The Master of the Ceremonies

Volume Two – Chapter Eight.

Mrs Barclay is Puzzled

“Oh, my dear, and do you know how they’re all a-talking about you?” cried Mrs Barclay, as she sat panting beneath the florid portrait of May Burnett in the MC’s shabby drawing-room.

Claire looked up appealingly in the pleasant, plump face, and her brow knit.

“You see, it all comes to me, my dear, and it worries me because I like you so.”

“You were always very kind to me, Mrs Barclay.”

“Not half so kind as I should like to be, my dear. I wanted to have you home when the mur – ”

“Oh, hush!”

“Of course, my dear. That’s my way. So vulgar and thoughtless. Think of me now bringing that up to you who live here; and us sitting in the very next room.”

“Mrs Barclay!”

“Yes, I won’t say another word, my dear. Not that I believe in sperrits or anything of that kind. But you were saying about me being kind. Why, you won’t let me be, my dear. I’m sure the dresses I’d buy you, and the things I’d give you, if you’d let me, would make some of them stare.”

“But I could not let you, Mrs Barclay,” said Claire, smiling.

“No; you’re so proud, my dear, that’s it. You see, Josiah lets me have so much for housekeeping, that I’ve always plenty to spare; and as to jewellery, why, I might wash in diamonds if I liked, but I don’t.”

“Let us be as usual, Mrs Barclay,” said Claire, with more animation, “and never mind about what people say, or fashion, or dress, or any of the nonsense.”

“I’m sure I should like to be, my dear; but you being a motherless girl, I don’t like to hear people talking about you.”

Claire’s face grew flushed.

“Don’t look like that, Claire, my dear. I’m not cross with you, but when people talk about you being out walking with that horrid black Major Rockley, it hurts me.”

“I could not help it, Mrs Barclay,” said Claire.

“Then it’s all true, then, about young Mr Linnell horse-whipping him?”

“Yes, yes; but this is so cruel to me. He did beat him for insulting me.”

“Bless him then. I always liked him, my dear. How he must love you!”

“Oh, hush, hush!” cried Claire, in agony.

“I don’t see why. I’m sure he’s everything that’s good and brave; and you need not sob like that, my dear, for, from what I can hear, he isn’t very badly hurt.”

Claire started. A dread that had been hanging over her was beginning to assume form.

“But they say it’s a mercy that the Major’s bullet did not go an inch lower.”

“Bullet? The Major! They have had a meeting?”

“Yes, my dear. I thought you must know, and I came to talk to you about even speaking to – there – there, what a woman I am. I came to do good, and I’m doing nothing but harm. Now, she’s going to faint.”

“No, no!” cried Claire agitatedly; “it is nothing. I am not going to faint, Mrs Barclay, indeed. There, you see, I am quite calm now.”

“Yes, and I am sorry, my dear; but I am such a thoughtless woman. Barclay’s quite right; I haven’t no head at all.”

“No head?” said Claire, smiling, as she sat down close to her visitor and laid her hands upon her arm. “Perhaps it is because you have so much heart.”

“Heart, my dear! why – no; I declare I’m most afraid to speak, for fear of saying something that may hurt your feelings.”

“If you will not speak about – about – ”

“Mr Linnell, my dear?”

“Yes, but only to tell me that he is not much hurt – you said so, did you not?” cried Claire.

“Yes, my dear; he’s not much hurt. But, Claire, my dear, wouldn’t it be better if you – so pretty and young as you are – did care very much for some one as nice and good as he is?”

“No, no,” cried Claire excitedly. “Pray, pray say no more. It is impossible.”

“Well, you know best, my dear,” said Mrs Barclay sadly; “and you want me to talk about something else. Well, I’ll talk about you, only you must not mind if I say something stupid. It’s my way.”

“I am sure you would not say anything to wound me,” said Claire, kissing her.

“Indeed I wouldn’t, my dear: and, do you know, ever since I found out how you people here were situated, through Mr Denville coming to see my Josiah, who is the real best of men, I seemed to take to you like. I went home and had a good cry after I’d been here the first time, and seen you managing your poor father, and your sister and brother so well.”

Claire’s brow grew troubled, but her visitor prattled on.

“You had another brother, hadn’t you, my dear, who couldn’t agree with your father like, and then went away?”

“Yes,” said Claire, bowing her head to hide her face.

“Ah, my Josiah told me so. Well, well, there’s troubles in every family, my dear; and so long as pa has got you he has not much cause for complaint.”

Claire looked up, trying to smile, but it was a sorry attempt; and soon after her guest rose, assuring her that she need not be uneasy about Mr Linnell.

