This House to Let

“Gentlemen, I feel I owe you an apology. I had no right to intrude my private grievances upon you, even although I am very possessed with them. Please put it down to my Irish temperament. You will forgive me, I am sure.”

He stretched out appealing hands, the hands of the plebeian as Murchison was quick to notice, nails bitten to the quick, coarse fingers and thumbs.

Murchison quietly ignored the outstretched hand. So did Pomfret, subjugated as he was with the charm and attractiveness of Miss Burton. He did not quite feel that he wanted to shake hands with this very terrible brother, who took after his Irish father.

“I apologise most sincerely, gentlemen,” he repeated, “for my outburst just now. I had no right to inflict upon you a recital of my private grievances against the inhabitants of this wretched town. But I am a wild, excitable Irishman, whatever is in my mind has to come out. Please forgive me; I know my sister Norah never will.”

He looked appealingly at the girl who sat there, calm and self-possessed as always, with a slight expression of contempt upon her charming face.

“I have already made excuses for you to Captain Murchison and Mr Pomfret,” she said coldly.

The visitors were very much embarrassed. What could they say to this dreadful person who seemed so utterly lacking in all the qualities of good breeding? Hugh remained silent, Pomfret opened his lips and murmured something about the whole affair being very regrettable.

But these somewhat incoherent remarks were quite enough to restore Mr Burton to his normal state of easy buoyancy. He smiled affably.

“So that is all over. Well, I am delighted to see you, and it will not be my fault if your first visit is your last. Now, I propose you come round and have a little bit of dinner with us soon, so that we may get to know each other better. Any night that you are at liberty will suit us. We are not overwhelmed with invitations, as you can understand from what I have told you.”

If Murchison had been by himself, he would have politely shelved the invitation. Miss Burton, who took after her English mother, was quite decent and ladylike. The brother was insufferable. Vulgarity, so to speak, oozed from him. He was offensive even in his geniality. In short, he was impossible.

But Pomfret took the wind out of his senior’s sails.

“Sorry we are quite full up this week, but hardly anything on next. Shall we say Monday?”

Miss Burton took the matter out of her brother’s hands by turning directly to Murchison.

“Monday, of course, will suit us. Will it suit you?” she asked him pointedly.

Taken by surprise, the unhappy young man could only mutter a reluctant affirmative. A few minutes later they left, pledged to partake of the Burtons’ hospitality on the following Monday.

When they were safely outside, Murchison spoke severely to his brother officer.

“You’ve let us in for a nice thing. If you had left it to me, I would have got out of that dinner somehow.”

“But I didn’t want to get out of it,” replied the unabashed junior. “We knew the brother was pretty bad all along. I don’t know that on the whole he is much worse than we imagined. But she’s a ripping girl. I want to see more of her.”

“You silly young ass,” growled Murchison; “I believe you’ve fallen head over ears in love with her.”

And Pomfret, one of the most mercurial and light-hearted of subalterns, answered quite gravely:

“I rather fancy I have. I’ve never met a girl who appealed to me in quite the same sort of way.”

Chapter Three

As a result of his visit to Rosemount, Hugh Murchison was very perturbed in his mind. He blamed himself severely for having been tempted into that rather intimate conversation at the tea-shop. Miss Burton was attractive enough, and ladylike enough, to excuse any man for taking advantage of his obvious opportunities, but he had been a fool to go farther. He ought never to have set his foot in the house of people of whom he knew nothing.

It was all Jack Pomfret’s fault, he decided hastily. It was his influence, his keen desire to make the girl’s acquaintance, that had weighed down his friend’s prudence. For, if left to himself, Hugh was quite sure that he would have dallied and dallied till all inclination to call at Rosemount had died down.

And Pomfret had owned to being greatly impressed with the fair young châtelaine. He had admitted that he had never met a girl who had appealed to him in quite the same sort of way. In fact, it was easy to see he had fallen desperately in love with her.

And Jack was just one of those light-hearted, susceptible sort of chaps who have not an atom of common-sense in their composition, who will obey their impulses, regardless of consequences.

