Sir Brook Fossbrooke, Volume I.

“Is this man – this Sir Brook Fossbrooke – one likely to occasion you any trouble?”

“In the first place, my Lord, he is out of the country, not very likely to return to it; and secondly, it is not in his power – not in any man ‘s power – to make me a subject for attack.”

“You are fortunate, sir; more fortunate than men who have served their country longer. It will scarcely be denied that I have contributed to the public service, and yet, sir, I have been arraigned before the bar of that insensate jury they call Public Opinion, and it is only in denying the jurisdiction I have deferred the award.”

Sewell responded to the vainglorious outburst by a look of admiring wonder, and the Judge smiled a gracious acceptance of the tribute. “I gather, therefore, sir, that you can accept this place without fear of what scandal or malignity may assail you by – ”

“Yes, my Lord, I can say as much with confidence.”

“It is necessary, sir, that I should be satisfied on this-head. The very essence of the struggle between the Crown and myself is in the fact that my responsibility is pledged, my reputation is in bond for the integrity and the efficiency of this officer, and I will not leave to some future biographer of the Irish Chief Barons of the Exchequer the task of apology for one who was certainly not the least eminent of the line.”

“Your Lordship’s high character shall not suffer through me,” said Sewell, bowing respectfully.

“The matter, then, is so far settled; perhaps, however, you would like to consult your wife? She might be averse to your leaving the army.”

“No, my Lord. She wishes – she has long wished it. We are both domestic in our tastes, and we have always-been looking to the time when we could live more for each other, and devote ourselves to the education of our children.”’

“Commendable and praiseworthy,” said the Judge, with a half grunt, as though he had heard something of this-same domesticity and home-happiness, but that his own experiences scarcely corroborated the report. “There are-certain steps you will have to take before leaving the service; it may, then, be better to defer your public nomination to this post till they be taken?”

This, which was said in question, Sewell answered at once, saying, “There need be no delay on this score, my Lord; by this day week I shall be free.”

“On this day week, then, you shall be duly sworn in. Now, there is another point – I throw it out simply as a suggestion – you will not receive it as more if you are indisposed to it. It may be some time before you can find a suitable house or be fully satisfied where to settle down. There is ample room here; one entire wing is unoccupied. May I beg to place it at your disposal?”

“Oh, my Lord, this is really too much kindness. You overwhelm me with obligations. I have never heard of such generosity.”

“Sir, it is not all generosity, – I reckon much on the value of your society. Your companionable qualities are gifts I would secure by a ‘retainer.’”

“In your society, my Lord, the benefits would be all on my side.”

“There was a time, sir, – I may say it without boastful-ness, – men thought me an agreeable companion. The three Chiefs, as we were called from our separate Courts, were reputed to be able talkers. I am the sole survivor; and it would be a gain to those who care to look back on the really great days of Ireland, if some record should remain of a time when there were giants in the land. I have myself some very curious materials – masses of letters and such-like – which we may turn over some winter’s evening together.”

Sewell professed his delight at such a prospect; and the Judge then, suddenly bethinking himself of the hour, – it was already nigh eleven, – arose. “Can I set you down anywhere? Are you for town?” asked he.

“Yes, my Lord; I was about to pay my mother a visit.”

“I ‘ll drop you there; perhaps you would convey a message from me, and say how grateful I should feel if she would give us her company at dinner, – say seven o’clock. I will just step up to say good-bye to my granddaughter, and be with you immediately.”

Sewell had not time to bethink him of all the strange events which a few minutes had grouped around him, when the Chief Baron appeared, and they set out.

As they drove along, their converse was most agreeable. Sewell’s attentive manner was an admirable stimulant, and the old Judge was actually sorry to lose his companion, as the carriage stopped at Lady Lendrick’s door.

“What on earth brought you up, Dudley?” said she, as he entered the room where she sat at breakfast.

“Let me have something to eat, and I ‘ll tell you,” said he, seating himself at table, and drawing towards him a dish of cutlets. “You may imagine what an appetite I have when I tell you whose guest I am.”

“Whose?”

“Your husband’s.”

“You! at the Priory! and how came that to pass?”

“I told you already I must eat before I talk. When I got downstairs this morning, I found the old man just finishing his breakfast, and instead of asking me to join him, he entertained me with the siege of Derry, and some choice anecdotes of Lord Bristol and ‘the Volunteers.’ This coffee is cold.”

