IX
On the following morning, Faversham, for the first time, dressed withoutassistance, and walked independently--save for his stick--into hissitting-room. The July day was rather chill and rainy and he decided toawait Melrose indoors.
As to the "important proposal" his mind was full of conjectures. What hethought most probable was that Melrose intended, according to variousfresh hints and indications, to make him another and a more serious offerfor his gems--no doubt a big offer. They were worth at least threethousand pounds, and Melrose of course knew their value to a hair.
"Well, I shall not sell them," thought Faversham, his hands behind hishead, his eyes following the misty course of the river, and the rainshowers scudding over the fells. "I shall not sell them."
His mind clung obstinately to this resolve. His ambitions with regard tomoney went, in fact, so far beyond anything that three thousand poundscould satisfy, that the inducement to sell at such a price--which he knewto be the market price--and wound thereby the deepest and sincerest ofhis affections, was not really great. The little capital on which helived was nearly double the sum, and could be made to yield a fair incomeby small and judicious speculation. He did not see that he should be muchbetter off for the addition to it of three thousand pounds; and on theother hand, were the gems sold, he should have lost much that he keenlyvalued--the prestige of ownership; the access which it gave him tocircles, learned or wealthy, which had been else closed to him; thedistinction attaching thereby to his otherwise obscure name in cataloguesand monographs, English or foreign. So long as he possessed the"Mackworth gems" he was, in the eyes of the world of connoisseurs, at anyrate, a personage. Without them he was a personage nowhere. Every month,every week, almost, he was beginning to receive requests to be allowedto see and study them, or appeals to lend them for exhibition. In thefour months since his uncle's death, both the Louvre and the BerlinMuseum had approached him, offering to exhibit them, and hinting that theloan might lead, should he so desire it, to a very profitable sale. If hedid anything of the kind, he was pledged of course to give the BritishMuseum the first chance. But he was not going to do it--he was not evengoing to lend them--yet a while. To possess them, and the _kudos_ thatwent with them; _not_ to sell them, for sentimental reasons, and even ata money loss, made a poor man proud, and ministered in strange ways tohis self-respect, which went often rather hungry; gave him, in short, astanding with himself, and with the world. All the more, that the poorman's mind was in fact, set passionately on the conquest of wealth--realand substantial wealth--to which the paltry sum of three thousand poundsbore no sort of relation.
No, he would not sell them. But he braced himself to a tussle withMelrose, for he seemed to have gathered from a number of smallindications that the fierce old collector had set his heart upon them.And no doubt this business of the newly furnished rooms, and all theluxuries that had been given or promised, made it more difficult--hadbeen intended, perhaps, to make it more difficult? Well, he could but sayhis No and depart, expressing his gratitude--and insisting on the paymentof his score!
But--depart where? The energies of renewed health were pulsing throughhim, and yet he had seldom felt more stranded, or, except in connectionwith the gems, more insignificant, either to himself or others; inspite of this palace which had been oddly renovated for his convenience.His uncle's death had left him singularly forlorn, deprived of the onlyhome he had ever possessed, and the only person who felt for him a closeand spontaneous affection. For his other uncle--his only remainingrelation--was a crusty and selfish widower, with whom he had been onlittle more than formal terms. The rheumatic gout pleaded in the letterto Undershaw had been, he was certain, a mere excuse.
Well--something must be done; some fresh path opened up. He had inFact left London in a kind of secret exasperation with himself andcircumstance, making an excuse out of meeting the Ransoms--mereacquaintances--at Liverpool; and determined, after the short tour towhich they had invited him, to plunge himself for a week or two in thedepths of a Highland glen where he might fish and think.
The Ransoms, machine manufacturers from St. Louis, had made mattersworse. Such wealth!--such careless, vulgar, easily gotten wealth!--heapedup by means that seemed to the outsider so facile, and were, in truth,for all but a small minority, so difficult. A commonplace man and afrivolous woman; yet possessed, through their mere money, of a power overlife and its experiences, such as he, Faversham, might strive for all hisdays and never come near. It might be said of course--Herbert Ransomwould probably say it--that all men are worth the wages they get; with anobvious deduction in his own case. But when or where had he ever _got hischance_--a real chance? Visions of the rich men among his acquaintance,sleek, half-breed financiers, idle, conceited youths of the "classes,"pushed on by family interest; pig-headed manufacturers, inheritors offortunes they could never have made; the fatteners on colonial land andrailway speculation--his whole mind rose in angry revolt against thenotion that he could not have done, personally, as well as any of them,had there only been the initial shove, the favourable moment.
