CHAPTER LXVI.
Lady Monk's Plan.
On the night of Lady Monk's party, Burgo Fitzgerald disappeared; andwhen the guests were gone and the rooms were empty, his aunt inquiredfor him in vain. The old butler and factotum of the house, who wasemployed by Sir Cosmo to put out the lamps and to see that he wasnot robbed beyond a certain point on these occasions of his wife'striumphs, was interrogated by his mistress, and said that he thoughtMr. Burgo had left the house. Lady Monk herself knocked at hernephew's door, when she went up-stairs, ascending an additionalflight of stairs with her weary old limbs in order that she mightdo so; she even opened the door and saw the careless debris of histoilet about the room. But he was gone. "Perhaps, after all, he hasarranged it," she said to herself, as she went down to her own room.
But Burgo, as we know, had not "arranged it." It may be rememberedthat when Mr. Palliser came back to his wife in the supper-room atLady Monk's, bringing with him the scarf which Lady Glencora had leftup-stairs, Burgo was no longer with her. He had become well awarethat he had no chance left, at any rate for that night. The poorfool, acting upon his aunt's implied advice rather than his ownhopes, had secured a post-chaise, and stationed it in Bruton Street,some five minutes' walk from his aunt's house. And he had purchasedfeminine wrappings, cloaks, &c.--things that he thought might benecessary for his companion. He had, too, ordered rooms at the newhotel near the Dover Station,--the London Bridge Station,--fromwhence was to start on the following morning a train to catch thetidal boat for Boulogne. There was a dressing-bag there for which hehad paid twenty-five guineas out of his aunt's money, not having beenable to induce the tradesman to grant it to him on credit; and therewere other things,--slippers, collars, stockings, handkerchiefs, andwhat else might, as he thought, under such circumstances be mostnecessary. Poor thoughtful, thoughtless fool!
The butler was right. He did leave the house. He saw Lady Glencorataken to her carriage from some back hiding-place in the hall, andthen slipped out, unmindful of his shining boots, and dress coat andjewelled studs. He took a Gibus hat,--his own, or that of some otherunfortunate,--and slowly made his way down to the place in BrutonStreet. There was the carriage and pair of horses, all in readiness;and the driver, when he had placed himself by the door of thevehicle, was not long in emerging from the neighbouring public-house."All ready, your honour," said the man. "I shan't want you to-night,"said Burgo, hoarsely;--"go away." "And about the things, yourhonour?" "Take them to the devil. No; stop. Take them back with you,and ask somebody to keep them till I send for them. I shall want themand another carriage in a day or two." Then he gave the man half asovereign, and went away, not looking at the little treasures whichhe had spent so much of his money in selecting for his love. When hewas gone, the waterman and the driver turned them over with carefulhands and gloating eyes. "It's a 'eiress, I'll go bail," said thewaterman. "Pretty dear! I suppose her parints was too many for her,"said the driver. But neither of them imagined the enormity which thehirer of the chaise had in truth contemplated.
Burgo from thence took his way back into Grosvenor Square, and fromthence down Park Street, and through a narrow passage and a mewswhich there are in those parts, into Park Lane. He had now passedthe position of Mr. Palliser's house, having come out on Park Laneat a spot nearer to Piccadilly; but he retraced his steps, walkingalong by the rails of the Park, till he found himself opposite tothe house. Then he stood there, leaning back upon the railings, andlooking up at Lady Glencora's windows. What did he expect to see?Or was he, in truth, moved by love of that kind which can take joyin watching the slightest shadow that is made by the one lovedobject,--that may be made by her, or, by some violent conjecture ofthe mind, may be supposed to have been so made? Such love as that is,I think, always innocent. Burgo Fitzgerald did not love like that. Ialmost doubt whether he can be said to have loved at all. There wasin his breast a mixed, feverish desire, which he took no trouble toanalyse. He wanted money. He wanted the thing of which this Palliserhad robbed him. He wanted revenge,--though his desire for that wasnot a burning desire. And among other things, he wanted the woman'sbeauty of the woman whom he coveted. He wanted to kiss her again ashe had once kissed her, and to feel that she was soft, and lovely,and loving for him. But as for seeing her shadow, unless its movementindicated some purpose in his favour,--I do not think that he caredmuch about that.
