CHAPTER L.
TO THE RESCUE.
Mr. Charles Cheek was supposed to know nothing of the difficulties of the family, till Lady Grace spoke to him so plainly on the subject. He had, however, heard something from the steward, whose mouth could not keep silence, and his father had told him plainly what he knew. From Mr. Worthivale he heard of the fresh trouble caused by the death of the Archdeacon. Nothing further had passed between him and Lady Grace. She was friendly, and he remained fascinated. There it stopped.
Lord Saltcombe had at last been roused to take a decided step. The General told him of the Duke’s objection to the sale of anything, and of the necessity under which they lay of at once finding money. The honour of the house was at stake, and the Marquess visited his father, and was closeted with him for an hour. When he came out, he went at once to the General.
‘The Duke will allow me to act independently; but he desires to be spared particulars. My hands are set free to raise money, but he is not to be consulted how it is to be raised, nor told how it was done when the money is raised. As we want immediate cash, let us have the plate and jewelry overhauled, and get rid of what is not necessary. There is that confounded set of diamonds I bought for Dulcina Rigsby. They cost twelve hundred, and I daresay will fetch two-thirds. As for the family jewelry—I shall never marry, and so the race will expire with me. No Duchess of Kingsbridge will need them. My mother was the last. I have the key to the safe where they are kept.’
‘Let us begin at once, and pack what is not in immediate requisition,’
Lord Saltcombe rang the bell for the butler, and ordered the plate chests to be taken into the state drawing-room, not now likely to be used again; also the cases brought there that would be likely to serve for the packing of valuables. Mr. Blomfield obeyed without a muscle of his face working, and soon the grand room was filled with boxes and piles of silver plate, old salvers engraved with arms, supporters, and coronet, punch bowls, centre-pieces, goblets, christening and caudle cups, urns, kettles, tea and coffee pots, ewers, candelabra,—a mass of metal, much of beautiful workmanship.
‘That,’ said the General, ‘is the great silver salver presented to the Field-Marshal by the City of Ghent, of which he was in possession at the time. He was not Duke then; you see the fulsome inscription in Latin. This must be melted up. It will never do to have it sold as it is, to proclaim the straits to which the Eveleighs have been reduced.’
The butler and the footman packed the plate in the green cloth-lined cases. In former times it had been transported with the Duke to town and back to the country. Consequently the proper conveniences for the reception and removal were ready.
‘Is not this beautiful?’ said the General, pointing to a silver teapot on a lampstand of exquisite workmanship. On one side were represented Chinese picking tea leaves, on the other Chinese ladies sipping the beverage made from them. The groups were enclosed in the most delicate shell and flower work. With it went a cream and a milk jug, and a silver canister, all of equal beauty of workmanship. ‘This set belonged to George the Second,’ said the General; ‘he gave it to the Duchess Lavinia on her marriage.’
‘Here is my christening cup, out of which I used to drink as a child, and there are the marks of my teeth on it,’ said Lord Saltcombe, with forced gaiety.
‘This cream bowl ought to be valuable,’ remarked Lord Ronald. ‘I never saw anything like the delicacy of the work, the festoons of roses and jessamine, with butterflies perched on them. Fortunately the arms are not on it. I suspect it is unique.’
Tray after tray was filled with silver forks and spoons, soup-ladles, great gravy spoons, enough to furnish a Lord Mayor’s banquet.
When all the silver was packed that had to be sent away, and the rest, that was to be kept, was laid on the floor, the porcelain was collected.
‘Fetch everything from my room, Robert,’ said the Marquess; then with a laugh, ‘I have been disenchanted with some of my prizes, and doubt the value of the rest. I dare swear I have been egregiously taken in. Anyhow, there can be no questioning the value of these Sèvres vases presented by Charles X., and there is abundance of precious Oriental china all over the house.’
The room was now filled with splendid bowls, great standing vases for pot-pourri, old Dresden figures, Chelsea in abundance, majolica dishes, Capo di Monte white groups, superb specimens of Palissy, services of Crown Derby, Swansea, and Wedgwood, of the most choice and exquisite descriptions. Chimney-piece, plate chests, the floor, were encumbered with them.
The Marquess himself went to the jewel chest, and brought in as much as he could carry. He laid on the table a tray of crimson velvet on which sparkled a tiara, necklace, stomacher, and earrings of diamonds.
‘My mother wore these at the coronation of Her Majesty,’ said Lord Saltcombe; ‘she lost one of the diamonds out of the brooch, and never wore the set again. The place of the missing stone was never filled up; perhaps that was the first symptom of difficulty in finding money.’
