CHAPTER LVIII.
THE NORTH SIDE OF GROSVENOR SQUARE.
John Marston's first disappointment in life had been his refusal byMary. He was one of those men, brought up in a hard school, who get,somehow, the opinion that everything which happens to a man is his ownfault. He used to say that every man who could play whist could get asecond if he chose. I have an idea that he is in some sort right. But heused to carry this sort of thing to a rather absurd extent. He was aptto be hard on men who failed, and to be always the first to say, "If hehad done this, or left that alone, it would not have been so," and hehimself, with a calm clear brain and perfect health, had succeeded ineverything he had ever tried at, even up to a double first. At one pointhe was stopped. He had always given himself airs of superiority overCharles, and had given him advice, good as it was, in a way which wouldhave ruined his influence with nine men out of ten; and suddenly he wasbrought up. At the most important point in life, he found Charles hissuperior. Charles had won a woman's love without knowing it, or caringfor it; and he had tried for it, and failed.
John Marston was an eminently noble and high-minded man. His faults wereonly those of education, and his faults were very few. When he foundhimself rejected, and found out why it was so--when he found that he wasno rival of Charles, and that Charles cared naught for poor Mary--hehumbly set his quick brain to work to find out in what way Charles, sogreatly his inferior in intellect, was superior to him in the mostimportant of all things. For he saw that Charles had not only won Mary'slove, but the love of every one who knew him; whereas he, John Marston,had but very few friends.
And, when he once set to work at this task, he seemed to come rapidly tothe conclusion that Charles was superior to him in everything exceptapplication. "And how much application should I have had," he concluded,"if I had not been a needy man?"
So you see that his disappointment cured him of what was almost his onlyvice--conceit. Everything works together for good, for those who arereally good.
Hitherto, John Marston has led only the life that so many youngEnglishmen lead--a life of study, combined with violent, objectless,physical exertion as a counterpoise. He had never known what enthusiasmwas, as yet. There was a vast deal of it somewhere about him; in hiselbows or his toes, or the calves of his legs, or somewhere, as eventsprove. If I might hazard an opinion, I should say that it was stowedaway somewhere in that immensely high, but somewhat narrow, forehead ofhis. Before he tried love-making, he might have written the calmest andmost exasperating article in the _Saturday Review_. But, shortly afterthat, the tinder got a-fire; and the man who set it on fire was hisuncle Smith, the Moravian missionary.
For this fellow, Smith, had, as we know, come home from Australia withthe dying words of his beautiful wife ringing in his ears: "Go home fromhere, my love, into the great towns, and see what is to be done there."And he had found his nephew, John Marston. And, while Marston listenedto his strange, wild conversation, a light broke in upon him. And whathad been to him merely words before this, now became glorious,tremendous realities.
And so those two had gone hand in hand down into the dirt and profligacyof Southwark, to do together a work the reward of which comes afterdeath. There are thousands of men at such work now. We have no more todo with it than to record the fact, that these two were at it heart andhand.
John Marston's love for Mary had never waned for one instant. When hehad found that, or thought he had found that, she loved Charles, he had,in a quiet, dignified way, retired from the contest. He had determinedthat he would go away, and work at ragged schools, and so on, and try toforget all about her. He had begun to fancy that his love was growingcool, when Lord Saltire's letter reached him, and set it all a-blazeagain.
This was unendurable--that a savage from the southern wilds should stepin like this, without notice. He posted off to Casterton.
Mary was very glad to see him; but he had proposed to her once, and,therefore, how could she be so familiar with him as of yore?Notwithstanding this, John was not so very much disappointed at hisreception; he had thought that matters were even worse than they were.
After dinner, in the drawing-room, he watched them together. GeorgeCorby was evidently in love. He went to Mary, who was sitting alone, themoment they came from the dining-room. Mary looked up, and caught hiseyes as he approached; but her eyes wandered from him to the door, untilthey settled on John himself. She seemed to wish that he would come andtalk to her. He had a special reason for not doing so: he wanted towatch her and George together. So he stayed behind, and talked to LordHainault.
