CHAPTER XXV
"DARK AND DREARY"
The pea-soup thickness of a London fog is melting into drizzling rain.The lamp-posts and area railings in Mayfair are dripping with wet, likethe bare copses and leafless hedges miles off in the country. It is araw, miserable day, and particularly detestable in this odious town, asa tall old gentleman seems to think who has just emerged from his hotelinto the chill, moist atmosphere; and whose well-wrapped-up exterior,faultless goloshes, and neat umbrella denote one of that class who areseldom to be met with in the streets during the winter season. As hepicks his way along the sloppy pavement, he turns to scan the action ofevery horse that splashes by, and ventures, moreover, on sundry peepsunder passing bonnets with a pertinacity, and, at the same time, an airof unconsciousness that prove how habit can become second nature. Theprocess generally terminates in disappointment, not to say disgust, andSir Harry Beverley--for it is no less a person than the SomersetshireBaronet--walks on, apparently more and more dissatisfied with the worldin general at every step he takes. As he paces through Grosvenor-squarehe looks wistfully about him, as though for some means of escape. Heseems bound on an errand for which he has no great fancy, and once ortwice he is evidently on the point of turning back. Judging by hisincrease of pace in South Audley-street, his courage would appear to befailing him rapidly; but the aspect of Chesterfield House, the gloriesof which he remembers well in its golden time, reassures him; and withan inward ejaculation of "poor D'Orsay!" and a mental vision of thatextraordinary man, who conquered the world with the aid only of hiswhiskers and his cab-horse, Sir Harry walks on. "They are pleasant tolook back upon," thinks the worn old "man of the world"--"those days ofCrocky's and Newmarket, and cheerful Melton, with its brilliant gallops,and cozy little dinners, and snug parties of whist. London, too, wasvery different in my time. Society was not so large, and _we_" (meaningthe soliloquist and his intimate friends) "could do what we liked. Ah!if I had my time to come over again!" and something seems to knock atSir Harry's heart, as he thinks, if indeed he could live life over oncemore, how differently he would spend it. So thinks every man who livesfor aught but doing good. It is dreadful at last to look along thevalley that was once spread before us so glad and sunny, teeming withcorn, and wine, and oil, and to see how barren we have left it. Countyour good actions on your fingers, as the wayfarer counts the miles hehas passed, or the trader his gains, or the sportsman his successes--canyou reckon one a day? a week? a month? a year? And yet you will want alarge stock to balance those in the other scale. Man is a reasoningbeing and a free agent: he makes a strange use of both privileges.
At last Sir Harry stops in front of a neat little house with thebrightest of knockers and the rosiest of muslin curtains, and flowers inits windows, and an air of cheerful prettiness even in this dull darkday.
A French servant, clean and sunshiny as French servants always are,answers the visitor's knock, and announces that "Monsieur" has been "deService"; or in other words, that Captain Ropsley has that morning come"off guard." Whilst the Baronet divests himself of his superfluousclothing in an outer room, let us take a peep at the Guardsman in hisluxurious little den.
Ropsley understands comfort thoroughly, and his rooms are as tastefullyfurnished and as nicely arranged as though there were present the geniusof feminine order to preside over his retreat. Not that such is by anymeans the case. Ropsley is well aware that he owes much of his successin life to the hardness of his heart, and he is not a man to throw awaya single point in the game for the sake of the sunniest smile that everwreathed a fair false face. He is no more a man of pleasure than he isa man of business, though with him pleasure is business, and business ispleasure. He has a sound calculating head, a cool resolute spirit, anabundance of nerve, no sentiment, and hardly any feeling whatever. Justthe man to succeed, and he does succeed in his own career, such as itis. He has established a reputation for fashion, a position in theworld; with a slender income he lives in the highest society, and on thebest of everything; and he has no one to thank for all these advantagesbut himself. As he lies back in the depths of his luxurious armchair,smoking a cigar, and revelling in the coarse witticisms of Rabelais,whose strong pungent satire and utter want of refinement are admirablyin accordance with his own turn of mind, a phrenologist would at onceread his character in his broad but not prominent forehead, his cold,cat-like, grey eye, and the habitual sneer playing round the corners ofan otherwise faultless mouth. Handsome though it be, it is not a facethe eye loves to look upon. During the short interval that elapsesbetween his servant's announcement and his visitor's entrance, Ropsleyhas time to dismiss Rabelais completely from his mind, to run over thesalient points of the conversation which he is determined to have withSir Harry, and to work out "in the rough" two or three intricatecalculations, which are likely somewhat to astonish that hithertounconscious individual. He throws away his cigar, for he defers to theprejudices of the "old school," and shaking his friend cordially by thehand, welcomes him to town, stirs the fire, and looks, as indeed hefeels, delighted to see him.
