_ CHAPTER XXXIV. 'I MUST THINK OF MY CHILD, MIKE'
'Ah! the problem of grief and evil is, and will be
always, the greatest enigma of being, only second
to the existence of being itself.'--AMIEL.
Michael listened in a sort of dream. He was telling himself all the time that his opportunity was come, and that it was incumbent on him not to sleep another night under his cousin's roof until he had made known to him this grievous thing.
As soon as they rose from the table, and Dr. Ross was preparing as usual to follow his wife into the drawing-room until the prayer-bell summoned him into the schoolroom, Michael said, a little more seriously than usual:
'Dr. Ross, would you mind giving me half an hour in the study after prayers? I want your advice about something;' for he wished to secure this quiet time before Audrey returned from her party.
The Doctor was an observant man, in spite of his occasional absence of mind, and he saw at once that something was amiss.
'Shall you be able to do without us this evening, Emmie?' he said, with his usual old-fashioned politeness, that his wife and daughters thought the very model of perfection: 'it is too bad to leave you alone when Audrey is not here to keep you company.'
But Mrs. Ross assured him that she would not in the least mind such solitude; she was reading the third volume of an exciting novel, and would not be sorry to finish it. And as soon as this was settled and the coffee served, the gong sounded, and they all adjourned to the schoolroom.
Michael never missed this function, as he called it. He liked to sit in his corner and watch the rows of boyish faces before him, and try to imagine what their future would be; and, above all things, he loved to hear the fresh young voices uniting in their evening hymn; but on this evening he regarded them with some degree of sadness.
'They have the best of it,' he thought rather moodily; 'they little know what is before them, poor fellows! and the hard rubs fate has in store for them.' And then, as they filed past him and one little fellow smiled at him, he drew him aside and put him between his knees.
'You look very happy, Willie. I suppose you have not been caned to-day?'--a favourite joke of the Captain's.
'No, sir,' returned Willie proudly; 'but Jefferson minor fought me, and I licked him. You may ask the other fellows, and they would tell you it was all fair. He is a head taller than me, and I licked him,' finished Willie, with an air of immense satisfaction on his chubby baby face.
'Ah, you licked him, did you?' returned Michael absently; 'and Jefferson minor is beaten. I hope you shook hands afterwards; fair fight and no malice, Willie. There's a shilling for you because you did not show the white feather in the face of the enemy. You will be at the head of a brigade yet, my boy.' For all Dr. Ross's lads were bitten with the military fever, and from Willie Sayers to broad-shouldered Jeff Davidson each boy nourished a secret passion and desire to follow the Captain's footsteps, and were ready to be hewed and slashed into small pieces if only the Victoria Cross might be their reward.
As soon as the curly-haired champion had left him, Michael followed his cousin into the study. Dr. Ross had already lighted his lamp, and roused his fire into a cheerful blaze.
'What is it, Mike? you look bothered,' he asked, as Michael drew up his chair. 'Nothing wrong with the money, I hope?'
'What should be wrong about it?' returned Michael rather disdainfully; 'it is about as safe as the Bank of England. No; it is something very different--a matter that I may say concerns us all. I heard something the other day rather uncomfortable about the Blakes.'
'Nothing discreditable, I hope?' returned the Doctor quickly.
'I am afraid I must answer "Yes" to that question; but, at least, I can assure you that there is nothing against Blake.'
Then Dr. Ross looked relieved.
'Whatever blame there is attaches solely to the mother.'
'Humph! With all her good looks, I never quite liked the woman,' ejaculated Dr. Ross
sotto voce. Nevertheless, he had always been extremely pleasant with her; but perhaps a man finds it difficult to be otherwise with a pretty woman.
'I have unfortunately found out--but perhaps I ought to say fortunately for us--that Mrs. Blake is not a widow: her husband is living.'
'Good heavens!'
'Neither is her name Blake; she changed it at the time she discarded her husband. I am afraid you must prepare yourself for a shock, Dr. Ross, for the whole thing is distinctly reprehensible.'
'And you mean to tell me,' returned the Doctor, with an anxious blackness gathering on his brow, 'that Cyril--that my future son-in-law is cognisant of this fact?'
'No, no!' replied Michael eagerly; 'you are doing him injustice. Blake is as ignorant of the thing as you are yourself; he has no more to do with it than you or I. Did I not tell you that the sole blame rests with his mother?'
