Stand Fast, Craig-Royston! (Volume II)

As luck would have it, a day or two after Vin's return to town, Mr. Ogden came to dine at Grosvenor Place. It was a man's dinner – a dinner of political extremists and faddists; but so far from Master Vincent retiring to his own room and his books, as he sometimes did, he joined the party, and even stipulated for a place next the great electioneerer and wire-puller of the North. Further than that, he made himself most agreeable to Mr. Ogden: was most meek and humble and good-humoured (for to what deeps of hypocrisy will not a young man descend when he is madly in love?), and seemed to swallow wholesale the long-resounding list of Reforms – Reforms Administrative, Reforms Electoral, Reforms Fiscal, Reforms Social and Political. For all the while he was saying within himself: 'My dear sir, perhaps what you say is quite true: and we're all going headlong to the devil – with the caucus for drag. And I could wish you to have a few more A's: still, many excellent men have lived and died without them. The main point is this – if one might dare to ask – Is your Private Secretaryship still open; and, if so, what salary would you propose to give?' But, of course, he could not quite ask those questions at his own father's dinner-table; besides, he was in no hurry; he wanted a few more days to look round.

The guests of this evening did not go up to the drawing-room; they remained in the dining-room, smoking, until it was time for them to leave: then Harland Harris and his son found themselves alone together. Now the relations between father and son had been very considerably strained since the morning on which the former had brought his allegations against old George Bethune and his granddaughter; but on this occasion Vincent was in a particularly amiable and generous mood. He was pleased with himself for having paid court to Mr. Ogden; he looked forward with some natural gratification to this early chance of getting into Parliament; and, again, what was the use of attaching any importance to those preposterous charges? So he lit another cigarette; stretched out his legs before the fire; and told his father – but with certain reservations, for on one or two points he was pledged to silence – what had happened down at Mendover.

"I am heartily glad to hear it," said the communist-capitalist, with a certain cold severity of tone. "I am glad to hear that you begin to realise what are the serious interests of life. You are a very fortunate young man. If you are returned for Mendover, it will be by a concurrence of circumstances such as could not easily have been anticipated. At the same time I think it might be judicious if you went down again and hinted to Mr. – what did you say? – Simmons? – Mr. Simmons that in the event of everything turning out well, there would be no need to wait for Lord Musselburgh's contribution towards the completion of the public park. What Lord Musselburgh is going to gain by that passes my comprehension. I can hardly suppose that he made such a promise in order to secure your election: that, indeed, would be a wild freak of generosity – so wild as to be incredible. However," continued Mr. Harris, in his pedantic and sententious manner, "it is unnecessary to seek for motives. We do not need to be indebted to him. I consider that it is of the greatest importance that you should enter Parliament at an early age; and I am willing to pay. Mendover ought to be a secure seat, if it is kept warm. Promise them what you like – I will see to the rest. There are other things besides a park, if they prefer to keep Lord Musselburgh to his promise: a free library, for example – if they have one already, another one: a clubhouse for the football club – a pavilion for the cricketers – a refreshment tent for the tennis ground – a band to play on the summer evenings – a number of things of that kind that you could discover from your friend the solicitor."

Vincent could have laughed, had he dared. Here he was invited to play the part of a great local magnate, plutocrat, and benefactor; and it was less than half-an-hour ago that he had been anxiously wondering whether £200 a year, or £250 a year, would be the probable salary of Mr. Ogden's private secretary. Harland Harris went on:

"It is so rarely that such an opportunity occurs – in England at least – that one must not be niggardly in welcoming it. Simmons – did you say Simmons? is clearly of importance: if you make him your agent in these negotiations, that will be enough for him – he will look after himself. And he will keep you safe: the elected member may steal a horse, whereas as a candidate he daren't look over the hedge. And once you are embarked on a career of public usefulness – "

"Bribery, do you mean?" said Vincent, meekly.

"I refer to the House of Commons: once you have your career open to you, you will be able to show whether the training you have undergone has been the right one, or whether the ordinary scholastic routine – mixed up with monkish traditions – would have been preferable. At all events you have seen the world. You have seen men, and their interests, and occupations: not a parcel of grown-up schoolboys playing games." And therewithal he bade his son good-night.