A beautiful chain of white pearls with pendants of black pearls attracted his notice.
‘How well this would have become Grace,’ he said. Then he brought in more, a complete parure of amethysts. Then rings—diamond, topaz, amethyst and diamond, ruby. These splendid ornaments seemed in the cold daylight to have lost their sparkle, and to be sensible of the general sorrow, decay, and humiliation.
‘The pictures must come down,’ said Lord Saltcombe. ‘The Rubens at Kingsbridge House can be disposed of to the National Gallery, which is short of examples of that master.’
‘Will the nation care to spend thousands on fleshy Dutchwomen? I doubt it.’
‘Some of the paintings in this room are valuable,’ said the Marquess. ‘Let us have them down, and they can be measured for their cases. That Murillo was bought by the first Duke off the easel of the painter. These Gerard Dows are more interesting than beautiful. There is an Adoration by Porbus, with Philip II. and Alva as two of the Wise Men. Here is a Turner purchased by my father, undescribed by Mr. Ruskin.’
‘The Reynolds’ portraits—what of them?’
‘We will not part with family pictures if we can help it. Let them remain suspended. There is a large Morland with its clump of dark trees, and a pretty Gainsborough, a fine example and worth a large sum. These must certainly come down.’
Lord Saltcombe and the General were standing in the middle of the room, which was strewn with treasures. Most of the silver was packed, only that left out which was reserved for use. The china was about, some being packed in hay; the jewels in their trays were spread out on the tables; the pictures were unhung—when—the door opened, and Lady Grace entered with Mr. Charles Cheek and Lucy.
Lady Grace saw in a moment what was being done, and coloured and stood still. Lucy also understood the situation, and was seized with a fit of trembling. The occasion of their entry was this—Charles had said, in the course of conversation, that he had never seen the state rooms, whereupon Lady Grace, unaware of what was taking place, had volunteered to show him through them.
‘Packing for removal to town,’ said the General. ‘Rather late in the season, but better late than never.’
Charles Cheek was not deceived. He drew back. He was moved. It was sad to see the break-up of a noble family, to stand, so to speak, beside its deathbed. He withdrew from the room at once, and halted on the staircase outside the door and with agitation in his voice and face and manner, he said, ‘Lady Grace! will you give me a right to fly to your assistance, and prevent this humiliation.’
‘Yes,’ she answered with calmness, ‘I will.’
That night Charles Cheek hastened to town by express that reached Paddington at 4 A.M.
He was at his father’s house before the old man was up, and he awaited him in the breakfast-room. Charles was in a condition of feverish excitement, in spite of his cold night-journey. A servant had taken him to a room where he had washed and changed his clothes.
The old man came in, spruce as ever, in his black cloth frock coat, a white shirtfront, stretching his arms, and then rubbing his hands.
‘Governor!’ exclaimed Charles, ‘I have been waiting to see you these two hours and a half, burning with impatience. I have something of importance to communicate.’
‘Ugh! Want money?’
‘No—that is—not for myself.’
‘Ugh! Still—want it.’
‘That is not my primary reason for coming here.’
The old man puffed himself out and stood by the fire, winking and rubbing his hands, and glowering at his son.
‘I have just returned from Court Royal. I have spoken to Lady Grace, and she has consented’
The father shook his head doubtfully.
‘It is a fact, governor, I give you my word. She gave me the promise in the presence of Lucy Worthivale. Some time before she all but promised, but yesterday she was explicit.’
The old man rubbed his hands vigorously, thrust his arms forward, flashing his cuffs, then hiding them again.
‘By Ginger!’ he said, ‘what a chap you are!’
‘Do you mistrust me?’
‘Mistrust? No. I didn’t think you equal to it, though. You are a fine fellow, that you are. The girl has sense. Ginger! she’ll make a Lord Charlie of you.’
‘Hardly,’ laughed Charles; ‘the wife does not ennoble the husband.’
‘Don’t she? She should. We’ll change the law. Make it a political question. Don’t tell me she’ll flatten down into Mrs. Charles Cheek!’
‘Not quite that. But never mind. We have not got to that point. I want you, father, to act promptly. I have come by night express, and must return to-day.’ ‘What do you mean to do?’
‘You will remember what you undertook. The family are in immediate want of money. If you are satisfied with what I have done, give me leave to stop the sale of their valuables.’
‘What! got to that pass! A galloping consumption. When I undertake a thing, I do it; I’ll take up the mortgages to the tune I scored, but I won’t tear them up till the marriage is accomplished.’
Charles explained what the immediate need was.
