It has been said that Miss Baker was going to spend the evening with an old friend. I trust that Miss Todd, umquhile of the valley of Jehoshaphat, and now of No. 7 Paragon, Littlebath, has not been forgotten; Miss Todd of the free heart and the rosy face.
Yes, Miss Todd had come to Littlebath, and was intent rather on forming a party of Toddites than of joining herself to either of the regular sets. She was perhaps not much given to be pious, and she certainly was but ill inclined to be slow. If fast, however, she chose to be fast in her own line.
But before we have the pleasure of attending at her soirée, we must say a word or two of one of the most distinguished of the expected guests. Sir Lionel was to be there.
Now Sir Lionel had been leading a pleasant life at Littlebath, with one single exception—that he was rather in want of funds. He had capital apartments, four rooms ensuite, a man-servant, a groom, three horses, and a phaeton, and no one was more looked up to at Littlebath. Ladies smiled, young men listened, old gentlemen brought out their best wines, and all was delightful. All but this, that the "res angusta" did occasionally remind him that he was mortal. Oh, that sordid brother of his, who could have given him thousands on thousands without feeling the loss of them! We have been unable to see much of old Mr. Bertram in recapitulating the story of young Mr. Bertram's latter doings. But it should have been said, that early in the present year he had not been quite as well as his friends could wish. George had gone to see him once or twice, and so also had his niece Miss Baker, and his granddaughter. He had said but very little to them; but on Miss Baker's mind an impression had been left that it would please him to see the marriage completed.
And at this time likewise his brother, Sir Lionel, had thought it expedient to see him. There had hitherto been no interview between them since Sir Lionel's return. The colonel had found out, and had been duly astonished at finding out, the history of Miss Baker and her niece. That George and Caroline would be the heirs to a great portion of his brother's money he could not doubt; that Miss Baker would have something he thought probable; and then he reflected, that in spite of all that was come and gone, his brother's heart might relent on his death-bed. It might be that he could talk the sick man round; and if that were impracticable, he might at least learn how others stood in his brother's favour. Sir Lionel was not now a young man himself. Ease and a settled life would be good for him. What, if he married Miss Baker!
He first called on Pritchett. Mr. Pritchett told him that his brother was better—considerably better. Sir Lionel was in raptures. He had hurried up from Littlebath in an agony. He had heard most distressing accounts. He would however go down to Hadley and see his brother.
"I am afraid Mr. Bertram is not very much up to company just at present," wheezed out Mr. Pritchett.
"But a brother, you know," suggested Sir Lionel.
Pritchett knew exactly how the brothers stood with each other; and he himself, though he was very partial to Mr. George, had not any warm love for Sir Lionel.
"Oh, yes; a brother is a brother, surely. But, Mr. Bertram, you know, sir—"
"You mean," said Sir Lionel, "that he is a little vexed about the account."
"Oh, yes, the account; there is the account, Sir Lionel. If it is to settle that, perhaps I can manage without troubling you to go to Hadley. Not but what settling the account will make matters smoother."
Sir Lionel could get nothing more from Mr. Pritchett; but he would not be put off from his intention, and he did go to Hadley. He found his brother sitting up in the dining-room, but he would not have known him. And, indeed, many who had seen him lately might have had some difficulty in recognizing him. He was not only lean and lank, and worn and wan, but he spoke with some difficulty, and on close examination it might be seen that his mouth was twisted as it were from the centre of his face. Since his relatives had seen him he had suffered what is genteelly called a slight threatening of paralysis.
But his mind, if touched at all, had recovered itself; and his spirit was in nowise paralyzed. When Sir Lionel was shown into the room—he had first of all taken the precaution of sending down his card from the hotel, and saying that he would call in half an hour—the old man put out his hand to him, but did not attempt to rise from his chair. It must be remembered that the brothers had not seen each other for more than fifteen years.
Sir Lionel had tutored himself carefully as to what he would say and what do. "George," he said, and the old man shrank as he heard the unaccustomed name. "When I heard that you were ill, I could not but come and see you."
"Very good of you, Sir Lionel; very good of you," growled the old man.
