CHAPTER TWENTY THREE.
AFTER THE BLOW.
Facing round to return to the house the sight of the latter met Wagramas with a blow. The last time he had looked upon it from outside,barely half-an-hour ago, it had been with the love of it and everythingabout it--that pride of possession which had become unconsciously a partof his very life. Now all was swept away. He passed his hand over hiseyes as though dazzled; even his walk seemed swaying and unsteady, asthat of a man recovering from a stunning shock. But not of himself musthe think just then. He must do what he could to mitigate the stroke asregarded his father, he told himself; afterwards he might indulge in the"luxury" of self-pity.
The old Squire was sitting in the library just where he had left him,and as many years seemed to have gone over his head as minutes duringthe time intervening.
"Well, father, this is rather a facer," he began. "The next thing is toconsider what's to be done."
"There's nothing to be done," answered the old man wearily. "Do youthink that scoundrel means to keep his word?"
"To do him justice, I think he means to at present; but whether his goodintentions will evaporate with the lapse of time, and the temptation totry and extract more plunder, is another matter."
There was silence for a few moments between them. Then Wagram said:
"Father, would you mind telling me all the ins and outs of this while weare on the subject? We shall get it over that way, and then we neednever refer to it again."
"Yes; perhaps it is better," said the Squire, with a sigh.
And then he set forth the whole story, which, with some additional butimmaterial detail, was the same as that which we heard him narrate toMonsignor Culham.
"You know, this man has just been telling me where I can find Everard,"said Wagram when he had done.
The Squire started.
"Where you can find Everard!" he echoed. "But--Wagram, you will neverbe so mad as to try?"
"How can I do otherwise? Every hour that I am here I am keeping him outof his rights."
Smiling somewhat feebly the old diplomat asserted himself.
"Hardly, my dear boy. At least not at present--for during my lifetimeEverard has no rights. After--"
Wagram looked up quickly, but the old man paused. Then he went on:
"Your first duty is to me; and, that being so, are you contemplatingleaving me alone in my old age--my very old age, some might call it--while you scour the world in search of a wastrel who, if you find him,will lay himself out to ruin within six months all that it has takenme--and you--a lifetime to build up? You cannot do it, Wagram. I havenot very much longer to live, but as sure as you leave me it will hastenmy death. Now, are you anxious to start upon this search?"
"No, father. While you are here--and may that be for many years tocome--I will not leave you."
"Promise me that."
"Solemnly I promise it."
The old man's face brightened as they clasped hands. Then he went on:
"This is no conscious wrong I have done you, Wagram--God knows. We hadevery reason--legal and otherwise--for supposing this man to be dead.We acted in perfect good faith, but--can one be sure of anything? Andnow give me your attention. Even if the worst comes to the very worst,and that--that other claim should come to be established, I have alreadyeffected my utmost to repair the wrong I have, accidentally, done you.The very day of that blackmailer's first visit to me I sent instructionsfor an entirely new will to be drawn up, and under it, after my death,you take the whole of my personalty absolutely. That alone willconstitute you what some would call a rich man. But--as for Hilversea,well--"
Earlier in this narrative we heard Haldane remark that its presentoccupants cherished a conviction that the world revolved roundHilversea, and being, perhaps, the most intimate friend of the saidoccupants he ought to be in a position to judge. Further, he hadobserved that, if possible, Wagram held that conviction rather morefirmly than his father. It was a figure of speech, of course, but thatboth were wrapped up in the place and its interests, far beyond theordinary, we have abundantly shown. And now one of them would be calledupon to surrender it.
"I have left nothing to chance, Wagram," went on the Squire. "The willis signed and sealed and most carefully drawn. And now observe: itseems to me a sort of inspiration that caused me to have you christenedWagram; but, to make everything doubly safe, the terms run: `To my sonWagram Gerard, known as Wagram Gerard Wagram.' But I want you to go upto town in a day or two and tell Simcox and Yaxley to let you see it.You can then satisfy yourself."
Wagram nodded assent, and the Squire went on:
"This has come upon us--upon you at any rate--in a hurry, and for thatvery reason we must not allow ourselves to do or say anything in ahurry. Meanwhile we are in possession, which is a strong point. Sowhat we--what you--have got to do is to go on exactly as if thisrevelation had never been made. There is no telling what Time may work,so give Time his chance. Morally, you are just in the position youwould actually have been in--morally, for I repeat again the wholeaffair was a sheer accident for which nobody is to blame--no, notanybody. And, Wagram, if you distrust my advice as possibly toointerested, why not take other advice? There is Monsignor Culham, forinstance--no one is more competent to advise you."
"Monsignor Culham? Does he know about this, father?"
"Yes; I laid it before him when this blackmailer first approached me."
"And his opinion?"