Lord Saltire moved up beside Lady Ascot. Lady Hainault had the threechildren--Archy in her lap, and Gus and Flora beside her. In her highand mighty way she was amusing them, or rather trying to do so. LadyHainault was one of the best and noblest women in the world, as you haveseen already; but she was not an amusing person. And no one knew itbetter than herself. Her intentions were excellent: she wanted to leaveMary free from the children until their bed-time, so that she might talkto her old acquaintance, John Marston; for, at the children's bed-time,Mary would have to go with them. Even Lady Hainault, determined as shewas, never dared to contemplate putting those children to bed withoutMary's assistance. She was trying to tell them a story out of her ownhead, but was making a dreadful mess of it; and she was quite consciousthat Gus and Flora were listening to her with contemptuous pity.
So they were disposed. Lord Saltire and Lady Ascot were comfortably outof hearing. We had better attend to them first, and come round to theothers afterwards.
Lady Ascot began. "James," she said, "it is perfectly evident to me thatyou sent for John Marston."
"Well, and suppose I did?" said Lord Saltire.
"Well, then, why did you do so?"
"Maria," said Lord Saltire, "do you know that sometimes you areintolerably foolish? Cannot you answer that question for yourself?"
"Of course I can," said Lady Ascot.
"Then why the deuce did you ask me?"
That was a hard question to answer, but Lady Ascot said:
"I doubt if you are wise, James. I believe it would be better that sheshould go to Australia. It is a very good match for her."
"It is not a good match for her," said Lord Saltire, testily. "To beginwith, first-cousin marriages are an invention of the devil. Third andlastly, she sha'n't go to that infernal hole. Sixthly, I want her, nowour Charles is dead, to marry John Marston; and, in conclusion, I meanto have my own way."
"Do you know," said Lady Ascot, "that he proposed to her before, and wasrejected?"
"He told me of it the same night," said Lord Saltire. "Now, don't talkany more nonsense, but tell me this: Is she bitten with that youngfellow?"
"Not deeply, as yet, I think," said Lady Ascot.
"Which of them has the best chance?" said Lord Saltire.
"James," said Lady Ascot, repeating his own words, "do you know thatsometimes you are intolerably foolish? How can I tell?"
"Which would you bet on, Miss Headstall?" asked Lord Saltire.
"Well, well!" said Lady Ascot, "I suppose I should bet on John Marston."
"And how long are you going to give Sebastopol, Lord Hainault?" saidJohn Marston.
"What do you think about the Greek Kalends, my dear Marston?" said LordHainault.
"Why, no. I suppose we shall get it at last. It won't do to have it saidthat England and France----"
"Say France and England just now," said Lord Hainault.
"No, I will not. It must not be said that England and France could nottake a Black Sea fortress."
"We shall have to say it, I fear," said Lord Hainault. "I am not quitesure that we English don't want a thrashing."
"I am sure we do," said Marston, "But we shall never get one. That isthe worst of it."
"My dear Marston," said Lord Hainault, "you have a clear head. Will youtell me this: Do you believe that Charles Ravenshoe is dead?"
"God bless me, Lord Hainault, have you any doubts?"
"
Yes."
"So have I," said Marston, turning eagerly towards him. "I thought youhad all made up your minds. If there is any doubt, ought we not tomention it to Lord Saltire?"
"I think that he has doubts himself. I may tell you that he has securedto him, in case of his return, eighty thousand pounds."
"He would have made him his heir, I suppose," said John Marston; "wouldhe not?"
"Yes: I think I am justified in saying Yes."
"And so all the estates go to Lord Ascot, in any case?"
"Unless in case of Charles's re-appearance before his death; in whichcase I believe he will alter his will."
"Then if Charles be alive, he had better keep out of Lord Ascot's way ondark nights, in narrow lanes," said John Marston.
