Mr. Scarborough's Family Part 93

It was early in June when Augustus was sitting in his luxurious lodgings in Victoria Street, contemplating this reply. His own lawyer had advised him to accept the offer, but he had declared to himself a dozen times since his father's death that, in this matter of the property, he would "either make a spoon or spoil a horn." And the lawyer was no friend of his own,--was not a man who knew nothing of the facts of the case beyond what were told him, and nothing of the working of his client's mind.

Augustus had looked to him only for the law in the matter, and the lawyer had declared the law to be against his client. "All that your father said about the Nice marriage will go for nothing. It will be shown that he had an object."

"But there certainly was such a marriage."

"No doubt there was some ceremony--performed with an object. A second marriage cannot invalidate the first, though it may itself be altogether invalidated. The Rummelsburg marriage is, and will be, an established fact, and of the Rummelsburg marriage your brother was no doubt the issue. Accept the offer of an income. Of course we can come to terms as to the amount; and from your brother's character it is probable enough that he may increase it." Such had been his lawyer's advice, and Augustus was sitting there in his lodging thinking of it.

He was not a happy man as he sat there. In the first place he owed a little money, and the debt had come upon him chiefly from his lavish expenditure in maintaining Mountjoy and Mountjoy's servant upon their travels. At that time he had thought that by lavish expenditure he might make Tretton certainly his own. He had not known his brother's character, and had thought that by such means he could keep him down, with his head well under water. His brother might drink,--take to drinking regularly at Monte Carlo or some other place,--and might so die.

Or he would surely gamble himself into farther and utter ruin. At any rate he would be well out of the way, and Augustus in his pride had been glad to feel that he had his brother well under his thumb. Then the debt had been paid with the object of saving the estate from litigation on the part of the creditors. That had been his one great mistake. And he had not known his father, or his father's guile, or his father's strength. Why had not his father died at once?--as all the world had a.s.sured him would be the case. Looking back he could remember that the idea of paying the creditors had at first come from his father, simply as a vague idea! Oh, what a crafty rascal his father had been! And then he had allowed himself, in his pride, to insult his father, and had spoken of his father's coming death as a thing that was desirable! From that moment his father had plotted his ruin. He could see it all now.

He was still minded to make the spoon; but he found that he should spoil the horn. Had there been any one to a.s.sist him he would still have persevered. He thought that he could have persevered with a lawyer who would really have taken up his case with interest. If Mountjoy could be made to drink--so as to die! He was still next in the entail; and he was his brother's heir should his brother die without a will. But so he would be if he took the twenty-five thousand pounds. But to accept so poor a modic.u.m would go frightfully against the grain with him. He seemed to think that by taking the allowance he would bring back his brother to all the long-lived decencies of life. He would have to surrender altogether that feeling of conscious superiority which had been so much to him. "D----n the fellow!" he exclaimed to himself. "I should not wonder if he were in that fellow's pay." The first "fellow"

here was the lawyer, and the second was his brother.

When he had sat there alone for half an hour he could not make up his mind. When all his debts were paid he would not have much above twenty-five thousand pounds. His father had absolutely extracted five thousand pounds from him toward paying his brother's debts! The money had been wanted immediately. Together with the sum coming from the new purchasers, father and son must each subscribe five thousand pounds to pay those Jews. So it had been represented to him, and he had borrowed the money to carry out his object. Had ever any one been so swindled, so cruelly treated! This might probably be explained, and the five thousand pounds might be added to the twenty-five thousand pounds. But the explanation would be necessary, and all his pride would rebel against it. On that night when by chance he had come across his brother, bleeding and still half drunk, as he was about to enter his lodging, how completely under his thumb he had been! And now he was offering him of his bounty this wretched pittance! Then with half-muttered curses he execrated the names of his father, his brother, of Grey, and of Barry, and of his own lawyer.

At that moment the door was opened and his bosom friend, Septimus Jones, entered the room. At any rate this friend was the nearest he had to his bosom. He was a man without friends in the true sense. There was no one who knew the innermost wishes of his heart, the secret desires of his soul. There are thus so many who can divulge to none those secret wishes! And how can such a one have a friend who can advise him as to what he shall do? Scarcely can the honest man have such a friend, because it is so difficult for him to find a man who will believe in him. Augustus had no desire for such a friend, but he did desire some one who would do his bidding as though he were such a friend. He wanted a friend who would listen to his words, and act as though they were the truth. Mr. Septimus Jones was the man he had chosen, but he did not in the least believe in Mr. Septimus Jones himself. "What does that man say?" asked Septimus Jones. The man was the lawyer of whom Augustus was now thinking, at this very moment, all manner of evil.

"D----n him!" said Augustus.

"With all my heart. But what does he say? As you are to pay him for what he says, it is worth while listening to it."

