Little Lord Fauntleroy
no more popular voyager on any ocean steamer crossing the Atlantic than
little Lord Fauntleroy. He was always innocently and good-naturedly
ready to do his small best to add to the general entertainment, and
there was a charm in the very unconsciousness of his own childish
importance.
“Jerry's stories int'rust them very much,” he said to his mamma. “For my
part--you must excuse me, Dearest--but sometimes I should have thought
they couldn't be all quite true, if they hadn't happened to Jerry
himself; but as they all happened to Jerry--well, it's very strange, you
know, and perhaps sometimes he may forget and be a little mistaken, as
he's been scalped so often. Being scalped a great many times might make
a person forgetful.”
It was eleven days after he had said good-bye to his friend Dick before
he reached Liverpool; and it was on the night of the twelfth day that
the carriage in which he and his mother and Mr. Havisham had driven from
the station stopped before the gates of Court Lodge. They could not
see much of the house in the darkness. Cedric only saw that there was a
drive-way under great arching trees, and after the carriage had rolled
down this drive-way a short distance, he saw an open door and a stream
of bright light coming through it.
Mary had come with them to attend her mistress, and she had reached the
house before them. When Cedric jumped out of the carriage he saw one or
two servants standing in the wide, bright hall, and Mary stood in the
door-way.
Lord Fauntleroy sprang at her with a gay little shout.
“Did you get here, Mary?” he said. “Here's Mary, Dearest,” and he kissed
the maid on her rough red cheek.
“I am glad you are here, Mary,” Mrs. Errol said to her in a low voice.
“It is such a comfort to me to see you. It takes the strangeness away.”
And she held out her little hand, which Mary squeezed encouragingly. She
knew how this first “strangeness” must feel to this little mother who
had left her own land and was about to give up her child.
The English servants looked with curiosity at both the boy and his
mother. They had heard all sorts of rumors about them both; they knew
how angry the old Earl had been, and why Mrs. Errol was to live at the
lodge and her little boy at the castle; they knew all about the great
fortune he was to inherit, and about the savage old grandfather and his
gout and his tempers.
“He'll have no easy time of it, poor little chap,” they had said among
themselves.
But they did not know what sort of a little lord had come among
them; they did not quite understand the character of the next Earl of
Dorincourt.
He pulled off his overcoat quite as if he were used to doing things for
himself, and began to look about him. He looked about the broad hall, at
the pictures and stags' antlers and curious things that ornamented it.
They seemed curious to him because he had never seen such things before
in a private house.
“Dearest,” he said, “this is a very pretty house, isn't it? I am glad
you are going to live here. It's quite a large house.”
It was quite a large house compared to the one in the shabby New York
street, and it was very pretty and cheerful. Mary led them upstairs to
a bright chintz-hung bedroom where a fire was burning, and a large
snow-white Persian cat was sleeping luxuriously on the white fur
hearth-rug.
“It was the house-kaper up at the Castle, ma'am, sint her to yez,”
explained Mary. “It's herself is a kind-hearted lady an' has had
iverything done to prepar' fur yez. I seen her meself a few minnits, an'
she was fond av the Capt'in, ma'am, an' graivs fur him; and she said to
say the big cat slapin' on the rug moight make the room same homeloike
to yez. She knowed Capt'in Errol whin he was a bye--an' a foine handsum'
bye she ses he was, an' a foine young man wid a plisint word fur every
one, great an' shmall. An' ses I to her, ses I: 'He's lift a bye
that's loike him, ma'am, fur a foiner little felly niver sthipped in
shoe-leather.”'
When they were ready, they went downstairs into another big bright room;
its ceiling was low, and the furniture was heavy and beautifully carved,
the chairs were deep and had high massive backs, and there were queer
shelves and cabinets with strange, pretty ornaments on them. There was
a great tiger-skin before the fire, and an arm-chair on each side of it.
The stately white cat had responded to Lord Fauntleroy's stroking and
followed him downstairs, and when he threw himself down upon the rug,
she curled herself up grandly beside him as if she intended to make
friends. Cedric was so pleased that he put his head down by hers, and
lay stroking her, not noticing what his mother and Mr. Havisham were
saying.
They were, indeed, speaking in a rather low tone. Mrs. Errol looked a
little pale and agitated.
“He need not go to-night?” she said. “He will stay with me to-night?”
“Yes,” answered Mr. Havisham in the same low tone; “it will not be
necessary for him to go to-night. I myself will go to the Castle as soon
as we have dined, and inform the Earl of our arrival.”
Mrs. Errol glanced down at Cedric. He was lying in a graceful, careless
attitude upon the black-and-yellow skin; the fire shone on his handsome,
flushed little face, and on the tumbled, curly hair spread out on the
rug; the big cat was purring in drowsy content,--she liked the caressing
touch of the kind little hand on her fur.
Mrs. Errol smiled faintly.
“His lordship does not know all that he is taking from me,” she said
rather sadly. Then she looked at the lawyer. “Will you tell him, if you
please,” she said, “that I should rather not have the money?”
“The money!” Mr. Havisham exclaimed. “You can not mean the income he
proposed to settle upon you!”
