The Bramleighs of Bishop's Folly

“I ‘ll go, then, Nelly; don’t cry about it; if you sob that way I ‘ll make a fool of myself. Pretty sight for the flunkies, to see a sailor crying, would n’t it? all because he had to join his ship. I’ll go, then, at once. I suppose you’ll see her to-day, or to-morrow at farthest?”

“I’m not sure, Jack. Marion said something about hunting parsons, I believe, which gave George such deep pain that he wouldn’t come here on Wednesday. Julia appears to be more annoyed than George, and, in fact, for the moment, we have quarantined each other.”

“Isn’t this too bad?” cried he, passionately.

“Of course it is too bad; but it’s only a passing cloud; and by the time I shall write to you it will have passed away.”

Jack clasped her affectionately in his arms, kissed her twice, and sprang into the carriage, and drove away with a full heart indeed; but also with the fast assurance that his dear sister would watch over his interests and not forget him.

That dark drive went over like a hideous dream. He heard the wind and the rain, the tramp of the horses’ feet and the splash of the wheels along the miry road, but he never fully realized where he was or how he came there. The first bell was ringing as he drove into the station, and there was but little time to get down his luggage and secure his ticket. He asked for a coupé, that he might be alone; and being known as one of the great family at Castello, the obsequious station-master hastened to install him at once. On opening the door, however, it was discovered that another traveller had already deposited a great-coat and a rug in one corner.

“Give yourself no trouble, Captain Bramleigh,” said the official, in a low voice. “I ‘ll just say the coupé is reserved, and we ‘ll put him into another compartment. Take these traps, Bob,” cried he to a porter, “and put them into a first-class.”

Scarcely was the order given when two figures, moving out of the dark, approached, and one, with a slightly foreign accent, but in admirable English, said, “What are you doing there? I have taken that place.”

“Yes,” cried his friend, “this gentleman secured the coupé on the moment of his arrival.”

“Very sorry, sir – extremely sorry; but the coupé was reserved – specially reserved.”

“My friend has paid for that place;” said the last, speaker; “and I can only say, if I were he, I’d not relinquish it.”

“Don’t bother yourself about it,” whispered Jack. “Let him have his place. I ‘ll take the other corner; and there’s an end of it.”

“If you ‘ll allow me, Captain Bramleigh,” said the official, who was now touched to the quick on that sore point, a question of his department – “if you’ll allow me, I think I can soon settle this matter.”

“But I will not allow you, sir,” said Jack, his sense of fairness already outraged by the whole procedure. “He has as good a right to his place as I have to mine. Many thanks for your trouble. Good-bye.” And so saying he stepped in.

The foreigner still lingered in earnest converse with his friend, and only mounted the steps as the train began to move. “A bientôt, cher Philippe,” he cried, as the door was slammed, and the next instant they were gone.

The little incident which had preceded their departure had certainly not conduced to any amicable disposition between them, and each, after a sidelong glance at the other, ensconced himself more completely within his wrappings, and gave himself up to either silence or sleep.

Some thirty miles of the journey had rolled over, and it was now day, – dark and dreary indeed, – when Jack awoke and found the carriage pretty thick with smoke. There is a sort of freemasonry in the men of tobacco which never fails them, and they have a kind of instinctive guess of a stranger from the mere character of his weed. On the present occasion Jack recognized a most exquisite Havanna odor, and turned furtively to see the smoker.

“I ought to have asked,” said the stranger, “if this was disagreeable to you; but you were asleep, and I did not like to disturb you.”

“Not in the least; I am a smoker too,” said Jack, as he drew forth his case and proceeded to strike a light.

“Might I offer you one of mine? – they are not bad,” said the other, proffering his case.

“Thanks,” said Jack; “my tastes are too vulgar for Cubans. Birdseye, dashed with strong Cavendish, is what I like.”

“I have tried that too, as I have tried everything English, but the same sort of half success follows me through all.”

“If your knowledge of the language be the measure, I ‘d say you’ve not much to complain of. I almost doubt whether you are a foreigner.”

“I was born in Italy,” said the other, cautiously, “and never in England till a few weeks ago.”

