XXI
A MEETING OF OLD FRIENDS
It was September. The House elected in those first days of May wasfour months old, and already it had fulfilled the hopes of thecountry. Without a division it had decreed the first reading, and by amajority of one hundred and thirty-six, the second reading of thePeople's Bill; that Bill by which the preceding House slaying, hadbeen slain. New members were beginning to lose the first gloss oftheir enthusiasm; the youngest no longer ogled the M.P. on theirletters, nor franked for the mere joy of franking. But the ministrystill rode the flood tide of favour, Lord Grey was still his country'spride, and Brougham a hero. It only remained to frighten the House ofLords, and in particular those plaguy out-of-date fellows, theBishops, into passing the Bill; and the battle would be won,
_The streets be paved with mutton pies, Potatoes eat like pine!_
And, in fine, everyone would live happily ever afterwards.
To old Tories of the stamp of Sir Robert Vermuyden, the outlook waswholly dark. But it is not often that public care clouds private joy;and had Eldon been prime minister, with Wetherell for his Chancellor,the grounds of Stapylton could hardly have worn a more smiling aspectthan they presented on the fine day in early September, which SirRobert had chosen for his daughter's first party. The abrupt additionof a well-grown girl to a family of one is a delicate process. It isapt to open the door to scandal. And a little out of discretion, andmore that she, who was now the apple of his eye, might not wear herwealth with a difference, nor lack anything of the mode, he had nothastened the occasion. A word had been dropped here and there--withcare; the truth had been told to some, the prepossessions of othershad been consulted. But at length the day was come on which she muststand by his side and receive the world of Wiltshire.
And she had so stood for more than an hour of this autumn afternoon;with such pride on his side as was fitting, and such blushes on hersas were fitting also. Now, the prime duty of reception over, and hiscompany dispersed through the gardens, Sir Robert lingered with one ortwo of his intimates on the lawn before the house. In the hollow ofthe park hard by, stood the ample marquee in which his poorerneighbours were presently to feed; gossip had it that Sir Robert wasalready at work rebuilding his political influence. Near the tent,Hunt the Slipper and Kiss in the Ring were in progress, and Moneymuskwas being danced to the strains of the Chippinge church band; theshrill voices of the rustic youth proving that their first shyness waswearing off. Within the gardens, a famous band from Bath played thenew-fashioned quadrilles turn about with Moore's Irish Melodies; and ascore of the fair, gorgeous as the dragon-flies which darted above thewater, meandered delicately up and down the sward; or escorted bygentlemen in tightly strapped white trousers and blue coats--or inWellington frocks, the latest mode--appeared and again disappearedamong the elms beside the Garden Pool. In the background, the house,adorned and refurnished, winked with all its windows at the sunshine,gave forth from all its doors the sweet scent of flowers, throbbed tothe very recesses of the haunted wing with small talk and lightlaughter, the tap of sandalled feet and the flirt of fans.
Sir Robert thanked his God as he looked upon it all. And five yearsyounger in face and more like the Duke than ever, he listened, almostpurring, to the praises of his new-found darling. The odds had beengreat that with such a breeding, she had been coarse or sly, common orskittish. And she was none of these things, but fair as a flower,slender as Psyche, sweet-eyed as a loving woman, dainty and virginalas the buds of May! And withal gentle and kind and obedient--aboveall, obedient. He could not thank God enough, as he read in the eyesof young men and old women, what they thought of her. And he wasthanking Him, though in outward seeming he was attentive to an oldfriend's prattle, when his eyes fell on a carriage and four which,followed by two outriders, was sweeping past the marquee and breastingthe gentle ascent to the house. All who were likely to arrive in suchstate, the Beauforts, Suffolks, Methuens, were come; the old Duke ofBeaufort, indeed, and his daughter-in-law were gone again. So SirRobert stared at the approaching carriage, wondering whom it mightcontain.
"They are the Bowood liveries," said his friend, who had longer sight."I thought they had gone to town for the Coronation."
Sir Robert too had thought so. Indeed, though he had invited theLansdownes upon the principle, which even the heats attending theReform Bill did not wholly abrogate, that family friendships wereabove party--he had been glad to think that he would not see thespoliators. The trespass was too recent, the robbery too gross! Ay,and the times too serious.
