Kitabı oku: «Lord Kilgobbin», sayfa 36
CHAPTER LXX
ATLEE’S RETURN
When Atlee arrived at Bruton Street, the welcome that met him was almost cordial. Lord Danesbury – not very demonstrative at any time – received him with warmth, and Lady Maude gave him her hand with a sort of significant cordiality that overwhelmed him with delight. The climax of his enjoyment was, however, reached when Lord Danesbury said to him, ‘We are glad to see you at home again.’
This speech sank deep into his heart, and he never wearied of repeating it over and over to himself. When he reached his room, where his luggage had already preceded him, and found his dressing articles laid out, and all the little cares and attentions which well-trained servants understand awaiting him, he muttered, with a tremulous sort of ecstasy, ‘This is a very glorious way to come home!’
The rich furniture of the room, the many appliances of luxury and ease around him, the sense of rest and quiet, so delightful after a journey, all appealed to him as he threw himself into a deep-cushioned chair. He cried aloud, ‘Home! home! Is this indeed home? What a different thing from that mean life of privation and penury I have always been associating with this word – from that perpetual struggle with debt – the miserable conflict that went on through every day, till not an action, not a thought, remained untinctured with money, and if a momentary pleasure crossed the path, the cost of it as certain to tarnish all the enjoyment! Such was the only home I have ever known, or indeed imagined.’
It is said that the men who have emerged from very humble conditions in life, and occupy places of eminence or promise, are less overjoyed at this change of fortune than impressed with a kind of resentment towards the destiny that once had subjected them to privation. Their feeling is not so much joy at the present as discontent with the past.
‘Why was I not born to all this?’ cried Atlee indignantly. ‘What is there in me, or in my nature, that this should be a usurpation? Why was I not schooled at Eton, and trained at Oxford? Why was I not bred up amongst the men whose competitor I shall soon find myself? Why have I not their ways, their instincts, their watchwords, their pastimes, and even their prejudices, as parts of my very nature? Why am I to learn these late in life, as a man learns a new language, and never fully catches the sounds or the niceties? Is there any competitorship I should flinch from, any rivalry I should fear, if I had but started fair in the race?’
This sense of having been hardly treated by Fortune at the outset, marred much of his present enjoyment, accompanied as it was by a misgiving that, do what he might, that early inferiority would cling to him, like some rag of a garment that he must wear over all his ‘braverie,’ proclaiming as it did to the world, ‘This is from what I sprung originally.’
It was not by any exercise of vanity that Atlee knew he talked better, knew more, was wittier and more ready-witted than the majority of men of his age and standing. The consciousness that he could do scores of things they could not do was not enough, tarnished as it was by a misgiving that, by some secret mystery of breeding, some freemasonry of fashion, he was not one of them, and that this awkward fact was suspended over him for life, to arrest his course in the hour of success, and balk him at the very moment of victory.
‘Till a man’s adoption amongst them is ratified by a marriage, he is not safe,’ muttered he. ‘Till the fate and future of one of their own is embarked in the same boat with himself, they’ll not grieve over his shipwreck.’
Could he but call Lady Maude his wife! Was this possible? There were classes in which affections went for much, where there was such a thing as engaging these same affections, and actually pledging all hope of happiness in life on the faith of such engagements. These, it is true, were the sentiments that prevailed in humbler walks of life, amongst those lowly-born people whose births and marriages were not chronicled in gilt-bound volumes. The Lady Maudes of the world, whatever imprudences they might permit themselves, certainly never ‘fell in love.’ Condition and place in the world were far too serious things to be made the sport of sentiment. Love was a very proper thing in three-volume novels, and Mr. Mudie drove a roaring trade in it; but in the well-bred world, immersed in all its engagements, triple-deep in its projects and promises for pleasure, where was the time, where the opportunity, for this pleasant fooling? That luxurious selfishness in which people delight to plan a future life, and agree to think that they have in themselves what can confront narrow fortune and difficulty – these had no place in the lives of persons of fashion! In that coquetry of admiration and flattery which in the language of slang is called spooning, young persons occasionally got so far acquainted that they agreed to be married, pretty much as they agreed to waltz or to polka together; but it was always with the distinct understanding that they were doing what mammas would approve of, and family solicitors of good conscience could ratify. No tyrannical sentimentality, no uncontrollable gush of sympathy, no irresistible convictions about all future happiness being dependent on one issue, overbore these natures, and made them insensible to title, and rank, and station, and settlements.
