The Daltons; Or, Three Roads In Life. Volume I

“It’s not the worst thing we have there, sir, I promise you,” rejoined Haggerstone, authoritatively.

“Our coughs and rheumatics are, indeed, sore drawbacks upon patriotism.”

“I do not speak of them, sir; I allude to our insolent, overbearing aristocracy, who, sprung from the people as they are, recruited from the ranks of trade or law, look down upon the really ancient blood of the land, the untitled nobility. Who are they, sir, that treat us thus? The fortunate speculator, who has amassed a million; the Attorney-General, who has risen to a Chief-Justiceship; men without ancestry, without landed influence; a lucky banker, perhaps, like our friend upstairs, may stand in the ‘Gazette’ to-morrow or next day as Baron or Viscount, without one single requirement of the station, save his money.”

“I confess, if I have a weakness, it is for lords,” said Jekyl, simperingly. “I suppose I must have caught it very early in life, for it clings to me like an instinct.”

“I feel happy to avow that I have none, sir. Six centuries of gentry blood suffice for all my ambitions; but I boil over when I see the overweening presumption of these new people.”

“After all, new people, like a new watch, a new coat, and a new carriage, have the best chance of lasting. Old and worn out are very nearly convertible terms.”

“These are sentiments, sir, which would, doubtless, do you excellent service with the family upstairs, but are quite thrown away upon such a mere country gentleman as myself.”

Jekyl smiled, and drew up his cravat, with his habitual simpering air, but said nothing.

“Do you purpose remaining much longer here?” asked Haggerstone, abruptly.

“A few days, at most.”

“Do you turn north or south?”

“I fancy I shall winter in Italy.”

“The Onslows, I believe, are bound for Rome?”

“Can’t say,” was the short reply.

“Just the sort of people for Italy. The fashionables of what the Chinese call ‘second chop’ go down admirably at Rome or Naples.”

“Very pleasant places they are, too,” said Jekyl, with a smile. “The climate permits everything, even dubious intimacies.”

Haggerstone gave a short “Ha!” at the heresy of this speech, but made no other comment on it.

“They say that Miss Onslow will have about a hundred thousand pounds?” said Haggerstone, with an air of inquiry.

“What a deal of maccaroni and parmesan that sum would buy!”

“Would you have her marry an Italian, sir?”

“Perhaps not, if she were to consult me on the matter,” said Jekyl, blandly; “but as this is, to say the least, not very probable, I may own that I like the mixed marriages well enough.”

“They make miserable menages, sir,” broke in Haggerstone.

“But excessively agreeable houses to visit at.”

“The Onslows are scarcely the people to succeed in that way,” rejoined Haggerstone, whose thoughts seemed to revolve round this family without any power to wander from the theme. “Mere money, nothing but money to guide them.”

“Not a bad pilot, either, as times go.”

Haggerstone uttered another short, “Ha!” as though to enter a protest against the sentiment without the trouble of a refutation. He had utterly failed in all his efforts to draw Jekyl into a discussion of the banker’s family, or even obtain from that excessively cautious young gentleman the slightest approach to an opinion about them; and yet it was exactly in search of this opinion that he had come down to take his walk that evening. It was in the hope that Jekyl might afford him some clew to these people’s thoughts, or habits, or their intentions for the coming winter, that he had promenaded for the last hour and a half. “If he know anything of them,” thought Haggerstone, “he will be but too proud to show it, and display the intimacy to its fullest extent!”

It was, then, to his utter discomfiture, he learned that Jekyl had scarcely spoken to Lady Hester, and never even seen Sir Stafford or Miss Onslow. It was, then, pure invention of the waiter to say that they were acquainted. “Jekyl has done nothing,” muttered he to himself, “and I suppose I need not throw away a dinner upon him to tell it.”

Such were his reasonings; ana long did he balance in his own mind whether it were worth while to risk a bottle of Burgundy in such a cause; for often does it happen that the fluid thrown down the pump is utterly wasted, and that it is vain to moisten the sucker, if the well beneath be exhausted.

