“Not a bad cigar,” he said, after a fresh pause. “He has that virtue in him, certainly, he does get good cigars; and money! money! money! how he does get money – a scoundrel! – while I get none, or next to none. Well, well, I think I am pulling the strings in a way that should satisfy the most exacting of Lady Littletowns, and it is ridiculous how the scoundrel of a puppet dances to the tune I play.”
He laughed in a way that would have made his fortune had he played Mephistopheles upon the stage. Then, carefully removing a good inch and a half of ash:
“And now, my sweet old match-maker,” he continued, “will you keep your promise? I am a poor unlucky devil, and the only way to save me is by settling me with a rich wife such as she promises.
“Hum, yes!” he said softly, “a wife with a good fortune. Elbraham takes one without a penny, for the sake of her looks; the aunts sell the girl for the sake of his money. A cheerful marriage, and,” he added cynically, “as the French say, après?”
“Take my case, as I am in a humour for philosophising. I am to be introduced to a rich lady, and shall marry her for the sake of the fortune. She will marry me for my youth, I suppose, and good looks – I suppose I may say good looks,” he continued, rising, crossing the room, and gazing in the glass. “Yes, Arthur, you may add good looks, for you are a gentlemanly fellow, and just of an age to attract a woman who is decidedly off colour.”
He paused, rested his elbows upon the chimney-piece, and kept on puffing little clouds of smoke against the mirror, watching them curiously as they obliterated his reflection for the moment, and then rolled slowly up, singularly close to the glass.
He did this again and again, watching his dimly-seen reflection till it had grown plain, and then he laughed as if amused.
“Yes, I am decidedly good-looking, and I say it without vanity,” he continued, “for I am looking at myself from a marketable point of view. And the lady? Suppose I always look at her through the clouds, for she will be elderly and plain – of that I may rest assured; but I can gild her; she will be gilded for me, and as the Scots say, ‘a’ cats are grey i’ the dark!’ so why should I mind? If I wed the fairest woman under the sun I should forget her looks in a week, while other men worried me by their admiration. So there it is, ladies and gentlemen; the fair Clotilde and the manly Arthur Litton about to be sold by Society’s prize-auction to the highest bidders, and this is the land where slavery is unknown – the land of the free! This, ladies and gentlemen, is Christian England!”
He seemed to be highly amused at this idea, and laughed and gazed at himself in the glass as if perfectly satisfied that his face would make a change in his lot, after which he threw away the remains of the cigar he was smoking, and taking a bunch of keys from his pocket, he walked across to Elbraham’s cabinet, which he unlocked, and helped himself to a couple of the best Rothschilds, one of which he lit.
Arthur Litton was very thoughtful now, and it took some time to get to work; but he finished the task entrusted to him, and then, after a little consideration, he rose to go, making his way to Lady Littletown’s.
Her ladyship was at home, in the conservatory, the footman said; and treating the visitor as an old friend, he opened the drawing-room door, and Litton walked in unannounced.
Her ladyship was busy, in a pair of white kid gloves, snipping off faded leaves and flowers, and she left her occupation to greet her visitor.
“Well, Arturo, no bad news, I hope?”
“Only that the great Potiphar, the man of money, is completely hooked, and determined to embark upon the troubled sea of matrimony.”
“Is that bad news?” said her ladyship. “I call it a triumph of diplomacy, Arturo. Spoils from the enemy!”
“Then you are satisfied?”
“More than satisfied, my clever diplomat, and you shall have your reward.”
“When?”
Lady Littletown snipped here and snipped there, treating some of her choicest flowers in a way that would have maddened her head gardener had he seen, for unfaded flowers dropped here and there beneath the stands in a way that showed her ladyship to be highly excited.
“Now look here, Arturo,” she exclaimed at last, as she turned upon him, and seemed to menace him with her sharp-pointed scissors, which poked and snipped at him till a bystander might have imagined that Lady Littletown took him for a flower whose head gave her offence – “Now look here, Arturo, do you want to make me angry?”
“No: indeed no,” he cried deprecatingly.
“Then why do you ask me such a question as that?”
“Well,” he said, smiling, “is it not reasonable that I should feel impatient?”
“Perhaps so. I’ll grant it; but, my good boy, you must be a man of the world; and now that we are upon that subject, let us understand one another.”
“By all means,” assented Litton eagerly.
