Kitabı oku: «Whither Thou Goest», sayfa 3
Chapter Three
To a man of Lord Saxham’s ancient lineage and broad acres, although those same broad acres were somewhat heavily encumbered, General Clandon was a mere nobody. He was just one of the many thousands of persons who are entitled to be called gentlemen, as a matter of courtesy, but have no claim to rank in the same category with pure aristocracy.
All the same, the General came of very respectable stock, from that section of the small landowning class which is the backbone of the territorial interest. His forbears had been settled in Kent for some six generations. His eldest brother, Hugh Clandon, who had ruled over Clandon Place, had a rent roll of some five thousand a year clear.
To an ordinary person, in a lower walk of life, this would seem by no means a despicable income. But Clandon Place was a large house, and cost a good deal to keep up, even on an economical scale. And all the Clandons, with the solitary exception of the General himself, were exceedingly prolific.
His brother Hugh had eight children. He was one of ten. Daughters had to be portioned off, sons had to be educated and started in the world. Geoffrey Clandon inherited a few thousands on his father’s death; he always thought his father must have been a wonderful man to leave so much, considering the calls upon him. The General contrived to live upon the modest income derived from this small capital, plus his half-pay.
He now lived at Eastbourne upon the somewhat slender revenue. When he died, his only child, Isobel, would have a few hundred pounds a year to call her own.
In his youth, he had been exceedingly handsome, and, had he been of a more worldly turn of mind, he might easily have married money. Instead, he married for love, and never repented it. His wife brought him no fortune, but she brought him other things beyond price.
Mrs Clandon died when Isobel was sixteen, and all the intense love which the General had borne his wife was transferred to his daughter, who fully reciprocated her father’s devotion.
She was a very sweet and lovable girl, perhaps just a little wiser and older than her actual years, as is often the case with only children, who have been brought up in close companionship with their parents.
She looked after his house admirably, saw that his meals were well cooked and daintily served. As for herself, thanks to an admirable figure, and a knack of knowing how to wear her clothes, she always looked smartly turned out on a most slender allowance.
They lived on the outskirts of Eastbourne, in an unpretentious house, a cottage which had been turned into a half villa. All the added rooms were spacious, with the original low ceilings, which gave a picturesque effect.
There was over an acre of garden, and half of that was devoted to the cultivation of flowers. Isobel adored flowers, and loved to see bowls of them in the different rooms. She was no mean gardener herself, and often worked hard in conjunction with the rather ancient person who attended to the small domain.
County society did not have anything to say to General Clandon and his daughter, they were too small fry, but in the selecter circles of strictly Eastbourne residents they were considerable figures.
The General had preferred not to settle down in his native place, near his brother. His means were too small to allow him to compete on equal terms with the local magnates who were his contemporaries. He was a very proud man, and he was still more sensitive on Isobel’s account.
From all she had heard of small county society, of which her uncle was a specimen, she did not think she had missed much. She was quite happy in her little circle at Eastbourne; it was more amusing, and not at all stiff or pretentious.
Once a year, since she was eighteen, she had a brief glimpse of a more fashionable world. The General had kept up a life-long intimacy with an old and wealthy friend, Sir William Glanville, who owned a large estate in Kent. Every autumn an invitation came for the shooting, and in that invitation Isobel was included.
Here she met people, men and women of quite a different calibre, spoiled children of the world, used to luxury from their cradle. Yet she was not sure that she enjoyed these visits very greatly. The profusion of wealth contrasted too sharply with their own daily mode of life.
If her father by some miracle should come into a fortune, and she smiled at the absurd thought, no doubt she would bear herself as bravely as these other girls she met.
But that last visit, that delicious last visit, she had thoroughly enjoyed. Guy Rossett had taken her into dinner, and danced attendance on her for the best part of a delightful week. At last she had met a man who seemed to stand a head and shoulders above his fellows.
But for a little time much sadness was mingled with her joy.