Sir Harry admires his young friend much, there is something akin intheir two natures; but the acquired shrewdness of the elder man is nomatch for the strong intellect and determined will of his junior.
"I have come up as you desired, my dear fellow," said the Baronet, "andbrought Constance with me. We are at ----'s Hotel, where, by the way,they've got a deuced bad cook: and having arrived last night, here I amthis morning."
Ropsley bowed, as he always did, at the mention of Miss Beverley's name;it was a queer sort of half-malicious little bow. Then looking herfather straight in the face with his cold bright eye, he said,abruptly--"We've got into a devil of a mess, and I required to see youimmediately."
Sir Harry started, and turned pale. It was not the first "devil of amess" by a good many that he had been in, but he felt he was getting tooold for the process, and was beginning to be tired of it.
"Those bills, I suppose," he observed, nervously; "I expected as much."
Ropsley nodded. "We could have met the two," said he, "and renewed thethird, had it not been for Green's rascality and Bolter's failure.However, it is too late to talk of all that now; read that letter, SirHarry, and then tell me whether you do not think we are what Jonathancalls 'slightly up a tree.'"
He handed the Baronet a lawyer's letter as he spoke. The latter grewpaler and paler as he proceeded in its perusal; at its conclusion hecrushed it in his hand, and swore a great oath.
"I can do nothing more," he said, in a hoarse voice; "I am dipped nowtill I cannot get another farthing. The estate is so tied up with thoseaccursed marriage-settlements, that I must not cut a stick of timber atmy own door. If Bolter had paid we could have gone on. The villain!what right had he to incur liabilities he could not meet, and put honestmen in the hole?"
"What right, indeed?" answered the Guardsman, with a quiet smile, thatseemed to say he thought the argument might apply to other cases thanthat of poor Bolter. "I am a man of no position, Sir Harry, and noproperty; if I go I shall scarcely be missed. Now with you it isdifferent: your fall would make a noise in the world, and a positivecrash down in Somersetshire" (the Baronet winced). "However, we shouldneither of us like to lose caste and character without an effort. Isthere _nothing_ can be done?"
Sir Harry looked more and more perplexed. "Time," he muttered, "time;if we could only get a little time. Can't you see these fellows, my dearRopsley, and talk to them a little, and show them their own interests?I give you carte blanche to act for me. I must trust all to you. Idon't see my way."
Ropsley pushed a wide red volume, something like an enlargedbetting-book, across the table. It was his regimental order-book, andon its veracious columns was inscribed the appalling fact that "leave ofabsence had been granted to Lieutenant and Captain Ropsley for anindefinite period, on _urgent private affairs_." Sir Harry's handtrembled as he returned it. He had been so a
ccustomed to consult hisfriend and confederate on all occasions, he had so completely acquiredthe habit of deferring to his judgment and depending on his energy, thathe felt now completely at a loss as he thought of the difficulties heshould have to face unassisted and alone. It was with unconcealedanxiety that he gasped out, "D---- it, Ropsley, you don't mean to leavethe ship just at the instant she gets aground!"
"I have only secured my retreat, like a good general," answered Ropsley,with a smile; "but never fear, Sir Harry, I have no intention of leavingyou in the lurch. Nevertheless, you are a man of more experience thanmyself, you have been at this sort of thing for a good many years:before we go any further, I should like to ask you once more, is thereno plan you can hit upon, have you nothing to propose?"
"Nothing, on my honour," answered Sir Harry. "I am at my wits' end.The money must be got, and paid too, for these fellows won't hear of acompromise. I can't raise another farthing. You must have been clearedout long ago. Ropsley, it strikes me we are both beaten out of thefield."
"Not yet, Sir Harry," observed Ropsley, quietly; "I have a plan, if youapprove of it, and think it can be done."
"By Jove! I always said you were the cleverest fellow in England,"burst out poor Sir Harry, eagerly grasping at the shadow of a chance."Let us have it, by all means. Approve of it! I'll approve of anythingthat will only get us clear of this scrape. Come, out with it, Ropsley.What is it?"