“I’m afraid,” said Jack, with a smile, “I did not impress you very favorably as regards British politeness, when we met this morning; but I was a little out of spirits. I was leaving home, not very likely to see it again for some time, and I wanted to be alone.”

“I am greatly grieved not to have known this. I should never have thought of intruding.”

“But there was no question of intruding. It was your right that you asserted, and no more.”

“Half the harsh things that we see in life are done merely by asserting a right,” said the other, in a deep and serious voice.

Jack had little taste for what took the form of a reflection; to his apprehension, it was own brother of a sermon; and warned by this sample of his companion’s humor, he muttered a broken sort of assent and was silent. Little passed between them till they met at the dinner-table, and then they only interchanged a few commonplace remarks. On their reaching their destination, they took leave of each other courteously, but half formally, and drove off their several ways.

Almost the first man, however, that Jack met, as he stepped on board the mail-packet for Holyhead, was his fellow-traveller of the rail. This time they met cordially, and after a few words of greeting they proceeded to walk the deck together like old acquaintances.

Though the night was fresh and sharp there was a bright moon, and they both felt reluctant to go below, where a vast crowd of passengers was assembled. The brisk exercise, the invigorating air, and a certain congeniality that each discovered in the other, soon established between them one of those confidences which are only possible in early life.

Nor do I know anything better in youth than the frank readiness with which such friendships are made. It is with no spirit of calculation – it is with no counting of the cost, that we sign these contracts. We feel drawn into companionship, half by some void within ourselves, half by some quality that seems to supply that void. The tones of our own voice in our own ears assure us that we have found sympathy; for we feel that we are speaking in a way we could not speak to cold or uncongenial listeners.

When Jack Bramleigh had told that he was going to take command of a small gunboat in the Mediterranean, he could not help going further, and telling with what a heavy heart he was going to assume his command. “We sailors have a hard lot of it,” said he; “we come home after a cruise – all is new, brilliant, and attractive to us. Our hearts are not steeled, as are landsmen’s, by daily habit. We are intoxicated by what calmer heads scarcely feel excited. We fall in love, and then, some fine day, comes an Admiralty despatch ordering us to hunt slavers off Lagos, or fish for a lost cable in Behring’s Straits.”

“Never mind,” said the other; “so long as there ‘s a goal to reach, so long as there’s a prize to win, all can be borne. It’s only when life is a shoreless ocean – when, seek where you will, no land will come in sight – when, in fact, existence offers nothing to speculate on – then, indeed, the world is a dreary blank.”

“I don’t suppose any fellow’s lot is as bad as that.”

“Not perhaps completely, thoroughly so; but that a man’s fate can approach such a condition – that a man can cling to so small a hope that he is obliged to own to himself that it is next to no hope at all, – that there could be, and is, such a lot in existence, I who speak to you now am able unfortunately to vouch for.”

“I am sorry to hear it,” said Jack, feelingly; “and I am sorry, besides, to have obtruded my own small griefs before one who has such a heavy affliction.”

“Remember,” said the Frenchman, “I never said it was all up with me. I have a plank still to cling to, though it be only a plank. My case is simply this: I have come over to this country to prefer a claim to a large property, and I have nothing to sustain it but my right. I know well you Englishmen have a theory that your laws are so admirably and so purely administered that if a man asks for justice, – be he poor, or unknown, or a foreigner, it matters not, – he is sure to obtain it. I like the theory, and I respect the man who believes in it, but I don’t trust it myself. I remember reading in your debates, how the House of Lords sat for days over a claim of a French nobleman who had been ruined by the great Revolution in France, and for whose aid, with others, a large sum had once been voted, of which, through a series of misadventures, not a shilling had reached him. That man’s claim, upheld and maintained by one of the first men in England, and with an eloquence that thrilled through every heart around, was rejected, ay, rejected, and he was sent out of court a beggar. They could n’t call him an impostor, but they left him to starve!” He paused for a secondhand in a slower voice continued, “Now, it may be that my case shall one of these days be heard before that tribunal, and I ask you, does it not call for great courage and great trustfulness to have a hope on the issue?”

“I’ll stake my head on it, they’ll deal fairly by you,” said Jack, stoutly.

