Sir Brook Fossbrooke, Volume II.

“I suppose Trafford has written to you. In the short note I got from him yesterday there is nothing but gratitude to you. He says he owes everything to your friendship. He means to be in England in a few days, and of course will go over to you; but write, or rather telegraph.

“Yours ever, T. L.

“I wrote to Colonel Cave this morning to tell him his small venture with us would not turn out so badly. Our first dividend will be at least cent, per cent., so that he cannot lose by us. It’s downright jolly to be able to send off such a despatch.”

The last letter of the heap was from Lady Trafford, and served in a measure to explain that paragraph in Tom’s epistle which spoke of young Trafford’s gratitude. It appeared that Lady Trafford’s youngest son, on whom Sir Hugh had fixed to make the head of the family, had gone to winter at Madeira, and while there had fallen in love with and married a Portuguese girl, the daughter of his landlady. The news of this mésalliance had nearly killed his father, who was only recovering from a bad attack of gout when the tidings reached him. By good luck, however, on the very same day came a letter from Fossbrooke, declaring that no matter what treatment young Trafford might meet with from his own family, he, Sir Brook, would stand firmly by him, so long as his honorable and manly conduct and his fidelity to his word to the girl he loved entitled him to regard and affection.

“In a worldly point of view,” wrote he, “such friendship as mine is a poor thing. I am a man of nothing, it is true; but I have lived long enough to know that there are other successes besides wealth and station. There are such things as self-respect, contentment, and the love of friends; and I do think my experiences will help him to secure some share of these.

“There is, however, one entreaty I would prefer, and if there be in your memory any kind thought of me, you will not refuse my prayer. Your boy is eager to see you, and shake your hand. Let him come. If you cannot or will not approve, do not at least condemn what he is about to do. In his anxiety to obtain your sanction, he has shown all deference to your authority. This shows he is worthy of your esteem; and if he were to palter between the hope of all your fortune and the love of this girl, he would only deserve your contempt. Be proud of him, then, even if you disinherit him to-morrow. If these be the sentiments of a man who has nothing, remember, Trafford, that I was not always a beggar; and if I thought that being rich would alter these opinions, I can only say I hope I may die as poor as now I write myself.

“There’s a strong prejudice, I know, against being guided by men who have made such a sorry hand of their own fortunes as I have; but many a fellow who has been shipwrecked has proved a good sailor; at all events, he knows what it is to be buffeted by the waves and torn on the rocks. Now, I have told your son not to be afraid of these, and I think he trusts me.

“Once more, then, I ask, let me tell Lionel you will receive him; and believe me faithfully your old friend,

“Bk. Fossbrooke.”

Lady Trafford’s note was short: —

“My dear Sir Brook, – I suppose there is nothing for it but what you say, and Lionel may come here. We have had nothing but disasters with our sons. I wish I could dare to hope that this was to be the end of the calamities. Sir Hugh desires much that you could be here when L. arrives. Could you conveniently arrange this? His brother’s shocking marriage, the terrible disappointment to our hopes, and other worries have almost proved too much for me.

“Is there any truth in the story that Miss L.‘s grandfather was negotiating for a peerage as the condition of his retirement from the Bench? If so, and that the object could be compassed, it would go far towards removing some of our objections to the connection. Sir Hugh’s influence with ‘the Party’ would unquestionably be of use; and though a law lord does not mean much, it is something. Inform me fully on this head. It is very strange that Lionel should never have mentioned the matter, and, indeed, strongly indicates how little trouble he took, or cared to take, to obviate our natural objections to the match. I suppose her father is not a practising physician. At all events, he need not be styled doctor. Oh dear I when I think of it all, and think what an end my ambitions have come to, I could cry my eyes out. It often strikes me that people who make most sacrifices for their children are ever repaid in this fashion. The Dean says these are mysterious dispensations, and that we must submit to them. I suppose we must, but it certainly is not without reluctance.

“I thought of asking you to write to Lionel, but I will do so myself, painful as it is. I feel I am very forgiving to write you in this strain, seeing how great was the share you took in involving us all in this unhappy business. At one moment I positively detested – I don’t suspect yet that I entirely pardon – you, though I may when you come here, especially if you bring me any good news of this peerage business, which I look to as our last refuge. Lendrick is a very odd name, – are there many of them? Of course, it will be well understood that we only know the immediate relations, – father and brother, I mean. We stand no cousins, still less uncles or aunts.

