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

“But as you are about to stake your life on the issue, I cannot impugn your sincerity.”

A hasty movement of George towards the window here alarmed Grounsell, and he noiselessly withdrew, and descended the stairs again.

“A precious mess of trouble do I find ready for me,” muttered he, as he passed across the courtyard. “Debt, duelling, and sickness, such are the pleasures that welcome me; and these not the worst, perhaps, if the causes of them were to be made known!”

“My Lady has just heard of your arrival, doctor, and begs you will have the kindness to step up to her room,” said Proctor, coming to meet him.

“I ‘m tired, I ‘m fatigued. Say I ‘m in bed,” said Grounsell, angrily.

“Her maid has just seen you, sir,” suggested Proctor, mildly.

“No matter; give the answer I tell you; or stay perhaps it would be better to see her. Yes, Proctor, show me the way.” And muttering to himself, “The meeting will not be a whit pleasanter for her than me,” he followed the servant up the stairs.

Well habituated to Lady Hester’s extravagant and costly tastes, Grounsell was yet unprepared for the gorgeous decorations and splendid ornaments of the chambers through which he passed, and he stopped from time to time in amazement to contemplate a magnificence which was probably rather heightened than diminished by the uncertain light of the candles the servant carried. He peered at the china vases; he passed his hand across the malachite and jasper tables; he narrowly inspected the rich mosaics, as though doubtful of their being genuine; and then, with a deep sigh, almost deep enough to be a groan, he moved on in sadness. A bust of Kate Dalton the work of a great sculptor, and an admirable likeness caught his eye, and he gazed at it with signs of strong emotion. There was much beauty in it, and of a character all her own; but still the cold marble had caught up, in traits sterner than those of life, the ambitious bearing of the head and the proud elevation of the brow.

“And she has become this already!” said he, half aloud. “Oh, how unlike poor Nelly’s model! how different from the simple and beauteous innocence of those saint-like features!”

“My Lady will see you, sir,” said Celestine, breaking in upon his musings. And he followed her into the chamber, where, seated in a deeply cushioned chair, Lady Hester reclined, dressed in all the perfection of an elegant deshabille.

Grounsell was, assuredly, not the man to be most taken by such attractions, yet he could not remain entirely insensible to them; and he felt a most awkward sense of admiration as he surveyed her. With all a woman’s quickness, her Ladyship saw the effect she had produced, and languidly extending her hand, she vouchsafed the nearest approach to a smile with which she had ever favored him. As if suddenly recalling all his old antipathies and prejudices, Grounsell was himself in a moment, and, scarcely touching the taper and jewelled fingers, he bowed ceremoniously and took his seat at a little distance off.

“This is a very unexpected pleasure indeed,” sighed Lady Hester; “you only arrived to-night?”

“Half an hour ago, madam; and but for your Ladyship’s summons I should have been in bed.”

“How do you find Sir Stafford looking poorly, I fear?”

“I haven’t yet seen him, madam, but I am prepared for a great change.”

“I fear so,” sighed she, plaintively; “George says, quite a break up; and Buccellini calls it ‘Gotta Affievolita,’ and says it is very fatal with elderly people.”

“The vulgar phrase of a ‘broken heart’ is more expressive, madam, and perhaps quite as pathological.”

Lady Hester drew proudly up, and seemed preparing herself for a coming encounter. They were old antagonists, and well knew each other’s mode of attack. On the present occasion, however, Grounsell did not seek a contest, and was satisfied by a single shot at the enemy, as if trying the range of his gun.

“You will probably advise a change of air and scene, Dr. Grounsell,” said she, calmly, and as though inviting pacific intercourse.

“It is precisely what I have come for, madam,” answered he, in a short, dry voice. “Sir Stafford’s affairs require his immediate return to England. The vicissitudes that attend on great commercial enterprises threaten him with large very large losses.”

Lady Hester fell back in her chair, and this time, at least, her pale cheek and her powerless attitude were not feigned nor counterfeited; but Grounsell merely handed her a smelling-bottle from the table, and went on:

“The exact extent of his liabilities cannot be ascertained at once, but they must be considerable. He will be fortunate if there remain to him one fourth of his property.”

Lady Hester’s head fell heavily back, and she fainted away.