* * * * *
He envied those who had beaten him in the race, he frankly admitted it;but he must also allow himself the luxury of despising them.
* * * * *
Melrose was late.
Faversham rose and hobbled to the window, his hands on his sides,frowning--a gaunt figure in the rainy light. With the return of physicalstrength there had come a passionate renewal of desire--desire forhappiness and success. The figure of Lydia Penfold hovered perpetuallyin his mind. Marriage!--his whole being, moral and physical, cried outfor it. But how was he ever to marry?--how could he ever give such awoman as that the setting and the scope she could reasonably claim?
"A bad day!" said a harsh voice behind him, "but all the better forbusiness."
Faversham turned to greet his host, the mental and physical nervestightening.
"Good morning. Well, here I am"--his laugh showed his nervousness--"atyour disposal."
He settled himself in his chair. Melrose took a cigarette from the table,and offered one to his guest. He lit and smoked in silence for a fewmoments, then began to speak with deliberation:
"I gather from our conversations, Faversham, during the last few weeksthat you have at the present moment no immediate or pressing occupation?"
Quick colour leapt in Faversham's lean cheek.
"That is true. It happens to be true--for various reasons. But if youmean to imply by that, that I am necessarily--or willingly--an idler, youare mistaken."
"I did not mean to imply anything of the kind. I merely wished, so tospeak, to clear the way for what I have to propose."
Faversham nodded. Melrose continued:
"For clearly it would be an impertinence on my part were I toattempt--suddenly--to lift a man out of a fixed groove and career, andsuggest to him another. I should expect to be sent to the devil--andserve me right. But in your case--correct me if I am wrong--you seemnot yet to have discovered the groove that suits you. Now I am here topropose to you a groove--and a career."
Faversham looked at him with astonishment. The gems, which had been sourgently present to his mind, receded from it. Melrose in his skullcap,sitting sideways in his chair, his cigarette held aloft, presented aprofile which might have been that of some Venetian Doge, old, witheredand crafty, engaged, say, in negotiation with a Genoese envoy.
"When you were first brought here," Melrose continued--"your presence,as Undershaw has no doubt told you--of course he has told you, smallblame to him--was extremely distasteful to me. I am a recluse. I like nowomen--and d----d few men. I can do without them, that's all; theirintimate company, anyway: and my pursuits bring me all the amusement Irequire. Such at any rate was my frame of mind up to a few weeks ago. Idon't apologize for it in the least. Every man has a right to his ownidiosyncrasies. But I confess that your society during the last fewweeks--I am in no mood for mere compliment--has ha
d a considerableeffect upon me. It has revealed to me that I am no longer so young asI was, or so capable--apparently--of entertaining myself. At any rateyour company--I put it quite frankly--instead of being a nuisance--hasbeen a godsend. It has turned out that we have many of the same tastes;and your inheritance of the treasures collected by my old friendMackworth"--("Ah!" thought Faversham, "now we come to it!")--"has madefrom the first, I think, a link between us. Have I your assent?"
"Certainly."
Melrose paused a moment, and then resumed. The impression he made wasthat of one rehearsing, point by point, a prepared speech.
