IF any one thinks that such events can come to pass in a house, and the servants remain unaware of the movement and commotion, I can only say that these persons are little acquainted either with human nature, or the peculiar emotions and interests called forth by domestic service. As certain members are kept in exercise by certain kinds of action, so there are certain sets of mental and moral fibres that are moved by the differing conditions of existence, and no one is more completely and continuously in operation than those of interest, curiosity, and that mixture of liking and opposition which naturally actuate one set of human creatures towards the other set of human creatures who are immediately over them, and control and occupy all their movements. It gives something of the interest of a continual drama to life, to watch the complicated play of human fate going on so near, in circumstances so intimate that it is scarcely possible not to enter into a certain partizanship, and take sides. Thus there were some of the servants who were all for Mr. Archie, and had an instinctive certainty that he was being unjustly treated and ill-used, and some who held for the master, with a conviction that a young son was never to be trusted, and was apt to go astray, as the sparks fly upward, by force of nature. Singularly enough, though Mrs. Rowland was a considerate and kind mistress, good to everybody, and taking a much greater interest in the members of her household than either father or son, nobody took her side: partly because she was, more or less, like themselves, a sort of spectator, not one of the first actors in the drama; and still more because she was the stepmother, and naturally, according to all traditions, a malignant element doing harm to both. The items of fresh information which were brought to the upper servants by Saunders, and which percolated through the house by means of an observant footman, were eagerly seized by the attendant crowd, and rapidly classified under fact or guess, according to its kind, until the superstructure was very remarkable. Naturally, the servants’ hall knew far better what Mr. Rowland was going to do than he himself did, and had settled the career of Archie in every particular before he had more than the most rudimentary idea of it himself.
It is a very poor and shabby thing to gossip with servants as to the habits and peculiarities of their masters: nothing can be more true than this. But it is very difficult for a lady not to hear, as she can scarcely help hearing, the word dropt by her maid—or for a man to arrest in time the revelation that falls from his attendant in respect to the disturbed condition of a house. “How could there be much comfort in the house, my lady, when there was a terrible scene in the middle of the night, and poor Mr. Archie never in his bed at all, but gone out of the house by break of day.” You have to be quick indeed, and very much on your guard, to prevent the woman, as she stands behind you, from letting loose such an expression as this before you can stop her. And still less is a man able to check the valet who thinks it so very queer that a gentleman should have arrived late on business, and come scared-like into the ball-room all in his travelling things. “And they do say, sir, that that’s why young Mr. Rowland has disappeared this morning, though the house is full of company.” How can you restrain or ignore these communications from the back-stairs? Consequent upon a number of such communications was the resolution taken by everybody at Rosmore to arrange their departure as early as possible on the second day. All felt confused and troubled in the dreary rooms in the evening, where there was nobody to lead the revels, and where the master of the house scarcely took any pains to conceal the preoccupation of his mind. Nobody could have known, except by the anxious glance she threw now and then at her husband, by Mrs. Rowland’s bearing that anything was wrong, and Marion was in her usual spirits, ready to do a little solid flirtation (for the young men complained of Marion that she was far from being light in hand) with any candidate: but Rowland gave so broken an attention to what was going on, mingled in the conversation so abruptly, and fell into such silences between, that it was easy to see how little accomplished he was in the art of living, according to its highest social sense. Whether it was that, or the hints from below stairs, which had reached more or less every member of the party, it was certain that it was a party very little at its ease. One or two of the bolder guests asked directly for Archie, if he was expected home that evening, if he was likely to be long detained by his business, etc.; the more timid did not mention his name. “What is the best thing to do,” they asked each other privately, “when there is trouble of that kind in a house?” Lady Marchbanks, who was not generally supposed to be a very wise woman, here spoke with authority out of the depths of a great experience, being a woman with many brothers, sons, and nephews, and full of knowledge on such points. “I always ask,” she said, “just as if I were sensible of nothing—just as if it were the most natural thing in the world for a young man to be suddenly called away on business, when it is well known he has no business, and his father’s house full of guests. It’s the kindest way,” Lady Marchbanks said, and she had occasion to know. But they were all unanimous in finding reasons why they must depart next morning after their delightful visit. Interesting as human complications are to all spectators, there are few people who think it right to stay on in manifest presence of trouble in the house.