And he was not his own master. His career was practically at the disposal of his somewhat puritanical aunt. It was just on the cards that Jack would be mad enough to propose to this girl who had so bewitched him. One could imagine how the aunt would receive such a communication.

There was one little ray of hope, however. If Jack did commit such a crowning folly, he would be far too honourable not to acquaint Miss Burton with his circumstances. Hugh was fairly convinced that the young lady knew how to take care of herself. And, even if she did fall in love with Jack, as he had done with her, and be inclined to make a fool of herself, there was the objectionable brother to be reckoned with. He would certainly not allow his sister to engage herself to a man, except with the consent of that man’s family.

All the same, it was as well to avoid any embarrassing entanglements, if possible. It is easy to retrace your steps when you have only just started.

With this object in view, Murchison sought his friend on the Sunday preceding the day on which they were to present themselves at Rosemount.

“Jack, old man, I have been thinking – ” he began.

Mr Pomfret lifted a warning finger. “My dear friend and mentor, don’t indulge in such violent processes. It’s very bad for you.”

“Don’t be an ass, Jack. You are not really funny when you say that sort of thing. I’ve been thinking over this business to-morrow, and, frankly, I don’t relish the prospect. We had better cut it out.”

Pomfret’s face took on an obstinate expression. “You are speaking for yourself, of course. For my part, I don’t intend to break my appointment. In my opinion, it would be an awfully low-down thing to do. If you didn’t want to go, you shouldn’t have accepted.”

It was evident the young man was not in a very reasonable frame of mind, equally evident he would require very careful handling.

“Now, Jack, don’t get off the handles. You know you are an awfully impetuous chap, and that I have much the cooler head of the two. I have been thinking it all out the last day or two, and I don’t like the look of it.”

“You informed me just now that you had been thinking,” replied Mr Pomfret in the same sarcastic strain. “There is no need to dwell upon the fact. It is obvious.”

But the elder man was not to be ruffled. If anything unpleasant came of this sudden acquaintance he would lay the blame on himself for having mentioned that little incident of the tea-shop, and inspired the mercurial Jack’s love of the daring and adventurous.

“I don’t know that I did accept, as a matter of fact, except by implication. I was about to return an evasive answer, leave it in the air, so to speak, when you cut in and jumped at the invitation for both.”

This was true, and Mr Pomfret’s air lost a little of its jaunty confidence. “Well, if you think I lugged you in, get out of it yourself. Of course you will have to tell some beastly lie that they will see through at once. Anyway I am going, and that’s flat.”

“If you go, I shall go,” said Hugh firmly. “But I would like you to listen to me for a few moments, and put things before you as they present themselves to me.”

“Fire away, then,” was Pomfret’s answer, but it was delivered in a very ungracious tone.

“Of course we are both agreed about the brother,” began Hugh mildly.

The other interrupted impatiently: “The brother be hanged. We are not going to the house for the brother’s sake, but because of the sister. What’s the use of blinking the fact? If you had met him in the tea-shop instead of her, I don’t suppose you would have wasted a word on him, no more should I. But I don’t see why that pretty girl should be ostracised because of him.”

“I don’t quite see, under the circumstances, how you can separate them,” pursued the obstinate Hugh. “I should like to turn off, just for a moment to the sister, and consider her.”

“Go ahead,” said Mr Pomfret in a somewhat sullen tone. He was keeping his impulsive and fiery nature under control, out of his great respect for his friend. But it was very doubtful if he would stand much criticism even from one so respected.

“I have not a word to say against her appearance or her manners. I will go further, and say there is not a girl in Blankfield, or for the matter of that in the ‘county’ itself, who gives the impression of a thorough gentlewoman more convincingly than she does.” Pomfret’s face brightened at these words. “Oh, then you admit that, and you have knocked about the world a few years longer than I have. I am of the same opinion, but if you say it, it must be so.”

“I do say it unhesitatingly, but mind you, I am only judging from outside appearances. Now, how comes it that such a refined and ladylike girl as that should have such a bounder of a brother? There is a mystery there.”

Jack Pomfret prepared to argue. “I don’t quite agree that he is a bounder, he is not quite boisterous enough for that. Let us agree on a common definition – namely, that he is bad form. That fits him, I think.”

