by Fergus Hume
CHAPTER II
SIR SIMON GORE
Avarice, according to Byron, is a gentlemanly vice appertaining to oldage. It certainly acted like Aaron's rod with Sir Simon, as it swallowedup all his more youthful sins. During the early part of the Victorianepoch, the old man had been a spendthrift and a rake. Now, he neverlooked agreeably upon a woman, and the prettier they were the more hefrowned upon them. As he was close upon eighty, it was not to bewondered at that his blood ran thin and cold; still, he might haveretained the courtesy for which he was famous in his hot youth. But heeschewed female society in the main, and was barely civil to his pretty,fascinating niece, who attended to him and bore with his ill-humors.Only Mrs. Gilroy succeeded in extorting civil words from him, but thenMrs. Gilroy was necessary to his comfort, being a capital nurse and asquiet as a cat about the house. Where his own pleasure was concerned SirSimon could be artful.
Long ago he had given up luxury. He never put liquor to his witheredlips, he ate only the plainest food, and surrounded himself with merelythe bare necessities of life. All his aims were to gather money, to seeit increase, to buy land, to screw the last penny out of unwillingtenants, and to pick up a farthing, in whatever mud it might be lying.He never helped the poor, he grudged repairs to the property, he keptLucy on short commons, and expressed such violent opinions concerningthe rector's tithes that the poor man was afraid to come near him. AsSir Simon, like a godless old pagan, never went to church, the absenceof the clerical element at the Hall troubled him little. He was atypical miser in looks, being bent, withered and dry. As a young man hehad bought, in his spendthrift days, a great number of suits, and thesehe was wearing out in his old age. The garments, once fashionable,looked queer in the eyes of a younger generation; but Sir Simon mindedno one. He was always scrupulously dressed in his antique garb, andlooked, as the saying goes, as neat as a new pin. His health wastolerable, although he suffered from rheumatism and a constant cough.Owing to his total abstinence, he was free from gout, but could not havebeen worse tempered had he indeed suffered, as he assuredly deserved to.With his withered skin, his thin, high nose, his pinched features andhis bent form he looked anything but agreeable. When walking hesupported himself with an ebony cane, and had been known on occasions touse it on the backs of underlings. From this practice, however, he haddesisted, since the underlings, forgetful of the feudal system, broughtactions for assault, which resulted in Sir Simon losing money. As theold Baronet said, radical opinions were ruining the country; for whyshould the lower orders not submit to the stick?
It was rarely that this agreeable old gentleman came to town. He livedat the Hall in Essex in savage seclusion, and there ruled over adiminished household with a rod of iron. Mrs. Gilroy, who had been withhim for many years, was--outwardly--as penurious as her master, so hetrusted her as much as he trusted anyone. What between the grim old manand the silent housekeeper, poor Lucy Randolph, who was only aconnection, had a dreary time. But then, as the daughter of Sir Simon'sniece, she was regarded as an interloper, and the old man grumbled athaving to support poor relations. Bernard he had tolerated as his heir,Lucy he frankly disliked as a caterpillar. Often would he call her thisname.
As usual, Sir Simon came to town with the least expense to himself,since it agonized him to spend a penny. But an old friend of his, moreopen-handed than the baronet, had lent him his town house. This was asmall residence in a quiet Kensington square, by no means fashionable.The central gardens, surrounded by rusty iron railings, were devoid offlowers and filled with ragged elms and sycamores, suffered to growamidst rank grass untrimmed and unattended. The roads around were greenwith weeds, and the houses appeared to be deserted. Indeed, many of themwere, as few people cared to live in so dull a neighborhood; but otherswere occupied by elderly folk, who loved the quietness and retirement.Crimea square--its name hinted at its age--was a kind of backwater intowhich drifted human derelicts. A few yards away the main thoroughfareroared with life and pulsed with vitality, but the dwellers in thesquare lived as in the enchanted wood of the sleeping beauty.