“First of all, though, I cannot worry myself with too much work at once. I have those two girls to marry, and I must get that out of hand before I undertake more.”
“Exactly; and all is now in train.”
“Many a slip, Arturo, ’twixt cup and lip; but we shall see – we shall see.”
Her ladyship went on snipping vigorously.
“I want you to understand me. To speak plainly, Arturo, you are a gentleman of great polish.”
“Thanks,” he said, bowing.
“And a good presence.”
He bowed again.
“You are not quite handsome, but there is an aristocratic, well-bred look about you that would recommend you to any lady – and I mean you to marry a lady.”
“Yes, by all means. Pray don’t find me a young person who might pass for a relative of the great Elbraham.”
“My good boy, there is no such party in the field; and if there were, I should not allow you to try and turn up that haughty aristocratic nose at her. A hundred thousand pounds, dear Arturo, would gild over a great many blemishes.”
“True, O queen!” he said, smiling.
“As I said before, let us understand one another. You must not be too particular. Suppose the lady chances to be old?”
Litton made a grimace.
“And rich – very rich?”
“That would make amends,” he said with a smile.
“I could marry you myself, Arturo,” she continued, looking very much attenuated and hawk-like as she smiled at him in a laughing way.
“Why not?” he cried eagerly, as the richly-furnished home and income opened out to his mind ease and comfort for life.
“Because I am too old,” she said, smiling at the young man’s impetuosity.
“Oh, no,” he cried; “you would be priceless in my eyes.”
“Hold your tongue, Arturo, and don’t be a baby,” said her ladyship. “I tell you I am too old to be foolish enough to marry. There are plenty of older women who inveigh against matrimony, and profess to have grown too sensible and too wise to embark in it, who would give their ears to win a husband.”
“Why should not Lady Littletown be placed in this list?” said Litton meaningly.
“Because I tell you she is too old in a worldly way. No, my dear boy, when an elderly woman marries, it is generally because she is infatuated with the idea of possessing a young husband. She thinks for the moment that he woos her for her worldly store; but she is so flattered by his attentions that these outweigh all else, and she jumps at the opportunity of changing her state.”
“Again, then,” he whispered impressively, “why should not this apply to Lady Littletown?”
“Silence, foolish boy!” she cried, menacing him again with the scissors, and holding up her flower-basket as if to catch the snipped-off head. “I tell you I am too old in a worldly way, When a matter-of-fact woman reaches my years, and knows that she has gradually been lessening her capital in the bank of life, she tries to get as much as possible in the way of enjoyment out of what is left.”
“Exactly,” he cried eagerly.
“She takes matters coolly and weighs them fairly before her. ‘If,’ she says, ‘I take the contents of this scale I shall get so much pleasure. If I choose the contents of this other scale, I shall again obtain so much.’”
“Well, what then?” said Litton, for her ladyship paused in the act of decapitating a magnificent Japan lily.
“What then? Foolish boy! Why, of course she chooses the scale that will give her most pleasure.”
“Naturally,” he said.
“Then that is what I do.”
“But would not life with a man who would idolise you be far beyond any other worldly pleasure?”
“Yes,” said her ladyship drily; “but give me credit, mio caro Arturo, for not being such an old idiot as to believe that you would idolise me, as you call it.”
“Ah, you don’t know,” he cried.
“What you would be guilty of to obtain a good settlement in life, my dear boy?”
“You insult me,” he cried angrily.
“Oh no, my impetuous young friend; but really, Arturo, that was well done. Capital! It would be winning with some ladies. Rest assured that you shall have a rich wife. As for me, I have had you in the scale twice over. I did once think of marrying you.”
“You did?” he cried with real surprise.
“To be sure I did,” she said quietly. “Why not? I said to myself, ‘I am careless of the opinion of the world, and shall do as I please;’ and I pictured out my home with you, a distingué man, at the head.”
“You did?” he said excitedly.
“Of course I did. And then I pictured it as it is, with Lady Littletown, a power in her way, a well-known character in society, whose word has its influence, and one who can sway the destinies of many, in many ways, in the world.”
“No; say in one,” he exclaimed rather bitterly – “in the matrimonial world.”
“As you will, cher Arthur,” replied her ladyship. “You see, I am frank with you. I weighed it all carefully, as I said, and weighed it once again, to be sure that I was making no mistake, and the result was dead against change.”
“Highly complimentary to me!”
“A very excellent thing for you, my dear boy; for you would have led a wretched life.”