On more than one night, when Guy’s glance had thrilled her, when Guy’s gentle pressure of the hand, as he bade her good night, had set her heart fluttering, she had cried herself to sleep.
She had heard all about him from her hostess, a kind-hearted, gossiping soul. He was the second son of a wealthy peer of ancient lineage. With his father’s influence, he would be sure to obtain eminence in the diplomatic field. And he would inherit a big fortune from his grand-aunt, the Lady Henrietta.
Poor Isobel felt a very lonely maiden as she listened to this splendid recital. As a mere man, with his good looks and charm, he could choose where he liked. With these advantages in addition, he could pick from the noblest in the land.
Of course, she was a little fool, and the sooner she said good-bye to her vain dreams the better. Guy Rossett was attracted by her for the moment, no doubt. But it was impossible a man in his position, with his prospects, could mean anything serious. Could a man, in whose veins ran the blood of a dozen earls, choose for his wife the descendant of paltry squires?
And then had come that wonderful day, a day in her life ever to be marked with a white stone, when Guy had overtaken her as she was indulging in a solitary ramble in the now leafless park.
In impassioned words he had told her how he loved her, how she was the one woman in the world he wanted for his wife. He loved her. Did she care for him? Dazed, and overjoyed with her happiness, her lovely dark eyes half suffused with tears, she faltered forth a trembling yes.
He took her in his arms, and gave her her first lover’s kiss.
Then, when her brain had ceased to whirl, when she could recover from the great shock of her newly-found joy, she began to think.
“But it is all a dream,” she murmured. “It is impossible.”
“Impossible!” repeated Guy. “Why do you use the word?”
“But, of course, you can see. You are the son of an aristocrat, big even amongst aristocrats. I am a nobody. Lady Glanville tells me you are going to be an ambassador, or something dreadfully big and awe-inspiring.”
Guy laughed genially. “Oh, you sweet little soul. Has that dear old woman been filling you with all that sort of stuff? Haven’t brains enough, my darling. And, if it should turn out true, and I do become an ambassador, you will grow up with me, and you’ll find the part of ambassador’s wife fit you like a glove.”
But, presently, after the first rhapsodies had passed, they began to talk soberly.
Guy had to state that his father, splendid old fellow as he was, none better, was very prejudiced and, as his son put it with more than filial frankness, “as obstinate as a mule.”
Isobel nodded her pretty dark head. “I understand quite. He will want you to marry in your own station of life, choose a girl who has been brought up in the same world.”
Guy nodded. “You’ve hit it. A sort of girl who would know, by inherited instinct, all the sort of tricks that are expected from an ambassador’s wife. You see, I take it for granted I am going to be an ambassador.”
Isobel looked at him fondly. In her present rapturous mood, she thought he could be anything he liked, if he gave his mind to it.
Then Guy spoke quite gravely and seriously.
“Now, we have got to consider the two fathers, yours and mine. We will take yours first, because I think he’ll do whatever you tell him.”
“He generally does,” replied Isobel, with a smile that showed all her dimples.
“Good. I leave to-morrow, you are off the day after. Don’t tell him anything till you get back to Eastbourne. Then let him know exactly what has passed between us to-day, that I have admitted frankly I shall have a hard job on my part. I want to get my father’s consent, because I wish you to be welcomed by the family. Dear old Aunt Henrietta will never interfere with me, she’s too good a sort.”
“Yes,” answered Isobel happily. “I will tell him all that.”
“And please add that I should wish to come down to Eastbourne, as soon as convenient to him, and put all the facts before him. I want first to get his consent, and I know I am asking it under peculiar circumstances.”
A slight cloud gathered over the girl’s lovely face. “I am quite sure of my darling old dad,” she said. “I’m a little afraid of yours.”
“There’s nothing to be frightened of, sweetheart,” said her lover confidently. “Whether he gives his consent or not, you are going to be my wife. I’m quite independent of him. But, as I said just now, I would prefer to bring him round before, instead of after.”
