The History of Sir Richard Calmady: A Romance
their mistress as she suffered her father's embrace. And that amiable
nobleman, notwithstanding his large frame and exalted social position,
felt himself shiver inwardly in the presence of his daughter, even as
he could remember shivering when, as a small schoolboy, he had been
summoned to the dread presence of the headmaster.
"Very good rooms these of yours, Louisa," he began hastily. "Always
have admired these rooms. Capital space for entertaining. Barking was
quite right to secure the house as soon as it was in the market. I told
him at the time he would never regret it."
Lady Louisa did not answer, but called after the retreating footman,
who had just brought in a stately and limited tea-tray, much silver and
little food:--"I am not at home, William."
Then, as she put small and accurate measures of tea into a massive
teapot, she added severely:--"What is all this I hear about Shotover,
papa?"
"Oh! ah! yes--poor Shotover. Came up to town together again to-day.
Good-hearted fellow, your brother Shotover, but thoughtless. However I
have had a most satisfactory talk with my men of business, Fox and
Goteway. I know Barking does not think much of Fox and Goteway. Wanted
me to go to his own lawyers, Hodges and Banquet. But if any one serves
you conscientiously you should not leave them. It's against my
principles to turn off those who serve me conscientiously. I told
Barking so at the time, I remember. It came out of the business about
your settlements, wasn't it--or the last time I paid Shotover's----" He
cleared his throat hurriedly. "I see the Calmadys' house is being done
up," he continued. "Nice young fellow, Calmady. But I never can help
feeling a certain awkwardness with him. Takes you up rather short in
conversation too sometimes. Terribly distressing thing his deformity
and all that, both for himself and Lady Calmady. Hope, perhaps, she
doesn't feel it as some women would though--tactful woman, Lady
Calmady, and very good woman of business. Still, never feel quite at my
ease with Lady Calmady. Can't help wondering how they'll do in London,
you know. Rather difficult thing his going about much with that----"
Lady Louisa held out a small teacup. Her high penetrating voice
asserted itself resolutely against her father's kindly, stumbling
chatter, as she asked:--
"Is it true you are not coming up from Whitney this season?"
"Oh!--tea--yes, thank you very much, my dear. No--well, I think
possibly we may not come up this year. Goteway believes he has heard of
a very eligible tenant for the Belgrave Square house, very eligible.
And so, nothing actually decided yet, but I think very possibly we may
not come up."
He spoke apologetically, regarding his daughter, over the small teacup,
with an expression of entreaty. Every feature of his handsome, innocent
countenance begged her not to deal harshly with him. But Lady Louisa
remained obdurate.
"Shotover's conduct is becoming a positive scandal," she said.
"Not conduct, my dear--no, not conduct, only money," protested Lord
Fallowfeild.
"If money is not conduct I really don't know what is," retorted his
daughter. "I do not pretend to go in for such fine distinctions. In any
case Mr. Barking heard the most shocking rumours at his club the other
day."
"Did he though?" ejaculated Lord Fallowfeild.
"He was too considerate to tell me anything very definite, but he felt
that, going out and seeing everybody as of course I have to, it was
only right I should have some hint of what was being said. Every one is
talking about Shotover. You can imagine how perfectly intolerable it is
for me to feel that my brother's debts are being canvassed in this sort
of way."
"I am very sorry there should be any gossip," Lord Fallowfeild said
humbly. "Nasty thing gossip--lies, too, mostly, all of it. Nasty, low,
unprofitable thing gossip."
"And, of course, your all not coming up will give colour to it."
"Will it though? I never thought of that. You always see straight
through things, Louisa. You have by far the best head in the family,
except Ludovic--uncommonly clever fellow Ludovic. Wonder if I had
better talk it all over with Ludovic. If you and he agree in thinking
our not coming up will make more talk, why, if only on Shotover's
account, I----"
But this was not in the least the turn which his daughter desired the
conversation to take.
"Pray remember you have other children besides Shotover, papa!" she
said hastily. "And for every one's sake run no further risk of
impoverishing yourself. It is obvious that you must save where you can.
If there is the chance of a good let for the Belgrave Square house, it
would be madness to refuse it. And, after all, you do not really care
about London. If there are any important debates in the Lords, you can
always come up for a night or so. It does not matter about you."
"Oh! doesn't it though?" Lord Fallowfeild put in quite humbly and
gently.
"And mama would always rather stay on at Whitney. Only it must not
appear as if we were the least uncomfortable at meeting people. I shall
make it a point to go everywhere. I shall be dreadfully fagged, of
course, but I feel it a duty to all of you to do so. And I should like
the girls to go out too. People must not suppose they have no gowns to
their backs. Maggie and Emily have had several seasons. I am less
worried about them. But Connie must be seen. She is looking extremely
pretty."
"Isn't she though?" Lord Fallowfeild chimed in, brightening. The
picture of those reportedly gownless backs had depressed him
abominably.
"Yes, and she must have every advantage. I have quite decided that. She
must come up to me at once. I shall write to mama and point out to her
how necessary it is that one of the girls, at least, should be very
much _en evidence_ this year. And I am most anxious it should be
Connie. As I undertake all the fatigue and responsibility I feel I have
a right of choice. I will see that she is properly dressed. I undertake
everything. Now, papa, if you are going down by the 6:10 train you
ought to start. Will you have a hansom?"
