“Without ever suspecting it, certainly,” said Lucy laughing.
“Tear up that odious drawing, dear Lucy,” said she, rising and walking the room with impatience. “Tear it up; or, if you won’t do that, let me write a line under it – one line, I ask for no more – so that people may know at whom they are looking.”
“I will do neither; nor will I sit here to listen to one word against him.”
“Which means, child, that your knowledge of life is so-much greater than mine, you can trust implicitly to your own judgment. I can admire your courage, certainly, though I am not captivated by your prudence.”
“It is because I have so little faith in my own judgment that I am unwilling to lose the friend who can guide me.”
“Perhaps it would be unsafe if I were to ask you to choose between him and me,” said Mrs. Sewell, very slowly, and with her eyes fully bent on Lucy.
“I hope you will not.”
“With such a warning I certainly shall not do so. Who-could have believed it was so late?” said she, hastily looking at her watch; “What a seductive creature you must be, child, to slip over one’s whole morning without knowing it, – two o’clock already. You lunch about this time?”
“Yes, punctually at two.”
“Are you sufficiently lady of the house to invite me, Lucy?”
“I am sure you need no invitation here; you are one of us.”
“What a little Jesuit it is!” said Mrs. Sewell, patting her cheek. “Come, child, I ‘ll be equal with you. I ‘ll enter the room on your arm, and say, ‘Sir William, your granddaughter insisted on my remaining; I thought it an awkwardness, but she tells me she is the mistress here, and I obey.’”
“And you will find he will be too well-bred to contradict you,” said Lucy, while a deep blush covered her face and throat.
“Oh, I think him positively charming!” said Mrs. Sewell, as she arranged her hair before the glass; “I think him charming. My mother-in-law and I have a dozen pitched battles every day on the score of his temper and his character. My theory is, the only intolerable thing on earth is a fool; and whether it be that Lady Lendrick suspects me of any secret intention to designate one still nearer to her by this reservation, I do not know, but the declaration drives her half crazy. Come, Lucy, we shall be keeping grandpapa waiting for us.”
They moved down the stairs arm-in-arm, without a word; but as they gained the door of the dining-room, Mrs. Sewell turned fully round and said, in a low deep voice, “Marry anything, – rake, gambler, villain, – anything, the basest and the blackest; but never take a fool, for a fool means them all combined.”
CHAPTER XXVIII. THE NEST WITH STRANGE “BIRDS” IN IT
To the Swan’s Nest, very differently tenanted from what we saw it at the opening of our story, we have now to conduct our reader. Its present occupant – “the acquisition to any neighborhood,” as the house-agent styled him – was Colonel Sewell.
Lady Lendrick had taken the place for her son on finding that Sir William would not extend his hospitality to him. She had taken the precaution not merely to pay a year’s rent in advance, but to make a number of changes in the house and its dependencies, which she hoped might render the residence more palatable to him, and reconcile him in some degree to its isolation and retirement.
The Colonel was, however, one of those men – they are numerous enough in this world – who canvass the mouth of the gift-horse, and have few scruples in detecting the signs of his age. He criticised the whole place with a most commendable frankness. It was a “pokey little hole.” It was dark; it was low-ceilinged. It was full of inconveniences. The furniture was old-fashioned. You had to mount two steps into the drawing-room and go down three into the dining-room. He had to cross a corridor to his bath-room, and there was a great Tudor window in the small breakfast-parlor, that made one feel as if sitting in a lantern.
As for the stables, “he would n’t put a donkey into them.” No light, no ventilation, – no anything, in short. To live surrounded with so many inconveniences was the most complete assertion of his fallen condition, and, as he said, “he had never realized his fall in the world till he settled down in that miserable Nest.”
There are men whose especial delight it is to call your attention to their impaired condition, their threadbare coat, their patched shoes, their shabby equipage, or their sorry dwelling, as though they were framing a sort of indictment against Fate, and setting forth the hardships of persons of merit like them being subjected to this unjustifiable treatment by Fortune.
“I suppose you never thought to see me reduced to this,” is the burden of their song; and it is very strange how, by mere repetition and insistence, these people establish for themselves a sort of position, and oblige the world to yield them a black-mail of respect and condolence.
“This was not the sort of tipple I used to set before you once on a time, old fellow,” will be uttered by one of whose hospitalities you have never partaken. “It was another guess sort of beast I gave you for a mount when we met last,” will be said by a man who never rose above a cob pony; and one is obliged to yield a kind of polite assent to such balderdash, or stand forward as a public prosecutor and arraign the rascal for a humbug.
In this self-commiseration Sewell was a master, and there was not a corner of the house he did not make the butt of his ridicule, – to contrast its littleness and vulgarity with the former ways and belongings of his own once splendor.
