God's Good Man Part 61

Next day at Badsworth Hall, a stately luncheon was in progress.

Luncheon, or indeed any meal, partaken of under the rolling and excitable eye of Sir Morton Pippitt, was always a function fraught with considerable embarra.s.sment to any guests who might happen to be present, being frequently a.s.sisted by the Shakespearean stage direction 'alarums and excursions.' With Sir Morton at the head of the table, and the acid personality of his daughter Miss Tabitha at the foot, there was very little chance of more than merely monosyllabic conversation, while any idea of merriment, geniality or social interchange of thought, withered in conception and never came to birth. The attention of both host and hostess was chiefly concentrated on the actual or possible delinquencies of the servants in attendance--and what with Sir Morton's fierce nods and becks to unhappy footmen, and Miss Tabitha's freezing menace of brow bent warningly against the butler, those who, as visitors, were outside these privacies of the domestic circle, never felt altogether at their ease. But the fact that other people were made uncomfortable by his chronic irascibility moved Sir Morton not at all, so long as he personally could enjoy himself in his own fas.h.i.+on, which was to browbeat, bully and swear at every hapless household retainer that came across his path in the course of the day. He was more than usually choleric and fussy in the 'distinguished' presence of Lord Roxmouth, for though that individual had gone the social pace very thoroughly, and was, to put it mildly, a black sheep of modern decadence, hopelessly past all regeneration, he still presented the exterior appearances of a gentleman, and was careful to maintain that imperturbable composure of mien, dignity of bearing, and unruffled temper which indicate breeding, though they are far from being evidences of sincerity. And thus it very naturally happened that in the companions.h.i.+p of the future Duke of Ormistoune, Sir Morton did not s.h.i.+ne. His native vulgarity came out side by side with his childish pomposity, and Roxmouth, after studying his habits, customs and manners for two or three days, began to feel intensely bored and out of humour.

"Upon my word,"--he said, to his fidus Achates, Marius Longford,--"I am enduring a great deal for the sake of the Vancourt millions! To follow an erratic girl like Maryllia from one Continental resort to another was bad enough,-but to stay here in tame, highly respectable country dullness is a thousand times worse! Why on earth, my good fellow, could you not have found a more educated creature to play host to me than this terrible old Bone-Boiler?"

Longford pressed the tips of his fingers together with a deprecatory gesture.

"There was really no one else who could receive you,"--he answered, almost apologetically--"I thought I had managed the affair rather well. You will remember that directly Miss Vancourt had announced to her aunt her intention to return to her own home, you sent me down here to investigate the place and its surroundings, and see what I could do. Sir Morton Pippitt seemed to be the only person, from the general bent of his character, to suit your aims, and his house was, (before he had it) of very excellent historic renown. I felt sure you would be able to use him. There is no other large place in the neighbourhood except Miss Vancourt's own Manor, and Ittlethwaite Park--I doubt whether you could have employed the Ittlethwaites to much purpose---"

"Spare me the suggestion!" yawned Roxmouth--"I should not have tried!"

"Well, there is no one else of suitable position, or indeed of sufficient wealth to entertain you,"--continued Longford--"Unless you had wished me to fraternise with the brewer, Mordaunt Appleby?

HE certainly might have been useful! oj He would sell his soul to a t.i.tle!"

Roxmouth gave an exclamation of mingled contempt and impatience, and dropped the conversation. But he was intensely weary of Sir Morton's 'fine jovial personality'--he hated his red face, his white hair, his stout body, his servile obsequiousness to rank, and all his 'darling old man' ways. Darling old man he might be, but he was unquestionably a dull old man as well. So much so, indeed, that when at luncheon on the day now named, his lords.h.i.+p Roxmouth, as Mr.

Netlips would have styled him, was in a somewhat petulant mood, being tired of the constant scolding of the servants that went on around him, and being likewise moved to a sort of loathing repulsion at the contemplation of Miss Tabitha's waxy-clean face lined with wrinkles, and bordered by sternly smooth grey hair. He was lazily wondering to himself whether she had ever been young--whether the same waxy face, wrinkles and grey hair had not adorned her in her very cradle,--when the appearance of an evidently highly nervous boy in b.u.t.tons, carrying a letter towards his host on a silver salver, distracted his attention.