"You are mistaken there," said Lord Hainault, thoughtfully. "Ascot is abad fellow. I told him so once in public, at the risk of getting anawful thrashing. If it had not been for Mainwaring I should have hadsore bones for a twelvemonth. But--but--well, I was at Eton with Ascot,and Ascot was and is a great blackguard. But, do you know, he is to somea very affectionate fellow. You know he was adored at Eton."
"He was not liked at Oxford," said Marston. "I never knew any good ofhim. He is a great rascal."
"Yes," said Lord Hainault, "I suppose he is what you would call a greatrascal. Yes; I told him so, you know. And I am not a fighting man, andthat proves that I was strongly convinced of the fact, or I should haveshirked my duty. A man in my position don't like to go down to the Houseof Lords with a black eye. But I doubt if he is capable of any deepvillainy yet. If you were to say to me that Charles would be unwise toallow Ascot's wife to make his gruel for him, I should say that I agreedwith you."
"There you are certainly right, my lord," said John Marston, smiling."But I never knew Lord Ascot spare either man or woman."
"That is very true," said Lord Hainault. "Do you notice that we havebeen speaking as if Charles Ravenshoe were not dead?"
"I don't believe he is," said John Marston.
"Nor I, do you know," said Lord Hainault; "at least only half. What apair of ninnies we are! Only ninety men of the 140th came out of thatBalaclava charge. If he escaped the cholera, the chances are in favourof his having been killed there."
"What evidence have we that he enlisted in that regiment at all?"
"Lady Hainault's and Mary's description of his uniform, which they neverdistinctly saw for one moment," said Hainault. "_Viola tout._"
"And you would not speak to Lord Saltire?"
"Why, no. He sees all that we see. If he comes back, he gets eightythousand pounds. It would not do either for you or me to press him toalter his will. Do you see?"
"I suppose you are right, Lord Hainault. Things cannot go very wrongeither way. I hope Mary will not fall in love with that cousin of hers,"he added, with a laugh.
"Are you wise in persevering, do you think?" said Lord Hainault, kindly.
"I will tell you in a couple of days," said John Marston. "Is there anychance of seeing that best of fellows, William Ravenshoe, here?"
"He may come tumbling up. He has put off his wedding, in consequence ofthe death of his half-brother. I wonder if he was humbugged at Varna?"
"Nothing more likely," said Marston. "Where is Lord Welter?"
"In Paris--plucking geese."
Just about this time, all the various groups in the drawing-roomseemed to come to the conclusion that the time had arrived fornew combinations, to avoid remarks. So there was a regularpass-in-the-corner business. John Marston went over to Mary; GeorgeCorby came to Lord Hainault; Lord Saltire went to Lady Hainault, who hadArchy asleep in her lap; and Gus and Flora went to Lady Ascot.
"At last, old friend," said Mary to John Marston. "And I have beenwatching for you so long. I was afraid that the time would come for thechildren to go to bed, and that you would never come and speak to me."
"Lord Hainault and I were talking politics," said Marston. "That is whyI did not come."
"Men must talk politics, I suppose," said Mary. "But I wish you had comewhile my cousin was here. He is so charming. You will like him."
"He seems to be a capital fellow," said Marston.
"Indeed he is," said Mary. "He is really the most lovable creature Ihave met for a long time. If you would take him up, and be kind to him,and show him life, from the side from which _you_ see it, you would bedoing a good work; and you would be obliging _me_. And I know, my dearfriend, that you like to oblige me."
"Miss Corby, you know that I would die for you."
"I know it. Who better? It puzzles me to know what I have done to earnsuch kindness from you. But there it is. You will be kind to him."
Marston was partly pleased and partly disappointed by this conversation.Would you like to guess why? Yes. Then I will leave you to do so, andsave myself half a page of writing.