"Substantially what I have been telling you. He was not in favour ofyour knowing anything about the matter. Unfortunately, you forced theblackmailer's hand--as he said himself. Morally, and in the sight ofGod," went on the old Squire, lapsing into what was, for him,extraordinary vehemence, "your position is just what it would have beenbut for this--accident. There is no doubt about it. You are the oneselected to hold this place in trust, with its many cares andresponsibilities and opportunities, so, for God's sake, Wagram, bearthat in mind, and do nothing sudden or rash, either now or after mytime."
"I will bear it in mind, father; but it is a position which requires agreat deal of thinking out, and that can't be done in a day or a week ora month where such issues are at stake."
"Quite true; leave it at that, then. And now, Wagram, all this hasexhausted me more than I can say. I think I will lie down for a bit andtry to get a little sleep. Tell them I am on no account to bedisturbed."
"Mine!"
No longer the ecstatic intonation of the entrancing possessive, asWagram, strolling forth to wrestle out alone the blank and deadeningrevelation he had heard that day, gazed upon the surroundings which hadcalled forth that intensity of self-gratulation on the occasion of ourfirst making his acquaintance. He was now but a mere temporarypensioner. He realised that he was here but for his father's lifetime,for he knew that when left to himself, whatever might be the afterconsequences, he would leave no stone unturned till he should find hishalf-brother, and then--
He turned into a seldom-used path in the thick of the shrubbery. TheGothic roof of the chapel rose among the trees at no great distance, andthe sight was productive of another heart-tightening. All his pride andjoy in the beautiful little sanctuary--and soon it, too, would know himno more. He felt as though about to be cast out of Paradise. But withthe thought came another, and it was a wholesome one. What right had heto look upon life as a broken thing simply because one side of its joyshad been reft from him? It was not even as though he were about to bethrown forth penniless, or on a meagre, scraping, starvation pittance,which is, perhaps, hardly better, as he had had ample occasion to knowduring long years of his earlier life. As his father had said, he wouldbe what some would call a rich man in any case; and as an object in lifehad he not his son's future to secure and his present to watch over?And then there recurred to his mind a question which Delia Calmour hadput to him on a former occasion as to whether he did not find life toogood to be real--and his answer to it. There was something propheticabout both. Of
late years he had, indeed, found life too good to bereal, and was that a state altogether healthy for anybody in this worldof probation? He had made an idol of Hilversea.
It was late autumn, and the woodland scents were moist and earthy.Brown leaves, crimped and curled, clustered clingingly upon the oakboughs, and the ground was already carpeted with them. He had followedthe most secluded paths, sacred, indeed, to himself and the gamekeepers.The white scut of a rabbit darting across a ride; the rustle ofpheasants scuttling away in the undergrowth, or the vast flap-flap ofwood-pigeon's wings--now gathered in flocks--detonating in the deepsilence of the covert as they fled disturbed from their intended roost;a couple of squirrels chattering angrily at the intruder from the highsecurity of a fir limb--constituted the only sights and sounds. In aday or two these woods would echo and re-echo the crack of guns, and nowhe thought how he had been looking forward with keen enjoyment to thebest shooting party of the year. His guests would go as they had come,thinking--as they had often thought before--that Wagram was about theluckiest and most-to-be-envied man on earth; and, up till this morning,would he not cordially have agreed with such opinion! Would he not?The "pride of life!"
Now a sound of voices struck upon his ear. The path he was followingended in a gate, beyond which was the road--a lonely woodland road,intersecting the coverts. As he laid his hand upon this gate to open ithe recognised one of the voices--a sweet, full soprano that by this timehe had come to know fairly well. The other was strong, harsh, common,but also feminine. Not feeling at all inclined to talk to anybody justthen he would have turned back, but--it was too late.
Delia Calmour gave a little cry of astonishment as he opened the gate.
"Why, Mr Wagram, who'd have thought of meeting you here?"
The little flush of surprise, perhaps of something else, which mantledher cheeks as she put out a hand, half shyly, lent an additional sparkleto her eyes, making a whole that was very alluring. She was insemi-winter garb, with a touch of fur, and her bicycle stood against thehedge. The other was a dark, beady-eyed, gipsy-looking woman.
"Such fun!" rattled the girl. "I've been having my fortune told; only Ican't make head or tail of it."
Here the other, with a half-knowing leer--for, of course, she had atonce decided that this meeting was no accidental one--opened on Wagramwith the stock professional whine.
"I'll tell yours too, sir, and it's sure to be bright--and--"
Then she stopped. Wagram's gaze was fixed sternly upon her.
"Go away," he said. "I've seen you before, and I've warned you beforethat we had no use for such as you in this neighbourhood. You hadbetter leave it at once, for I shall send word to the police atBassingham to pay you some very particular attention."
The tramp, seeing he was in earnest, and that there was nothing more tobe got out of him, waxed bold and defiant.