"What's this--what's this?" spluttered Sir Morton, hastily dropping a fork full of peas which he had been in the act of conveying to his mouth--"What are you bringing notes in here for, eh? Haven't I told you I won't have my meals disturbed by messages and parcels? What d'ye mean by it? Take it away--take it away!--No!--here!--stop a minute, stop a minute! Yes--yes!--I see!--marked 'immediate,' and from Abbot's Manor. My dear lord!"--And here he raised his voice to a rich warble-"I believe this will concern you more than me--ha-ha- ha!--yes, yes! we know a thing or two! 'When a woman will, she will, you may depend on't!'--never mind the other line!--never mind, never mind!" And he broke open the seal of the missive presented to him, and adjusted his gold-rimmed spectacles to read its contents. "Eh-- what's this--what's this? G.o.d bless my soul!" And his round eyes protruded in astonishment and dismay--"Look here!--I say--really!

You'd better read this, my lord! G.o.d bless my soul! She's bolted!"

Roxmouth started violently. Mr. Marius Longford looked up sharply-- and Miss Tabitha laid down her knife and fork with the regular old maid's triumphant air of 'I told you so!'

"G.o.d bless my soul!" said Sir Morton again--"Was ever such a bit of d.a.m.ned cheek!--beg pardon, my lord!---"

"Don't apologise!" said Roxmouth, with courteous languor, "At least, not to ME! To Miss Tabitha!" and he waved his hand expressively.

"May I see the letter?"

"Certainly--certainly!" and Sir Morton in a great fl.u.s.ter pa.s.sed it along. It was a very brief note and ran as follows:

"DEAR SIR MORTON,--I quite forgot to tell you, when you and your friends dined with me the other day, that I am leaving home immediately and shall be away for the rest of the summer. Lady Wicketts and Miss Fosby are staying on at the Manor for a fortnight or three weeks, as the country air does them so much good. It will be very kind if you and Lord Roxmouth will call and see them as often as you can,--they are such dear kind people!--and I am sure Miss Tabitha will be glad to have them near her as she already likes them so much. Anything you can do to give them pleasure while they are here, will be esteemed as a personal favour to myself. I am sorry not to have the time to call and say good-bye--but I am sure you will excuse ceremony. I shall have left before you receive this note.--With kind regards, sincerely yours,"

"MARYLLIA VANCOURT."

Roxmouth read this letter, first to himself, and then aloud to all at table. For a moment there was a silence of absolute stupefaction.

"Then she's gone!" at last said Miss Tabitha, placidly nodding, while the suspicion of a malign smile crept round the hard corners of her mouth.

"Evidently!" And Roxmouth crumbled the bread beside his plate into fine shreds with a nervous, not to say vicious clench of his hand.

He was inwardly furious. There is nothing so irritating to a man of his type as to be made ridiculous. Maryllia had done this. In the most trifling, casual, and ordinary way she had compelled him to look like a fool. All his carefully laid plans were completely upset, and he fancied that even Longford, his tool, to whom he had freely confided his wishes and intentions, was secretly laughing at him. To have plotted and contrived a stay at Badsworth Hall with the bl.u.s.terous Pippitt in order to have the opportunity of crossing Maryllia's path at every turn, and compromising her name with his in her own house and county, and then to find himself 'left,' with the civil suggestion that he should 'call and see' the antique Sisters Gemini, Lady Wicketts and Miss Fosby, was somewhat too much for his patience. The blow was totally unexpected,--the open slight to his amour propre sudden and keen. His very blood tingled under the lash of Maryllia's disdain--she had carried a point against him, and he almost imagined he could hear the distant echo of her light mocking laughter. His brow reddened,--he gnawed his under-lip angrily, and sat mute, aware that he had been tricked and foiled.

Longford watched him narrowly and with something of dismay,--for if this lordly patron, who, by his position alone, was able to push things on in certain quarters of the press, were to suddenly turn crusty and unreasonable, where would his, Longford's, 'great literary light' be? Quenched utterly like a rush-light in a gale!

