The Man Who Did the Right Thing: A Romance
uncomfortable. Had Sibyl been a complete stranger to him he might have
succumbed long before to her wiles; few men of his build, his time, his
complexion were Josephs. But the slight relationship between them acted
as a barrier to concupiscence. It permitted a familiarity in speech and
address which made any closer intimacy repellent to his sense of
decency....
Sibyl it must be admitted, was shameless when they were together. She
would study his features attentively; admire the curl of his eyelashes,
the outline of his profile, even the not quite classical prominence of
the cheek bones, the virile twist upwards of his moustache, the firm
chin and strong white teeth, the well-set ear and close-cropped hair at
the back of his head: the while she pretended, pen in hand, to be
considering his propositions. Thought-transference told him what this
scrutiny meant, and he would colour a little in shame and become abrupt
in manner--even say to himself, "This _can't_ go on--I wish she'd think
of something else...."
He was conscientiously attentive to Lucy at this time and she was really
happy during this phase in Roger's life. In the spring she took up her
residence in the Lodge at Englefield and made a comfortable home for her
devoted husband, who seemed resolved to show her how happy he was in his
marriage. Maud, from Farleigh, was a constant visitor, stayed weeks
together with Lucy and Roger and served as a _trait d'union_ with Sibyl,
who allowed Maud to chaff her and scold her as she would no one else.
Sibyl was quite civil to Lucy, did not bother her, left her alone except
for an occasional greeting and the showing of some curiosity as to
little John. "You may call him _John_ as much as you like, but he's
certainly Roger's child."
Clithy and his nurse were often sent down to the Lodge to be with Lucy;
Sibyl deigning to say that her influence over children was a good one
and Clithy was never fretful with _her_. In her mocking moods she
called her little son "The Prince with the Nose" and declared he was
under an enchantment. He had for a child of three a preternaturally
large nose, and as she said to Roger, there could be no doubt as to his
paternity. "How pleased Francis would have been! He was always so proud
of the Mallard nose. Said it could be traced back in pictures to
Charles I's reign--Anne of Denmark, who was rather larky after she had
been married ten years, had a side-slip--you know what a _tipsy_ court
they were!--and bore a daughter to the Lord Chamberlain, who was
particularly active in the revels. James overlooked her breach of good
manners and ultimately gave the large-nosed little girl in marriage with
Silchester Manor to a favourite, who founded the House of Mallard.
Francis was going to have put this into his Memoirs, but he died, poor
dear, leaving them three-quarters finished. I think _I_ shall finish
them for a lark. Will you help me?"
One reason why Lucy was dreamily happy at Englefield Lodge was that she
seemed there to link up with the life of her girlhood. She had so often
strolled round the precincts of Engledene with John Tilehurst, she dared
not revisit for fear of meeting Mrs. Barnes. But she would sometimes
walk over the same path she had traced with John on that Sunday in June,
1886. She would sit on the seat at _The View_ and go over once more in
memory, and with a sad little smile her naive and petulant questions and
answers on that Sunday walk. How she had told John her desire to
encounter lions, and yet when a lion had visited their camp, what abject
terror she had shown! Hangodi! That name was first uttered to her in
Engledene Park and she remembered John saying it meant "The Place of
Firewood."
One day Roger brought over to see her in the dog-cart old Mr. Baines--as
he was beginning to be called. They both shed a few tears, but he told
her with more sincerity than he usually put into his husky voice that he
exonerated her from all blame in the catastrophe which had overtaken his
son (Lucy herself was not so sure). "Mother's taken it awfully bad,
Lucy. She's goin' out of her mind, I'm fearin'. First she was writin'
an' writin' to Lord Wiltshire, him as is Prime Minister, don't you know,
to give your husband the sack as bein' the real cause of John's death.
Then next she'd bother our member, wantin' 'im to ask questions in the
'Ouse of Commons, till at last they give up answerin' them. Then she
set to and slanged that Missionary Society that John belonged to, sayin'
they wasn't 'alf careful enough about 'is precious life. Now this
spring, blessed if she ain't cut our Connexion! She won't go to Salem
Chapel; goes to Church instead ... St. Michael's. Shouldn't wonder if
she ended up a papist! ... S'pose you know _Ann's_ in England? They're
makin' a lot of fuss about 'er in Reading and London. Call her a
Heroine. She's bin down with 'er 'usband--rather a half-baked feller--to
see us; but 'er talk with Mother ain't done Mother much good, partly
'cos Ann wouldn't join 'er in abusin' you. She says to Mother: 'I just
told you the plain truth in that letter. I'm not goin' to add nor
subtract one word, an' you've gone and put into it much more than I ever
said. Just leave Lucy alone to God's judgment. At any rate, John loved
her and died believin' her true; and I dessay she was. Africa's a funny
country and you must put down a lot to the climate.' ... Ann's going
back to Africa next autumn, with three more recruits and a lot of money
to spend on the Mission School. Old Mrs. Doland sent for 'er and give
'er five hundred pounds. I tell 'er she ought to come and see you
before she goes. P'raps she will, p'raps she won't. I told 'er you
called your baby 'John,' and the tears reg'lar came into 'er eyes...."
