CHAPTER III.
ALL THE WORLD KNOWS IT.
The story was in truth all over London and half over England bythe time that Lady Frances had returned to Hendon Hall. ThoughVivian had made a Foreign Office secret of the affair at Gorse Hall,nevertheless it had been so commonly talked about during the lastSunday there, that Hautboy had told it all to poor Walker and to theWalker ladies. "By Jove, fancy!" Hautboy had said, "to go at oncefrom a Post Office clerk to a duke! It's like some of those storieswhere a man goes to bed as a beggar and gets up as a prince. I wonderwhether he likes it." Hampstead had of course discussed the mattervery freely with his sister, still expressing an opinion that a mancould not do other than take his father's name and his father'stitle. Lady Frances having thus become used to the subject was notsurprised to find the following letter from her friend Lady Amaldinawhen she reached her home:--
MY DEAREST FANNY,--
I am indeed _delighted_ to be able to congratulate you on the wonderful and _most romantic_ story which has just been made known to us. I was never one of those who blamed you _very much_ because you had given your affections to a man _so much below_ you in rank. Nevertheless, we all could not but feel that it was a pity that he should be _a Post Office clerk!_ Now, indeed, you have reason to be proud! I have already read up the subject, and I find that the Ducas di Crinola are supposed to have _the very best blood_ in Europe. There can be no doubt that one of the family married a _Bourbon_ before they came to the French throne. I could send you all the details, only I do not doubt that you have found it out for yourself already. Another married _a second cousin of that Maximilian who married Mary of Burgundy_. One of the ladies of the family is supposed to have been the wife of the younger brother of one of the Guises, though it isn't _quite_ certain whether they were ever married. But that little blot, my dear, will hardly affect _you_ now. Taking the name altogether, I don't think there is anything higher in all Europe. Papa says that the Di Crinolas have always been doing something in Italy in the way of politics, or rebellion, or fighting. So it isn't as though they were all washed out and no longer of any account, like some of those we read of in history. Therefore I _do_ think that you must be a _very happy girl_.
I do feel _so completely snuffed out_, because, after all, the title of Merioneth was only conferred in the time of _Charles the Second_. And though there _was_ a Lord Llwddythlw before that, even he was only created by _James the First_. The Powells no doubt are a very old Welsh family, and it is supposed that there was some relationship between them and the Tudors. But what is that to be compared to the _mediaeval honours_ of the _great House of Di Crinola?_
Papa seems to think that he will not have _much_ fortune. I am one of those who do not think that a large income is at all to be compared to good birth in the way of giving _real position_ in the world. Of course the Duke's estates are supposed to be _enormous_, and Llwddythlw, _even as an eldest son_, is a rich man; but as far as I can see there is nothing but trouble comes from it. If he has anything to do with a provincial town in the way of _rents_ he is expected to lay the _first brick_ of every church and institute about the place. If anything has to be _opened_ he has to _open_ it; and he is never allowed to eat his dinner without having to make _two or three speeches before and afterwards_. That's what I call a _great bore_. As far as I can see you will be always able to have your duke with you, because he will have no abominable public duties to look after.
I suppose something will have to be _done_ as to an _income_. Llwddythlw seems to think that he ought to get into Parliament. At least that is what he said to papa the other day; for I have not seen him myself for ever so long. He calls in the Square every Sunday just as we have done lunch, and never remains _above two minutes_. Last Sunday we had not heard of this _glorious_ news; but papa did see him one day at the House, and that was what he said. I don't see how he is to get into the House _if he is an Italian Duke_, and I don't know _what_ he'd get by going there. Papa says that he might be employed in some _diplomatic_ position by his own Government; but I should think that the Marquis could do _something for him_ as he has _so much_ at his own disposition. Every acre of the Merioneth property is settled upon,--well,--whoever may happen to be the next heir. There will sure to be an income. There always is. Papa says that the young dukes are always as well off, at any rate, as the young ravens.
But, as I said before, what does all this signify in comparison with BLOOD. It does make your position, my dear, _quite another thing_ from what we had expected. You would have kept your title no doubt; but _where_ would _he_ have been?
I wonder whether you will be married now before August. I suppose not, because it doesn't seem to be quite certain when that _wicked papa_ of his died; but I do hope that you won't. A day at last has been fixed for us;--the 20th of August, when, as I told you before, Lord David is to run away _instantly_ after the ceremony so as to travel all night and _open something_ the next morning at _Aberdeen_. I mention it now, because you will be _by far_ the most _remarkable_ of all my bevy of twenty. Of course your name will have been in the papers before that as _the_ future Italian _Duchess_. That I own will be to me a just cause of pride. I think I have got my bevy all fixed at last, and I do _hope_ that none of them will get married before _my_ day. That has happened _so often_ as to be quite _heart-breaking_. I shall cry if I find that _you_ are to be married _first_.
