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CHAPTER XX. SOMETHING NOT EXACTLY FLIRTATION

Most travelled reader, have you ever stood upon the plateau at the foot of the Alten-Schloss in Baden, just before sunset, and seen the golden glory spread out like a sheen over the vast plain beneath you, with waving forests, the meandering Rhine, and the blue Vosges mountains beyond all? It is a noble landscape, where every feature is bold, and throughout which light and shade alternate in broad, effective masses, showing that you are gazing on a scene of great extent, and taking in miles of country with your eye. It is essentially German, too, in its characteristics. The swelling undulations of the soil, the deep, dark forests, the picturesque homesteads, with shadowy eaves and carved quaint balconies, the great gigantic wagons slowly toiling through the narrow lanes, over which the “Lindens” spread a leafy canopy, – all are of the Vaterland.

Some fancied resemblance – it was in reality no more – to a view from a window at Cro’ Martin had especially endeared this spot to Martin, who regularly was carried up each evening to pass an hour or so, dreaming away in that half-unconsciousness to which his malady had reduced him. There he sat, scarcely a remnant of his former self, a leaden dulness in his eye, and a massive immobility in the features which once were plastic with every passing mood that stirred him. The clasped hands and slightly bent-down head gave a character of patient, unresisting meaning to his figure, which the few words he dropped from time to time seemed to confirm.

At a little distance off, and on the very verge of the cliff, Kate Henderson was seated sketching; and behind her, occasionally turning to walk up and down the terraced space, was Massingbred, once more in full health, and bearing in appearance the signs of his old, impatient humor. Throwing away his half-smoked cigar, and with a face whose expression betokened the very opposite of all calm and ease of mind, he drew nigh to where she sat, and watched her over her shoulder. For a while she worked away without noticing his presence. At last she turned slightly about, and looking up at him, said, “You see, it’s very nearly finished.”

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“Well, and what then?” asked he, bluntly.

“Do you forget that I gave you until that time to change your opinion? that when I was shadowing in this foreground I said, ‘Wait ‘till I have done this sketch, and see if you be of the same mind,’ and you agreed?”

“This might be very pleasant trifling if nothing were at stake, Miss Henderson,” said he; “but remember that I cannot hold all my worldly chances as cheaply as you seem to do them.”

“Light another cigar, and sit down here beside me, – I don’t dislike smoke, and it may, perchance, be a peace calumet between us; and let us talk, if possible, reasonably and calmly.”

He obeyed like one who seemed to feel that her word was a command, and sat down on the cliff at her side.

“There, now,” said she, “be useful; hold that color-case for me, and give me your most critical counsel. Do you like my sketch?”

“Very much indeed.”

“Where do you find fault with it? There must be a fault, or your criticism is worth nothing.”

“Its greatest blemish in my eyes is the time it has occupied you. Since you began it you have very rarely condescended to speak of anything else.”

“A most unjust speech, and an ungrateful one. It was when throwing in those trees yonder, I persuaded you to recall your farewell address to your borough friends; it was the same day that I sketched that figure there, that I showed you the great mistake of your present life. There is no greater error, believe me, than supposing that a Parliamentary success, like a social one, can be achieved by mere brilliancy. Party is an army, and you must serve in the ranks before you can wear your epaulets.”

“I have told you already, – I tell you again, – I ‘m tired of the theme that has myself alone for its object.”

“Of whom would you speak, then?” said she, still intently busied with her drawing.

“You ask me when you know well of whom,” said he, hurriedly. “Nay, no menaces; I could not if I would be silent. It is impossible for me any longer to continue this struggle with myself. Here now, before I leave this spot, you shall answer me – ” He stopped suddenly, as though he had said more than he intended, or more than he well knew how to continue.

“Go on,” said she, calmly. And her fingers never trembled as they held the brush.

“I confess I do envy that tranquil spirit of yours,” said he, bitterly. “It is such a triumph to be calm, cold, and impassive at a moment when others feel their reason tottering and their brain a chaos.”

“There is nothing so easy, sir,” said she, proudly. “All that I can boast of is not to have indulged in illusions which seem to have a charm for you. You say you want explicit-ness. You shall have it. There was one condition on which I offered you my friendship and my advice. You accepted the bargain, and we were friends. After a while you came and said that you rued your compact; that you discovered your feelings for me went further; that mere friendship, as you phrased it, would not suffice – ”

“I told you, rather,” broke he in, “that I wished to put that feeling to the last test, by linking your fortune with my own forever.”