“Assuming that your ladyship’s charms had conquered my youthful, ardent heart?” he said.
“Silly boy! you are trying to be sarcastic,” said Lady Littletown. “Pish! I am too thick-skinned to mind it in the least. Be reasonable and listen, dear brother-in-arms.”
“Why not lover-in-arms?” he cried quickly – “in those arms.”
Lady Littletown placed her scissors in the hand that held the basket, raised her square gold eyeglass, and looked at her visitor.
“Well done, Arturo! excellent, mon général! Why, you would carry the stoutest fort I set you to attack in a few days. I have not heard anything so clever as that apt remark of yours for months. Really,” she continued, dropping the glass and resuming her scissors, “I am growing quite proud of you – I am indeed.”
“And so you mock at me,” he said angrily.
“Not I, Arturo; you were only practising; and it was very smart. No, my dear, it would not do for you; and I tell you frankly, you have had a very narrow escape.”
“Why?” he said; and his eyes glanced round at the rich place with its many indications of wealth, and as he noted these there came to his memory his last unpaid bill.
“Because I have a horrible temper, and I am a terrible tyrant. Of course you would have married me for my money and position.”
“Don’t say that,” cried Litton.
“Don’t be a donkey, Arthur, mon cher,” said the lady. “Well, to proceed: I should have married you because you were young and handsome.”
“Your ladyship seemed to indicate just now that I was not handsome,” said Litton.
“Did I? Well, I retract. I do think you handsome, Arturo, and I should have been horribly jealous of you as soon as I found that you were paying your court elsewhere.”
“Does your ladyship still imagine that I could be such a scoundrel?” cried Litton, in indignant tones.
The square golden eyeglass went up again.
“Excellent, Arturo, my dear boy! You would have made a fortune upon the stage in tragi-comedy. Nothing could have been finer than that declaration. Really, I am proud of you! But I should have led you a horrible life, and been ready to poison you if I found you out in deception.”
“Lady Littletown, I hope I am a gentleman,” said the visitor haughtily.
“I hope you are, I’m sure, my dear boy,” said her ladyship, smiling at him serenely. “But, as you see, I could not have put up with my money being lavished upon others; and hence I thought it better to let someone else have you.”
“But, my dear Lady Littletown – ”
“Ah, tut, tut, tut! no rhapsodies, please, my sweet ingenuous Lubin. I am no Phyllis now, believe me, and all this is waste of words. There, be patient, my dear boy, and you shall have a rich wife, and she shall be as young as I can manage; but, mind, I do not promise beauty. Do you hear? Are the raptures at an end?”
“Oh yes, if you like,” he said bitterly.
“I do like, my dear boy; so they are at an end. Really, Arturo, I feel quite motherly towards you, and, believe me, I shall not rest until I see you well mated.”
“Thanks, my dear Lady Littletown,” he said; “and with that, I suppose, I am to be contented.”
“Yes, sir; and you ought to be very thankful, Do you hear?”
“Yes,” he replied, taking and kissing one of her ladyship’s gardening gloves. “And now I must be for saying au revoir.”
“Au revoir, cher garçon!” replied her ladyship; and she followed her visitor out of the conservatory into the drawing-room, and rang the bell for the servant in attendance to show him out.
“It wouldn’t have been a bad slice of luck to have married her and had this place. But, good heavens, what an old hag!”
“I should have been an idiot to marry him,” said her ladyship, as soon as she was alone. “He is very handsome and gentlemanly and nice; but he would have ruined me, I am sure of that. Ah well, the sooner I find him someone else with a good income the better. Let him squander that. Why – ”
She stopped short.
“How stupid of me! The very thing! Lady Anna Maria Morton has just come in for her brother’s estate.”
Lady Littletown stood thinking.
“She is fifty if she is a day, perhaps fifty-five, and as tremulous as Isabella Dymcox. But what of that? Dear Anna Maria! I have not called upon her for a fortnight. How wrong! I shall be obliged to have a little partie carrée to dinner. Let me see – Lady Anna Maria, Arthur, myself, and – dear, dear – dear, dear me! Who shall I have that is not stupid enough to spoil sport?”
She walked about in a fidgety manner, and then picked up her card-basket, raised the square gold eyeglass, and turned the cards over in an impatient manner.
