A Civil Contract (6 page)

He held it out as he spoke, saying, as Adam, in a sort of trance, put his own into it: ‘I’ll bid you good-day now, and that’s my last word for the present!’

Adam was left to recover from the effects of this shattering visit, which he soon did, passing from revulsion to amusement, and presently banishing the interlude from his mind. It recurred when he sat down to finish his interrupted letter to his sister, and with it the echo of her voice, saying: ‘
One ought to be ready to make sacrifices for one’s family, I think
.’ She was certainly ready to do so, but she was too young to know what it meant, and she had not yet been in love. He smiled, recalling the naïve plan she had made for his relief; but the smile was not a happy one, and it soon faded. He wondered what her ultimate fate would be, and tried to picture her living with Lady Lynton in Bath. Not such a dreadful prospect, it might have been thought; but he found himself looking forward to it with misgiving, and thought that besides securing a part at least of her dowry from the wreck of his fortunes he must contrive to provide her with an allowance, for he could not doubt that whatever economies were practised by Lady Lynton would be at Lydia’s expense. On the only occasion when he had ventured to suggest various ways of retrenchment to her, such as the substitution of a more modest maid for her staggeringly expensive dresser, she had put him utterly to rout by replying that she had considered this expedient, but that when she had asked herself if Poor Papa would have wished her to make this dismal change she had received an unequivocal answer: he would not have wished it at all.

‘And you can’t argue about that,’ had observed Lydia, ‘because it’s true! He would merely have said: “Pooh! Non-sense!”’

One of the economies which Adam feared his mother might practise was in the matter of Lydia’s coming-out. Lady Lynton’s disposition was not social; she had never enjoyed large parties; and it seemed probable that she would make penury an excuse for neglecting this part of her maternal duties. The thought just flickered in Adam’s mind that if he were himself married, and in affluent circumstances, his wife would be able to launch Lydia into society.

The thought vanished; he dipped his dry pen in the ink-well, and ended his letter to Lydia rather abruptly, not regaling her, as he had intended, with an account of his interview with Mr Chawleigh.

The afternoon was disagreeably enlivened by a note sent round by hand from Wimmering’s place of business. That harassed practitioner had received a disturbing communication disclosing yet another obligation incurred by the late Lord Lynton. He very much feared that it would have to be met. No documents relating to the transaction were in his possession; he wrote in haste to enquire whether the present Viscount had discovered any relevant matter amongst his father’s private papers.

Adam, realizing that persons committing suicide were not necessarily insane, set about the task of sifting, yet again, the mass of his volatile parent’s papers.

He was engaged on this labour when he received a visit from Lord Oversley.

‘I have only a few minutes to spare,’ Oversley said, grasping his hand, ‘but I felt I ought to make a push to see you, in case you should act hastily, before I’d had a chance to represent to you – You’ve seen Chawleigh, I know: he came to call on me directly afterwards. He’s taken a fancy to you: I thought he might.’

‘Much obliged to him!’ returned Adam. ‘I would I could return the compliment!’

‘Ah!’ said his lordship. ‘That’s what I was afraid of. Just as well I decided to snatch a moment to see you!’

‘Good God!’ exclaimed Adam. ‘You can’t have supposed – you of all people! – that there was the least chance I should – Why, it’s unthinkable!’

‘Then I don’t scruple to tell you, Adam, that you’re not the man I took you for!’ said his lordship. ‘I’ll also tell you that if you whistle down the wind the best chance you’ll ever have offered you to save Fontley, provide for your sisters, and bring yourself off clear of debt, I shall think so much the worse of you that I shall be glad, instead of sorry, that you’re not my son-in-law!’ He saw Adam stiffen, and said in a milder tone: ‘I know it’s a mighty hard thing to do, and not the match anyone would have chosen for you, but the ugly truth is, boy, that you’re in the devil’s own mess! I say in all sincerity that you owe it to your name to seize any honourable chance that offers of bringing yourself about.’

‘Honourable?’ Adam ejaculated. ‘Selling myself to a wealthy Cit’s daughter? Oh, no! Not myself: my title!’