To be, or not to be? was then the eventful point he deliberated with himself. Haggerstone never threw away a dinner in his life. He was not one of those vulgarly minded folk who ask you, in a parenthesis, to come in to “manger la soupe,” as they say, without more preparation than the spreading of your napkin. No; he knew all the importance of a dinner, and, be it acknowledged, how to give it also, and could have distinguished perfectly between the fare to set before an “habitual diner out,” and that suitable to some newly arrived Englishman abroad: he could have measured his guest to a truffle! It was his boast that he never gave a pheasant when a poulet would have sufficed, nor wasted his “Chablis” on the man who would have been contented with “Barsac.”

The difficulty was not, then, how to have treated Jekyl, but whether to treat him at all. Indeed, the little dinner itself had been all planned and arranged that morning; and the “trout” from the “Murg,” and the grouse from Eberstein, had been “pricked off,” in the bill of fare, for “No. 24,” as he was unceremoniously designated, with a special order about the dish of whole truffles with butter, in the fair intention of inviting Mr. Albert Jekyl to partake of them.

If a lady reveals some latent desire of conquest in the coquetry of her costume and the more than ordinary care of her appearance, so your male friend may be suspected of a design upon your confidence or your liberality by the studious propriety of his petit diner. Never fall into the vulgar error that such things are mere accident. As well ascribe to chance the rotations of the seasons, or the motions of the heavenly bodies. Your printaniere in January, your epigramme d’agneau with asparagus at Christmas, show a solicitude to please to the full as ardent, and not a whit less sincere, than the soft glances that have just set your heart a-beating from the recesses of yonder opera-box.

“Will you eat your cutlet with me to-day, Mr. Jekyl?” said Haggerstone, after a pause, in which he had weighed long and well all the pros and cons of the invitation.

“Thanks, but I dine with the Onslows!” lisped out Jekyl, with a languid indifference, that however did not prevent his remarking the almost incredulous amazement in the colonel’s face; “and I perceive,” added he, “that it ‘s time to dress.”

Haggerstone looked after him as he left the room; and then ringing the bell violently, gave orders to his servant to “pack up,” for he would leave Baden next morning.

CHAPTER XVII. A FAMILY DISCUSSION

SOMETHING more than a week after the scenes we have just related had occurred, the Daltons were seated round the fire, beside which, in the place of honor, in an old armchair, propped by many a cushion, reclined Hans Roeckle. A small lamp of three burners such as the peasants use stood upon the table, of which only one was lighted, and threw its fitful gleam over the board, covered by the materials of a most humble meal. Even this was untasted; and it was easy to mark in the downcast and depressed countenances of the group that some deep care was weighing upon them.

Dalton himself, with folded arms, sat straight opposite the fire, his heavy brows closely knit, and his eyes staring fixedly at the blaze, as if expecting some revelation of the future from it; an open letter, which seemed to have dropped from his hand, was lying at his feet. Nelly, with bent-down head, was occupied in arranging the little tools and implements she was accustomed to use in carving; but in the tremulous motion of her fingers, and the short, quick heaving of her chest, might be read the signs of a struggle that cost heavily to subdue.

Half-concealed beneath the projection of the fireplace sat Kate Dalton she was sewing. Although to all seeming intent upon her work, more than once did her fingers drop the needle to wipe the gushing tears from her eyes, while at intervals a short sob would burst forth, and break the stillness around.

As for Hans, he seemed lost in a dreamy revery, from which he rallied at times to smile pleasantly at a little wooden figure the same which occasioned his disaster placed beside him.

There was an air of sadness over everything; and even the old spaniel, Joan, as she retreated from the heat of the fire, crept with stealthy step beneath the table, as if respecting the mournful stillness of the scene. How different the picture from what that humble chamber had so often presented! What a contrast to those happy evenings, when, as the girls worked, Hans would read aloud some of those strange mysteries of Jean Paul, or the wild and fanciful imaginings of Chamisso, while old Dalton would lay down his pipe and break in upon his memories of Ireland, to ask at what they were laughing, and Frank look up distractedly from his old chronicles of German war to join in the mirth! How, at such moments, Hans would listen to the interpretation, and with what greedy ears follow the versions the girls would give of some favorite passage, as if dreading lest its force should be weakened or its beauty marred by transmission! And then those outbreaks of admiration that would simultaneously gush forth at some sentiment of high and glorious meaning, some godlike gleam of bright intelligence, which, though clothed in the language of a foreign land, spoke home to their hearts with the force that truth alone can speak!