“Ring, and they ‘ll bring you some.”

“If I am to take him as a type of Irish hospitality as well as Irish agreeability, I must say I get rid of two delusions together.”

“There ‘s the coffee. Will you have eggs?”

“Yes, and a rasher along with them. You can afford to be liberal with the larder, mother, for I bring you an invitation to dine.”

“At the Priory?”

“Yes; he said seven o’clock.”

“Who dines there?”

“Himself and his granddaughter and I make the company, I believe.”

“Then I shall not go. I never do go when there ‘s not a party.”

“He’s safer, I suppose, before people?”

“Just so. I could not trust to his temper under the temptation of a family circle. But what Drought you to town?”

“He sent for me by telegraph; just, too, when I had the whole county with me, and was booked to ride a match I had made with immense trouble. I got his message, – ‘Come up immediately.’ There was not the slightest reason for haste, nor for the telegraph at all. The whole could have been done by letter, and replied to at leisure, besides – ”

“What was it, then?”

“It is a place he has given me, – a Registrarship of something in his Court, that he has been fighting the Castle people about for eighteen years, and to which Heaven knows if he has the right of appointment this minute.”

“What’sit worth?”

“A thousand a year net. There were pickings, – at least, the last man made a good thing of them, – but there are to be no more. We are to inaugurate, as the newspapers say, a reign of integrity and incorruptibility.”

“So much the better.”

“So much the worse,” say I. “My motto is, Full batta and plenty of loot; and it’s every man’s motto, only that every man is not honest enough to own it.”

“And when are you to enter upon the duties of your office?”

“Immediately. I ‘m to be sworn in – there’s an oath, it seems – this day week, and we ‘re to take up our abode at the Priory till we find a house to suit us.”

“At the Priory?”

“Yes. May I light a cigarette, mother: only one? He gave the invitation most royally. A whole wing is to be at our disposal. He said nothing about the cook or the wine-cellar, and these are the very ingredients I want to secure.”

She shook her head dubiously, but made no answer.

“You don’t think, then, that he meant to have us as his guests?”

“I think it unlikely.”

“How shall I find out? It’s quite certain I ‘ll not go live under his roof – which means his surveillance – without an adequate compensation. I ‘ll only consent to being bored by being fed.”

“House-rent is something, however.”

“Yes, mother, but not everything. That old man would be inquiring who dined with me, how late he stayed, who came to supper, and what they did afterwards. Now, if he take the whole charge of us, I ‘ll put up with a great deal, because I could manage a little ‘pied à terre’ somewhere about Kingstown or Dalkey, and ‘carry on’ pleasantly enough. You must find out his intentions, mother, before I commit myself to an acceptance. You must, indeed.”

“Take my advice, Dudley, and look out for a house at once. You ‘ll not be in his three weeks.”

“I can submit to a great deal when it suits me, mother,” said he, with a derisive smile, and a look of intense treachery at the same time.

“I suppose you can,” said she, nodding in assent. “How is she?”

“As usual,” said he, with a shrug of the shoulders.

“And the children?”

“They are quite well. By the way, before I forget it, don’t let the Judge know that I have already sent in my papers to sell out. I want him to believe that I do so now in consequence of his offer.”

“It is not likely we shall soon meet, and I may not have an opportunity of mentioning the matter.”

“You ‘ll come to dinner to-day, won’t you?”

“No.”

“You ought, even out of gratitude on my account. It would be only commonly decent to thank him.”

“I could n’t.”

“Couldn’t what? Couldn’t come, or couldn’t thank him?”

“Could n’t do either. You don’t know, Dudley, that whenever our intercourse rises above the common passing courtesies of mere acquaintanceship, it is certain to end in a quarrel. We must never condemn or approve. We must never venture upon an opinion, lest it lead to a discussion, for discussion means a fight.”

“Pleasant, certainly, – pleasant and amiable too!”

“It would be better, perhaps, that I had some of that happy disposition of my son,” said she, with a cutting tone, “and could submit to whatever suited me.”

He started as if he had seen something, and turning on her a look of passionate anger, began: “Is it from you that this should come?” Then suddenly recollecting himself, he subdued his tone, and said: “We ‘ll not do better by losing our tempers. Can you put me in the way to raise a little money? I shall have the payment for my commission in about a fortnight; but I want a couple of hundred pounds at once.”

