Cashel Byron's Profession Part 31

One afternoon, returning from one of her daily walks, she found a stranger on the castle terrace, in conversation with the butler. As it was warm autumn weather, Lydia was surprised to see a woman wearing a black silk mantle trimmed with fur, and heavily decorated with spurious jet beads. However, as the female inhabitants of Wiltstoken always approached Miss Carew in their best raiment, without regard to hours or seasons, she concluded that she was about to be asked for a subscription to a school treat, a temperance festival, or perhaps a testimonial to one of the Wiltstoken curates.

When she came nearer she saw that the stranger was an elderly lady--or possibly not a lady--with crimped hair, and ringlets hanging at each ear in a fas.h.i.+on then long obsolete.

"Here is Miss Carew," said the butler, shortly, as if the old lady had tried his temper. "You had better talk to her yourself."

At this she seemed fluttered, and made a solemn courtesy. Lydia, noticing the courtesy and the curls, guessed that her visitor kept a dancing academy. Yet a certain contradictory hardihood in her frame and bearing suggested that perhaps she kept a tavern. However, as her face was, on the whole, an anxious and a good face, and as her att.i.tude towards the lady of the castle was one of embarra.s.sed humility, Lydia acknowledged her salutation kindly, and waited for her to speak.

"I hope you won't consider it a liberty," said the stranger, tremulously. "I'm Mrs. Skene."

Lydia became ominously grave; and Mrs. Skene reddened a little. Then she continued, as if repeating a carefully prepared and rehea.r.s.ed speech, "It would be esteemed a favor if I might have the honor of a few words in private with your ladys.h.i.+p."

Lydia looked and felt somewhat stern; but it was not in her nature to rebuff any one without strong provocation. She invited her visitor to enter, and led the way to the circular drawing-room, the strange decorations of which exactly accorded with Mrs. Skene's ideas of aristocratic splendor. As a professor of deportment and etiquette, the ex-champion's wife was nervous under the observation of such an expert as Lydia; but she got safely seated without having made a mistake to reproach herself with. For, although entering a room seems a simple matter to many persons, it was to Mrs. Skene an operation governed by the strict laws of the art she professed, and one so elaborate that few of her pupils mastered it satisfactorily with less than a month's practice. Mrs Skene soon dismissed it from her mind. She was too old to dwell upon such vanities when real anxieties were pressing upon her.

"Oh, miss," she began, appealingly, "the boy!"

Lydia knew at once who was meant. But she repeated, as if at a loss, "The boy?" And immediately accused herself of insincerity.

"Our boy, ma'am. Cashel."

"Mrs. Skene!" said Lydia, reproachfully.

Mrs. Skene understood all that Lydia's tone implied. "I know, ma'am,"

she pleaded. "I know well. But what could I do but come to you? Whatever you said to him, it has gone to his heart; and he's dying."

"Pardon me," said Lydia, promptly; "men do not die of such things; and Mr. Cashel Byron is not so deficient either in robustness of body or hardness of heart as to be an exception to THAT rule."

"Yes, miss," said Mrs. Skene, sadly. "You are thinking of the profession. You can't believe he has any feelings because he fights.

Ah, miss, if you only knew them as I do! More tender-hearted men don't breathe. Cashel is like a young child, his feelings are that easily touched; and I have known stronger than he to die of broken hearts only because they were unlucky in their calling. Just think what a high-spirited young man must feel when a lady calls him a wild beast.

That was a cruel word, miss; it was, indeed."

Lydia was so disconcerted by this attack that she had to pause awhile before replying. Then she said, "Are you aware, Mrs. Skene, that my knowledge of Mr. Byron is very slight--that I have not seen him ten times in my life? Perhaps you do not know the circ.u.mstances in which I last saw him. I was greatly shocked by the injuries he had inflicted on another man; and I believe I spoke of them as the work of a wild beast.

For your sake, I am sorry I said so; for he has told me that he regards you as his mother; and--"

"Oh, no! Far from it, miss. I ask your pardon a thousand times for taking the word out of your mouth; but me and Ned is no more to him than your housekeeper or governess might be to you. That's what I'm afraid you don't understand, miss. He's no relation of ours. I do a.s.sure you that he's a gentleman born and bred; and when we go back to Melbourne next Christmas, it will be just the same as if he had never known us."

"I hope he will not be so ungrateful as to forget you. He has told me his history."

"That's more than he ever told me, miss; so you may judge how much he thinks of you."

A pause followed this. Mrs. Skene felt that the first exchange was over, and that she had got the better in it.

"Mrs. Skene," said Lydia then, penetratingly; "when you came to pay me this visit, what object did you propose to yourself? What do you expect me to do?"

"Well, ma'am," said Mrs. Skene, troubled, "the poor lad has had crosses lately. There was the disappointment about you--the first one, I mean--that had been preying on his mind for a long time. Then there was that exhibition spar at the Agricultural Hall, when Paradise acted so dishonorable. Cashel heard that you were looking on; and then he read the shameful way the newspapers wrote of him; and he thought you'd believe it all. I couldn't get that thought out of his head. I said to him, over and over again--"

"Excuse me," said Lydia, interrupting. "We had better be frank with one another. It is useless to a.s.sume that he mistook my feeling on that subject. I WAS shocked by the severity with which he treated his opponent."