Yes, they were, indeed, happy evenings! when around their humble hearth came thronging the groups of many a poet’s fancy, bright pictures of many a glorious scene, emotions of heart that seemed to beat in unison with their own. They felt no longer the poverty of their humble condition, they had no memory for the little straits and trials of the bygone day, as they trod with Tieck the alley beneath the lindens of some rural village, or sat with Auerbach beneath the porch of the Vorsteher’s dwelling. The dull realities of life faded before the vivid conceptions of fiction, and they imbibed lessons of patient submission and trustfulness from those brothers and sisters who are poets’ children.

And yet what no darkness of adversity could rob them of the first gleam of what, to worldly minds at least, would seem better fortune, had already despoiled them. Like the traveller in the fable, who had grasped his cloak the faster through the storm, but who threw it away when the hot, rays scorched him, they could brave the hurricane, but not face the sunshine.

The little wooden clock behind the door struck nine, and Dalton started up suddenly.

“What did it strike, girls?” asked he, quickly.

“Nine, papa,” replied Kate, in a low voice.

“At what hour was he to come for the answer?”

“At ten,” said she, still lower.

“Well, you ‘d better write it at once,” said he, with a peevishness very different from his ordinary manner. “They’ve remained here already four days isn’t it four days she says? to give us time to make up our minds; we cannot detain them any longer.”

“Lady Hester has shown every consideration for our difficulty,” said Kate. “We cannot be too grateful for her kindness.”

“Tell her so,” said he, bitterly. “I suppose women know when to believe each other.”

“And what reply am I to make, sir?” said she, calmly, as having put aside her work, she took her place at the writing-table.

“Faith, I don’t care,” said he, doggedly. “Nor is it much matter what opinion I give. I am nobody now; I have no right to decide upon anything.”

“The right and duty are both yours, papa.”

“Duty! So I’m to be taught my duty as well as the rest!” said he, passionately. “Don’t you think there are some others might remember that they have duties also?”

“Would that I could fulfil mine as my heart dictates them!” said Ellen; and her lip trembled as she spoke the words.

“Faith! I scarce know what ‘s my duty, with all the drilling and dictating I get,” muttered he, sulkily. “But this I know, there ‘s no will left me I dare not budge this side or that without leave.”

“Dearest papa, be just to yourself, if not to me.”

“Isn’t it truth I’m saying?” continued he, his anger rising with every word he spoke. “One day, I’m forbid to ask my friends home with me to dinner. Another, I ‘m told I ought n’t to go dine with them. I ‘m tutored and lectured at every hand’s turn. Never a thought crosses me, but it ‘s sure to be wrong. You din into my ears, how happy it is to be poor when one ‘s contented.”

“The lesson was yours, dear papa,” said Nelly, smiling. “Don’t disavow your own teaching.”

“Well, the more fool me. I know better now. But what’s the use of it? When the prospect of a little ease and comfort was offered to me, you persuaded me to refuse it. Ay, that you did! You began with the old story about our happy hearth and contentment; and where is it now?”

A sob, so low as to be scarcely heard, broke from Nelly, and she pressed her hand to her heart with a convulsive force.

“Can you deny it? You made me reject the only piece of kindness ever was shown me in a life long. There was the opportunity of spending the rest of my days in peace, and you wouldn’t let me take it. And the fool I was to listen to you!”

“Oh, papa, how you wrong her!” cried Kate, as, in a torrent of tears, she bent over his chair. “Dearest Nelly has no thought but for us. Her whole heart is our own.”

“If you could but see it!” cried Nelly, with a thick utterance.

“‘T is a droll way of showing affection, then,” said Dal ton, “to keep me a beggar, and you no better than a servant-maid. It’s little matter about me, I know. I’m old, and worn out, a reduced Irish gentleman, with nothing but his good blood remaining to him. But you, Kate, that are young and handsome, ay, faith! a deal sight better-looking than my Lady herself, it’s a little hard that you are to be denied what might be your whole fortune in life.”

“You surely would not stake all her happiness on the venture, papa?” said Nelly, mildly.

“Happiness!” said he, scornfully; “what do you call happiness? Is it dragging out life in poverty like this, with the proudest friend in our list an old toy-maker?”