“But do you think that possible?” inquired Isobel anxiously.
Guy reflected. “It’s a pretty even chance,” he said presently. “And, you see. I’ve got Mary on my side.”
Isobel lifted questioning eyes. “You have never spoken of Mary before. Who is she? I suppose your sister?”
“Yes, my sister, and the sweetest, dearest girl in the wide world. Just an angel without the wings, and they are growing, I believe. Not that she is meek and mild, and all that sort of thing. She can hit out as straight from the shoulder as a man when she chooses. But tell her a tale of two true lovers, and she will never be happy till she brings them together.”
“What a darling!” cried Isobel, in deep admiration. “How I should love to meet her.”
“No difficulty about that,” answered Guy easily. “As soon as I have arranged matters with the General, we will fix up a little lunch in London. You bring your father up; I’ll bring Mary up.”
“How lovely!” sighed Isobel. Truly, a new world, a delightful world, was opening to her.
The Clandons returned to their modest little nest at Eastbourne. On the first evening of their return, Isobel, sitting on a low footstool close to the General’s chair, told him the wonderful story of Guy Rossett’s love for her, of her love for Guy.
Her father listened sympathetically. He was intensely proud that his beloved daughter had chanced upon a wooer worthy of her. He had never dared to hope for such an alliance. Isobel was deserving of any Fairy Prince, but where was the Fairy Prince to come from?
But he was wise and experienced. It would not be all fair sailing, there were rocks ahead. Guy had himself admitted that the Earl of Saxham would prove a formidable obstacle. The General agreed that, were he in Lord Saxham’s place, he would not give his consent too readily.
He kissed his daughter tenderly, half pleased, half regretful to see the intense lovelight in her eyes as she spoke of her adored lover.
“Yes, tell Guy to come and see me as soon as he likes, and we will talk over the difficulties,” he said kindly. “I liked the young fellow very much, from the little I saw of him. I am sure he is a gentleman, and I believe him to be straight.”
Isobel looked up a little reproachfully. Her father’s guarded words seemed to convey very faint praise of her peerless lover.
“Oh, dad,” she cried reproachfully. “Guy is the soul of honour.”
Rossett came down, and had a long interview with General Clandon. He was quite frank and manly. He would marry Isobel whether his father consented or not; so far as financial matters stood, he was perfectly independent. Still, for many reasons, it was better to exercise a little prudence, and coax the Earl into agreement.
The General agreed. “Much better, Rossett. The question of her being received by your family or not will make a great difference to her at the start. In the years to come, it may make a great difference to you. You don’t want to cut yourself off from your kith and kin.”
Rossett was of the same opinion. The General agreed to a private engagement. Guy gave his betrothed a beautiful ring which she did not dare openly to display. She looked at it several times a day, and kissed it every night before she went to sleep.
Guy had lost no time in approaching his father, and the Earl had received the news in the worst spirit. He had stormed, and broken out into one of his furious, ungovernable rages.
“You are simply an idiot. With my influence with the Government, there is no knowing where I can push you to.” He seemed to take it for granted that his son could not help himself. “You must marry a woman in your own class, a woman who can help you in your career. And then you propose to me some obscure chit of a girl, who lives in a cottage at Eastbourne.”
Guy argued calmly that Isobel was a lady, and of good family. Certainly her father was not a rich man, this much he had to admit.
The Earl would not listen to reason. He brushed aside all his son’s pleadings. He recovered from his first rage, but he wound up the discussion in a voice of deadly calm.
“You can do as you choose, Guy. You are quite independent, and I daresay if you married a shop girl it would make no difference to your aunt. But please understand this. From the day you make Isobel Clandon your wife, all is over between us. I wash my hands of you. Not a penny of my money, not an atom of my influence. You understand.”
“I quite understand, sir. You force me to choose between yourself and Isobel. Well, if you persist in your determination, I shall choose Isobel. But I am in hopes you will change your mind.”