Only saying this, for the benefit of inexperienced novel-readers, thathe was glad to hear her talk in that free and easy manner about hercousin; but would have been glad if she had not talked in that free andeasy manner to himself. Nevertheless, there was evidently no harm doneas yet. That was a great cause of congratulation; there was time yet.
Gus and Flora went over to Lady Ascot. Lady Ascot said, "My dears, is itnot near bed-time?" just by way of opening the conversation--nothingmore.
"Lawks a mercy on me, no," said Flora. "Go along with you, do, youfoolish thing."
"My dear! my dear!" said Lady Ascot.
"She is imitating old Alwright," explained Gus. "She told me she wasgoing to. Lord Saltire says, 'Maria! Maria! Maria!--you are intolerablyfoolish, Maria!'"
"Don't be naughty, Gus," said Lady Ascot.
"Well, so he did, for I heard him. Don't mind us; we don't mean anyharm. I say, Lady Ascot, has she any right to bite and scratch?"
"Who?" said Lady Ascot.
"Why, that Flora. She bit Alwright because she wouldn't lend her Mrs.Moko."
"Oh, you dreadful fib!" said Flora. "Oh, you wicked boy! you know whereyou'll go to if you tell such stories. Lady Ascot, I didn't bite her; Ionly said she ought to be bit. She told me that she couldn't let me haveMrs. Moko, because she was trying caps on her. And then she told nursethat I should never have her again, because I squeezed her flat. And soshe told a story. And it was not I who squeezed her flat, but that boy,who is worse than Ananias and Sapphira. And I made a bogey of her in thenursery door, with a broom and a counterpane, just as he was coming in.And he shut the door on her head, and squeezed a piece of paint off hernose as big as half-a-crown."
Lady Ascot was relieved by being informed that the Mrs. Moko aforesaidwas only a pasteboard image, the size of life, used by the lady's maidfor fitting caps.
There were many evenings like this; a week or so was passed without anychange. At last there was a move towards London.
The first who took flight was George Corby. He was getting dissatisfied,in his sleepy semi-tropical way, with the state of affairs. It wasevident that, since John Marston's arrival, he had been playing, withregard to Mary, second fiddle (if you can possibly be induced to pardonthe extreme coarseness of the expression). One day, Lord Saltire askedhim to take him for a drive. They went over to dismantled Ranford, andLord Saltire was more amusing than ever. As they drove up through thedense larch plantation, on the outskirt of the park, they saw Marstonand Mary side by side. George Corby bit his lip.
"I suppose there is something there, my lord?" said he.
"Oh dear, yes; I hope so," said Lord Saltire. "Oh, yes, that is a veryold affair."
So George Corby went first. He did not give up all hopes of beingsuccessful, but he did not like the way things were going. His Englishexpedition was not quite so pleasant as he intended it to be. He, poorfellow, was desperately in love, and his suit did not seem likely toprosper. He was inclined to be angry with Lord Saltire. "He should nothave let things go so far," thought George, "without letting him know;"quite forgetting that the mischief was done before Lord Saltire'sarrival.
Lord Saltir
e and John Marston moved next. Lord Saltire had thought itbest to take his man Simpson's advice, and move into his house in CurzonStreet. He had asked John to come with him.
"It is a very nice little house," he said; "deuced well aired, and thatsort of thing; but I know I shall have a creeping in my back when I goback for the first week, and fancy there is a draught. This will make mepeevish. I don't like to be peevish to my servants, because it isunfair; they can't answer one. I wish you would come and let me bepeevish to you. You may just as well. It will do you good. You have gota fancy for disciplining yourself, and all that sort of thing; and youwill find me capital practice for a week or so in a fresh house. Afterthat I shall get amiable, and then you may go. You may have the use ofmy carriage, to go and attend to your poor man's plaster business inSouthwark, if you like. I am not nervous about fever or vermin. Besides,it may amuse me to hear all about it. And you can bring that crackeduncle of yours to see me sometimes; his Scriptural talk is verypiquant."
