The Bramleighs of Bishop's Folly

“They ‘ll be here to-morrow evening, Ju,” said George, as she rushed to meet him. “Is that Guff’s phaeton I see at the gate?”

“Yes; the tiresome creature has been here the last hour. I ‘ll not go back to him. You must take your share now.”

By the time L’Estrange entered the room, Sir Marcus had replaced his respirator, and enveloped himself in two of his overcoats and a fur boa. “Oh, here you are,” said he, speaking with much difficulty. “I can’t talk now; it brings on the cough. Come over in the evening, and I ‘ll tell you about it.”

“About what, pray?” asked the other, curtly.

“There ‘s no use being angry. It only hurries the respiration, and chokes the pulmonary vessels. They won’t give a sixpence – not one of them. They say that you don’t preach St. Paul – that you think too much about works. I don’t know what they don’t say; but come over about seven.”

“Do you mean that the subscribers have withdrawn from the church?”

Sir Marcus had not breath for further discussion, but made a gesture of assent with his head.

L’Estrange sank down on a chair overpowered, nor did he speak to, or notice, the other as he withdrew.

“Are you ill, dearest George?” said Julia, as she saw her brother pale and motionless on the chair. “Are you ill?”

“They’ve all withdrawn from the church, Julia. Guff says they are dissatisfied with me, and will contribute no longer.”

“I don’t believe it’s so bad as he says. I ‘m sure it’s not. They cannot be displeased with you, George. It’s some mere passing misconception. You know how they ‘re given to these little bickerings and squabbles; but they have ever been kind and friendly to you.”

“You always give me courage, Ju; and even when I have little heart for it, I like it.”

“Come in to dinner now, George; and if I don’t make you laugh, it’s a wonder to me. I have had such a scene with Sir Marcus as might have graced a comedy.”

It was not an easy task to rally her brother back to good spirits, but she did succeed at last “And now,” said she, as she saw him looking once more at ease and cheerful, “what news of the Bramleighs – are they ever to come?”

“They’ll be here to-morrow evening, Ju. Unless they were quite sure the Culduffs had left for Naples, they would not venture here; and perhaps they were so far in the right.”

“I don’t think so; at least, if I had been Nelly, I ‘d have given anything for such an opportunity of presenting myself to my distinguished relations, and terrifying them by the thought of those attentions that they can neither give me nor deny me.”

“No, no, Julia, nothing of the kind; there would be malice in that.”

“Do I deny it? A great deal of malice in it, and there’s no good comedy in life without a slight flavor of spitefulness. Oh, my poor dear George, what a deep sigh that was! How sad it is to think that all your example and all your precept do so little, and that your sister acquires nothing by your companionship except the skill to torment you.”

“But why will you say those things that you don’t mean – that you couldn’t feel?”

“I believe I do it, George, just the way a horse bounds and rears and buck-leaps. It does not help him on his road, but it lightens the journey; and then it offers such happy occasion for the exercise of that nice light hand of my brother to check these aberrations. You ought to be eternally grateful for the way I develop your talents as a moralist – I was going to say a horse-breaker.”

“I suppose,” said he, after a moment’s silence, “I ought to go over to Sir Marcus and learn from him exactly how matters stand here.”

“No, no; never mind him – at least, not this evening. Bores are bad enough in the morning, but after dinner, when one really wants to think well of their species, they are just intolerable; besides, I composed a little song while you were away, and I want you to hear it, and then you know we must have some serious conversation about Sir Marcus; he is to be here to-morrow.”

“I declare, Ju – ”

“There, don’t declare, but open the pianoforte, and light the candles; and as I mean to sing for an hour at least, you may have that cigar that you looked so lovingly at, and put back into the case. Ain’t I good for you, as the French say?”

“Very good, too good for me,” said he, kissing her, and now every trace of his sorrow was gone, and he looked as happy as might be.

CHAPTER XLV. A PLEASANT DINNER

Prudent people will knit their brows and wise people shake their heads at the bare mention of it, but I cannot help saying that there is a wonderful fascination in those little gatherings which bring a few old friends around the same board, who, forgetting all the little pinchings and straits of narrow fortune, give themselves up for once to enjoyment without a thought for the cost or a care for the morrow. I do not want this to pass for sound morality, nor for a discreet line of conduct; I only say that in the spirit that can subdue every sentiment that would jar on the happiness of the hour there is a strength and vitality that shows this feeling is not born of mere conviviality, but of something deeper, and truer, and heartier.