"But bless you, that's his business," said Mrs. Skone, opening her eyes widely. "I put it to you, miss," she continued, as if mildly reprobating some want of principle on Lydia's part, "whether an honest man shouldn't fulfil his engagements. I a.s.sure you that the pay a respectable professional usually gets for a spar like that is half a guinea; and that was all Paradise got. But Cashel stood on his reputation, and wouldn't take less than ten guineas; and he got it, too. Now many another in his position would have gone into the ring and fooled away the time pretending to box, and just swindling those that paid him. But Cashel is as honest and high-minded as a king. You saw for yourself the trouble he took. He couldn't have spared himself less if he had been fighting for a thousand a side and the belt, instead of for a paltry ten guineas. Surely you don't think the worse of him for his honesty, miss?"

"I confess," said Lydia, laughing in spite of herself, "that your view of the transaction did not occur to me."

"Of course not, ma'am; no more it wouldn't to any one, without they were accustomed to know the right and wrong of the profession. Well, as I was saying, miss, that was a fresh disappointment to him. It worrited him more than you can imagine. Then came a deal of bother about the match with Paradise. First Paradise could only get five hundred pounds; and the boy wouldn't agree for less than a thousand. I think it's on your account that he's been so particular about the money of late; for he was never covetous before. Then Mellish was bent on its coming off down hereabouts; and the poor lad was so mortal afraid of its getting to your ears, that he wouldn't consent until they persuaded him you would be in foreign parts in August. Glad I was when the articles were signed at last, before he was worrited into his grave. All the time he was training he was longing for a sight of you; but he went through with it as steady and faithful as a man could. And he trained beautiful. I saw him on the morning of the fight; and he was like a s.h.i.+ning angel; it would have done a lady's heart good to look at him. Ned went about like a madman offering twenty to one on him: if he had lost, we should have been ruined at this moment. And then to think of the police coming just as he was finis.h.i.+ng Paradise. I cried like a child when I heard of it: I don't think there was ever anything so cruel. And he could have finished him quarter of an hour sooner, only he held back to make the market for Ned." Here Mrs. Skene, overcome, blew her nose before proceeding. "Then, on the top of that, came what pa.s.sed betwixt you and him, and made him give himself up to the police. Lord Worthington bailed him out; but what with the disgrace and the disappointment, and his time and money thrown away, and the sting of your words, all coming together, he was quite broken-hearted. And now he mopes and frets; and neither me nor Ned nor Fan can get any good of him. They tell me that he won't be sent to prison; but if he is"--here Mrs. Skene broke down and began to cry--" it will be the death of him, and G.o.d forgive those that have brought it about."

Sorrow always softened Lydia; but tears hardened her again; she had no patience with them.

"And the other man?" she said. "Have you heard anything of him? I suppose he is in some hospital."

"In hospital!" repeated Mrs. Skene, checking her tears in alarm. "Who?"

"Paradise," replied Lydia, p.r.o.nouncing the name reluctantly.

"He in hospital! Why, bless your innocence, miss, I saw him yesterday, looking as well as such an ugly brute could look--not a mark on him, and he bragging what he would have done to Cashel if the police hadn't come up. He's a nasty, low fighting man, so he is; and I'm only sorry that our boy demeaned himself to strip with the like of him. I hear that Cashel made a perfect picture of him, and that you saw him. I suppose you were frightened, ma'am, and very naturally, too, not being used to such sights. I have had my Ned brought home to me in that state that I have poured brandy into his eye, thinking it was his mouth; and even Cashel, careful as he is, has been nearly blind for three days. It is not to be expected that they could have all the money for nothing. Don't let it prey on your mind, miss. If you married--I am only supposing it,"

said Mrs. Skene in soothing parenthesis as she saw Lydia shrink from the word--"if you were married to a great surgeon, as you might be without derogation to your high rank, you'd be ready to faint if you saw him cut off a leg or an arm, as he would have to do every day for his livelihood; but you'd be proud of his cleverness in being able to do it. That's how I feel with regard to Ned. I tell you the truth, ma'am, I shouldn't like to see him in the ring no more than the lady of an officer in the Guards would like to see her husband in the field of battle running his sword into the poor blacks or into the French; but as it's his profession, and people think so highly of him for it, I make up my mind to it; and now I take quite an interest in it, particularly as it does n.o.body any harm. Not that I would have you think that Ned ever took the arm or leg off a man: Lord forbid--or Cashel either. Oh, ma'am, I thank you kindly, and I'm sorry you should have given yourself the trouble." This referred to the entry of a servant with tea.

"Still," said Lydia, when they were at leisure to resume the conversation, "I do not quite understand why you have come to me.

