XIV
"Mr. Rivers regrets that he is unable to receive you to-night, sir."
Laurence looked round with something approaching a start at Renshaw, thebutler, whose respectful, colourless voice broke in thus upon hismeditations. The dining-room struck him as hotter and more oppressivethan ever--by contrast probably with the buffeting wind and driving mistin which he had paced the lime-tree walk for a good hour before thedressing-bell rang. To-night the glass bowl, supported by the wanton,dancing, Etruscan figures, was filled with tuberoses and carmine-stainedJapanese lilies; and the odour given off by these acted on the youngman's brain as opium or hashish might have acted--at least so itappeared to him. The longer he meditated, the less could he distinguishbetween real and unreal, fact and phantasy. The best accredited articlesof his moral and scientific creed had passed into the region of the openquestion. Speculation ran riot, all the accustomed landmarks of histhought being for the time submerged; while the wildest and mostextravagant ideas presented themselves as within the range of practicalaction. That last read letter of Agnes Rivers, and his own resemblanceto her lover, had inflamed his imagination and his heart. Even in theirone night's intercourse, he had seen intelligence, purpose, gaiety,return to her. Now the daring conception that such a process might becontinued, until his sweet and mysterious companion recovered all thesenses and attributes of living womanhood, formed itself in his mind.Was it not conceivable that this appearance might be materialised, sothat the fair and gracious spirit should once again inhabit a humanbody, and know all those dear joys of love and motherhood which hadbeen--by some evil fortune, some catastrophe, as he supposed--denied toher? An immense ambition to be the instrument of this restoration, thisrecovery, grew within him. He would work a miracle, he would be as God,clothing the soul with flesh, raising the dead. And this by no exerciseof charlatanism, by no dabbling in old-world superstitions, or dealingsin folly of White Magic or of Black; but simply by force of will, by theaction of mind on mind, by the incalculable power of a great love. Itwas impious, perhaps. Morally it was doubtful--circumstanced as he,Laurence, was. But it was the most magnificent experiment ever offeredeither to man of science, or to poet. Here was the opportunity he haddesired, had waited for. Here was his chance in life!
Then the butler's voice cut in, bringing him down to the everyday level.No wonder he looked round a little dazed.
"Mr. Rivers regrets that he will be unable to receive you to-night,sir," it said.
And Laurence asked in answer--
"Is my uncle ill? Is he worse?"
"Mr. Lowndes has brought down word that he is tired, sir. Mr. Armstrong,the agent, arrived from Scotland this afternoon while you were out. Mr.Rivers has had a long interview with him--too long an interview in Mr.Lowndes's opinion."
"I am sorry," Laurence said absently. He fell to caressing his wonderfulidea again, but the butler waited.
"Mr. Armstrong requested me to add, sir, that if convenient to you, asyou will not be engaged with Mr. Rivers, he would be obliged if youwould allow him to speak to you in the course of the evening."
"Oh, by all means," the young man said, rising. Then he added--"Tell Mr.Armstrong I will see him at once. Later I may be occupied. Where? In thesmall library--yes."
Laurence betook himself to the library, prepared to be bored with a goodgrace. But he might have spared himself such preparation, for looking onthe new-comer, he liked him. The man, in age about sixty, was of barelymiddle height, broad-shouldered and lean about the flanks. He carriedhis head forward, stooping slightly, in observant, meditative fashion.He was slow of movement, calm, one capable of having his joke andkeeping it to himself. His face was shaped like a kite, remarkable inthe breadth of the lower part of the forehead and the high cheek-bones,narrowing down to a long, flat chin. The upper lip was long too, asomewhat pragmatical and self-righteous upper lip. While the eyes, setfar apart under the wide brow, showed a clear, kindly blue between thenarrow lids that ended in a fan-like system of wrinkles at the outwardcorners. The nose was thin and straight at the bridge, with wide-winged,open nostrils. The hair, formerly sandy, was now grey, smooth on the lowdome of the head, and thickly waved above and behind the flat-set,long-lobed ears. In all a shrewd, humorous, sober countenance, ruddy,moreover, as a well-ripened, autumn apple.