There was a tone in the voice of Septimus Jones which declared at once some diminution of his usual respect. So it sounded, at least, to Augustus. He was no longer the a.s.sured heir of Tretton, and in this way he was to be told of the failure of his golden hopes. It would be odd, he thought, if he could not still hold his dominion over Septimus Jones.

"I am not at all sure that I shall listen to him or to you either."

"As for that, you can do as you like."

"Of course I can do as I like." Then he remembered that he must still use the man as a messenger, if in no other capacity. "Of course he wants to compromise it. A lawyer always proposes a compromise. He cannot be beat that way, and it is safe for him."

"You had agreed to that."

"But what are the terms to be?--that is the question. I made my offer:--half and half. Nothing fairer can be imagined,--unless, indeed, I choose to stand out for the whole property."

"But what does your brother say?"

He could not use his friend even as a messenger without telling him something of the truth. "When I think of it, of this injustice, I can hardly hold myself. He proposes to give me twenty-five thousand pounds."

"Twenty-five thousand pounds!--for everything?"

"Everything; yes. What the devil do you suppose I mean? Now just listen to me." Then he told his tale as he thought that it ought to be told. He recapitulated all the money he had spent on his brother's behalf, and all that he chose to say that he had spent. He painted in glowing colors the position in which he would have been put by the Nice marriage. He was both angry and pathetic about the creditors. And he tore his hair almost with vexation at the treatment to which he was subjected.

"I think I'd take the twenty-five thousand pounds," said Jones.

"Never! I'd rather starve first!"

"That's about what you'll have to do if all that you tell me is true."

There was again that tone of disappearing subjection. "I'll be shot if I wouldn't take the money." Then there was a pause. "Couldn't you do that and go to law with him afterward? That was what your father would have done." Yes; but Augustus had to acknowledge that he was not as clever as his father.

At last he gave Jones a commission. Jones was to see his brother and to explain to him that, before any question could be raised as to the amount to be paid under the compromise, a sum of ten thousand pounds must be handed to Augustus to reimburse him for money out of pocket.

Then Jones was to say, as out of his own head, that he thought that Augustus might probably accept fifty thousand pounds in lieu of twenty-five thousand pounds. That would still leave the bulk of the property to Mountjoy, although Mountjoy must be aware of the great difficulties which would be thrown in his way by his father's conduct.

But Jones had to come back the next day with an intimation that Mountjoy had again gone abroad, leaving full authority with Mr. Barry.

Jones was sent to Mr. Barry, but without effect. Mr. Barry would discuss the matter with the lawyer, or, if Augustus was so pleased, with himself; but he was sure that no good would be done by any conversation with Mr. Jones. A month went on--two months went by--and nothing came of it. "It is no use your coming here, Mr. Scarborough," at last Mr. Barry said to him with but scant courtesy. "We are perfectly sure of our ground. There is not a penny due you;--not a penny. If you will sign certain doc.u.ments, which I would advise you to do in the presence of your own lawyer, there will be twenty-five thousand pounds for you. You must excuse me if I say that I cannot see you again on the subject,--unless you accept your brother's liberality."

At this time, Augustus was very short of money and, as is always the case, those to whom he owed aught became pressing as his readiness to pay them gradually receded. But to be so spoken to by a lawyer,--he, Scarborough of Tretton, as he had all but been,--to be so addressed by a man whom he had regarded as old Grey's clerk, was bitter indeed. He had been so exalted by that Nice marriage, had been so lifted high in the world, that he was now absolutely prostrate. He quarrelled with his lawyer, and he quarrelled also with Septimus Jones. There was no one with whom he could discuss the matter, or rather no one who would discuss it with him on his terms. So at last he accepted the money, and went daily into the City in order that he might turn it into more. What became of him in the City it is hardly the province of this chronicle to tell.

CHAPTER LXIV.

THE LAST OF FLORENCE MOUNTJOY.

Now at last in this chapter has to be told the fate of Florence Mountjoy, as far as it can be told in these pages. It was, at any rate, her peculiarity to attach to herself, by bonds which could not easily be severed, those who had once thought that they might be able to win her love. An attempt has been made to show how firm and determined were the affections of Harry Annesley, and how absolutely he trusted in her word when once it had been given to him. He had seemed to think that when she had even nodded to him, in answer to his a.s.sertion that he desired her to be his wife, all his trouble as regarded her heart had been off his mind.

There might be infinite trouble as to time,--as to ten years, three years, or even one year; trouble in inducing her to promise that she would become his wife in opposition to her mother; but he had felt sure that she never would be the wife of any one else. How he had at last succeeded in mitigating the opposition of her mother, so as to make the three years, or even the one year, appear to himself an altogether impossible delay, the reader knows. How he at last contrived to have his own way altogether, so that, as Florence told him, she was merely a ball in his hand, the reader will have to know very shortly. But not a shade of doubt had ever clouded Harry's mind as to his eventual success since she had nodded to him at Mrs. Armitage's ball. Though this girl's love had been so grand a thing to have achieved, he was quite sure from that moment that it would be his forever.