“Never,” snapped out the Earl viciously. “Go to the devil your own way, as soon as you like. Fancy a manlike you being caught by a baby face.” But Guy smiled to himself. Lord Saxham was a very obstinate man, also a very irritable one. But his bark was worse than his bite. He had often climbed down before. And there was Lady Mary to be reckoned with, who, as a rule, could twist her father round her little finger, even if the process involved some time.
Lord Saxham betook himself next day to the all-powerful Mr Greatorex. He hinted to that impassive gentleman that he wanted to get his son abroad. Mr Greatorex elevated his finely arched eyebrows. “The usual thing, I suppose? An entanglement of some sort?”
“Wants to marry a woman who will ruin his career,” answered the Earl tersely.
“A chorus-girl or something of that sort?” queried Greatorex. He knew that Guy Rossett had mixed in a somewhat fast set, and was prepared to expect the worst of him. “Or, perhaps, a doubtful widow?” He had heard rumours of him and Violet Hargrave.
Lord Saxham shook his head. “No, neither; but just as bad from my point of view. A girl, technically a lady, but no family to speak of, no fortune. He’d marry for love, and tire of her in six months, misery for her as well as for him.”
The Honourable Rupert Greatorex was the scion of a very ancient family himself. He had a proper detestation of mésalliances.
“I will do my best,” he said cordially. “He shall have the first thing going.”
He had watched the career of young Rossett, as he had watched the career of every young man in the Foreign Office. Guy had not shown himself, up to the present, very zealous. He was more inclined to play than to work, and he foregathered with some very queer people.
But he did not lack brains. From some of the strange people with whom he associated, he had gleaned some rather valuable information which he had placed at Mr Greatorex’s disposal.
If he was sent to Spain, he might turn out a useful member of the vast diplomatic corps, and he would be separated from this charming young woman, of no family to speak of, and no fortune. And Greatorex would be obliging a staunch supporter of the Government. Hence the appointment which Guy fondly believed he had secured through his own merits.
While his father was scheming to thwart what he considered his son’s ill-advised wooing, Guy had enlisted Mary for an ally.
Mary, the friend of all true lovers, only asked two questions. First, Was she a lady? Second, Were they quite sure they really loved each other?
Her brother was able to answer both questions in the affirmative. And she was sure, this time, he was in earnest. She had been the recipient of previous confidences, hence a little caution on her part.
“I should like to meet her, and judge for myself,” said Mary decidedly. She knew, of course, of her father’s obstinate refusal to entertain the idea. She would like to meet Isobel, to be sure if she was justified in opposing the Earl. For Mary was, above all things, conscientious. She adored Guy, but she also loved her father, and she had a duty towards him. She must be certain that Isobel was worthy, no mere adventuress, luring a sorely love-stricken man.
Guy unfolded his cunning little plan.
“Run up to London one day for some shopping. I’ll get up Isobel and her father, and we can all lunch together. Where shall we go? The Ritz for preference, but we should meet too many people we knew, and it might get to the Governor’s ears. We’ll lunch at the Savoy.”
So that was arranged. There came that delightful day when the General and his daughter travelled up from Eastbourne, and met Guy and his sister in the vestibule of the famous London restaurant.
Isobel was dreadfully nervous, but quite excitedly happy. What a lovely new life! The tepid gaieties of Eastbourne paled their ineffectual fires in comparison with the present festivity.
The two women took to each other at once. It did not take the shrewd Mary long to discover that this beautiful girl was genuinely in love with the equally good-looking Guy, that here was no artful and designing maiden.
The General, simple and dignified, made an equally good impression upon her. In manner and bearing he was the true type of aristocrat, as much so as Lord Saxham himself. Fortunately for others, he lacked the Earl’s somewhat explosive qualities.
They lingered in the lounge some time after lunch, and here the two women had a little private chat together, with the view of cementing their acquaintance.