“It’s not two months since you raised five hundred.”

“I know it, and there ‘s the last of it. I left Lucy ten sovereigns when I came away, and this twenty pounds is all that I now have in the world.”

“And all these fine dinners and grand entertainments that I have been told of, – what was the meaning of them?”

“They were what the railway people call ‘preliminary expenses,’ mother. Before one can get fellows to come to a house where there is play, there must be a sort of easy style of good living established that all men like: excellent dinners and good wine are the tame elephants, and without them you ‘ll not get the wild ones into your ‘compounds.’”

“And to tell me that this could pay!”

“Ay, and pay splendidly. If I had three thousand pounds in the world to carry on with, I ‘d see the old Judge and his rotten place at Jericho before I ‘d accept it. One needs a little capital, that’s all. It’s just like blockade-running, – you must be able to lose three for one you succeed with.”

“I see nothing but ruin – disreputable ruin – in such a course.”

“Come down and look at it, mother, and you ‘ll change your mind. You ‘ll own you never saw a better ordered society in your life, – the beau idéal of a nice country-house on a small scale. I admit our chef is not a Frenchman, and I have only one fellow out of livery; but the thing is well done, I promise you. As for any serious play, you ‘ll never hear of it – never suspect it – no more than a man turning over Leech’s sketches in a dentist’s drawing-room suspects there’s a fellow getting his eye-tooth extracted in the next room.”

“I disapprove of it all, Dudley. It is sure to end ill.”

“For that matter, mother, so shall I! All I have asked from Fate this many a year is a deferred sentence; a long day, my Lord, – a long day!”

“Tell Sir William I am sorry I can’t dine at the Priory to-day. It is one of my cruel headache-days. Say you found me looking very poorly. It puts him in good-humor to hear it; and if you can get away in the evening, come in to tea.”

“You will think of this loan I want, – won’t you?”

“I ‘ll think of it, but I don’t know what good thinking will do.” She paused, and after a few minutes’ silence, said, “If you really are serious about taking up your abode at the Priory, you ‘ll have to get rid of the granddaughter.”

“We could marry her off easily enough.”

“You might, and you mightn’t. If she marry to Sir William’s satisfaction, he’ll leave her all he has in the world.”

“Egad, he must have a rare taste in a son-in-law if he likes the fellow I ‘ll promote to the place.”

“You seem to forget, Dudley, that the young lady has a will of her own. She’s a Lendrick too.”

“With all my heart, mother. She ‘ll not be a match for Lucy.”

“And would she– ”

“Ay, would she,” interrupted he, “if her pride as a woman – if her jealousy was touched. I have made her do more than that when I wounded her self-love!”

“You are a very amiable husband, I must say.”

“We might be better, perhaps, mother; but I suspect we are pretty much like our neighbors. And it’s positive you won’t come to dinner?”

“No! certainly not.”

“Well, I ‘ll try and look in at tea-time. You ‘ll not forget what I spoke of. I shall be in funds in less than three weeks.”

She gave a little incredulous laugh as she said “Goodbye!” She had heard of such pledges before, and knew well what faith to attach to them.

CHAPTER XXXIII. EVENING AT THE PRIORY

The Chief Baron brought his friend Haire back from Court to dine with him. The table had been laid for five, and it was only when Sewell entered the drawing-room that it was known Lady Lendrick had declined the invitation. Sir William heard the apology to the end; he even waited when Sewell concluded, to see if he desired to add anything more, but nothing came.

“In that case,” said he, at length, “we ‘ll order dinner.” That his irritation was extreme needed no close observation to detect, and the bell-rope came down with the pull by which he summoned the servant.

The dinner proceeded drearily enough. None liked to adventure on a remark which might lead to something unpleasant in discussion, and little was spoken on any side. Sewell praised the mutton, and the Chief Baron bowed stiffly. When Haire remarked that the pale sherry was excellent, he dryly told the butler to “fill Mr. Haire’s glass;” and though Lucy, with more caution, was silent, she did not escape, for he turned towards her and said, “We have not been favored with a word from your lips, Miss Lendrick; I hope these neuralgic headaches are not becoming a family affection.”

“I am perfectly well, sir,” said she, with a smile.