Personally you are quite welcome; but in what way did you expect to relieve Mr. Byron's mind by visiting me? Did he ask you to come?"

"He'd have died first. I came down of my own accord, knowing what was the matter with him."

"And what then?"

Mrs. Skene looked around to satisfy herself that they were alone. Then she leaned towards Lydia, and said in an emphatic whisper,

"Why won't you marry him, miss?"

"Because I don't choose, Mrs. Skene," said Lydia, with perfect good-humor.

"But consider a little, miss. Where will you ever get such another chance? Only think what a man he is! champion of the world and a gentleman as well. The two things have never happened before, and never will again. I have known lots of champions, but they were not fit company for the like of you. Ned was champion when I married him; and my family thought that I lowered myself in doing it, although I was only a professional dancer on the stage. The men in the ring are common men mostly; and so, though they are the best men in the kingdom, ladies are cut off from their society. But it has been your good luck to take the fancy of one that's a gentleman. What more could a lady desire? Where will you find his equal in health, strength, good looks, or good manners? As to his character, I can tell you about that. In Melbourne, as you may suppose, all the girls and women were breaking their hearts for his sake. I declare to you that I used to have two or three of them in every evening merely to look at him, and he, poor innocent lad, taking no more notice of them than if they were cabbages. He used to be glad to get away from them by going into the saloon and boxing with the gentlemen; and then they used to peep at him through the door. They never got a wink from him. You were the first, Miss Carew; and, believe me, you will be the last. If there had ever been another he couldn't have kept it from me; because his disposition is as open as a child's.

And his honesty is beyond everything you can imagine. I have known him to be offered eight hundred pounds to lose a fight that he could only get two hundred by winning, not to mention his chance of getting nothing at all if he lost honestly. You know--for I see you know the world, ma'am--how few men would be proof against such a temptation. There are men high up in their profession--so high that you'd as soon suspect the queen on her throne of selling her country's battles as them--that fight cross on the sly when it's made worth their while. My Ned is no low prize-fighter, as is well known; but when he let himself be beat by that little Killarney Primrose, and went out and bought a horse and trap next day, what could I think? There, ma'am, I tell you that of my own husband; and I tell you that Cashel never was beaten, although times out of mind it would have paid him better to lose than to win, along of those wicked betting men. Not an angry word have I ever had from him, nor the sign of liquor have I ever seen on him, except once on Ned's birthday; and then nothing but fun came out of him in his cups, when the truth comes out of all men. Oh, do just think how happy you ought to be, miss, if you would only bring yourself to look at it in the proper light. A gentleman born and bred, champion of the world, sober, honest, spotless as the unborn babe, able to take his own part and yours in any society, and mad in love with you! He thinks you an angel from heaven and so I am sure you are, miss, in your heart. I do a.s.sure you that my Fan gets quite put out because she thinks he draws comparisons to her disadvantage. I don't think you can be so hard to please as to refuse him, miss."

Lydia leaned back in her chair and looked at Mrs. Skene with a curious expression which soon brightened into an irrepressible smile. Mrs. Skene smiled very slightly in complaisance, but conveyed by her serious brow that what she had said was no laughing matter.

"I must take some time to consider all that you have so eloquently urged," said Lydia. "I am in earnest, Mrs. Skene; you have produced a great effect upon me. Now let us talk of something else for the present.

Your daughter is quite well, I hope."

"Thank you kindly, ma'am, she enjoys her health."

"And you also?"

"I am as well as can be expected," said Mrs. Skene, too fond of commiseration to admit that she was perfectly well.

"You must have a rare sense of security," said Lydia, watching her, "being happily married to so celebrated a--a professor of boxing as Mr.

Skene. Is it not pleasant to have a powerful protector?"

"Ah, miss, you little know," exclaimed Mrs. Skene, falling into the trap baited by her own grievances, and losing sight of Cashel's interests.

"The fear of his getting into trouble is never off my mind. Ned is quietness itself until he has a drop of drink in him; and then he is like the rest--ready to fight the first that provokes him. And if the police get hold of him he has no chance. There's no justice for a fighting man. Just let it be said that he's a professional, and that's enough for the magistrate; away with him to prison, and good-by to his pupils and his respectability at once. That's what I live in terror of.

And as to being protected, I'd let myself be robbed fifty times over sooner than say a word to him that might bring on a quarrel. Many a time when we were driving home of a night have I overpaid the cabman on the sly, afraid he would grumble and provoke Ned. It's the drink that does it all. Gentlemen are proud to be seen speaking with him in public; and they come up one after another asking what he'll have, until the next thing he knows is that he's in bed with his boots on, his wrist sprained, and maybe his eye black, trying to remember what he was doing the night before. What I suffered the first three years of our marriage none can tell. Then he took the pledge, and ever since that he's been very good--I haven't seen him what you could fairly call drunk, not more than three times a year. It was the blessing of G.o.d, and a beating he got from a milkman in Westminster, that made him ashamed of himself. I kept him to it and made him emigrate out of the way of his old friends.

Since that, there has been a blessing on him; and we've prospered."