“You’re capital fellows,” said he to a party of officers from the neighboring garrison, “to come and see me in this dog-hole. Try and find a chair you can sit on, and I ‘ll ask my wife if we can give you some dinner. You remember me up at Rangoon, Hobbes? Another guess sort of place, wasn’t it? I had the Rajah’s palace and four elephants at my orders. At Guzerat, too, I was the Resident, and, by Jove, I never dreamed of coming down to this!”
Too indolent or too indifferent to care where or how she was lodged, his wife gave no heed to his complaints, beyond a little half-supercilious smile as he uttered them. “If a fellow will marry, however, he deserves it all,” was his usual wind-up to all his lamentations; and in this he seemed to console himself by the double opportunity of pitying himself and insulting his wife.
All that Colonel Cave and his officers could say in praise of the spot, its beauty, its neatness, and its comfort, were only fresh aliment to his depreciation, and he more than half implied that possibly the place was quite good enough for them, but that was not exactly the question at issue.
Some men go through life permitted to say scores of things for which their neighbor would be irrevocably cut and excluded from society. Either that the world is amused at their bitterness, or that it is regarded as a malady, far worse to him who bears than to him who witnesses it, – whatever the reason, – people endure these men, and make even a sort of vicious pets of them. Sewell was of this order, and a fine specimen too.
All the men around him were his equals in every respect, and yet there was not one of them who did not accept a position of quiet, unresisting inferiority to him for the sake of his bad temper and his bad tongue. It was “his way,” they said, and they bore it.
He was a consummate adept in all the details of a household; and his dinners were perfection, his wine good, and his servants drilled to the very acme of discipline. These were not mean accessories to any pretension; and as they sat over their claret, a pleasanter and more social tone succeeded than the complaining spirit of their host had at first promised.
The talk was chiefly professional. Pipeclay will ever assert its pre-eminence, and with reason, for it is a grand leveller; and Digges, who joined three months ago, may have the Army List as well by heart as the oldest major in the service: and so they discussed, Where was Hobson? what made Jobson sell out? how did Bobson get out of that scrape with the paymaster? and how long will Dobson be able to live at his present rate in that light-cavalry corps? Everything that fell from them showed the most thorough intimacy with the condition, the fortune, and the prospects of the men they discussed, – familiarity there was enough of, but no friendship. No one seemed to trouble himself whether the sick-leave or the sell-out meant hopeless calamity, – all were dashed with a species of well-bred fatalism that was astonished with nothing, rejoiced at nothing, repined at nothing.
“I wish Trafford would make up his mind!” cried one. “Three weeks ago he told me positively he would leave, and now I hear he offered Craycroft three thousand pounds to retire from the majority.”
“That ‘s true; Craycroft told me so himself; but old Joe is a wily bird, and he ‘ll not be taken so easily.”
“He’s an eldest son now!” broke in another. “What does he care whether he be called major or captain?”
“An eldest son!” cried Sewell, suddenly; “how is that? When I met him at the Cape, he spoke of an elder brother.”
“So he had, then, but he’s ‘off the hooks.’”
“I don’t think it matters much,” said the Colonel. “The bulk of the property is disentailed, and Sir Hugh can leave it how he likes.”
“That’s what I call downright shameful,” said one; but he was the minority, for a number of voices exclaimed, – “And perfectly right; that law of primogeniture is a positive barbarism.”
While the dispute waxed warm and noisy, Sewell questioned the Colonel closely about Trafford, – how it happened that the entail was removed, and why there was reason to suppose that Sir Hugh and his son were not on terms of friendship.
Cave was frank enough when he spoke of the amount of the fortune and the extent of the estate, but used a careful caution in speaking of family matters, merely hinting that Trafford had gone very fast, spent a deal of money, had his debts twice paid by his father, and was now rather in the position of a reformed spendthrift, making a good character for prudence and economy.
“And where is he? – not in Ireland?” asked Se well, eagerly.
“No; he is to join on Monday. I got a hurried note from him this morning, dated Holyhead. You said you had met him?”
“Yes, at the Cape; he used to come and dine with us there occasionally.”
“Did you like him?”
“In a way. Yes, I think he was a nice fellow, – that is, he might be made a nice fellow, but it was always a question into what hands he fell; he was at the same time pliant and obstinate. He would always imitate, – he would never lead. So he seemed to me; but, to tell you the truth, I left him a good deal to the women; he was too young and too fresh for a man like myself.”
“You are rather hard on him,” said Cave, laughing; “but you are partly right. He has, however, fine qualities, – he is generous and trustful to any extent.”