The doctor rose, and sprinkled her forehead with water, and then patiently sat down with his finger on her wrist to watch the returning tide of circulation. Assured at length of her restored consciousness, he went on:

“A small establishment, strict economy, a watchful supervision of every domestic arrangement, together with the proceeds of the sale of all the useless trumpery by which he is at present surrounded, will do much; but he must be seconded, madam, seconded and aided, not thwarted and opposed. George can exchange into a regiment in India; the proper steps have been already taken for that purpose.”

“Have you been thoughtful enough, sir, in your general care of this family, to engage a small house for us at Brighton?”

“I have seen one at Ramsgate, madam,” replied he, dryly; “but the rent is more than we ought to give.”

“Are we so very poor as that, sir?” said she, sarcastically, laying emphasis on the pronoun.

“Many excellent and worthy persons, madam, contrive to live respectably on less.”

“Is Miss Onslow to go out as a governess, doctor? I am afraid you have forgotten her share in these transactions?”

“I have a letter from her in my pocket, madam, which would show that she herself is not guilty of this forgetfulness, wherein she makes the very proposition you allude to.”

“And me? Have you no sphere of self-denial and duty have you no degrading station, nor menial servitude, adapted to my habits?”

“I know of none, madam,” said Grounsell, sternly. “Varnish will no more make a picture than fine manners prove a substitute for skill or industry.”

“This is really too much, sir,” said she, rising, her face now crimson with anger; “and even if all you have said prove true, reverse of fortune can bring no heavier infliction than the prospect of your intimacy and obtrusive counsels.”

“You may not need them, madam. In adversity,” said Grounsell, with a smile, “healthy stomachs get on very well without bitters.” And so saying, he bowed and left the room.

For a few moments Lady Hester sat overwhelmed by the tidings she had just heard, and then, suddenly rising, she rang the bell for her maid.

“Send Miss Dalton to me, Celestine; say I wish to speak to her immediately,” said she. “This may be the last time we shall speak to each other ere we invert our positions,” muttered she to herself. And in the working of her features might be read all the agony of the reflection.

CHAPTER XXXIX. PRATOLINO

How like the great world is every little section of it! How full of all its passions and interests, its warring jealousies and its selfish struggles! Within the Mazzarini Palace that night were at work every emotion and sentiment which sway the wide communities of men; and hope and fear, the yearnings of ambition, and the gloomy forebodings of despair, sat beside the pillows of those who, in vain, sought sleep and forgetfulness.

Before that long night ended, Sir Stafford had learned his ruin, for it was little less. Kate had yielded, to the pressing entreaties of Lady Hester, her consent to accept Midchekoff; and, just as day was breaking, George Onslow stole to his father’s bedside to see him once more, perhaps for the last time. It would be difficult to say in which of those three hearts the darkest sorrow brooded. With noiseless step and cautious gesture, George crossed the little sitting-room, and entered his father’s chamber; and, without awaking the servant, who kept watch habitually without, but now had dropped off to sleep, he gained the bedside, and sat down.

The terrible tidings he had just heard were evidently working on Sir Stafford’s brain, and, despite all the influence of his opiate, still engaged his faculties; for his lips continued to move rapidly, and short broken sentences fell from him incessantly. “Poor George! poor George!” he muttered from time to time, and the tears rolled down the young man’s cheek as he heard them.

“How unworthy of him have I been!” thought he; “how shamefully unworthy and forgetful! Here should have been my place, for those hours which I have spent in noisy dissipation and debauch; and now I come for the first time, and probably the last! Oh, my poor father! How will you bear up against the shock that is preparing for you? for, with all my faults, I know how you have loved me!” A heavy tear dropped from him on the old man’s cheek as he said this; and gently brushing it off with his hand, Sir Stafford opened his eyes and awoke. A mild and gentle smile broke over his features as he saw his son beside him, and he drew him towards him, and kissed him.

“Have you been long here, George?” said he, affectionately.

“But a few minutes. I am so sorry to have disturbed you,” muttered the other, in confusion,

“Have you seen Grounsell yet? Has he told you?” asked Sir Stafford.

“Grounsell? no, sir. I did not even hear of his arrival. What are his tidings?”