In one word, Atlee, after due consideration, satisfied his mind that, though a man might gain the affections of the doctor’s daughter or the squire’s niece, and so establish him as an element of her happiness that friends would overlook all differences of fortune, and try to make some sort of compromise with Fate, all these were unsuited to the sphere in which Lady Maude moved. It was, indeed, a realm where this coinage did not circulate. To enable him to address her with any prospect of success, he should be able to show – ay, and to show argumentatively – that she was, in listening to him, about to do something eminently prudent and worldly-wise. She must, in short, be in a position to show her friends and ‘society’ that she had not committed herself to anything wilful or foolish – had not been misled by a sentiment or betrayed by a sympathy; and that the well-bred questioner who inquired, ‘Why did she marry Atlee?’ should be met by an answer satisfactory and convincing.
In the various ways he canvassed the question and revolved it with himself, there was one consideration which, if I were at all concerned for his character for gallantry, I should be reluctant to reveal; but as I feel little interest on this score, I am free to own was this. He remembered that as Lady Maude was no longer in her first youth, there was reason to suppose she might listen to addresses now which, some years ago, would have met scant favour in her eyes.
In the matrimonial Lloyd’s, if there were such a body, she would not have figured A No. 1; and the risks of entering the conjugal state have probably called for an extra premium. Atlee attached great importance to this fact; but it was not the less a matter which demanded the greatest delicacy of treatment. He must know it, and he must not know it. He must see that she had been the belle of many seasons, and he must pretend to regard her as fresh to the ways of life, and new to society. He trusted a good deal to his tact to do this, for while insinuating to her the possible future of such a man as himself – the high place, and the great rewards which, in all likelihood, awaited him – there would come an opportune moment to suggest, that to any one less gifted, less conversant with knowledge of life than herself, such reasonings could not be addressed.
‘It could never be,’ cried he aloud; ‘to some miss fresh from the schoolroom and the governess, I could dare to talk a language only understood by those who have been conversant with high questions, and moved in the society of thoughtful talkers.’
There is no quality so dangerous to eulogise as experience, and Atlee thought long over this. One determination or another must speedily be come to. If there was no likelihood of success with Lady Maude, he must not lose his chances with the Greek girl. The sum, whatever it might be, which her father should obtain for his secret papers, would constitute a very respectable portion. ‘I have a stronger reason to fight for liberal terms,’ thought he, ‘than the Prince Kostalergi imagines; and, fortunately, that fine parental trait, that noble desire to make a provision for his child, stands out so clearly in my brief, I should be a sorry advocate if I could not employ it.’
In the few words that passed between Lord Danesbury and himself on arriving, he learned that there was but little chance of winning his election for the borough. Indeed, he bore the disappointment jauntily and good-humouredly. That great philosophy of not attaching too much importance to any one thing in life, sustained him in every venture. ‘Bet on the field – never back the favourite,’ was his formula for inculcating the wisdom of trusting to the general game of life, rather than to any particular emergency. ‘Back the field,’ he would say, ‘and you must be unlucky, or you’ll come right in the long run.’
They dined that day alone, that is, they were but three at table; and Atlee enjoyed the unspeakable pleasure of hearing them talk with the freedom and unconstraint people only indulge in when ‘at home.’ Lord Danesbury discussed confidential questions of political importance: told how his colleagues agreed in this, or differed on that; adverted to the nice points of temperament which made one man hopeful and that other despondent or distrustful; he exposed the difficulties they had to meet in the Commons, and where the Upper House was intractable; and even went so far in his confidences as to admit where the criticisms of the Press were felt to be damaging to the administration.
‘The real danger of ridicule,’ said he, ‘is not the pungency of the satire, it is the facility with which it is remembered and circulated. The man who reads the strong leader in the Times may have some general impression of being convinced, but he cannot repeat its arguments or quote its expressions. The pasquinade or the squib gets a hold on the mind, and in its very drollery will ensure its being retained there.’
Atlee was not a little gratified to hear that this opinion was delivered apropos to a short paper of his own, whose witty sarcasms on the Cabinet were exciting great amusement in town, and much curiosity as to the writer.
‘He has not seen “The Whitebait Dinner” yet,’ said Lady Maude; ‘the cleverest jeu d’esprit of the day.’
