A Rent In A Cloud

“The style is better than yours, Master Loyd, just because it means something. The man is in an honest passion and wants a fight The other fellow was angry, and begged me not to notice it. And so, Sophy, I have spoiled the wedding favours, and scattered the bridesmaids! What a heavy lesson for an impertinent note. Poor thing! why did she trust herself with a pen? Why did she not know that the most fatal of all bottles is the ink bottle? Precious rage old Uncle Geoffrey must be in. I’d like to have one peep at the general discomfiture – the deserted dinner-table, and the empty drawing-room. They deserve it all! they banished me, and much good have they got of it Well, Mr. Wentworth Gordon Graham must have his wicked way. The only difficulty will be to find what is so absurdly misnamed as a friend. I must have a friend; I’ll run up to Milan and search the hotels: I’ll surely find some one who will like the cheap heroism of seeing another man shot at. This is the season when all the fellows who have no money for Baden come across the Alps. I’m certain to chance upon one to suit me.”

Having despatched a short note, very politely worded to Mr. Graham, to the post office, Basle, he ordered a carriage, and set out for Milan.

The city was in full festivity when he arrived, overjoyed at its new-born independence, and proud of the presence of its king. The streets were crowded with a holiday population, and from all the balconies and windows hung costly tapestries, or gay coloured carpets, Military music resounded on all sides, and so dense was the throng of people and carriages, that Calvert could only proceed at a walking pace, none feeling any especial care to make way for a dusty traveller, seated in one of the commonest of country conveyances.

As he moved slowly and with difficulty forwards, he suddenly heard his name called; he looked up, and saw a well known face, that of a brother officer, who had left India on a sick leave along with himself.

“I say, old fellow!” cried Barnard, “this is your ground; draw into that large gate to your right, and come up here.”

In a few seconds, Calvert, escorted by a waiter, was shown to his friend’s apartment.

“I never dreamed of meeting you here, Calvert.”

“Nor I of finding you lodged so sumptuously,” said Calvert, as his eyes ranged over the splendid room, whose massive hangings of silk, and richly gilt ceiling, gave that air of a palace one so often sees in Italian hotels.

“Luck, Sir, luck. I’m married, and got a pot of money with my wife.” He dropped his voice to a whisper, while, with a gesture of his thumb towards an adjoining room, he motioned his friend to be cautious.

“Who was she?”

“Nobody; that is, not anyone you ever heard of Stockport people, called Reppingham. The father, a great railway contractor, vulgar old dog – begun as a navvy – with one daughter, who is to inherit, they say, a quarter of a million; but, up to this, we’ve only an allowance – two thousand a year. The old fellow, however, lives with us – a horrible nuisance.” This speech, given in short, abrupt whispers, was uttered with many signs to indicate that the respected father-in-law was in the vicinity. “Now, of yourself, what’s your news? What have you done last, eh?”

“Nothing very remarkable. I have been vegetating on a lake in the north of Italy, trying to live for five shillings a day, and spending three more in brandy, to give me courage to do it.”

“But your leave is up; or perhaps you have got renewal?”

“No, my leave goes to the fifteenth of October.”

“Not a bit of it; we got our leave on the same day, passed the Board the same day, and for exactly the same time. My leave expired on the tenth of August. I’ll show you the paper; I have it here.”

“Do so. Let me see it.”

Barnard opened his desk, and quickly found the paper he sought for. It was precisely as Barnard said. The Board of Calcutta had confirmed the regimental recommendation, and granted a two-years’ leave, which ended on the tenth of August.

“Never mind, man,” said Barnard; “get back to London as hard as you can, furbish up some sick certificate to say that you were unable to quit your bed – ”

“That is not so easy as you imagine; I have a little affair in hand, which may end in more publicity than I have any fancy for.” And he told him of his approaching meeting with Graham, and asked him to be his friend.

“What was the quarrel about?” asked Barnard.

“A jealousy; he was going to marry a little cousin I used to flirt with, and we got to words about it. In fact, it is what Sir Lucius would call a very pretty quarrel, and there’s nothing to be done but finish it. You’ll stand by me, won’t you?”

“I don’t see how I can. Old Rep, our governor, never leaves me. I’m obliged to report myself about four times a day.”

“But you know that can never go on. You needn’t be told by me that no man can continue such a system of slavery, nor is there anything could recompense it. You’ll have to teach her better one of these days; begin at once. My being here gives you a pretext to begin. Start at once – to-day. Just say, ‘I’ll have to show Calvert the lions; he’ll want to hunt up galleries,’ and such-like.”