“The poor baron I spoke of had powerful friends: men who liked him well, and fairly believed in his claim. Now I am utterly unknown, and as devoid of friends as of money. I think nineteen out of twenty Englishmen would call me an adventurer to-morrow; and there are few titles that convey less respect in this grand country of yours.”

“There you are right; every one here must have a place in society, and be in it.”

“My landlady where I lodged thought me an adventurer; the tailor who measured me whispered adventurer as he went downstairs; and when a cabman, in gratitude for an extra sixpence, called me ‘count,’ it was to proclaim me an adventurer to all who heard him.”

“You are scarcely fair to us,” said Jack, laughing. “You have been singularly unlucky in your English acquaintance.”

“No. I have met a great deal of kindness, but always after a certain interval of doubt – almost of mistrust. I tell you frankly, you are the very first Englishman with whom I have ventured to talk freely on so slight an acquaintance, and it has been to me an unspeakable relief to do it.”

“I am proud to think you had that confidence in me.”

“You yourself suggested it. You began to tell me of your plans and hopes, and I could not resist the temptation to follow you. A French hussar is about as outspoken an animal as an English sailor, so that we were well met.”

“Are you still in the service?”

“No; I am in what we call disponibilité, I am free till called on – and free then if I feel unwilling to go back.”

The Frenchman now passed on to speak of his life as a soldier, – a career so full of strange adventures and curious incidents that Jack was actually grieved when they glided into the harbor of Holyhead, and the steamer’s bell broke up the narrative.

CHAPTER XX. A MORNING OF PERPLEXITIES

Colonel Bramleigh turned over and over, without breaking the seal, a letter which, bearing the postmark of Rome and in a well-known hand, he knew came from Lady Augusta.

That second marriage of his had been a great mistake. None of the social advantages he had calculated on with such certainty had resulted from it. His wife’s distinguished relatives had totally estranged themselves from her, as though she had made an unbecoming and unworthy alliance; his own sons and daughters had not concealed their animosity to their new stepmother; and, in fact, the best compromise the blunder admitted of was that they should try to see as little as possible of each other; and as they could not obliterate the compact, they should, as far as in them lay, endeavor to ignore it.

There are no more painful aids to a memory unwilling to be taxed than a banker’s half-yearly statement; and in the long record which Christmas had summoned, and which now lay open before Bramleigh’s eyes, were frequent and weighty reminders of Lady Augusta’s expensive ways.

He had agreed to allow her a thousand napoleons – about eight hundred pounds – quarterly, which was, and which she owned was, a most liberal and sufficient sum to live on alone, and in a city comparatively cheap. He had, however, added, with a courtesy that the moment of parting might have suggested, “Whenever your tastes or your comforts are found to be hampered in any way by the limits I have set down, you will do me the favor to draw directly on ‘the house,’ and I will take care that your checks shall be attended to.”

The smile with which she thanked him was still in his memory. Since the memorable morning in Berkeley Square when she accepted his offer of marriage, he had seen nothing so fascinating – nor, let us add, so fleeting – as this gleam of enchantment. Very few days had sufficed to show him how much this meteor flash of loveliness had cost him; and now, as he sat conning over a long line of figures, he bethought him that the second moment of witchery was very nearly as expensive as the first. When he made her that courteous offer of extending the limits of her civil list he had never contemplated how far she could have pushed his generosity, and now, to his amazement, he discovered that in a few months she had already drawn for seven thousand pounds, and had intimated to the house that the first instalment of the purchase money of a villa would probably be required some time early in May; the business-like character of this “advice” being, however, sadly disparaged by her having totally forgotten to say anything as to the amount of the impending demand.

It was in a very unlucky moment – was there ever a lucky one? – when these heavy demands presented themselves. Colonel Bramleigh had latterly taken to what he thought, or at least meant to be, retrenchment. He was determined, as he said himself, to “take the bull by the horns;” but the men who perform this feat usually select a very small bull. He had nibbled, as it were, at the hem of the budget; he had cut down “the boys’” allowances. “What could Temple want with five hundred a year? Her Majesty gave him four, and her Majesty certainly never intended to take his services without fitting remuneration. As to Jack having three hundred, it was downright absurdity: it was extravagances like these destroyed the navy; besides, Jack had got his promotion, and his pay ought to be something handsome.” With regard to Augustus, he only went so far as certain remonstrances about horse keep and some hints about the iniquities of a German valet who, it was rumored, had actually bought a house in Duke Street, St. James’s, out of his peculations in the family.