“If we only had poor Jack here,” whispered Augustus Bramleigh to L’Estrange, as they drew around the Christmas fire, “I ‘d say this was the happiest hearth I know of.”

“And have you no tidings of him?” said L’Estrange, in the same low tone; for, although the girls were in eager talk together, he was afraid Julia might overhear what was said.

“None, except that he sailed from China on board an American clipper for Smyrna, and I am now waiting for news from the consul there, to whom I have written, enclosing a letter for him.”

“And he is serving as a sailor?”

Bramleigh nodded.

“What is the mysterious conversation going on there?” said Julia. “How grave George looks, and Mr. Bramleigh seems overwhelmed with a secret of importance.”

“I guess it,” said Nelly, laughing. “Your brother is relating your interview with Sir Marcus Cluff, and they are speculating on what is to come of it.”

“Oh, that reminds me,” cried L’Estrange, suddenly, “Sir Marcus’s servant brought me a letter just as I was dressing for dinner. Here it is. What a splendid seal – supporters too! Have I permission to read?”

“Read, read by all means,” cried Julia.

“‘Dear Sir, – If I could have sufficiently conquered my bronchitis as to have ventured out this morning, I would have made you my personal apologies for not having received you last night when you did me the honor to call, as well as opened to you by word of mouth what I am now reduced to convey by pen.’”

“He is just as prolix as when he talks,” said Julia.

“It’s a large hand, however, and easy to read. ‘My old enemy the larynx – more in fault than even the bronchial tubes – is again in arms – ‘”

“Oh, do spare us his anatomical disquisition, George. Skip him down to where he proposes for me.”

“But it is what he does not. You are not mentioned in the whole of it. It is all about church matters. It is an explanation of why every one has withdrawn his subscription and left the establishment, and why he alone is faithful and willing to contribute, even to the extent of five pounds additional – ”

“This is too heartless by half; the man has treated me shamefully.”

“I protest I think so too,” said Nelly, with a mock seriousness; “he relies upon your brother’s gown for his protection.”

“Shall I have him out? But, by the way, why do you call me Mr. Bramleigh? Wasn’t I Augustus – or rather Gusty – when we met last?”

“I don’t think so; so well as I remember, I treated you with great respect dashed with a little bit of awe. You and your elder sister were always ‘personages’ to me.”

“I cannot understand that. I can easily imagine Temple inspiring that deference you speak of.”

“You were the true prince, however, and I had all Falstaff’s reverence for the true prince.”

“And yet you see after all I am like to turn out only a pretender.”

“By the way, the pretender is here; I mean – if it be not a bull to say it – the real pretender, Count Pracontal.”

“Count Pracontal de Bramleigh, George,” said Julia, correcting him. “It is the drollest mode of assuming a family name I ever heard of.”

“What is he like?” asked Ellen.

“Like a very well-bred Frenchman of the worst school of French manners: he has none of that graceful ease and that placid courtesy of the past period, but he has abundance of the volatile readiness and showy smartness of the present day. They are a wonderful race, however, and their smattering is better than other men’s learning.”

“I want to see him,” said Augustus.

“Well,” broke in L’Estrange, “Lady Augusta writes to me to say he wants to see you.”

“What does Lady Augusta know of him?”

“Heaven knows,” cried Julia; “but they are always together; their rides over the Campagna furnish just now the chief scandal of Rome. George, you may see, looks very serious and rebukeful about it; but, if the truth were told, there’s a little jealousy at the root of his morality.”

“I declare, Julia, this is too bad.”

“Too true, also, my dear George. Will you deny that you used to ride out with her nearly every evening in the summer, rides that began at sunset and ended – I was always asleep when you came home, and so I never knew when they ended.”

“Was she very agreeable?” asked Nelly, with the faintest tinge of sharpness in her manner.

“The most – what shall I call it? – inconsequent woman I ever met, mixing up things the most dissimilar together, and never dwelling for an instant on anything.”