Then the Doctor, in spite of his Christianity, pronounced a malediction against the Blake womankind.
'She is just the sort to get into mischief,' he continued; 'there is a dangerous look in her eyes. Go on, Michael; don't keep me in suspense. There is something disgraceful behind all this. What reason has any woman to allege for giving up her husband?'
'Her excuse is that he brought shame and dishonour on her and on his children, and that she would have nothing more to do with him. He had committed a forgery, and had been condemned to penal servitude for seven years.'
Then the Doctor said 'Good heavens!' again. At certain moments of existence it is not possible to be original--when the roof is falling on one's head, for example, or a deadly avalanche is threatening. But Michael needed no answer; he only wished to finish his story as quickly as possible.
'You know Audrey's friend, Thomas O'Brien?'
'To be sure I do. He is a retired corn-chandler. I went to his shop once, in Peterborough.'
'And you have probably heard of his brother Mat?'
Then Dr. Ross gazed at him with a face of despair. His misfortunes were accumulating; he had a sense of nightmare and oppression. Surely this hideous thing could not be true! no such disgrace could threaten him and his! If an earthquake had opened in the Woodcote grounds, he could not have looked more horrified.
'Do you mean to tell me, Mike, that this Mat O'Brien is Cyril's father?'
Then Michael gave him a detailed and carefully-worded account of his interview with Mrs. Blake.
'Then it is true--quite true?' in a hopeless tone.
'There cannot be a doubt of it; I had it from her own lips. To-morrow I must see O'Brien himself, and hear his side. I cannot help saying that I am sorry for the woman, in spite of her falseness; she is utterly crushed with her misery.' But it may be doubted if Dr. Ross heard this: he was occupied with his own reflections.
'This will break Audrey's heart; she is devoted to the fellow.'
'Oh, I hope not; she has more strength than other girls.'
'Of course I cannot allow this affair to go on: I must see Blake, and tell him so at once.'
'There is no hurry, is there? I think you should let me speak to O'Brien first.'
'Well, if you wish it; but I confess I do not see the necessity.'
'And I hope you will be gentle with Blake: remember that not a vestige of blame attaches to him; it is simply his misfortune that he is the son of such parents. I expect he will be utterly broken-hearted.'
Then Dr. Ross gave vent to an impatient groan. No man had a softer heart than he, and he had liked Cyril from the first.
'I must think of my child, Mike,' he said at last.
'Yes, you must think of her; but you must be merciful to him, too. Think what he will suffer when he knows this; and he is as innocent as a babe! I suppose'--and then he hesitated, and looked at his cousin--'that there will be no way of hushing up things, and letting the engagement go on?'
Then the Doctor nearly sprang out of his chair.
'Are you out of your senses, Michael, to put such a question to me? Is it likely that any man in my position would allow his family to be allied to a convicted criminal? Would any amount of hushing up render such an alliance tolerable?'
'Well, I suppose not.'
'I have never cared much for conventionality, or for the mere show of things; but I suppose that, in some sense, the good opinion of my fellow-men is necessary for my comfort. When Blake came to me, and told me that he had not a shilling in the world beside his earnings as my classical master, I did not let his poverty stand in the way. I told him that, as my girl's happiness was involved, I could not find it in my heart to withhold my consent.
'"You are certainly not in the position in which I should wish to see my son-in-law," I said to him; "but I will speak to Charrington, and see what is to be done."
'Well, I have spoken, and Charrington only promised the other day that he would push him on. I have no doubt at all that, with my interest and standing in the place, Cyril would have had a house in time, and Audrey's position would have been equal to her sister's.'
'And you mean to say that all this is at an end?'
'Of course it is at an end!' almost shouted the Doctor; 'and Cyril's career is practically at an end, too. Do you suppose any public school in England would employ a master whose relatives are so disreputable that he is obliged to make use of an assumed name? When I refuse to allow him to marry my daughter, I must give him his
conge at the same time.'
'Then in that case he is a ruined man;' and to this Dr. Ross gave a sorrowful assent.
'How am I to help myself or him, Mike? I will do all in my power to soften the weight of this blow to him; but when all is at an end between him and Audrey, how am I to keep him in Rutherford? The thing would he impossible. He would not wish it himself. He is very proud and high-spirited by nature, and such a position would be intolerable to him. No, he must go; but if money will help him, he may command me to any reasonable amount.'
'He will not take your money;' and then he added 'Poor beggar!' under his breath.