Mary promised to be their friend, and to use all her influence to wear down her father’s opposition.
Isobel thanked her warmly. “It seems an unkind thing to say,” she added, at the conclusion of her little outburst of gratitude. “But I almost wish that Guy were a poor man.”
Mary looked at her questioningly; she did not, for the moment, catch the drift of her thoughts.
“There couldn’t, then, be all this fuss and trouble,” explained Isobel, with a little catch in her voice. “People wouldn’t be able to think that I had run after him, they would know I only cared for him for himself. Now, whatever happens, they will always think the worst of me.”
Mary whispered back the consoling answer, “There are two people who will never think that, myself and Guy.”
The happy hours passed. They all saw Mary off by her train, and a little later the General and his daughter went back to Eastbourne.
There were many delightful days to follow, days when Guy ran down, dined with the General, and put up for the night at the “Queen’s.”
And then the time drew near for Guy to take up his new post, to leave London for Madrid. Still, things were not any further advanced. In spite of Lady Mary’s powerful and persistent advocacy, the Earl remained as obdurate as ever. If Guy insisted upon making Isobel Clandon his wife, all friendly relations between father and son would be suspended.
On the night preceding the young diplomatist’s departure, there was a farewell dinner, this time at a less public restaurant than the Savoy. The party was the same, Guy and his sister, Isobel and her father.
Lady Mary would have to stay the night in London. This she had arranged to do with an old girl friend, now married, Lady May Brendon.
The Earl, with that uncanny sense which distinguishes some people, suddenly had an inkling of the truth. Guy had said good-bye to them the day before. “I believe it’s all a blind,” he burst out angrily, a few minutes before Mary’s departure. “You may be staying with May Brendon for the night, but she is not the reason of your visit. You are going to meet that wretched girl.”
Mary could never bring herself to tell a lie. She had already admitted she had made the acquaintance of Isobel Clandon, and had taken a great liking to her.
“To tell the truth, I am. Guy is giving a dinner to-night, in order to bid her farewell. It is only right he should have the support of some member of his family.”
“You deliberately go against my wishes,” thundered her father, in his most irate tones.
“In this instance, I fear I must,” replied his daughter very quietly and firmly. “I love you very dearly, but I love Guy too. He has chosen for himself, and in my opinion he has chosen wisely.”
“I love Guy too,” said the Earl in a less aggressive tone. “I would like also to see him happy. But a man in his position must marry according to the traditions of his family. You are a weak sentimentalist, Mary.”
A rather sad smile crept over the sweet face.
“Perhaps I am, too much for my own peace of mind. But, what I do feel strongly is this – you have no right to dictate to Guy in this matter. He is a second son, he is independent of you. With Ticehurst, it may be different. He has to transmit the family honours, to maintain the family traditions as you call them. In his case, interference may be justifiable. In Guy’s case, I say emphatically not.” The Earl began to splutter again. “My word, the world is coming to something. You talk as if a father had no right, no authority over his children. Look what I have done for him. I wrung this appointment from Greatorex, with my own personal influence.”
Lady Mary laid a light, cool kiss upon his inflamed cheek.
“Dearest father, do try and be just for once. You did not get this appointment solely for Guy’s benefit. You know you don’t care a straw whether he succeeds in his profession. Your real motive was to drive him out of England, so that he should be separated from Isobel Clandon.”
This was too much for Lord Saxham. He burst into volcanic language, inveighing against ungrateful sons and undutiful daughters, and stamped from the room in a blind rage.
Lady Mary smiled a little when he left. How many of these domestic storms had she witnessed! Her father would give way in the end. But there would be a long period of waiting. She got into the car, and drove to the railway station.
The dinner-party was a great success, even if it was slightly overcast with the sadness of farewell. Two people alone can be quite comfortably sad; there is a luxury in woe. But melancholy cannot be permanently maintained amongst four persons. The lovers would not see each other for some time, but, as Mary cheerfully reminded them, Madrid was not quite as far as the Antipodes, and they could write to each other every day, if they wished.