With Mountjoy Scarborough there had never come such a moment, and never could; yet he had been very confident, so that he had lived on the a.s.surance that such a moment would come. And the self-deportment natural to her had been such that he had shown his a.s.surance. He never would have succeeded; but he should not the less love her sincerely. And when the time came for him to think what he should do with himself, those few days after his father's death, he turned to her as his one prospect of salvation. If his cousin Florence would be good to him all might yet be well. He had come by that time to lose his a.s.surance. He had recognized Harry Annesley as his enemy, as has been told often enough in these pages. Harry was to him a hateful stumbling-block. And he had not been quite as sure of her fidelity to another as Harry had been sure of it to himself. Tretton might prevail. Trettons do so often prevail. And the girl's mother was all on his side. So he had gone to Cheltenham, true as the needle to the pole, to try his luck yet once again. He had gone to Cheltenham, and there he found Harry Annesley. All hopes for him were then over and he started at once for Monaco; or, as he himself told himself, for the devil.

Among the lovers of Florence some memory may attach itself to poor Hugh Anderson. He too had been absolutely true to Florence. From the hour in which he had first conceived the idea that she would make him happy as his wife, it had gone on growing upon him with all the weight of love, He did not quite understand why he should have loved her so dearly, but thus it was. Such a Mrs. Hugh Anderson, with a pair of horses on the boulevards, was to his imagination the most lovely sight which could be painted. Then Florence took the mode of disabusing him which has been told, and Hugh Anderson gave the required promise. Alas, in what an unfortunate moment had he done so! Such was his own thought. For though he was sure of his own attachment to her, he could not mount high enough to be as sure of her to somebody else. It was a "sort of thing a man oughtn't to have been asked to promise," he said to the third secretary.

And having so determined, he made up his mind to follow her to England and to try his fortune once again.

Florence had just wished Harry good-bye for the day, or rather for the week. She cared for nothing now in the way of protestations of affection. "Come Harry--there now--don't be so unreasonable. Am not I just as impatient as you are? This day fortnight you will be back, and then--"

"Then there will be some peace, won't there? But mind you write every day." And so Harry was whisked away, as triumphant a man as ever left Cheltenham by the London train. On the following morning Hugh Anderson reached Cheltenham and appeared in Montpellier Place.

"My daughter is at home, certainly," said Mrs. Mountjoy. There was something in the tone which made the young man at once a.s.sure himself that he had better go back to Brussels. He had even been a favorite with Mrs. Mountjoy. In his days of love-making poor Mountjoy had been absent, declared no longer to have a chance of Tretton, and Harry had been--the very evil one himself. Mrs. Mountjoy had been a.s.sured by the Brussels Mountjoy that, with the view of getting well rid of the evil one, she had better take poor Anderson to her bosom. She had opened her bosom accordingly, but with very poor results. And now he had come to look after what result there might be. Mrs. Mountjoy felt that he had better go back to Brussels.

"Could I not see her?" asked Anderson.

"Well, yes; you could see her."

"Mrs. Mountjoy, I'll tell you everything, just as though you were my own mother. I have loved your daughter;--oh, I don't know how it is! If she'd be my wife for two years, I don't think I'd mind dying afterward."

"Oh, Mr. Anderson!"

"I wouldn't. I never heard of a case where a girl had got such a hold of a man as she has of me."

"You don't mean to say that she has behaved badly?"

"Oh no! She couldn't behave badly;--it isn't in her. But she can bowl a fellow over in the most--well, most desperate manner. As for me, I'm not worth my salt since I first saw her. When I go to ride with the governor I haven't a word to say to him," But this ended in Mrs. Mountjoy going and promising that she would send Florence down in her place. She knew that it would be in vain; but to a young man who had behaved so well as Mr. Anderson so much could not be refused. "Here I am again," he said, very much like Punch in the pantomime.

"Oh, Mr. Anderson! how do you do?"

A lover who is anxious to prevail with a lady should always hold up his head. Where is the writer of novels, or of human nature, who does not know as much as that? And yet the man who is in love, truly in love, never does hold up his head very high. It is the man who is not in love who does so. Nevertheless it does sometimes happen that the true lover obtains his reward. In this case it was not observed to be so. But now Mr. Anderson was sure of his fate, so that there was no encouragement to him to make any attempt at holding up his head. "I have come once more to see you," he said.

"I am sure it gives mamma so much pleasure."

"Mrs. Mountjoy is very kind. But it hasn't been for her. The truth is, I couldn't settle down in this world without having another interview."