Sir Morton Pippitt during the uncomfortable pause of silence had grown purple with suppressed excitement. He knew perfectly well,-- because he had consented to it,--that his house had only been 'used'

for Roxmouth's purposes, and that he, personally, was of no more consideration to a man like the future Duke of Ormistoune than a landlord for the time being, whose little reckoning for entertainment would in due course be settled in some polite and ceremonious fas.h.i.+on. And he realised dolefully that his 'distinguished' guest might, and probably would, soon take his departure from Badsworth Hall, that abode no longer being of any service to him. This meant annihilation to many of Sir Morton's fondest hopes. He had set his heart on appearing at sundry garden- parties in the neighbourhood during the summer with Lord Roxmouth under his portly wing--he had meant to hurl Lord Roxmouth here, Lord Roxmouth there at all the less 'distinguished' people around him, so that they should almost sink into the dust with shame because they had not had the honour of sheltering his lords.h.i.+p within their walls,--and he had expected to add considerably to his own importance by 'helping on' the desired union between Roxmouth Castle and the Vaneourt millions. Now this dream was over, and he could willingly have thrown plates and dishes and anything else that came handy at the very name of Maryllia for her 'impudence' as he called it, in leaving them all in the lurch.

"It will be quite easy to ascertain where she has gone,"--said Marius Longford presently, in soft conciliatory accents--"Lady Wicketts will probably know, and Miss Fosby---"

"d.a.m.n Lady Wicketts and Miss Fosby!" snapped out Sir Morton, this time without any apology--"A couple of female donkeys! 'Kind of me to call upon them!' G.o.d bless my soul! I should think it WOULD be kind! n.o.body but a fool would go near them---"

"They are very pleasant, good women,"--said Miss Tabitha with severe serenity--"Personally, I much prefer them to Miss Vancourt."

Sir Morton snorted contempt; Mr. Longford coughed discreetly.

"Miss Vancourt has not yet ripened sufficiently to bear comparison with Lady Wicketts,"--he said, smoothly--"or with Miss Fosby. But I think, Miss Pippitt, there is a great deal in what you say!" Miss Tabitha bowed, and smiled a vinegary smile. "Lady Wicketts has a fine mind--very fine! Her husband, Sir Thomas---"

"Oh never mind her husband!" bl.u.s.tered Sir Morton,--

"He's dead. And a good job too--for himself. Now what's to be done, my dear lord, eh?--what's to be done?"

Roxmouth looked up and managed to force his usual conventional smile.

"Nothing!"

"Nothing? Oh come, come! That won't do! Paint heart never won fair lady--ha-ha-ha! G.o.d bless my soul! The course of true love never did run smooth--that's the advice of what's-his-name--Shakespeare. Ha- ha! By the bye, what's become of that poet acquaintance of yours, Longford? Oughtn't HE to have known something about this? Didn't you tell him to keep a sharp look-out on Maryllia Van, eh?"

Longford reddened slightly under his pale yellow skin. What a vulgar way Sir Morton had of putting things, to be sure!

"I certainly asked Mr. Adderley to let us know if there was anything in which we could possibly partic.i.p.ate to give pleasure and entertainment to Miss Vancourt,"--he answered frigidly--"He seems to have ingratiated himself with both Miss Vancourt and her young friend Miss Bourne--I should have thought he would have been told of their intending departure."

"You may depend he knows all about it!" said Sir Mortou--"He's double-faced, that's what he is! Poets always are. I hate 'em!

Regular sneaks!--always something queer about their morals--look at Byron!--G.o.d bless my soul!--he ought to have been locked up-- positively locked up, he-ha-ha! We'll come down on this Adderley-- we'll take him by surprise and cross-examine him--we'll ask him why the devil he has played a double game---"

"Pray do not think of such a thing!"--interrupted Roxmouth, quietly- -"I really doubt whether he knows any more than we do. Maryllia-- Miss Vancourt--is not of a character to confide her movements, even to a friend,--she has always been reticent---" He paused.

"And sly!"--said Miss Tabitha, finis.h.i.+ng his sentence for him, "Very sly! The first time I ever saw Miss Vancourt I knew she was deceitful! Her very look expresses it!"