“One word before I go, my dear, though, just as a secret. It isn’t that I’m curious, because I don’t care who it is marries, or whom they marry; but I’ve no girls of my own, and I do take an interest in you. Now, just in a whisper like. I am an old friend.”

“Yes, yes – indeed, you are. The only dear friend I have.”

“Then tell me now; put your lips close to my ear – it is to be Mr Linnell, is it not?”

“Never!” said Claire firmly.

“Oh, my! And I told you to whisper. I won’t believe it’s that horrible Major.”

“Mrs Barclay,” said Claire, putting her arms round her homely friend’s neck, “they say that every woman has her duty in life: mine is to watch over and help my father, and to be such protection as I can to my sister and brothers.”

“What, and not get married at all?” cried Mrs Barclay, in a tone of disappointment.

“And never be any man’s wife,” said Claire sadly. “Oh!”

“Stop one moment, Mrs Barclay,” whispered Claire, in a strangely hesitating manner, “you do like me, I know.”

“Indeed, I do, my dear, though I must say you disappoint me horribly.”

“Then I want you – whatever comes to pass – whatever people may say of me – to try and think the best of me.”

“Why, my darling!”

“Yes: I know you will; but your confidence may be sorely tried, and I want you to think well of me always. I cannot do all I wish, and – and – I cannot explain myself; only think the best you can of me. Good-bye, good-bye!”

“She is the strangest girl I ever did meet,” said Mrs Barclay, as she panted away in her thick silk and enormous open bonnet. “Think well of her, whatever comes to pass! Why, of course I will, poor girl!”

Volume Two – Chapter Nine.

An Interested Patron

“Well, Denville,” said Lord Carboro’, “I wanted to see you.”

“In what way can I serve your lordship?” said the MC, with his best bow.

“A pinch of your snuff.”

The pinch was taken, and the box snapped and returned.

“Your arm.”

Denville’s breast swelled as he offered his arm to the elderly beau, and a flush of hope rose into his cheeks. The sun must be coming out at last.

It was a pleasant thing to be seen walking along the Parade in so familiar a way with Lord Carboro’, and to his great delight Denville saw that the Parade was well filled.

He expected that this would be only a temporary condescension from the wealthy old nobleman; but Lord Carboro’ held on tightly, made a few very nasty remarks about some of the people they passed, and then said suddenly:

“Drelincourt has been asking me to interest myself with the Prince to get your boy a commission.”

“Indeed, my lord?”

“Yes, indeed. ’Nother pinch of snuff.”

The box —sniff – snuff – snap.

“Like to know what I said to her?”

“My lord, I am a father.”

“Yes, Denville, I know it. Well.”

The old man changed the conversation to make another remark or two about some visitors, and then said, suddenly returning to the subject:

“Drelincourt asked me to get the lad a commission.”

“Yes, my lord.”

“You don’t think of letting that old harpy claw up the boy?”

“Oh, my lord!”

“Of course, it would be madness. I told her I’d see her ladyship made a mummy first.”

The MC’s heart sank.

“She means to marry fat Matt Bray. I hope she will. I said I’d see her ladyship made a mummy first, Denville; and – he, he, he! she showed real colour. It came up in her cheeks, all round the rouge. Poor old girl! she is as bad as her sister was: hates to hear about dying. Doosid awkward thing, old Teigne being killed in your house. I wonder who got her diamonds.”

Denville’s hands began to tremble, and the beads of perspiration to stand upon his forehead.

“Must all die some day, I suppose. Great nuisance to think about if the weather’s fine, Denville; but when it’s a cold, easterly wind, or one’s gout’s bad, I often feel as if I shouldn’t mind being tucked up comfortably. How do you feel about it, Denville? You’re not a chicken.”

“My lord, I feel sometimes as if, once I could see my boy settled, and my daughter well married, it would be a relief to lie down and take the long sleep,” said the MC solemnly.

“Denville,” said Lord Carboro’, after a pause, during which he held on tightly to his companion’s arm. “I’ve gone on for years calling you an artificial old humbug, with your deportment and niminy-piminy ways. I hadn’t the common sense to see that they were like my wig and stock, sir – put on. I beg your pardon, Denville. I do, sir: I beg your pardon. You’ve the right stuff in you after all, and, sir – I’m very proud to tell you that what I wouldn’t do for that old harpy, Drelincourt, I would do on my own account.”

“My lord!”

“Yes, sir; asked His Royal Highness, myself, and he said nothing would give him greater pleasure. Denville, your son has a commission in the Light Dragoons.”