“Yes,” she answered, quite simply; “I think I should rather not have
it. I am obliged to accept the house, and I thank him for it, because it
makes it possible for me to be near my child; but I have a little money
of my own,--enough to live simply upon,--and I should rather not take
the other. As he dislikes me so much, I should feel a little as if I
were selling Cedric to him. I am giving him up only because I love him
enough to forget myself for his good, and because his father would wish
it to be so.”
Mr. Havisham rubbed his chin.
“This is very strange,” he said. “He will be very angry. He won't
understand it.”
“I think he will understand it after he thinks it over,” she said. “I do
not really need the money, and why should I accept luxuries from the
man who hates me so much that he takes my little boy from me--his son's
child?”
Mr. Havisham looked reflective for a few moments.
“I will deliver your message,” he said afterward.
And then the dinner was brought in and they sat down together, the big
cat taking a seat on a chair near Cedric's and purring majestically
throughout the meal.
When, later in the evening, Mr. Havisham presented himself at the
Castle, he was taken at once to the Earl. He found him sitting by the
fire in a luxurious easy-chair, his foot on a gout-stool. He looked
at the lawyer sharply from under his shaggy eyebrows, but Mr. Havisham
could see that, in spite of his pretense at calmness, he was nervous and
secretly excited.
“Well,” he said; “well, Havisham, come back, have you? What's the news?”
“Lord Fauntleroy and his mother are at Court Lodge,” replied Mr.
Havisham. “They bore the voyage very well and are in excellent health.”
The Earl made a half-impatient sound and moved his hand restlessly.
“Glad to hear it,” he said brusquely. “So far, so good. Make yourself
comfortable. Have a glass of wine and settle down. What else?”
“His lordship remains with his mother to-night. To-morrow I will bring
him to the Castle.”
The Earl's elbow was resting on the arm of his chair; he put his hand up
and shielded his eyes with it.
“Well,” he said; “go on. You know I told you not to write to me about
the matter, and I know nothing whatever about it. What kind of a lad is
he? I don't care about the mother; what sort of a lad is he?”
Mr. Havisham drank a little of the glass of port he had poured out for
himself, and sat holding it in his hand.
“It is rather difficult to judge of the character of a child of seven,”
he said cautiously.
The Earl's prejudices were very intense. He looked up quickly and
uttered a rough word.
“A fool, is he?” he exclaimed. “Or a clumsy cub? His American blood
tells, does it?”
“I do not think it has injured him, my lord,” replied the lawyer in
his dry, deliberate fashion. “I don't know much about children, but I
thought him rather a fine lad.”
His manner of speech was always deliberate and unenthusiastic, but he
made it a trifle more so than usual. He had a shrewd fancy that it
would be better that the Earl should judge for himself, and be quite
unprepared for his first interview with his grandson.
“Healthy and well-grown?” asked my lord.
“Apparently very healthy, and quite well-grown,” replied the lawyer.
“Straight-limbed and well enough to look at?” demanded the Earl.
A very slight smile touched Mr. Havisham's thin lips. There rose up
before his mind's eye the picture he had left at Court Lodge,--the
beautiful, graceful child's body lying upon the tiger-skin in careless
comfort--the bright, tumbled hair spread on the rug--the bright, rosy
boy's face.
“Rather a handsome boy, I think, my lord, as boys go,” he said, “though
I am scarcely a judge, perhaps. But you will find him somewhat different
from most English children, I dare say.”
“I haven't a doubt of that,” snarled the Earl, a twinge of gout seizing
him. “A lot of impudent little beggars, those American children; I've
heard that often enough.”
“It is not exactly impudence in his case,” said Mr. Havisham. “I can
scarcely describe what the difference is. He has lived more with older
people than with children, and the difference seems to be a mixture of
maturity and childishness.”
“American impudence!” protested the Earl. “I've heard of it before. They
call it precocity and freedom. Beastly, impudent bad manners; that's
what it is!”
Mr. Havisham drank some more port. He seldom argued with his lordly
patron,--never when his lordly patron's noble leg was inflamed by gout.
At such times it was always better to leave him alone. So there was a
silence of a few moments. It was Mr. Havisham who broke it.
“I have a message to deliver from Mrs. Errol,” he remarked.
“I don't want any of her messages!” growled his lordship; “the less I
hear of her the better.”
“This is a rather important one,” explained the lawyer. “She prefers not
to accept the income you proposed to settle on her.”
The Earl started visibly.
“What's that?” he cried out. “What's that?”
Mr. Havisham repeated his words.
“She says it is not necessary, and that as the relations between you are
not friendly----”
“Not friendly!” ejaculated my lord savagely; “I should say they were not
friendly! I hate to think of her! A mercenary, sharp-voiced American! I
don't wish to see her.”
“My lord,” said Mr. Havisham, “you can scarcely call her mercenary. She
has asked for nothing. She does not accept the money you offer her.”
“All done for effect!” snapped his noble lordship. “She wants to wheedle
me into seeing her. She thinks I shall admire her spirit. I don't admire
it! It's only American independence! I won't have her living like a
beggar at my park gates. As she's the boy's mother, she has a position
to keep up, and she shall keep it up. She shall have the money, whether
she likes it or not!”
“She won't spend it,” said Mr. Havisham.
“I don't care whether she spends it or not!” blustered my lord. “She
shall have it sent to her. She sha'n't tell people that she has to live