“Sir Hugh thinks I ought to write to the old Judge. I opine he would be flattered by the attention, but I have not yet made up my mind upon it. Give me some advice on this, and believe me sincerely yours.”

After despatching a telegram to Cagliari, to say he was well and at large, and would soon be on his way back again, Fossbrooke wrote a few lines to Lord Wilmington of regret that he could not afford time to go over and see him, and assuring him that the late incident that had befallen him was not worth a thought. “He must be a more irritable fellow than I am,” he wrote, “who would make a personal grievance of a mere accident, against which, in a time of trouble, it would be hard to provide. While I say this, I must add that I think the spy system is a mistake, – that there is an over-eagerness in your officials to procure committals; and I declare to you I have often had more difficulty to get out of a crowded evening party than I should have felt in making my escape from your jail or bridewell, whichever be its name. I don’t suspect your law-officers are marvels of wisdom, and your Chief Secretary is an ass.”

To Lady Trafford he wrote a very brief reply. He scarcely thought his engagements would enable him to make a visit to Holt. “I will, however, come if I can, chiefly to obtain your full and free pardon, though for what, beyond rendering you an invaluable service, I am puzzled to understand; and I repeat, if your son obtain this young lady in marriage, he will be, after Sir Hugh, the luckiest man of his name and family.

“As to the peerage, I can tell you nothing. I believe there is rather a prejudice against sending Irishmen up to the Lords; and it is scarcely ever done with lawyers. In regard to writing to Baron Lendrick, I hardly know what to say. He is a man of great ability, but of even greater vanity, and it should be a cleverly worded epistle that would not ruffle some one of his thousand sensibilities. If you feel, however, adroit enough to open the negotiation, do so by ‘all means;’ but don’t make me responsible for what may come of it if the rejoinder be not to your taste. For myself, I ‘d rather poke up a grizzly bear with my umbrella than I ‘d provoke such a man to an exchange of letters.”

To get back to Cagliari as soon as possible, and relieve Tom of that responsibility which seemed to weigh so heavily upon him, was Fossbrooke’s first resolve. He must see Sewell at once, and finish the business; and however unpleasant the step might be, he must seek him at the Priory, if he could not meet him elsewhere. He wished also to see Beattie, – he wanted to repay the loan he had made him. The doctor, too, could tell him how he could obtain an interview with Sewell without any intrusion upon the Chief Baron.

It was evening before Fossbrooke could make his visit to Beattie, and the doctor had just sat down to dinner with a gentleman who had arrived by the mail-packet from England, giving orders that he was not to be disturbed on any score.

“Will you merely take in my name,” said Sir Brook, “and beg, with my respects, to learn at what hour to-morrow Dr. Beattie would accord me a few minutes.” The butler’s hesitation was mildly overcome by the persuasive touch of a sovereign, and he retired with the message.

Before a minute elapsed, Dr. Beattie came out, napkin in hand, and his face beaming with delight. “If there was a man in Europe I was wishing for this moment, it was yourself, Sir Brook,” said he. “Do you know who is dining with me? Come in and see. – No, no, I ‘ll not be denied.”

A sudden terror crossed Fossbrooke’s mind that his guest might be Colonel Sewell, and he hung back, muttering some words of apology.

“I tell you,” repeated the doctor, “I’ll take no refusal. It’s the rarest piece of luck ever befell, to have chanced upon you. Poor Lendrick is dying for some news of his son and daughter.”

“Lendrick! Dr. Lendrick?”

“To be sure, – who else? When your knock came to the door, I was telling him that I heard you were in Dublin, and only doubted it because you had never called on me; but come along, we can say all these things over our soup. Look whom I have brought you, Tom,” cried Beattie, as he led Sir Brook into the room, – “here’s Sir Brook Fossbrooke come to join us.” And the two men grasped hands in heartiest embrace, while Fossbrooke, not waiting for a word of question, said, “Both well and hearty. I had a telegram from Tom this morning.”

“How much I owe you! – how much, how much!” was all that Lendrick could say, and his eyes swam as he said it.

