Sir George Tressady Volume Ii Part 1

Sir George Tressady.

Vol. II.

by Mrs. Humphry Ward.

PART II

CHAPTER XIII

On a hot morning at the end of June, some four weeks after the Castle Luton visit, George Tressady walked from Brook Street to Warwick Square, that he might obtain his mother's signature to a doc.u.ment connected with the Shapetsky negotiations, and go on from there to the House of Commons.

She was not in the drawing-room, and George amused himself during his minutes of waiting by inspecting the various new photographs of the Fullerton family that were generally to be found on her table. What a characteristic table it was, littered with notes and bills, with patterns from every London draper, with fas.h.i.+on-books and ladies' journals innumerable! And what a characteristic room, with its tortured decorations and crowded furniture, and the flattered portraits of Lady Tressady, in every caprice of costume, which covered the walls! George looked round it all with an habitual distaste; yet not without the secret admission that his own drawing-room was very like it.

His mother might, he feared, have a scene in preparation for him.

For Letty, under cover of some lame excuse or other, had persisted in putting off the visit which Lady Tressady had intended to pay them at Ferth during the Whitsuntide recess, and since their return to town there had been no meeting whatever between the two ladies. George, indeed, had seen his mother two or three times. But even he had just let ten days pa.s.s without visiting her. He supposed he should find her in a mood of angry complaint; nor could he deny that there would be some grounds for it.

"Good morning, George," said a sharp voice, which startled him as he was replacing a photograph of the latest Fullerton baby. "I thought you had forgotten your way here by now."

"Why, mother, I am very sorry," he said, as he kissed her. "But I have really been terribly busy, what with two Committees and this important debate."

"Oh! don't make excuses, pray. And of course--for Letty--you won't even attempt it. I wouldn't if I were you."

Lady Tressady settled herself on a chair with her back to the light, and straightened the ribbons on her dress with hasty fingers. Something in her voice struck George. He looked at her closely.

"Is there anything wrong, mother? You don't look very well."

Lady Tressady got up hurriedly, and began to move about the room, picking up a letter here, straightening a picture there. George felt a sudden p.r.i.c.k of alarm. Were there some new revelations in store for him? But before he could speak she interrupted him.

"I should be very well if it weren't for this heat," she said pettishly.

"Do put that photograph down, George!--you do fidget so! Haven't you got any news for me--anything to amuse me? Oh! those horrid papers!--I see.

Well! they'll wait a little. By the way, the 'Morning Post' says that young scamp, Lord Ancoats, has gone abroad. I suppose that girl was bought off."

She sat down again in a shady corner, fanning herself vigorously.

"I am afraid I can't tell you any secrets," said George, smiling, "for I don't know any. But it looks as though Mrs. Allison and Maxwell between them had somehow found a way out."

"How's the mother?"

"You see, she has gone abroad, too--to Bad Wildheim. In fact, Lord Ancoats has taken her."

"That's the place for heart, isn't it?" said his mother, abruptly.

"There's a man there that cures everybody."

"I believe so," said George. "May we come to business, mother? I have brought these papers for you to sign, and I must get to the House in good time."

Lady Tressady seemed to take no notice. She got up again, restlessly, and walked to the window.

"How do you like my dress, George? Now, don't imagine anything absurd!

Justine made it, and it was quite cheap."

George could not help smiling--all the more that he was conscious of relief. She would not be asking him to admire her dress if there were fresh debts to confess to him.

"It makes you look wonderfully young," he said, turning a critical eye, first upon the elegant gown of some soft pinky stuff in which his mother had arrayed herself, then upon the subtly rouged and powdered face above it. "You are a marvellous person, mother! All the same, I think the heat must have been getting hold of you, for your eyes are tired. Don't racket too much!"

He spoke with his usual careless kindness, laying a hand upon her arm.

Lady Tressady drew herself away, and, turning her back upon him, looked out of the window.

"Have you seen any more of the Maxwells?" she said, over her shoulders.

George gave a slight involuntary start. Then it occurred to him that his mother was making conversation in an odd way.

"Once or twice," he said, reluctantly, in reply. "They were at the Ardaghs' the other night, of course."

"Oh! you were there?"--Lady Tressady's voice was sharp again. "Well, of course. Letty went as your wife, and you're a member of Parliament. Lady Ardagh knows _me_ quite well--but I don't count now; she used to be glad enough to ask me."

"It was a great crush, and very hot," said George, not knowing what to say.

Lady Tressady frowned as she looked out of the window.

"Well!--and Lady Maxwell--is she as absurd as ever?"

"That depends upon one's point of view," said George, smiling. "She seemed as convinced as ever."

"Who sent Mrs. Allison to that place? Barham, I suppose. He always sends his patients there. They say he's in league with the hotel-keepers."

George stared. What was the matter with her? What made her throw out these jerky sentences with this short, hurried breath.

Suddenly Lady Tressady turned.

"George!"

"Yes, mother." He stepped nearer to her. She caught his sleeve.

"George "--there was something like a sob in her voice--"you were quite right. I am ill. There, don't talk about it. The doctors are all fools.

And if you tell Letty anything about it, I'll never forgive you."

George put his arm round her, but was not, in truth, much disturbed. Lady Tressady's repertory, alas! had many _roles_. He had known her play that of the invalid at least as effectively as any other.

"You are just overdone with London and the heat," he said. "I saw it at once. You ought to go away."

She looked up in his face.

"You don't believe it?" she said.

Then she seemed to stagger. He saw a terrible drawn look in her face, and, putting out all his strength, he held her, and helped her to a sofa.