There was one, however, who excelled himself in friendly devotion to his hosts, and that was Eddy Saumarez, who took upon himself, only with far greater ability than Archie could have shown, the work of the son of the house. There was every appearance that it would have been a very dull and embarrassing evening but for Eddy, who flung himself into the middle of affairs like a hero. He sang, he talked, he arranged a rubber in one corner, a game in another, of that semi-intellectual kind which is such a blessed resource in a country-house, and has the happy effect of making dull people think themselves clever. Eddy himself was too clever not to be infinitely bored by such contrivances, but he forgot himself and stood up like a hero, asking the most amusing questions and giving the wittiest answers when it was his turn to be badgered, and keeping the company in such a state of stimulation that even the heaviest grew venturesome, and made themselves ridiculous with delight, for the amusement of the rest. He even drew a smile from Rowland, who was too restless for whist, but who came more than once within Eddy’s wilder circle of merriment, and was cheated into a momentary forgetfulness. When the party dispersed, having passed, instead of the dull hours they had most of them anticipated, an unusually animated evening, Rowland came up and laid his heavy hand on Eddy’s shoulder. The young man started like a criminal, grew red and grew pale, and for once in his life was so disconcerted that he had not a word to say. And yet Rowland’s address was of the most flattering kind. “I can’t tell how much I’m obliged to you,” his host said. “You’ve been the life of the house since ever you came, Eddy, my man. And to-night I don’t know what we should have done without you. My wife will tell you the same thing. You’ve been the saving of us to-night. If ever I can serve you in anything—Lord! I would have done that for her, on account of her interest in you. But remember now, that on your own account, if I ever can be of any service——”
Eddy shrank back from that touch. He would not meet Rowland’s eye. He faltered in his answer, he that was always so ready. “I don’t deserve that you should speak to me so,” he stammered out. “I—I’ve done nothing, sir. All that I can ask is your forgiveness for—for—inflicting so long a visit upon you.”
“Is that all?” said Rowland, with a laugh. “Then I hope you’ll make your offence double, and give me twice as much to forgive you. Are you bound for the smoking-room now?”
“Perhaps I had better go,” said Eddy, carefully watching the other’s eyes.
“Do, my good lad. I had a disturbed night, and I’m out of the habit of keeping late hours. I will not appear myself, if you are going—though I dare say they will all go soon to their beds to-night.”
“Good night, sir,” said Eddy, “I hope you’ll sleep well.” There was almost a tender tone in the youth’s voice.
“Oh, I’ll sleep well enough. I always sleep. Good night—and thank you again, Eddy, for backing me up.”
As for Evelyn, she pressed his hand with a grateful look, and said also, “Thank you, Eddy,” in a soft tone, which, for some reason or other, seemed more than Eddy could bear. He almost tore his hand from hers, and turned his back upon her as though she had insulted him, which filled Mrs. Rowland with astonishment; but when there were so many things of importance to think of, what did Eddy’s look matter? She was glad when the girls too said good night, and left her alone with her husband—who, however, was in no humour for conversation.
“I’m going to bed,” he said. “I can always sleep, thank God. Evelyn, if you ever write to that lad’s father——”
“I never do, James.”
“Well, you might, my dear. It would have been no offence to me. I’m not one to sin against my mercies, as if I did not know when I had got a good woman. But you might say the lad had been a real stand-by. When you have a son, and the like of that can be said, it’s a pity that a man should not have the satisfaction——” He broke off with a sigh, and walked up and down the room with his hands deeply thrust into his pockets, and then pulled the heavy curtains aside and looked out. It was one of the windows under the colonnade just where the view was—the view through the trees over the triumphant Clyde, with its towns and hills beyond. There was a faint glimmer of light in sky and water, which showed where the opening was. Ah! this, which had been the star of his life for so many years—to what had it turned when it was granted to his eager desire?
“James! there is nothing to prevent you from having that satisfaction—yet.”
He looked at her and burst into a hoarse laugh—then, as she essayed to speak again, stamped his foot on the carpet in impatience and hurried away.
An hour later there was a knock at Rosamond’s door in the stillness of the early withdrawal which last night’s dissipation had made general throughout the house. Rosamond was sitting in her dressing-gown before her fire—thinking of many things, and particularly of her father’s last letter, which lay open upon the little table beside her.
“Stay as long as you can,” Mr. Saumarez said. “It’s the best chance you can have at present to see a little society, and keep Eddy on the straight.”
Rosamond was not happy, she could not have told why. It was not that Archie was of any importance to her, but there is something in the atmosphere of a disturbed and unhappy house, which reflects itself in the consciousness of the most indifferent guest. She could not think what he could have done. The offence of which his father had convicted him the other day in the hall, of having refused money to a friend, was of all reproaches in the world the most extraordinary to Rosamond. She thought with a laugh that was irrestrainable, of what her own father’s remark would have been, and the high tone of indignation he would have assumed at the folly, nay the criminality, of throwing money away. “Where do you expect to get more?” he would have asked with righteous wrath, had his son been suspected of such a miserable weakness. But, to do him justice, Eddy had no guilty inclinations that way. Curiously enough, while Rosamond laughed with the surprised contempt, yet respect, of the poor for Rowland’s liberality, which had, in spite of herself, the aspect of “swagger” in the girl’s eyes—she felt, at the same time, something of the same astonishment, mingled with disappointment, that Archie should have laid himself open to such a reproach. “I should have thought he would have given away—everything he had,” Rosamond said to herself—not as praise, but as a characteristic feature of Archie’s nature, as she conceived it—and she was disappointed that he had not carried out her idea of him, notwithstanding that she believed such a procedure to be folly of the deepest dye.
