Lady Maude's Mania

“Eh? yes, Tom,” said the old man.

“Quick as lightning, father. Clean linen and socks, brush and shaving tackle in a small bag, and we’re off – pursuit.”

“Pursuit, Tom, eh? Do you mean me?”

“Yes, you, of course,” said Tom.

“Hadn’t – hadn’t her ladyship better go, Tom?” said his lordship, feebly.

“Hang it, no, father. You and I go together.”

“But – but – but, Tom,” faltered the old man; and there was a lingering look of hope in his pathetic face; “it isn’t so bad as I thought, is it?”

“I don’t know, father, ’pon my soul, I can’t say, really. We’ll see. Poor Maude has been driven to this mad step by her ladyship, and it is possible – mind, I only say possible – that she may have preferred to accompany – no, damn it all, I’m as mad as she is, even Wilters don’t believe it. Father, no! no!! no!!! Wilters is right – my sister would not stoop to take such a step. She is a true lady.”

“Yes, Tom, God bless her, she is,” faltered the old man, “and I shall – shall about break my heart if I’m to lose my darling.”

“Come, father, come, father,” cried the young man huskily. “This is no time for tears, you must act. Yes, and in future too. You see what giving way to her ladyship has done.”

“Yes, yes, my son,” said the old man. “I’ll rebel – I’ll strike for freedom.”

Tom smiled sadly as he gazed at his father; and then he rang the bell, which was responded to promptly by Robbins.

“Send up and ask her ladyship if she can see us. Then put a change of linen in one valise for his lordship and myself.”

The butler bowed, and returned at the end of five minutes to say that her ladyship was sitting up in her dressing-room if they would come.

Her ladyship looked really ill as she sat there, tended by Tryphie and Justine, and the latter moved towards the door.

“You need not go, Justine,” said Tom, quietly, and the Frenchwoman’s eyes sparkled at this token of confidence as she resumed her seat at her ladyship’s side.

Tom marked the change in his mother, and he was ready to condole with her, but she swept his kind intentions to the winds by exclaiming —

“Oh, Tom, I can never show my face in society again. Such a brilliant match too. My heart is broken.”

“Poor old lady!” said Tom, bursting into a sarcastic fit in his rage at her selfishness and utter disregard of the fate of her child. “But we want some money to go in search.”

“Money?” cried her ladyship. “Search? Not a penny. The wicked creature. And to-morrow. Such a brilliant match. Oh, that wicked girl!”

“No, no,” said Tom, “it was to be to-day. But don’t fret, mia cara madre, as we say in Italian. It is only a change. A fine handsome son-in-law, Italian too. You ought to be proud of him.”

“Tom!” cried her ladyship.

“Oh, milord Thomas, it is not so,” cried Justine, shaking her head.

“Oh yes,” cried Tom, sarcastically. “Such a nice change. You adore music, mamma, and the signor can attend your reunions with his instrument.”

“Tom, you are killing me. Oh, that I was ever a mother.”

“It will be grand,” cried Tom, rubbing his hands. “Maude can sing too, and take a turn at the handle when the signor gets tired.”

“Take what money you want, Tom,” sobbed her ladyship, and she handed her keys.

Tom smiled grimly, took the keys, and did take what money he wanted – all there was – from a small cabinet on a side table.

“Where – where are you going?” sighed her ladyship.

“Where!” said Tom, “everywhere. To bring poor Maude home.”

“No, no, Tom, impossible – impossible,” cried her ladyship.

“We’ll see about that,” said Tom. “Now, father, come along;” and the couple descended to the dining-room.

“Here, Robbins,” cried the young man, as the butler came to answer the bell, “what time is it?”

“Harpus four, my lord,” said the butler, who looked haggard and in want of a shave.

“Humph! Well, look here, we’ve gone on to Scotland Yard if that policeman returns.”

“Yes, my lord.”

“And then – well, never mind about then. Here, go up and ask Miss Wilder to come and speak to me, and send Joseph for a cab. Not gone to bed, has he?”

“No, sir; they’re all having a cup o’ coffee in the kitchen, sir.”

“Trust ’em, just the time when they’d like a feed,” growled Tom. “There: Miss Wilder. Look sharp.”

Five minutes after Tom stood at the door holding Tryphie’s hand, while his father went slowly down to the cab.

“Good-bye, little one,” he said.

“But, Tom, what are you going to do?”

“I’m going to bring my sister back, and then – ”

“And then, Tom dear,” whispered Tryphie, throwing her arms about his neck – “There, do you believe I care for you now?”

“My little pet,” he whispered hoarsely, and rushed away just as Mr Hurkle came up undulating, and looking more like a pulled out concertina than ever.

“Sorry I’ve been so long, sir,” he panted; “but I understand I am required to – ”

“Go to the devil,” cried Tom, brushing past him; and as the daylight was growing broader the cab drove into Great Scotland Yard, where there was a certain conversation, and wires were set to work, after which there was an adjournment for breakfast to an hotel at Charing Cross.

“Are – are we going in pursuit, my dear boy?” said his lordship, feebly.

“Yes, certainly, and in earnest.”

“When, my dear Tom?”