"I'm afraid,"--murmured Roxmouth,--and then hesitating a moment, he raised his eyes with an affectation of great frankness--"I'm really afraid you may be right, Miss Tabitha! I had hoped that I should not have had to speak of a matter,--a very disagreeable matter which happened the other night--but, under the circ.u.mstances, it may be as well to mention it. You can perhaps imagine how distressing it has been to me--distressing and painful--and indeed incredible,--to discover the lady whom I have every right to consider almost my promised wife, entering into a kind of amorous entanglement down here with a clergyman!"

Sir Morton bounced in his chair.

"G.o.d bless my soul! A clergyman?"

"A clergyman?" echoed Miss Tabitha, with sudden sharpness in her tone--"What clergyman do you mean?"

"Who should I mean!" And Roxmouth affected a somewhat sad and forbearing demeanour--"There is only one who appears to be welcome at the Manor-the Reverend John Walden."

Miss Tabitha turned a paler waxen yellow-Sir Morton shot forth a deep, dreadful and highly blasphemous oath.

"That prig?" he roared, with a bull-like loudness and fury--"That high-and-mighty piece of d.a.m.ned superior clerical wisdom? G.o.d bless my soul! There must be some mistake---"

"Yes surely!"--murmured Miss Tabitha, feeling the clutch of a deadly spite and fear at her heart,--for was not Walden HER clergyman?--HER choice of a husband?--the man she had resolved to wed sooner or later, even if she had to wait till he was senile, and did not know what he was doing when led to the altar? "Mr. Walden is not a man who would be easily allured---"

"Perhaps not,"--said Roxmouth, quietly--"But I can hardly refuse to accept the witness of my own eyes and ears." And, attended by an almost breathless silence on the part of his auditors, he related with an air of patient endurance and compa.s.sionate regret, his own account of the interview between Maryllia and Walden in the picture- gallery, exaggerating something here, introducing a suggestive insinuation there, suppressing the simplicity of the true facts, and inserting falsehood wherever convenient, till he had succeeded in placing Walden's good name at Miss Tabitha's cat-like mercy for her to rend and pounce upon to the utmost extent of her own jaundiced rage and jealous venom.

Nothing could equal or surpa.s.s Sir Morton's amazement and wrath as he listened to the narration. His eyes seemed to literally start out of his head,--his throat swelled visibly till a fat ridge of flesh lolled over the edge of his stiff s.h.i.+rt-collar, and he threw in various observations of his own with regard to Walden, such as 'Sniveling puppy!' 'Canting rascal!' 'Elderly humbug!' 'Sneaking upstart,' which were quite in accordance with his native good taste and refinement of speech. And when at last his stock of expletives became, for the time being, exhausted, and when Miss Tabitha's dumb viciousness had, like an invisible sculptor's chisel, carved sudden deep lines in her face as fitting accompaniments to the deepening malice of her thoughts, they all rose from the luncheon table and went their several ways in their several moods of disconcerted confusion, impotence and vexation, in search of fresh means to gain new and unexpected ends. Roxmouth, reluctantly yielding to the earnest persuasions of Longford, walked with him into the village of St. Rest, and made enquiries at the post-office as to whether Miss Vancourt's sudden departure was known there, or whether any instructions had been left as to the forwarding of her letters. But the postmistress, Mrs. Tapple, breathing hard and curtseying profoundly to the 'future Dook' declared she ''adn't heard nothink,'

and ''adn't 'ad no orders.' Miss Vancourt's letters and telegrams all went up to the Manor as usual. Whereupon, still guided by the astute Longford, Roxmouth so far obeyed Maryllia's parting suggestion as to go and 'kindly call' upon Lady Wicketts and Miss Fosby at the Manor itself. The beautiful old house looked the same as usual; there were no shutters up, no blinds drawn, in any of the windows,--nothing indicated absence on the part of the reigning mistress of the fair domain; and even the dog Plato was comfortably snoozing according to daily custom, on the sun-baked flag-stones in the Tudor court. Primmins opened the door to them with his usual well-trained and imperturbable demeanour.

"Miss Vancourt is not at home?" began Roxmouth tentatively.