Lord and Lady Hainault moved up into Grosvenor Square too, forParliament was going to meet rather early. They persuaded Lady Ascot tocome and stay with them.
After a few days, William made his appearance. "Well, my dearRavenshoe," said Lord Hainault, "and what brings you to town?"
"I don't know," said William. "I cannot stay down there. Lord Hainault,do you know I think I am going cracked?"
"Why, my dear fellow, what do you mean?"
"I have got such a strange fancy in my head, I cannot rest."
"What is your fancy?" said Lord Hainault. "Stay; may I make a guess atit?"
"You would never dream what it is. It is too mad."
"I will guess," said Lord Hainault. "Your fancy is this:--You believethat Charles Ravenshoe is alive, and you have come up to London to takeyour chance of finding him in the streets."
"But, good God!" said William, "how have you found this out? I havenever told it even to my own sweetheart."
"Because," said Lord Hainault, laying his hand on his shoulder, "I andJohn Marston have exactly the same fancy. That is why."
And Charles so close to them all the time. Creeping every day across thepark to see the coachman and his son. Every day getting more hopeless.All energy gone. Wit enough left to see that he was living on thecharity of the cornet. There were some splinters in his arm which wouldnot come away, and kept him restless. He never slept now. He hesitatedwhen he was spoken to. Any sudden noise made him start and look wild. Iwill not go on with the symptoms. Things were much worse with him thanwe have ever seen them before. He, poor lad, began to wonder whether itwould come to him to die in a hospital or----
Those cursed bridges! Why did they build such things? Who built them?The devil. To tempt ruined, desperate men, with ten thousand fiendsgnawing and sawing in their deltoid muscles, night and day. Suppose hehad to cross one of these by night, would he ever get to the other side?Or would angels from heaven come down and hold him back?
The cornet and his mother had a conversation about him. Bawled thecornet into the ear-trumpet:
"My fellow Simpson is very bad, mother. He is getting low and nervous,and I don't like the looks of him."
"I remarked it myself," said the lady. "We had better have Bright. Itwould be cheaper to pay five guineas, and get a good opinion at once."
"I expect he wants a surgeon more than a doctor," said the cornet.
"Well, that is the doctor's business," said the old lady. "Drop a lineto Bright, and see what he says. It would be a burning shame, mydear--enough to bring down the wrath of God upon us--if we were to lethim want for anything, as long as we have money. And we have plenty ofmoney. More than we want. And if it annoys him to go near the horses, wemust pension him. But I would rather let him believe that he was earninghis wages, because it might be a weight on his mind if he did not. Seeto it the first thing in the morning. Remember Balaclava, James!Remember Balaclava! If you forget Balaclava, and what trooper Simpsondid for you there, you are tempting God to forget you."
"I hope He may when I do, mother," shouted the cornet. "I rememberBalaclava--ay, and Devna before."
There are such people as these in the world, reader. I know some ofthem. I know a great many of them. So many of them, in fact, that thisconclusion has been forced upon me--that the world is _not_ entirelypeopled by rogues and fools; nay, more, that the rogues and fools form acontemptible minority. I may become unpopular, I may be sneered at bymen who think themselves wiser for coming to such a conclusion; but Iwill not retract what I have said. The good people in the worldoutnumber the bad, ten to one, and the ticket for this sort of belief is"Optimist."
This conversation between the cornet and his mother took place athalf-past two. At that time Charles had crept across the park to theMews, near Belgrave Square, to see his friend the duke's coachman andhis son. May I be allowed, without being accused of writing a novel inthe "confidential style," to tell you that this is the most importantday in the whole story.
At half-past two, William Ravenshoe called at Lord Hainault's house inGrosvenor Square. He saw Lady Ascot. Lady Ascot asked him what sort ofweather it was out of doors.
William said that there was a thick fog near the river, but that on thenorth side of the square it was pleasant. So Lady Ascot said she wouldlike a walk, if it were only for ten minutes, if he would give her hisarm; and out they went.
