CHAPTER LV.
ARCHER'S PROPOSAL.
Six weeks had passed since the date of Captain Archer's letter before hepresented himself in person at Casterton. They were weary weeks enoughto Mary, Lord Saltire, and Lady Ascot. Lady Ascot was staying on atCasterton, as if permanently, at the earnest request of Lord and LadyHainault; and she stayed on the more willingly that she and Mary mightmingle their tears about Charles Ravenshoe, whom they were never to seeagain. The "previous marriage affair" had apparently fallen throughutterly. All the advertisements, were they worded never so frantically,failed to raise to the surface the particular parish-clerk required; andLady Ascot, after having propounded a grand scheme for personallyinspecting every register in the United Kingdom, which was pooh-poohedby Lord Saltire, now gave up the matter as a bad job; and Lord Saltirehimself began to be puzzled and uneasy, and once more to wonder whetheror no Maria was not mistaken after all. Mackworth was still very ill,though slowly recovering. The younger Tiernay, who was nursing him,reported that his head seemed entirely gone, although he began to eatvoraciously, and, if encouraged, would take exercise. He would now walkfar and fast, in silence, with the kind priest toiling after him. Buthis wilful feet always led him to the same spot. Whether they rambled inthe park, whether they climbed the granite tors of the moor, or whetherthey followed the stream up through the woods, they always ended theirwalk at the same place--at the pool among the tumbled boulders, underthe dark western headland, where Cuthbert's body had been found. Andhere the priest would sit looking seaward, as if his life and hisintellect had come to a full stop here, and he was waiting patientlytill a gleam of light should come from beyond.
William was at Ravenshoe, in full possession of the property. He hadbeen born a gamekeeper's son, and brought up as a groom. He had nowL10,000 a year; and was going to marry the fisherman's daughter, his owntrue love; as beautiful, as sweet-tempered a girl as any in the threekingdoms. It was one of the most extraordinary rises in life that hadever taken place. Youth, health, and wealth--they must producehappiness. Why no, not exactly in this case. He believed Charles wasdead, and he knew, if that was the case, that the property was his; buthe was not happy. He could not help thinking about Charles. He knew hewas dead and buried, of course; but still he could not help wishing thathe would come back, and that things might be again as they had beenbefore. It is not very easy to analyse the processes of the mind of aman brought up as William was. Let us suppose that, having been taughtto love and admire Charles above all earthly persons, his mind was notstrong enough to disabuse himself of the illusion. I suppose that yourAfrican gets fond of his fetish. I take it that, if you stole hismiserable old wooden idol in the night, though it might be badly carved,and split all up the back by the sun, and put in its place an OldChelsea shepherdess, he would lament his graven image, and probablybreak the fifty guineas' worth of china with his club. I know this,however, that William would have given up his ten thousand a year, andhave trusted to his brother's generosity, if he could have seen him backagain. In barbarous, out-of-the-way places, like the west of Devonshire,the feudal feeling between foster-brothers is still absurdly strong. Itis very ridiculous, of course. Nothing can be more ridiculous orunnecessary than the lightning coming down the dining-room chimney andsending the fire-irons flying about the cat's ears. But there it is, andyou must make the best of it.
We are now posted up well enough in the six weeks which preceded thearrival of the mysterious Archer. He deferred his arrival till hishoneymoon was completed. His mysterious letter to Mary partly alluded tohis approaching marriage with Jane Blockstrop--daughter of LieutenantBlockstrop of the coast guard, and niece of Rear-Admiral Blockstrop,who, as Captain Blockstrop, had the _Tartar_ on the Australianstation--and partly to something else. We shall see what directly. For,when Mary came down to see him in the drawing-room, there was with him,besides his wife, whom he introduced at once, a very tall and handsomeyoung man, whom he presented to her as her cousin, George Corby.
Did Charles turn in his pallet at Scutari? Did he turn over and stare atthe man in the next bed, who lay so deadly still, and who was gone whenhe woke on the weary morrow?
