Johnny Ludlow First Series Part 102

"Spend their riches!--of course I would, in a proper way. Don't you interrupt your elders, Johnny Ludlow. Where would be the use of a man's getting money unless he spent some of it. But not in _this_ way; not in the lavish and absurd and sinful profusion that they have indulged in of late years. Is it seemly, or right, or decent, the way they live in? The sons apeing the manners and company of their betters, of young fellows who are born to the peerage and their thousands a year? The mother holding her head in the air as if she wore an iron collar: the daughters with their carriages and their harps and their German governesses, and their costly furbelows that are a scandal on common sense? The world has run mad after these Pells of late years: but I know this much--I have been ashamed only to look on at the Pells' unseemly folly."

At that moment Martha Jane Pell--in the toilette that Bill Whitney said must have cost "millions"--went looming by, flirting with Captain Connaught. Mr. Brandon looked after them with his little eyes.

"They are too fine for their station, Johnny. They were not born to this kind of thing; were not reared to it; have only plunged into it of recent years, and it does not sit well upon them. One can only think of upstarts all the time. The Pells might have lived as gentlepeople; ay, and married their children to gentlemen and gentlewomen had they pleased: but, to launch out in this unseemly way, has been a just humiliation to themselves, and has rendered them a poor, pitiful laughing-stock in the eyes of all right-minded people. It's nothing less than a burlesque on all the proprieties of life. And it may be that we have not seen the end of it, Johnny."

"Well, sir, they can hardly be grander than----"

"Say more a.s.suming, lad."

"I suppose I meant that, Mr. Brandon. Perhaps you think they'll be for taking the Marquis's place, Ragley, next, if it should come into the market. Or Eastnor Castle: or----"

"I did not mean exactly in that way, Johnny," he interrupted again, a queer look on his thin lips as he got up.

"Are you going into the eating tent, sir?"

"I am going away. Now that I have seen that you and Joe Todhetley are tolerably safe from gaming tables and the like, there's nothing further to keep me here. I feel a sort of responsibility in regard to you two, seeing that that unpleasant secret lies with me, and not with Joe's father."

"It is early to go, sir. The fun has hardly begun."

"None too early for me. I am a magistrate; looked up to, in a manner, in the neighbourhood, insignificant though I am. It is not I who will countenance this upstart foolery by my presence longer than I can help, Johnny Ludlow."

Mr. Brandon disappeared. The hours went on to twilight and then to dark.

Once during the evening I caught sight of Mr. Clement-Pell: and what occurred as I did so was like a bit of romance. People crowded the side paths under the light of the Chinese lanterns. For lanterns were hanging on the trees and shrubs, and the whole scene was one of enchantment out of the Arabian Nights. One of the remote walks was not lighted; perhaps it had been forgotten. I had missed Bill Whitney and was at the end of the grounds hunting for him, when I saw, through the trees, a solitary figure pacing this dark walk with his arms folded. It was not very likely to be Bill: but there was no harm in going to see.

It turned out to be Mr. Clement-Pell. But before I got out of the trees into the walk--for it was the nearest way back to the lights and the company--some one pushed through the trees on the opposite side of the path, and stood in front of him. The moon shone as much as an August moon ever does s.h.i.+ne; and I saw Clement-Pell start as if he had been told his house was on fire.

"I thought this might be a likely place to find you," said the stranger in a savage whisper. "You have kept out of my way for two days at the Bank--too busy to see me, eh?--so, hearing what was going on here, I took the train and came over."

"I'm sure I am--happy to see you, Mr. Johnson," cried Clement-Pell in a voice that seemed to tremble a little; and unless the moonlight was in fault, he had turned as pale as a ghost. "Would have sent you an invitation had I known you were down."

"I dare say you would! I did not come to attend festivals, Pell, but to settle business-matters."

"You must be aware I cannot attend to business to-night," interrupted Clement-Pell. "Neither do I ever enter upon it at my own residence. I will see you to-morrow morning at eleven at the Bank."

"Honour bright? Or is it a false plea, put forth to shuffle out of me now?"