The girls were not extravagantly provided for, but for example’s sake he reduced their allowance by one-third.

Ireland was not a country for embroidered silks or Genoa velvet. It would be an admirable lesson to others if they were to see the young ladies of the great house dressed simply and unpretentiously. “These things could only be done by people of station. Such examples must proceed from those whose motives could not be questioned.” He dismissed the head gardener, and he was actually contemplating the discharge of the French cook, though he well foresaw the storm of opposition so strong a measure was sure to evoke. When he came to sum up his reforms he was shocked to find that the total only reached a little over twelve hundred pounds, and this in a household of many thousands.

Was not Castello, too, a mistake? Was not all this princely style of living, in a county without a neighborhood, totally unvisited by strangers, a capital blunder? He had often heard of the cheapness of life in Ireland; and what a myth it was! He might have lived in Norfolk for what he was spending in Downshire, and though he meant to do great things for the country, a doubt was beginning to steal over him as to how they were to be done. He had often insisted that absenteeism was the bane of Ireland, and yet for the life of him he could not see how his residence there was to prove a blessing.

Lady Augusta, with her separate establishment, was spending above three thousand a year. Poor man, he was grumbling to himself over this, when that precious document from the bank arrived with the astounding news of her immense extravagance. He laid her letter down again; he had not temper to read it. It was so sure to be one of those frivolous little levities which jar so painfully on serious feelings. He knew so well the half-jestful, excuses she would make for her wastefulness, the coquettish prettinesses she would deploy in describing her daily life of mock simplicity, and utter recklessness as to cost, that he muttered, “Not now,” to himself, as he pushed the letter away. And as he did so he discovered a letter in the hand of Mr. Sedley, his law agent. He had himself written a short note to that gentleman, at Jack’s request; for Jack – who, like all sailors, believed in a First Lord, and implicitly felt that no promotion ever came rightfully – wanted a special introduction to the great men at Somerset House, a service which Sedley, who knew every one, could easily render him. This note of Sedley’s then, doubtless, referred to that matter, and though Bramleigh did not feel any great or warm interest in the question, he broke the envelope to read it rather as a relief than otherwise. It was at least a new topic, and it could not be a very exciting one. The letter ran thus: —

“Tuesday, January 15.

“My dear Sir, —

“Hicklay will speak to the First Lord at the earliest convenient moment, but as Captain Bramleigh has just got his promotion, he does not see what can be done in addition. I do not suppose your son would like a dockyard appointment, but a tolerably snug berth will soon be vacant at Malta, and as Captain B. will be in town to-morrow, I shall wait upon him early, and learn his wishes in the matter. There is a great talk to-day of changes in the Cabinet, and some rumor of a dissolution. These reports and disquieting news from France have brought the funds down one-sixth. Burrows and Black have failed – the Calcutta house had made some large tea speculation, it is said, without the knowledge of the partners here. At all events, the liabilities will exceed a million; available assets not a hundred thousand. I hope you will not suffer, or if so, to only a trifling extent, as I know you lately declined the advances Black so pressed upon you.”

“He’s right there,” muttered Bramleigh. “I wouldn’t touch those indigo bonds. When old Grant began to back up the natives, I saw what would become of the planters. All meddling with the labor market in India is mere gambling, and whenever a man makes his coup he ought to go off with his money. What’s all this here,” muttered he, “about Talookdars and Ryots? He ought to know this question cannot interest me.”

“I met Kelson yesterday; he was very close and guarded, but my impression is that they are doing nothing in the affair of the ‘Pretender.’ I hinted jocularly something about having a few thousands by me if he should happen to know of a good investment, and, in the same careless way, he replied, ‘I ‘ll drop in some morning at the office, and have a talk with you.’ There was a significance in his manner that gave me to believe he meant a ‘transaction.’ We shall see. I shall add a few lines to this after I have seen Captain B. to-morrow. I must now hurry off to Westminster.”

Bramleigh turned over, and read the following: —

“Wednesday, 16.