“Very well, I accept that version. You offered to make me your wife, and in return, I asked you to retract your words, – to suffer our relations to continue on their old footing, nor subject me to the necessity of an explanation painful to both of us. For a while you consented; now you seem impatient at your concession, and ask me to resume the subject. Be it so, but for the last time.”

Massingbred’s cheeks grew deadly pale, but he never uttered a word.

After a second’s pause, she resumed: “Your affections are less engaged in this case than you think. You would make me your wife just as you would do anything else that gave a bold defiance to the world, to show a consciousness of your own power, to break down any obstacle, and make the prejudices or opinions of society give way before you. You have energy and self-esteem enough to make this succeed. Your wife – albeit the steward’s daughter – the governess! would be received, invited, visited, and the rest of it; and so far as you were concerned the triumph would be complete. Now, however, turn a little attention to the other side of the medal. What is to requite me for all this courtesy on sufferance, all this mockery of consideration? Where am I to find my friendships, where even discover my duties? You only know of one kind of pride, that of station and social eminence. I can tell you there is another, loftier far, – the consciousness that no inequality of position can obliterate, what I feel and know in myself of superiority to those fine ladies whose favorable notice you would entreat for me. Smile at the vanity of this declaration if you like, sir, but, at least, own that I am consistent; for I am prouder in the independence of my present dependence than I should be in all the state of Mr. Massingbred’s wife. You can see, therefore, that I could not accept this change as the great elevation you would deem it. You would be stooping to raise one who could never persuade herself that she was exalted. I am well aware that inequality of one sort or another is the condition of most marriages. The rank of one compensates for the wealth of the other. Here it is affluence and age, there it is beauty and poverty. People treat the question in a good commercial spirit, and balance the profit and loss like tradesfolk; but even in this sense our compact would be impossible, since you would endow me with what has no value in my eyes, and I, worse off still, have absolutely nothing to give in return.”

“Give me your love, dearest Kate,” cried he, “and, supported by that, you shall see that I deserve it. Believe me, it is your own proud spirit that exaggerates the difficulties that would await us in society.”

“I should scorn myself if I thought of them,” broke she in, haughtily; “and remember, sir, these are not the words of one who speaks in ignorance. I, too, have seen that great world, on which your affections are so fixed. I have mixed with it, and know it. Notwithstanding all the cant of moralists, I do not believe it to be more hollow or more heartless than other classes. Its great besetting sin is not of self-growth, for it comes of the slavish adulation offered by those beneath it, – the grovelling worship of the would-be fine folk, who would leave friends and home and hearth to be admitted even to the antechambers of the great. They who offer up this incense are in my eyes far more despicable than they who accept the sacrifice; but I would not cast my lot with either. Do not smile, sir, as if these were high-flown sentiments; they are the veriest commonplaces of one who loves commonplace, who neither seeks affections with coronets nor friendships in gold coaches, but who would still less be of that herd – mute, astonished, and awe-struck – who worship them!”

“You deem me, then, deficient in this same independence of spirit?” cried Massingbred, half indignantly.

“I certainly do not accept your intention of marrying beneath you as a proof of it. Must I again tell you, sir, that in such cases it is the poor, weak, patient, forgotten woman pays all the penalty, and that, in the very conflict with the world the man has his reward?”

“If you loved me, Kate,” said he, in a tone of deep sorrow, “it is not thus you would discuss this question.”

She made no reply, but bending down lower over her drawing, worked away with increased rapidity.

“Still,” cried he, passionately, “I am not to be deterred by a defeat. Tell me, at least, how I can win that love, which is to me the great prize of life. You read my faults, you see my shortcomings clearly enough; be equally just, then, to anything there is of good or hopeful about me. Do this, Kate, and I will put my fate upon the issue.”