“How base men are,” said Julia, with mock reproach in her voice. “This is the way he talks of a woman he absolutely persecuted with attentions the whole season. Would you believe it, Nelly, we cut up our nice little garden to make a school to train her horse in?”

Whether it was that some secret intelligence was rapidly conveyed from Julia as she spoke to Nelly, or that the latter of herself caught up the quizzing spirit of her attack, but the two girls burst out laughing, and George blushed deeply, in shame and irritation.

“First of all,” said he, stammering with confusion, “she had a little Arab, the wickedest animal I ever saw. It wasn’t safe to approach him; he struck out with his forelegs – ”

“Come, Nelly,” said Julia, rising, “we’ll go into the drawing-room, and leave George to explain how he tamed the Arab and captivated the Arab’s mistress, for your brother might like to learn the secret. You ‘ll join us, gentlemen, when you wish for coffee.”

“That was scarcely fair, Julia dear,” said Nelly, when they were alone. “Your banter is sometimes too sharp for him.”

“I can’t help it, dearest – it is a part of my nature. When I was a child, they could not take me to a wild-beast show, for I would insist on poking straws at the tiger – not that poor dear George has much ‘tiger’ in him. But do you know, Nelly,” said she, in a graver tone, “that when people are very poor, when their daily lives are beset by the small accidents of narrow fortune, there is a great philosophy in a little banter? You brush away many an annoyance by seeming to feel it matter for drollery, which, if taken seriously, might have made you fretful and peevish.”

“I never suspected there was method in your madness, Ju,” said Nelly, smiling.

“Nor was there, dearest; the explanation was almost an afterthought. But come now and tell me about yourselves.”

“There is really little to tell. Augustus never speaks to me now of business matters. I think I can see that he is not fully satisfied with himself; but, rather than show weakness or hesitation, he is determined to go on as he began.”

“And you are really going to this dreary place?”

“He says so.”

“Would any good come, I wonder, of bringing your brother and Pracontal together? They are both men of high and generous feelings. Each seems to think that there ought to be some other settlement than a recourse to lawyers. Do you think he would refuse to meet Pracontal?”

“That is a mere chance. There are days he would not listen to such a proposal, and there are times he would accept it heartily; but the suggestion must not come from me. With all his love for me, he rather thinks that I secretly disapprove of what he has done, and would reverse it if I knew how.”

“What if I were to hint at it? He already said he wished to see him. This might be mere curiosity, however. What if I were to say, ‘Why not meet Pracontal? Why not see what manner of man he is? There is nothing more true than the saying that half the dislikes people conceive against each other would give way if they would condescend to become acquainted.’”

“As I have just said, it is a mere chance whether he would consent, and then – ”

“Oh, I know! It would be also a chance what might come of it.”

Just as she said this, the young men entered the room, with smiling faces, and apparently in high good-humor.

“Do you know the plan we ‘ve just struck out?” cried Bramleigh. “George is to come and live at Cattaro. I ‘m to make him consular chaplain.”

“But is there such an appointment?” asked Julia, eagerly.

“Heaven knows; but if there is not, there ought to be.”

“And the salary, Mr. Bramleigh. Who pays it? What is it?”

“There again I am at fault; but her Majesty could never intend we should live like heathens,” said Augustus, “and we shall arrange it somehow.”

“Oh, if it were not for ‘somehow,’” said Julia, “we poor people would be worse off in life than we are; but there are so many what the watchmakers call escapements in existence, the machinery manages to survive scores of accidents.”

“At all events we shall be all together,” said Augustus, “and we shall show a stouter front to fortune than if we were to confront her singly.”

“I think it a delightful plan,” said Julia. “What says Nelly?”

“I think,” said Nelly, gravely, “that it is more than kind in you to follow us into our banishment.”

“Then let us set off at once,” said Augustus, “for I own to you I wish to be out of men’s sight, out of ear-shot of their comments, while this suit is going on. It is the publicity that I dread far more than even the issue. Once that we reach this wild barbarism we are going to, you will see I will bear myself with better spirits and better temper.”

“And will you not see Monsieur Pracontal before you go?” asked Julia.

“Not if I can avoid it; unless, indeed, you all think I ought.”