"It is fifteen years since we met, and we are both old men now."
"I am an old man now, and nearly worn out; too old and far gone to have many wants. You are not in that condition, I suppose."
There was an amount of sarcasm in his voice as he spoke, and in his eye also as he looked at his brother, which made Sir Lionel perfectly understand that his rich relative was not specially anxious to be kind to him.
"Well, we are neither of us quite so far gone as that, I hope—not quite so far gone as that;" and Sir Lionel looked very pleasant. "But, speaking for myself, I have not many wants now"—nor had he, pleasant old man that he was; only three or four comfortable rooms for himself and his servant; a phaeton and a pair of horses; and another smaller establishment in a secluded quiet street; nothing more than that, including of course all that was excellent in the eating and drinking line—"speaking for myself, I have not many wants now." And he did look very good-humoured and pleasant as he spoke.
Mr. Bertram senior did not look good-humoured or pleasant. There was that in his old eye which was the very opposite to good-humour and pleasantness.
"Ah!" said he. "Well I am glad of that, for you will be able to do the more for poor George. He will have wants; he is going to take care and trouble on himself. Neither he nor his sweetheart have, I take it, been accustomed to do without wants; and their income will be tight enough—forby what you can do for them."
The colonel sat and still looked pleasant, but he began to think that it might be as well for him that he was back at Littlebath.
"Poor George! I hope they will be happy. I think they will; my greatest anxiety now is of course for their happiness; and yours is the same, doubtless. It is odd that my child and your child's child should thus come together, is it not?" so spoke the colonel.
Mr. Bertram looked at him; looked through him almost, but he said nothing.
"It is odd," continued Sir Lionel, "but a very happy circumstance. She is certainly the sweetest girl I ever saw; and George is a lucky fellow."
"Yes, he is a lucky fellow; he will get more than he has any right to expect. First and last she will have six thousand pounds. I have not heard him say what he means to settle on her; but perhaps he was waiting till you had come home."
Sir Lionel's forte during his whole official career had been the making pleasant—by the pleasantness that was innate in him—things which appeared to be going in a very unpleasant manner. But how was he to make things pleasant now?
"Well, you see, George has been so much knocked about! There was his fellowship. I think they behaved shabbily enough to him."
"Fellowship! One hundred and seventy pounds a year and the run of his teeth at feast time, or some such thing as that. A man can't marry on his fellowship very well!"
"Ha! ha! ha! no, he can't exactly do that. On the whole, I think it was quite as well that he threw it up; and so I told him."
"Did you tell him at the same time what his future income was to be?"
"No, upon my soul I did not; but if all I hear be true, I believe you did. You have been exceedingly generous to him, George—and to me also."
"Then, Sir Lionel, allow me to tell you that all you hear is not true. Anything at all that you may have heard of that kind, if you have heard anything, is perfectly false. I have said nothing to George about his income, and have nothing to say to him."
"Well, I may have expressed myself wrongly, and perhaps you did say nothing. I was alluding especially to what you have done."
"I will tell you exactly what I have done. I thought he showed a high spirit when he threw up his fellowship, and as I had always a great contempt for those Oxford fellows, I sent him a thousand pounds. It was a present, and I hope he will make good use of it."
"I am sure he will," said Sir Lionel, who certainly had just cause for such confidence, seeing how large a slice out of the sum had been placed at his own disposal.
"I am sure he will," said Sir Lionel. "Indeed, I know that he has."
"Ah, I'm glad to hear of it; of course you know more about it than I do; of course you are arranging these matters. But that is all he has had from me, and all that he is likely to have."
If such were to be the treatment of George, of George who was certainly in some respects a favourite, what hope could Sir Lionel have for himself? But it was not so much his brother's words which led him to fear that his brother's money-bags were impregnable to him as his brother's voice and his brother's eye. That eye was never off him, and Sir Lionel did begin to wish that he was at Littlebath.
"I don't know whether George may have formed any hopes," continued the old man; but here Sir Lionel interrupted him, and not imprudently: if anything was to be said, it should be said now.
