Stella Fregelius: A Tale of Three Destinies Read online

  CHAPTER VII

  BEAULIEU

  Beautiful as it might be and fashionable as it might be, Morris didnot find Beaulieu very entertaining; indeed, in an unguarded moment heconfessed to Mary that he "hated the hole." Even the steam launch inwhich they went for picnics did not console him, fond though he was ofthe sea; while as for Monte Carlo, after his third visit he was heardto declare that if they wanted to take him there again it must be in hiscoffin.

  The Colonel did not share these views. He was out for a holiday, and hemeant to enjoy himself. To begin with, there was the club at Nice, wherehe fell in with several old comrades and friends. Then, whom should hemeet but Lady Rawlins: once, for a little while in the distant past,they had been engaged; until suddenly the young lady, a beauty in herday, jilted him in favour of a wealthy banker of Hebraic origin. Now,many years after, the banker was aged, violent, and uncomely, habituallyexceeded in his cups, and abused his wife before the servants. So itcame about that to the poor woman the Colonel's courteous, if somewhatsarcastic, consolations were really very welcome. It pleased him also tooffer them. The jilting he had long ago forgiven indeed, he blessed hernightly for having taken that view of her obligations, seeing that JaneMillet, as she was then, however pretty her face may once have been, hadneither fortune nor connections.

  "Yes, my dear Jane," he said to her confidentially one afternoon, "Iassure you I often admire your foresight. Now, if you had done the otherthing, where should we have been to-day? In the workhouse, I imagine."

  "I suppose so," answered Lady Rawlins, meekly, and suppressing asigh, since for the courtly and distinguished Colonel she cherisheda sentimental admiration which actually increased with age; "but youdidn't always think like that, Richard." Then she glanced out of thewindow, and added: "Oh, there is Jonah coming home, and he looks socross," and the poor lady shivered.

  The Colonel put up his eyeglass and contemplated Jonah through thewindow. He was not a pleasing spectacle. A rather low-class Hebrew whocalls himself a Christian, of unpleasant appearance and sinister temper,suffering from the effects of lunch, is not an object to be loved.

  "Ah, I see," said the Colonel. "Yes, Sir Jonah ages, doesn't he?as, indeed, we do all of us," and he glanced at the lady's spreadingproportions. Then he went on. "You really should persuade him to betidier in his costume, Jane; his ancestral namesake could scarcely havelooked more dishevelled after his sojourn with the whale. Well, it isa small failing; one can't have everything, and on the whole, with yourwealth and the rest, you have been a very fortunate woman."

  "Oh, Richard, how can you say so?" murmured the wretched Lady Rawlins,as she took the hand outstretched in farewell. For Jonah in large doseswas more than the Colonel could stomach.

  Indeed, as the door closed behind him she wiped away a tear, whisperingto herself: "And to think that I threw over dear Richard in order tomarry that--that--yes, I will say it--that horror!"

  Meanwhile, as he strolled down the street, beautifully dressed, andstill looking very upright and handsome--for he had never lost hisfigure--the Colonel was saying to himself:

  "Silly old woman! Well, I hope that by now she knows the differencebetween a gentleman and a half-Christianised, money-hunting,wine-bibbing Jew. However, she's got the fortune, which was what shewanted, although she forgets it now, and he's got a lachrymose, stout,old party. But how beautiful she used to be! My word, how beautiful sheused to be! To go to see her now is better than any sermon; it is anadmirable moral exercise."

  To Lady Rawlins also the Colonel's visits proved excellent moralexercises tinged with chastenings. Whenever he went away he left behindhim some aphorism or reflection filled with a wholesome bitter. Butstill she sought his society and, in secret, adored him.

  In addition to the club and Lady Rawlins there were the tables at MonteCarlo, with their motley company, which to a man of the world could notfail to be amusing. Besides, the Colonel had one weakness--sometimes hedid a little gambling, and when he played he liked to play fairlyhigh. Morris accompanied him once to the "Salles de jeu," and--that wasenough. What passed there exactly, could never be got out of him, evenby Mary, whose sense of humour was more than satisfied with the littlecomedies in progress about her, no single point of which did she evermiss.

  Only, funny as she might be in her general feebleness, and badly asshe might have behaved in some distant past, for Lady Rawlins she feltsorry. Her kind heart told Mary that this unhappy person also possesseda heart, although she was now stout and on the wrong side of middle age.She was aware, too, that the Colonel knew as much, and his scientificpin-pricks and searings of that guileless and unprotected organ struckher as little short of cruel. None the less so, indeed, because thevictim at the stake imagined that they were inflicted in kindness by thehand of a still tender and devoted friend.

  "I hope that I shan't quarrel with my father-in-law," reflected Maryto herself, after one of the best of these exhibitions; "he's got anuncommonly long memory, and likes to come even. However, I never shall,because he's afraid of me and knows that I see through him."