“And the sister is very good form. You can’t deny that there is a mystery.”

But the young subaltern developed a quite surprising ingenuity in argument.

“She just simply calls him her brother,” sharply, “but she has told you he is her half-brother by a first marriage – father a gentleman, mother a common person, hence the bad form. A second time, the father married a woman of his own class, hence Norah Burton. Norah knows him for a good sort, if a bit rough, and sticks to him. That’s a reasonable theory, anyway.”

“More ingenious than reasonable perhaps,” commented Murchison with an amused smile.

Pomfret went on, warming to his subject. “And, hang it all, if we speak of bounders – and mind you, I won’t admit he is a bounder in the strict sense of the term – is there a family in England without them?”

“Quite the same sort, do you think?” was Hugh’s question.

“Look here, I’m not going to be impertinent, and ask if you can point to any amongst your own connections, but I know something of my own family. I’ve got a cousin, good blood on both sides. He’s been a bounder from the time he learned to talk, sets your teeth on edge; as some fellow said, every time he opens his mouth he puts his foot into it. By Gad, this fellow Burton is a polished gentleman to him. If George showed his nose in this regiment they would send him to Coventry in five minutes.”

“As they did that chap last year,” remarked Hugh, alluding to an offensive young man who had been compelled to send in his papers, owing to the fact that his general demeanour had not come up to the somewhat exalted standard of the gallant Twenty-fifth.

“Precisely,” assented Pomfret. “But you were going to give me some views about the girl. Again I say, fire away.”

“Well, to go back to that meeting in the tea-shop. It was, to say the least, a little unconventional for a young girl to invite an utter stranger to call upon her.”

“You were not an utter stranger,” retorted Jack doggedly. “She had heard who you were, perhaps from the tradespeople. She knew you were a gentleman, she knew your name, Captain Murchison. Hang it all, if you had met her in one of these dull Blankfield houses, and she had been introduced by a hostess about whom you both knew precious little, and asked you to call, being the mistress of her brother’s house, you would have thought it quite the correct and proper thing. So would every man in the barracks. Don’t people strike up acquaintances in hotels, and sometimes trains?”

“They generally find out something about each other before they pursue the acquaintance,” suggested Murchison. “Look here, old man, you know as well as I do, you are arguing all round the point. It would be precious easy for the Burtons to say who and what they were, and furnish some proper credentials. If they did that, I daresay all Blankfield would call upon them, and swallow the brother for the sake of the very charming sister.”

“Well, I’ll pump her to-night, and get out all you want to know,” retorted Mr Pomfret confidently. “I don’t go so far as to say they will be able to refer us to Burke or Debrett. Decent middle-class people, I expect.”

It was useless to argue with such an optimist. “You’ve accounted for the brother, I remember, by your ingenious theory. Well, you’ve made up your mind to go then?”

“Most certainly I have. You do as you like, but while we are on the subject of good form, it is not a pretty thing to accept an invitation, and then excuse yourself at the eleventh hour by an obvious lie.”

“Under ordinary circumstances, you would be quite right. It has not occurred to you that we were rather rushed into this dinner, then – that we were, so to speak, jumped at?”

“It might look like it at first blush,” admitted Mr Pomfret reluctantly. “But here are two poor devils, marooned, as it were, in this snobbish town, and they naturally jump at the first people who show them the slightest civility. They must simply be aching to exchange a word with their fellow-creatures. Well, I am going to exchange several with them, I promise you.”

Hugh felt it was useless. When Pomfret got in these moods, it was waste of time to reason with him. He felt uneasy, however. He had promised his family to look after him, and he felt a certain responsibility. It was to be hoped the sudden infatuation for a pretty face would expire as quickly as it had been born.

Perhaps a closer association with the bounder brother would produce a chastening influence. But then Jack seemed bounder-proof. Had he not alluded to a well-born cousin, beside whom Burton shone as a polished gentleman?

Anyway, he must not desert his young and very impulsive friend. But it was with considerable reluctance that he accompanied him to Rosemount on the Monday night.