Julia looked at Nelly, and then at her brother. She looked as if she wanted them to say something – anything; but neither spoke, and then, with a courage that never failed her, she said, —

“Of course we think that a meeting between two people who have no personal reasons for dislike, but have a great question to be decided in favor of one of them, cannot but be useful. If it will not lead to a friendship, it may at least disarm a prejudice.”

“I wish I had you for my counsel, Julia,” said Bramleigh, smiling. “Is it yet too late to send you a brief?”

“Perhaps I am engaged for the other side.”

“At all events,” said he, more seriously, “if it be a blunder to meet the man, it cannot much matter. The question between us must be decided elsewhere, and we need not add the prejudices of ignorance to the rancor of self-interest. I ‘ll see him.”

“That’s right; I ‘m sure that’s right,” said L’Estrange. “I’ll despatch a note to Lady Augusta, who is eager for your answer.”

CHAPTER XLVI. A STROLL AND A GOSSIP

As well to have a long talk together as to enjoy the glorious beauty and freshness of the Campagna, the two young men set out the next morning for a walk to Rome. It was one of those still cold days of winter, with a deep blue sky above, and an atmosphere clear as crystal as they started.

There was not in the fortunes of either of them much to cheer the spirits or encourage hope, and yet they felt – they knew not why – a sense of buoyancy and light-heartedness they had not known for many a day back.

“How is it, George,” asked Augustus, “can you explain it that when the world went well with me, when I could stroll out into my own woods, and walk for hours over my own broad acres, I never felt so cheery as I do to-day?”

“It was the same spirit made you yesterday declare you enjoyed our humble dinner with a heartier zest than those grand banquets that were daily served up at Castello.”

“Just so. But that does not solve the riddle for me. I want to know the why of all this. It is no high sustaining consciousness of doing the right thing; no grand sense of self-approval: for, in the first place, I never had a doubt that we were not the rightful owners of the estate, nor am I now supported by the idea that I am certainly and indubitably on the right road, because nearly all my friends think the very reverse.” L’Estrange made no answer. Bramleigh went on: “You yourself are so minded, George. Out with it, man; say at once you think me wrong.”

“I have too little faith in my own judgment to go that far.”

“Well, will you say that you would have acted differently yourself? Come, I think you can answer that question.”

“No, I cannot.”

“You can’t say whether you would have done as I have, or something quite different?”

“No; there is only one thing I know I should have done – I’d have consulted Julia.”

If Bramleigh laughed at this avowal, the other joined him, and for a while nothing was said on either side. At last, Bramleigh said, “I, too, have a confession to make. I thought that if I were to resist this man’s claim by the power of superior wealth I should be acting as dishonorably as though I had fought an unarmed man with a revolver. I told Sedley my scruples, but though he treated them with little deference, there they were, and I could not dismiss them. It was this weakness – Sedley would give it no other name than weakness – of mine that made him incline to settle the matter by a compromise. For a while I yielded to the notion; I ‘m afraid that I yielded even too far – at least Cutbill opines that one of my letters actually gives a distinct consent, but I don’t think so. I know that my meaning was to say to my lawyer, ‘This man’s claim may push me to publicity and much unpleasantness, without any benefit to him. He may make me a nine-days wonder in the newspapers and a town talk, and never reap the least advantage from it. To avoid such exposure I would pay, and pay handsomely; but if you really opined that I was merely stifling a just demand, such a compromise would only bring me lasting misery.’ Perhaps I could not exactly define what I meant; perhaps I expressed myself imperfectly and ill; but Sedley always replied to me by something that seemed to refute my reasonings. At the same time Lord Culduff and Temple treated my scruples with an open contempt. I grew irritable, and possibly less reasonable, and I wrote long letters to Sedley to justify myself and sustain the position I had taken. Of these, indeed of none of my letters, have I copies; and I am told now that they contain admissions which will show that I yielded to the plan of a compromise. Knowing, however, what I felt – what I still feel on the matter – I will not believe this. At all events, the world shall see now that I leave the law to take its course. If Pracontal can establish his right, let him take what he owns. I only bargain for one thing, which is, not to be expelled ignominiously from the house in which I was never the rightful owner. It is the act of abdication, George – the moment of dethronement, that I could not face. It is an avowal of great weakness, I know; but I struggle against it in vain. Every morning when I awoke the same thought met me, am I a mere pretender here? and by some horrible perversity, which I cannot explain, the place, the house, the grounds, the gardens, the shrubberies, the deer-park, grew inexpressibly more dear to me than ever I had felt them. There was not an old ash on the lawn that I did not love; the shady walks through which I had often passed without a thought upon them grew now to have a hold upon and attraction for me that I cannot describe. What shall I be without these dear familiar spots; what will become of me when I shall no longer have these deep glades, these silent woods, to wander in? This became at last so strong upon me that I felt there was but one course to take – I must leave the place at once, and never return to it till I knew that it was my own beyond dispute. I could do that now, while the issue was still undetermined, which would have broken my heart if driven to do on compulsion. Of course this was a matter between me and my own conscience; I had not courage to speak of it to a lawyer, nor did I. Sedley, however, was vexed that I should take any steps without consulting him. He wrote me a letter – almost an angry letter – and he threatened – for it really amounted to a threat, to say that, to a client so decidedly bent on guiding his own case, he certainly felt his services could scarcely be advantageously contributed. I rejoined, perhaps not without irritation; and I am now expecting by each post either his submission to my views, or to hear that he has thrown up the direction of my cause.”