Here they were, however; Lady Lansdowne, her daughter, and a smallgentleman with a merry eye and curling locks. And Sir Robert represseda sigh, and advanced four or five paces to meet them. But though hesighed, no one knew better what became a host; and his greeting wasperfect. One of his bitterest flings at Bowood painted it as thecommon haunt of fiddlers and poets, actors and the like. But hereceived her ladyship's escort, who was no other than Mr. Moore ofSloperton, and of the Irish Melodies, with the courtesy which he wouldhave extended to an equal; nor when Lady Lansdowne sent her girl totake tea under the poet's care did he let any sign of his reprobationappear. Those with whom he had been talking had withdrawn to leave himat liberty, and he found himself alone with Lady Lansdowne.
"We leave for Berkeley Square to-morrow, for the Coronation on the8th," she said, playing with her fan in a way which would havebetrayed to her intimates that she was not at ease. "I had many thingsto do this morning in view of our departure and I could not startearly. You must accept our apologies, Sir Robert."
"It was gracious of your ladyship to come at all," he said.
"It was brave," she replied, with a gleam of laughter in her eyes. "Infact, though I bear my lord's warmest felicitations on this happyevent, and wreathe them with mine, Sir Robert----"
"I thank your ladyship and Lord Lansdowne," he said formally.
"I do not think that I should have ventured," she continued withanother glint of laughter, "did I not bear also an olive branch."
He bowed, but waited in silence for her explanation.
"One of a--a rather delicate nature," she said. "Am I permitted, SirRobert, to--to speak in confidence?"
He did not understand and he sought refuge in compliments."Permitted?" he said, with the gallant bow of an old beau. "All thingsare permitted to so much----"
"Hush!" she said. "But there! I will take you at your word. You knowthat the Bill--there is but one Bill now-a-days--is in Committee?"
He frowned, disliking the subject. "I don't think," he said, "that anygood can come of discussing it, Lady Lansdowne."
"I think it may," she replied, with a confidence which she did notfeel, "if you will hear me. It is whispered that there is a questionin Committee of one of the doomed boroughs. One, I am told, SirRobert, hangs between schedule A and schedule B; and that borough isChippinge. Those who know whisper Lord Lansdowne that ultimately itwill be plucked from the burning, and will be found in schedule B.Consequently it will retain one member."
Sir Robert's thin face turned a dull red. So the wicked Whigs, who haddrawn the line of disfranchisement at such a point as to spare theirpet preserves, their Calne and Bedford and the like, had not been ablewith all their craft to net every fish. One had evaded the mesh, andby Heavens, it was Chippinge! Chippinge, though shorn of its fullglory, would still return one member. He had not hoped, he had notexpected this. Now
_Non omnis moriar, multaque pars mei Vitabit Libitinam!_
he thought with jubilation. And then another thought darted throughhis mind and changed his joy to chagrin. A seat had been left toChippinge. But why? That Arthur Vaughan, that his renegade cousin,might continue to fill it, might continue to hold it, under his noseand to his daily, hourly, his constant mortification. By Heaven, itwas too much! They had said well, who said that an enemy's gift was tobe dreaded. But he would fight the seat, at the next election a
nd atevery election, rather than suffer that miserable person, miserable onso many accounts, to fill it at his will. And after all the seat wassaved; and no one could tell the future. The lasting gain mightoutlive the temporary vexation.
So, after frowning a moment, he tried to smooth his brow. "And yourmission, Lady Lansdowne," he said politely, "is to tell me this?"
"In part," she said, with hesitation, for the course, of his feelingshad been visible in his countenance. "But also----"
"But also--and in the main," he answered with a smile, "to make aproposition, perhaps?"
"Yes."
He thought of the most obvious proposition, and he spoke in pursuanceof his thought. "Then forgive me if I speak plainly," he said."Whether the borough lose one member or both, whether it figure inschedule B, or in schedule A, cannot affect my opposition to the Bill!If you have it in commission, therefore, to make any proposal, basedon a contrary notion, I cannot listen even to your ladyship."
"I have not," she answered with a smile. "Sir Robert Vermuyden'smalignancy is too well known. Yet I am the bearer of a proposition.Suppose the Bill to become law, and I am told that it will surelybecome law, can we not avoid future conflict, and--I will not sayfuture ill-will, for God knows there is none on our side, SirRobert--but future friction, by an agreement? Of course it will not bepossible to nominate members in the future as in the past. But forsome time to come whoever is returned for Chippinge must be returnedby your influence, or by my lord's."
He coughed drily. "Possibly," he said.
"In view of that," she continued, flirting her fan, as she watched hisface--his manner was not encouraging, "and for the sake of peacebetween families, and a little, perhaps, because I do not wish Kerryto be beggared by contested elections, can we not now, while thefuture is on the lap of the gods----"
"In Committee," Sir Robert corrected with a grave bow.