“Indeed!” said Sewell, carelessly, as he bit off the end of a cigar.
“Nothing would make him swerve from his word; and if placed in a difficulty where a friend was involved, his own interests would be the last he ‘d think of.”
“Very fine, all that. Are you drinking claret? – if so, finish that decanter, and let’s have a fresh bottle.”
Cave declined to take more wine, and he arose, with the rest, to repair to the drawing-room for coffee.
It was not very usual for Sewell to approach his wife or notice her in society; now, however, he drew a chair near her as she sat at the fire, and in a low whisper said, “I have some pleasant news for you.”
“Indeed!” she said coldly, – “what a strange incident!”
“You mean it is a strange channel for pleasant news to come through, perhaps,” said he, with a curl of his lip.
“Possibly that is what I meant,” said she, as quietly as before.
“None of these fine-lady airs with me, Madam,” said he, reddening with anger; “there are no two people in Europe ought to understand each other better than we do.”
“In that I quite agree with you.”
“And as such is the case, affectations are clean thrown away, Madam; we can have no disguises for each other.”
A very slight inclination of her head seemed to assent to this remark, but she did not speak.
“We came to plain speaking many a day ago,” said he, with increased bitterness in his tone. “I don’t see why we are to forego the advantage of it now, – do you?”
“By no means. Speak as plainly as you wish; I am quite ready to hear you.”
“You have managed, however, to make people observe us,” muttered he, between his teeth, – “it’s an old trick of yours, Madam. You can play martyr at the shortest notice.” He rose hastily and moved to another part of the room, where a very noisy group were arranging a party for pool at billiards.
“Won’t you have me?” cried Sewell, in his ordinary tone. “I’m a perfect boon at pool; for I am the most unlucky dog in everything.”
“I scarcely think you’ll expect us to believe that,” said Cave, with a glance of unmistakable admiration towards Mrs. Sewell.
“Ay,” cried Sewell, fiercely, and answering the unspoken sentiment, – “ay, sir, and that,” – he laid a stern emphasis on the word, – “and that the worst luck of all.”
“I ‘ve been asking Mrs. Sewell to play a game with us, and she says she has no objections,” said a young subaltern, “if Colonel Sewell does not dislike it.”
“I’ll play whist, then,” said Sewell. “Who ‘ll make a rubber? – Cave, will you? Here’s Houghton and Mowbray, – eh?”
“No, no,” said Mowbray, – “you are all too good for me.”
“How I hate that, – too good for me,” said Sewell. “Why, man, what better investment could you ask for your money than the benefit of good teaching? Always ride with the best hounds, play with the best players, talk with the best talkers.”
“And make love to the prettiest women,” added Cave, in a whisper, as Mowbray followed Mrs. Sewell into the billiard-room.
“I heard you, Cave,” whispered Sewell, in a still lower whisper; “there’s devilish little escapes my ears, I promise you.” The bustle and preparation of the card-table served in part to cover Cave’s confusion, but his cheek tingled and his hand shook with mingled shame and annoyance.
Sewell saw it all, and knew how to profit by it. He liked high play, to which Cave generally objected; but he well knew that on the present occasion Cave would concur in anything to cover his momentary sense of shame.
“Pounds and fives, I suppose,” said Sewell; and the others bowed, and the game began.
As little did Cave like three-handed whist, but he was in no mood to oppose anything; for, like many men who have made an awkward speech, he exaggerated the meaning through his fears, and made it appear absolutely monstrous to himself.
“Whatever you like,” was therefore his remark; and he sat down to the game.
Sewell was a skilled player; but the race is no more to the swift in cards than in anything else, – he lost, and lost heavily. He undervalued his adversaries too, and, in consequence, he followed up his bad luck by increased wagers. Cave tried to moderate the ardor he displayed, and even remonstrated with him on the sums they were staking, which, he good-humoredly remarked, were far above his own pretensions; but Sewell resented the advice, and replied with a coarse insinuation about winners’ counsels. The ill-luck continued, and Sewell’s peevishness and ill-temper increased with every game. “What have I lost to you?” cried he, abruptly, to Cave; “it jars on my nerves every time you take out that cursed memorandum, so that all I can do is not to fling it into the fire.”
“I’m sure I wish you would, or that you would let me do it,” said Cave, quietly.
“How much is it? – not short of three hundred, I’ll be bound.”
“It is upwards of five hundred,” said Cave, handing the book across the table.
“You’ll have to wait for it, I promise you. You must give me time, for I am in all sorts of messes just now.” While Cave assured him that there was no question of pressing for payment, – to take his own perfect convenience, – Sewell, not heeding him, went on: “This confounded place has cost me a pot of money. My wife, too, knows how to scatter her five-pound notes; in short, we are a wasteful lot. Shall we have one rubber more, eh?”