“In plain words,” said she, calmly, “you ask me what manner of man I would consent to marry. I ‘ll tell you. One who with ability enough to attain any station, and talents to gain any eminence, has lived satisfied with that in which he was born; one who has made the independence of his character so felt by the world that his actions have been regarded as standards, a man of honor and of his word; employing his knowledge of life, not for the purposes of overreaching, but for self-correction and improvement; well bred enough to be a peer, simple as a peasant; such a man, in fact, as could afford to marry a governess, and, while elevating her to his station, never compromise his own with his equals. I don’t flatter myself,” said she, smiling, “that I ‘m likely to draw this prize; but I console myself by thinking that I could not accept aught beneath it as great fortune. I see, sir, the humility of my pretensions amuses you, and it is all the better for both of us if we can treat these things jestingly.”

“Nay, Kate, you are unfair – unjust,” broke in Mas-singbred.

“Mr. Martin begins to feel it chilly, Miss Henderson,” said a servant at this moment. “Shall we return to the hotel?”

“Yes, by all means,” said she, rising hastily. The next instant she was busily engaged shawling and muffling the sick man, who accepted her attentions with the submissive-ness of a child.

“That will do, Molly, thank you, darling,” said he, in a feeble voice; “you are so kind, so good to me.”

“The evening is fresh, sir, almost cold,” said she.

“Yes, dear, the climate is not what it used to be. We have cut down too many of those trees, Molly, yonder.” And he pointed with his thin fingers towards the Rhine. “We have thinned the wood overmuch, but they’ll grow again, dear, though I shall not be here to see them.”

“He thinks I am his niece,” whispered Kate, “and fancies himself at Cro’ Martin.”

“I suppose they’ll advise my trying a warm country, Molly, a milder air,” muttered he, as they slowly carried him along. “But home, after all, is home; one likes to see the old faces and the old objects around them, – all the more when about to leave them forever!” And as the last words came, two heavy tears stole slowly along his cheeks, and his pale lips quivered with emotion. Now speaking in a low, weak voice to himself, now sighing heavily, as though in deep depression, he was borne along towards the hotel. Nor did the gay and noisy groups which thronged the thoroughfares arouse him. He saw them, but seemed not to heed them. His dreary gaze wandered over the brilliant panorama without interest or speculation. Some painful and difficult thoughts, perhaps, did all these unaccustomed sights and sounds bring across his mind, embarrassing him to reconcile their presence with the scene he fancied himself beholding; but even these impressions were faint and fleeting.

As they turned to cross the little rustic bridge in front of the hotel, a knot of persons moved off the path to make way for them, one of whom fixed his eyes steadily on the sick man, gazing with the keen scrutiny of intense interest; then suddenly recalling himself to recollection, he hastily retreated within the group.

“You are right,” muttered he to one near him, “he is ‘booked;’ my bond will come due before the month ends.”

“And you’ll be an estated gent, Herman, eh?” said a very dark-eyed, hook-nosed man at his side.

“Well, I hope I shall act the part as well as my neighbors,” said Mr. Merl, with that mingled assurance and humility that made up his manner.

“Was n’t that Massingbred that followed them, – he that made the famous speech the other day in Parliament?”

“Yes,” said Merl. “I ‘ve got a bit of ‘stiff’ with his endorsement in my pocket this minute for one hundred and fifty.”

“What’s it worth, Merl?”

“Perhaps ten shillings; but I ‘d not part with it quite so cheaply. He’ll not always be an M.P., and we shall see if he can afford to swagger by an old acquaintance without so much as a ‘How d’ ye do?’”

“There, he is coming back again,” said the other. And at the same moment Massingbred walked slowly up to the spot, his easy smile upon his face, and his whole expression that of a careless, unburdened nature.

“I just caught a glimpse of you as I passed, Merl,” said he, with a familiar nod; “and you were exactly the man I wanted to see.”

“Too much honor, sir,” said Merl, affecting a degree of haughty distance at the familiarity of this address.

Massingbred smiled at the mock dignity, and went on; “I have something to say to you. Will you give me a call this evening at the Cour de Bade, say about nine or half-past?”

“I have an engagement this evening.”

“Put it off, then, that’s all, Master Merl, for mine is an important matter, and very nearly concerns yourself.”

Merl was silent. He would have liked much to display before his friends a little of the easy dash and swagger that he had just been exhibiting, to have shown them how cavalierly he could treat a rising statesman and a young Parliamentary star of the first order; but the question crossed him, Was it safe? what might the luxury cost him? “Am I to bring that little acceptance of yours along with me?” said he, in a half whisper, while a malicious sparkle twinkled in his eye.