There was no mystery about George Corby's appearance. When Mary'sfather, Captain Corby, had gone to India, his younger brother, George'sfather, had gone to Australia. This younger brother was a somewhatpeevish, selfish man, and was not on the best of terms with CaptainCorby. He heard, of course, of the wreck of the _Warren Hastings_, andthe loss of his brother. He also informed himself that his niece wassaved, and was the protected favourite of the Ravenshoes. He had thensaid to himself, "I am needy. I have a rising family. She is better offthan I can make her. Let her stay there." And so he let her stay there,keeping himself, however, to do him justice, pretty well informed of herposition. He had made the acquaintance of Captain Archer, at Melbourne,on his first voyage to that port, in the end of 1852; laid the wholematter before him, and begged him not to break it to her at present.Captain Archer had readily promised to say nothing, for he saw Mary thelady of a great house, with every prospect, as he thought, of marryingthe heir. But when he saw Mary, after the break-up, in Grosvenor Square,a nursery governess, he felt that he ought to speak, and set sail fromthe port of London with a full determination of giving a piece of hismind to her uncle, should he hesitate to acknowledge her. He had no needto say much. Mr. Corby, though a selfish, was not an unkind man, by anymeans. And, besides, he was now very wealthy, and perfectly able toprovide for his niece. So, when Archer had finished his story, hemerely said, "I suppose I had better send over George to see if he willfall in love with her. That will be the best thing, I take it. She mustnot be a governess to those swells. They might slight or insult her.Take George over for me, will you, my dear soul, and see how it islikely to go. At all events, bring her back to me. Possibly I may nothave done my duty by her."
George was called in from the rocking-chair in the verandah to receiveinstructions. He was, so his father told him, to go to Europe withCaptain Archer, and, as Captain Archer was going to get married and missa voyage, he might stay till he came back. First and foremost, he was toavail himself of his letters of introduction, and get into the goodsociety that his father was able to command for him. Under this head ofinstruction he was to dance as much as possible, and to ride to thefox-hounds, taking care not to get too near to the hounds, or to rush athis fences like a madman, as all Australians did. Secondly, he was, ifpossible, to fall in love with his cousin Mary Corby, marry her, bringher back, and reside _pro tem._ at Toorallooralyballycoomefoozleah,which station should be swept and garnished for his reception, until thenew house at the Juggerugahugjug crossing-place was finished. Thirdly,he might run across to the Saxony ram sales, and, if he saw anythingreasonable, buy, but be careful of pink ears, for they wouldn't standthe Grampian frosts. Fourthly, he was not to smoke without changing hiscoat, or to eat the sugar when any one was looking. Fifthly, he was tolook out for a stud horse, and might go as far as five hundred. Such ahorse as Allow Me, Ask Mamma, or Pam's Mixture would do.[10] And so on,like the directions of the Aulic Council to the Archduke. He was not togo expressly to Durham; but, if he found himself in that part of theworld, he might get a short-horned bull. He need not go to Scotlandunless he liked; but, if he did, he might buy a couple of collies, &c.,&c.
George attended the ram sales in Saxony, and just ran on to Vienna,thinking, with the philosophy of an Australian, that, if he _did_ fallin love with his cousin, he might not care to travel far from her, andthat therefore she might "keep." However, he came at last, when Archerhad finished his honeymoon; and there he was in the drawing-room atCasterton.
Mary was not very much surprised when it was all put before her. She hadsaid to Charles, in old times, "I know I have relations somewhere; whenI am rich they will acknowledge me;" and, just for one instant, thesuspicion crossed her mind that her relations might have heard of thefortune Lord Saltire had left her. It was unjust and impossible, and inan instant she felt it to be so. Possibly the
consciousness of herinjustice made her reception of her cousin somewhat warmer.
He was certainly very handsome and very charming. He had been brought upby his father the most punctilious dandy in the southern hemisphere, andthrown from a boy among the best society in the colony; so he was quiteable to make himself at home everywhere. If there was a fault in hismanner, it was that there was just a shade too much lazy ease in thepresence of ladies. One has seen that lately, however, in other younggentlemen, not educated in the bush, to a greater extent: so we must notbe hard upon him. When Lady Hainault and Lady Ascot heard that a cousinof Mary's had just turned up from the wilds of Australia, they looked atone another in astonishment, and agreed that he must be a wild man. But,when they had gone down and sat on him, as a committee of two, for anhour, they both pronounced him charming. And so he was.
Lord Hainault, on receiving this report, could do no less than ask himto stay a day or two. And so his luggage was sent for to Twyford, andthe good Archer left, leaving him in possession.
Lord Saltire had been travelling round to all his estates. He had takenit into his head, about a month before this, that it was time that heshould get into one of his great houses, and die there. He told LadyAscot so, and advised her to come with him; but she still held on byLord Charles Herries' children, and Mary, and said she would wait. So hehad gone away, with no one but his confidential servant. He had gone toCottingdean first, which stands on the banks of the Wannet, at the footof the North Hampshire mountains.