“My lord, I – I – ”

“Don’t, don’t, Denville,” said the old man, pressing his arm. “Hold up man, or some of these idiots will be seeing that you are moved. Take a pinch of snuff, man – of mine, and let’s walk out upon the Downs, out here beyond the fishermen’s cottages, and my sight isn’t what it was, or I should have said that was Miss Claire going into yon fisherman’s hut.”

“Impossible, my lord. Will you allow me to express my – ”

“No, no, no. Not a word, Denville. Why, man, you are husky with emotion now, real emotion. Don’t say another word about it. Only make the boy do us justice.”

“He shall, my lord,” said the MC in a broken voice.

“And now, look here, Denville; I’m about one of the most selfish old fellows that ever breathed, and I want to see if I can’t have a little recompense for all my miseries and disappointments.”

“Yours, my lord?”

“Yes, sir, mine,” said the old beau. “Do you think because I’m rich I’m happy? Not a bit of it. I haven’t long to live though now, and I want to make the best of the time left.”

“My lord!”

“Hold your tongue and listen. I heard all about Rockley meeting Miss Claire and young Linnell thrashing him.”

“It was a most unfortunate affair, my lord.”

“I don’t know that either. Pity young Linnell couldn’t shoot and pop off that scoundrel Rockley. By the way, he looked daggers at me for getting your boy appointed to his regiment; but the boy shan’t disgrace the corps, if I find him money myself.”

Denville paused where they stood upon the Downs and gazed wonderingly at the old Earl.

“I make you stare, Denville. Well, I’ll be frank with you, and you shall be frank with me.”

The MC bowed and wiped his streaming face.

“Of course she does not care for Rockley.”

“Good heavens, my lord; no!”

“Nor for young Linnell?”

The MC hemmed twice before he spoke.

“I, too, will be frank with you, my lord,” he said. “It was in dead opposition to my wishes, but I’m afraid there was something between my daughter and Mr Richard Linnell.”

Lord Carboro’ looked at the speaker searchingly.

“It was an unspoken attachment, my lord, nothing more; and since that terrible event at my house – I am obliged to name it,” he said, with quivering lip – “whatever intimacy existed has been broken off.”

“Humph! Sure, Denville?”

“I have my daughter’s word, my lord. That duel set me thinking; and like another father, my lord, of whom we read, I bespoke her roundly.”

“Oh! come, Denville, don’t compare yourself to Polonius, man. He – he – he!”

“Only to that extent, my lord. As I say, I spoke to her, and she assured me that there was nothing whatever between her and Mr Linnell, but gratitude towards a gentleman who saved her from insult.”

“Denville, that Mellersh is his friend; he ought to have shown the boy how to shoot the scoundrel.”

The MC was trembling with excitement. He was between hope and dread, for he could not but divine what was coming, and in spite of the glittering future it held up to his view he shrank from it with fear.

Volume Two – Chapter Ten.

An Elderly Suitor

“Gratitude, eh?” said Lord Carboro’ suddenly.

“Yes, my lord,” said the MC, who was perspiring profusely.

“Deuced dangerous thing, Denville. Are you sure?”

“My lord, I have my child’s word, and that is sacred.”

“Hah!” ejaculated Lord Carboro’, “you are right. Bless her! she is as sweet and true as she is beautiful. She stands alone here in her youthful dignity. Damme, Denville, I always look upon her as some beautiful Greek goddess, and I would have sooner gone to her funeral than seen that roué Rockley win her. I would, damme.”

“My lord, so would I,” said Denville huskily.

“And you would sooner go to her funeral than see her my wife, eh?” said the old beau abruptly.

“My lord, I did not say so.”

“Nor think it?”

Stuart Denville, MC of Saltinville, stood there out on the hazy Downs, trembling, obsequious, tossed by his emotions. It was so dazzling, this suggestion of an offer for his child’s hand. May had married a rich man; but for Claire, his beautiful child, to become the wife of a wealthy nobleman – to become Countess of Carboro’! It was such an exaltation – greater than his highest dreams. But before him stood that withered old man, scanning him with his sharp eyes, and ready to probe him with his bitterly venomed tongue. He, to be the husband of his beautiful child. It was sacrilege.

“We agreed to be quite frank,” said Lord Carboro’ sharply.

Denville drew a long breath, and biting his lip, called up before his mental vision the sweet soft face of his child wearing a new horror as he bore her this news, and trampling down, as it were, the great temptation, he cast off his mincing ways, his servile politeness, and in a quick, firm voice exclaimed:

“Will your lordship commence and set me the example? What do you mean?”