“Poor Hanserl!” murmured Nelly, in a low voice; but soft as were the accents, the dwarf heard them, and nodded his head twice, as though to thank her for a recognition of whose import he knew nothing.

“Just so! You have pity enough for strangers, but none for your own people,” said Dalton, as he arose and paced the room, the very act of motion serving to increase his anger. “He was never used to better; he’s just what he always was. But think of me! think of the expectations I was reared to, the place I used to hold, and see me now!”

“Dearest, best papa, do not say those bitter words,” cried Kate, passionately. “Our own dear Nelly loves us truly. What has her life been but self-denial?”

“And have I not had my share of self-denial?” said he, abruptly. “Is there left a single one of the comforts I was always accustomed to? ‘T is sick I am of hearing about submission, and patience, and resignation, and the like, and that we never were so happy as now. Faith! I tell you, I ‘d rather have one day at Mount Dalton, as it used to be long ago, than I ‘d have twenty years of the life I spend here.”

“No, papa, no,” said Nelly, winding her arm around his waist, “you’d rather sit at the window yonder, and listen to a song from Kate, one of your own favorites, or take a stroll with us after sunset of a summer’s evening, and talk of Frank, than go back to all the gayety of that wild life you speak of.”

“Who says so?” asked he, roughly.

“You yourself. Nay, don’t deny it,” said she, smiling.

“If I did I was wrong, then,” rejoined he, pushing her rudely away. “It was because I believed my children were affectionate and fond, and that whatever I set my heart on they ‘d be sure to wish just as much as myself.”

“And when has that time ceased to be?” said she, calmly.

“What! when has it ceased to be?” said he, sharply. “Is it you that asks that question, you that made me refuse the legacy?”

“Nay, papa, be just,” interrupted she, mildly. “The merit of that refusal was all your own. I did but explain to you the circumstances under which this gift it was no less was offered, and your own right feeling dictated the reply.”

Dalton was silent, a struggling sense of pride in his imputed dignity of behavior warring with the desire of fault-finding.

“Maybe I did!” said he, at last, self-esteem gaining the mastery. “Maybe I saw my own reasons for what I was going to do. A Daltou is not the man to mistake what ‘s due to his name and family; but this is a different case. Here ‘s an invitation, as elegant a piece of politeness as I have seen, from one our own equal in every respect; she calls herself a connection too, we won’t say much about that, for we never reckoned the English relations anything, asking my daughter to join them in their visit to Italy. When are we to see the like of that again? Is it every day that some rich family will make us the same offer? It’s not to cost us a sixpence; read the letter, and you ‘ll see how nicely it ‘s hinted that her Ladyship takes everything upon herself. Well, if any one objected it might be myself; ‘tis on me will fall the heaviest part of the blow. It was only the other day Frank left me; now I ‘m to lose Kate, not but I know very well Nelly will do her best.”

Slight as was the praise, she kissed his hand passionately for it; and it was some seconds ere he could proceed.

“Yes, I ‘m sure you ‘ll do all you can; but what is it after all? Won’t I miss the songs she sings for me; won’t I miss her laughing voice and her sprightly step?”

“And why should you encounter such privations, papa?” broke Nelly in. “These are, as you justly say, the greatest sources of your happiness. Why separate from them? Why rob this humble chamber of its fairest ornament? Why darken our hearth by an absence for which nothing can requite us?”

“I ‘ll tell you why, then,” said he, and a sparkling gleam of cunning lit up his eye, as the casuistry crossed his mind. “Just because I can deny myself anything for my children’s sake. ‘T is for them I am thinking always. Give old Peter Dalton his due, and nobody can call him selfish, not the worst enemy he had! Let me feel that my children are benefited, and you may leave me to trudge along the weary path before me.”

“Then there only remains to see if this promise of benefit be real,” said Nelly.

“And why wouldn’t it? Doesn’t everybody know that travelling and seeing foreign parts is equal to any education? How many things haven’t I seen myself since I came abroad, that I never dreamed about before I left home! Look at the way they dress the peas with sugar in them. See how they shoe a horse with a leg tied up to a post, as if they were going to cut it off. Mind the droll fashion they have of fastening a piece of timber to the hind wheel of a coach, by way of a drag! There ‘s no end to their contrivances.”