And why then was he there? Because in his unreasoning folly he didnot know what step to take, or what step not to take. There are menwhose energies hardly ever carry them beyond looking for the thingthey want. She might see him from the window, and come to him. I donot say that he thought that it would be so. I fancy that he neverthought at all about that or about anything. If you lie under a tree,and open your mouth, a plum may fall into it. It was probably anundefined idea of some such chance as this which brought him againstthe railings in the front of Mr. Palliser's house; that, and a feelingmade up partly of despair and partly of lingering romance that hewas better there, out in the night air, under the gas-lamps, thanhe could be elsewhere. There he stood and looked, and cursed hisill-luck. But his curses had none of the bitterness of those whichGeorge Vavasor was always uttering. Through it all there remainedabout Burgo one honest feeling,--one conviction that was true,--afeeling that it all served him right, and that he had better,perhaps, go to the devil at once, and give nobody any more trouble.If he loved no one sincerely, neither did he hate any one; andwhenever he made any self-inquiry into his own circumstances, healways told himself that it was all his own fault. When he cursedhis fate, he only did so because cursing is so easy. George Vavasorwould have ground his victims up to powder if he knew how; but BurgoFitzgerald desired to hurt no one.
There he stood till he was cold, and then, as the plum did not dropinto his mouth, he moved on. He went up into Oxford Street, andwalked along it the whole distance to the corner of Bond Street,passing by Grosvenor Square, to which he intended to return. At thecorner of Bond Street, a girl took hold of him, and looked up intohis face. "Ah!" she said, "I saw you once before."--"Then you saw themost miserable devil alive," said Burgo. "You can't be miserable,"said the girl. "What makes you miserable? You've plenty ofmoney."--"I wish I had," said Burgo. "And plenty to eat and drink,"exclaimed the girl; "and you are so handsome! I remember you. Yougave me supper one night when I was starving. I ain't hungry now.Will you give me a kiss?"--"I'll give you a shilling, and that'sbetter," said Burgo. "But give me a kiss too," said the girl. He gaveher first the kiss, and then the shilling, and after that he left herand passed on. "I'm d----d if I wouldn't change with her!" he saidto himself. "I wonder whether anything really ails him?" thought thegirl. "He said he was wretched before. Shouldn't I like to be good tosuch a one as him!"
Burgo went on, and made his way into the house in Grosvenor Square,by some means probably unknown to his aunt, and certainly unknown tohis uncle. He emptied his pockets as he got into bed, and counted aroll of notes which he had kept in one of them. There were still ahundred and thirty pounds left. Lady Glencora had promised that shewould see him again. She had said as much as that quite distinctly.But what use would there be in that if all his money should then begone? He knew that the keeping of money in his pocket was to himquite an impossibility. Then he thought of his aunt. What should hesay to his aunt if he saw her in the course of the coming day? Mightit not be as well for him to avoid his aunt altogether?
He breakfasted up-stairs in his bedroom,--in the bed, indeed, eatinga small pate de foie gras from the supper-table, as he read a Frenchnovel. There he was still reading his French novel in bed when hisaunt's maid came to him, saying that his aunt wished to see himbefore she went out. "Tell me, Lucy," said he, "how is the old girl?"
"She's as cross as cross, Mr. Burgo. Indeed, I shan't;--not a minutelonger. Don't, now; will you? I tell you she's waiting for me." Fromwhich it may be seen that Lucy shared the general feminine feeling infavour of poor Burgo.
Thus summoned Burgo applied himself to his toilet; but as he did so,he rec
ruited his energies from time to time by a few pages of theFrench novel, and also by small doses from a bottle of curacoa whichhe had in his bedroom. He was utterly a pauper. There was no pauperpoorer than he in London that day. But, nevertheless, he breakfastedon pate de foie gras and curacoa, and regarded those dainties verymuch as other men regard bread and cheese and beer.