“Come, I like that, Denville. Spoken like a man. Well, I’ll be frank. I have long been thinking of your child, and watching her, and as I have watched her I have loved – no, that is absurd at my age – my liking for her has grown. I have put it off and it has come back, and I have put it off again as I have heard some bit of scandal, but she has always come out of it so spotless and well that I have grown more – well, infatuated.”

He paused for a minute, and then went on speaking earnestly.

“Then came that horror at your house, just as I had made up my mind to speak to you; and I said no: it was impossible; but the feeling grew. Yes, man, even at my age.”

Denville bowed, and drew himself up very stiffly.

“I waited, Denville, and was about to speak to you when this affair with Rockley and the duel took place, and I stopped at home and swore horribly; but the feeling still grew and grew, and as that has all passed away, I now ask you if you will give me your consent. I ask you as a gentleman, Denville, to address her and ask her if she will be my wife.”

Denville did not answer, for a tremendous struggle was going on within his breast, and it was hard to say which side would win.

“Hah!” said Lord Carboro’, speaking quickly; “you say I am very old. Granted. That I ought to think of my coffin instead of a wife. Granted. That I am an old fool; but there I join issue.”

Denville had raised his hands deprecatingly.

“I am not an old fool, Denville.”

“No, my lord, you are not.”

“I’ll tell you why. I have said to myself that if this beautiful young creature swore to be my faithful wife I could trust her. She would be a sweet companion for my declining years; and, God bless her! if she consented, I would repay her for the sacrifice. In a few years I should leave her young, rich, titled, and free to choose some more suitable companion than the old man she had tended to his grave.”

There were no marks lying on the ground as those two elderly men stood face to face alone on the short turf of the Downs; but it seemed as if they must have dropped a tear.

Neither spoke for some minutes, and then it was the Master of the Ceremonies.

“My lord,” he said firmly, “you have given me this commission for my son as a bribe.”

“No, no, Denville, I swear I have not.”

“Take it back, my lord, for what you ask is impossible.”

“Impossible?”

“Fate has been very hard to me, my lord, and the burden has been too heavy at times to bear; but I cannot do this thing. I love my child too well.”

They stood gazing out to sea for some minutes, and only the rushing of the wind was heard, or the wailing cry of the gulls, but at last Lord Carboro’ spoke.

“Denville, I did not know you,” he said gravely. “I thought I had to deal with a different man; but don’t let us be hasty. As to the commission, it is your boy’s, and may he deserve it. As to what we have said, let us wait. Don’t refuse me absolutely, and don’t say a word to Miss Denville. Give me leave to visit at your house, and let matters slide for a few months. Things may shape themselves so that you may change your mind; do you consent to this?”

“It would be like buoying your lordship up with false hopes.”

“That is my look-out, sir; do you consent?”

“I am your lordship’s obedient, humble servant.”

“You are the man I offer to make my father-in-law? Answer me, sir, like a man.”

“I consent.”

“That’s better. Denville, your hand. In future I shall know you as the man I have seen to-day. I never respected you one half so much before.”

Volume Two – Chapter Eleven.

James Bell’s Decision

It was in honour of Morton Denville’s reception into the regiment that the Master of the Ceremonies received. There had been some difficulty in the matter, but on the very first night that the young man dined at the mess, when, urged by Major Rockley, his brother-officers had decided to send him to Coventry, it so happened that “a certain gentleman” was at Saltinville and had expressed his intention to Colonel Lascelles of looking in.

Consequently, it was decided not to transport the young subaltern to the Midlands that night; and as it happened His Royal Highness asked the Colonel who the tall youth was, ordered him to be introduced, and shook hands with the young man.

“Devilish gentlemanly fellow, your father, my lad. Always looks a gentleman, and carries a devilish good pinch of snuff. My compliments to him, and tell him I was glad to oblige Carboro’.”

“They were all as civil to me as could be, after that, Clairy,” said Morton, relating the meeting at home. “Even Rockley shook hands after dinner, when we’d had a lot of claret, and he apologised about being carried away, he called it, and said we were brother-officers now, and must be good friends. I don’t like him, though.”

Claire turned pale.

“I say, though, Clairy, I haven’t said a word to the dad, but what am I to do? I turned cold and hot, and queer as could be yesterday. Whom do you think I met?”

Claire knew what was coming, but she did not speak.

“Fred. I’d half forgotten about him, and he’s in my troop.”

“Did – did Fred speak, Morton?”

“No; he cut me dead, and of course he is James Bell in the regimental books; but, I say, isn’t it awkward? I can’t know him, you see, as my brother: what shall I do?”

“Fred has shown you,” said Claire huskily, as her troubles seemed to be on the increase. “I will try and persuade him to leave the regiment. We must buy him out.”