Roger owned to Maud he felt a bit restless in the spring and early
summer of 1890. He couldn't get Africa out of his mind, somehow. There
was first the fuss about Stanley and the return of the Emin Pasha Relief
Expedition--surely one of the most wasted feats of heroism and brave
endeavour in the history of Africa. Then came the 1890 Agreement with
Germany. This left the Happy Valley pretty much where it had
lain--unmarked as yet--on the map, but by approximate latitude and
longitude entirely German, as Roger knew. But the discussion of
frontiers in Africa caused him to feel fretful and resentful at being
"out of it." Sir Mulberry Hawk, who had negotiated the treaty, might
surely have turned to him for enlightenment on this point and that?
Even though he had left the African Service, there were his reports of
1884-5 and -6, and of 1887-9. He felt impelled to go and see Broadmead,
always accessible to men of worth. Broadmead said it was a beastly
shame--spite perhaps on the part of Molyneux--but every one now was
thinking of the Recess.... London was becoming awfully stale.... He
and Roger should meet in the early autumn. Broadmead would perhaps come
down to Engledene and shoot Sibyl's pheasants, and talk over Africa....
If Roger was still hankering after East Africa, why didn't he suck up to
"Wully MacNaughten?" He had a show place somewhere up in the Highlands,
not an immeasurable distance from Glen Sporran.
"Who was Wully? Didn't Brentham know? Why, he had begun life as a small
grocer in some Scotch town, and bankrupted through giving credit to the
crofters. Not to be bested by Fate, he went out to China as a clerk and
in twenty years had made quite a respectable fortune. Friends said out
of tea, enemies out of opium, smuggled into India; probable cause, the
great coolie traffic between China and the rest of the world, which
prompted him to found a navy of tramp steamers to carry the coolies,
many of them over to Africa. Then he nibbled at East Africa; began with
missionary stations, sort of atonement, don't you know, for anything
naughty he'd done--Chaps in China used to call him
'MacNaughty-naughty'--s'posed to have had a half-caste family. Not a
word of truth in it. However, there it was, and he couldn't go on
refreshing Brentham's memory. Brentham had been in East Africa and must
know all about MacNaughten there?..."
"Why, yes, I know, of course, he's the Chairman of the Chartered Company
of Ibea--Mvita, you know."
"Well, they are going to extend their operations inland to the Victoria
Nyanza and they want a go-ahead man as Governor. The chap at present
out there is---- However, nothing can be done now. See you later on,
give you a letter to him.... Tata."
If Roger was restless with unavowed hankerings after his first mistress,
Africa, Sibyl, unconscious that he ever dreamed of release from her
Circe toils, was radiant in the spring and summer of that particularly
radiant year, 1890. Her prescribed mourning was over, so that the
"horrid old Queen" could have no ground of objection to her entertaining
like any other opulent peeress.
Roger had worked wonders with the estates, and before long the revenues,
over which she would have control till her son's majority, would be
increased by at least one-third. Her choice of him from a business
point of view was amply justified. Her pulse quickened and her eyes
grew brighter than their ordinary at the thought he might some day be
her lover. If only that tiresome Lucy died in one of her confinements,
he might even be her husband. Of course, she would most carefully avoid
any foolishness which might give the least ground for scandal. If she
did that, she could take life as pleasantly as Lady Ramsgate (the
ridiculous one, called "Popsy"), or Lady Ann Vizor. Every one knew that
Popsy Ramsgate had had a child by her farm bailiff and kept it at the
farm, and no one thought the worse of her. Ramsgate was dead. Lady
Ann's stockbroker was obviously her lover, but he was very gentlemanly
and no one would have guessed unless they had been specially told.
Even if Roger were free, she was not sure she wanted exactly to marry
him. She would then lose her title or, at any rate, her social rights
as a peeress. And Roger as husband might be too masterful. She wanted
to "queen it" as a rich woman with intelligence and taste might do in
those days. Now her mourning was over she would commence at once to
give parties at 6A, Carlton House Terrace, which should put those of
Suzanne Feenix quite in the shade. She would create a salon, to which
should be attracted the younger bloods, the rebels of the Conservative
Party. She would revivify Lord Randolph, join hands with Mary March,
who had a wonderful _flair_ for inveigling millionaires. She and a few
other clever women--the Tennants, perhaps--should create a young and
intellectual Conservative Party--or Unionist Party, if you liked. They
would get hold of Choselwhit--perhaps Rhodes, if he came to England.
Lord Wiltshire should rue the day that he had snubbed her at a
Chapelmead week-end--the last time poor Francis went out anywhere--and
cut her at two Foreign Office receptions. The Brinsleys should be shown
their reign was over.
Her initiates--she really founded the half-legendary "Souls"--should
include the smartest writers and the most daring painters, the weirdest
poets of the day. They would have their own press, if it wasn't too
expensive, but Mary March's millionaires might manage that ... hadn't
she been introduced at one of Mary's theatre parties to an enormously
rich and humble person called Tooley? Lady Tarrington had asked him if
he owned Tooley Street and the stupid creature had said: "Beg pardon, me
lady?" Well, Tooley should be ensorcelled--perhaps an invitation up to
Glen Sporran--and buy their newspaper for them.
And then she had an idea of starting a monthly Review which she would
edit herself and which should tell the naked truth. No