“And he was your father’s adviser for years!” said L’Estrange, with a tone almost despondent.

“But for which he never would have assumed the tone of dictation he has used towards me. Lord Culduff, I remember, said, ‘The first duty of a man on coming to his property is to change his agent, and his next to get rid of the old servants.’ I do not like the theory, George; but from a certain point of view it is not without reason.”

“I suspect that neither you nor I want to look at life from that point of view,” said L’Estrange, with some emotion.

“Not till we can’t help, I ‘m sure; but these crafty men of the world say that we all arrive at their modus operandi in the end; that however generously, however trustfully and romantically, we start on the morning of life, before evening we come to see that in this game we call the world it is only the clever player that escapes ruin.”

“I don’t – that is, I won’t believe that.”

“Quite right, George. The theory would tell terribly against fellows like us; for, let us do our very best, we must be bunglers at the game. What a clever pair of hacks are those yonder! that gray the lady is on has very showy action.”

“Look at the liver chestnut the groom is riding – there’s the horse for my money – so long and so low – a regular turnspit, and equal to any weight. I declare, that’s Lady Augusta, and that’s Pracontal with her. See how the Frenchman charges the ox-fences; he ‘ll come to grief if he rides at speed against timber.”

The party on horseback passed in a little dip of the ground near them at a smart canter, and soon were out of sight again.

“What a strange intimacy for her, is it not?”

“Julia says, the dash of indiscretion in it was the temptation she could n’t resist, and I suspect she’s right. She said to me herself one day, ‘I love skating, but I never care for it except the ice is so thin that I hear it giving way on every side as I go.’”

“She gave you her whole character in that one trait. The pleasure that was n’t linked to a peril had no charm for her. She ought, however, to see that the world will regard this intimacy as a breach of decency.”

“So she does; she’s dying to be attacked about it; at least, so Julia says.”

“The man, too, if he be an artful fellow, will learn many family details about us, that may disserve us. If it went no further than to know in what spirit we treat his claim – whether we attach importance to his pretensions or not – these are all things he need not, should not be informed upon.”

“Cutbill, who somehow hears everything, told us t’other morning, that Pracontal is ‘posted up’ – that was his phrase – as to the temper and nature of every member of your family, and knows to a nicety how to deal with each.”

“Then I don’t see why we should meet.”

“Julia says it is precisely for that very reason; people are always disparaged by these biographical notices, their caprices are assumed to be tastes, and their mere humors are taken for traits of character; and she declares that it will be a good service to the truth that bringing you together. Don’t take my version, however, of her reasons, but ask her to give them to you herself.”

“Isn’t that the wall of the city? I declare we are quite close to Rome already. Now then, first to leave my name for Lady Augusta – not sorry to know I shall not find her at home, for I never understood her, George. I never do understand certain people, whether their levity means that it is the real nature, or simply a humor put on to get rid of you; as though to say, rather than let you impose any solemnity upon me, or talk seriously, I ‘ll have a game at shuttlecock!”