She was considerably startled by the knock at the door, and still more by seeing Eddy in the silk smoking-suit, which was too thin for this locality. It was perhaps that flimsy dress which made him look so pinched and cold, and he came in with eager demonstration of his delight at the sight of her fire.
“Mine’s gone out an hour ago,” he said, “let’s get a good warm before we go to bed.”
“You have come from the smoking-room,” she said; “you will fill my room with the smell of your cigarettes. I hate the smell of the paper worse than the tobacco.”
“Oh, you’re always hating something,” said Eddy vaguely. And then he added, standing with his back to the fire, looking down upon her in her low chair—“It won’t matter how it smells, for to-morrow we ought to go.”
“To go!” she cried in astonishment. “What new light have you got on the subject? for I have heard nothing of this before.”
“Never mind what you’ve heard,” said Eddy. “Circumstances have arisen—altogether beyond my control,” he added with a laugh at the familiar words. “In short, if you must know it, Rose, I can’t stay here any longer, and that is all there is about it,” he said.
“Do you mean now that Archie has got into disgrace? How has he got into disgrace? I can’t think what he can have done.”
“I mean—that and other things. How should I know what he has done? Some of his father’s fads. But in every way we’d better go: everybody is going, and I’m dead-tired of the place. There is not a single thing to do. We shot every bird on the hill to-day, and more—and after this burst there won’t be a soul in the house for months. Probably they have themselves visits to pay. I tell you we’d better go to-morrow, Rose.”
“They say nothing about visits to pay,” said Rosamond, bewildered. “Mrs. Rowland said to-day she hoped we would stay as long as we pleased: and father is of opinion that if we can hang on for another month—well, he says so. It saves so much expense when the house is shut up.”
“But I tell you I am not going to do it,” said Eddy, “whatever the governor chooses to say. You can if you please, but I shan’t. You may stay altogether if you please. Marry Archie, it would not perhaps be such a bad spec.; and become the daughter of the house.” He laughed, but there was not much mirth in his laugh.
“You need not be insulting at least,” said his sister. “And as for the daughter of the house—the less there is said on that subject the better, if you are going away.”
“Why! do you think she would mind?” he asked. “Mind you, she is not so simple as you think. I don’t believe she cares. If she did, that might be a sort of a way: but mind what I say, Rose—that girl will not marry anybody till she’s been at court and seen the world. She might like me a little perhaps—but if she saw her way to anything better—as Heaven knows she might do easily enough. Oh, I don’t make myself any illusions on that subject! She would drop me like a shot.”
“As you would her,” said Rosamond, with an air of scorn.
“Precisely so; but unless I’m very far mistaken, we meet—that little Glasgow girl and I, that am the fine flower of civilisation—on equal ground.”
“So much the better for her if it is so,” said Rosamond.
“Am I saying anything different? only I don’t think there’s the least occasion to be nervous about little May.”
There was a pause here, and for a moment or two nothing was said. A little hot colour had come on Rosamond’s face. Was she perhaps asking herself whether Archie was as easily to be let down as his sister, and likely to emancipate himself as lightly? But on this subject, at least, she never said a word. She broke silence at last by saying, with a sigh—
“We have nowhere to go.”
“Nonsense: we have the house to go to. I don’t say it will be very comfortable. Old Sarah is not a cordon bleu.”
“As if I cared about the cooking!”
“But I do,” said Eddy; “and the one that does will naturally have more to suffer than the one that doesn’t; but thank heaven, there’s the club—and I dare say we shall get on. The end of October is not so bad in town. There’s always some theatre open—and a sort of people have come back.”
“Nobody we know—and we have not a penny;—and father will be so angry he will send us nothing. And they are so willing to have us here; why, I heard Mr. Rowland say to you——”
“Never mind what you heard Rowland say,” said Eddy, almost sullenly. “You can stay if you like. But I won’t, and I can’t stop here. Oh! it’s been bad enough to-day! I wouldn’t go through another, not for——” Here he stopped and broke forth into a laugh, which stopped again suddenly, leaving him with a dark and clouded countenance—“a thousand pounds!”
“I don’t understand you, Eddy,” said Rosamond, with an anxious look. “You have not been borrowing money? What do you mean by a thousand pounds?”