"I will see you to-morrow morning at the Bank at eleven o'clock,"

repeated Clement-Pell, emphatically. "We are very busy just now, and I must be there the first thing. And now, Mr. Johnson, if you will go into the refreshment tent, and make yourself at home----"

"No refreshments for me, thank you: I must hasten away to catch the train. But first of all, I will ask you a question: and answer it you must, whether it is your habit of entering on business at home, or whether it is not. Is it true that----"

I did not want to hear more secrets, and went cras.h.i.+ng through the trees. I should have gone before, but for not liking they should know any one was there. They turned round.

"Oh, is it you, Mr. Ludlow?" cried Pell, putting out his hand as I pa.s.sed them.

"Yes, sir. I am looking for young Whitney. Have you seen him?"

"I think I saw him at the door of one of the tents, just now. You'll find him amongst the company, I dare say. The Squire and Mrs. Todhetley have not come, I hear."

"No sir."

"Ah well--give my very kind regards to them, and say I am sorry. I hope you are taking care of yourself--in the way of refreshments."

The stranger and I had stood facing each other. He was a very peculiar-looking man with a wide stare; black hair, white whiskers, and very short legs. I thought it anything but good manners of him to come over, as he had confessed to have done, to disturb Clement-Pell at such a time.

At nine o'clock Giles arrived with the pony-carriage for the young ladies and two of us: the other and Giles were to walk. But we didn't see the fun of leaving so early. Giles said he could not wait long: he must be back to get old Jacobson's gig ready, who was spending the evening at the Manor. The Jacobsons, being farmers, though they were wealthy, and lived in good old style, had been pa.s.sed over when Mrs.

Clement-Pell's invitations went out. So Tod sent Giles and the carriage back again, with a message that we all preferred walking, and should follow shortly.

Follow, we did; but not shortly. It was past eleven when we got away.

The dancing had been good, and no one was at hand to say we must leave.

Helen and Anna Whitney came out with their cloaks on. What with the dancing and the sultriness of the weather, the night was about as hot as an oven. We were almost the last to leave: but did not mean to say so at home. It was a splendid night, though; very clear, the moon larger than usual. We went on in no particular order; the five of us turning out of the Parrifer gates together.

"Oh," screamed Helen, when we were some yards down the road, "where's the bag? Anna, have you brought the bag?"

"No," replied Anna. "You told me you would bring it."

"Well--I meant to do so. William, you must run back for it."

"Oh, bother the bag," said Bill. "You girls can't want the bag to-night.

I'll come over for it in the morning."

"Not want it!--Why, our combs and brushes and thin shoes are in it,"

retorted Helen. "It is on a chair in that little room off the hall.

Come, William, go for it."

"I'll go, Helen," I said. "Walk quietly on, and I shall catch you up."

The grounds looked quite deserted: the Chinese lanterns had burned themselves out, and the doors appeared closed. One of the side windows was open and gay with light; I thought it would be less trouble to enter that way, and leaped up the balcony steps to the empty room. Empty, as I took it to be.

Well, it was a sort of shock. The table had a desk and a heap of papers on it, and on it all lay a man's head. The face was hidden in his hands, but he lifted it as I went in.

It was Clement-Pell. But I declare that at the first moment I did not know him. If ever you saw a face more haggard than other faces, it was his. He sat bolt upright in his chair then, and stared at me as one in awful fear.

"I beg your pardon, sir. I did not know any one was here."

"Oh, it is you," he said, and broke out into a smile--which somehow made the face look even more worn and weary than before. "I thought you had all left."

"So we have, sir. But Miss Whitney forgot her bag, and I have run back for it. She left it in the small room in the hall."

"Oh ay, all right," he said. "You can go and get it, and run out this way again if you like. I dare say the hall-door is closed."

"Good night, sir," I said, coming back with the bag. "We have had a most delightful day, Mr. Clement-Pell, and I'm sure we ought to thank you for it."

"I am glad it has been pleasant. Good night."

The trees were pretty thick on this side the house. In pa.s.sing a grove a few paces from the window, I saw something that was neither trunks nor leaves; but Mr. Johnson's face with its black hair and white whiskers.

He was hiding in the trees, his face peeping out to look at the room and at Clement-Pell.

It made me feel queer. It made me think of treachery. Though what treachery, or where, I hardly knew. Not a trace was to be seen of the face now: he drew it in; no doubt to let me pa.s.s. Ought I to warn Mr.