Believe me to be Your most affectionate friend and cousin,
AMALDINA.
She wrote also to her future husband on the same subject;--
DEAREST LLWDDYTHLW,--
It was very _good_ of you to come last Sunday, but I wish you hadn't gone away just because the Graiseburys were there. They would not have _eaten_ you, though he is a Liberal.
I have written to Fanny Trafford to congratulate her; because you know it is after all better than being a mere _Post Office clerk_. That was terrible;--so bad that one hardly knew how to mention her name in society! When people talked about it, I really _did feel_ that I blushed all over. One can mention her name now because people are not _supposed_ to know that he has got nothing. Nevertheless, it is very dreadful. _What on earth are they to live on?_ I have told her about the young ravens. It was papa who said that when he first heard of this Di Crinola affair. I suppose a girl _ought to trust in Providence_ when she marries a man without a shilling. That was what papa meant.
Papa says that you said that he ought to go into Parliament. But what would he _get_ by that? Perhaps as he is in the Post Office they might make him _Postmaster-General_. Only papa says that if he were to go into Parliament, then he could not call himself Duca di Crinola. Altogether it seems to be _very sad_,--though not _quite_ so sad as before. It is true that one of the Di Crinolas married a _Bourbon_, and that others of them have married ever so many _royalties_. I think there ought to be a law for giving such people something to live upon _out of the taxes_. How are they to be _expected_ to live upon nothing? I asked papa whether he couldn't get it done; but he said it would be a _money bill_, and that _you_ ought to take it up. Pray don't, for fear it should take you _all August_. I know you wouldn't have a scruple about putting off your own little affair, if anything of that kind _were_ to come in the way. _I believe you'd like it._
_Do_ stop a little longer when you come on Sunday. I have _ever so many_ things to say to you. And if you can think of anything to be done for those _poor_ Di Crinolas, anything that won't take up _all_ August,--pray do it.
Your own,
AMY.
One more letter shall be given; the answer, namely, to the above fromthe lover to his future bride;--
DEAR AMY,--
I'll be at the Square on Sunday by three. I will walk out if you like, but it
is always raining. I have to meet five or six conservative members later on in the afternoon as to the best thing to be done as to Mr. Green's Bill for lighting London by electricity. It would suit everybody; but some of our party, I am afraid, would go with them, and the Government is very shilly-shally. I have been going into the figures, and it has taken me all the week. Otherwise I would have been to see you.
This Di Crinola affair is quite a romance. I did not mean that he ought to go into the House by way of getting an income. If he takes up the title of course he could not do so. If he takes it, he must regard himself as an Italian. I should think him quite as respectable, earning his bread as a clerk in a public office. They tell me he's a high-spirited fellow. If he is, that is what he will do.
Yours affectionately,
LLWDDYTHLW.
When Lord Persiflage spoke of the matter to Baron d'Ossi, the ItalianMinister in London, the Baron quite acknowledged the position of theyoung Duca, and seemed to think that very little could be wanting tothe making of the young man's fortune. "Ah, yes, your Excellency,"said the Baron. "He has no great estates. Here in England you allhave great estates. It is very nice to have great estates. But he hasan uncle who is a great man in Rome. And he will have a wife whoseuncle is a very great man in London. What more should he want?" Thenthe Baron bowed to the Minister of State, and the Minister of Statebowed to the Baron.
But the surprise expressed and the consternation felt at the PostOffice almost exceeded the feelings excited at the Foreign Office oramong Lady Fanny's family and friends. Dukes and Ministers, Baronsand Princes, are terms familiar to the frequenters of the ForeignOffice. Ambassadors, Secretaries, and diplomatic noblemen generally,are necessarily common in the mouths of all the officials. But atthe Post Office such titles still carried with them something of awe.The very fact that a man whom they had seen should be a Duke wastremendous to the minds of Bobbin and Geraghty; and when it becameknown to them that a fellow workman in their own room, one who hadin truth been no more than themselves, would henceforth be called byso august a title, it was as though the heavens and the earth werecoming together. It affected Crocker in such a way that there wasfor a time a doubt whether his senses were not temporarily leavinghim,--so that confinement would become necessary. Of course thematter had found its way into the newspapers. It became known at theoffice on the last day of February,--two days before the return ofthe Rodens to London.
"Have you heard it, Mr. Jerningham?" said Crocker, rushing into theroom that morning. He was only ten minutes after the proper time,having put himself to the expense of a cab in his impetuous desire tobe the first to convey the great news to his fellow clerks. But hehad been forestalled in his own room by the energy of Geraghty. Thecondition of mind created in Mr. Jerningham's bosom by the storytold by Geraghty was of such a nature that he was unable to noticeCrocker's sin in reference to the ten minutes.