At first the agent's talk was professional, dealing in matters of leasesand rights-of-way; of draining operations and the breeding and rearingof cattle; of the iniquitous heaviness of road rates, the culture ofhops, and the cutting of copses. But gradually it began to take on amore personal and racial character, since the Scotchman is yet to beborn who can go very long in conversation without blowing--be it neverso discreetly--the trumpet of his own unrivalled nation. So he fell todilating upon the superiority of the Scotch to the English system ofnational education; upon the indolence and general incapacity of thesouth-country labourer; upon the glaring futilities and imbecilities ofdistrict and parish councils; and upon the congenital incapacity of theAnglican clergy--every man-Jack of them--to deliver a sermon which wouldsatisfy the intelligence and theological acumen of the most ordinarycongregation north of Tweed.
Laurence listened, amused by the exhibition of the speaker's bothconscious and unconscious prejudices. The man was alive; he wasself-secure and dependable. Laurence saw he would be a pleasant fellowto work with. And the thought of that work began to occupy his mind,opium dreams giving place before practical interests and activities.Laurence talked in his turn, showing a keenness in business and aknowledge of it, which Armstrong, with pursed-up lips and slow noddingsof the head, evidently relished.
"Aweel," he remarked at last, after the younger man had given aparticularly lucid description of certain labour-saving farm-implementsemployed in the wheat-growing states of Western America,--"I trust it isno disrespect to an old master, whom it pleases the Almighty towithdraw to some other sphere of usefulness--or the contrary, for itwould be overbold to prophesy largely on that subject of utility in thecase of your uncle, Mr. Rivers--it is no disrespect, I say, I trust, fora man who has served such an one for over thirty years to the best ofhis ability, to feel himself not indisposed to welcome the new master. Iam constrained to tell you, Mr. Laurence Rivers, that I looked to findin you some flighty, flimsy, modern run-about of a creature. Iacknowledge my error with thanksgiving. The impression you make on mymind is far from unfavourable."
"That's right," Laurence said genially. "I am new to all these landedproperty concerns as yet; but I expect I shall be able to get round thempretty smartly when the time comes."
"I think you will, I think you will." The agent's blue eyes twinkledwith a certain quiet humour, upon the young man, from between theirnarrow lids. "Your uncle, I must admit, is but a feeble body in thepractical domain. His great understanding has, so to speak, notinfrequently got between his legs and thrown him down. It is pitiful tosee any person so clever that he cannot condescend to take advantage ofthe handsome position the Almighty has allowed him. I own there havebeen times when I have felt rebellious against the Lord's too greatgenerosity in the goods of this world--perishable, I know, yet deservingof consideration--to one constitutionally incapable of drawing fullprofit out of them. Therefore I perceive with thankfulness, Mr. Rivers,you are of a different make."
Laurence leaned back in his chair, and lighted another cigarette. It wasearly yet--and he liked the man. He would encourage him to talk on for awhile longer.
"Oh yes," he said, "you needn't be worried under that head, Armstrong.I've the reputation of by no means quarrelling with my bread and butter,or despising the goodly fruits of this admittedly naughty world, inwhatever form I find them."
"Temperance is a canny virtue; and I would recommend moderation in allthings, after the teaching of the Apostle Paul. Yet I am glad to find,Mr. Rivers, you have your feet upon the floor. It will be well for yourestates, at the preservation and improvement of which I and my kin havelaboured--not unfaithfully--for three generations."
"So long as that?"
the young man ejaculated. The statement indirectlysuggested a former strain of thought.
"Yes, for three generations--and not without trials. For I would haveyou understand that a certain impracticability runs in your family, Mr.Rivers--a perversity, not sinful altogether, but very wearing to thosethat have your temporal interests at heart."
Gently Laurence blew a little cloud out of his nostrils, and watched itfloat upward across the dark, warm-hued landscape by Nicholas Poussinhanging over the chimney-piece. Against the windows the rain beat, whilethe heavy folds of the crimson, damask curtains, covering them, swayedjust perceptibly in the draught.
"I can believe it," he said. "My people have been afflicted with ideas;and ideas play the very mischief with business, don't they, Armstrong?"
"In their degree, and subject to a thrifty discretion in theirapplication, I would not wholly condemn them," the agent replied. Hisshrewd glance dwelt on the younger man with undisguised pleasure. He wasso handsome, well bred, well made, and apparently so able afellow.--"But ideas are kittle cattle, Mr. Rivers," he continued,"needing strenuous supervision if you would not have them break out ofpasture and run mad, sairly to the dislocation of all legitimatetraffic. And it has been the affliction of more than one member of yourfamily to let his ideas run abroad to a length of perniciousextravagance. For instance, my grandfather, a person of capacity andcircumspection beyond the average, was factor to your great uncle, Mr.Dudley Rivers, and--"
Laurence kept his eyes fixed on the last blue of the little smoke-cloudcurling about the intricate foliations of the upper corner of thepicture frame; yet his voice had a certain quickness and vibration in itas he exclaimed--
"Ah! Dudley Rivers--yes. Well, how about him, Armstrong?"