"At the same time, I have become more aware than usual of the worries andannoyances connected with the management of my estates. We live, sir, ina world of robbers"--Melrose suddenly rounded on his companion, hiswithered face aflame--"a world of robbers, and of rapine! Not a singleTom, Dick, and Harry in these parts that doesn't think himself my equaland more. Not a single tenant on my estate that doesn't try at everypoint to take advantage of his landlord! Not a single tramp or poacherthat doesn't covet my goods--that wouldn't murder me if he could, andsleep like a baby afterward. I tell you, sir, we shall see a _jacquerie_in England, before we are through with these ideas that are now aboutus like the plague; that every child imbibes from our abominablepress!--that our fools of clergy--our bishops even--are not ashamed topreach. There is precious little sense of property, and not a singlerag of loyalty or respect left in this country! But when you think of thecreatures that rule us--and the fanatics who preach to us--and the foolswho bring up our children, what else can you expect! The whole state isrotten! The men in our great towns are ripe for any revolutionaryvillainy. We shall come to blood, Faversham!"--he struck his handviolently on the arm of his chair--"and then a dictator--the inevitableround. Well, I have done my part. I have fought the battle of property inthis country--the battle of every squire in Cumbria, if the dolts did butknow their own interests. Instead they have done nothing but thwart andbully me for twenty years. And young Tatham with his County Councilnonsense, and his popularity hunting, is one of the very worst of them!Well, now I've done!--personally. I daresay they'll crow--they'll say I'mbeat. Anyway, I've done. There'll have to be fighting, but some one elsemust see to it. I intend to put my affairs into fresh hands. It is mypurpose to appoint a new agent--and to give him complete control of myproperty!"
Melrose stopped abruptly. His hard eyes in their deep, round orbitswere fixed on Faversham. The young man was mainly conscious of ahalf-hysterical inclination to laugh, which he strangled as he bestcould. Was he to be offered the post?
"And, moreover," Melrose resumed, "I want a secretary--I want acompanion--I want some one who will help me to arrange the immense, thepriceless collections there are stacked in this house--unknown toanybody--hardly known, in the lapse of years, even to myself. I desire tounravel my own web, so to speak--to spin off my own silk--to examine andanalyze what I have accumulated. There are rooms here--containing_masterpieces_--unique treasures--that have never been opened foryears--whose contents I have myself forgotten. That's why people call mea madman. Why? What did I want with a big establishment eating up myincome?--with a lot of prying idiots from outside--museum bores,bothering me for loans--common tourists, offering impertinent tips to myhousekeeper, or picking and stealing, perhaps, when her back was turned!I bought the things, and _shut them up_. They were safe, anyway. But nowthat process has gone on for a quarter of a century. You come along. Achance--a freak--a caprice, if you like, makes me arrange these rooms foryou. That gives me new ideas--"
He turned and looked with sharp, slow scrutiny round the walls:
"The fact is I have been so far engaged in hoarding--heaping together.The things in this house--my extraordinary collections--have been thenuts--and I, the squirrel. But now the nuts are bursting out of the hole,and the squirrel wants to see what he's got. That brings me to my point!"
He turned emphatically toward Faversham, leaning hard on a marqueterietable that stood between them:
"I offer you, sir, the post, the double post, of agent to my property,and of private secretary, or assistant to myself. I offer you a salary ofthree thousand a year--three thousand pounds, a year--if you willundertake the management of my estates, and be my lieutenant in thearrangement of my collections. I wish--as I have said--to unpack thishouse; and I should like to leave my property in order before I die.Which reminds me, I should of course be perfectly ready to make properprovision, by contract, or otherwise, so that in the event of any suddentermination of our agreement--my death for instance--you should beadequately protected. Well, there, in outline, is my proposal!"
During this extraordinary speech Faversham's countenance had reflectedwith tolerable clearness the various impressions made by it--incredulousor amused astonishment--bewilderment--deepening gravity--coming roundagain to astonishment. He raised himself in his chair.
"You wish to make me your agent--the agent for these immense estates?"
"I do. I had an excellent agent once--twenty years ago. But old Dovedalestole him from me--bribed him by higher pay. Since then I have hadnothing but clerks--rent-collectors--rascally makeshifts, all of them."
"But I know nothing about land--I have had no experience!"
"A misfortune--but in some ways to the good. I don't want any cocksurefellow, with brand-new ideas lording it over me. I should advise you ofcourse."
"But--at the same time--I should not be content with a mere clerk'splace, Mr. Melrose," said Paversham, a momentary flash in his dark eye."I am one of those men who are better as principals than as subordinates.Otherwise I should be in harness by now."