‘Ay, or of any day,’ broke in Lord Danesbury. ‘Even the Anti-Jacobin has nothing better. The notion is this. The Devil happens to be taking a holiday, and he is in town just at the time of the Ministerial dinner, and hearing that he is at Claridge’s, the Cabinet, ashamed at the little attention bestowed on a crowned head, ask him down to Greenwich. He accepts, and to kill an hour —
“He strolled down, of course,
To the Parliament House,
And heard how England stood,
As she has since the Flood,
Without ally or friend to assist her.
But, while every persuasion
Was full of invasion
From Russian or Prussian,
Yet the only discussion
Was, how should a Gentleman marry his sister.”’
‘Can you remember any more of it, my lord?’ asked Atlee, on whose table at that moment were lying the proof-sheets of the production.
‘Maude has it all somewhere. You must find it for him, and let him guess the writer – if he can.’
‘What do the clubs say?’ asked Atlee.
‘I think they are divided between Orlop and Bouverie. I’m told that the Garrick people say it’s Sankey, a young fellow in F. O.’
‘You should see Aunt Jerningham about it, Mr. Atlee – her eagerness is driving her half mad.’
‘Take him out to “Lebanon” on Sunday,’ said my lord; and Lady Maude agreed with a charming grace and courtesy, adding as she left the room, ‘So remember you are engaged for Sunday.’
Atlee bowed as he held the door open for her to pass out, and threw into his glance what he desired might mean homage and eternal devotion.
‘Now then for a little quiet confab,’ said my lord. ‘Let me hear what you mean by your telegram. All I could make out was that you found our man.’
‘Yes, I found him, and passed several hours in his company.’
‘Was the fellow very much out at elbows, as usual?’
‘No, my lord – thriving, and likely to thrive. He has just been named envoy to the Ottoman Court.’
‘Bah!’ was all the reply his incredulity could permit.
‘True, I assure you. Such is the estimation he is held in at Athens, the Greeks declare he has not his equal. You are aware that his name is Spiridion Kostalergi, and he claims to be Prince of Delos.’
‘With all my heart. Our Hellenic friends never quarrel over their nobility. There are titles and to spare for every one. Will he give us our papers?’
‘Yes; but not without high terms. He declares, in fact, my lord, that you can no more return to the Bosporus without him than he can go there without you.’
‘Is the fellow insolent enough to take this ground?’
‘That is he. In fact, he presumes to talk as your lordship’s colleague, and hints at the several points in which you may act in concert.’
‘It is very Greek all this.’
‘His terms are ten thousand pounds in cash, and – ’
‘There, there, that will do. Why not fifty – why not a hundred thousand?’
‘He affects a desire to be moderate, my lord.’
‘I hope you withdrew at once after such a proposal? I trust you did not prolong the interview a moment longer?’
‘I arose, indeed, and declared that the mere mention of such terms was like a refusal to treat at all.’
‘And you retired?’
‘I gained the door, when he detained me. He has, I must admit, a marvellous plausibility, for though at first he seemed to rely on the all-importance of these documents to your lordship – how far they would compromise you in the past and impede you for the future, how they would impair your influence, and excite the animosity of many who were freely canvassed and discussed in them – yet he abandoned all that at the end of our interview, and restricted himself to the plea that the sum, if a large one, could not be a serious difficulty to a great English noble, and would be the crowning fortune of a poor Greek gentleman, who merely desired to secure a marriage-portion for his only daughter.’
‘And you believed this?’
‘I so far believed him that I have his pledge in writing that, when he has your lordship’s assurance that you will comply with his terms – and he only asks that much – he will deposit the papers in the hands of the Minister at Athens, and constitute your lordship the trustee of the amount in favour of his daughter, the sum only to be paid on her marriage.’
‘How can it possibly concern me that he has a daughter, or why should I accept such a trust?’
‘The proposition had no other meaning than to guarantee the good faith on which his demand is made.’
‘I don’t believe in the daughter.’
‘That is, that there is one?’
‘No. I am persuaded that she has no existence. It is some question of a mistress or a dependant; and if so, the sentimentality, which would seem to have appealed so forcibly to you, fails at once.’
‘That is quite true, my lord; and I cannot pretend to deny the weakness you accuse me of. There may be no daughter in the question.’
‘Ah! You begin to perceive now that you surrendered your convictions too easily, Atlee. You failed in that element of “restless distrust” that Talleyrand used to call the temper of the diplomatist.’
‘It is not the first time I have had to feel I am your lordship’s inferior.’