  Mary was right. A very sincere respect for her martial powers whenroused ensured perfect peace between her and the Colonel. With hisson, however, it was otherwise. Even in this age of the Triumph of theOffspring parents do exist who take advantage of their sons' strictobservance of the Fifth Commandment. It is easy to turn a man into amoral bolster and sit upon him if you know that an exaggerated sense offilial duty will prevent him from stuffing himself with pins. So it cameabout that Morris was sometimes sat upon, especially when the Colonelwas suffering from a bad evening at the tables; well out of sight andhearing of Mary, be it understood, who on such occasions was apt todevelop a quite formidable temper.

  It is over this question of the tables that one of these domesticdifferences arose which in its results brought about the return of theMonks to Monksland. Upon a certain afternoon the Colonel asked his sonto accompany him to Monte Carlo. Morris refused, rather curtly, perhaps.

  "Very well," replied the Colonel in his grandest manner. "I am sure Ido not wish for an unwilling companion, and doubtless your attention isclaimed by affairs more important than the according of your company toa father."

  "No," replied Morris, with his accustomed truthfulness; "I am going outsea-fishing, that is all."

  "Quite so. Allow me then to wish good luck to your fishing. Does Maryaccompany you?"

  "No, I think not; she says the boat makes her sick, and she can't beareels."

  "So much the better, as I can ask for the pleasure of her society thisafternoon."

  "Yes, you can ask," said Morris, suddenly turning angry.

  "Do you imply, Morris, that the request will be refused?"

  "Certainly, father; if I have anything to do with it."

  "And might I inquire why?"

  "Because I won't have Mary taken to that place to mix with the peoplewho frequent it."

  "I see. This is exclusiveness with a vengeance. Perhaps you considerthat those unholy doors should be shut to me also."

  "I have no right to express an opinion as to where my father shouldor should not go; but if you ask me, I think that, under all thecircumstances, you would do best to keep away."

  "The circumstances! What circumstances?"

  "Those of our poverty, which leaves us no money to risk in gambling."

  Then the Colonel lost all control of his temper, as sometimes happenedto him, and became exceedingly violent and unpleasant. What he said doesnot matter; let it suffice that the remarks were of a character whicheven headstrong men are accustomed to reserve for the benefit of theirwomen-folk and other intimate relations.

  Attracted by the noise, which was considerable, Mary came in to find heruncle marching up and down the room vituperating Morris, who, with quitea new expression upon his face--a quiet, dogged kind of expression--wasleaning upon the mantel-piece and watching him.

  "Uncle," began Mary, "would you mind being a little quieter? My fatheris asleep upstairs, and I am afr
aid that you will wake him."

  "I am sorry, my dear, very sorry, but there are some insults that no manwith self-respect can submit to, even from a son."

  "Insults! insults!" Mary repeated, opening her blue eyes; then, lookingat him with a pained air: "Morris, why do you insult your father?"

  "Insult?" he replied. "Then I will tell you how. My father wanted totake you to play with him at Monte Carlo this afternoon and I said thatyou shouldn't go. That's the insult."

  "You observe, my dear," broke in the Colonel, "that already he treatsyou as one having authority."

  "Yes," said Mary, "and why shouldn't he? Now that my father is so weakwho am I to obey if not Morris?"

  "Oh, well, well," said the Colonel, diplomatically beginning to cool,for he could control his temper when he liked. "Everyone to their taste;but some matters are so delicate that I prefer not to discuss them," andhe looked round for his hat.

  By this time, however, the cyclonic condition of things had affectedMary also, and she determined that he should not escape so easily.

  "Before you go," she went on in her slow voice, "I should like to say,uncle, that I quite agree with Morris. I don't think those tables arequite the place to take young ladies to, especially if the gentlemanwith them is much engaged in play."

  "Indeed, indeed; then you are both of a mind, which is quite as itshould be. Of course, too, upon such matters of conduct and etiquette wemust all bow to the taste and the experience of the young--even those ofus who have mixed with the world for forty years. Might I ask, my dearMary, if you have any further word of advice for me before I go?"

  "Yes, uncle," replied Mary quite calmly. "I advise you not to lose somuch of--of your money, or to sit up so late at night, which, youknow, never agrees with you. Also, I wish you wouldn't abuse Morris fornothing, because he doesn't deserve it, and I don't like it; and if weare all to live together after I am married, it will be so much morecomfortable if we can come to an understanding first."

  Then muttering something beneath his breath about ladies in general andthis young lady in particular, the Colonel departed with speed.

  Mary sat down in an armchair, and fanned herself with apocket-handkerchief.

  "Thinking of the right thing to say always makes me hot," she remarked.

  "Well, if by the right thing you mean the strong thing, you certainlydiscovered it," replied Morris, looking at her with affectionateadmiration.

  "I know; but it had to be done, dear. He's losing a lot of money, whichis mere waste"--here Morris groaned, but asked no questions--"besides,"and her voice became earnest, "I will not have him talking to you likethat. The fact that one man is the father of another man doesn't givehim the right to abuse him like a pickpocket. Also, if you are so goodthat you put up with it, I have myself to consider--that is, if we areall to live as a happy family. Do you understand?"

  "Perfectly," said Morris. "I daresay you are right, but I hate rows."

  "So do I, and that is why I have accepted one or two challenges tosingle combat quite at the beginning of things. You mark my words, hewill be like a lamb at breakfast to-morrow."