Well, Cottingdean did seem at first sight a noble lair for an old lionto crawl away to, and die in. There was a great mile-long elm avenue,carried, utterly regardless of economy, over the flat valley, across theinnumerable branches of the river; and at the last the trees ran up overthe first great heave of the chalk hill: and above the topmost boughs ofthose which stood in the valley, above the highest spire of the tallestpoplar in the water-meadow, the old grey house hung aloft, a longirregular facade of stone. Behind were dark woods, and above all apearl-green line of down.
But Cottingdean wouldn't do. His lordship's man Simpson knew it wouldn'tdo from the first. There were draughts in Cottingdean, and doors thatslammed in the night, and the armour in the great gallery used suddenlyto go "clank" at all hours, in a terrible way. And the lady ancestressof the seventeenth century, who carried her head in a plate before her,used to stump upstairs and downstairs, from twelve o'clock to one, whenshe was punctually relieved from duty by the wicked old ancestor of thesixteenth century, who opened the cellar door and came rattling hissword against the banisters up all the staircase till he got to thenorth-east tower, into which he went and slammed the door; and, when hehad transacted his business, came clanking down again: when he in turnwas relieved by an [Greek: oi polloi] of ghosts, who walked tillcockcrow. Simpson couldn't stand it. No more could Lord Saltire, thoughpossibly for different reasons than Simpson's.
The first night at Cottingdean Lord Saltire had his writing-deskunpacked, and took therefrom a rusty key. He said to Simpson, "You knowwhere I am going. If I am not back in half an hour, come after me."Simpson knew where he was going. Lord Barkham had been staying here atCottingdean just before he went up to town, and was killed in thatunhappy duel. The old servants remembered that, when Lord Barkham wentaway that morning, he had taken the key of his room with him, and hadsaid, in his merry way, that no one was going in there till he came backthe next week, for he had left all his love-letters about. Lord Saltirehad got the key, and was going to open the room the first time for fortyyears.
What did the poor old man find there? Probably nothing more than poorBarkham had said--some love-letters lying about. When the room wasopened afterwards, by the new master of Cottingdean, we found only aboy's room, with fishing-rods and guns lying about. In one corner were apair of muddy top-boots kicked off in a hurry, and an old groomremembered that Lord Barkham had been riding out the very morning hestarted for London. But, amidst the dust of forty years, we couldplainly trace that some one had, comparatively recently, moved a chairup to the fireplace; and on the cold hearth there was a heap of theashes of burnt paper.
Lord Saltire came back to Simpson just as his half-hour was over, andtold him in confidence that the room he had been in was devilishdraughty, and that he had caught cold in his ear. Cottingdean would notdo after this. They departed next morning. They must try Marksworth.
Marksworth, Lord Saltire's north country place, is in Cumberland. If youare on top of the coach, going northward, between Hiltonsbridge andCopley Beck, you can see it all the way for three miles or more, overthe stone walls. The mountains are on your left; to the right areendless unbroken level woodlands; and, rising out of them, two milesoff, is a great mass of grey building, from the centre of which rises asquare Norman keep, ninety feet high, a beacon for miles even in thatmountainous country. The Hilton and Copley Beck join in the park, whichis twelve miles in circumference, and nearly all thick woodland. Beyondthe great tower, between it and the further mountains, you catch a gleamof water. This is Marksmere, in which there are charr.
The draughts at Marksworth were colder and keener than the draughts atCottingdean. Lord Saltire always hated the place: for the truth is this,that although Marksworth looked as if it had stood for eight hundredyears, every stone in it had been set up by his father, when he, LordSaltire, was quite a big boy. It was beautifully done; it was splendidlyand solidly built--probably the best executed humbug in England; but itwas not comfortable to live in. A nobleman of the nineteenth century,stricken in years, finds it difficult to accommodate himself in a housethe windows of which are calculated to resist arrows. At the time of theEglinton tournament, Lord Saltire challenged the whole Tory world inarms, to attack Marksworth in the ante-gunpowder style of warfare; hislordship to provide eatables and liquor to besiegers and besieged;probably hoping that he might get it burnt down over his head, and havea decent excuse for rebuilding it in a more sensible style. Thechallenge was not accepted. "The trouble," said certain Tory noblemen,"of getting up the old tactics correctly would be very great; and theexpense of having the old engines of war constructed would be enormous.Besides, it might come on to rain again, and spoil the whole affair."