'You will stand by me, Mike?'
'Most certainly I will; but I mean to befriend Blake, too, as far as he will let me.'
'I should not think he would refuse your sympathy; a man needs someone at such a time. But when I spoke I was thinking of my girl. You have great influence with her, Michael; sometimes I think no brother's influence could be stronger. How would it be if she were to hear the news first from you?'
Then Michael recoiled as though someone had struck him in the face.
'Impossible! I could not tell her. I would rather be shot!' he returned vehemently.
'Well, it is not a pleasant business, and I suppose I must do it myself; only the idea crossed my mind that perhaps it might come better from you. I shall not be able to refrain from indignation; I am apt to get a little warm sometimes.'
But Michael firmly negatived this notion.
'It will go hard with her, whoever tells it,' he said decidedly. 'Nothing can soften such a blow, and it is far better for her to hear it from her father. You see,' he continued rather sadly, 'it will be a fair division, for I have to break it to poor Blake; and I shall have tough work with him, for he worships the ground she walks on.'
'Ay, poor fellow! I know he does. What a cruel affair it is, Mike! That woman's deceit will go far to spoil two lives.'
But to this Michael would not agree. He said, with a great deal of feeling, that Audrey was not the girl to let any love-affair spoil her life; she thought too little of herself, was too considerate and unselfish, to allow any private unhappiness to get too strong a hold over her, and so spoil other people's lives.
'You will see what sort of stuff she has in her,' he said, with the enthusiasm of a lover who can find no flaw at all. 'She will bear her sorrow bravely, and not allow it to interfere with others. She is far too good and noble. You need not fear for her; she has strength enough for a dozen women.'
And Dr. Ross felt himself a little comforted by such words.
'Do you mind waiting up for her to-night?' he asked presently. 'Unfortunately, Emmie has sent all the servants to bed, because I said I had some writing to do. I feel very upset about all this, and she will find out from my manner that something is amiss. Would it bother you, Mike? She will just come in here and warm herself; but if you tell her you are tired, she will not detain you.'
'I can have no objection to do that,' replied Michael, trying to hide his reluctance; and, indeed, Dr. Ross looked so pale and jaded, that Audrey's suspicions would have been excited. 'Go to bed and get a good night's rest; it is nearly twelve now, and they meant to be home by one.'
Then Dr. Ross allowed himself to be persuaded.
'I don't know about the good night's rest,' he replied; 'but I should be glad to think over the whole thing quietly before I see either of them. There is no hurry, as you say, and perhaps you had better get your interview over with O'Brien.'
'Shall you tell Cousin Emmeline?'
'Tell Emmie!' and here the Doctor's voice was somewhat irritable, as one disagreeable detail opened after another. 'Not to-night, certainly. Why, she will be asleep. No, it would never do to tell her before Audrey; it would get round to Geraldine, and there would be the deuce of a row. Tell the child I was tired, and bid her good-night.'
And then Dr. Ross shook Michael's hand with fervour and took himself off.
Michael spent a dreary hour by himself in the study. It was a relief to him when he heard the carriage-wheels, but as he opened the door he was quite dazzled at the scene before him. It was a brilliant moonlight night, and the terrace and wide lawn were bathed in the pure white light. A crisp frost had touched the grass and silvered each blade, and the effect against the dark background of trees and shrubs was intensely beautiful.
And the moonlight shone full on Audrey's upturned face, as she stood talking to her lover, and the silken folds of her dress and her soft furred cloak and hood looked almost of unearthly whiteness. In Michael's bewildered eyes she seemed invested at the present moment with some new and regal beauty; but her light musical laugh dispelled the illusion.
'Why, Michael, what has become of father?'
'He was tired, and went off to bed more than an hour ago. I hope you do not object to his deputy. I suppose you are not coming in, Blake, as it is so late?'
'Of course he is not,' returned Audrey in a tone that allowed of no appeal. 'He has early work to-morrow, and must get as much rest as he can. Good-night, Cyril; we have had a delightful evening, have we not?' And to this Cyril responded gaily--for it was not possible there could be any lingering adieus before Michael; and as Cyril ran down the terrace Audrey waited until Michael had fastened the door, and then accompanied him to the study.
'How nice and warm it is!' she observed in a pleased tone. 'You always keep up such a splendid fire.'
'I am a chilly mortal, you know, and these March nights have a touch of December in them.'
'Yes; it is quite frosty.'