“The saddest, perhaps, one friend can bring another,” sighed Onslow, as he covered his eyes with his hand. “Nay, nay, I am wrong,” said he, rapidly. “So long as Sydney and yourself are spared to me I have no right to say this; still, George, it is a terrible blow that strikes a man down from affluence to poverty, and, in place of wealth and power, leaves him nothing but insignificance and ruin!”

“Good heavens, father! is your brain wandering? What fancies are these that are flitting across your mind?”

“Sad and stern truths, my poor boy,” replied the old man, grasping his son’s hand in his fevered palm. “A few weeks more will see the great house of Onslow bankrupt. These things cannot be told too briefly, George,” said he, speaking with a tremulous and eager rapidity. “One should hear misfortune early, to gain more time for future measures. A great crash has fallen upon the moneyed interest of England. The vast speculations in railways have overreached themselves; failures of great houses abroad have added to the difficulty. The correspondents whose solvency we never doubted are tottering to ruin. Every post brings tidings of some new failure; and from Odessa, from Hamburg, and from the ports of the Baltic to the distant shores of the New World, there is nothing but bankruptcy.”

“But you have large estates, sir; you possess property of various kinds beyond the reach of these casualties.”

“I own nothing to which my creditors have not a just right; nor, if I did, could I exercise the privilege of retaining it, George,” said the old man. “From what Grounsell tells me, there will be sufficient to meet every claim, but no more. There will remain nothing after. Lady Hester’s settlement will, of course, secure to her a moderate competence; and we – you and I must look about, and see how we can face this same world we have been feasting so long. My time in it will needs be brief; but you, who may look forward with hope to long years of life, must bethink you at once of the new path before you. Arouse yourself, then, to the task, and I do not know but I may be prouder of you yet, buffeting the wild waves of adversity, and fighting the manful part of a bold, courageous spirit, than I have ever been in seeing you in the brilliant circle of all your high and titled acquaintances. Ay, George, the English merchant never died out in my heart, for all the aristocratic leaven which accident mixed up with my fortunes. I never ceased to glory in the pride of wealth accumulated by generous enterprises and honorable toil. I loved the life of labor that disciplined the faculties, and exercised not alone intelligence, but turned to use the gentler charities of life, linking man to man, as brethren journeying the same road, with different burdens, perhaps, but with the same goal. For myself, therefore, I have few cares. It remains with you to make them even fewer.”

“Tell me what you propose for me, sir,” said George, in a low, weak voice.

“First of all, George, you ought to leave the army. Grounsell, I must tell you, is not of this opinion; he advises an exchange into a regiment in India, but I think differently. To repair, if it be possible, the shattered wreck of our fortunes, you must address yourself to business life and habits. You ‘ll have to visit the West Indies, and, probably, the East. We still possess property in Ceylon, of value; and our coffee plantations there, as yet only in their infancy, need nothing but good management to ensure success. Grounsell laughed at my suggesting you for such duties, but I know you better, George, far better, than he does. The English pluck that storms a breach or heads a charge is the very same quality that sustains a man on the long dark road of adverse fortune. I have often told Grounsell that the stuff was in you, George.”

The young man squeezed his father’s hand, but was obliged to turn away his head to hide the tears which filled his eyes; for what a terrible deception was he practising at that very moment, and what duplicity was there even in the silence with which he heard him!

For a few seconds Sir Stafford seemed to revel in all the bright visions of a warm fancy. The prospect his imagination had conjured up appeared to have momentarily lifted him above the reach of sorrow. He thought of his son engaged in the active business of life, and displaying in this new career the energies and resources of a bold and courageous spirit. He imagined the high-principled youth becoming the British merchant, and making the name of “Onslow” great and respected in the old arena of all their victories, the city of London. Could this but come to pass, were this dream to be realized, and he would bless the hour that wrecked his fortune, and thus made his poverty the foundation of future greatness.