‘Pooh! No need for any Cheltenham tragedies! It’s a fair bargain, and one that’s being struck more often than you know. Yes, yes, you have formed what you believe to be a lasting passion for Julia! Lord, if we were all to marry our first loves what a plague of ill-assorted marriages there would be! Put her out of your mind! You may believe me when I tell you that she’s no more fitted to be the wife of a marching officer than –’

‘This is unnecessary, sir!’ Adam interposed. ‘If I haven’t been able to put her out of my mind, you may rest assured that there’s no thought of marriage to her there, or to anyone!’

‘Now, listen, Adam!’ begged Oversley. ‘If you’re thinking that Miss Chawleigh is like her father, she’s not! She’s not a beauty, but she always seemed to me an agreeable, well-behaved girl. I see no reason why she shouldn’t make you an amiable wife. She’s a little shy, to be sure, but perfectly sensible, and will give you no cause to blush for her manners. As for Chawleigh, I don’t think he’ll embarrass you. He’s not encroaching. Yes, I know he has a bee in his brain where his daughter’s concerned, but he don’t himself wish to be admitted into the ton. You might not believe it, but he’s never been across my threshold till today. I’m under a considerable obligation to him, and I did think I might be regularly in for it, but not a bit of it! All he wanted me to do was to put Jenny in the way of meeting what he calls
the nobs
! Refused the only invitation I ever sent him to dine in Mount Street: told me he’d be happy to dine with me in the City, but wouldn’t come to my house. There’s much in him that I like – and there is no one whose credit stands higher in the City!’

‘I’m sure he’s a very respectable person,’ said Adam, ‘but I have no desire to marry his daughter.’

‘Come out of the clouds, Adam!’ said Oversley sternly. ‘They say – and I believe it! – that he’s one of the richest men in the country, and that girl of his will inherit his whole fortune! He has a name for driving devilish hard bargains, but he’s not a screw, and the more he spends on his Jenny the better pleased he seems to be. Marry her, and you will live as high as a coach-horse for the rest of your life! You will not only be able to hold Fontley: you will be able to bring it back to what it was in your grandfather’s day.’ He laid his hand on Adam’s shoulder, gripping it. ‘Listen to me, you young fool! You’ve no right to refuse the only chance offered you to restore what your father squandered! If you could do the thing by your own exertion I wouldn’t urge you to this marriage, but you can’t. You talk of rejoining your Regiment, and for anything I know you might achieve the highest rank. But once Fontley has passed out of your hands you will never win it back again. You think that over, boy, and remember that you’re the head of your house, and have the power to prevent its falling down – if you choose to exert it!’ His grip tightened. ‘Don’t make a piece of work over it!’ he said, with rough kindness. ‘It’s a fair bargain: no need to feel you’re offering false coin! The girl knows you’re not in love with her. As for the rest – I wish with all my heart you might have had time to recover before this came upon you, but, believe me, Adam, you
will
recover! Now, that’s all I have to say. Good God, look at the time! I must be off!’

A quick handshake, and he was gone, distressed by the drawn look in Adam’s face, but not (as he later informed his lady) unhopeful of the issue.

And on the following day, after passing a sleepless night, Adam wrote to accept Mr Chawleigh’s invitation. Two days later still he set out in a hackney-coach, to take his pot-luck in Russell Square.

He had been bidden for six o’clock, and warned that the occasion was to be informal, but although he had at first supposed this to mean that morning-dress would be worn, a doubt later shook him, and resulted in his assuming the long-tailed coat, white waistcoat, black pantaloons, and silk stockings which constituted correct evening attire. Possibly he would find himself overdressed, but to be underdressed, he suspected, might be taken as a slight.

It took some time to reach Russell Square, which was of recent date, built on the site of Bedford House, when this ducal mansion had been demolished fourteen years previously. Adam retained a dim memory of having been taken to Bedford House, as a child, but as the hack proceeded on its slow way over the cobbles it seemed to him, in the oppression of his spirits, that he was being carried beyond the realms of gentility. However, when he at last reached his destination he was agreeably surprised by the size and style of the square. It covered a very large area, and was almost surrounded by brick houses which were sufficiently imposing to enable house-agents to advertise them as Desirable Mansions. In the centre was a railed garden, with several trees, shrubberies, and an enormous statue of a man leaning on a plough.

