CHAPTER XXII.
A FAMILY COUNCIL.
Mr. Worthivale had summoned Lucy from the Court. Beavis was there. A consultation was to be held on family affairs. The fire was lighted in the drawing-room, and father and son were there awaiting the arrival of Lucy.
‘Father,’ said Beavis, ‘I do not like that new maid you have got.’ ‘Why not? She is very respectable and respectful.’
‘She puzzles me. There is a shrewd look about her face that one does not generally meet with in a slavey.’
‘And you dislike her because she is not an unthinking machine?’
‘No, father, that is not it. I expressed myself too strongly when I said that I did not like her; I should rather have said that I mistrusted her.’
‘Why mistrust her?’
‘Because I am continually lighting upon her in the office.’
‘What of that? Is not that the most used room in the house? Because it is so much used, and so many people come in there to see one, it requires more sweeping than any other part of the establishment. Besides, I make a litter there with my papers. No other maid has arranged the papers so well before. Joanna puts everything where I can lay my hand on it at once.’
‘You leave books and papers about, without locking them up, more than I think wise.’
‘My dear Beavis, who is there to read them? Do you suppose a chambermaid cares one farthing for the accounts, and is greedy to know the clauses of a lease? Besides, Joanna cannot read. Here comes Lucy.’
‘I suppose she has heard the news,’ said Beavis.
‘I don’t know. Lady Grace would be told it last of all.’
Lucy entered. She did not look herself that morning. Generally bright and smiling, with a brilliant colour in her cheeks, she was on this occasion dispirited and somewhat pale.
‘Why, Lucy, what is the matter?’ asked her father.
‘I have had a headache,’ she answered. ‘But I am better now. I could not sleep last night.’ She brightened with an effort, came to her father and kissed him tenderly.
‘How are all at the Court?’ asked Mr. Worthivale. (Here be it noted that he asked this question, however often he met his daughter during the day, before he approached affairs of private interest. The health and welfare of the family stood before everything.)
‘The Duke is not so well this morning,’ answered Lucy. ‘He has heard news which has excited him, and excitement always upsets his heart.’ ‘The news is of a joyful nature,’ said the steward.
‘Yes, I suppose so,’ answered Lucy, faintly, and her eyes fell involuntarily before the observant look of her brother.
‘Stay a bit,’ said the steward; ‘I had clean forgotten old Barberry, who is in the kitchen waiting to speak to me. My memory is going, I believe. It was high time for me to recall Beavis to assist me. I shall be back directly.’
Mr. Worthivale left the room.
‘You have heard, Lucy,’ said Beavis in a low tone.
‘Yes, dear, I have heard what I presume you allude to—that the Marquess is engaged.’
‘It is both his father’s wish and that of his uncles. I urged it strongly on him.’
‘I am very glad,’ said Lucy; ‘I hope she is worthy of him. Grace is startled, and does not know what to make of the tidings. She ought to rejoice, but cannot till she knows the lady.’
Beavis took his sister’s head between his hands and kissed her on the forehead. ‘What is for the good of the house gives us the greatest happiness,’ he said.
She looked him frankly in the eyes and smiled, but there was moisture in her eyes and her lips quivered. She saw that Beavis had read the secret of her heart, which she had never confessed even to herself. She pressed his hand to her bosom. Then Mr. Worthivale came in.
‘Tiresome old man!’ said the steward. ‘Like all the rest, Barberry wants something. The farmer must have a new calves’ house, and the cotter a fresh pigsty. No one is content with the accommodation that suited his forefathers. Barberry came here with a box for Joan, which he had brought in his cart from the station, and being here, thought he might as well make a demand on his Grace’s pocket. I have said I would look to the linney. He wants to have one for his carrier’s cart. I can’t see that the Duke is bound to build him one. If a man buys a donkey his Grace must build a shed for it; and if a woman catches a bullfinch the Duke must provide her with a cage. Hark! Good Lord, what is the matter?’ He ran to the door and opened it.
‘What is that noise? Who is squalling?’
‘Please, sir,’ said Emily, ‘it is only Joanna.’
‘Only Joanna! Has she scalded herself? What is the noise about? Send her down to me. Why are you laughing?’
‘Yes, sir,’ said the maid; ‘I’ll tell her you want to see her, sir.’
Presently Joanna came down, her face flushed, in great excitement.