But though he was dressing at the summons of his aunt, he had by nomeans made up his mind that he would go to her. Why should he go toher? What good would it do him? She would not give him more money.She would only scold him for his misconduct. She might, perhaps, turnhim out of the house if he did not obey her,--or attempt to do so;but she would be much more likely to do this when he had made herangry by contradicting her. In neither case would he leave the house,even though its further use were positively forbidden him, becausehis remaining there was convenient; but as he could gain nothing byseeing "the old girl," as he had called her, he resolved to escape tohis club without attending to her summons.
But his aunt, who was a better general than he, out-manoeuvredhim. He crept down the back stairs; but as he could not quitecondescend to escape through the area, he was forced to emerge uponthe hall, and here his aunt pounced upon him, coming out of thebreakfast-parlour. "Did not Lucy tell you that I wanted to see you?"Lady Monk asked, with severity in her voice.
Burgo replied, with perfect ease, that he was going out just tohave his hair washed and brushed. He would have been back in twentyminutes. There was no energy about the poor fellow, unless, perhaps,when he was hunting; but he possessed a readiness which enabled himto lie at a moment's notice with the most perfect ease. Lady Monk didnot believe him; but she could not confute him, and therefore she letthe lie pass.
"Never mind your hair now," she said. "I want to speak to you. Comein here for a few minutes."
As there was no way of escape left to him, he followed his aunt intothe breakfast-parlour.
"Burgo," she said, when she had seated herself, and had made himsit in a chair opposite to her, "I don't think you will ever do anygood."
"I don't much think I shall, aunt."
"What do you mean, then, to do with yourself?"
"Oh,--I don't know. I haven't thought much about it."
"You can't stay here in this house. Sir Cosmo was speaking to meabout you only yesterday morning."
"I shall be quite willing to go down to Monkshade, if Sir Cosmo likesit better;--that is, when the season is a little more through."
"He won't have you at Monkshade. He won't let you go there again. Andhe won't have you here. You know that you are turning what I say intojoke."
"No, indeed, aunt,"
"Yes, you are;--you know you are. You are the most ungrateful,heartless creature I ever met. You must make up your mind to leavethis house at once."
"Where does Sir Cosmo mean that I should go, then?"
"To the workhouse, if you like. He doesn't care."
"I don't suppose he does;--the least in the world," said Burgo,opening his eyes, and stretching his nostrils, and looking into hisaunt's face as though he had great ground for indignation.
But the turning of Burgo out of the house was not Lady Monk'simmediate purpose. She knew that he would hang on there till theseason was over. After that he must not be allowed to return again,unless he should have succeeded in a certain enterprise. She hadnow caught him in order that she might learn whether there was anypossible remaining chance of success as to that enterprise. So shereceived his indignation in silence, and began upon another subject."What a fool you made of yourself last night, Burgo!"
"Did I;--more of a fool than usual?"
"I believe that you will never be serious about anything. Why did yougo on waltzing in that way when every pair of eyes in the room waswatching you?"
"I couldn't help going on, if she liked it."
"Oh, yes,--say it was her fault. That's so like a man!"
"Look here, aunt, I'm not going to sit here and be abused. I couldn'ttake her in my arms, and fly away with her out of a crowd."
"Who wants you to fly away with her?"
"For the matter of that, I suppose that you do."
"No, I don't."
"Well, then, I do."
"You! you haven't spirit to do that, or anything else. You are like achild that is just able to amuse itself for the moment, and never canthink of anything further. You simply disgraced yourself last night,and me too,--and her; but, of course, you care nothing about that."
"I had a plan all ready;--only he came back."
"Of course he came back. Of course he came back, when they sent himword how you and she were going on. And now he will have forgivenher, and after that, of course, the thing will be all over."
"I tell you what, aunt; she would go if she knew how. When I wasforced to leave her last night, she promised to see me again. And asfor being idle, and not doing anything;--why, I was out in Park Lanelast night, after you were in bed."
"What good did that do?"
"It didn't do any good, as it happened. But a fellow can onlytry. I believe, after all, it would be easier down in thecountry,--especially now that he has taken it into his head to lookafter her."