Mary and the children came out too, but they went into the square. LadyAscot and William walked slowly up and down the pavement alone, for LadyAscot liked to see the people.
Up and down the north side, in front of the house. At the second turn,when they were within twenty yards of the west end of the square, a tallman with an umbrella over his shoulder came round the corner, and leantagainst the lamp-post. They both knew him in an instant. It was LordAscot. He had not seen them. He had turned to look at a greatlong-legged chestnut that was coming down the street, from the right,with a human being on his back. The horse was desperately vicious, butvery beautiful and valuable. The groom on his back was neither beautifulnor valuable, and was losing his temper with the horse. The horse wasone of those horses vicious by nature--such a horse as Rarey (all honourto him) can terrify into submission for a short time; and the groom wasa groom, not one of our country lads, every one of whose virtues andvices have been discussed over and over again at the squire'sdinner-table, or about whom the rector had scratched his head, and hadhad into his study for private exhortation or encouragement. Not one ofthe minority. One of the majority, I fear very much. Reared, like a dog,among the straw, without education, without religion, withoutself-respect--worse broke than the horse he rode. When I think of allthat was said against grooms and stable-helpers during the Rarey fever,I get very angry, I confess it. One man said to me, "When we have had agroom or two killed, we shall have our horses treated properly." Look toyour grooms, gentlemen, and don't allow such a blot on the fair fame ofEngland as some racing stables much longer, or there will be a heavyreckoning against you when the books are balanced.
But the poor groom lost his temper with the horse, and beat it over thehead. And Lord Ascot stayed to say, "D---- it all, man, you will neverdo any good like that," though a greater fiend on horseback than LordAscot I never saw.
This gave time for Lady Ascot to say, "Come on, my dear Ravenshoe, andlet us speak to him." So on they went. Lord Ascot was so busy looking atthe horse and groom, that they got close behind him before he saw them.Nobody being near, Lady Ascot, with a sparkle of her old fun, poked himin the back with her walking-stick. Lord Ascot turned sharply andangrily round, with his umbrella raised for a blow.
When he saw who it was, he burst out into a pleasant laugh. "Now, yougrandma," he said, "you keep that old stick of yours quiet, or you'llget into trouble. What do you mean by assaulting the head of the housein the public streets? I am ashamed of you. You, Ravenshoe, you eggedher on to do it. I shall have to punch your head before I have done. Howare you both?"
"And where have you been, you naughty boy?" said Lady Ascot. r />
"At Paris," said that ingenuous nobleman, "dicing and brawling, asusual. Nobody can accuse me of hiding _my_ talents in a napkin, grandma.Those two things are all I am fit for, and I certainly do them with awill. I have fought a duel, too. A Yankee Doodle got it into his headthat he might be impertinent to Adelaide; so I took him out and shothim. Don't cry, now. He is not dead. He'll walk lame though, I fancy,for a time. How jolly it is to catch you out here! I dread meeting thatinsufferable prig Hainault, for fear I should kick him. Give me her arm,my dear Ravenshoe."
"And where is Adelaide?" said Lady Ascot.
"Up at St. John's Wood," said he. "Do steal away, and come and see her.Grandma, I was very sorry to hear of poor Charles's death--I was indeed.You know what it has done for me; but, by Gad, I was very sorry."
"Dear Welter--dear Ascot," said Lady Ascot, "I am sure you were sorry.Oh! if you would repent, my own dear. If you would think of the lovethat Christ bore you when He died for you. Oh, Ascot, Ascot! willnothing save you from the terrible hereafter?"
"I am afraid not, grandma," said Lord Ascot. "It is getting too cold foryou to stay out. Ravenshoe, my dear fellow, take her in."
And so, after a kind good-bye, Lord Ascot walked away towards thesouth-west.
I am afraid that John Marston was right. I am afraid he spoke the truthwhen he said that Lord Ascot was a savage, untameable blackguard.