She laughed pleasantly. "Well," she allowed, "perhaps it is not quitethe same thing. But no matter! Whoever the Fates in charge, can wenot," with her head on one side and a charming smile, "make a treatyof peace?"
"And what," Sir Robert asked with urbane sarcasm, "becomes of therights of the people in that case, Lady Lansdowne? And of the purityof elections? And of the new and independent electors whom my lord hasbrought into being? Must we not think of these things?"
She looked for an instant rather foolish. Then she rallied, and with aslightly heightened colour, "In good time, we must," she replied. "Butfor the present it is plain that they will not be able to walk withoutassistance."
"What?" it was on the tip of his tongue to answer. "The new andindependent electors? Not walk without assistance? Oh, what a changeis here!" But he forbore. He said instead--but with the faintest shadeof irony, "Without _our_ assistance, I think you mean, LadyLansdowne?"
"Yes. And that being so, why should we not agree, my lord and you--tosave Kerry's pocket shall I say--to bring forward a candidatealternately?"
Sir Robert shook his head gravely. He would fight.
"Allowing to you, Sir Robert, as the owner of the influence hithertodominant in the borough, the first return."
"The first return--after the Bill passes?"
"Yes."
That was a different thing. That was another thing altogether. A gleamof satisfaction shone for an instant under the baronet's bushyeyebrows. The object he had most at heart was to oust his treacherouscousin. And here was a method, sure and safe: more safe by far thanany contest under the new Bill?
"Well I--I cannot say anything at this moment," he said, at last,trying to hide his satisfaction. "These heats once over I do notsee--your ladyship will pardon me--why my influence should not stillpredominate."
It was Lady Lansdowne's turn. "And things be as before?" she answered."No, Sir Robert, no. You forget those rights of the people which youwere so kind as to support a moment ago. Things will not be as before.But--but perhaps I shall hear from you? Of course it is not a matterthat can be settled, as in the old days, by our people."
"You shall certainly hear," he said, with something more thancourtesy. "In the meantime----"
"I am dying to see your daughter," she answered. "I am told that sheis very lovely. Where is she?"
"A few minutes ago she was in the Elm Walk," Sir Robert answered, aslight flush betraying his gratification. "I will send for her."
But her ladyship would not hear of this; nor would she suffer him toleave his post to escort her. "Here's la belle Suffolk coming to takeleave of you," she said. "And I know my way."
"But you will not know her," Sir Robert answered.
Lady Lansdowne let her parasol sink over her shoulder. "I think Ishall," she said with a glance of meaning, "if she is like hermother."
And without waiting to see the effect of her words, she moved away. Itwas said of old time of Juno, that she walked a Goddess confessed. Andof Lady Lansdowne as she moved slowly across the sunny lawn before thechurch, her dainty skirts trailing and her parasol inclined, it mightwith equal justice have been said, that she walked a great lady, ofthat day when great ladies still were,
_Nor mill nor mart had mocked the guinea's stamp_.
Whether she smiled on this person or bowed to that, or with a slightermovement acknowledged the courtesy of those who, without claimingrecognition made respectful way for her, a gracious ease and a quietnonchalance were in all her actions. The deeper emotions seemed as farfrom her as were Hodge and Joan playing Kiss in the Ring. But her lastwords to Sir Robert had reacted on herself, and as she crossed therustic bridge, she paused a moment to gaze on the water. The band wasplaying the air of "She is far from the Land," and tears rose to hereyes as she recalled the past and pictured scene after scene, absurdor pathetic in the career of the proud beauty who had once queened ithere, whose mad pranks and madder sayings had once filled theseshrubberies with mirth or chagrin, and whose child she was about tosee.
She sighed, as she resumed her course, unable even now to blame LadySybil as her conduct to her child deserved. But where was the child?Not on the walk under the elms, which was deserted in favour of themore lively attractions of the park. Lady Lansdowne looked this wayand that; at length availing herself of the solitude, she paced thewalk to its end. Thence a short path which she well remembered, led tothe kennels; and rather to indulge her sentiment and recall the dayswhen she was herself young, and had been intimate here, than becauseshe expected to meet Mary, she took this path. She had not followed ita dozen steps, and was hesitating whether to go on or return, thestrains of Moore's melody were scarcely blurred by the interveninglaurels, when a tall dark-robed figure stepped with startlingabruptness from the shrubbery, and stood before her.
"Louisa," said the stranger. And she raised her veil. "Don't you knowme?"
"Sybil!"