No. 32 was the house occupied by Sir Simon, and it was distinguishedfrom its neighbors by a coat of white paint. Its spurious, smart air wasquite out of keeping with the neighborhood, and Sir Simon made ironicalremarks when he saw its attempt at being up-to-date. But the house wassmall, and, although furnished in a gimcrack way, was good enough for amonth's residence. Moreover, since he paid no rent, this enhanced itsvalue in his avaricious eyes. It may be mentioned that the servants ofthe owner--a cook, a housemaid and a pageboy--had stopped on to obligeSir Simon, and were ruled over by Mrs. Gilroy, much to their disgust.The housekeeper was by no means a pleasant mistress, and turned theirintended holiday into a time of particularly hard work.
It was about the servants that Mrs. Gilroy spoke to her master onemorning shortly after the occupation of the house. Sir Simon, accuratelydressed as usual, and looking like a character out of Dickens asdelineated by Phiz, was seated beside a comfortable fire supping a cupof plasmon cocoa, as containing the most nutriment in the leastexpensive form. While enjoying it, he mentally calculated various sumsowing from various tenants about which he had come to see his lawyers.
The room was of no great size, on the ground floor, and had but twowindows, which looked out on the dreary, untidy gardens. Like theexterior of the house, it had been newly painted and decorated, and wasalso furnished in a cheap way with chairs and tables, sofas and cabinetsattractive to the uneducated eye, but detestable to anyone who couldappreciate art. The scheme of color was garish, and, but that the blindswere pulled half-way down, so as to exclude too searching a light, wouldhave jarred on Sir Simon's nerves. Lucy Randolph, who sat reading nearthe window, shuddered at the newness and veneer of her surroundings andthought regretfully of the lovely, mellow old Hall, where everything wasin keeping and hallowed by antiquity. All the same, this toobrilliantly-cheap room was cosy and comfortable, bright and cheery, anda pleasing contrast to the foggy, gray, damp weather. Perhaps it wasthis contrast which its decorator had desired to secure.
Mrs. Gilroy, with folded hands, stood at her master's elbow, a tall,thin, silent, demure woman with downcast eyes. Plainly dressed in blacksilk, somewhat worn, and with carefully-mended lace, she looked like alady who had seen better days. Her hair, and eyes, and skin, and lips,were all of a drab color, by no means pleasing, and she moved with thestealthy step of a cat. Indeed, the servants openly expressed theiropinion that she was one, and she certainly had a somewhat feline look.But, with all her softness and nun-like meekness, an occasional glancefrom her light eyes showed that she could scratch when necessary. No oneknew who she was or where she came from, but she looked like a womanwith a history. What that was only she and Sir Simon knew, and neitherwas communicative. Lucy Randolph hated her, and indeed no love was lostbetween the two. Mrs. Gilroy looked on Lucy as a pauper living on SirSimon's charity, and Miss Randolph regarded the silent housekeeper as aspy. Each annoyed the other on every occasion in that skilful way knownto the sex. But the war was carried on out of the old man's sight. Thatautocrat would speedily have put an end to it had they dared to skirmishin his presence.
"Well! well! well!" snapped Sir Simon, who talked something like GeorgeIII. in reiterating his words. "What's the matter? What?"
"I have to complain of the housemaid Jane, sir."
"Then don't. I pay you to keep the servants quiet, not to bother me withtheir goings-on. Well! well! well!" somewhat inconsistently, "what'sJane been doing?"
"Receiving a follower--a soldier--one of those new young men who aregoing to the war."
"An Imperial Yeoman?" put in Miss Randolph, looking up with interest.
"Yes, Miss," responded Mrs. Gilroy, not looking round. "Cook tells methe young man comes nearly every evening, and makes love to Jane!"
"What! what!" said the baronet, setting down his cup irritably. "Tellthe hussy to go at once. Love?" This in a tone of scorn. "As though I'ven
ot had enough worry over that with Bernard. Tell her to go."
Mrs. Gilroy shook her head. "We can't dismiss her, sir. She belongs tothe house, and Mr. Jeffrey"--
"I'll see him about it later. If he knew he certainly would not allowsuch things. A soldier--eh--what? Turn him out, Gilroy, turn him out!Won't have it, won't have him! There! you can go."