Having paid off the hack, Adam trod up the shallow steps to Mr Chawleigh’s front door. It was flung open before he had had time to do more than lift his hand to the massive brass knocker, and he was bowed into the house by what at first glance appeared to him to be a platoon of footmen. There were, in fact, four of them, besides a butler, far more stately than his own at Fontley, who conducted him up the crimson-carpeted stairway to the drawing-room on the first floor, and sonorously announced him.

It was still daylight, but although the curtains had not been drawn across the windows the candles had been lit in the magnificent crystal chandelier that hung from the ceiling, and in all the wall-lustres. A myriad points of light momentarily dazzled Adam. He had a confused impression of glitter, mingled with yellow satin, gilded mirrors, chairs, and picture-frames before his attention was claimed by his host, who surged forward to meet him, his hand out-thrust, and a loquacious welcome on his lips.

‘Come in, my lord, come in!’ he said hospitably. ‘I’m heartily glad to have the honour of receiving you, and on the stroke of the hour, too, which I didn’t look for, not after the scold I got from my ladies here for having invited you to dine so early! Well, well, I know it ain’t fashionable to dine before eight, but I hope you’ll pardon it, for the fact is I get so sharp-set if I’m kept waiting for my dinner that there’s no bearing it. But I don’t know when I’ve been so put out! If your lordship didn’t drive up in a common hack! Now, if you’d only told me you hadn’t brought your carriage up to town I’d have sent my own to fetch you! Well, you’ll not go back to Fenton’s in a hack, that I promise you! Here, Butterbank! send round to the stables to tell ’em the carriage will be wanted later on!’

‘My dear sir, you are very good, but I assure you it is unnecessary!’ Adam said. ‘Don’t turn your coachman out on my account, I beg!’

His protest was swept aside, Mr Chawleigh observing that his servants all seemed to live at rack and manger, and would be the better for some work to do.

Up till this moment, his formidable bulk had obscured the other two occupants of the room from Adam’s view, but he now bethought him of his duties as host, and turned to perform the necessary introductions. This he did in a fashion of his own, saying: ‘Well, now, here we have Mrs Quarley-Bix, my lord, and that’s my daughter!’

An angular female came forward, extending her hand, and uttering, in a voice expressive of disproportionate delight: ‘Lord Lynton!
How
do you do? I believe I have not previously had the pleasure of meeting you, but I must have recognized you, I believe, from your resemblance to your amiable mother.’

Adam shook hands, responding with some mechanical civility. He realized, thankfully, that his instinct had not betrayed him when it prompted him to present himself in a swallowtailed coat. Mrs Quarley-Bix was wearing a low-bosomed gown of lilac sarsnet, with a train, and a quantity of ribbon-trimming. A turban was set on her head, kid gloves covered her arms, and as well as her reticule she carried a fan.

Even more richly attired was the young lady who blushed vividly, and dropped a slight curtsy, as Adam’s eyes turned towards her, for although a dress of figured French muslin was perfectly proper to her years it was so loaded with lace and silk floss that very little of it could be seen. A row of remarkably fine pearls was clasped round her throat; pearl drops, rather too large for her short neck, hung from her ears; several flashing bracelets adorned each arm; and a brooch composed of rubies and diamonds was stuck into the lace at her bosom. A tinsel shawl, and spangled slippers completed an
ensemble
which only so fond a critic as her father could have thought becoming.

Miss Chawleigh had not inherited her sire’s inches. Uncharitable persons had been known to describe hers as a little squab figure. Adam was not a tall man, but her head only just topped his shoulder. There was a suggestion of squareness about her; she was already plump, and would probably become stout in later life. She was certainly not a beauty, but there was nothing in the least objectionable in her countenance. Her eyes were not large, but they were of a clear gray, well-opened (except when she was amused, when they narrowed to twinkling slits), and holding a look of grave reflection; her hair, elaborately crimped and curled, was mouse-coloured; she had a small, determined mouth, a button of a nose, and a complexion which would have been good could she but have overcome an unhappy tendency to blush fierily whenever she was embarrassed.

She was as unlike Miss Oversley as she could be. There was no brilliance in her eyes, no allure in her smile, no music in her flat-toned voice, and not the smallest suggestion of the ethereal either in her person or in her bearing. Where Julia seemed to float, she trod with a firm, brisk step; where Julia could be enchantingly arch she was invariably matter-of-fact. She enjoyed a joke, but did not always perceive that one had been made; and she looked as though she had more sense than sensibility.