“It is I am the debtor, and well I know what it is worth to be so! Their loving kindness and affection have rescued me from the one terror of my life, – the fear of becoming a discontented, incredulous old bachelor. Heaven bless them for it; their goodness has kept me out of that danger.”

“And how are they looking? Is Lucy – ” He stopped and looked half ashamed.

“More beautiful than ever,” broke in Fossbrooke. “I think she is taller than when you last saw her, and perhaps a shade more thoughtful looking; and Tom is a splendid fellow. I scarcely know what career he could not follow, nor where he would not seem too good for whatever he was doing.”

“Ah, if I could but tell you how happy you have made me!” muttered Lendrick. “I ought never to have left them, – never broken up my home. I did it unwillingly, it is true; but I ought never to have done it.”

“Who knows if it may not turn out for the best, after all? You need never be separated henceforth. Tom’s last letter to me – I ‘ll bring it over to you to-morrow – tells me what I well knew must befall us sooner or later, – that we are rolling in wealth, have silver enough to pave the streets, and more money than we shall be able to spend – though I once had rather a knack that way.”

“That’s glorious news!” said Beattie. “It’s our mine, I suppose?” added he, laughing.

“To be sure it is; and I have come prepared to buy you out, doctor, or pay you your first dividend, cent. per cent., whichever you prefer.”

“Let us hear about this mine,” said Beattie.

“I ‘d rather talk to you about the miners, Tom and Lucy,” said Fossbrooke.

“Yes, yes, tell us of them. Do they ever talk of the Nest? Do they ever think of the happy days we passed there?” cried Lendrick.

“Ay, and more. We have had a project this many a day – we can realize it now – to buy it out and out. And I ‘m to build a cabin for myself by the river-side, where the swan’s hut stood, and I ‘m to be asked to dinner every Sunday.”

“By Jove, I think I’ll run down by the rail for one of those dinners,” said Beattie; “but I certainly hope the company will have better appetites than my guests of to-day.”

“I am too happy to feel hungry,” said Lendrick. “If I only knew that my poor dear father could live to see us all united, – all together again, I ‘d ask for no more in life.”

“And so he may, Tom; he was better this afternoon, and though weak and low, perfectly collected and sensible. Mrs. Sewell has been his nurse to-day, and she seems to manage him cleverly.”

“I saw her at the Cape. She was nicely mannered, and, if I remember aright, handsome,” said Lendrick, in his half-abstracted way.

“She was beautiful – perfectly beautiful – as a girl: except your own Lucy, I never saw any one so lovely,” said Fossbrooke, whose voice shook with emotion as he spoke.

“I wish she had better luck in a husband,” said Beattie. “For all his graceful address and insinuating ways, I ‘m full sure he’s a bad fellow.”

Fossbrooke checked himself with a great effort, and merely nodded an assent to the other’s words.

“How came it, Sir Brook,” asked Beattie, suddenly, “that you should have been in Dublin so long without once coming to see me?”

“Are you very discreet? – may I be sure that neither of you will ever accidentally let drop a word of what I shall tell you?”

“You may rely upon my secrecy, and upon Tom Lendrick’s ignorance, for there he is now in one of his reveries, thinking of his children in all probability; and I ‘ll guarantee you to any amount, that he ‘ll not hear one word you say for the next half-hour.”

“The fact is, they took me up for a rebel, – some one with more zeal than discrimination fancied I looked like a ‘Celt,’ as these fellows call themselves; and my mode of life, and my packet of lead ore, and some other things of little value, completed the case against me, and they sent me to jail.”

“To jail!”

“Yes; to a place called Richmond Bridewell, where I passed some seven or eight days, by no means unpleasantly. It was very quiet, very secure against intrusion. I had a capital room, and very fair food. Indeed I ‘m not sure that I did not leave it with a certain regret; but as I had written to my old friend Lord Wilmington, to apprise him of the mistake, and to warn him against the consequences such a blunder might occasion if it befell one less well disposed towards him than myself, I had nothing for it but to take a friendly farewell of my jailer and go.”

“I declare few men would have treated the incident so temperately.”

“Wilmington’s father was my fag at Eton, let me see – no, I ‘ll not see – how long ago; and Wilmington himself used to come and spend his summer vacations with me when I had that Wiltshire place; and I was very fond of the boy, and as he liked my partridge-shooting, we grew to be fast friends; but why are we talking of these old histories when it is the present that should engage us? I would only caution you once again against letting the story get abroad: there are fellows would like to make a House of Commons row out of it, and I ‘d not stand it. Is the doctor sleeping?” added he, in a whisper, as Lendrick sat with closed eyes and clasped hands, mute and motionless.