"Will you be out to-day, sir?"
"Yes, I go to see my lawyers. Do you think I come to town to waste time,Gilroy? Go away."
But the housekeeper did not seem eager to go. She cast a look on Lucyeloquent of a desire to be alone with Sir Simon. That look Lucy took nonotice of, although she understood it plainly. She suspected Mrs. Gilroyof hating Julius Beryl and of favoring Bernard. Consequently, all theinfluence of Mrs. Gilroy would be put forth to help the exiled heir.Lucy was fond of Bernard, but she was engaged to Julius, and, draggedboth ways by liking and duty, she was forced to a great extent to remainneutral. But she did not intend to let Mrs. Gilroy have the honor andglory of bringing Bernard back to the Hall. Therefore she kept her seatby the window and her eyes on her book. Mrs. Gilroy tightened her thinlips and accepted defeat, for the moment. A ring at the door gave her anexcuse to go.
"It's Julius," said Lucy, peeping out.
"What does he want?" asked Sir Simon, crossly. "Tell him to wait,Gilroy. I can't see him at once. Lucy, stop here, I want to speak."
The housekeeper left the room to detain Mr. Beryl, and Lucy obedientlyresumed her seat. She was a handsome, dark girl, with rather a highcolor and a temper to match. But she knew when she was well off and kepther temper in check for fear of Sir Simon turning her adrift. He wouldhave done so without scruple had it suited him. Lucy was thereforeastute and assumed a meekness she was far from possessing. Mrs. Gilroysaw through her, but Lucy--as the saying goes--pulled the wool over theold man's eyes.
Sir Simon took a turn up and down the room. "What about Bernard?" heasked, abruptly stopping before her.
Lucy looked up with an innocent smile. "Dear Bernard!" she said.
"Do you know where he is?" asked the baronet, taking no notice of thesweet smile and sweet speech.
"No, he has not written to me."
"But he has to that girl. You know her?"
"Alice! yes, but Alice doesn't like me. She refuses to speak to me aboutBernard. You see," said Lucy, pensively, "I am engaged to Julius, and asyou have sent Bernard away--"
"Julius comes in for my money, is that it?"
"Not in my opinion," said Miss Randolph, frankly, "but Alice Mallesonthinks so."
"Then she thinks rightly." Lucy started at this and colored withsurprise at the outspoken speech. "Since Bernard has behaved so badly,Julius shall be my heir. The one can have the title, the other themoney. All the same I don't want Bernard to starve. I daresay Juliusknows where he is, Lucy. Find out, and then I can send the boy somethingto go on with."
"Oh!" said Lucy, starting to her feet and clasping her hands, "the RedWindow,--I mean."
"I should very much like to know what you _do_ mean," said Sir Simon,eyeing her. "The Red Window! Are you thinking of that ridiculous oldlegend of Sir Aymas and the ghost?"
"Yes," assented Miss Randolph, "and of Bernard also."
"What has he to do with the matter?"
"He asked me, if you showed any signs of relenting, to put a light inthe Red Window at the Hall. Then he would come back."
"Oh!" Sir Simon did not seem to be displeased. "Then you can put thelight in the window when we go back in three weeks."
"You will forgive him?"
"I don't say that. But I want to see him settled in some reputable way.After all," added the old man, sitting down, "I have been hard on theboy. He is young, and, like all fools, has fallen in love with a prettyface. This Miss Malleson--if she has any right to a name at all--is notthe bride I should have chosen for Bernard. Now you, my dear Lucy--"
"I am engaged to Julius," she interposed quickly, and came towards thefire. "I love Julius."
"Hum! there's no accounting for tastes. I think Bernard is the better ofthe two."
"Bernard has always been a trouble," said Lucy, "and Julius has nevergiven you a moment's uneasiness."
"Hum," said Sir Simon again, his eyes fixed on the fire. "I don'tbelieve Julius is so good as you make him out to be. Now Bernard--"
"Uncle," said Lucy, who had long ago been instructed to call herrelative by this name, "why don't you make it up with Bernard? I assureyou Julius is so good, he doesn't want to have the money."