Melrose eyed him askance for a moment--then said: "I understand. I shouldbe willing to steer my course accordingly--to give you a reasonablefreedom. There are two old clerks in the estate-office, who knoweverything that is to be known about the property, and there are mysolicitors both in Carlisle and Pengarth. For the rest, you are a lawyer,and there are some litigations pending. Your legal knowledge would be ofconsiderable service. If you are the clever fellow I take you for, amonth or two's hard work, the usual technical books, some expertadvice--and I have little doubt you would make as good an agent as any ofthem. Mind, I am _not_ prepared to spend unlimited money--nor to run myestates as a Socialist concern. But I gather you are as good aConservative as myself."
Faversham was silent a moment, observing the man before him. The wholething was too astounding. At last he said: "You are not prepared, sir,you say, to spend unlimited money. But the sum you offer me is unheardof."
"For an agent, yes--for a secretary, yes--for a combination of the two,under the peculiar circumstances, the market offers no precedents. Youand I make a market--and a price."
"You would expect me to live in this house?"
"I gather these rooms are not disagreeable to you?"
"Disagreeable! They are too sumptuous. If _I_ did this thing, sir, Ishould want to do it in a businesslike way."
"You want an office? Take your choice." Melrose's gesture indicated therest of the house. "There are rooms enough. But you will want some place,I imagine, where you can be at home, receive friends--like the young ladyand her mother yesterday--and so on."
His smile made him more Ogreish than before.
He resumed:
"And by the way, if you accepted my proposal, I should naturally expectthat for a time you would devote yourself wholly to the organization ofthe collections, inside the house, and to the work of the estate, outsideit. But you are of an age when a man hopes to marry. I should of coursetake that into account. In a year or two--"
"Oh, I have no immediate ideas of that kind," said Faversham, hastily.
There was a pause. At the end of it Faversham turned on his companion. Astreak of feverish colour, a sparkling vivacity in the eyes, showed theeffect produced by the conversation. But he had kept his head throughoutthe whole interview, and a certain unexpected strength in his personalityhad revealed itself to Melrose:
"
You will hardly expect me, sir, to give an immediate answer to theseproposals?"
"Take your time--take your time--in moderation," said Melrose, drummingon the table before him.
"And there are of course a few things that I on my side should wish toknow."
A series of inquiries followed: as to the term of the proposedengagement; the degree of freedom that would be granted him; the date atwhich his duties would begin, supposing he undertook them--("To-morrow,if it pleases you!" said Melrose, jovially)--passing on to the generalcircumstances of the estates, and the nature of the pending litigations.The questions were put with considerable tact, but were none the lessshrewd. Melrose's strange character with its mixture of sagacity, folly,and violence, had never been more acutely probed--though quiteindirectly.
At the end of them his companion rose.
"You have a talent for cross-examination," he said with a rather soursmile. "I leave you. We have talked enough."
"Let me at least express before you go the gratitude I feel for proposalsso flattering--so generous," said Faversham, not without emotion; "andfor all the kindness I have received here, a kindness that no man couldever forget."
Melrose looked at him oddly, seemed about to speak--then mutteredsomething hardly intelligible, ceased abruptly, and departed.
* * * * *
The master of the Tower went slowly to his library through the splendidgallery, where Mrs. Dixon and the new housemaid were timidly dusting. Buthe took no notice of them. He went into his own room, locked his door,and having lit his own fire, he settled down to smoke and ruminate. Hewas exhausted, and his seventy years asserted themselves. The radicalalteration in his habits and outlook which the preceding six weeks hadproduced, the excitement of unpacking the treasures now displayed in thegallery, the constant thinkings and plannings connected with Favershamand the future, and, lastly, the interview just concluded, had triedhis strength. Certain symptoms--symptoms of old age--annoyed him thoughhe would not admit it. No doubt some change was wanted. He must smokeless--travel less--give himself more variety and more amusement. Well, ifFaversham consented, he should at least have bought for himself acompanionship that was agreeable to him, and relief from a number ofroutine occupations which he detested.
Suddenly--a child's voice--a child's shrill voice, ringing through thegallery--followed by scufflings and hushings, on the part of an olderperson--then a wail--and silence. Melrose had risen to his feet with anexclamation. Some peculiar quality in the voice--some passionate,thrilling quality--had produced for the moment an extraordinary illusion.
