The Young Duke

  CHAPTER II.

  _The Moth and the Flame_

  THE next morning was passed by the Duke of St. James in giving Mr.Dacre his report of the state of his affairs. His banker's accounts,his architect's estimates, his solicitor's statements, were all broughtforward and discussed. A ride, generally with Miss Dacre and one of heryoung friends, dinner, and a short evening, and eleven o'clock, sentthem all to repose. Thus glided on a fortnight. The mornings continuedto be passed in business. Affairs were more complicated than his Gracehad imagined, who had no idea of detail. He gave all the informationthat he could, and made his friend master of his particular feelings.For the rest, Mr. Dacre was soon involved in much correspondence; andalthough the young Duke could no longer assist him, he recommended andearnestly begged that he would remain at Dacre; for he could perceive,better than his Grace, that our hero was labouring under a great deal ofexcitement, and that his health was impaired. A regular course of lifewas therefore as necessary for his constitution as it was desirable forall other reasons.

  Behold, then, our hero domesticated at Dacre; rising at nine, joininga family breakfast, taking a quiet ride, or moderate stroll, sometimeslooking into a book, but he was no great reader; sometimes fortunateenough in achieving a stray game at billiards, usually with a MissMontingford, and retiring to rest about the time that in London his mostactive existence generally began. Was he dull? was he wearied? He wasnever lighter-hearted or more contented in his life. Happy he could notallow himself to be styled, because the very cause which breathed thiscalm over his existence seemed to portend a storm which could not beavoided. It was the thought, the presence, the smile, the voice of MayDacre that imparted this new interest to existence: that being who nevercould be his. He shuddered to think that all this must end; but althoughhe never indulged again in the great hope, his sanguine temper allowedhim to thrust away the future, and to participate in all the joys of theflowing hour.

  At the end of February the Montingfords departed, and now the Duke wasthe only guest at Dacre; nor did he hear that any others were expected.He was alone with her again; often was he alone with her, and neverwithout a strange feeling coming over his frame, which made him tremble.Mr. Dacre, a man of active habits, always found occupation in his publicduties and in the various interests of a large estate, and usuallyrequested, or rather required, the Duke of St. James to be hiscompanion. He was desirous that the Duke should not be alone, and pondertoo much over the past; nor did he conceal his wishes from his daughter,who on all occasions, as the Duke observed with gratification, secondedthe benevolent intentions of her parent. Nor did our hero indeed wishto be alone, or to ponder over the past. He was quite contented withthe present; but he did not want to ride with papa, and took everyopportunity to shirk; all of which Mr. Dacre set down to the indolenceof exhaustion, and the inertness of a mind without an object.

  'I am going to ride over to Doncaster, George,' said Mr. Dacre onemorning at breakfast. 'I think that you had better order your horse too.A good ride will rouse you, and you should show yourself there.'

  'Oh! very well, sir; but, but I think that----'

  'But what?' asked Mr. Dacre, smiling.

  The Duke looked to Miss Dacre, who seemed to take pity on his idleness.

  'You make him ride too much, papa. Leave him at home with me. I havea long round to-day, and want an escort. I will take him instead of myfriend Tom Carter. You must carry a basket though,' said she, turning tothe Duke, 'and run for the doctor if he be wanted, and, in short, do anyodd message that turns up.'

  So Mr. Dacre departed alone, and shortly after his daughter and the Dukeof St. James set out on their morning ramble. Many were the cottages atwhich they called; many the old dames after whose rheumatisms, and manythe young damsels after whose fortunes they enquired. Old Dame Rawdonwas worse or better; worse last night, but better this morning. She wasalways better when Miss called. Miss's face always did her good. AndFanny was very comfortable at Squire Wentworth's, and the housekeeperwas very kind to her, thanks to Miss saying a word to the great Lady.And old John Selby was quite about again. Miss's stuff had done him aworld of good, to say nothing of Mr. Dacre's generous old wine.

  'And is this your second son, Dame Rishworth?' 'No; that bees ourfourth,' said the old woman, maternally arranging the urchin's thin,white, flat, straight, unmanageable hair. 'We are thinking what to dowith him, Miss. He wants to go out to service. Since Jem Eustace got onso, I don't know what the matter is with the lads; but I think we shallhave none of them in the fields soon. He can clean knives and shoes verywell, Miss. Mr. Bradford, at the Castle, was saying t'other day thatperhaps he might want a young hand. You haven't heard anything, Isuppose, Miss?'

  'And what is your name, sir?' asked Miss Dacre. 'Bobby Rishworth, Miss!''Well, Bobby, I must consult Mr. Bradford.' 'We be in great trouble,Miss,' said the next cottager. 'We be in great trouble. Tom, poor Tom,was out last night, and the keepers will give him up. The good man hasdone all he can, we have all done all we can, Miss, and you see how itends. He is the first of the family that ever went out. I hope that willbe considered, Miss. Seventy years, our fathers before us, have webeen on the 'state, and nothing ever sworn agin us. I hope that willbe considered, Miss. I am sure if Tom had been an underkeeper, as Mr.Roberts once talked of, this would never have happened. I hope that willbe considered, Miss. We are in great trouble surely. Tom, you see, wasour first, Miss.'