Chapter Four

Eight o’clock was the hour appointed for dinner, this fact scoring in the Burtons’ favour, as evincing a knowledge of the habits of good society. Even a few of the most select hostesses in Blankfield, who ought to have known better, made a base compromise with half-past seven.

The two men arrived about five minutes before the time. The young hostess was awaiting them in the drawing-room, attired in some filmy creation that made her look very charming and ethereal. Soft lights from shaded lamps played about her, and lent a touch of perfection to the picture.

Mr Burton was attired in the usual conventional evening dress of the English gentleman. One would have guessed him the sort of man who would wear a ready-made tie. Not at all. He had tied the bow himself, and with a masterly hand. Pomfret even, who was admitted to be the Beau Brummel of his regiment, could not have done it better.

It is generally supposed that a common man looks more common still when he dons evening attire. “George” was an exception to the rule. His black clothes became him, and lent him a certain air of dignity, which was wanting when he assumed everyday garments. Even Murchison, prejudiced as he was against him, was forced to admit to himself that the “bounder” for once looked quite respectable. Pomfret, ever leaning to the charitable side, felt quite enthusiastic over him, and contrasted him favourably with his own cousin, who could boast blue blood on both sides.

Norah Burton played the hostess as to the manner born, greeting the visitors with just the right degree of cordiality, quite free from the effusiveness of most of the Blankfield hostesses. And Burton, taking his cue from her, was hearty without boisterousness.

The young subaltern’s heart warmed to her, she was so gracious, so sweet, and about her there hovered such an air of calm dignity. Rosemount, no doubt, was honoured by the introduction of such distinguished visitors, viewed merely from the social point of view, but she did not permit a suspicion of this to escape her. Rather, judging by her demeanour, the visitors were honoured by being admitted to Rosemount.

“Rather reminds me of a young queen entertaining her subjects,” Pomfret remarked afterwards to his friend in a rather enthusiastic outburst. “I’m not speaking of the ‘county’ of course, but these Blankfield women make you feel they are overwhelmed with your condescension in coming to their houses, that they are hardly fit to sit at the same table with you.”

The dinner was plain, but well-cooked. The appointments were perfect, snowy napery, elegant glass and cutlery. One neat-handed maidservant waited, and waited well. Mr Burton carved the dishes that were carvable, there was no pretence at an à la Russe banquet. Their small establishment could not cope with that, and they did not attempt it. There was a generous supply of wines: hock, burgundy and champagne.

And Mr Burton, strangely subdued, was quite a good host, hospitable but not pressing. Murchison thought he must have been having some lessons from his sister, who seemed intuitively to do the right thing Still suspicious, he was sure that she had been steadily coaching him how to comport himself on this important night.

For, after all, it must be a feather in their caps, that after having been coldly cast aside by the élite of Blankfield, they had captured for their dining acquaintance two of the most popular officers of the exclusive Twenty-fifth.

And Murchison, ever on the watch for any little sign or symptom to confirm his suspicions, had to admit the pair were behaving perfectly. Not the slightest sign of elation at the small social triumph manifested itself in the demeanour of either. Dinner-parties like this might be a common occurrence for all they showed to the contrary.

The substantial portion of the meal was over. Dessert was brought in, with port, claret and sherry, all of the most excellent vintage. The house was a small one, and not over-staffed, but there was no evidence of lack of means. Perhaps the Burtons were wise people in not keeping up a great show, but spending the greater part of their income on their personal enjoyments.

While the men were still lingering over their dessert, Miss Burton rose.

“There are no ladies to support me, so I shall feel quite lonely by myself,” she said in her pretty, softly modulated voice. “Shall we have coffee in the drawing-room? You men can smoke. It is quite Liberty Hall here. My brother smokes in every room of the house.”

Murchison noted the subtle difference between the brother and sister. If Burton had given the invitation, he would certainly have said, “you gentlemen.” The beautiful Norah would not make a mistake like that.

Five minutes afterwards, the three men trooped into the pretty drawing-room with its subdued, shaded lights. Norah was sitting at a small table, on which were set the coffee equipage with an assortment of liqueurs. Decidedly, the Burtons knew how to do things when they received guests.