Marksworth wouldn't do. And then Simpson suggested his lordship's townhouse in Curzon Street, and Lord Saltire said "Hey?" and Simpsonrepeated his suggestion, and Lord Saltire said "Hah!" As Charles's luckwould have it, he liked the suggestion, and turned south, coming toCasterton on his way to London. He arrived at Casterton a few days afterGeorge Corby. When he alighted at the door, Lord Hainault ran down thesteps to greet him, for this pair were very fond of one another. LordHainault, who was accused by some people of "priggishness," wascertainly not priggish before Lord Saltire. He was genial and hearty.There was a slight crust on Lord Hainault. Because he had held his ownamong the clever commoners at the University, he fancied himself alittle cleverer than he was. He in his heart thought more of his second,than Marston did of his double first, and possibly showed it among hisequals. But before an acknowledged superior, like Lord Saltire, thisnever showed. When Lord Saltire talked wisely and shrewdly (and whocould do so better than he?), he listened; when Lord Saltire was cross,he laughed. On this occasion Lord Saltire was cross. He never was crossto any one but Lady Ascot, Lord Hainault, and Marston. He knew theyliked it.
"Good Ged, Hainault," he began, "don't stand grinning there, and lookingso abominably healthy and happy, or I will drive away again and go on toLondon. Nothing can be in worse taste than to look like that at a manwhom you see is tired, and cold, and peevish. You have been outshooting, too. Don't deny it; you smell of gunpowder."
"Did you _never_ shoot?" said Lord Hainault, laughing.
"I shot as long as I could walk, and therefore I have a right to nourishenvy and all uncharitableness against those who can still do so. I wishyou would be cross, Hainault. It is wretched manners not to be crosswhen you see a man is trying to put you out of temper."
"And how _are_ you, my dear lad?" continued Lord Sal
tire, when he hadgot hold of his arm. "How is Lady Ascot? and whom have you got here?"
"We are all very well," said Lord Hainault; "and we have got nobody."
"Well done," said Lord Saltire. "I thought I should have found the housesmelling like a poulterer's shop on Guy Fawkes's day, in consequence ofyour having got together all the hawbucks in the country for pheasantshooting. I'll go upstairs, my dear boy, and change, and then come downto the library fire."
And so he did. There was no one there, and he sank into a comfortablechair, with a contented "humph!" in front of the fire, beside a biground table. He had read the paper in the train; so he looked for abook. There was a book on the table beside him--Ruskin's "ModernPainters," which had pictures in it; so he took out his great goldglasses, and began turning it over.
A man's card fell from it. He picked it up and read it. "Mr. CharlesRavenshoe." Poor Charles! That spring, you remember, he had come over tosee Adelaide, and, while waiting to see old Lady Hainault, had held hiscard in his hand. It had got into the book. Lord Saltire put the bookaway, put up his glasses, and walked to the window.
And Charles lay in his bed at Scutari, and watched the flies upon thewall.
"I'll send up for little Mary," said Lord Saltire. "I want to see thelittle bird. Poor Charles!"
He looked out over the landscape. It was dull and foggy. He wanderedinto the conservatory, and idly looked out of the glass door at the end.Then, as he looked, he said, suddenly, "Gadzooks!" and then, still morebriskly, "The deuce!"
There was a splendid show of chrysanthemums in the flower-garden, butthey were not what his lordship exclaimed at. In the middle of the walkwas Mary Corby, leaning on the arm of a very handsome young man. He wastelling some very animated story, and she was looking up into his facewith sparkling eyes.
"Othello and Desdemona! Death and confusion!" said Lord Saltire. "Here'sa pretty kettle of fish! Maria must be mad!"
He went back into the library. Lord Hainault was there. "Hainault," saidhe, quietly, "who is that young gentleman, walking with Mary Corby inthe garden?"
"Oh! her cousin. I have not had time to tell you about it." Which hedid.
"And what sort of fellow is he?" said Lord Saltire. "A Yahoo, Isuppose?"
"Not at all. He is a capital fellow--a perfect gentleman. There will bea match, I believe, unless you put a stop to it. You know best. We willtalk it over. It seems to me to offer a good many advantages. I think itwill come off in time. It is best for the poor little thing to forgetpoor Ravenshoe, if she can."
"Yes, it will be best for her to forget poor Ravenshoe, if she can,"repeated Lord Saltire. "I wish her to do so. I must make the youngfellow's acquaintance. By-the-bye, what time does your post go out?"
"At five."
"Have you no morning post?"
"Yes. We can send to Henley before nine."
"Then I shall not plague myself with writing my letter now. I shouldlike to see this young fellow, Hainault."
