in which case Ellen will be re-instated by the priest.
"I hope William will make haste back with him. Old fellows like me areapt to go off in a minute. And if he dies and I have not time to make awill, the whole goes to the Crown, which will be a bore. I would soonerWelter had it than that."
Lord Saltire stood looking out of the library window, until the riverlooked like a chain of crimson pools, stretching westward towards thesinking sun. The room behind him grew dark, and the marble pillars,which divided it in unequal portions, stood like ghosts in the gloom. Hewas hidden by the curtain, and presently he heard the door open, and alight footstep stealthily approaching over the Turkey carpet. There wasa rustle of a woman's dress, and a moving of books on the centre table,by some hand which evidently feared detection. Lord Saltire stepped frombehind his curtain, and confronted Mary Corby.