CHAPTER XI
THE MOUSE AND THE LION
HE who is restrained by a paternal law from attacking the person of his enemy need not chafe under this restriction; for he has only to attack him in the vanity, and the result, though far less entertaining, will be twice as effective. Gilbert Speid, in spite of his dislike to Mr. Barclay, did not bear him the slightest ill-will; nevertheless, he had dealt his ‘man of business’ as shrewd a blow as one foe may deal another. Quite unwittingly, he had exposed him to some ridicule.
The lawyer had ‘hallooed before he was out of the wood,’ with the usual consequences.
Kaims had grown a little weary of the way in which he thrust his alleged intimacy at Whanland in its face, and when Speid, having come to an end of his business interviews, had given him no encouragement to present himself on a social footing, it did not conceal its amusement.
As Fordyce dismounted, on his return from Morphie, Barclay was on his way to Fullarton, for he was a busy man, and had the law business of most of the adjoining estates on his hands. Robert, who had arranged to meet him in the early afternoon, had been away all day, and he was told by the servant who admitted him that Mr. Fullarton was still out, but that Mr. Fordyce was on the lawn. The lawyer was well pleased, for he had met Crauford on a previous visit, and had not forgotten that he was an heir-apparent of some importance. He smoothed his hair, where the hat had disarranged it, with a fleshy white hand, and, telling the servant that he would find his own way, went through the house and stepped out of a French window on to the grass.
Fordyce was sitting on a stone seat partly concealed by a yew hedge, and did not see Barclay nor hear his approaching footfall on the soft turf. He had come out and sat down, feeling unable to occupy himself or to get rid of his mortification. He had been too much horrified and surprised at the time to resent anything Lady Eliza had said, but, on thinking over her words again, he felt that he had been hardly treated. He could only hope she would keep her word and say nothing to Cecilia, and that the letter he had undertaken to produce from Lady Fordyce would make matters straight. A ghastly fear entered his mind as he sat. What if Lady Eliza in her rage should write to his mother? The thought was so dreadful that his brow grew damp. He had no reason for supposing that she would do such a thing, except that, when he left her, she had looked capable of anything.
‘Good heavens! good heavens!’ he ejaculated.
He sprang up, unable to sit quiet, and found himself face to face with Barclay.
‘My dear sir,’ exclaimed the lawyer, ‘what is the matter?’
‘Oh, nothing—nothing,’ said Crauford, rather startled by the sudden apparition. ‘Good-morning, Mr. Barclay; pray sit down.’
The lawyer was as inquisitive as a woman, and he complied immediately.
‘Pardon me,’ he said, ‘but I can hardly believe that. I sincerely hope it is nothing very serious.’
‘It is nothing that can be helped,’ said Fordyce hurriedly; ‘only a difficulty that I am in.’
‘Then I may have arrived in the nick of time,’ said Barclay. ‘Please remember it is my function to help people out of difficulties. Come, come—courage.’
He spoke with a familiarity of manner which Crauford might have resented had he been less absorbed in his misfortunes. He had an overwhelming longing to confide in someone.
‘What does the proverb say? “Two heads are better than one,” eh, Mr. Fordyce?’
Crauford looked at him irresolutely.
‘I need hardly tell you that I shall be silent,’ said the lawyer in his most professional voice.
Fordyce had some of the instincts of a gentleman, and he hesitated a little before he could make up his mind to mention Cecilia’s name to a stranger like Barclay, but he was in such dire straits that a sympathizer was everything to him, and the fact that his companion knew so much of his uncle’s affairs made confidence seem safe. Besides which, he was not a quick reader of character.
‘You need not look upon me as a stranger,’ said the lawyer; ‘there is nothing that your uncle does not tell me.’
This half-truth seemed so plausible to Crauford that it opened the floodgates of his heart.
‘You know Miss Raeburn, of course,’ he began.
Barclay bowed and dropped his eyes ostentatiously. The action seemed to imply that he knew her more intimately than anyone might suppose.
‘She is a very exceptional young lady. I had made up my mind to propose to her.’
‘She has not a penny,’ broke in Barclay.
‘That is outside the subject,’ replied Fordyce, with something very much like dignity. ‘I wrote to my father, telling him of my intention, and yesterday I got his consent. He told me to expect a most liberal allowance, Mr. Barclay.’