“I confess, George,” said he, “that I have a pride in thinking that I knew you better than others did, and that I read in the very wayward caprices of your disposition the impatience of an active mind, and not the ennui of an indolent one.” From this the old man branched off into his plans for the future; and, as if the emergency had suggested energy, talked well and clearly of all that was to be done. They were to start for England at once. Sir Stafford felt as if he was able to set out that very day. Some weeks would elapse before the crash came, and in the interval every preparation might be taken. “I hope,” said he, feelingly, “that I have few enemies; I am not sanguine enough to say, none; but, such as they are, they will not seek to humiliate me, I trust, by any unnecessary publicity.” The theme was a very painful one, and for a few seconds he could not go on. At last he resumed: “The extravagance of this household, George, will give much and just offence. It must be retrenched, and from this very day, from this very hour. You will look to this. It must not be said of us that, with ruin before us, we continued these habits of wasteful excess. Let these troops of idle servants be discharged at once. Except Lady Hester’s carriage, sell off all equipage. Take no heed of what will be the town talk; such a downfall as ours can never be kept a secret. Let us only take care that we fall with dignity. Grounsell will remain here after us to settle everything, and our departure ought to be as speedy as may be. But you are not listening, George; do you hear me?”

It was quite true George heeded little of what his father spoke; for, with bent-down head, he was trying to catch the sounds of what seemed a long, low whistle from the court without. As he listened, the whistle was repeated; he knew now that it was Norwood’s signal, and that “his time was up.”

“I must leave you, my dear father,” said he, assuming all that he could of calmness. “I have an appointment this morning, and one that I cannot well shake off. Norwood and I have promised to meet some friends at Pratolino.”

“It was of that same Norwood I wished to speak to you, George. The sophistry of thinking him ‘no worse than his set’ will serve no longer. Such men are not fitting acquaintances for one whose character must be above reproach. Norwood is a most unworthy friend for you.”

“I scarcely ever thought of him in that light. We are intimate, it is true; but such intimacy is not friendship.”

“The greater the pollution of such acquaintanceship, then,” said the old man, gravely. “To see the dark side of such a nature, and yet live under its baneful shadow, is infinitely worse, George, than all the self-deception of a rash confidence. Keep your promise to-day, but I beseech you, let it be for the last time in such company.”

Again the whistle was heard, and with the sharp crack of a whip, denoting impatience; and fearful that some accident might betray his secret, George clasped the old man’s hand fervidly within his own, and hurried away without a word.

“Is that George?” cried Norwood, as he stood beside a calessino ready harnessed, and with lamps lighted, for the morning was still dark, “is that George? Why, where have you been loitering this half-hour, man? Our time is six sharp, and it is now considerably past five, and the way lies all up hill.”

“I have often done the distance in half an hour,” said George, angrily.

“Perhaps the errand was a pleasanter one,” rejoined Norwood, laughing; “but jump in, for I feel certain the others are before us.”

George Onslow was in no mood for talking as he took his seat beside his companion. The late scene with his father and the approaching event were enough to occupy him, even had his feeling for Norwood been different from what it was; but in reality never had he experienced the same dislike for the Viscount. All the flippant ease, all the cool indifference he displayed, were only so many offences to one whose thoughts were traversing the whole current of his life, from earliest boyhood down to that very moment. A few hours hence he might be no more! And thence arose to his mind the judgments men would pass upon him, the few who would speak charitably, the still fewer who would regret him. “What a career!” thought he. “What use to have made of fortune, station, health, and vigor; to have lived in dissipation, and die for a street brawl! And poor Kate! to what unfeeling scandal will this unhappy meeting expose you! how impossible to expect that truth will ever penetrate through that dark atmosphere of mystery and malevolence the world will throw over the event!”

Norwood was provoked at the silence, and tried in various ways to break it. He spoke of the road, the weather, the horse’s trotting action, the scenery, over which the breaking day now threw fitful and uncertain lights, but all in vain; and at last, piqued by non-success, he spitefully pointed attention to a little valley beside the road, and said, “Do you see that spot yonder, near the pine-trees? that ‘s where Harry Mathews was shot. Malzahn sent the bullet through the brain at forty paces. They were both first-rate pistol-shots, and the only question was who should fire first. Harry determined to reserve his shot, and he carried the privilege into the other world with him. Malzahn knew he might trust his skill, and fired the very instant he took his ground. The moral of which is, always try and have first fire with a foreigner.”

“I heard the sound of wheels behind us; who are they?” said George, not heeding either the story or the counsel.