“Hush! here comes my wife. Fanny, let me present to you one of my oldest friends, Calvert It’s a name you have often heard from me.”

The young lady – she was not more than twenty – was pleasing-looking and well mannered. Indeed, Calvert was amazed to see her so unlike what he expected; she was neither pretentious nor shy; and, had his friend not gone into the question of pedigree, was there anything to mark a class in life other than his own. While they talked together they were joined by her father, who, however, more than realised the sketch drawn by Barnard.

He was a morose, down-looking old fellow, with a furtive expression, and a manner of distrust about him that showed itself in various ways. From the first, though Calvert set vigorously to work to win his favour, he looked with a sort of misgiving at him. He spoke very little, but in that little there were no courtesies wasted; and when Barnard whispered, “You had better ask him to dine with us, the invitation will come better from you!” the reply was, “I won’t; do you hear that? I won’t.”

“But he’s an old brother-officer of mine, Sir; we served several years together.”

“The worse company yours, then.”

“I say, Calvert,” cried Barnard, aloud, “I must give you a peep at our gay doings here. I’ll take you a drive round the town, and out of the Porta Orientale, and if we should not be back at dinner-time, Fanny – ”

“We’ll dine without you, that’s all!” said the old man; while, taking his daughter’s hand, he led her out of the room.

“I say, Bob, I’d not change with you, even for the difference,” said Calvert.

“I never saw him so bad before,” said the other, sheepishly.

“Because you never tried him! Hitherto you have been a spaniel, getting kicked and cuffed, and rather liking it; but, now that the sight of an old friend has rallied you to a faint semblance of your former self, you are shocked and horrified. You made a bad start, Bob; that was the mistake. You ought to have begun by making him feel the immeasurable distance there lay between him and a gentleman; not only in dress, language, and behaviour, but in every sentiment and feeling. Having done this, he would have tacitly submitted to ways that were not his own, by conceding that they might be those of a class he had never belonged to. You might, in short, have ruled him quietly and constitutionally. Now you have nothing for it but one thing.”

“Which is – ”

“A revolution! Yes, you must overthrow the whole government, and build up another out of the smash. Begin to-day. We’ll dine together wherever you like. We’ll go to the Scala if it’s open. We’ll sup – ”

“But Fanny?”

“She’ll stand by her husband. Though, probably, she’ll have you ‘up’ for a little private discipline afterwards. Come, don’t lose time. I want to do my cathedral, and my gallery, and my other curiosities in one day, for I have some matters to settle at Orto before I start for Basle. Have they a club, a casino, or anything of the sort here, where they play?”

“There is a place they call the Gettone, but I’ve never been there but once.”

“Well, we’ll finish there this evening; for I want to win a little money, to pay my journey.”

“If I can help you – ”

“No, no. Not to be thought of. I’ve got some fifty Naps by me – tame elephants – that are sure to entrap others. You must come with me to Basle, Bob. You can’t desert me in such a crisis,” said Calvert, as they left the inn together.

“We’ll see. I’ll think over it. The difficulty will be – ”

“The impossibility is worse than a difficulty; and that is what I shall have to face if you abandon me. Why, only think of it for a moment Here I am, jilted, out of the army – for I know I shall lose my commission – without a guinea; you’d not surely wish me to say, without a friend! If it were not that it would be so selfish, I’d say the step will be the making of you. You’ll have that old bear so civilised on your return, you’ll not know him.”

“Do you really think so?”

“I know it. He’ll see at once that you’ll not stand this sort of bullying. That if you did, your friends would not stand it. We shan’t be away above four days, and those four days will give him a fright he’ll never forget.”

“I’ll think over it”

“No. You’ll do it – that’s better; and I’ll promise you – if Mr. Graham does not enter a fatal objection – to come back with you and stand to you through your troubles.”

Calvert had that about him in his strong will, his resolution, and his readiness at reply, which exercised no mean despotism over the fellows of his own age. And it was only they who disliked and avoided him who ever resisted him. Barnard was an easy victim, and before the day drew to its close., he had got to believe that it was by a rare stroke of fortune Calvert had come to Milan-come to rescue him from the “most degrading sort of bondage a good fellow could possibly fall into.”

They dined splendidly, and sent to engage a box at the Opera; but the hours passed so pleasantly over their dinner, that they forgot all about it, and only reached the theatre a few minutes before it closed.

“Now for the – what do you call the place?” cried Calvert.