"You'd do that, would you Squire?" she snarled. "All right. Maybethere's them as knows more about your little game than you thinks of.Maybe you'll not be finding everything as easy always; no, and I 'opesyer won't--tramplin' upon a pore woman who's tryin' to make a honestlivin'." And, cursing and growling, the hag shuffled off down the road.
In his then frame of mind the words were startling to Wagram. What onearth--was his altered position already common property? was his firstthought, as he read into the malevolent words the very last meaning thatthe mind of their utterer could have held.
"I am surprised at you, Miss Calmour," he said gravely, "listening tothe pestiferous humbug of the commonest type of hedge-side charlatan.Really, I had a better opinion of you."
"And--has it fled?" answered the girl, with a pretty pleading penitencethat was not wholly mock. "I only let her tell my fortune for the funof the thing--and she said some very queer things--not at all after thepattern of stock bosh which I had expected. In fact, they were ratherweird--about green seas, smooth and oily, and a battered ship--andterrors--and perhaps death, but if not death, then great happiness.Yes; really it was quite creepy; strange too, for what on earth can Iever have to do with battered ships or green seas--or great happinesseither?" she added to herself mournfully. Then again, aloud: "But doyou think there may be anything in these people's powers of prediction?"
"No, I do not," he answered decisively, and with some sternness."Certainly not. The knowledge of the future is in other hands thanthose of a common wayside impostor, whom, if I were doing my duty, Iought to have at once had arrested and locked up on a former occasionwhen she tried to play that humbugging game in my presence."
"Oh yes; she got into the wrong corner this time," laughed Delia. "Youare a magistrate, are you not, Mr Wagram?"
"I have seen this particular fraud before, and gave her a trifle, as sheseemed really in want," he answered. "In strict duty I ought to havehad her locked up, but strict duty is rather a hard thing to carry outalways. But anything that encourages superstition is to me especiallyabhorrent. The greatest harm these impostors do is not merely inobtaining hard-earned silver from ignorant people but in keeping alivethe idea that they can possess any supernatural power--let alonewisdom--at all."
The girl looked at him with a covert smile.
"Be merciful to one of those `ignorant people,'" she said softly."Though, really, I did not believe in any supernatural power about theaffair; I only let her do it for the fun of the thing."
"I should hope not. With your talents and education I could not havebelieved it of you. And yet--you hardly know where to draw the line.When you find people, whose upbringing and education, and everythingelse, ought to put them miles above anything of the kind, steeped overhead and ears in such puerile superstitions as throwing spilled saltover the shoulder, scared of having a peacock's feather brought intotheir houses, or of getting up first of thirteen from the table, or ofwalking under a ladder--really it makes one--well, cynical."
"But--walking under a ladder is unlucky sometimes, Mr Wagram."
"_Very_ likely to be, if you don't first ascertain whether there's ajourneyman painter up it with a paint pot--not otherwise."
Then they both laughed--for Wagram the first laugh he had indulged insince the bolt had fallen. Well, he could still laugh; yet but now ithad seemed to him that he never would laugh again.
"But--you'll admit there are people who can tell you strange--and evenstartling--things about yourself that they can't possibly have got at byany ordinary means."
"I'll admit nothing of the kind. I know the old stock business--I havehad it thrown at me too often. Some fool--usually some feminine fool--goes to one of these impostors--not the hedge-side type of fraud but thefashionable ditto--and pays down her guineas to be told such and such.She is told such and such, and it amazes her. Then, in retailing it,she invariably ends up with: `But, how do you account for it?' I alwaysanswer I can't account for it, any more than I can account for how theclever card conjurer takes ace and king and queen out of the top of thehead of the baldest man in the audience; but he does it, and nobodydreams of associating the supernatural with the process. It's the samething here. It's part of the system to find out things; and they do it.If you were let into the secret you'd probably laugh at the simplicitywith which it's done. No; really, I've no patience with that sort ofabsurdity; it's too childish."
"Looked at in that light it is. You do put things straight, Mr Wagram."
"Well, but--isn't it so? I have even heard people attribute that sortof quackery to satanic influence, which has almost struck me, if one maysay so, as insulting to the intelligence of the devil. But it isgetting rather dusk. You will want your lamp before you get home. Isit in good lighting order?"
If a momentary temptation beset Delia to pretend it was not, so as toafford a pretext for accompanying him to the house, which was not veryfar distant, she heroically stifled it; so between them they lighted thelamp.
"Good-bye, Mr Wagram. Thanks so much. I promise you I won't dabble inthe black art again," she said as they shook hands; and mounting sheskim
med away down the now shadowy road, going over in her mind everyword, every tone of the, in hard fact, utterly unmomentous interview.And he, striking into a woodland path on the other side, continued hiswalk in the deepening gloom, to the accompaniment of the ghostly hootingof owls. It was strange that he should have fallen in with this girljust then, and in his then frame of mind it seemed to him that herglance and tone and demeanour were very sweet, very soothing, verysympathetic. And then--he ceased to give her another thought.