“Do you think,” said Eddy with a short laugh, “that any one would lend me a thousand pounds? That shows how little you girls know.”
“If I don’t know, it would be strange,” said Rosamond, with a sigh, “seeing how dreadfully hard it has been to get money since ever I can remember. And there is no telling with people like Mr. Rowland. Didn’t you hear him coming down upon Archie for not giving his money to some one who was ill? Fancy father talking like that to one of us!”
“The circumstances have no analogy,” said Eddy. “In the first place, we have no money to give: and we want hundreds of things that money could buy. Archie and fellows like him are quite different—they want nothing, and they’ve got balances at their bankers; not that he has much of that, poor beggar, after all.”
“What do you mean, Eddy?”
“Well, I mean he’s a good sort of fellow if he weren’t such a fool;—and I could have thrown some light on his refusal, perhaps, if they had asked me.”
“Oh, why didn’t you, Eddy!—when his father was so vexed and so severe.”
“It was none of my business,” said the young man. “And Archie is not a fellow who likes to be interfered with. If I had suggested anything, he would probably have turned upon me.”
“And what was it?” said Rosamond; “what was the light you could have thrown?”
“Oh, I don’t mean to tell you,” cried Eddy; “you have nothing to do with it that I can see. And it is of no use telling his father, for he’s in a far deeper hole now. Poor old Archie—he is an ass, though, or he would never have got into such a mess as he is in now. He never can strike a blow in his own defence, and never will; but look here, Rose,” cried Eddy, “all this jawing will make it no better; I am going to-morrow, whatever you may choose to do. I can’t stop another night here.”
“You must have something to do with it. I am sure you have something on your conscience, Eddy. You have got a conscience somewhere, though you pretend not. It is you that has got Archie into trouble!—you have been tempting him and leading him away. That day in Glasgow! Ah, now I see!”
“What do you see?” cried Eddy, contemptuously; but his sallow face betrayed a sharp, sudden rising of colour. He did not look at her, but kicked away a footstool with some vehemence, on which a moment before he had rested his foot.
“Let’s hear!” he said, “what fine thing do you see?”
“You must have got—gambling, or something,” she said, feeling to her heart the inadequacy of the words to express the great terror and incoherent suggestion of evil that had come into her mind, she knew not how.
“Gambling—with Archie!” her brother burst into a loud laugh. “One might as well try to gamble with Ben Ros, or whatever that beast of a hill is called. I broke all my toes going up him to-day. No, my dear Rose; you will have to try again,” Eddy said.
She looked at him with eyes full of consternation and horror. It was incredible to Rosamond that Archie should have done anything to merit such condemnation: but it was not at all incredible to her that Eddy should have got him into mischief. She looked at her brother as if she could have burst through the envelope of his thoughts with her intent and searching eyes.
“Eddy, I know you have something to do with it,” she said.
“That proves nothing,” said Eddy; “you know what you think only.”
“I don’t know what I think! I think terrible things, but I can’t tell what they are. Oh, Eddy, this was such a quiet house when we came into it! They might not be very happy, but there was no harm. And Archie had begun to please his father. I know he tried. And they have been very kind to us—the ball last night was as much for us as for their own children.”
“It was to get themselves into favour in the county—it was neither for us nor for them.”
Rosamond was herself so much accustomed to measure everything in this way, and to have it so measured, that she had no protest to make.
“But we had all the benefit,” she said. “We were made the chief along with Marion and Archie. And Mr. Rowland has shown how much he thinks of you, Eddy—he has made you his deputy.”
“Yes, to save himself trouble,” said Eddy; “to amuse his guests—is that a great sign of kindness? It was kindness to himself. But if they had been as kind as—whatever you please, what would that matter? I cannot stand any more of it, and I am going away.”
“But you have no money,” she said.
“Oh yes; I have a little—enough to take us back to town, if you please—and to get me a few chops at the club till the governor turns up—who has a right to feed me at least until I come of age.”
“You must have got it out of Archie,” said Rosamond, her cheeks burning, springing from her seat, and standing between him and the door, as if to force an explanation. But Eddy only smiled.
“For a right down odious supposition—an idea that has neither sense nor possibility in it, commend me to a girl and a sister! How could I get it out of Archie? What had Archie to give? I think you must be taking leave of your senses,” he said.
Was it so?—Was it merely a sympathetic sense of the trouble in the house, and sorrow for Archie, whatever might be the cause of his banishment? Or was it some sense of guilt, some feeling that it was he who had led Archie away, and who ought to share in the penalty? But, to tell the truth, Rosamond could not identify any of these fine feelings with Eddy. He was not apt to feel compunctions: perhaps to take him at his word was the safest way.