George Corby was introduced. Lord Saltire seemed to take a great fancyto him. He kept near him all the evening, and listened with greatpleasure to his Australian stories. George Corby was, of course, verymuch flattered by such attention from such a famous man. Possibly hemight have preferred to be near Mary; but old men, he thought, areexacting, and it is the duty of gentlemen to bear with them. So hestayed by him with good grace. After a time, Lord Saltire seemed to seethat he had an intelligent listener. And then the others were astonishedto hear Lord Saltire do what he but seldom did for them--use his utmostpowers of conversation; use an art almost forgotten, that of _talking_.To this young man, who was clever and well educated, and, like most"squatters," perhaps a _trifle_ fond of hearing of great people, LordSaltire opened the storehouse of his memory, of a memory extending overseventy years; and in a clear, well modulated voice, gave him hisrecollection of his interviews with great people--conversations withSieyes, Talleyrand, with Madame de Stael, with Robespierre, withEgalite, with Alexander, and a dozen others. George was intensely eagerto hear about Marat. Lord Saltire and his snuff-box had not penetratedinto the lair of that filthy wolf, but he had heard much of him frommany friends, and told it well. When the ladies rose to go to bed,George Corby was astonished; he had forgotten Mary, had never been nearher the whole evening, and he had made an engagement to drive LordSaltire the next morning up to Wargrave in a pony-chaise, to look atBarrymore House, and the place where the theatre stood, and where thegame of high jinks had been played so bravely fifty years before. And,moreover, he and Lord Saltire were, the day after, to make an excursiondown the river and see Medmenham, where once Jack Wilkes and the devilhad held court. Mary would not see much of him at this rate for a day ortwo.
It was a great shame of this veteran to make such a fool of the innocentyoung bushman. There ought to be fair play in love or war. Hisacquaintance, Talleyrand, could not have been more crafty. I am so angrywith him that I will give the letter he wrote that night _in extenso_,and show the world what a wicked old man he was. When he went to hisroom, he said to Simpson, "I have got to write a letter before I go tobed. I want it to go to the post at Henley before nine. I don't want itto lie in the letter-box in the hall. I don't want them to see thedirection. What an appetite you would have for your breakfast, Simpson,if you were to walk to Henley." And Simpson said, "Very good, my lord."And Lord Saltire wrote as follows:--
"MY DEAR LAD,--I have been travelling to my places, looking for a place to die in. They are all cold and draughty, and won't do. I have come back to Casterton. I must stay here at present on your account, and I am in mortal fear of dying here. Nothing, remember, can be more unmannerly or rude than falling ill, and dying, in another man's house. I know that I should resent such a proceeding myself as a deliberate affront, and I therefore would not do it for the world.
"You must come here to me _instantly_; do you hear? I am keeping the breach for you at all sacrifices. Until you come, I am to be trundled about this foggy valley in pony carriages through the day, and talk myself hoarse all the evening, all for your sake. A cousin of Mary Corby's has come from Australia. He is very handsome, clever, and gentlemanly, and I am afraid she is getting very fond of him.
"This must not be, my dear boy. Now our dear Charles is gone, you must, if possible, marry her. It is insufferable that we should have another disappointment from an interloper. I don't blame you for not having come before. You were quite right, but don't lose a moment now. Leave those boys of yours. The dirty little rogues must get on for a time without you. Don't think that I sneer at the noble work that you and your uncle are doing; God Almighty forbid; but you must leave it for a time, and come here.
"Don't argue or procrastinate, but come. I cannot go on being driven all over the country in November to keep him out of the way. Besides, if you don't come soon, I shall have finished all my true stories, and have to do what I have never done yet--to lie. So make haste, my dear boy.
"Yours affectionately,
"SALTIRE."
On the second day from this Lord Saltire was driven to Medmenham byGeorge Corby, and prophesied to him about it. When they neared home,Lord Saltire grew distraught for the first time, and looked eagerlytowards the terrace. As they drove up, John Marston ran down the stepsto meet them. Lord Saltire said, "Thank God!" and walked up to thehall-door between the two young men.
"Are you staying in London?" said George Corby.
"Yes. I am living in London," said John Marston. "An uncle of mine, aMoravian Missionary from Australia, is working at a large ragged schoolin the Borough, and I am helping him."
"You don't surely mean James Smith?" said Corby.
"Indeed I do."
"Your uncle? Well, that is very strange. I know him very well. My fatherfought his battle for him when he was at variance with the squattersabout.... He is one of the best fel
lows in the world. I am delighted tomake your acquaintance."
Lord Saltire said to Lord Hainault, when they were alone together--"Yousee what a liberty I have taken, having my private secretary down inthis unceremonious way. Do ask him to stay."
"You know how welcome he is for his own sake. Do you think you areright?"
"I think so."
"I am afraid you are a little too late," said Lord Hainault.
Alas! poor Charles.