“No,” said Beattie; “it is his way when he is very happy. He is going over to himself all you have been telling him of his children, and he neither sees nor hears aught around him.”

“I was going to tell him another piece of news that would probably please him,” said Sir Brook, in the same low tone. “I have nearly completed arrangements for the purchase of the Nest; by this day week I hope it will be Lucy’s.”

“Oh! do tell him that. I know of nothing that would delight him as much. Lendrick,” said he, touching his arm, “here is something you would like to hear.”

“No, no!” muttered he, softly. “Life is too short for these things. No more separations, – no more; we must live together, come what may;” and he stretched out his hands on either side of him, as though to grasp his children.

“It is a pity to awaken him from such a dream,” said Fossbrooke, cautiously; “let us steal over to the window and not disturb him.”

They crept cautiously away to a window-bench, and talked till late into the night.

CHAPTER XIX. MAN TO MAN

As Sewell awoke, it was already evening. Fatigue and anxiety together had so overcome him that he slept like one drugged by a narcotic; nor did he very quickly recall on awakening how and wherefore he had not been to bed. His servant had left two letters on his table while he slept, and these served to remind him of some at least of the troubles that last oppressed him. One was from his law-agent, regretting that he could not obtain for him the loan he solicited on any terms whatever, and mildly suggesting that he trusted the Colonel would be prepared to meet certain acceptances which would fall due in the coming week. The other was from a friend whom he had often assisted in moments of difficulty, and ran: —

“Dear S., – I lost two hundred last night at pool, and, what’s worse, can’t pay it. That infernal rule of yours about prompt payment will smash us both, – but it’s so like you! You never had a run of luck yet that you didn’t do something that turned against you afterwards. Your clever rule about the selling-stakes cost me the best mare I ever had; and now this blessed stroke of your genius leaves me in doubt whether to blow my brains out or start for Boulogne. As Tom Beecher said, you are a ‘deuced deal too ‘cute to prosper.’ If I have to cross the water, I suspect you might as well come with me. – Yours,

“Dick Vaughan.”

Sewell tore the note up into the smallest fragments, muttering savagely to himself the while. “I’ll be bound,” said he, “the cur is half consoled for his mishap by seeing how much worse ruin has befallen me, – What is it, Watkin? What do you want?” cried he to his servant, who came hastily into the room.

“His Lordship has taken a bad turn, sir, and Mrs. Sewell wants to see you immediately.”

“All right! Say I’m coming. Who knows,” muttered he, “but there’s a chance for me yet?” He turned into his dressing-room and bathed his temples and his head with cold water, and, refreshed at once, he ascended the stairs.

“Another attack has come on. He was sleeping calmly,” said Mrs. Sewell as she met him, “when he awoke with a start, and broke out into wild raving. I have sent for Beattie; but what is to be done meanwhile?”

“I ‘m no doctor; I can’t tell you.”

“Haire thinks the ice ought to be applied; the nurse says-a blister or mustard to the back of the neck.”

“Is he really in danger? – that’s the question.”

“I believe so. I never saw him so ill.”

“You think he’s dying?” said he, fiercely, as though he would not brook any sort of equivocation; but the coarseness of his manner revolted her, and she turned away without reply. “There’s no time to be lost,” muttered Sewell, as he hastened downstairs. “Tell George I want the carriage to the door immediately,” said he; and then, entering his own room, he opened his writing-desk, and, after some search, came upon a packet, which he sealed and addressed.

“Are you going for Beattie?” asked Mrs. Sewell, as she appeared at the door; “for Haire says it would be better to fetch some one – any one – at once.”

“I have ordered the carriage. I ‘ll get Lysaght or Adams-if I should not find Beattie; and mind, if Beattie come while I am away, detain him, and don’t let him leave this till I return. Do you mind me?”

“Yes; I ‘ll tell him what you say.”

“Ay, but you must insist upon his doing it. There will be all sorts of stories if he should die – ”

“Stories? what do you mean by stories?” cried she, in alarm.