  'I never interfere about poaching, you know, Mrs. Jones. Mr. Dacre isthe best judge of such matters. But you can go to him, and say that Isent you. I am afraid, however, that he has heard of Tom before.'

  'Only that night at Milwood, Miss; and then you see he had been drinkingwith Squire Ridge's people. I hope that will be considered, Miss.'

  'Well, well, go up to the Castle.'

  'Pray be seated, Miss,' said a neat-looking mistress of a neat littlefarmhouse. 'Pray be seated, sir. Let me dust it first. Dust will geteverywhere, do what we can. And how's Pa, Miss? He has not given mea look-in for many a day, not since he was a-hunting: bless me, if itayn't a fortnight. This day fortnight he tasted our ale, sure enough.Will you take a glass, sir?'

  'You are very good. No, I thank you; not today.'

  'Yes, give him a glass, nurse. He is unwell, and it will do him good.'

  She brought the sparkling amber fluid, and the Duke did justice by hisdraught.

  'I shall have fine honey for you, Miss, this year,' said the old nurse.'Are you fond of honey, sir? Our honey is well known about. I don't knowhow it is, but we do always contrive to manage the bees. How fond somepeople are of honey, good Lord! Now, when you were a little girl (I knewthis young lady, sir, before you did), you always used to be fond ofhoney. I remember one day: let me see, it must be, ay! truly, that itis, eighteen years ago next Martinmas: I was a-going down the nurserystairs, just to my poor mistress's room, and I had you in my arms (for Iknew this young lady, sir, before you did). Well! I was a-going down thestairs, as I just said, to my poor dear mistress's room with you, whowas then a little-un indeed (bless your smiling face! you cost me manya weary hour when you were weaned, Miss. That you did! Some thought youwould never get through it; but I always said, while there is life thereis hope; and so, you see I were right); but, as I was saying, I wasa-going down the stairs to my poor dear mistress, and I had a gallipotin my hand, a covered gallipot, with some leeches. And just as I hadgot to the bottom of the stairs, and was a-going into my poor dearmistress's room, said you (I never shall forget it), said you, "Honey,honey, nurse." She thought it were honey, sir. So you see she werealways very fond of honey (for I knew this young lady long before youdid, sir).'

  'Are you quite sure of that, nurse?' said Miss Dacre; 'I think this isan older friend than you imagine. You remember the little Duke; do notyou? This is the little Duke. Do you think he has grown?'

  'Now! bless my life! is it so indeed? Well, be sure, he has grown. Ialways thought he would turn out well, Miss, though Dr. Pretyman werealways a-preaching, and talking h
is prophecycations. I always thought hewould turn out well at last. Bless me! how he has grown, indeed! Perhapshe grows too fast, and that makes him weak. Nothing better than a glassof ale for weak people. I remember when Dr. Pretyman ordered it for mypoor dear mistress. "Give her ale," said the Doctor, "as strong as itcan be brewed;" and sure enough, my poor dear master had it brewed! Haveyou done growing, sir? You was ever a troublesome child. Often and oftenhave I called George, George, Georgy, Georgy Porgy, and he never wouldcome near me, though he heard all the time as plainly as he does now.Bless me! he has grown indeed!'

  'But I have turned out well at last, nurse, eh?' asked the Duke.

  'Ay! sure enough; I always said so. Often and often have I said, he willturn out well at last. You be going, Miss? I thank you for looking in.My duty to my master. I was thinking of bringing up one of those cheeseshe likes so.'

  'Ay! do, nurse. He can eat no cheese but yours.'

  As they wandered home, they talked of Lady Caroline, to whom the Dukementioned that he must write. He had once intended distinctly to haveexplained his feelings to her in a letter from Dacre; but each day hepostponed the close of his destiny, although without hope. He lingeredand he lingered round May Dacre, as a bird flutters round the fruitwhich is already grasped by a boy. Circumstances, which we shallrelate, had already occurred, which confirmed the suspicion he had longentertained that Arundel Dacre was his favoured rival. Impressed withthe folly of again encouraging hope, yet unable to harden his heartagainst her continual fascination, the softness of his manner indicatedhis passion, and his calm and somewhat languid carriage also told her itwas hopeless. Perhaps, after all, there is no demeanour more calculatedto melt obdurate woman. The gratification he received from her societywas evident, yet he never indulged in that gallantry of which he wasonce so proud. When she approached him, a mild smile lit up his pensivecountenance; he adopted her suggestions, but made none; he listened toher remarks with interest, but no longer bandied repartee. Delicately heimpressed her with the absolute power which she might exercise over hismind.

  'I write myself to Caroline to-morrow,' said Miss Dacre.

  'Ah! Then I need not write. I talked of going up sooner. Have thekindness to explain why I do not: peremptory orders from Mr. Dacre;fresh air, and----'

  'Arithmetic. I understand you get on admirably.'

  'My follies,' said the Duke with a serious air, 'have at least beenproductive of one good end, they have amused you.'

  'Nay! I have done too many foolish things myself any more to laugh atmy neighbours. As for yourself, you have only committed those which wereinseparable from your situation; and few, like the Duke of St. James,would so soon have opened their eyes to the truth of their conduct.'

  'A compliment from you repays me for all.'

  'Self-approbation does, which is much better than compliments fromanyone. See! there is papa, and Arundel too: let us run up!'