He recovered himself in a moment. It was of course the child of theupholstress who had been working in the house for a week or so. Heremembered to have noticed the little girl. But the sound had inevitablysuggested thoughts he had no wish to entertain. He had a letter in hispocket at that moment which he did not mean to answer--the first he hadreceived for many years. If he once allowed a correspondence to growup--with that individual--on the subject of money, there would be no endto it; it would spread and spread, till his freedom was once moreendangered. He did not intend that persons, who had been once banishedfrom his life, should reenter it--on any pretext. Netta had behaved tohim like a thief and a criminal, and with the mother went the child. Theywere nothing to him, and never should be anything. If she was in trouble,let her go to her own people.
He took out the letter, and dropped it into the midst of the burning logsbefore him. Then he turned to a heap of sale catalogues lying near him,and after going through them, he rose, and as though drawn to it by amagnetic power, he went to the Riesener table, and unlocked the drawerwhich held the gems.
Bringing them back to the fireside he watched the play of the flames ontheir shining surfaces, delighting greedily in their beauty; in the longhistory attaching to each one of them, every detail of which he knew; inthe sense of their uniqueness. Nothing like them of their kind, anywhere;and there they were in his hand, after these years of fruitless coveting.He had often made Mackworth offers for them; and Mackworth had laughed athim.
Well, he had bid high enough this time, not for the gems themselves, butfor the chance of some day persuading their owner to entertain the notionof selling them. It pleased him to guess at what had been probablyFaversham's secret expectation that morning of a proposal for them; andto think that he had baffled it.
He might, of course, have made some quite preposterous offer which wouldhave forced the young man's hand. But that might have meant, probablywould have meant, the prompt departure of the enriched Faversham. But hewanted both Faversham and the gems; as much as possible--that is, for hismoney. The thought of returning to his former solitariness was rapidlybecoming intolerable to him. Meanwhile the adorable things were stillunder his roof; and with a mad pleasure he relocked the drawer.
* * * * *
Faversham spent the rest of the morning in cogitations that may be easilyimagined. He certainly attributed some share in the extraordinaryproposal that had been made to him, to his possession of the gems, and toMelrose's desire to beguile them from him. But what then? Sufficient forthe day! He would decide how to deal with that crisis when it shouldarrive.
Meanwhile, the amazing proposal itself was before him. If it wereaccepted, he should be at once a comparatively rich man, with an infinityof chances for the future; for Melrose's financial interest and influencewere immense. If not free to marry immediately, he would certainly befree--as Melrose himself had hinted--to prepare for marriage. But couldhe do the work?--could he get on with the old man?--could he endure thelife?
After luncheon Dixon, with the subdued agitation of manner which showedthe advent of yet another change in the household, came in to announcethat a motor had come from Carlisle, that Mr. Melrose did not propose touse it himself, and hoped that Mr. Faversham would take a drive.
It was the invalid's first excursion into the outer world.
He sat breathing in great draughts of the scented summer air, feeling hislife and strength come back into him.
The rain had passed, and the fells rose clear and high above the moisthay meadows and the fresh-leaved trees.
As they emerged upon the Keswick road he tapped the chauffeur on theshoulder. "Do you know Green Cottage?"
"Mrs. Penfold's, sir? Certainly."
"How far is it?"
"I should say about two miles."
"Go there, please."
The two miles passed for Faversham in a double excitement he had somedifficulty in concealing; the physical excitement of change and movement,of this reentry upon a new world, which was the old; and the mentalexcitement of his own position.
At the cottage door, he dismounted slowly. The maid-servant said shethought Mrs. Penfold was in the garden. Would the gentleman please comein?
Faversham, leaning on his stick, made his way through the tiny hall ofthe cottage, and the drawing-room door was thrown open for him. A younglady was sitting at the farther end, who rose with a slight cry ofastonishment. It was Lydia.
Through her reception of him Faversham soon learnt what are theprivileges of the wounded, and how glad are all good women of excuses tobe kind. Lydia placed him in the best chair, in front of the best view,ordered tea, and hovered round him with an eager benevolence. Her mother,she said, would be in directly. Faversham, on his side, could onlysecretly hope that Mrs. Penfold's walk might be prolonged.