“It is Haire’s fault, then,” said the Judge, with one of his malicious twinkles of the eye, – “all Haire’s fault if we are dull. It is ever so with wits, Colonel Sewell; they will not perform to empty benches.”

“I don’t know whom you call a wit,” began Haire.

“My dear friend, the men of pleasantry and happy conceits must no more deny the reputation that attaches to them than must a rich merchant dishonor his bill; nor need a man resent more being called a Wit, than being styled a Poet, a Painter, a Chief Baron, or” – here he waved his hand towards Sewell, and bowing slightly, added – “a Chief Registrar to the Court of Exchequer.”

“Oh, have you got the appointment?” said Haire to the Colonel. “I am heartily glad of it. I ‘m delighted to know it has been given to one of the family.”

“As I said awhile ago,” said the Judge, with a smile of deeper malice, “these witty fellows spare nobody! At the very moment he praises the sherry he disparages the host. Why should not this place be filled by one of my family, Haire? I call upon you to show cause.”

“There’s no reason against it. I never said there was. Nay, I was far from satisfied with you on the day you refused my prayer on behalf of one belonging to you.”

“Sir, you are travelling out of the record,” said the Judge, angrily.

“I can only say,” added Haire, “that I wish Colonel Sewell joy with all my heart; and if he ‘ll allow me, I ‘ll do it in a bumper.”

“‘A reason fair to drink his health again!’ That ‘s not the line. How does it go, Lucy? Don’t you remember the verse?”

“No, sir; I never heard it.”

“‘A reason fair, – a reason fair.’ I declare I believe the newspapers are right. I am losing my memory. One of the scurrilous rascals t’other day said they saw no reason Justice should be deaf as well as blind. Haire, was that yours?”

“A thousand a year,” muttered Haire to Sewell.

“What is that, Haire?” cried the old Judge. “Do I hear you aright? You utter one thousand things just as good every year?”

“I was speaking of the Registrar’s salary,” said Haire, half testily.

“A thousand a year is a pittance, – a mere pittance, sir, in a country like England. It is like the place at a window to see a procession. You may gaze on the passing tide of humanity, but must not dare to mix in it.”

“And yet papa went half across the globe for it,” said Lucy, with a flushed and burning cheek.

“In your father’s profession the rewards are less money, Lucy, than the esteem and regard of society. I have ever thought it wise of our rulers not to bestow titles on physicians, but to leave them the unobtrusive and undistinguished comforters of every class and condition. The equal of any, – the companion of all.”

It was evident that the old Judge was eager for discussion on anything. He had tried in vain to provoke each of his guests, and he was almost irritable at the deference accorded him.

“Do I see you pass the decanter, Colonel Sewell? Are you not drinking any wine?”

“No, my Lord.”

“Perhaps you like coffee? Don’t you think, Lucy, you could give him some?”

“Yes, sir. I shall be delighted.”

“Very well. Haire and I will finish this magnum, and then join you in the drawing-room.”

Lucy took Sewells arm and retired. They were scarcely well out of the room when Sewell halted suddenly, and in a voice so artificial that, if Lucy had been given to suspectfulness, she would have detected at once, said, “Is the Judge always as pleasant and as witty as we saw him today?”

“To-day he was very far from himself; something, I ‘m sure, must have irritated him, for he was not in his usual mood.”

“I confess I thought him charming; so full of neat reply, pleasant apropos, and happy quotation.”

“He very often has days of all that you have just said, and I am delighted with them.”

“What an immense gain to a young girl – of course, I mean one whose education and tastes have fitted her for it – to be the companion of such a mind as his! Who is this Mr. Haire?”

“A very old friend. I believe he was a schoolfellow of grandpapa’s.”

“Not his equal, I suspect, in ability or knowledge.”

“Oh, nothing like it; a most worthy man, respected by every one, and devotedly attached to grandpapa, but not clever.”

“The Chief, I remarked, called him witty,” said Sewell with a faint twinkle in his eye.

“It was done in jest. He is fond of fathering on him the smart sayings of the day, and watching his attempts to disown them.”

“And Haire likes that?”

“I believe he likes grandpapa in every mood he has.”

“What an invaluable friend! I wish to Heaven he could find such another for me. I want – there ‘s nothing I want more than some one who would always approve of me.”

“Perhaps you might push this fidelity further than grandpapa does,” said she, with a smile.