Then, as she shook hands with him, and presented an unresponsive cheek
to the paternal lips, Lady Louisa clinched the matter.
"I may consider it quite settled, then, about Constance?" she said. "I
mentioned it to Mr. Barking yesterday, and we agreed it ought to be
done even if it entailed a little inconvenience and expense. It is not
right to be indifferent to appearances. The other two girls can come up
for a little while later. Alicia must help. Of course there is not much
room in that wretched, little Chelsea house of hers, but George
Winterbotham can turn out of his dressing-room. Alicia must exert
herself for once. And, papa, Connie need not bring a maid. Those
country girls from Whitney don't always fit in quite well with the
upper servants, and yet there is a difficulty about keeping them out of
the housekeeper's room. I will provide a maid for her. I'll write to
mama about everything to-morrow. And, papa, I do beg you will
discourage Shotover from coming here, for really I would much rather
not see him at present. Good-bye. Pray start at once. You have barely
time to get to Waterloo."
And so Lord Fallowfeild started, a little flustered, a little
crestfallen, on his homeward journey.
"Able woman, Louisa," he said to himself. "Uncommonly clear-sighted
woman, Louisa. But a trifle hard. Wonder if Barking ever feels that,
now? Not very sensitive man, Barking, though. Suppose that hardness in
Louisa comes of her having no children. Always plenty of children in
our family--except my poor brother Archibald and Lady Jane, they had no
children. Yet somebody told me she'd had one by Bateman, which died.
Never understood about that. Capital thing for Ludovic she never did
have any by Archibald. But it's always curious to me Louisa should have
no children. Shouldn't have expected that somehow of Barking and
Louisa. Sets her more free, of course, in regard to her sisters. Very
thoughtful for her sisters, Louisa. I suppose she must have Connie.
Nuisance all this gossip about Shotover. Pretty child, Connie--best
looking of the lot. People say she's like me. Wonderfully pretty child,
Connie. That young fellow Decies thinks so too, or I'm very much
mistaken. Very much attracted by Connie. Fine young fellow,
Decies--comfort to hear of Guy from him. Suppose she must go up to
Louisa. Gentlemanlike fellow, Decies. I shouldn't care to part with
Connie----"
And then, his reflections becoming increasingly interjectional as the
train trundled away southwestward, Lord Fallowfeild leaned back in the
corner of the railway carriage and fell very fast asleep.
CHAPTER II
TELLING HOW VANITY FAIR MADE ACQUAINTANCE WITH RICHARD CALMADY
There was no refusing belief to the fact. The old, cloistered life at
Brockhurst, for good or evil, was broken up. Katherine Calmady
recognised that another stage had been reached on the relentless
journey, that new prospects opened, new horizons invited her anxious
gaze. She recognised also that all which had been was dead, according
to its existing form, and should receive burial, silent, somewhat
sorrowful, yet not without hope of eventual resurrection in regard to
the nobler part of it. The fair coloured petals of the flower fall away
from the maturing fruit, the fruit rots to set free the seed. Yet the
vital principle remains, life lives on, though the material clothing of
it change. And, therefore, Katherine--an upspringing of patience and
chastened fortitude within her, the result of her reconciliation to the
Divine Light and resignation of herself to its indwelling--set herself,
not to arrest the falling of the flower, but to help the ripening of
the seed. If the old garments were out of date, too straight and narrow
for her child's growth, then let others be found him. She did not wait
to have him ask, she offered, and that without hint of reproach or of
unwillingness.
Yet so to offer cost her not a little. For it was by no means easy to
sink her natural pride, and go forth smiling with this son of hers, at
once beautiful and hideous in person, for all the world to see.
Something of personal heroism is demanded of whoso prescribes heroic
remedies, if those remedies are to succeed. At night, alone in the
darkness, Katherine, suddenly awaking, would be haunted by perception
of the curious glances, and curious comments, which must of necessity
attend Richard through all the brilliant pageant of the London season.
How would he bear it? And then--self-distrust laying fearful hands upon
her--how would she bear it, too? Would her late acquired serenity of
soul depart, her faith in the gracious purposes of Almighty God suffer
eclipse? Would she fall back into her former condition of black anger
and revolt? She prayed not. So long as these evils did not descend upon
her, she could bear the rest well enough. For, could she but keep her
faith, Katherine was beginning to regard all other suffering which
might be in store for her as a negligible quantity. With her healthy
body, and wholesome memories of a great and perfect human love, it was
almost impossible that she should adopt a morbid and self-torturing
attitude. Yet any religious ideal, worth the name, will always have in
it an ascetic element. And that element was so far present with her
that personal suffering had come to bear a not wholly unlovely aspect.
She had ceased to gird against it. So long as Richard was amused and
fairly content, so long as the evil which had been abroad in Brockhurst
House, that stormy autumn night, could be frustrated, and the
estrangement between herself and Richard,--unacknowledged, yet sensibly
present,--which that evil had begotten, might be lessened she cared