“Rumors of neglect, of want of proper care of him, and such-like, which would be most insulting. At all events, I am resolved Beattie should be here at the last; and take care that he does not leave. I ‘ll call at my mother’s too; she ought to come back with me. We have to deal with a scandal-loving world, and let us leave them as little to fall foul of as may be.” All this was said hurriedly, as he bustled about the room, fussy and impatient, and with an eagerness to be off which certainly surprised her.

“You know where to find these doctors, – you have their addresses?” asked she.

“George knows all about them.”

“And William does, at all events.”

“I’m not taking William. I don’t want a footman with a brougham. It is a light carriage and speedy cattle that are needed at this moment; and here they come. Now, mind that you keep Beattie till I come back; and if there be any inquiries, simply say the Chief Baron is the same as yesterday.”

“Had I not better consult Dr. Beattie?”

“You will do as I tell you, Madam,” said he, sternly. “You have heard my directions; take care that you follow them. To Mr. Lysaght’s, George – no, first to Dr. Beattie’s, Merrion Square,” cried he, as he stepped into the carriage, “and drive fast.”

“Yes, sir,” said the coachman, and started at once. He had not proceeded more than half-way down the avenue, however, when Sewell, leaning out of the window, said, “Don’t go into town, George; make for the Park by the shortest cut you can, the Secretary’s Lodge.”

“All right, sir; the beasts are fresh. We ‘ll be there in thirty minutes.” True to his word, within the half-hour the horses, white with sweat and flanking like racero, stood at the door of the Secretary’s Lodge. Four or five private carriages and some cabs were also at the door, signs of a dinner-party which had not yet broken up.

“Take this card in to Mr. Balfour, Mr. Wells,” said he to the butler, who was an old acquaintance, “and say I want one minute in private with him, – strictly private, mind. I ‘ll step into the library here and wait.”

“What’s up, Sewell? Are you in a new scrape, eh?” said Balfour, entering, slightly flushed with wine and conversation, and half put out by the interruption.

“Not much of a scrape, – can you give me five minutes?”

“Wells said one minute, and that’s why I came. The Castledowns and Eyres and the Ashes are here, and the Langrish girls, and Dick Upton.”

“A very choice company, for robbing you of which even for a moment I owe every apology, but still my excuse is a good one. Are you as anxious to promote your Solicitor-General as you were a week or two ago?”

“If you mean Pemberton, I wish he was – on the Bench, or in Abraham’s bosom – I don’t much care which, for he is the most confounded bore in Christendom. Do you come to tell me that you’ll poison him?”

“No; but I can promote him.”

“Why – how – in what way?”

“I told you a few days ago that I could manage to make the old man give in his resignation; that it required some tact and address, and especially the absence of everything like menace or compulsion.”

“Well, well, well – have you done it – is it a fact?”

“It is.”

“I mean, an indisputable, irrevocable fact, – something not to be denied or escaped from?”

“Just so; a fact not to be denied or escaped from.”

“It must come through me, Sewell, mind that. I took charge of the negotiation two years ago, and no one shall step in and rob me of my credit. I have had all the worry and fatigue of the transaction, and I insist, if there be any glory in success, it shall be mine.”

“You shall have all the glory, as you call it. What I aspire to is infinitely less brilliant.”

“You want a place – hard enough to find one – at least to find something worth having. You ‘ll want something as good as the Registrarship, eh?”

“No; I’ll not pester you with my claims. I’m not in love with official life. I doubt if I am well fitted for it.”

“You want a seat in the House, – is that it?”

“Not exactly,” said Sewell, laughing; “though there is a good stroke of business to be done in private bills and railway grants. My want is the simplest of all wants, – money.”

“Money! But how am I to give you money? Out of what fund is it to come? You don’t imagine we live in the old days of secret-service funds, with unlimited corruption to back us, do you?”

“I suspect that the source from which it is to come is a matter of perfect indifference to me. You can easily squeeze me into the estimates as a special envoy, or a Crown Prosecution, or a present to the Emperor of Morocco.”

“Nothing of the kind. You are totally in error. All these fine days are past and gone. They go over us now like a schedule in bankruptcy; and it would be easier to make you a colonial bishop than give you fifty pounds out of the Consolidated Fund.”

“Well, I ‘d not object to the Episcopate if there was some good shooting in the diocese.”