“You mean that it might not always be so easy to applaud me.”

She only laughed, and made no effort to disclaim the assertion.

“Well,” said he, with a sigh, “who knows but if I live to be old and rich I may be fortunate enough to have such an accommodating friend? Who are the other ‘intimates’ here? I ask because we are going to be domesticated also.”

“I heard so this morning.”

“I hope with pleasure, though you have n’t said as much.”

“With pleasure, certainly; but with more misgiving than pleasure.”

“Pray explain this.”

“Simply that the very quiet life we lead here would not be endurable by people who like the world, and whom the world likes. We never see any one, we never go out, we-have not even those second-hand glances at society that people have who admit gossiping acquaintances; in fact, regard what you have witnessed to-day as a dinner-party, and then fashion for yourself our ordinary life.”

“And do you like it?”

“I know nothing else, and I am tolerably happy. If papa and Tom were here, I should be perfectly happy.”

“By Jove! you startle me,” said he, throwing away the unlighted cigar he had held for some minutes in his fingers; “I did n’t know it was so bad.”

“It is possible he may relax for you and Mrs. Sewell; indeed, I think it more than likely that he will.”

“Ay, but the relaxation might only be in favor of a few more like that old gent we had to-day. No, no; the thing will never work. I see it at once. My mother said we could not possibly stand it three weeks, and I perceive it is your opinion too.”

“I did not say so much,” said she, smiling.

“Joking apart,” said he, in a tone that assuredly bespoke sincerity, “I could n’t stand such a dinner as we had to-day very often. I can bear being bullied, for I was brought up to it. I served on Rolffe’s staff in Bombay for four years, and when a man has been an aide-de-camp he knows what being bullied means; but what I could not endure is that outpouring of conceit mingled with rotten recollections. Another evening of it would kill me.”

“I certainly would not advise your coming here at that price,” said she, with a gravity almost comical.

“The difficulty is how to get off. He appears to me to resent as an affront everything that differs from his own views.”

“He is not accustomed to much contradiction.”

“Not to any at all!”

The energy with which he said this made her laugh heartily, and he half smiled at the situation himself.

“They are coming upstairs,” said she; “will you ring for tea? – the bell is beside you.”

“Oh, if they ‘re coming I ‘m off. I promised my mother a short visit this evening. Make my excuses if I am asked for;” and with this he slipped from the room and went his way.

“Where’s the Colonel, Lucy? Has he gone to bed?”

“No, sir, he has gone to see his mother; he had made some engagement to visit her this evening.”

“This new school of politeness is too liberal for my taste. When we were young men, Haire, we would not have ventured to leave the house where we had dined without saluting the host.”

“I take it we must keep up with the spirit of our time.” “You mistake, Haire, – it is the spirit of our time is in arrear. It is that same spirit lagging behind, and deserting the post it once occupied, makes us seem in default. Let us have the cribbage-board, Lucy. Haire has said all the smart things he means to give us this evening, and I will take my revenge at the only game at which I am his master. Haire, who reads men like a book, Lucy,” continued the Chief, as he dealt the cards, “says that our gallant friend will rebel against our humdrum life here. I demur to the opinion, – what say you?” But he was now deep in his game, and never heeded the answer.

CHAPTER XXXIV. SEWELL’S TROUBLES

“A letter for you by the post, sir, and his Lordship’s compliments to say he is waiting breakfast,” were the first words which Sewell heard the next morning.

“Waiting breakfast! Tell him not to wait, – I mean, make my respects to his Lordship, and say I feel very poorly to-day, – that I think I ‘ll not get up just yet.”

“Would you like to see Dr. Beattie, sir? He’s in the drawing-room.”

“Nothing of the kind. It’s a complaint I caught in India; I manage it myself. Bring me up some coffee and rum in about an hour, and mind, don’t disturb me on any account till then. What an infernal house!” muttered he, as the man withdrew. “A subaltern called up for morning parade has a better life than this. Nine o’clock only! What can this old ass mean by this pretended activity? Upon whom can it impose? Who will believe that it signifies a rush whether he lay abed till noon or rose by daybreak?” A gentle tap came to the door, but as he made no reply there came after a pause another, a little louder. Sewell still preserved silence, and at last the sound of retiring footsteps along the corridor. “Not if I know it,” muttered he to himself, as he turned round and fell off asleep again.