“Why not, man? Certainly, if it gives you the least pleasure in life; only don’t be later than half-past nine.” And with one of his sauciest laughs Massingbred moved away, leaving the Jew very far from content with “the situation.”

Merl, however, soon rallied. He had been amusing his friends, just before this interruption, with a narrative of his Irish journey: he now resumed the theme. All that he found faulty, all even that he deemed new or strange or unintelligible in that unhappy country, he had dressed up in the charming colors of his cockney vocabulary, and his hearers were worthy of him! There is but little temptation, however, to linger in their company, and so we leave them.

CHAPTER XXI. LADY DOROTHEA

The Cour de Bade, at which excellent hotel the Martins were installed, received on the day we have just chronicled a new arrival. He had come by the diligence, one of that undistinguishable ten thousand England sends off every week from her shores to represent her virtues or her vices, her oddities, vulgarities, and pretensions, to the critical eyes of continental Europe.

Perfectly innocent of any foreign language, and with a delightful ambiguity as to the precise geography of where he stood, he succeeded, after some few failures, in finding out where the Martins stopped, and had now sent up his name to Lady Dorothea, that name being “Mr. Maurice Scanlan.”

Lady Dorothea Martin had given positive orders that except in the particular case of this individual she was not to be interrupted by any visitor. She glanced her eye at the card, and then handed it across the table to her son, who coolly read it, and threw it from him with the air of one saying to himself, “Here’s more of it! more complication, more investigation, deeper research into my miserable difficulties, and consequently more unhappiness.” The table at which they were seated was thickly covered with parchments, papers, documents, and letters of every shape and size. There were deeds, and bonds, and leases, rent-rolls, and valuations, and powers of attorney, and all the other imposing accessories of estated property. There were also voluminous bills of costs, formidable long columns of figures, “carried over” and “carried over” till the very eye of the reader wearied of the dread numerals and turned recklessly to meet the awful total at the bottom! Terrified by the menacing applications addressed to Mr. Martin on his son’s account, and which arrived by every post, Lady Dorothea had resolved upon herself entering upon the whole state of the Captain’s liabilities, as well as the complicated questions of the property generally.

Distrust of her own powers was not in the number of her Ladyship’s defects. Sufficiently affluent to be always able to surround herself with competent subordinates, she fancied – a not very uncommon error, by the way – that she individually accomplished all that she had obtained through another. Her taste in the fine arts, her skill in music, her excellence as a letter-writer, were all accomplishments in this wise; and it is not improbable that, had she been satisfied to accept her success in finance through a similar channel, the result might have proved just as fortunate. A shrinking dislike, however, to expose the moneyed circumstances of the family, and a feeling of dread as to the possible disclosures which should come out, prevented her from accepting such co-operation. She had, therefore, addressed herself to the task with no other aid than that of her son, – a partnership, it must be owned, which relieved her very little of her burden.

Had the Captain been called away from the pleasures and amusements of life to investigate the dry records of some far-away cousin’s embarrassments, – to dive into the wearisome narrative of money-borrowing, bill-renewing, and the rest of it, by one whom he had scarcely known or seen, – his manner and bearing could not possibly have betrayed stronger signs of utter weariness and apathy than he now exhibited. Smoking his cigar, and trimming his nails with a very magnificent penknife, he gave short and listless replies to her Ladyship’s queries, and did but glance at the papers which from time to time she handed to him for explanation or inquiry.

“So he is come at last!” exclaimed she, as the Captain threw down the visiting-card. “Shall we see him at once?”

“By Jove! I think we’ve had enough of ‘business,’ as they call it, for one morning,” cried he. “Here have we been since a little after eleven, and it is now four, and I am as sick of accounts and figures as though I were a Treasury clerk.”

“We have done next to nothing, after all!” said she, peevishly.

“And I told you as much when you began,” said he, lighting a fresh cigar. “There’s no seeing one’s way through these kind of things after the lapse of a year or two. Fordyce gets hold of the bills you gave Mossop, and Rawkins buys up some of the things you had given renewals for, and then all that trash you took in part payment of your acceptances turns up, some day or other, to be paid for; and what between the bills that never were to be negotiated – but somehow do get abroad – and the sums sent to meet others applied in quite a different direction, I’ll lay eighty to fifty in tens or ponies there’s no gentleman living ever mastered one of these embarrassments. One must be bred to it, my Lady, take my word for it. It’s like being a crack rider or a poet, – it’s born with a man. ‘The Henderson,’” added he, after a pause, “she can do it, and I should like to see what she couldn’t!”

