CHAPTER XVI.
IN LORD VERNEY'S LIBRARY.
WHO should light upon Cleve that evening as he walked homeward but ourfriend Tom Sedley, who was struck by the anxious pallor and melancholyof his face.
Good-natured Sedley took his arm, and said he, as they walked ontogether,--
"Why don't you smile on your luck, Cleve?"
"How do you know what my luck is?"
"All the world knows that pretty well."
"All the world knows everything but its own business."
"Well, people do say that your uncle has lately got the oldestpeerage--one of them--in England, and an estate of thirty-seven thousanda year, for one thing, and that you are heir-presumptive to thesetrifles."
"And that heirs-presumptive often get nothing but their heads in theirhands."
"No, you'll not come Saint Denis nor any other martyr over us, my dearboy; we know very well how you stand in that quarter."
"It's pleasant to have one's domestic relations so happily arranged bysuch very competent persons. I'm much obliged to all the world for theparental interest it takes in my private concerns."
"And it also strikes some people that a perfectly safe seat in the Houseof Commons is not to be had for nothing by every fellow who wishes it."
"But suppose I _don't_ wish it."
"Oh! we may suppose anything."
Tom Sedley laughed as he said this, and Cleve looked at him sharply, butsaw no uncomfortable meaning in his face.
"There is no good in talking of what one has not tried," said he. "Ifyou had to go down to that tiresome House of Commons every time it sits;and had an uncle like mine to take you to task every time you missed adivision--you'd soon be as tired of it as I am."
"I see, my dear fellow, you are bowed down under a load of good luck."They were at the door of Tom Sedley's lodgings by this time, and openingit, he continued, "I've something in my room to show you; just run upwith me for a minute, and you'll say I'm a conjuror."
Cleve, not to be got into good spirits that evening, followed himupstairs, thinking of something else.
"I've got a key to your melancholy, Cleve," said he, leading the wayinto his drawing-room. "Look _there_," and he pointed to a clever copyin crayons of the famous Beatrice Cenci, which he had hung over hischimney-piece.
Tom Sedley laughed, looking in Cleve's eyes. A slight flush had suddenlytinged his visitor's face, as he saw the portrait. But he did not seemto enjoy the joke, on the contrary, he looked a little embarrassed andangry. "That's Guido's portrait--well, what about it?" he asked, rathersurlily.
"Yes, of course; but who is it like?"
"Very few, I dare say, for _it_ is very pretty; and except on canvas,there is hardly such a thing as a pretty girl to be seen. Is that all?for the life of me, I can't see where the conjuring lies."
"Not in the picture, but the _likeness_; don't you see it?"
"_No_" said Cleve. "I must go; are you coming?"
"Not see it!" said Tom. "Why if it were painted for her, it could not bemore like. Why, it's the Flower of Cardyllian, the Star of Malory. It is_your_ Miss Fanshawe--_my_ Margaret--_our_ Miss Margaret Fanshawe. I'mmaking the fairest division I can, you see; and I would not be withoutit for all the world."
"She would be very much gratified if she heard it. It is so flatteringto a young lady to have a fellow buy a coloured lithograph, and call itby her name, and crack jokes and spout mock heroics over it. It is themodern way of celebrating a lady's name. Don't you seriously think,Sedley, it would be better to smash it with a poker, and throw it intothe fire, than go on taking such liberties with any young lady's name?"
"Upon my honour, Cleve, you mistake me; you do me great injustice. Youused to laugh at me, you know, when I'm quite sure, thinking over itnow, you were awfully gone about her yourself. I never told any one butyou why I bought that picture; it isn't a lithograph, but painted, ordrawn, or whatever they call it, with chalks, and it cost five guineas;and no one but you ever heard me mention Miss Fanshawe's name, exceptthe people at Cardyllian, and then only as I might mention any other,and always with respect."