"Sit down, Sir Harry," said Ropsley, for the Baronet was pacingnervously up and down the room; "let us talk things over quietly, and ina business-like manner. Ever since the day that I came over to Beverleyfrom Everdon--(by the way, that was the first good bottle of claret Idrank in Somersetshire)--ever since that day you and I have beenintimate friends. I have profited by your experience and greatknowledge of the world; and you, I think, have derived some advantagefrom my energy and painstaking in the many matters with which we havebeen concerned. I take all the credit of that affair about the mines inArgyllshire, and it would be affectation on my part to pretend I did notknow I had been of great use to you in the business."
"True enough, my dear fellow," answered the Baronet, looking somewhatalarmed; "if I had not sold, as you advised, I should have been 'done'that time, and I confess in all probability--" "ruined," the Baronetwas going to say, but he checked himself, and substituted theexpression, "much hampered now."
"Well, Sir Harry," resumed his friend, "you and I are men of the world;we all know the humbug fellows talk about friendship and all that. Itwould be absurd for us to converse in such a strain, but yet a man hashis likes and dislikes. You are one of the few people I care for, and Iwill do for you what I would not do for any other man on earth."
Sir Harry stared. Though by no means a person of much naturalpenetration, he had yet an acquired shrewdness, the effect of longintercourse with his fellow-creatures, which bade him as a general ruleto mistrust a kindness; and he looked now as if he scented a _quid proquo_ in the generous expressions of his associate.
Ropsley kept his cold grey eye fixed on him, and proceeded--"I havealready said, I am a 'man of straw,' and if I _go_ it matters little toany one but myself. They will ask after me for two days in thebow-window at White's, and there will be an end of it. I sell out,which will not break my heart, as I hate soldiering; and I start quietlyfor the Continent, where I go to the devil my own way, and at my ownpace. _Festina lente_; I am a reasonable man, and easily satisfied.You will allow that this is not your case."
Poor Sir Harry could only shuffle uneasily in his chair, and bow hisacquiescence.
"Such being the state of affairs," proceeded Ropsley, and the hard greyeye grew harder than ever, and seemed to screw itself like a gimlet intothe Baronet's working physiognomy; "such being the state of affairs, ofcourse any sacrifice I make is offered out of pure friendship, regard,and esteem for yourself. Psha! it's nonsense talking like that! Mydear fellow, I like you; I always have liked you; the pleasantest hoursof my life have been spent in your house, and I'll see you out of thisscrape, if I ruin myself, stock, lock, and barrel, for it!"
Sir Harry flushed crimson with delight and surprise; yet the latterfeeling predominated more than was pleasant, as he recollected theold-established principle of himself and his clique, "Nothing fornothing, and very little for a halfpenny."
"Now, Sir Harry, I'll tell you what I will do. Five thousand will clearus for the present. With five thousand we could pay off the necessarydebts, take up that bill of Sharon's, and get a fresh start. When theysaw we were not completely floored, we could always renew, and the turnof the tide would in all probability set us afloat again. Now thequestion is, _how_ to get at the five thousand? It will not come out ofSomersetshire, I _think_?"
Sir Harry shook his head, and laughed a hard, bitter laugh. "Not fivethousand pence," he said, "if it was to save me from hanging to-morrow!"
"And you really do not know which way to turn?"
"No more than a child," answered Sir Harry. "If you fail me, I mustgive in. If you can help me, and _yourself too_, out of this scrape,why, I shall say what I always did--that you are the cleverest offellows and the best of friends."
"I think it can be done," said the younger man, but he no longer lookedhis friend in the face; and a faint blush, that faded almost on theinstant, passed over his features. He had one card left in his hand; hehad kept it to the last; he thought he ought to play it now. "I havenever told you, Sir Harry, that I have a few acres in Ireland, strictlytied up in the hands of trustees, but with their consent I have power tosell. It is all the property I have left in the world; it will raisethe sum we require, and--it shall follow the rest."
This was true enough. Gambler, libertine, man of pleasure as he was,Ropsley had always kept an eye to the main chance. It was part of hissystem to know all sorts of people, and to be concerned in a small waywith several speculative and money-making schemes. After the passing ofthe Irish Encumbered Estates Bill, it so happened that a fortunateinvestment at Newmarket had placed a few loose thousands to the creditside of our Guardsman's account at Cox and Co.'s. He heard casually ofa capital investment for the same, within a day's journey of Dublin, ashe was dining with a party of stock-jobbing friends in the City. Sixhours afterwards Ropsley was in the train, and in less than six weekshad become the proprietor of sundry remunerative Irish acres, the samewhich he was now prepared unhesitatingly to sacrifice in the cause ofgratitude, which with this philosopher, more than most men, might befairly termed "a lively sense of benefits to come."