"Well, if he has formed hopes, George, you cannot but own that it is natural. He has looked on you as a man without any child of your own, and he has been taught so to look by your treating him almost as though he were your son."
"You mean that I paid his school debts and his Oxford debts when you forgot to do so," growled out the elder brother.
"Yes, and that you afterwards gave him an income when he came up to live in London. I hope you do not think that I am ungrateful, George?" and Sir Lionel used his softest and, at the same time, his most expressive tone.
"Grateful! I seldom look for much gratitude. But I shall be glad to know when it may suit you to settle with me. The account has been running on now for a great many years. Probably Pritchett may have sent it you." And as he spoke Mr. Bertram rose from his chair and took an ominous-looking piece of paper from off the mantelpiece.
"Yes, Mr. Pritchett is punctuality itself in these matters," said Sir Lionel, with a gentle laugh, which had not about it all his usual pleasantness.
"You have probably checked it, and can say whether or no it be correct," said Mr. Bertram senior, looking at the paper in his hand.
"Well, I can't say that I have exactly; but I don't in the least doubt the figures, not in the least; Mr. Pritchett is always correct, I know."
"Yes, Mr. Pritchett is generally correct. And may I ask, Sir Lionel, what you intend to do in the matter?"
It was necessary now that Sir Lionel should summon up his best courage. He reminded himself that after all his brother was but a feeble old man—impotent in all but money; and as it seemed now clear that no further pecuniary aid was to be expected, why need he fear him on this account? Had it been possible for him to get away without further talk, he would have done so; but this was not possible, so he determined to put a good face on it.
"I suppose you are joking now, George," said he.
I wish I could describe the tone of voice in which the word joking was repeated by the elder Mr. Bertram. It made the military knight jump in his chair, and confess to himself that the word impotent could not be safely applied to his ancient relative.
"Well, I dare say it is a joke," the old man went on to say. "If I expect to be paid what I have expended in saving George from being turned loose upon the world without education, I suppose it is a joke. Ha! ha! ha! I never thought of laughing at it before, but now I will. I always heard that you were a joker, Sir Lionel. Ha! ha! ha! I dare say you have laughed at it often enough yourself, eh?"
"What I mean is this, when you took upon yourself George's education and maintenance, you could hardly have intended to have it paid back again by such a poor devil as I am."
"Oh, I couldn't, couldn't I?"
"At any rate, I don't suppose you did count on having your money back."
"Well, I must admit this, I did not feel very sure of it; I did think there might be a doubt. But what could I do? I could not let poor Wilkinson ruin himself because you would not pay your debts."
"I am sorry that you take it up in such a manner," said the colonel, assuming a tone of injured innocence. "I came here because I heard that you were ill—"
"Thought I was dying, eh?"
"I did not exactly think that you were dying, George; but I knew that you were very ill, and old feelings came back on me. The feelings of our early youth, George; and I could not be happy without seeing you."
"Very kind of you, I am sure. You altogether decline then to settle the account, eh?"
"If you desire it, I will—will make arrangements, certainly; you do not want it all at once, I suppose?"
"Oh, no; half in three months, and other half in six will do for me."
"It would take a great deal more than all my income to do that, I fear."
"Your professional income; yes, I suppose it would. I fear they don't give you five or six thousand a year for staying at home at Littlebath. But surely you must have saved money; you must have intended to do something for your son?"
"I have looked upon him as provided for by his uncle."
"Oh!"
"And have therefore been satisfied that he would do well."
"Now, Sir Lionel, I will tell you how the matter is. I know you will never repay me a shilling of this money, and therefore I shall tell Pritchett not to bother himself with sending you any more accounts."
"He is a worthy man, and I am sorry he should have had so much trouble."
"So am I, very; but that's done. He has had the trouble, and I've paid the money; and, as far as George is concerned, I do not begrudge it."
"You would not if you knew what his sentiments are."
"I don't care a fig for his sentiments."
"His feelings of gratitude to you are very strong."
"No, they are not. He is not in the least grateful to me, nor do I wish him to be so. He is an honest lad, with a high spirit, a good heart, and a bad head. Sometimes I have thought of making him my heir."
