Lady Maude's Mania

“Nonsense. Here, father, Tryphie, Maude has gone off with Charley Melton, I suppose?”

“No, no, no!” shrieked her ladyship. “Oh, horror, horror, horror!”

“Tryphie, cork her mouth with a handkerchief, or they’ll hear her across the street. Here, father, what’s the row. Charley Melton, eh?”

“No – no – no, my dear boy,” stammered Lord Barmouth, “I – I – I – damme, though her ladyship’s here, I say it in her presence, I wish she had. It’s too dreadful to tell.”

“My God, father!” cried Tom, excitedly, as he turned pale, and the cold sweat stood upon his forehead, for like a flash came upon him the recollection of his sister’s words that day, and brought up such a picture of horror before his eyes, that he trembled like a leaf. “Don’t say – don’t tell me – ”

He could not finish, but stood panting, and gazing at the horror-stricken face of his mother.

“No, my boy, I won’t if you don’t want me to,” said the old man, feebly; “but it’s – it’s – such a terrible disgrace.”

“Father,” faltered Tom, in a hoarse whisper, “has she – has she drowned herself?”

“Oh, no, my boy, no – no – no,” cried the old man, with the tears streaming down his cheeks. “She has eloped under disgraceful circumstances.”

“Not with one of the servants, father?” cried Tom.

“No, no, my boy, worse than that.”

“Hang it, father,” cried Tom, savagely, “there is no worse, without she has gone off with a sweep.”

“Yes, yes, my boy,” cried the old man. “She has gone off with an organ-grinder and a monkey!”

“Which?” roared Tom, seizing the poker; “it isn’t murder to kill an ape.”

“No, no, my boy, it’s the organ man. I saw him from the window to-night. I don’t think there was a monkey.”

Tom threw the poker into the fire-place with a crash, and stared blankly at his mother.

“Oh, Tom! oh, Tom!” she cried, hysterically, “the disgrace! – the disgrace! – the disgrace!”

“I – I – I don’t know what to do,” cried Lord Barmouth. “I can never stand it. It will be all the talk of the clubs. It’s – it’s – it’s – ”

“It’s all damned nonsense, father!” cried Tom; “my sister isn’t such a fool.”

Chapter Twenty Four.

Tom assumes Command

Ten minutes after Tom was busy trying to obtain some further information, after seeing his father comfortably settled down in the study with a good cigar and a pint bottle of port.

“May – may I have ’em, Tom, my boy?” he asked.

“Yes, yes, old gentleman,” said Tom. “Mamma really is ill now, and won’t interfere, and if it gives you a few twinges of the gout, hang it all, it will be a counter irritant.”

This was after Lady Barmouth had been assisted off to bed.

“Hold up, my little lassie,” Tom said, pressing Tryphie’s hand. “Hang me if you aren’t the only one left with a head upon your shoulders. You must help me all you can.”

“I will, Tom,” she said, returning the pressure; and he felt that any one else’s pretensions from that moment were cast to the winds.

“One moment,” whispered Tom, as Lady Barmouth was moaning on the stairs, half-way up the first flight of which she was seated, with her head resting on Justine’s shoulder. “You think there’s no mistake – Maude has bolted?”

“Yes, I have been to her room, and she has taken her little Russia bag.”

“But you don’t believe this absurd nonsense that they have got hold of?”

“I can’t, Tom,” she said; “but she has been very strange in her ways for some time past.”

“Enough to make her,” said Tom. “The old lady would drive me mad if she had her own way with me. There, be off and get her upstairs to bed while I see what’s to be done.”

Tryphie went up, and Tom entered the dining-room, developing an amount of firmness and authority that startled the butler into a state of abnormal activity.

“Now, Robbins,” he said, “look here: of course you know this absurd statement that has been going round the house, and that it’s all nonsense.”

“Well, my lord,” said, the butler, “Lady Maude has encouraged that sort of man about the place lately.”

“Confound you for a big pompous, out-of-livery fool!” cried Tom, bringing his hand down with a crash upon the table. “There, fetch all the servants in, quick.”

Robbins stared, and felt disposed to give notice to leave upon the spot, but Tom’s way mastered him, and, feeling “all of a work,” as he confided afterwards to the cook, he hurried out, and soon after the whole staff was assembled in the dining-room, Justine having been fetched from her ladyship’s side.

“Now then,” cried Tom, opening his informal court. “Who knows anything about this?”

“Please, m’lord,” said Henry, the snub-nosed little foot page, florid with buttons, and fat from stolen sweets, “I see a man playing the organ outside to-night.”

“So you did yesterday, and the day before.”

“Yes, m’lord,” said the boy, eagerly; “and I heard somebody go out.”

“Did you?” said Tom, politely. “Now, look here, my boy! If you dare to open that mouth of yours and get chattering to people this monstrous piece of nonsense, I’ll – I’ll, hang me, I’ll cut your ears off.”

The boy ducked and held one arm up, as if he expected to be attacked at once, and ended by taking refuge behind his best friend and greatest enemy – to wit, the cook.

“Speak, some of you, will you?” cried Tom. “Did any one see my sister go out?”

“If you please, my lord,” said the housemaid, “if I may make so bold – ”

“Yes,” said Tom, with sarcastic politeness, “you may make so bold. Now go on.”

“Well, I’m sure,” muttered the woman. “Well, my lord, I was going upstairs to-night, and I heard my young mistress sobbing bitterly in her room.”

“Well,” said Tom, “and you stopped to listen.”

“Which I wouldn’t bemean myself to do anything of the kind,” said the woman with a toss of the head; “but certainly she was crying, and soon after I was a-leaning out of the second floor window, it being very ’ot indoors, as we’ve been a good deal ’arrissed lately by her ladyship.”

“Go on,” cried Tom, impatiently.