‘What was that row about?’ asked Mr. Worthivale, still in the hall. ‘Were you and Emily having romps or tickling each other? Or have you hurt yourself? I care not. I will not have a caterwauling in my house. Why, bless my soul! the Duke or one of their Lordships might have been here, and then—what would have been thought of my house, I should like to know? What made you scream, or laugh, or cry, or whatever was the noise I heard?’
‘Please, sir,’ said Joanna, half crying, ‘it is too bad! I had set my heart on it, and now it is utterly spoiled.’
‘What is spoiled?’
‘The pink silk.’
‘Pink silk! What pink silk?’
‘Oh, sir! I had a beautiful pink silk dress, and as there was to be a dance at Court Royal for the tenants and servants, I sent to Plymouth to have it forwarded.’
‘Pink silk! What next! You come out in pink silk!’
‘Lady Grace has been teaching me to dance. Miss Lucy can tell you, sir; she has helped.’
‘But—that does not justify pink silk.’
‘I can’t wear it; it is spoiled,’ said Joanna in a doleful voice. ‘The Ems Water has run all over it.’
‘Ems Water!’ gasped Mr. Worthivale. ‘What have you to do with Ems Water?’
‘Please, sir, the master put in three bottles with the pink silk, because, he said, the change of diet here might have heated my blood, and something cooling and lowering’
‘The master!—What master?—Colonel Delany?’
‘No, sir, not Colonel Delany; another master.’
‘What, a doctor? I did not know you had been with a doctor.’
‘He was not exactly a doctor—but he did bleed people pretty freely.’
‘Oh, a surgeon. Right. Only the ignorant call surgeons by the title of doctor.’
‘And one of the bottles of Ems Water is broken. I found it broken in the box, and the water has wetted and stained my dear, beautiful dress. I shall never be able to wear it now—never!’
‘That is what you cried out about, is it?’
‘Yes.’
‘Go upstairs, and thank your stars the Ems Water did spoil your pink silk; you would only have made yourself ridiculous had you appeared in it.’
Then Mr. Worthivale returned to the drawing-room. There was no need for him to repeat the story. The door had been left open, and his son and daughter had heard, and were laughing over, Joanna’s misadventure.
Joanna went to her room, half in wrath, half in sorrow. She opened the window and dashed from it the two remaining bottles, casting them into a large bank of rhododendrons.
‘That is the end of you,’ she said. ‘Now there are but three left at the Golden Balls. I wonder what will become of them.’
‘Sit down,’ said Mr. Worthivale. ‘I have sent for you, Lucy, and you, Beavis, to meet me here, because a crisis has arrived in the affairs of the Kingsbridge house—because an emergency has arisen which we shall have to meet, and I do not see how it can be met—except in one way.’ He paused and looked at his daughter, then at his son. ‘I suppose you know that the Marquess is engaged to be married to a young lady of immense fortune, a lady not in his position, a commoner, but of respectable family. Her father belongs to a Norfolk house; he was a younger son, and sought his fortune in Ceylon, coffee-planting. What he sought he found. He has returned to England worth enough to extinguish some of the charges on the Kingsbridge estate. Now we may look to the Ducal House nourishing and putting forth leaves in old style once more. I am glad. I confess I was despondent at one time. But one should not despair. I have learnt a lesson. There is a special Providence which watches over our great and glorious Aristocracy.’
Mr. Worthivale drew a sigh of relief and touched his breast with his right hand, much as though he were crying ‘Peccavi, I have sinned, in that for a season my faith in the English Aristocracy was shaken. I have now passed through the trial; my faith is restored to me.’