The “bounder” brother, as Hugh always called him to himself, had drunk very heavily at dinner of every wine: hock, burgundy and champagne. But evidently he could carry a big quantity. It would take more than a small dinner-party like this to knock him over. When he entered the drawing-room his mien was as subdued as when he had first received his visitors.

They drank their coffee round the fair-sized octagonal table, and then they broke up. Miss Burton retired to a Chesterfield, whither Pomfret followed her, as he was bound to do.

Burton bustled out of the room, and returned with a huge box of expensive cigars. He offered the box to Hugh, who took one with a deprecating look at the young hostess.

“We dare not, Miss Burton. Think of your curtains in the morning.”

“Don’t trouble, Captain Murchison,” she said, with her charming smile. “The curtains have to take what comes in this house. George doesn’t often sit in this room, but when he does he always smokes cigars. I told you this was Liberty Hall, you know.”

The box was offered to Pomfret, who took one. “Do you smoke, Miss Burton?” he asked.

“Once in a blue moon. I think I will have one to-night, as a little treat. It is terribly tempting, when I see all you men smoking.” The enamoured Pomfret fetched her a cigarette, hovered over her with a match, till it was properly lighted, and settled himself again on the Chesterfield. If that silly old Hugh didn’t butt in, he was going to have a nice little chat with this charming girl, who had played the young hostess to such perfection.

But Hugh was safely out of the way. Burton had piloted him to a comfortable easy-chair at the extreme end of the drawing-room, and these two antipathetic persons were apparently engaged in an interesting conversation. Anyway, Murchison’s laugh rang out frequently.

Pomfret, it must be confessed, was not very great at conversation. If the ball were opened, he could set it rolling, but he lacked initiative. He looked at Miss Burton with admiring eyes, but although he had got her comfortably to himself on that convenient Chesterfield, he could think of nothing to say to her.

And then a brilliant inspiration came to him. “I say, how gracefully you smoke.” The young woman burst into a pleasant peal of quite spontaneous laughter. She always had a ready smile at command, but her laughter was generally a little forced. This time it was perfectly genuine.

“Oh, you are really comical,” she cried. “How can any girl smoke a cigarette gracefully? In the first place, it is a most unfeminine thing to do. All people must smoke them in the same way, and there can never be anything graceful in the act.”

“Women don’t smoke them the same way,” replied the young subaltern, with the air of a man who has observed and learned. “Most of them chew them, and hold them at arm’s length, as if they were afraid of being bitten.”

“It’s because they don’t like smoking, really, and only do it to be in the fashion. Now, when I am quite in the mood, I actually revel in a cigarette. I am in the mood to-night.”

Pomfret leaned forward, with a tender expression on his rather homely, but good-humoured, countenance.

“That means that you feel happy to-night, eh?”

She nodded brightly. “Oh, ever so happy! It is seeing new faces, you know, after weeks of isolation,” she added with a touch of almost girlish gaiety. “It seems such ages since we gave a dinner-party. And you and Captain Murchison are so nice. It seems almost like a family gathering.”

“You like my friend Murchison, then? I am glad, because it is to him I owe the pleasure of your acquaintance.”

“I think he is a dear, he seems so honest, straightforward, and so reliable.” She spoke with apparent conviction. “Were you not dreadfully shocked when he told you, for of course he must have told you, how we got to know each other?”

“Not in the least,” said Mr Pomfret stoutly. “I explained to him that people can become acquainted, without being properly introduced in the conventional sort of way.”

“Ah, then, he had some doubts himself?” flashed Miss Burton. “I expect he was a little shocked, if you were not.”

“Not in the slightest, I assure you,” replied Mr Pomfret easily. He was not above telling a white lie upon occasions. He remembered too well the remarks that his friend had made upon the girl’s unconventional behaviour, but he was not going to admit anything.

Miss Burton spoke softly, after a brief pause.

“You and Captain Murchison are very great friends, are you not?”

“Awful pals,” was the genuine response. “You see, he knows all my family. And when I joined the regiment, they deputed him to look after me. He has got a hard task,” he added with a laugh.

“Oh, not so very hard really, I am sure of that.” Norah’s voice was very sweet, very caressing. “But you and your friend are of very different temperaments.”