"What does it signify?" interrupted Cleve, in the middle of a forcedyawn. "I'm tired to-day, and cross--don't you see; and man delights notme, nor woman neither. So, if you're coming, come, for I must go."
"And, really, Cleve, the Cardyllian people do say (I've had letters)that you were awfully in love with her yourself, and always hauntingthose woods of Malory while she was there, and went away immediately sheleft, and have never been seen in Cardyllian since."
"Those Cretans were always liars, Tom Sedley. That comes direct from theclub. I can fancy old Shrapnell in the light of the bow-window,composing his farrago of dreams, and lies, and chuckling and cacklingover it."
"Well, I don't say that Shrapnell had anything to do with it; but I didhear at first they thought you were gone about little Agnes Etherage."
"Oh! they found that out--did they?" said Cleve. "But you know thosepeople--I mean the Cardyllian people--as well, or better than I, andreally, as a kindness to me, and to save me the trouble of endlessexplanations to my uncle, I would be so much obliged if you would notrepeat their follies--unless, of course, you happen to believe them."
Cleve did not look more cheerful as he drove away in a cab which he tookto get rid of his friend Tom Sedley. It was mortifying to find how vainwere his clever stratagems, and how the rustic chapmen of that Welshvillage and their wives had penetrated his diplomacy. He thought he hadkilled the rumours about Malory, and yet that grain of mustard seed hadgrown while his eye was off it, with a gigantic luxuriance, and now waslarge enough to form a feature in the landscape, and quite visible fromthe windows of Ware--if his uncle should happen to visit thatmansion--overtopping the roofs and chimneys of Cardyllian. His unclemeditated an early visit to Cardyllian, and a short stay at Ware, beforethe painters and gilders got possession of the house; a sort of ovationin demi-toilette, grand and friendly, and a foretaste of the splendoursthat were coming. Cleve did hope that those beasts would be quiet whileLord Verney was (as he in his grand manner termed it) "among them." Heknew the danger of a vague suspicion seizing on his mind, how fast itclung, how it fermented like yeast, fantastic and obstinate as a foolishwoman's jealousy--and as men sometimes will, he even magnified thisdanger. Altogether, Cleve was not causelessly anxious and alarmed. Hehad in the dark to navigate a channel which even in broad daylighttasked a good steersman.
When Cleve reached Verney House it was eight o'clock. Lord Verney hadordered his brougham at half-past, and was going down to the House; hehad something to say on Lord Frompington's bill. It was not very new,nor very deep, nor very much; but he had been close at it for the lastthree weeks. He had amused many gentlemen--and sometimes even ladies--atmany dinner parties, with a very exact recital of his views. I cannotsay that they were exactly _his_, for they were culled, perhapsunconsciously, from a variety of magazine articles and pamphlets, whichhappened to take Lord Verney's view of the question.
It is not given to any mortal to have his heart's desire in everything.Lord Verney had a great deal of this world's good things--wealth,family, rank. But he chose to aim at official station, and here hisstars denied him.
Some people thought him a goose, and some only a bore. He was, as weknow, pompous, conceited, obstinate, also weak and dry. His grandfatherhad been a cabinet minister, respectable and silent; and was not hewiser, brighter, and more learned than his grandfather? "Why on earthshould not _he_?" His influence commanded two boroughs, and virtuallytwo counties. The minister, therefore, treated him with distinction; andspoke of him confidentially as horribly foolish, impracticable, and attimes positively impertinent.
Lord Verney was subject to small pets and huffs, and sometimes wasaffronted with the Premier for four or five weeks together, although thefact escaped his notice. And when the viscount relented, he would makehim a visit to quiet his mind, and show him that friendly relations werere-established; and the minister would say, "Here co
mes that d----dVerney; I suppose I must give him half-an-hour!" and when the peerdeparted, thinking he had made the minister happy, the minister wasseriously debating whether Lord Verney's boroughs were worth the priceof Lord Verney's society.