‘There is one thing I must mention,’ continued the steward. ‘I have called you together, not only to announce to you that a turn in the affairs of the House has been reached, but also to impress on you the fact that a supreme effort is needed to bring these affairs to a conclusion. Of course the father of the young lady, and the young lady herself, have been invited to Court Royal for Christmas. Their reception must be splendid. It will never do to allow Mr. Rigsby to see that the family is pinched. Now Christmas is one of the most distressing seasons to a well-ordered mind. It means the influx of bills, the demand for boxes, the payment of annuities, and what is due on mortgages and loans of various sorts; add to these the very copious customary charities. I know that, theoretically and theologically, Christmas is all right, and a festival, and a time of rejoicing, but practically it is the contrary, even to those in affluent circumstances. They cannot escape the annoyances if they are not sensible of the suffering caused by Christmas. I am sorry to say that the closing year will find us in a worse predicament than last. I have strained every nerve to meet our liabilities, but have not been as successful as I could have desired—indeed, to be plain, I have been very unsuccessful. Very heavy charges have to be met, and I do not know where to turn to find the money. The older mortgages are held by insurance offices, and I am afraid to fall in arrear to them. The newer mortgages I do not see how I can meet, and find the money that is wanted for current expenditure. Just now the expenses of the house cannot be reduced. The Rigsbys are coming, and we must find a good deal of money for their entertainment; balls and dinner-parties must be given on a large scale. The old gentleman must be impressed with the greatness of the family into which he is to be received. I do not see how we can press payment from the farmers; their sheep have been diseased, and they have lost entire flocks. The Americans have beaten the wheat they grow below the cost of growing. The importation of foreign cattle has reduced the price of home-grown meat. I have sounded the tenants, and they give me no hope of paying arrears. Now all we want is time. The marriage of the Marquess will relieve the pressure, if not remove it altogether. We must manage somehow to tide over the time till that takes place. Lord Ronald very generously placed three thousand pounds at our disposal, but we want at least as much more. We must prevent the evil from coming to a head before the marriage takes place. As I said before, we have only one thing to consider—how to gain time.’
Mr. Worthivale looked at his son, then at his daughter, questioningly, entreatingly. ‘I apprehend your meaning,’ said Beavis. ‘You ask me to sanction what you have already resolved on in your own heart, the sinking our little savings—I mean yours: I have nothing—in the Kingsbridge debt. The money is yours. It is what you have laid by. Do with it what you will. I will not reproach you.’
‘It is not that exactly,’ said Mr. Worthivale, rubbing his hands nervously together. ‘Most providentially, most providentially, I say,’ with great emphasis on the word, ‘I took my money out of Argentine bonds in time—before they went to zero.’
‘Well, father, and then.’
‘Then—I looked about for a safe investment, and really, upon my word, I saw none better than a small mortgage on the Charlecombe estate of the Duke’s.’
‘Very well. It is there. What then do you want?’
‘If I had left it in the Argentines,’ argued Mr. Worthivale, ‘I should have had nothing for it.’
‘And have you drawn your interest since?’
‘Not of late,’ answered the steward. ‘There have been other and more pressing demands.’
‘Then what do you want us to consent to, father?’
Mr. Worthivale fidgeted with his hands and feet, then, whilst feeling the button of his collar, which he pretended was coming off, he said, shyly, ‘There is Lucy’s four thousand pounds, left her by her mother.’
‘No,’ said Beavis sharply; ‘they shall not be touched.’
‘Beavis,’ exclaimed his sister, ‘I entreat you, do not deprive me of the pleasure, the pride, of contributing my little share.’
‘No,’ said her brother hotly, ‘I will never consent to this.’
‘Then you will deprive me of a great happiness. I have spent my life, so far, at Court Royal, lived on the kindness of the dear people there. They have loved me as if I were of their blood. The Duke makes no distinction between me and his own daughter. Lord Ronald is kindness itself. I would give my heart’s blood for Lady Grace. Oh, Beavis! you are cruel. Do you not understand that it is a privilege and a pleasure to do something, to sacrifice something, for those one loves? Let the money go. Who cares?’
‘No, Lucy, emphatically no,’ said Beavis firmly.
‘The money is now in the Consols at three per cent.,’ said Mr. Worthivale. ‘Really, Beavis, I think you unreasonable. I can get four-and-a-half for Lucy if I lend it to the Duke—on security of course. There is absolutely no risk. Lord Saltcombe will be married within six months, and at once, if you desire it, the money can be replaced in the funds.’
‘It shall not be taken out.’
‘Beavis,’ said the steward, testily, ‘I am not responsible to you. I am trustee of my daughter’s money, and she is old enough to know her own mind. I did not wish to do anything without your knowledge, but I am not bound to follow your advice. If I thought there was the smallest doubt about the safety of the money, I would not make this proposal; but I have not a shadow of doubt. All I want is time; with time everything will come right.’
‘I protest,’ said Beavis.
‘Beavis!’ exclaimed Lucy, throwing her arms round his neck, and hiding her face on his shoulder, to conceal the tears that were gathering in her eyes; ‘Beavis, it goes to my heart to oppose you in anything, but in this I am as resolute as yourself. Father, you have my full consent. Do not listen to my brother. Oh, Beavis! I am ready to do all I can—for dear Lady Grace’s sake.’
Then Beavis sighed.
‘It is as you will, Lucy. I am powerless to do more than protest. When a great ship founders, it draws down all the vessels round it into the abyss.’