Lady Monk sat silent for a few moments, and then she said in a lowvoice, "What did she say to you when you were parting? What were herexact words?" She, at any rate, was not deficient in energy. Shewas anxious enough to see her purpose accomplished. She would haveconducted the matter with discretion, if the running away with Mr.Palliser's wife could, in very fact, have been done by herself.
"She said she would see me again. She promised it twice."
"And was that all?"
"What could she say more, when she was forced to go away?"
"Had she said that she would go with you?"
"I had asked her,--half a dozen times, and she did not once refuse.I know she means it, if she knew how to get away. She hates him;--I'msure of it. A woman, you know, wouldn't absolutely say that she wouldgo, till she was gone."
"If she really meant it, she would tell you."
"I don't think she could have told me plainer. She said she would seeme again. She said that twice over."
Again Lady Monk sat silent. She had a plan in her head,--a plan thatmight, as she thought, give to her nephew one more chance. But shehesitated before she could bring herself to explain it in detail.At first she had lent a little aid to this desired abduction of Mr.Palliser's wife, but in lending it had said no word upon the subject.During the last season she had succeeded in getting Lady Glencorato her house in London, and had taken care that Burgo should meether there. Then a hint or two had been spoken, and Lady Glencorahad been asked to Monkshade. Lady Glencora, as we know, did not goto Monkshade, and Lady Monk had then been baffled. But she did nottherefore give up the game. Having now thought of it so much, shebegan to speak of it more boldly, and had procured money for hernephew that he might thereby be enabled to carry off the woman. Butthough this had been well understood between them, though words hadbeen spoken which were sufficiently explicit, the plan had not beenopenly discussed. Lady Monk had known nothing of the mode in whichLady Glencora was to have been carried off after her party, norwhither she was to have been taken. But now,--now she must arrange itherself, and have a scheme of her own, or else the thing must failabsolutely. Even she was almost reluctant to speak out plainly to hernephew on such a subject. What if he should be false to her, and tellof her? But when a woman has made such schemes, nothing distressesher so sadly as their failure. She would risk all rather than that Mr.Palliser should keep his wife.
"I will try and help you," she said at last, speaking hoarsely,almost in a whisper, "if you have courage to make an attemptyourself."
"Courage!" said he "What is it you think I am afraid of? Mr. Palliser?I'd fight him,--or all the Pallisers, one after another, if it woulddo any good."
"Fighting! There's no fighting wanted, as you know well enough. Mendon't fight nowadays. Look here! If you can get her to call here someday,--say on
Thursday, at three o'clock,--I will be here to receiveher; and instead of going back into her carriage, you can have a cabfor her somewhere near. She can come, as it were, to make a morningcall."
"A cab!"
"Yes; a cab won't kill her, and it is less easily followed than acarriage."
"And where shall we go?"
"There is a train to Southampton at four, and the boat sails forJersey at half-past six; you will be in Jersey the next morning,and there is a boat goes on to St. Malo, almost at once. You can godirect from one boat to the other,--that is, if she has strength andcourage." After that, who will say that Lady Monk was not a devotedaunt?
"That would do excellently well," said the enraptured Burgo.
"She will have difficulty in getting away from me, out of the house.Of course I shall say nothing about it, and shall know nothing aboutit. She had better tell her coachman to drive somewhere to picksome one up, and to return;--out somewhere to Tyburnia, or down toPimlico. Then she can leave me, and go out on foot, to where youhave the cab. She can tell the hall-porter that she will walk to hercarriage. Do you understand?" Burgo declared that he did understand.
"You must call on her, and make your way in, and see her, and arrangeall this. It must be a Thursday, because of the boats." Then shemade inquiry about his money, and took from him the notes which hehad, promising to return them, with something added, on the Thursdaymorning; but he asked, with a little whine, for a five-pound note,and got it. Burgo then told her about the travelling-bags and thestockings, and they were quite pleasant and confidential. "Bid hercome in a stout travelling-dress," said Lady Monk. "She can wear somelace or something over it, so that the servants won't observe it. Iwill take no notice of it." Was there ever such an aunt?
After this, Burgo left his aunt, and went away to his club, in astate of most happy excitement.
Can You Forgive Her? Page 68