"Not much good, not much good. Like the foolish body recorded by thePsalmist, he had 'said in his heart, There is no God.' And having madethat very impious and lying observation, and so disposed of the Deity,he proceeded to supersede the latter in his own person, and attempt thereorganisation of society according to his own hare-brained fancies.Regarding his deliverance from dangerous delusions my grandfather coulddo but little, being himself a godly man, and holding firmly by thedoctrine of Election. If the poor misguided creature would go to thedevil, Mr. Rivers, it was--so my grandfather held--because to the devilhe was righteously foredoomed and predestined to go. And so mygrandfather, relieved of all responsibility in that respect, felt freeto apply the whole of his abilities to saving the poor, erring person'streasure on earth, since it was manifestly not the intention ofProvidence that he should inherit any treasure in heaven. He had longtaken entire charge of those estates in the county of Fife, whichbelonged to Mr. Dudley's young cousin and ward, Miss Agnes Rivers--"
"Ah!" Laurence ejaculated softly.
"And many a time did my grandfather undertake the tedious journey downhere, from the north, to lend a seasonable hand in restraining Mr.Dudley from committing some ruinous foolishness in respect of MissAgnes, or of his own southern property. For Mr. Dudley was justcompletely saturated with pernicious opinions derived from the writingsof Rousseau, and Tom Paine, and other such seditious persons; and Satanentering into him at intervals, and blinding his small surviving modicumof reason, he proposed to reduce them to practice--poor, demented body."
"Yes," Laurence said, "he had graduated in a rather impossible school,no doubt. But--but--Armstrong, what about his private life--his morals?"
"Blameless--blameless--more's the pity, since his virtues could but comeunder the head of works of supererogation--so my grandfatherheld--profitless alike in this world and in the next. Indeed, though astrict man himself, I am constrained to believe he would haveexperienced relief in seeing Mr. Dudley enjoy the pleasures of sin--theyare real, very real while they last, unfortunately--for a season."
Laurence flung away the stump of his cigarette, and turned sideways inhis chair.
"Now, as we're on the subject," he said, "and as you seem to know allabout these people of mine, what sort of fellow was Dudley's youngerbrother, my namesake, Laurence Rivers?"
"Weel, I have reason to believe he was a very promising sprig--a likelyyoung gentleman, high-spirited, clean-living, and not without a show ofcapacity for affairs. My grandparents, both of them, entertained a warmaffection for him."--The man paused in his slow sing-song talk,smiling.--"I should surmise him to have been much such a person asyourself, Mr. Rivers, with a natural gift of winning the hearts of thosebrought into contact with him. But he fell at Trafalgar, shot throughthe lungs, as no doubt you have heard--cut off before he had opportunityto acquaint the world with the worth of the talents that might reside inhim. It was a grievous misfortune, for his death took place but threemonths before the day appointed for his and his cousin's marriage. Andoften, as a soft-hearted bit of a laddie, I have cried to hear mygrandmother tell of the coming of the awful news and the grief of thepoor young lady. She was a gracious, winsome thing, as bright as asunbeam on a running brook; very pious, too, and charitable, so that nomortal soul could but wish her well that looked on her. But she wasshivered by the stroke of her sorrow, as you might shiver some fragiletrifle of an ornament with a careless blow. She would not eat or speakfor many days, and her sleep departed from her. And, indeed, during thefew months of life that remained to her she rarely uttered a word. Herpoor bits of wits seemed to drain out of her with her tears, for allthat she was highly educated, and an accomplished musician and sweetsinger."
Laurence had risen to his feet. He stood with his back to the fire, hishands behind him, and his head bent.
"Poor child!" he said softly. "Well, she knew how to love, anyway."