"Yes, it shall follow the rest," he repeated, stirring the firevigorously, and now looking studiously _away_ from the man he wasaddressing,--"Sir Harry, you are a man of the world--you know methoroughly, we cannot humbug each other. Although I would do much foryour sake, you cannot think that a fellow sacrifices his last farthingsimply because he and his confederate have made a mistake in theircalculations. No, Sir Harry, your honour is dear to me as my own--nay,dearer, for I now wish to express a hope that we may become more nearlyconnected than we have ever been before, and that the ties ofrelationship may give me a right, as those of friendship have alreadymade it a pleasure, to assist you to the best of my abilities."
Sir Harry opened his mouth and pushed his chair back from the fire.Hampered, distressed, ruined as he was, it _did_ seem a strong measurethus to sell Constance Beverley, so to speak, for "a mess of pottage";and the bare idea of such a contract for the moment took away theBaronet's breath. Not that the notion was by any means a strange one tohis mind; for the last two or three years, during which he hadassociated so much with the Guardsman, and had so many opportunities ofappreciating his talents, shrewdness, and attractive qualities, thelatter had been gradually gaining a complete ascendancy over his mindand character. Sir Harry was like a child in leading-strings in thehands of his confederate; and it had often occurred to him that it wouldbe very pleasant, as as well as advantageous, always to have thismainstay on which to rely--this "ready-reckoner," and man ofinexhaustible r
esources, to consult on every emergency. Vague ideas hadsometimes crossed the Baronet's brain, that it was just possible hisdaughter might be brought to _like_ well enough to marry (for _loving_was not a word in her father's vocabulary) an agreeable man, into whosesociety she was constantly thrown; and then, as Constance was anheiress, and the Baronet himself would be relieved from divers pecuniaryembarrassments on her marriage, by the terms of a certain settlementwith which we have nothing to do--why, it would be a delightfularrangement for all parties, and Ropsley could come and live atBeverley, and all be happy together.
Such were the ideas that vaguely floated across the Baronet's mind inthose moments of reflection of which he allowed himself so few; but hewas a father, and a kind one, with all his faults; and it had never yetentered his head either to force his daughter's inclinations, or even toencourage with his own influence any suitor who was not agreeable to theyoung lady. He was fond of Constance, in his own way--fonder than ofanything in the world, save his own comfort, and a very stirring andclosely-contested race at Newmarket. So he looked, as indeed he felt,somewhat taken aback by Ropsley's proposal, which his own instinct as agentleman told him was peculiarly ill-timed.
He laughed nervously, and thanked his friend for his kindness.
"With regard to--Miss Beverley," he stammered; "why--you know, my dearRopsley,--business is business, and pleasure is pleasure. I--I--had nowish,--at least I had not made up my mind--or rather, I had no absoluteintention that my daughter should settle so early in life. You areaware she is an heiress--a very great heiress" (Ropsley was indeed, orthey would not have been at this point of discussion now), "and shemight look to making a great match; in fact, Constance Beverley mightmarry anybody. Still, I never would thwart her inclinations; and if youthink, my dear fellow, you can make yourself agreeable to her, why, Ishould make no objections, as you know there is no man that I shouldindividually like better for a son-in-law than yourself."
Ropsley rose, shook his new papa cordially by the hand, rang forluncheon, and rather to the Baronet's discomfiture, seemed to look uponit at once as a settled thing.
"My business will not take long," said he, helping his guest to a largeglassful of sherry. "You do not go abroad for another week; I can makeall my arrangements, _our_ arrangements, I should say, by that time. Whyshould we not travel together? My servant is the best courier inEurope; you will have no trouble whatever, only leave it all to me."
Sir Harry hated trouble. Sir Harry liked the Continent. The scheme wasexactly suited to his tastes and habits; so it was settled they shouldall start at once--a family party.
And where is the young lady all this time? the prime origin of so muchscheming, the motive power of all this mechanism? In the frontdrawing-room of the gloomy hotel she sits over the fire, buried deep inthought--to judge by her saddened countenance--not of the most cheeringdescription. Above the fire-place hangs a large engraving of Landseer'sfamous Newfoundland dog, that "Member of the Humane Society" whom he hasimmortalised with his pencil. The lady sighs as she gazes on the broad,honest forehead, the truthful, intelligent face, the majestic attitudedenoting strength in repose. Either the light is very bad in this room,or the glass over that engraving is dim and blurred, and the dog seemscrouching in a mist, or are Constance Beverley's dark eyes dimmed withtears?