His lordship was now in that sacred apartment, his library; where noteven Cleve had a right to disturb him uninvited. Preliminaries, however,were now arranged; the servant announced him, and Cleve was commanded toenter.
"I have just had a line to say I shall be in time at half-past teno'clock, about it. Frompington's bill won't be on till then; and takethat chair and sit down, about it, won't you? I've a good many things onmy mind; people put things upon me. _Some_ people think I have a turnfor business, and they ask me to consider and direct matters about_theirs_, and I do what I can. There was poor Wimbledon, who died,about it, seven years ago. You remember Wimbledon--or--I say--you eitherremember him or you don't recollect him; but in either case it's of noimportance. Let me see: Lady Wimbledon--she's connected with you, aboutit--your mother, remotely--remotely also with us, the Verneys. I've hada world of trouble about her settlements--I can't describe--I can'tdescribe--I was not well advised, in fact, to accept the trust at all.Long ago, when poor Frompington--I mean poor Wimbledon, of course--haveI been saying Wimbledon?"
Cleve at once satisfied him.
"Yes, of course. When poor Wimbledon looked as healthy and as strong asI do at this moment, about it--a long time ago. Poor Wimbledon!--hefancied, I suppose, I had some little turn, about it, forbusiness--_some_ of my friends _do_--and I accepted the trust when poorWimbledon looked as little likely to be hurried into eternity, about it,as I do. I had a regard for him, poor Wimbledon, and he had a respectfor me, and thought I could be of use to him after he was dead, and Ihave endeavoured, and people think I _have_. But Lady Wimbledon, thedowager, poor woman! She's very long-winded, poor soul, and gives me aninfinity of trouble. One can't say to a lady, 'You are detaining me;you are wandering from the subject; you fail to come to the point.' Itwould be taking a liberty, or something, about it. I had not seen LadyWimbledon, simple 'oman, for seven years or more. It's a very entangledbusiness, and I confess it seems rather unfair, that I should have mytime, already sufficiently occupied with other, as I think, moreimportant affairs, so seriously interrupted and abridged. There's goingto be a bill filed--yes, and a great deal of annoyance. She has oneunmarried daughter, Caroline, about it, who is not to have any powerover her money until she is thirty-one. She's not that now. It washardly fair to me, putting it in trust so long. She is a very superiorperson--a young woman one does not meet with every day, about it;and--and very apprehensive--a great deal of mind--quite unusual. Do youknow her?"
The viscount raised his eyes toward the ceiling with a smile that wasmysterious and pleased.
Cleve did know that young lady of eight-and-twenty, and her dowagermamma, "simple 'oman," who had pursued him with extraordinary spirit andtenacity for several years, but that was past and over. Cleveexperienced a thrill of pain at his heart. He suspected that the oldtorturing idea was again active in his uncle's mind.
Yes, he _did_ know them--ridiculous old woman; and the girl--he believedshe'd marry any one; he fancied she would have done _him_ that honour atone time, and he fancied that the trust, if it was to end when she wasthirty-one, could not be very long in force.
"My dear Cleve, don't you think that's rather an odd way of speaking ofa young lady? People used not in my time--that is, when I was a youngman of two or three-and-twenty, about it--to talk so of young ladies. Itwas not considered a thing that ought to be done. I--I never heard aword of the kind."
Lord Verney's chivalry had actually called a little pink flush to hisold cheeks, and he looked very seriously still at the cornice, andtapped a little nervous tattoo with his pencil-case on the table as hedid so.
"I really did not mean--I only meant--in fact, uncle, I tell _you_everything; and poor Caroline is _so_ much older than I, it alwaysstruck me as amusing."
"Their man of business in matters of law is Mr. Larkington, about it._Our_ man, you know--you know him."
"Oh, yes. They could not do better. Mr. Larkin--a very shrewd fellow. Iwent, by-the-by, to see that old man, Dingwell."