"No woman better; but I am thinking, Mr. Rivers, she introduced into heraffections a touch of that same extravagance which pertains to so manymembers of your family. For my grandmother used to tell me that, thoughaltogether gentle and docile, she studied nothing but to turn over herdead love's letters, and play with the various gifts he had bestowedupon her, as a little lass plays with its puppets and toys. It was thepitifulest spectacle under the dome of the sky, that of her affliction;and Mr. Dudley, notwithstanding his reprehensible opinions and infamousheresies, watched over her like a father. His patience knew no bounds,poor body. He would have laid himself down as the ground for her to walkon, could that have accelerated her recovery. He spared no expense ofdoctors, both foreign and English, to prescribe for her; and carried heraway to Bath, by their advice, to drink the waters there. But all themedicinal waters that ever welled up through the length and breadth ofGod Almighty's curious earth are powerless to ease the ache of a brokenheart. She wanted but one thing, and that no mortal soul could give her.And so, poor, white lily of a thing, she just sickened, and faded, anddied."
Laurence stood very still, looking down at the hearthrug between hisfeet, while the rain beat against the windows. The agent watched him fora little space, and then rose, a trifle stiffly and carefully, from hischair.
"I am keeping you over long with my family histories, Mr. Rivers," hesaid. "But it comes to me that we are about to see great changes in thisplace very speedily; and our conversation to-night has been avalediction to the old dynasty and a recognition of the new. There hasbeen no lady at Stoke Rivers since Miss Agnes died, and you, so I learn,are a married man."
Laurence left his contemplation of the hearthrug, and drew himself uprather sharply.
"Yes," he said, "my wife is much interested in the prospect of thisEnglish property."
He turned his back, and stared into the fire.
"Look here, Armstrong," he said, "where was she--Agnes Rivers, Imean--where was she buried?"
A singularly acute expression came over the agent's countenance. Helooked hard at the young man, but the latter did not move or turn hishead. The wind, increasing in force broke, as in great waves, againstthe house front and the curtains swayed sullenly in the draught.Armstrong cleared his throat.
"I am thinking it's a calamitous night for too many poor folks at sea,"he remarked; and then added:--"B
uried? Weel, presumably at Bath, whereshe died, Mr. Rivers. A grand funeral took place there, to mygrandfather's knowledge, for he was called upon to journey the wholelong way from Cupar to attend it, and the snow lay some foot deep in theNorth. A grand funeral, truly, in appearance, with black horses, andplumes, and lumbering black coaches, and all signs of respect andcustomary outward manifestations of woe."
Still Laurence did not move; but the gusty wind was so loud that itobliged him to raise his voice in asking--
"Well, well, if there was all this display about the funeral, why_presumably_ then?"
"Because I am constrained to admit that a certain mystery surroundedthat transaction. My grandparents would never speak directly of it,being prudent persons, and knowing, conceivably, more than it wasbecoming for them to tell. But there were tongues that said, Mr. Rivers,that no sweet lassie's corpse lay in that coffin; but only books, andcast clothes, and bricks, and rubbish, to make up the weight."
Laurence turned round suddenly. His face was keen, his eyes alight.
"But why?" he asked.
"Partly, I surmise, on account of Mr. Dudley's atheistical views, whichcaused him to hate and scorn all decent Christian rites and ceremonies.And partly because of the feelings he entertained towards hiscousin--for it was well known she was the only human creature that hadever moved him to love--it was apprehended he refused to part with herbody even in death."
For a few moments the two men looked hard at each other.
"And what then?" Laurence demanded. Armstrong raised his hands, almostas in repudiation of his own thought.
"The Lord only knows," he said. "As the poet says, 'There are morethings in heaven and earth than are dreamed of in our philosophy.' ButI, being a practical man, do not concern myself with such, Mr. Rivers. Iwould not learn more of hidden matters than is strictly necessary tosalvation. If it is the intention of the Deity that further revelationof laws, either natural or spiritual, should be granted us, suchrevelation will, without doubt, come at the time appointed. And so I,personally, would not force the hand of Providence or be over forward inpushing myself into its secret counsels."
He paused, regarding the younger man with much friendliness and someanxiety. But Laurence did not speak. He merely smiled, holding out hishand.
"Aweel, good night to you then, Mr. Rivers," the agent said, taking theoutstretched hand and holding it awhile.--"I must repeat, I am glad tocarry away so favourable an impression of our first meeting. But, as aword at parting having in mind the tendencies of your familyconstitution, I would earnestly commend to you those canny virtues,moderation and temperance, in all your undertakings.--I will be residenthere for the coming week, or longer should a more protracted stay beincumbent on me, in the interests of your affairs or your uncle's. Mysons are good, steady lads, and will mind our northern business forme--a business not unprosperous or decreasing. And so you can notify meat any time should you feel an inclination to acquaint yourself furtherwith the workings of this estate, or other items of poor Mr. Rivers's byno means inconsiderable property."