‘My education was not made in a day, Atlee. It need be no discouragement to you that you are not as long-sighted as I am. No, no; rely upon it, there is no daughter in the case.’
‘With that conviction, my lord, what is easier than to make your adhesion to his terms conditional on his truth? You agree, if his statement be in all respects verified.’
‘Which implies that it is of the least consequence to me whether the fellow has a daughter or not?’
‘It is so only as the guarantee of the man’s veracity.’
‘And shall I give ten thousand pounds to test that?’
‘No, my lord; but to repossess yourself of what, in very doubtful hands, might prove a great scandal and a great disaster.’
‘Ten thousand pounds! ten thousand pounds!’
‘Why not eight – perhaps five? I have not your lordship’s great knowledge to guide me, and I cannot tell when these men really mean to maintain their ground. From my own very meagre experiences, I should say he was not a very tractable individual. He sees some promise of better fortune before him, and like a genuine gambler – as I hear he is – he determines to back his luck.’
‘Ten thousand pounds!’ muttered the other, below his breath.
‘As regards the money, my lord, I take it that these same papers were documents which more or less concerned the public service – they were in no sense personal, although meant to be private; and, although in my ignorance I may be mistaken, it seems to me that the fund devoted to secret services could not be more fittingly appropriated than in acquiring documents whose publicity could prove a national injury.’
‘Totally wrong – utterly wrong. The money could never be paid on such a pretence – the “Office” would not sanction – no Minister would dare to advise it.’
‘Then I come back to my original suggestion. I should give a conditional acceptance, and treat for a reduction of the amount.’
‘You would say five?’
‘I opine, my lord, eight would have more chance of success.’
‘You are a warm advocate for your client,’ said his lordship, laughing; and though the shot was merely a random one, it went so true to the mark that Atlee flushed up and became crimson all over. ‘Don’t mistake me, Atlee,’ said his lordship, in a kindly tone. ‘I know thoroughly how my interests, and only mine, have any claim on your attention. This Greek fellow must be less than nothing to you. Tell me now frankly, do you believe one word he has told you? Is he really named as Minister to Turkey?’
‘That much I can answer for – he is.’
‘What of the daughter – is there a daughter?’
‘I suspect there may be. However, the matter admits of an easy proof. He has given me names and addresses in Ireland of relatives with whom she is living. Now, I am thoroughly conversant with Ireland, and, by the indications in my power, I can pledge myself to learn all, not only about the existence of this person, but of such family circumstances as might serve to guide you in your resolve. Time is what is most to be thought of here. Kostalergi requires a prompt answer – first of all, your assurance that you will support his claim to be received by the Sultan. Well, my lord, if you refuse, Mouravieff will do it. You know better than me how impolitic it might be to throw those Turks more into Russian influence – ’
‘Never mind that, Atlee. Don’t distress yourself about the political aspect of the question.’
‘I promised a telegraphic line to say, would you or would you not sustain his nomination. It was to be Yes or No – not more.’
‘Say Yes. I’ll not split hairs about what Greek best represents his nation. Say Yes.’
‘I am sure, my lord, you do wisely. He is evidently a man of ability, and, I suspect, not morally much worse than his countrymen in general.’
‘Say Yes; and then’ – he mused for some minutes before he continued – ‘and then run over to Ireland – learn something, if you can, of this girl, with whom she is staying, in what position, what guarantees, if any, could be had for the due employment and destination of a sum of money, in the event of our agreeing to pay it. Mind, it is simply as a gauge of the fellow’s veracity that this story has any value for us. Daughter or no daughter, is not of any moment to me; but I want to test the problem – can he tell one word of truth about anything? You are shrewd enough to see the bearing of this narrative on all he has told you – where it sustains, where it accuses him.’
‘Shall I set out at once, my lord?’
‘No. Next week will do. We’ll leave him to ruminate over your telegram. That will show him we have entertained his project; and he is too practised a hand not to know the value of an opened negotiation. Cradock and Mellish, and one or two more, wish to talk with you about Turkey. Graydon, too, has some questions to ask you about Suez. They dine here on Monday. Tuesday we are to have the Hargraves and Lord Masham, and a couple of Under-Secretaries of State; and Lady Maude will tell us about Wednesday, for all these people, Atlee, are coming to meet you. The newspapers have so persistently been keeping you before the world, every one wants to see you.’
Atlee might have told his lordship – but he did not – by what agency it chanced that his journeys and his jests were so thoroughly known to the press of every capital in Europe.