"Ah, well, very good. We'll talk of that by-and-by, if you please; butit has been occurring to my mind, Cleve, that--that you should lookabout you. In fact, if you don't like one young lady, you may likeanother. It strikes me I never saw a greater number of pretty youngwomen, about it, than there are at present in town. I do assure you, atthat ball--where was it?--the place I saw you, and sent you down to thedivision--don't you remember?--and next day, I told you, I think, theynever said so much as 'I'm obliged to you' for what I had done, thoughit was the saving of them, about it. I say I was quite struck; thespectacle was quite charming, about it, from no other cause; and youknow there is Ethel--I always said Ethel--and there _can_ be noobjection there; and I have distinct reasons for wishing you to be wellconnected, about it--in a political sense--and there is no harm in alittle _money_; and, in fact, I have made up my mind, my dear Cleve, itis indispensable, and you _must_ marry. I'm quite clear upon the point."
"I can promise you, my dear uncle, that I shan't marry without yourapprobation."
"Well, I rather took that for granted," observed Lord Verney, with drysolemnity.
"Of course. I only say it's very difficult sometimes to see what'swisest. I have you, I know, uncle, to direct me; but you must allow Ihave also your example. You relied entirely upon yourself for yourpolitical position. You made it without the aid of any such step, and Ishould be only too proud to follow your example."
"A--yes--but the cases are different; there's a difference, about it. AsI said in the debate on the Jewish Disabilities, there arc no two cases,about it, precisely parallel; and I've given my serious consideration tothe subject, and I am satisfied that for every reason you ought tochoose a wife _immediately_; there's _no_ reason against it, and youought to choose a wife, about it, immediately; and my mind is made upquite decidedly, and I have spoken repeatedly; but now I tell you Irecognise no reason for further delay--no reason against the step, andevery reason for it; and in short, I shall have no choice but to treatany dilatory procedure in the matter as amounting to a distinct triflingwith my known wishes, desire, and opinion."
And the Right Hon. Lord Viscount Verney smote his thin hand emphaticallyat these words, upon the table, as he used to do in his place in theHouse.
Then followed an impressive silence, the peer holding his head high, andlooking a little flushed; and Cleve very pale, with the ghost of thesmile he had worn a few minutes before.
There are instruments that detect and measure with a beautiful accuracy,the presence and force of invisible influences--heat, electricity, air,moisture. If among all these "meters"--electronometers, hygrometers,anemometers--an _odynometer_, to detect the presence and measure theintensity of hidden _pain_, were procurable, and applied to the breastof that pale, smiling young man at that moment, I wonder to what degreein its scale its index would have pointed!
Cleve intended to make some slight and playful remark, he knew not what,but his voice failed him.
He had been thinking of this possibility--of this _hour_--for many aday, as some men will of the Day of Judgment, and putting it aside as ahateful thought, possibly never to be embodied in _fact_, and here itwas come upon him, suddenly, inevitably, in all its terrors.
"Well, certainly, uncle,--as you wish it. I must look aboutme--seriously. I know you wish me to be happy. I'm very grateful; youhave always bestowed so much of your thought and care upon me--_too_good, a great deal."
So spoke the young man--white as that sheet of paper on which his unclehad been pencilling two or three of what he called his thoughts--andalmost as unconscious of the import of the words he repeated.
"I'm glad, my dear Cleve, you are sensible that I have been, I may say,kind; and now let me say that I think Ethel has a great deal in herfavour. There are others, however, I am well aware, an
d there is time tolook about, but I should wish something settled _this_ season--in fact,before we break up, about it; in short I have, as I said, made up mymind. I don't act without reasons; I never do, and mine are conclusive;and it was on this topic, my dear Cleve, I wished to see you. And now Ithink you may as well have some dinner. I'm afraid I've detained youhere rather long."
And Lord Verney rose, and moved toward a book-case with Hansard in it,to signify that the conference was ended, and that he desired to bealone in his study.