John Halifax, Gentleman Part 107

Much good will his t.i.tle do him! My head clerk is better off than he.

He has stripped himself of every penny, except--bless me, I forgot; Mr.

Halifax, he gave me a letter for you."

John walked to the window to read it; but having read it, pa.s.sed it openly round the circle; as indeed was best.

"MY DEAR FRIEND, "You will have heard that my father is no more."

("He used always to say 'the earl,'" whispered Maud, as she looked over my shoulder.)

"I write this merely to say, what I feel sure you will already have believed--that anything which you may learn concerning his affairs, I was myself unaware of, except in a very slight degree, when I last visited Beechwood.

"Will you likewise believe that in all I have done, or intend doing, your interests as my tenant--which I hope you will remain--have been, and shall be, sedulously guarded?

"My grateful remembrance to all your household.

"Faithfully yours and theirs, "LUXMORE."

"Give me back the letter, Maud my child."

She had been taking possession of it, as in right of being his "pet"

she generally did of all Lord Ravenel's letters. But now, without a word of objection, she surrendered it to her father.

"What does he mean, Mr. Jessop, about my interests as his tenant?"

"Bless me--I am so grieved about the matter that everything goes astray in my head. He wished me to explain to you that he has reserved one portion of the Luxmore property intact--Enderley Mills. The rent you pay will, he says, be a sufficient income for him; and then while your lease lasts no other landlord can injure you. Very thoughtful of him--very thoughtful indeed, Mr. Halifax."

John made no answer.

"I never saw a man so altered. He went over some matters with me--private charities, in which I have been his agent, you know--grave, clear-headed, business-like; my clerk himself could not have done better. Afterwards we sat and talked, and I tried--foolishly enough, when the thing was done!--to show him what a frantic act it was both towards himself and his heirs. But he could not see it. He said cutting off the entail would harm n.o.body--for that he did not intend ever to marry. Poor fellow!"

"Is he with you still?" John asked in a low tone.

"No; he left this morning for Paris; his father is to be buried there.

Afterwards, he said, his movements were quite uncertain. He bade me good-bye--I--I didn't like it, I can a.s.sure you."

And the old man, blowing his nose with his yellow pocket-handkerchief, and twitching his features into all manner of shapes, seemed determined to put aside the melancholy subject, and dilated on the earl and his affairs no more.

Nor did any one. Something in this young n.o.bleman's n.o.ble act--it has since been not without a parallel among our aristocracy--silenced the tongue of gossip itself. The deed was so new--so unlike anything that had been conceived possible, especially in a man like Lord Ravenel, who had always borne the character of a harmless, idle misanthropic nonent.i.ty--that society was really nonplussed concerning it. Of the many loquacious visitors who came that morning to pour upon Lady Oldtower all the curiosity of Coltham--fas.h.i.+onable Coltham, famous for all the scandal of haut ton--there was none who did not speak of Lord Luxmore and his affairs with an uncomfortable, wondering awe. Some suggested he was going mad--others, raking up stories current of his early youth, thought he had turned Catholic again, and was about to enter a monastery. One or two honest hearts protested that he was a n.o.ble fellow, and it was a pity he had determined to be the last of the Luxmores.

For ourselves--Mr. and Mrs. Halifax, Maud and I--we never spoke to one another on the subject all the morning. Not until after luncheon, when John and I had somehow stolen out of the way of the visitors, and were walking to and fro in the garden. The sunny fruit garden--ancient, Dutch, and square--with its barricade of a high hedge, a stone wall, and between it and the house a s.h.i.+ning fence of great laurel trees.

Maud appeared suddenly before us from among these laurels, breathless.

"I got away after you, father. I--I wanted to find some strawberries--and--I wanted to speak to you."

"Speak on, little lady."

He linked her arm in his, and she paced between us up and down the broad walk--but without diverging to the strawberry-beds. She was grave, and paler than ordinary. Her father asked if she were tired?

"No, but my head aches. Those Coltham people do talk so. Father, I want you to explain to me, for I can't well understand all this that they have been saying about Lord Ravenel."

John explained, as simply and briefly as he could.

"I understand. Then, though he is Earl of Luxmore, he is quite poor--poorer than any of us? And he has made himself poor in order to pay his own and his father's debts, and keep other people from suffering from any fault of his? Is it so?"

"Yes, my child."

"Is it not a very n.o.ble act, father?"

"Very n.o.ble."

"I think it is the n.o.blest act I ever heard of. I should like to tell him so. When is he coming to Beechwood?"

Maud spoke quickly, with flushed cheeks, in the impetuous manner she inherited from her mother. Her question not being immediately answered, she repeated it still more eagerly.

Her father replied--"I do not know."

"How very strange! I thought he would come at once--to-night, probably."

I reminded her that Lord Ravenel had left for Paris, bidding goodbye to Mr. Jessop.

"He ought to have come to us instead of to Mr. Jessop. Write and tell him so, father. Tell him how glad we shall be to see him. And perhaps you can help him: you who help everybody. He always said you were his best friend."

"Did he?"

"Ah now, do write, father dear--I am sure you will."

John looked down on the little maid who hung on his arm so persuasively, then looked sorrowfully away.

"My child--I cannot."

"What, not write to him? When he is poor and in trouble? That is not like you, father," and Maud half-loosed her arm.

Her father quietly put the little rebellious hand back again to its place. He was evidently debating within himself whether he should tell her the whole truth, or how much of it. Not that the debate was new, for he must already have foreseen this possible, nay, certain, conjuncture. Especially as all his dealings with his family had hitherto been open as daylight. He held that to prevaricate, or wilfully to give the impression of a falsehood, is almost as mean as a direct lie. When anything occurred that he could not tell his children, he always said plainly, "I cannot tell you," and they asked no more.

I wondered exceedingly how he would deal with Maud.

She walked with him, submissive yet not satisfied, glancing at him from time to time, waiting for him to speak. At last she could wait no longer.

"I am sure there is something wrong. You do not care for Lord Ravenel as much as you used to do."

"More, if possible."

"Then write to him. Say, we want to see him--I want to see him. Ask him to come and stay a long while at Beechwood."

"I cannot, Maud. It would be impossible for him to come. I do not think he is likely to visit Beechwood for some time."