Half-way through the meal, two men entered and took their seats at a small adjoining table; they were both in evening dress. One was a tall, slim Englishman of the well-groomed type. His companion was short and swarthy, evidently a foreigner.
Isobel was the first to observe them. She leaned across the table, and addressed the General in a low voice.
“Maurice has just come in, father. Just there, on your left, with a foreign-looking man.”
The General looked in the direction indicated, and caught the eye of the tall young man, who rose, and advanced hesitatingly to their table.
He shook hands with Isobel and her father. The General effected a hasty introduction.
“My nephew, Mr Farquhar, Lady Mary Rossett, Mr Rossett.”
Lady Mary bowed. Guy half rose and bowed. He felt a little bit churlish. He was of a very jealous disposition. He fancied Isobel’s reception of her cousin was perhaps a little too cordial. Her smile was very welcoming, as she murmured, “Fancy meeting you here, Maurice.”
Farquhar looked at the young diplomatist steadily, as if he were trying to recall a memory. Then he recollected.
“Rossett, Guy Rossett, of course, I remember you now perfectly. You were with me at Harrow for one term. You came into Brogden’s House just as I was leaving.”
And then Guy remembered too. “Of course, I recollect now. I thought your face was familiar to me. You were the head of the house, and I was your fag. A graceless little cub, I fancy.”
Farquhar laughed genially. “No, I fancy you were an awful decent little chap while I was there. I can’t vouch for you after my restraining influence was removed.”
There was a little more conversation, and then Mr Farquhar returned to his foreign friend.
“Who the deuce has he got with him?” growled the General, almost under his breath. “Maurice is an awfully clever fellow, and they say is one of the most rising members of the junior bar, but he is awfully fond of Bohemian society. That long-haired chap he has got with him. Well, he looks like an anarchist.”
Guy Rossett laughed. “I fancy I know who he is, General; in the Foreign Office, like your nephew, we get to know some queer people. He is a Spaniard by birth, but English by adoption. He is a well-known journalist in Fleet Street. But he is by no means an anarchist; he is dead against them.”
The General ruminated. He was the most insular of insular Britons. He hated all persons of other nations. It annoyed him that his nephew should be in the company of this long-haired foreigner.
“It is time this old country of ours closed its doors to this kind of gentry,” he said, in a decided voice, as he drained his glass of champagne.
Lady Mary smiled. How very much he resembled her own father. The same obstinate views, with, at bottom, the same kind heart.
The next morning, the little party of three saw the young diplomatist off at the station. Guy held his sweetheart very close when he gave her his farewell kiss.
“I say, dearest, you will write every day, won’t you?”
And Isobel nodded her dark head.
“Of course, dear, pages and pages.”
“And I say, that good-looking cousin of yours we met last night! He has never made love to you, has he?”
Isobel laughed gaily. “Dear old Maurice! Why he used to carry me about when I was a baby. And dad and I are awfully fond of him. He is just a big, dear elder brother.”
“I don’t quite know that I like a big, dear elder brother, when he happens to be a cousin,” replied Guy, a little grimly.
Isobel smiled her most delightful smile.
“Oh, Guy, I believe you are really jealous, and of poor old Maurice, of all people. My dear boy, he only lives for his work; he is a barrister, you know, and is made up of parchment.”
“He looked very human when he shook hands with you,” remarked Guy drily. “I fancy there’s not much parchment where you are concerned.”
“Silly boy, to even think of such things. And what about me, when you get to Madrid? I am told the Spanish ladies are very fascinating. What chance shall I have against them.”
So she turned the tables on Guy, and he had to defend himself against disloyalty in the future.
Then the train steamed off. With a hearty handshake from the General, with the kisses of his sweetheart and sister warm upon his lips and his cheeks, Guy Rossett set out on his journey to Spain. Little could he foresee the adventures that were in store for him.