"Yes, Sybil!" the other answered curtly. And then as if something inLady Lansdowne's tone had wounded her, "Why not?" she continued,raising her head proudly. "My name came easily enough to yourladyship's lips once! And I am not aware that I have done anything todeprive me of the right to call my friends by their names, be theywhom they may!"
"No, no! But----"
"But you meant it, Louisa!" the other retorted with energy. "Or is itthat you find me so changed, so old, so worn, so altered from her youonce knew, that it astonishes you to trace in this face the featuresof Sybil Matching!"
"You are changed," the other answered kindly. "I fear you have beenill?"
"I am ill. I am more, I am dying. Not here, nor to-day, norto-morrow----"
Lady Lansdowne interrupted her. "In that sense," she said gently, "weare all dying." But though she said it, the change in Lady Sybil'sappearance did indeed shock her; almost as much as her presence inthat place amazed her.
"I have but three months to live," Lady Sybil answered feverishly; andher sunken cheeks and bright eyes, which told of some hidden disease,confirmed her words. "I am dying in that sense! Do you hear? But Idare say," with a flash of her old levity, "it is my presence
herethat shocks you? You are thinking what Vermuyden would say if heturned the corner behind you, and found us together!" And, as LadyLansdowne, with a nervous start, looked over her shoulder, with theold recklessness, "I'd like--I'd like to see his face, my dear, andyours, too, if he found us. But," she continued, with an abrupt changeto impassioned earnestness, "it's not to see you that I came to-day!Don't think it! It's not to see you that I've been waiting for twohours past. I want to see my girl! I am going to see her, do you hear!You must bring her to me!"
"Sybil!"
"Don't contradict me, Louisa," she cried peremptorily. "Haven't I toldyou that I am dying? Don't you hear what I say! Am I to die and notsee my child? Cruel woman! Heartless creature! But you always were!And cold as an icicle!"
"No, indeed, I am not! And I think you should see her," LadyLansdowne answered, in no little distress. How could she not bedistressed by the contrast between this woman plainly and almostshabbily dressed--for the purpose perhaps of evading notice--and withillness stamped on her face, and the brilliant, harum-scarum LadySybil, with whom her thoughts had been busy a few minutes before? "Ithink you ought to see her," she repeated in a soothing tone. "But youshould take the proper steps to do so. You----"
"You think--yes, you do!" Lady Vermuyden retorted with fierceenergy--"you think that I have treated her so ill that I have no rightto see her! That I cannot care to see her! But you do not know how Iwas tried! How I was suspected, how I was watched! What wrongs Isuffered! And--and I never meant to hide her for good. When I died,she would have come home. And I had a plan too--but never mindthat--to right her without Vermuyden's knowledge and in his teeth. Isaw her on a coach one day along with--what is it?"
"There is someone coming," Lady Lansdowne said hurriedly. Her ladyshipindeed was in a state of great apprehension. She knew that at anymoment she might be found, perhaps by Sir Robert: and the thought ofthe scene which would follow--aware as she was of the exasperation ofhis feelings--appalled her. She tried to temporise. "Another time,"she said. "I think someone is coming now. See me another time and Iwill do what I can."
"No!" the other broke in, her face flushing with sudden anger. "Seeyou, Louisa? What do I care for seeing you? It is my girl I wish tosee, that I'm come to see, that I'm going to see! I'm her mother,fetch her to me! I have a right to see her, and I will see her! Idemand her! If you do not go for her----"
"Sybil! Sybil!" Lady Lansdowne cried, thoroughly alarmed by herfriend's violence. "For Heaven's sake be calm!"
"Calm?" Lady Vermuyden answered. "Do you cease to dictate to me, anddo as I bid you! Go, and fetch her, or I will go myself and claim herbefore all his friends. He has no heart. He never had a heart! It'ssawdust," with a hysterical laugh. "But he has pride and I'll trampleon it! I'll tread it in the mud--if you don't fetch her! Are yougoing, Miss Gravity? We used to call you Miss Gravity, I remember. Youwere always," with a faint sneer, "a bit of a prude, my dear!"
Miss Gravity! What long-forgotten trifles, what thoughts of youth thenickname brought back to Lady Lansdowne's recollection. What wars ofmaidens' wits, and half-owned jealousies, and light resentments, andsunny days of pique and pleasure! Her heart, never anything but soft,under the mask of her great-lady's manner, waxed sore and pitiful. Yethow was she to do the other's bidding? How could she betray SirRobert's confidence? How----
Someone was coming--really coming this time. She looked round.
"I'll give you five minutes!" Lady Sybil whispered. "Five minutes,Louisa! Remember!"
And when Lady Lansdowne turned again to her, she had vanished amongthe laurels.