They were not interrupted. Lydia, with concern, conjectured that Mrs.Penfold and Susan had gone to visit a couple of maiden ladies, livinghalf a mile off along the road. But she showed not the smallestawkwardness in entertaining her guest. The rain of the morning had leftthe air chilly, and a wood fire burnt on the hearth. Its pleasant flamegave an added touch of intimity to the little drawing-room, with its wildflowers, its books, its water-colours, and its modest furnishings. Afterthe long struggle of his illness, and the excitement of the morning,Faversham was both soothed and charmed. His whole nature relaxed;happine
ss flowed in. Presently, on an impulse he could not resist, hetold her of the offer which had been made to him.
Lydia's embroidery dropped on her lap.
"Mr. Melrose's agent!" she repeated, in wonder. "He has offered youthat?"
"He has--on most generous terms. Shall I take it?"
She flushed a little, for the ardent deference in his eyes was not easyto ignore. But she examined his news seriously--kindling over it.
"His _agent_--agent for his miserable, neglected property! Heavens, whata chance!"
She looked at him, her soul in her face. Something warned him to becautious.
"You think it so neglected?"
"I know it: but ask Lord Tatham! He's chairman of some committee orother--he'll tell you."
"But perhaps I shall have to fight Tatham? Suppose that turns out to bemy chief business?"
"Oh, no, you can't--you can't! He's too splendid--in all those things."
"He is of course the model youth," said Faversham dryly.
"Ah, but you can't hate him either!" cried Lydia, divining at once theshade of depreciation. "He is the kindest, dearest fellow! I agree--it'sprovoking not to be able to sniff at him--_such_ a Prince Charming--withall the world at his feet. But one can't--one really can't!"
Jealousy sprang up sharply in Faversham, though a wider experience of thesex might have suggested to him that women do not generally shower publicpraise on the men they love. Lydia, however, quickly left the subject,and returned to his own affairs. Nothing, he confessed, could have beenfriendlier or sincerer than her interest in them. They plunged into thesubject of the estate; and Faversham stood amazed at her knowledge of thedales-folk, their lives and their grievances. At the end, he drew a longbreath.
"By George!--can I do it?"
"Oh, yes, yes, _yes_!" said Lydia eagerly, driving her needle into thesofa cushion. "You'll reform him!"
Faversham laughed.
"He's a tough customer. He has already warned me I am not to manage hisestates like a Socialist."
"No--but like a human being!" cried Lydia, indignantly--"that's all wewant. Come and talk to Lord Tatham!"
"Parley with my employer's opponent!"
"Under a flag of truce," laughed Lydia, "and this shall be the neutralground. You shall meet here--and mamma and I will hold the lists."
"You think--under those circumstances--we should get through muchbusiness?" His dark eyes, full of gaiety, searched hers. She flushed alittle.
"Ah, well, you should have the chance anyway."
Faversham rose unwillingly to go. Lydia bent forward, listening.
"At last--here comes my mother."
For outside in the little hall there was suddenly much chatter andswishing of skirts. Some one came laughing to the drawing-room and threwit open. Mrs. Penfold, flushed and excited, stood in the doorway.
"My dear, did you _ever_ know such kind people!"
Her arms were laden with flowers, and with parcels of different sorts.Susy came behind, carrying two great pots of Japanese lilies.
"You said you'd like to see those old drawings of Keswick--by I forgetwhom. Lady Tatham has sent you the whole set--they had them--you maykeep them as long as you like. And Lord Tatham has sent flowers. Justlook at those roses!" Mrs. Penfold put down the basket heaped with themat Lydia's feet, while Susy--demurely--did the same with the lilies."And there is a fascinating parcel of books for Susy--_all_ the newreviews! ... _Oh_! Mr. Faversham--I declare--why, I never saw you!"
Voluble excuses and apologies followed. Meanwhile Lydia, with a brightcolour, stood bewildered, the flowers all about her, and the drawings inher hands. Faversham escaped as soon as he could. As he approached Lydiato say good-bye, she looked up, put the drawings aside, and hurriedlycame with him to the door.
"_Accept_!" she said. "Be sure you accept!"
He had a last vision of her standing in the dark hall, and of her soft,encouraging look. As he drove away, two facts stood out in consciousness:first, that he was falling fast and deep in love; next, that--by the lookof things--he had a rival, with whom, in the opinion of all practicalpeople, it would be mere folly for him to think of competing.
BOOK II