“As you like. I am at your orders.”
“Let us say double or quits, then, for the whole sum.”
Cave made no reply, and seemed not to know how to answer.
“Of course, if you object,” said Sewell, pushing back his chair from the table, as though about to rise, “there’s no more to be said.”
“What do you say, Houghton?” asked Cave.
“Houghton has nothing to say to it; he hasn’t won twenty pounds from me,” said Sewell, fiercely.
“Whatever you like, then,” said Cave, in a tone in which it was easy to see irritation was with difficulty kept under, and the game began.
The game began in deep silence. The restrained temper of the players and the heavy sum together impressed them, and not a word was dropped. The cards fell upon the table with a clear, sharp sound, and the clink of the counters resounded through the room, the only noises there.
As they played, the company from the billiard-room poured in and drew around the whist-table, at first noisily enough; but seeing the deep preoccupation of the players, their steadfast looks, their intense eagerness, made more striking by their silence, they gradually lowered their voices, and at last only spoke in whispers and rarely.
The first game of the rubber had been contested trick by trick, but ended by Cave winning it. The second game was won by Sewell, and the third opened with his deal.
As he dealt the cards, a murmur ran through the bystanders that the stake was something considerable, and the interest increased in consequence. A few trifling bets were laid on the issue, and one of the group, in a voice slightly raised above the rest, said, “I’ll back Sewell for a pony.”
“I beg you will not, sir,” said Sewell, turning fiercely round. “I’m in bad luck already, and I don’t want to be swamped altogether. There, sir, your interference has made me misdeal,” cried he, passionately, as he flung the cards on the table.
Not a word was said as Cave began his deal. It was too plain to every one that Sewell’s temper was becoming beyond control, and that a word or a look might bring the gravest consequences.
“What cards!” said Cave, as he spread his hand on the table: “four honors and nine trumps.” Sewell stared at them, moved his fingers through them to separate and examine them, and then, turning his head round, he looked behind. It was his wife was standing at the back of his chair, calm, pale, and collected. “By Heaven!” cried he, savagely, “I knew who was there as well as if I saw her. The moment Cave spread out his cards, I ‘d have taken my oath that she was standing over me.”
She moved hastily away at the ruffianly speech, and a low murmur of indignant anger filled the room. Cave and Houghton quitted the table, and mingled with the others; but Sewell sat still, tearing up the cards one by one, with a quiet, methodical persistence that betrayed no passion. “There!” said he, as he threw the last fragment from him, “you shall never bring good or bad luck to any one more.” With the ease of one to whom such paroxysms were not un-frequent, he joined in the conversation of a group of young men, and with a familiar jocularity soon set them at their ease towards him; and then, drawing his arm within Cave’s, he led him apart, and said: “I ‘ll go over to the Barrack to-morrow and breakfast with you. I have just thought of how I can settle this little debt.”
“Oh, don’t distress yourself about that,” said Cave. “I beg you will not let it give you a moment’s uneasiness.”
“Good fellow!” said Sewell, clapping him on the shoulder; “but I have the means of doing it without inconvenience, as I ‘ll show you to-morrow. Don’t go yet; don’t let your fellows go. We are going to have a broil, or a devilled biscuit, or something.” He walked over and rang the bell, and then hastily passed on into a smaller room, where his wife was sitting on a sofa, an old doctor of the regiment seated at her side.
“I won’t interrupt the consultation,” said Sewell, “but I have just one word to say.” He leaned over the back of the sofa, and whispered in her ear, “Your friend Trafford is become an eldest son. He is at the Bilton Hotel, Dublin; write and ask him here. Say I have some cock-shooting, – there are harriers in the neighborhood. Are you listening to me, Madam?” said he, in a harsh hissing voice, for she had half turned away her head, and her face had assumed an expression of sickened disgust. She nodded, but did not speak. “Tell him that I’ve spoken to Cave – he’ll make his leave all right – that I ‘ll do my best to make the place pleasant to him, and that – in fact, I needn’t toy to teach you to write a sweet note. You understand me, eh?”
“Oh, perfectly,” said she, rising; and a livid paleness now spread over her face, and even her lips were bloodless.
“I was too abrupt with my news. I ought to have been more considerate; I ought to have known it might overcome you,” said he, with a sneering bitterness. “Doctor, you ‘ll have to give Mrs. Se well some cordial, some restorative, – that’s the name for it. She was overcome by some tidings I brought her. Even pleasant news will startle us occasionally. As the French comedy has it, La joie fait peur;” and with a listless, easy air, he sauntered away into another room.