“I am curious to learn how you became acquainted with these financial abilities of Miss Henderson?” said Lady Dorothea, haughtily.

“Simply enough. I was poring over these confounded accounts one day at Manheim, and I chanced to ask her a question, – something about compound interest, I think it was, – and so she came and looked over what I was doing, or rather endeavoring to do. It was that affair with Throgmorton, where I was to meet one third of the bills, and Merl and he were to look to the remainder; but there was a reservation that if Comus won the Oaks, I was to stand free – no, that’s not it – if Comus won the double event – ”

“Never mind your stupid contract. What of Miss Henderson?” broke in Lady Dorothea.

“Well, she came over, as I told you, and took up a pencil and began working away with all sorts of signs and crosses, – regular algebra, by Jove! – and in about five minutes out came the whole thing, all square, showing that I stood to win on either event, and came off splendidly if the double should turn up. ‘I wish,’ said I to her, ‘you ‘d just run your eye over my book and see how I stand.’ She took it over to the fire, and before I could well believe she had glanced at it, she said: ‘This is all full of blunders. You have left yourself open to three casualties, any one of which will sweep away all your winnings. Take the odds on Roehampton, and lay on Slingsby a couple of hundred more, – three, if you can get it, – and you ‘ll be safe enough. And when you ‘ve done that,’ said she, ‘I have another piece of counsel to give; but first say will you take it?’ ‘I give you my word upon it,’ said I. ‘Then it is this,’ said she: ‘make no more wagers on the turf. You haven’t skill to make what is called a “good book,” and you ‘ll always be a sufferer.’”

“Did n’t she vouchsafe to offer you her admirable assistance?” asked her Ladyship, with a sneer.

“No, by Jove!” said he, not noticing the tone of sarcasm; “and when I asked her, ‘Would not she afford me a little aid?’ she quickly said, ‘Not on any account. You are now in a difficulty, and I willingly come forward to extricate you. Far different were the case should I conspire with you to place others in a similar predicament. Besides, I have your pledge that you have now done with these transactions, and forever.’”

“What an admirable monitor! One only wonders how so much morality coexists with such very intimate knowledge of ignoble pursuits.”

“By Jove! she knows everything,” broke in the Captain. “Such a canter as she gave me t’ other morning about idleness and the rest of it, saying how I ought to study Hindostanee, and get a staff appointment, and so on, – that every one ought to place himself above the accidents of fortune; and when I said something about having no opportunity at hand, she replied, ‘Never complain of that; begin with me. I know quite enough to initiate you; and as to Sanscrit, I ‘m rather “up” in it.’”

“I trust you accepted the offer?” said her Ladyship, with an ambiguous smile.

“Well, I can’t say I did. I hate work, – at least that kind of work. Besides, one doesn’t like to come out ‘stupid’ in these kind of things, and so I merely said, ‘I ‘d think of it – very kind of her,’ and so on.”

“Did it never occur to you all this while,” began her Ladyship; and then suddenly correcting herself, she stopped short, and said, “By the way, Mr. Scanlan is waiting for his answer. Ring the bell, and let him come in.”

Perhaps it was the imperfect recollection of that eminent individual, – perhaps the altered circumstances in which she now saw him, and possibly some actual changes in the man himself, – but really Lady Dorothea almost started with surprise as he entered the room, dressed in a dark pelisse, richly braided and frogged, an embroidered travelling-cap in his hand, and an incipient moustache on his upper lip, – all evidencing how rapidly he had turned his foreign experiences to advantage. There was, too, in his address a certain confident assurance that told how quickly the habits of the “Table d’hôte” had impressed him, and how instantaneously his nature had imbibed the vulgar ease of the “Continent.”

“You have just arrived, Mr. Scanlan?” said her Ladyship, haughtily, and not a little provoked at the shake-hand salutation her son had accorded him.

“Yes, my Lady, this instant, and such a journey as we ‘ve had! No water on the Rhine for the steamers; and then, when we took to the land, a perfect deluge of rain, that nearly swept us away. At Eisleben, or some such name, we had an upset.”