And Audrey threw back her hood and cloak and sat down in Dr. Ross's favourite chair. 'Had she any idea how like a picture she looked,' Michael wondered, 'with all those soft white draperies about her, and the sparkling cross upon her neck?' Then he turned away his head with a mute sensation of pain. How happy, how very happy, she looked!
'We have had such a nice evening, she began in her most animated manner; 'everything was so well arranged. There was a dinner-party first, which was followed by what they called a Cinderella dance; but actually they do not mean to break up for another hour and a half. Mrs. Charrington was quite annoyed because we came home so early.'
'And you enjoyed yourself?'
'Oh, immensely! I waltzed twice with Cyril. Do you know, he dances splendidly--he was certainly my best partner.'
'Yes; he looks as though he would dance well. Would you believe it, Audrey, that when I was a youngster I was considered a good dancer, too? It is rather droll to remember that now.'
'I can very easily believe it--you do everything well, Michael.'
'Pshaw!' And then Michael added, with a pretended yawn: 'I think I could sleep well, though.'
But Audrey refused to take this very broad hint.
'What a hurry you are in! And I have not warmed myself yet. Do stay a little longer, Michael. I so seldom get you to myself.'
'But it is very late,' he returned, unwilling to yield.
'I will only keep you a few minutes,' she replied eagerly; 'but I want to tell you something.'
Then he was obliged to sit down again.
'What is it?' he asked a little languidly, for the spell of her presence was so strong that it threatened to subjugate him. He was never willingly alone with her now. The fear was always upon him that, in some weak moment, he might betray himself. The fear was an idle one--no man was less likely than Michael to lose his self-control; but, nevertheless, it was there.
'It is about Cyril,' she returned softly. 'Dr. Charrington has been so nice to him to-night. He stood out once during the Lancers, and Dr. Charrington came up to him, and they had quite a long talk together. He said father had been speaking to him, and that he had quite made up his mind that Cyril should be in the upper school next year, when Mr. Hanbury left. It would be a better position, and he would be able to have private pupils. And he as good as told him that he would do his best to push him, for father's sake.'
'Blake must have been very pleased at this,' replied Michael; but he spoke in a dull, monotonous way.
'Yes; he is quite excited. Don't you see,' she continued a little shyly, 'it will make all the difference to us if Dr. Charrington pushes Cyril; for of course it will make it possible for him to marry.'
Then Michael felt as though he had accidentally touched a full-charged battery. He waited until the numb, tingling sensation had left him before he answered her.
'I did not know that you wished to shorten your engagement,' he said very quietly; 'I understood that there would be no talk of settling for the next two or three years; but, of course, if your father has no objection----'
'How you talk, Michael!' returned Audrey, blushing with some annoyance at this obvious misunderstanding of her meaning; 'it is Cyril who is in a hurry: for myself, I should be perfectly content to go on as we are for the next five years. Do you not remember my tirade on the pleasures of freedom?'
'I think I do recall something of the kind.' Alas! had he ever forgotten anything she had said to him?
'Well, I am afraid I am of the same opinion still; only I dare not let Cyril know that: he would be so hurt. I suppose,' reflectively, 'men are different from women; they do always seem in such a dreadful hurry about everything. When Cyril complains that he feels unsettled, and that I get between him and his work, I do not pretend to understand him. I am very matter-of-fact, am I not, Michael?'
'I should not have said so.'
'Oh, but I am; and I am afraid Cyril thinks so. Well, as I have told you my good news I will not detain you any longer.' And then Michael rose with a feeling of relief.
But as he followed her a few minutes later upstairs, he wondered what she must have thought of him. With all his efforts, he had been unable to bring himself to utter one word of congratulation. 'It would have been a lie,' he said to himself vehemently; 'how could I find it in my heart to deceive her for a moment? This may be their last happy day, Heaven help them both!' and Michael went to bed in profound wretchedness.
'My roses are withered,' thought Audrey, as she regarded the drooping buds and leaves; 'my poor beautiful roses, and they were Cyril's gift, too. What a pity that flowers must die, and we must grow old--that in this world there must always be decay and change! Shall I ever be happier than I am to-night, with Cyril to love me, and Michael--dear Michael--to be my friend? What makes him so grave? He is always grave now.' And then she sighed and laid down her flowers, and took the glittering cross from her neck. 'My poor Michael! I should like to see him happy, too,' she finished, as she put it away in its case. _