“On going to the ‘Drummond’ this morning to breakfast, by appointment with your son, I found him dressing, but talking with the occupant of a room on the opposite side of the sitting-room, where breakfast was laid for three. Captain B., who seemed in excellent health and spirits, entered freely on the subject of the shore appointment, and when I suggested caution in discussing it, told me there was no need of reserve, that he could say what he pleased before his friend – ‘whom, by the way,’ said he, ‘I am anxious to make known to you. You are the very man to give him first-rate advice, and if you cannot take up his case yourself to recommend him to some one of trust and character.’ While we were talking, the stranger entered, – a young man, short, good-looking, and of good address. ‘I want, to present you to Mr. Sedley,’ said Captain B., ‘and I’ll be shot if I don’t forget your name.’

“‘I half doubt if you ever knew it,’ said the other, laughing; and, turning to me, added, ‘Our friendship is of short date. We met as travellers, but I have seen enough of life to know that the instinct that draws men towards each other is no bad guarantee for mutual liking.’ He said this with a slightly foreign accent, but fluently and easily.

“We now sat down to table, and though not being gifted with that expansiveness that the stranger spoke of, I soon found myself listening with pleasure to the conversation of a very shrewd and witty man, who had seen a good deal of life. Perhaps I may have exhibited some trait of the pleasure he afforded me – perhaps I may have expressed it in words; at all events your son marked the effect produced upon me, and in a tone of half jocular triumph, cried out, ‘Eh, Sedley, you ‘ll stand by him – won’t you? I ‘ve told him if there was a man in England to carry him through a stiff campaign you were the fellow.’ I replied by some commonplace, and rose soon after to proceed to court. As the foreigner had also some business at the Hall, I offered him a seat in my cab. As we went along, he spoke freely of himself and his former life, and gave me his card, with the name ‘Anatole Pracontal’ – one of the aliases of our Pretender. So that here I was for two hours in close confab with the enemy, to whom I was actually presented by your own son! So overwhelming was this announcement that I really felt unable to take any course, and doubted whether I ought not at once to have told him who his fellow-traveller was. I decided at last for the more cautious line, and asked him to come and see me at Fulham. We parted excellent friends. Whether he will keep his appointment or not I am unable to guess. By a special good fortune – so I certainly must deem it – Captain Bramleigh was telegraphed for to Portsmouth, and had to leave town at once. So that any risks from that quarter are avoided. Whether this strange meeting will turn out well or ill, whether it will be misinterpreted by Kelson when he comes to hear it, – for it would be hard to believe it all accident, – and induce him to treat us with distrust and suspicion, or whether it may conduce to a speedy settlement of everything, is more than I can yet say.

“I am so far favorably impressed by M. Pracontal’s manner and address that I think he ought not to be one difficult to deal with. What may be his impression, however, when he learns with whom he has been talking so freely, is still doubtful to me. He cannot, it is true, mistrust your son, but he may feel grave doubts about me.

“I own I do not expect to see him to-morrow. Kelson will certainly advise him against such a step, nor do I yet perceive what immediate good would result from our meeting, beyond the assuring him – as I certainly should – that all that had occurred was pure chance, and that, though perfectly familiar with his name and his pretensions, I had not the vaguest suspicion of his identity till I read his card. It may be that out of this strange blunder good may come. Let us hope it. I will write to-morrow.

“Truly yours,

“M. Sedley.”

Colonel Bramleigh re-read every line of the letter carefully; and as he laid it down with a sigh, he said, “What a complication of troubles on my hands! At the very moment that I am making engagements to relieve others, I may not have the means to meet my own difficulties. Sedley was quite wrong to make any advances to this man; they are sure to be misinterpreted. Kelson will think we are afraid, and raise his terms with us accordingly.” Again his eyes fell upon Lady Augusta’s letter; but he had no temper now to encounter all the light gossip and frivolity it was sure to contain. He placed it in his pocket, and set out to take a walk. He wanted to think, but he also wanted the spring and energy which come of brisk exercise. He felt his mind would work more freely when he was in motion; and in the open air, too, he should escape from the terrible oppression of being continually confronted by himself – which he felt while he was in the solitude of his study.