"Dchuca di Crinola!" shouted Geraghty in his broadest brogue asCrocker came in; determined not to be done out of the honour fairlyachieved by him.
"By Jove, yes! A Duke," said Crocker. "A Duke! My own especialfriend! Hampstead will be nowhere; nowhere; nowhere! Duca di Crinola!Isn't it beautiful? By George, I can't believe it. Can you, Mr.Jerningham?"
"I don't know what to believe," said Mr. Jerningham. "Only he wasalways a most steady, well-behaved young man, and the office willhave a great loss of him."
"I suppose the Duke won't come and see us ever," said Bobbin. "Ishould like to shake hands with him once again."
"Shake hands with him," said Crocker. "I'm sure he won't drop outlike that;--my own peculiar friend! I don't think I ever was so fondof anybody as George Ro--, the Duca di Crinola of course I mean. ByGeorge! haven't I sat at the same table with him for the last twoyears! Why, it was only a night or two before he started on thisremarkable tour that I spent an evening with him in private societyat Holloway!" Then he got up and walked about the room impetuously,clapping his hands, altogether carried away by the warmth of hisfeelings.
"I think you might as well sit down to your desk, Mr. Crocker," saidMr. Jerningham.
"Oh, come, bother, Mr. Jerningham!"
"I will not be spoken to in that way, Mr. Crocker."
"Upon my word, I didn't mean anything, sir. But when one has heardsuch news as this, how is it possible that one should composeoneself? It's a sort of thing that never happened before,--that one'sown particular friend should turn out to be the Duca di Crinola. Didanybody ever read anything like it in a novel? Wouldn't it act well?Can't I see the first meeting between myself and the Duke at theHaymarket! 'Duke,' I should say--'Duke, I congratulate you on havingcome to your august family title, to which no one living could do somuch honour as yourself.' Bancroft should do me. Bancroft would do meto the life, and the piece should be called the _Duke's Friend_. Isuppose we shall call him Duke here in England, and Duca if we happento be in Italy together; eh, Mr. Jerningham?"
"You had better sit down, Mr. Crocker, and try to do your work."
"I can't;--upon my word I can't. The emotion is too much for me.I couldn't do it if Aeolus were here himself. By the way, I wonderwhether Sir Boreas has heard the news." Then he rushed off, andabsolutely made his way into the room of the great potentate.
"Yes, Mr. Crocker," said Sir Boreas, "I have heard it. I read thenewspapers, no doubt, as well as you do."
"But it's true, Sir Boreas?"
"I heard it spoken of two or three days ago, Mr. Crocker, and Ibelieve it to be true."
"He was my friend, Sir Boreas; my particular friend. Isn't it awonderful thing,--that one's particular friend should turn out tobe Duca di Crinola! And he didn't know a word of it himself. I feelquite sure that he didn't know a word of it."
"I really can't say, Mr. Crocker; but as you have now expressed yourwonder, perhaps you had better go back to your room and do yourwork."
"He pretends he knew it three days ago!" said Crocker, as he returnedto his room. "I don't believe a word of it. He'd have written to mehad it been known so long ago as that. I suppose he had too manythings to think of, or he would have written to me."
"Go aisy, Crocker," said Geraghty.
"What do you mean by that? It's just the thing he would have done."
"I don't believe he ever wrote to you in his life," said Bobbin.
"You don't know anything about it. We were here together two yearsbefore you came into the office. Mr. Jerningham knows that we werealways friends. Good heavens! Duca di Crinola! I tell you what it is,Mr. Jerningham. If it were ever so, I couldn't do anything to-day.You must let me go. There are mutual friends of ours to whom it isquite essential that I should talk it over." Then he took his hat andmarched off to Holloway, and would have told the news to Miss ClaraDemijohn had he succeeded in finding that young lady at home. Clarawas at that moment discussing with Mrs. Duffer the wonderful factthat Mr. Walker and not Lord Hampstead had been kicked and trodden topieces at Gimberley Green.
But even Aeolus, great as he was, expressed himself with somesurprise that afternoon to Mr. Jerningham as to the singular fortunewhich had befallen George Roden. "I believe it to be quite true, Mr.Jerningham. These wonderful things do happen sometimes."
"He won't stay with us, Sir Boreas, I suppose?"
"Not if he is Duca di Crinola. I don't think we could get on with areal duke. I don't know how it will turn out. If he chooses to remainan Englishman he can't take the title. If he chooses to take thetitle he must be an Italian, then he'll have nothing to live on. Mybelief is we shan't see him any more. I wish it had been Crocker withall my heart."