“What day did you leave Ireland?” asked she, in utter indifference as to the casualty.

“Tuesday fortnight last, my Lady. I was detained two days in Dublin making searches – ”

“Have you brought us any letters, sir?”

“One from Miss Mary, my Lady, and another from Mr. Repton – very pressing he said it was. I hope Mr. Martin is better? Your Ladyship’s last – ”

“Not much improvement,” said she, stiffly, while her thin lips were compressed with an expression that might mean pride or sorrow, or both.

“And the country, sir? How did you leave it looking?”

“Pretty well, my Lady. More frightened than hurt, as a body might say. They ‘ve had a severe winter, and a great deal of sickness; the rains, too, have done a deal of mischief; but on the whole matters are looking up again.”

“Will the rents be paid, sir?” asked she, sharply.

“Indeed, I hope so, my Lady. Some, of course, will be backward, and beg for time, and a few more will take advantage of Magennis’s success, and strive to fight us off.”

“There must have been some gross mismanagement in that business, sir,” broke in her Ladyship. “Had I been at home, I promise you the matter would have ended differently.”

“Mr. Repton directed all the proceedings himself, my Lady. He conferred with Miss Mary.”

“What could a young lady know about such matters?” said she, angrily. “Any prospect of a tenant for the house, sir?”

“If your Ladyship really decides on not going back – ”

“Not the slightest intention of doing so, sir. If it depended upon me, I’d rather pull it down and sell the materials than return to live there. You know yourself, sir, the utter barbarism we were obliged to submit to. No intercourse with the world – no society – very frequently no communication by post. Surrounded by a set of ragged creatures, all importunity and idleness, at one moment all defiance and insolence, at the next crawling and abject. But it is really a theme I cannot dwell upon. Give me your letters, sir, and let me see you this evening.” And taking the papers from his hand, she swept out of the room in a haughty state.

The Captain and Mr. Scanlan exchanged looks, and were silent, but their glances were far more intelligible than aught either of them would have ventured to say aloud; and when the attorney’s eyes, having followed her Ladyship to the door, turned and rested on the Captain, the other gave a brief short nod of assent, as though to say, “Yes, you are right; she’s just the same as ever.”

“And you, Captain,” said Scanlan, in his tone of natural familiarity, – “how is the world treating you?”

“Devilish badly, Master Scanlan.”

“Why, what is it doing, then?”

“I’ll tell you what it’s doing! It’s charging me fifty – ay, sixty per cent; it’s protesting my bills, stimulating my blessed creditors to proceed against me, worrying my very life out of me with letters. Letters to the governor, letters to the Horse Guards, and, last of all, it has just lamed Bonesetter, the horse ‘I stood to win’ on for the Chester Cup, I would n’t have taken four thousand for my book yesterday morning!”

“Bad news all this.”

“I believe you,” said he, lighting a cigar, and throwing another across the table to Scanlan. “It’s just bad news, and I have nothing else for many a long day past. A fellow of your sort, Master Maurice, punting away at county races and small sweepstakes, has a precious deal better time of it than a captain of the King’s Hussars with his head and shoulders in the Fleet.”

“Come, come, who knows but luck will turn, Captain? Make a book on the Oaks.”

“I’ve done it; and I’m in for it, too,” said the other, savagely.

“Raise a few thousands, you can always sell a reversion.”

“I have done that also,” said he, still more angrily.

“With your position and advantages you could always marry well. If you’d just beat up the manufacturing districts, you’d get your eighty thousand as sure as I’m here! And then matrimony admits of a man’s changing all his habits. He can sell off hunters, get rid of a racing stable, and twenty other little embarrassments, and only gain character by the economy.”

“I don’t care a brass farthing for that part of the matter, Scanlan. No man shall dictate to me how I ‘m to spend my money. Do you just find me the tin, and I ‘ll find the talent to scatter it.”

“If it can’t be done by a post-obit – ”

“I tell you, sir,” cried Martin, peevishly, “as I have told you before, that has been done. There is such a thing as pumping a well dry, is n’t there?”

Scanlan made a sudden exclamation of horror; and after a pause, said, “Already!”

“Ay, sir, already!”

“I had my suspicions about it,” muttered Scanlan, gloomily.

“You had? And how so, may I beg to ask?” said Martin, angrily.