“The doctor, I suspect. I ordered a calessino to wait for him at the door of the palace, and bring him up as fast as possible.”

“If Guilmard be equal to his reputation, we shall not want his services,” said Onslow, with a faint smile.

“Who can tell? We ‘ll put you up at a short distance; and there ‘s nothing shakes the nerves of your practised pistol-shot more than ten or twelve paces.”

The road here became so steep that they were obliged to get down and walk for some distance, while the horse toiled slowly up behind them. As they went, Norwood continued to talk on incessantly of this, that, and t’ other, as though bound to occupy the attention of his companion; while George, with half-closed eyes, strolled onward, deep in his own thoughts.

“We ‘re not far off the place now, George,” said Norwood, at last, “and I wish you ‘d throw off that look of care and abstraction. These foreign fellows will be quite ready to misinterpret it. Seem at your ease, man, and take the thing as I have seen you take it before, as rather good fun than otherwise.”

“But that is precisely what I do not feel it,” said George, smiling quietly. “Twenty-four hours ago, when life had every possible advantage to bestow on me, with the prospect of an ample fortune before me, I was perfectly ready to turn out with any man who had the right to ask me; and now that I am ruined – ”

“Ruined!” broke in Norwood; “what do you mean? You have not lost to that Greek fellow so largely as that?”

“Now that my father is on the verge of utter ruin,” repeated George, slowly, “the news came last night, I never felt the desire of life so strong within me. A few days or weeks more will make it public gossip, so I may tell you that we have not escaped the torrent that is sweeping away so many of the richest houses in Europe; and what between our immense liabilities and my father’s scrupulous sense of honor, the chances are we shall be utterly beggared.”

“The devil!” exclaimed Norwood, whose thoughts at once reverted to his own claims on George, and the unpaid acceptances he still held of his.

“That’s what I feel so strange,” said George, now speaking with a degree of warmth and interest, “that it should be exactly when life ceases to give promise that I should care for it; and I own to you, I ‘d give anything that this meeting was not before me.”

Norwood started, and turned his keen eyes on the other, but in the calm, unmoved features he saw no traces of fear or even agitation; and it was in his habitually calm voice Onslow resumed,

“Yes, I wish the Count’s hand would shake a little, Norwood. I ‘d be most grateful to the bullet that would take to the right or the left of me.”

“Come, come, George, no more of this. We are alone here, it’s true; but if you talk this way now, you may chance to look like it by and by.”

“And if I do not, my looks will strangely belie my sentiments, that I can tell you,” said Onslow, with a quiet laugh. “I don’t care how you read the confession, Norwood, but I tell you frankly, that if the insult in this instance admitted of an apology, if there were any way to come off consistent with honor, I ‘d take it, and not fight this Frenchman.”

“Have you forgotten his reputation as a shot?” asked Norwood, hastily.

“I was not thinking of it. My mind was dwelling merely on myself and my own interests, how far my life, if preserved, could be rendered useful to others, and in what way my death might occasion detriment and injury.”

“A most mercantile estimate of profit and loss, by Jove!” said Norwood, laughing; “and perhaps it is fortunate for you there is no amende possible, for if Guilmard should miss you – ”

“As to these acceptances,” said George, not paying attention to what the other said, “I ‘d prefer that they should not be presented to my father under our actual circumstances. My horses and carriages, and some other trumpery of mine, when sold, will more than meet them, and I have given orders to that end.”

“Come, old fellow, it’s not gone that far yet,” said Norwood, affecting a tone of friendship, suggested by the self-satisfaction the promise of payment afforded him. “But, hush! There they are, all together. Let us talk no more of these matters; and now, George, for Heaven’s sake, be cool.”

Norwood drew the other’s arm within his own as he said this, and advanced to where a group of some half-dozen persons were standing, beside a low balcony, overlooking the Val d’Arno and the graceful valley in which Florence stands. Norwood quitted his friend’s arm as he came forward and saluted the company. Nothing could possibly be more easy and unconstrained than the tone of their conversation, as they chatted away about the prospect beneath, and over which, like a gauzy veil, the gray shadow of dawn was hanging. With the exception of an Italian or two, they were all French, the young fashionables who were the loungers of the salons and cafes of the city.