‘Very well,’ said the old man; ‘give me a bill of sale on the furniture and plate and pictures, and I’ll advance the money. I’m not such a fool as to give without security.’
That was the utmost Charles could obtain from his father.
‘There is no knowing,’ said the old man. ‘The young woman may mean right enough, but the aristocratical relations may interfere, and blow themselves out with pride, and refuse consent; then—what about my money? As for the mortgages, I’ll see to them at once. Those of Emmanuel shall be taken up immediately, and when the registers are signed, I’ll tear them to shreds. As for ready money, I’ll advance something on the stock-in-trade, but only if I have a bill on them to enable me to seize in default of fulfilment of conditions.’
Charles was obliged to be content with this. He returned the same day to Kingsbridge.
‘You’ve had a long journey,’ said Mr. Worthivale. ‘I was amazed when told you had gone to town. Nothing the matter with your father, I hope?’
‘Nothing at all,’ answered the young man. Then, after looking inquiringly at the steward, ‘I say, do you recall a certain conversation you had with my father?’
‘Bless my soul! he overflowed with conversation, and every word was precious. To what do you particularly allude?’
Mr. Worthivale knew very well what was meant, but he was reluctant to have this topic retouched. Lucy had told him nothing. With his ideas, the suggestion of old Cheek had seemed to him a sort of blasphemy.
‘Well,’ said Charles Cheek, ‘it has come about after all. Lady Grace has passed her word to me.’
‘Stuff and nonsense.’
‘It is a fact. I went up to town last night to communicate it to my father. If you are in immediate need of cash he will advance it on the security of the contents of Court Royal and Kingsbridge House.’ Mr. Worthivale coloured.
‘Lady Grace! Impossible.’ The steward was stupefied. ‘Why, you are nothing, literally nothing, one of the people; and your father is in’—with a shudder—‘trade!’
‘I assure you it is so. Ask Lucy. She was present.’
‘You misunderstood her. It is impossible. Sheer impossible. Your head has been turned. I ought never to have introduced you.’
‘I repeat; she has consented.’
‘But—the Duke—and the Marquess—and Lord Ronald, what will they say?’
‘They have not been asked.’
‘You had better not ask them. As you value your happiness and my regard—don’t. For Heaven’s sake, don’t.’
‘Mr. Worthivale, excuse me, but you seem to think that the advantage is all on my side. Yesterday Lord Saltcombe and Lord Ronald were packing the valuables to be sent to London for sale. There is therefore desperate immediate need of money. I come offering to relieve them from their difficulties—at least from those most urgent. The mortgages to the amount of two hundred thousand pounds will be taken up by my father, and on our marriage he will give them over. The pictures may be rehung, the plate unpacked, the jewels and china replaced. I do not know what the sum is in immediate requisition, but my father is ready to advance it—so long as it is under ten thousand—on receipt of the consent of the Duke and the Marquess to the contents of these two houses, of which you will furnish a list, being the security for the sum.’
‘Not a word of this to them! Lord Saltcombe will never forgive me. My goodness! What presumption there is in the rising generation! To them nothing is sacred! I suppose, sir, you are a blazing Radical!’
‘I have no political opinions, having nothing to gain or lose.’
‘Leave this matter in my hands,’ said the steward. ‘I will see the Duke. I will manage about the bill. I must rush off now, and stop the packing of the pictures and the carriage of the plate. I was to have gone to town with all the things, and done my best with them.’
‘You are welcome to arrange with the Duke about the bill, but I cannot have you interfere between me and Lady Grace,’
‘I—I! I would not dream of mentioning it. You have been deluded.’
‘By whom? By Lady Grace?’
‘Heaven forbid. She is incapable of falsehood. By your own inordinate vanity, which has deluded you into hearing things that were never said and seeing things that were never done. It is impossible. As soon make me believe the common people here when they tell me they have seen the sun dance on Easter morning.’
Worthivale said no more. He was convinced that the young man had dreamed. It mattered little. The immediate advantage of the dream was great. The precious collections of Court Royal were saved for a time. Time was what he wanted. In time the Marquess would marry and shake old Cheek and all other Old Men of the Mountain off his shoulders who weighed him down and plucked the golden fruit and left him starving. In time Bigbury Bay would become a rival to Torquay, and make the Eveleighs as Torquay had made the Palks. In time the slate quarries would rout all other slates out of the market. In time the shale would distil petroleum. What mattered it, if for a while the young man were left dancing in darkness with bandaged eyes. He would some day see his folly, and blush at his temerity.
Meantime—Providence was interfering for the salvation of the Eveleighs.