“Not one – not one!” she cried reluctantly. “Never mind; she shall come to a tête-à-tête dinner, and Arthur shall drop in by accident, and stop. Dear boy, how I do toil and slave on his behalf! But stay,” she added, after a pause; “shall I wait and get the Dymcox business over first? No; what matters? I am diplomat enough to carry on both at once; and, by-the-bye, I must not let that little military boy slip through my fingers, for he really is a prize. Taken with Marie; but that won’t do,” she continued. “Moorpark must have her, and I dare say somebody will turn up.”
She took her seat at the table then, and began to write a tiny note upon delicately-scented paper. The first words after the date were: “My dearest Anna Maria,” and she ended with: “Your very affectionate friend.”
Volume Two – Chapter Twelve.
A Matter-of-Fact Match
Dick Millet received a note in his uncle’s crabbed hand one morning at Hampton Court, obtained leave, and hurried up to town, calling at Grosvenor Square to hear the last news about Gertrude, but finding none.
On arriving at Wimpole Street, Vidler opened the door to the visitor, and smiled as he did so in rather a peculiar way.
“Can I speak to my uncle?” said Dick importantly. And he was shown up into the drawing-room, which seemed more gloomy now, lit as it was by four wax-candles, which were lost, as it were, in a great mist of old-time air, that had been shut up in that room till it had grown into a faded and yellow atmosphere carefully preserved from the bleaching properties of the sun.
The little opening was to his right, with the white hand visible on the ledge; but Dick hardly saw it, for, as he entered, Gertrude ran to his arms, to fall sobbing on his neck, while John Huish came forward offering his hand.
“Then it was you, John Huish, after all?” Dick exclaimed angrily, as he placed his own hand behind his back.
“Yes, it was I. What else could I do, forbidden as I was to come to the house? Come, my dear Dick, don’t be hard upon me now.”
“But,” exclaimed Dick in a puzzled way, “how was all this managed?”
“Shall we let that rest?” said Huish, smiling. “Neither Gertrude nor I are very proud of our subterfuges. But come, we are brothers now. We can count upon you, can we not, to make friends with her ladyship.”
“I – don’t know,” said Dick quietly, for his mind was busy with the thoughts of the awkward reports he had heard concerning Huish and his position at various clubs, and he asked himself whether he should be the friend and advocate of a man who was declared to be little better than a blackleg.
“Surely I can count upon you,” said Huish, after a pause.
“Suppose we step down into the dining-room,” said Dick stiffly; but he gave his sister an encouraging smile as she caught his hand.
“Dick,” she whispered, “what does this mean?”
“Only a little clearing up between John Huish and me, dear,” he said. “After that, I dare say I shall be able to tell you I’m glad you’re his wife.”
Gertrude smiled, and Huish followed down to the dining-room, which, lit by one candle, looked like a vault. Arrived here, though, Dick turned sharply upon his brother-in-law.
“Now, look here, John Huish,” he said, “I won’t quarrel about the past and this clandestine match, for perhaps, if I had been situated as you were, I should have done the same; but there is something I want cleared up.”
“Let us clear it up at once then,” said Huish, smiling. “What is it?”
“Well, there are some sinister reports about you – you see, I speak plainly.”
“Yes, of course. Go on.”
“Well, they say commonly that you have been playing out of the square at the clubs; that you’ve been expelled from two, and that your conduct has been little better than that of a blackleg. John Huish, as a gentleman and my brother-in-law, how much of this is true? Stop a moment,” he added hastily. “I know, old man, what it is myself to be pinched for money, and how a fellow might be tempted to do anything shady to get some together to keep up appearances. If there has been anything queer it must be forgiven; but you must give me your word as a man that for the future all shall be right.”
“My dear Dick,” cried Huish, “I give you my word that all in the future shall be square, as you term it; and I tell you this, that if any man had spoken such falsehoods about my wife’s brother, I should have knocked him down. There isn’t a word of truth in these reports, though I must confess they have worried me a great deal. Now, will you shake hands?”
“That I will,” cried Dick eagerly; “and I tell you now that I am glad that you have thrown dust in our eyes as you have. I always liked you, Huish, and you were about the only man from whom I never liked to borrow money.”
“Why?” said Huish, smiling.
“Because I was afraid of losing a friend. Come up now, for Gertrude will be in a fidget to know what we have been saying. – Gertrude, my dear,” he said as they re-entered the drawing-room, “it’s all right.”