"Ah!" sighed Sir Lionel.
"But I have now firmly made up my mind to do no such thing. He has no knowledge of the worth of money. He does not value money."
"Oh, there you mistake him; indeed, you do."
"He would do no good with it; and, as regards mine, he won't have it." Sir Lionel's face again became very doleful.
"But who will have it, George? Whom else have you got to leave it to?"
"When I want to consult you on that subject, I'll send for you; just at present I have no wish to do so. And now, if you please, we'll say no more about money."
Nothing more was said about money, and very little on any other subject. On what other subject could a pleasant votary of pleasure, such as Sir Lionel, wish to hold conversation with a worn-out old miser from the city? He had regarded his brother as a very full sponge, from which living water might probably be squeezed. But the sponge, it seemed, was no longer squeezable by him in any way. So he left Hadley as quickly as he could, and betook himself to Littlebath with a somewhat saddened heart. He consoled himself, however, by reflecting that an old man's whims are seldom very enduring, and that George might yet become a participator in the huge prize; if not on his own account, at least on that of his wife.
Sir Lionel returned to Littlebath, resolving that come what might he would not again have personal recourse to his brother. He had tried his diplomatic powers and had failed—failed in that line on being successful in which he so pre-eminently piqued himself. In Ireland it is said of any man who is more than ordinarily persuasive, that he can "talk the devil out of the liver wing of a turkey!" Sir Lionel had always supposed himself to be gifted with this eloquence; but in that discourse at Hadley, the devil had been too stout for him, and he had gone away without any wing at all—liver or other.
On one point on which he had been very anxious to say a word or two, he had been unable to introduce the slightest hint. He had not dreamt that it would be possible to ask his brother in so many words whether or no Miss Baker would be made a participator in the great prize; but he had imagined that he might have led the way to some conversation which would have shown what were the old man's feelings with reference to that lady. But, as the reader will have perceived, he had not been able to lead the conversation in any way; and he had left Hadley without further light for the guidance of his steps in that matrimonial path in which he had contemplated the expediency of taking a leisurely evening stroll.
The wicked old miser had declared that George should not be his heir; and had also said that which was tantamount to a similar declaration regarding Caroline. She would have six thousand pounds, first and last. Nothing more than a beggarly six thousand pounds, of which two-thirds were already her own without thanks to any one. What a wretched old miser! Who then would have his money? It would hardly be possible that he would leave it all to Miss Baker. And yet he might. It was just possible. Anything was possible with a capricious miserly old fool like that. What a catch would it be if he, Sir Lionel, could become the heir in so deliciously easy a manner!
But, in all probability, anything the old man might say was exactly the opposite of that which he intended to do. He probably would leave his money to George—or very probably to Caroline; but most probably he would do something for Miss Baker; something handsome for that soft, obedient handmaid who had never disobeyed any of his commands; and, better still, had never drawn upon him for more than her regular allowance.
Such were Sir Lionel's thoughts as he made his way back to Littlebath. Yes; he would make himself acceptable to Miss Baker. That George, old George, was not long for this world was very evident to the colonel. He, troublesome old cross-grained churl that he was, would soon be out of the way. Such being certain—all but certain—could not Sir Lionel manage matters in this way? Could he not engage himself to the lady while his brother was yet alive, and then marry her afterwards—marry her, or perhaps not marry her, as might then become expedient? He was well sure of this, that if she promised to marry him before her acquisition of fortune, such acquisition would not induce her to break off from the match. "She is too true, too honourable for that," said Sir Lionel to himself, feeling a warm admiration for the truth of her character, as he resolved how he might himself best back out of such an engagement in the event of its being expedient for him so to do.
So passed his thoughts as he made his way back to Littlebath. And when there he did not allow idleness to mar his schemes. He immediately began to make himself pleasant—more than ordinarily pleasant to Miss Baker. He did not make love to her after the manner of his youth. Had he done so, he would only have frightened the gentle lady. But he was assiduous in his attentions, soft and sweetly flattering in his speech, and friendly, oh, so friendly, in his manner! He called almost every day at Montpellier Crescent. To be sure, there was nothing unnatural in this, for was he not about to become the father of his dear Caroline? But dear to him as his dear Caroline might be, his softest whispers, his most sugared words, were always for her aunt.