"And you?" The old man looked at her sharply.
"I don't either. Julius has his own little income, and earns enough asan architect to live very comfortably. Let me marry Julius, dear uncle,and we will be happy. Then you can take back Bernard and let him marrydear, sweet Alice."
"I doubt one woman when she praises another," said Sir Simon, dryly."Alice may be very agreeable."
"She is beautiful and clever."
The baronet looked keenly at Lucy's flushed face, trying to fathom herreason for praising the other woman. He failed, for Miss Randolph's facewas as innocent as that of a child. "She is no doubt a paragon, mydear," he said; "but I won't have her marry Bernard. By this time theyoung fool must have come to his senses. Find out from Julius where heis, and--"
"Julius may not know!"
"If Julius wants my money he will keep an eye on Bernard."
"So as to keep Bernard away," said Lucy, impetuously. "Ah, uncle, howcan you? Julius doesn't want the money--"
"You don't know that."
"Ask him yourself then."
"I will." Sir Simon rang the bell to intimate to Mrs. Gilroy that Juliuscould be shown up. "If he doesn't want it, of course I can leave it tosomeone else."
"To Bernard."
"Perhaps. And yet I don't know," fumed Sir Simon. "The rascal defied me!He offered to pitch me out of the window if I said a word against thatAlice of his. I want Bernard to marry you--"
"I am engaged to Julius."
"So you said before," snapped the other. "Well, then, Miss Perry. She isan heiress."
"And as plain as Alice is handsome."
"What does that matter? She is good-tempered. However, it doesn'tmatter. I won't be friends with Bernard unless he does what I tell him.He must give up Alice and marry Miss Perry. Try the Red Window schemewhen you go back to the Hall, Lucy. It will bring Bernard to see me, asyou say."
"It will," said Lucy, but by no means willingly. "Bernard comes down attimes to the Hall to watch for the light. But I can make a Red Windowhere."
"Bernard doesn't know the house."
"I am sure he does," said Lucy. "He has to go to the lawyers for whatlittle money he inherits from his father, and Mr. Durham may have toldhim you are here. Then if I put the light behind a red piece of paper orchintz, Bernard will come here."
"It is all romantic rubbish," grumbled the old man, warming his hands."But do what you like, child. I want to give Bernard a last chance."At this moment Julius appeared. He was a slim young man with a mildface, rather expressionless. His hair and eyes were brown. He wasirreproachably dressed, and did not appear to have much brain power.Also, from the expression of his eyes he was of a sly nature. Finally,Mr. Beryl was guarded in his speech, being quite of the opinion thatspeech was given to hide thoughts. He saluted his uncle affectionately,kissed Lucy's cheek in a cold way, and sat down to observe what a damp,dull day it was and how bad for Sir Simon's rheumatism. A morecolorless, timid, meek young saint it would have been hard to find inthe whole of London.
"I have brought you some special snuff," he said, extending a packet tohis host. "It comes from Taberley's."
"Ah, thank you. I know the shop. A very good one! Do you get your cigarsthere, Julius?"
"I never smoke," corrected the good young man, coldly.
Sir Simon sneered. "You never do anything manly," he saidcontemptuously. "Well, why are you here?"
"I wish, with your permission, to take Lucy to the theatre on Friday,"said Mr. Beryl. "M
rs. Webber is going with me, and she can act aschaperon."
"I should think she needed one herself. A nasty, flirting little cat ofa woman," said Sir Simon, rudely. "Would you like to go, Lucy?"
"If you don't mind, uncle."
"Bah!" said the old man with a snarl. "How good you two are. Where isthe theatre, Julius?"
"Near at hand. The Curtain Theatre."
"Ah! That's only two streets away. What is the play?"
"_As You Like It_, by--"
"By Chaucer, I suppose," snapped the old man. "Don't you think I know myShakespeare? What time will you call for Lucy?"
"At half-past seven in the carriage with Mrs. Webber."
"Your own carriage?"
"I am not rich enough to afford one," said Julius, smiling. "Mrs.Webber's carriage, uncle. We will call for Lucy and bring her backsafely at eleven or thereabouts."