‘Naturally, naturally; in your circumstances that would be a matter of course.’
‘I thought it best to have Lady Eliza’s permission before doing anything further. I was right, was I not, sir?’
‘You acted in a most gentlemanly manner.’
‘I went to Morphie. Lady Eliza was cool with me, I thought. I confess I expected she would have shown some—some——’
‘Some gratification—surely,’ finished Barclay.
‘I took my father’s letter with me, and unfortunately, I had also one in my pocket from my mother. It was not quite like my father’s in tone; in fact, I am afraid it was written under considerable—excitement. I think she had some other plan in her mind for me. At any rate I took it out, mistaking it for the other, and gave it to her ladyship to read. Mr. Barclay, it was terrible.’
The lawyer was too anxious to stand well with his companion to venture a smile.
‘Tut, tut, tut, tut!’ he said, clicking his tongue against his teeth.
‘My only comfort is that she promised to say nothing to Miss Raeburn; I sincerely trust she may keep her word. I am almost afraid she may write to my mother, and I really do not know what might happen if she did. That is what I dread, and she is capable of it.’
‘She is an old termagant,’ said the other.
‘But what am I to do? What can I do?’
There was a silence in which the two men sat without speaking a word. Barclay crossed his knees, and clasped his hands round them; Fordyce’s eyes rested earnestly upon his complacent face.
‘I suppose you know that she used to set her cap at your uncle years ago?’ said the lawyer at last.
‘I knew they were old friends.’
‘You must persuade him to go and put everything straight. He can if he likes; she will keep quiet if he tells her to do so, trust her for that. That’s my advice, and you will never get better.’
Fordyce’s face lightened; he had so lost his sense of the proportion of things that this most obvious solution had not occurred to him.
‘It seems so simple now that you have suggested it,’ he said. ‘I might have thought of that for myself.’
‘What did I tell you about the two heads, eh?’
‘Then you really think that my uncle can make it smooth?’
‘I am perfectly sure of it. Will you take another hint from a well-wisher, Mr. Fordyce?’
‘Of course, I shall be grateful!’
‘Well, do not let the grass grow under your feet, for Speid is looking that way too, if I am not mistaken.’
Crauford made a sound of impatience.
Barclay leaned forward, his eyes keen with interest.
‘Then you don’t like him?’ he said.
‘Oh, I scarcely know him,’ replied Fordyce, a look that delighted the lawyer coming into his face.
‘He is one of those who will know you one day and look over your head the next. It would be a shame if you were set aside for a conceited coxcomb of a fellow like that—a sulky brute too, I believe. I hate him.’
‘So do I,’ exclaimed Crauford, suddenly and vehemently.
Barclay wondered whether his companion had any idea of the tissue of rumours hanging round Gilbert, but he did not, just then, give voice to the question. It was a subject which he thought it best to keep until another time. Fullarton might return at any minute and he would be interrupted. The friendly relations which he determined to establish between himself and Fordyce would afford plenty of opportunity. If he failed to establish them, it would be a piece of folly so great as to merit reward from a just Providence. All he could do was to blow on Crauford’s jealousy—an inflammable thing, he suspected—with any bellows that came to his hand. Speid should not have Cecilia while he was there to cheer him on.
‘You should get Mr. Fullarton to go to Morphie to-morrow, or even this afternoon; my business with him will not take long, and I shall make a point of going home early and leaving you free.’
‘You are really most kind to take so much interest,’ said Crauford. ‘How glad I am that I spoke to you about it.’
‘The mouse helped the king of beasts in the fable, you see,’ said the lawyer.
The simile struck Crauford as a happy one. He began to regain his spirits. His personality had been almost unhinged by his recent experience, and it was a relief to feel it coming straight again, none the worse, apparently, for its shock.
Barclay noted this change with satisfaction, knowing that to reunite a man with his pride is to draw heavily on his gratitude, and, as Fordyce’s confidence grew, he spoke unreservedly; his companion made him feel more in his right attitude towards the world than anyone he had met for some time. Their common dislike of one man was exhilarating to both, and when, on seeing Fullarton emerge from the French window some time later, they rose and strolled towards the house, they felt that there was a bond between them almost amounting to friendship. At least that was Crauford’s feeling; Barclay might have omitted the qualifying word.