“Let us forget every consideration but one,” said Nelly, earnestly. “What are the dangers that may beset Kate, in a career of such difficulty, when, without an adviser, miles away from us all, she may need counsel or comfort. Think of her in sickness or in sorrow, or, worse than both, under temptation. Picture to yourself how dearly bought would be every charm of that refinement you covet for her, at the price of a heart weakened in its attachment to home, bereft of the simple faith that there was no disgrace in poverty. Think, above all,” cried she and for the first time her lips trembled, and her eyes swam “think, above all, we cannot give her up forever; and yet how is she to come back again to these humble fortunes, and the daily toil that she will then regard with shame and disgust? I ask not how differently shall we appear in her eyes, for I know that, however changed in her habits, how wide soever be the range of thought knowledge may have imparted, her fond, true heart will still be all our own; but can you risk her fortunes on an ocean like this; can you peril all her future for so little?”

“To hear you talk, Nelty, one might think she was going to Jerusalem or Australia; sure, after all, it’s only a few days away from us she ‘ll be; and as for the dangers, devil a one of them I see. Peter Dalton’s daughter is not likely to be ill-treated anywhere. I ‘e were always a ‘good warrant’ for taking care of our own; and, to make short of it, I wish it, and Kate herself wishes it, and I don’t see why our hopes should not be as strong as your fears.’

“You remember, too, papa, that Dr. Grounsell agreed with me, and spoke even more strongly than I did against the scheme?”

“And did n’t I pay him off for his interference? Did n’t I give him a bit of my mind about it, and tell him that, because a man was employed as a doctor in a family, he ought not to presume to advise them on their own affairs? Faith, I don’t think he’ll trouble another patient with his counsel.”

“We must not forget, sir, that if his counsel came unasked, his skill was unrequited; both came from a nature that wished us well.”

“The advice and the physic were about the same value both made me sick; and so you ‘re like to do if you worry me any longer. I tell you now, my mind ‘s made up, and go she shall!”

“Oh, papa, not if dear Nelly thinks – ”

“What’s that to me don’t I know more of the world than she does? Am I come to this time of life to be taught by a slip of a girl that never was ten miles out of her home? Sit down here now, and write the answer.”

There was a stern determination in the way these last words were uttered that told Nelly how fruitless would be all further opposition. She had long since remarked, besides, how her father’s temper reacted upon his health, and how invariably any prolonged excitement terminated in an attack of gout. Increasing age gave to these accesses of malady a character of danger, which she already began to remark with deep anxiety. Now she saw that immediate compliance with his wishes was the only alternative left.

She seated herself at the table, and prepared to write. For some seconds the disturbance of her thoughts, the mingled crowd of sensations that filled her mind, prevented all power of calm consideration; but the struggle was soon over, and she wrote on rapidly.

So silent was the chamber, so hushed was all within it, that the scratching noise of the pen alone broke the stillness. Speedily glided her hand across the paper, on which two heavy tears had already fallen, burning drops of sorrow that gushed from a fevered brain! A whole world of disaster, a terrible catalogue of ill, revealed itself before her; but she wrote on. She felt that she was to put in motion the series of events whose onward course she never could control, as though she was to push over a precipice the rock that in its downward rush would carry ruin and desolation along with it; but she wrote on.

At last she ceased, and all was still; not a sound was heard in the little room, and Nelly leaned her head down upon the table and wept.

But while she wept she prayed, prayed that if the season of trouble her thoughts foreshadowed should be inevitable, and that if the cup of sorrow must, indeed, be drained, the strength might be sent them for the effort. It might have been that her mind exaggerated the perils of separation, and the dangers that would beset one of Kate’s temper and disposition. Her own bereavement might have impressed her with the misery that follows an unhappy attachment; and her reflective nature, shadowed by an early sorrow, might have colored too darkly a future of such uncertainty. But a deep foreboding, like a heavy weight, lay upon her heart, and she was powerless to resist it.

These instincts of our nature are not to be undervalued, nor confounded with the weak and groundless terrors of the frivolous. The closing petals of the flower as the storm draws nigh, the wild cry of the sea-bird as the squall is gathering, the nestling of the sheep within the fold while yet the hurricane has not broke, are signs that, to the observant instincts, peril comes not unannounced.

“Shall I read it, papa?” said she, as she raised her head, and turned towards him a look of calm and beaming affection.