He had ever some little proposition to make, some kind family suggestion to put forward. He was a man of the world; they were ladies, delicate, unfit for coping with the world, necessarily ignorant of its naughtier, darker ways; he would do everything for them: and by degrees he did almost everything for Miss Baker.
And so that lady was charmed without knowing it. Let us do her full justice. She had not the remotest idea of opening a flirtation with Sir Lionel Bertram. She had looked on him as the future father-in-law of her own dear child; never as anything more: no idea of becoming Lady Bertram had ever for an instant flashed upon her imagination. But, nevertheless, by degrees the warrior's attentions became pleasant to her.
She had had no youthful adorers, this poor, good Miss Baker; never, at least, since she had been merry as other children are, "when her little lovers came." She had advanced to her present nearly mature age without perhaps feeling the want of them. But, nevertheless, even in her bosom was living the usual feminine passion for admiration. She was no "lusus natur?," but a woman with a heart, and blood in her veins; and not as yet a very old woman either. And therefore, though she had no idea that Sir Lionel was her lover, she had learned to be fond of him.
Her little conversations with Caroline on this subject were delightful. The younger lady was certainly the sharper of the two; and though she had her own concerns to occupy her, she was able to see that something might perhaps be intended. Her liking for Sir Lionel was by no means a strong passion. Something probably had passed between her and George; for George could keep no secret from her. At any rate, she suspected the knight, but she could not say anything to put her aunt on her guard beyond using cold expressions in speaking of her future father. But Miss Baker, who suspected nothing, who expected nothing, could not be too lavish in her praises.
"Caroline," she would say, "I do think you are so happy in having such a father-in-law."
"Oh, certainly," Caroline had answered. "But, for myself, I think more of my father-in-law's son."
"Oh, of course you do; I know that. But Sir Lionel is such a perfect gentleman. Did you ever know a gentleman of his age so attentive to ladies as he is?"
"Well, perhaps not; except one or two old men whom I have seen making love."
"That's a very different sort of thing, you know—that's absurd. But I must say I think Sir Lionel's behaviour is perfect." What would she have said of Sir Lionel's behaviour had she known all the secrets of his establishments?
And thus, partly on Sir Lionel's account, Miss Baker began in these days to have perhaps her hottest fit, her strongest wish with reference to her niece's marriage. And then just at this hottest moment came the blow which has been told of in the last chapter.
But Miss Baker, as she prepared herself for Miss Todd's party, would not believe that the matter was hopeless. The quarrels of lovers have ever been the renewal of love, since the day when a verb between two nominative cases first became possessed of the power of agreeing with either of them. There is something in this sweet easiness of agreement which seems to tend to such reconciliations. Miss Baker was too good a grammarian to doubt the fact.
She would probably, under existing circumstances, have stayed at home with her niece, but that she knew she should meet Sir Lionel at Miss Todd's party. She was very anxious to learn whether Sir Lionel had heard of this sad interruption to their harmony; anxious to hear what Sir Lionel would say about it; anxious to concert measures with Sir Lionel for repairing the breach—that is, if Sir Lionel should appear to be cognizant that the breach existed. If she should find that he was not cognizant, she would not tell him; at least she thought she would not. Circumstances must of course govern her conduct to a certain degree when the moment of meeting should arrive. And so Miss Baker went to the party, certainly with a saddened heart, but comforted in some degree by the assurance that she would meet Sir Lionel. "Dear Sir Lionel, what a thing it is to have a friend," she said to herself as she stepped into the fly. Yes, indeed, the best thing in the world—the very best. But, dear Miss Baker, it is of all things the most difficult to acquire—and especially difficult for both ladies and gentlemen after forty years of age.
In the meantime, Sir Lionel had been calling on Miss Todd—had heard a good deal about Miss Todd; and was strong at heart, as a man is strong who has two good strings to his bow.