An hour later Dick parted from the young couple at the little house they had taken in Westbourne Road, and cabbed back, to send her ladyship into a fainting fit by the announcement that his sister and her husband had been at his uncle’s.
“For,” said Lady Millet, “I can never forgive Gertrude; and as to that dreadful man Huish, in marrying him she has disgraced herself beyond the power to redeem her lot. Ah me! and these are the children I have nurtured in my bosom.”
It was rather hard work for Dick Millet, with his own love affairs in a state of “check,” with no probability of “mate,” but he felt that he must act; and in his newly assumed character of head of the family he determined to go and try to smooth matters over at Chesham Place, and took a hansom to see Frank Morrison, who was now back at his own house, but alone, and who surlily pointed to a chair as he sat back pale and nervous of aspect, wrapped in a dressing-gown.
“Look here, Frank,” said Dick, sitting down, and helping himself to a cigar, “we’re brothers-in-law, and I’m not going to quarrel. I’ve come for the other thing.”
“My cigars, seemingly,” said the other.
“Yes; they’re not bad. But look here, old fellow, light up; I want to talk to you.”
“If you want to borrow twenty pounds, say so, and I’ll draw you a cheque.”
“Hang your cheque! I didn’t come to borrow money. Light up.”
Morrison snatched up a cigar, bit off the end, and lit it, threw himself back in his chair, and began to smoke quickly.
“Go on,” he said. “What is it?”
“Wait a minute or two,” said Dick. “Smoke five minutes first.”
Morrison muttered something unpleasant, but went on smoking, and at last Dick, who was sitting with his little legs dangling over the side of the chair, began.
“Fact is,” he said, “I’m going to speak out. I shan’t quarrel, and I’m such a little chap that you can’t hit me.”
“No; but I could throw you downstairs,” said Morrison, who was half amused, half annoyed by his visitor’s coming, though in his heart of hearts he longed to hear news of Renée.
“I saw my uncle yesterday.”
“Indeed! Poor old lunatic! What had he got to say?”
“Ah, there you are wrong!” said Dick sharply. “He said something which you will own proved that he was no lunatic.”
“What was it?” said Morrison coldly.
“That you were a confounded scoundrel.”
Frank Morrison jumped up in his chair, scowling angrily; but he threw himself back again with a contemptuous “Pish!”
“Proves it, don’t it?”
“Look here,” cried Morrison angrily, “I’ve had about enough of your family, so please finish your cigar and go.”
“Shan’t. There, it’s no use to twist about. I’ve come on purpose to sit upon you.”
“Look here,” cried Morrison sternly, “has your sister sent you?”
“No. I’ve come of my own free will, as I tell you, to show you what a fool you are, and to try and bring you to your senses.”
“You are very ready at calling people fools,” said Morrison, biting his nails.
“Well, don’t you deserve to be called one for acting as you have acted? What did you do? Went mad after a woman who didn’t care a sou for you; neglected a dear, good girl who did care for you, and exposed her to the persecutions of a scoundrel who has no more principle than that.”
He snapped his fingers, and, instead of firing up with rage, Morrison turned his face away and smoked furiously.
“Now, isn’t that all true, Frank? Here, give me a light.”
Morrison lit a spill, passed it to his brother-in-law, and sank back in his chair.
“I say,” continued Dick, as he lit his cigar again, “isn’t it (puff) quite (puff) true?”
“I suppose so,” said the other listlessly. “She never cared for me, though, Dick. That scoundrel and she were old flames.”
“First, a lie; second, true,” said Dick quietly. “Renée is as good as gold; and when she found she was to be your wife, she accepted the inevitable and tried to do her duty, poor girl! She was already finding out what a bad one Malpas was.”
“Curse him! don’t mention his name here!” cried Morrison savagely.
“I say she was already finding out what a cursed scoundrel Malpas was when she married you.”
“She encouraged his visits afterwards,” cried Morrison fiercely. “The villain owned it to me.”
“And you didn’t thrust your fist down his throat?”
Morrison got up and paced the room.
“Look here, Frank, old fellow: you are beginning to find out what a donkey you have been. You are easy-going, and it’s no hard job to lead you away. Now tell me this: didn’t Malpas introduce you to a certain lady?”
“Yes,” was the sulky reply.
“Of course,” said Dick. “He takes you and moulds you like putty, introduces you to people so as to make your wife jealous, out of revenge for your supplanting him, and then tries to supplant you in turn.”