  "You shouldn't speak disrespectfully of my father; at any rate, to me,"suggested the old-fashioned Morris, rather mildly.

  "No, dear, and when I have learnt to respect him I promise you thatI won't. There, don't be vexed with me; but my uncle Richard makes mecross, and then I scratch. As he said the other day, all women are likecats, you know. When they are young they play, when they get old theyuse their claws--I quote uncle Richard--and although I am not old yet,I can't help showing the claws. Dad is ill, that is the fact of it,Morris, and it gets upon my nerves."

  "I thought he was better, love."

  "Yes, he is better; he may live for years; I hope and believe that hewill, but it is terribly uncertain. And now, look here, Morris, whydon't you go home?"

  "Do you want to get rid of me, love?" he asked, looking up.

  "No, I don't. You know that, I am sure. But what is the use of yourstopping here? There is nothing for you to do, and I feel that you arewasting your time and that you hate it. Tell the truth. Don't you longto be back at Monksland, working at that aerophone?"

  "I should be glad to get on with my experiments, but I don't likeleaving you," he answered.

  "But you had better leave me for a while. It is not comfortable for youidling here, particularly when your father is in this uncertain temper.If all be well, in another couple of months or so we shall come togetherfor good, and be able to make our own arrangements, according tocircumstances. Till then, if I were you, I should go home, especiallyas I find that I can get on with my uncle much better when you are nothere."

  "Then what is to happen after we marry, and I can't be sent away."

  "Who knows? But if we are not comfortable at Monk's Abbey, we can alwaysset up for ourselves--with Dad at Seaview, for instance. He's peaceableenough; besides, he must be looked after; and, to be frank, my unclehectors him, poor dear."

  "I will think it over," said Morris. "And now come for a walk on thebeach, and we will forget all these worries."

  Next morning the Colonel appeared at breakfast in a perfectlyangelic frame of mind, having to all appearance utterly forgotten the"contretemps" of the previous afternoon. Perhaps this was policy, orperhaps the fact of his having won several hundred pounds the nightbefore mollified his mood. At least it had become genial, and he proveda most excellent companion.

  "Look here, old fellow," he said to Morris, throwing him a letter acrossthe table; "if you have nothing to do for a week or so, I wish you wouldsave an aged parent a journey and settle up this job with Simpkins."

  Morris read the letter. It had to do with the complete reerection ofa set of buildings on the Abbey farm, and the putting up of a certaindrainage mill. Over this question differences had arisen between theagent Simpkins and the rural authorities, who alleged that the said millwould interfere with an established right of way. Indeed, things hadcome to such a point that if a lawsuit was to be avoided the presence ofa principal was necessary.

  "Simpkins is a quarrelsome ass," explained the Colonel, "and somebodywill have to smooth those fellows down. Will you go? because if youwon't I must, and I don't want to break into the first pleasant holidayI have had for five years--thanks to your kindness, my dear John."

  "Certainly I will go, if necessary," answered Morris. "But I thought youtold me a few months ago that it was quite impossible to execute thosealterations, on account of the expense."

  "Yes, yes; but I have consulted with your uncle here, and the matter hasbeen arranged. Hasn't it, John?"

  Mr. Porson was seated at the end of the table, and Morris, looking athim, noticed with a shock how old he had suddenly become. His plump,cheerful face had fallen in; the cheeks were quite hollow now; his jawsseemed to protrude, and the skin upon his bald head to be drawn quitetight like the parchment on a drum.

  "Of course, of course, Colonel," he answered, lifting his chin fromhis breast, upon which it was resting, "arranged, quite satisfactorilyarranged." Then he looked about rather vacantly, for his mind, it wasclear, was far away, and added, "Do you want: I mean, were you talkingabout the new drainage mill for the salt marshes?" Mary interrupted andexplained.

  "Yes, yes; how stupid of me! I am afraid I am getting a little deaf,and this air makes me so sleepy in the morning. Now, just tell me again,what is it?"

  Mary explained further.

  "Morris to go and see about it. Well, why shouldn't he? It doesn't takelong to get home nowadays. Not but that we shall be sorry to lose you,my dear boy; or, at least, one of us will be sorry," and he tried towink in his old jovial fashion, and chuckled feebly.

  Mary saw and sighed; while the Colonel shook his head portentously.Nobody could play the part of Job's comforter to greater perfection.

  The end of it was that, after a certain space of hesitation, Morrisagreed to go. This "menage" at Beaulieu oppressed him, and he hated theplace. Besides, Mary, seeing that he was worried, almost
insisted on hisdeparture.

  "If I want you back I will send for you," she said. "Go to your work,dear; you will be happier."

  So he kissed her fondly and went--as he was fated to go.

  "Good-bye, my dear son," said Mr. Porson--sometimes he called him hisson, now. "I hope that I shall see you again soon, and if I don't, youwill be kind to my daughter Mary, won't you? You understand, everybodyelse is dead--my wife is dead, my boy is dead, and soon I shall be dead.So naturally I think a good deal about her. You will be kind to her,won't you? Good-bye, my son, and don't trouble about money; there'splenty."