A day or two passed: Vincent was still making discreet inquiries as to how a young man, with some little knowledge of the world, and a trifle of capital at his back, but with no specific professional training, could best set to work to earn a moderate income for himself; and also he was sounding one or two editors for whom he had done some occasional work as to whether employment of a more permanent kind might be procurable. Moreover, he had ordered the little brooch for Maisrie – a tiny white dove this was, in mother-of-pearl, on a transverse narrow band of rubies; and besides that he had picked up a few things with which to make her room a little prettier, when she should return to town. Some of the latter, indeed, which were fit for immediate installation, he had already sent home; and one afternoon he thought he might as well go up and see what Mrs. Hobson had done with them.

It was the landlady's husband who opened the door; and even as he ushered the young man up to the parlour, he had begun his story, which was so confused and disconnected and inclined to tears that Vincent instantly suspected gin.

"Lor bless ye, sir, we ev bin in such a sad quandary, to be sure, and right glad I am to see you, sir, with them things a comin ome, and you was so particular about not a word to be said, and there was the missis, a angin of em up, and the beautiful counterpane, all spread out so neat and tidy, 'why,' says she, 'the Queen on the throne she aint got nothin more splendid, which he is the most generous young genelman, and jest as good as he's ansome' – beggin' your pardon, sir, for women will talk, and then in the middle of it hall, here comes the old genelman as we were not expecting of im, sir – ah, sir, a great man, a wonderful man, sir, in sorrowful sikkumstances – and the young lady, too, and hall to be settled up reglar – oh, heverythink, sir – like a genelman – "

"What the mischief are you talking about?" said Vincent, in his bewilderment. "Do you mean to say that Mr. Bethune and Miss Bethune have been in London?"

"Yesterday, sir, yesterday, more's the pity, sir, to give up their rooms for good and hall, for never again shall we 'ev sich lodgers in this poor ouse. A honour, sir, as was least knowed when it was most appreciated, as one might say, sir, a man like that, sir, a great man, sir, though awaitin his time, like many others, and oldin is ead igh against fate and fortune whatever the world might say. And the young lady – beautiful she was, as you know, sir – as you know, sir – and as good as gold – well, never again – in this poor ouse – "

"Look here," said Vincent, impatiently – for this rigmarole threatened at any moment to dissolve in maudlin weeping, "will you answer me one question: am I to understand that Mr. Bethune and his granddaughter are not coming back here?"

"Indeed, no, sir, more's the pity, sir, it was a honour to this pore ouse, and heverythink paid up like a genelman, though many's the time I was sayin to the missis as she needn't be so ard – "

"Where have they gone, then?" the younger man demanded, peremptorily.

"Lor bless ye, sir, it took me all of a suddent – they didn't say nothin about that, sir – and I was that upset, sir – "

Vincent glanced at his watch: five minutes past four was the time.

"Oh, I see," he said, with a fine carelessness (for there were wild and alarming suspicions darting through his brain). "They're going to remain in Brighton, I dare say. Well, good-bye, Hobson! About those bits of things I sent up – you keep them for yourself – tell Mrs. Hobson I make her a present of them – you needn't say anything about them to anybody."

He left the house. He quickly crossed the street, and went up to his own rooms: the table there was a blank – he had almost expected as much. Then he went out again, hailed a hansom, drove down to Victoria-station, and caught the four-thirty train to Brighton. When he reached the lodging-house in German Place, he hardly dared knock: he seemed to know already what was meant by this hurried and stealthy departure. His worst fears were immediately confirmed. Mr. Bethune – Miss Bethune – had left the previous morning. And did no one know whither they had gone? No one. And there was no message – no letter – for any one who might call? There was no message – no letter.

The young man turned away. It was raining: he did not seem to care. Out there in the dark was the solitary light at the end of the pier: why, how many days had gone by since she had said to him, with tears running down her cheeks – 'Vincent, I love you! – I love you! – you are my dearest in all the world! – remember that always!' And what was this that she had done? – for that it was of her doing; he had no manner of doubt. Enough: his heart, that had many a time been moved to pity by her solitariness, her friendlessness, had no more pity now. Pride rose in its place – pride, and reproach, and scorn. There was but the one indignant cry ringing in his ears – "False love – false love – and traitress!"

END OF VOL. II