"Very good; but no suppers, mind. I don't approve of Mrs. Webber takingLucy to the Cecil or the Savoy."
"There is no danger of that, uncle," said Lucy, delighted at gainingpermission.
"I hope not," said the old man ungraciously. "You can go, Lucy. I wantto speak to Julius."
A look, unseen by the baronet, passed between the two, and then Lucyleft the room. When alone, Sir Simon turned to his nephew. "Where isBernard?" he asked.
A less clever man than Julius would have fenced and feigned surprise,but this astute young gentleman answered at once. "He has enlisted inthe Imperial Yeomanry and goes out to the war in a month."
Sir Simon turned pale and rose. "He must not--he must not," he said,considerably agitated. "He will be killed, and then--"
"What does it matter?" said Julius coolly--"you have disinheritedhim--at least, I understand so."
"He defied me," shivered the baronet, warming his hands again and with apale face; "but I did not think he would enlist. I won't have him go tothe war. He must be bought out."
"I think he would refuse to be bought out now," said Beryl, dryly. "Idon't fancy Bernard, whatever his faults, is a coward."
"My poor boy!" said Sir Simon, who was less hard than he looked. "It isyour fault that this has happened, Julius."
"Mine, uncle?"
"Yes. You told me about Miss Malleson."
"I knew you would not approve of the match," said Julius, quietly.
"And you wanted me to cut off Bernard with a shilling--"
"Not for my own sake," said Julius, calmly. "You need not leave a pennyto me, Sir Simon."
"Don't you want the money? It's ten thousand a year."
"I should like it very much," assented Beryl, frankly; "but I do notwant it at the price of my self-respect."
The old man looked at him piercingly, but could learn nothing from hisinscrutable countenance. But he did not trust Julius in spite of hismeek looks, and inwardly resolved to meet craft by craft. He bore agrudge against this young man for having brought about the banishment ofhis grandson, and felt inclined to punish him. Yet if Julius did notwant the money, Sir Simon did not know how to wound him. Yet he doubtedif Julius scorned wealth so much as he pretended; therefore he arrangedhow to circumvent him.
"Very well," he said, "since Bernard has disobeyed me, you alone can bemy heir. You will have the money without any loss of your self-respect.Come with me this morning to see Durham."
"I am at your service, uncle," said Julius, quietly, although his eyesflashed. "But Bernard?"
"We can talk of him later. Come!"
The attentive Beryl helped Sir Simon on with his overcoat and wrapped amuffler round his throat. Then he went out to select a specialfour-wheeler instead of sending the page-boy. When he was absent, Mrs.Gilroy appeared in the hall where Sir Simon waited, and, seeing he wasalone, came close to him.
"Sir," she said quietly, "this girl Jane has described the young man'slooks who comes to see her."
"Well! well! well!"
"The young man--the soldier," said Mrs. Gilroy, with emphasis--"has comeonly since we arrived here. Jane met him a week before our arrival, andsince we have been in the house this soldier has visited her often."
"What has all this to do with me?" asked Sir Simon.
"Because she described the looks of the soldier. Miss Randolph says heis an Imperial Yeoman."
Sir Simon started. "Has Miss Randolph seen him?" he asked.
"No. She only goes by what I said this morning to you. But thedescription, Sir Simon--" Here Mrs. Gilroy sank her voice to a whisperand looked around--"suits Mr. Gore."
"Bernard! Ah!" Sir Simon caught hold of a chair to steady himself."Why--what--yes. Julius said he was an Imperial Yeoman and--"
"And he comes here to see the housemaid," said Mrs. Gilroy, nodding.
"To spy out the land," cried the baronet, in a rage. "Do you think thatmy grandson would condescend to housemaids? He comes to learn how I amdisposed--if I am ill. The money--the money--all self--self--self!" Heclenched his hand as the front door opened. "Good-bye, Mrs. Gilroy, ifyou see this Imperial Yeoman, say I am making a new will," and with asneer Sir Simon went out.
Mrs. Gilroy looked up to heaven and caught sight of Lucy listening onthe stairs.