by Ellen Wood
“Ring the large bell.”
Dick stared with all his eyes at hearing the words. To ring the large bell between ten and eleven o’clock in the morning was a marvel that had never happened in Dick’s experience. But the master’s orders were to be obeyed, not questioned; and Dick, rang out a prolonged peal. The master looked into the serving-room.
“James Meeking, I have ordered the bell rung for the men. Pass the word for them to come into my room; and do you and East come with them.”
The men appeared, flocking from all parts of the premises, their astonishment certainly not inferior to Dick’s. What could be the meaning of the wholesale summoning to the presence of the master? They stood there crowding, a sea of curious faces. Dick, consigned to the background, climbed up the door-post, and held on by it in a mysterious manner.
Mr. Ashley drew William to his side, and laid his hand upon him.
“It has been told to me that the authority vested in Mr. Halliburton has not been implicitly obeyed by every one in the manufactory. I have called you before me to give you my instructions personally upon the point, that there may be no misunderstanding in the future. Whatever directions he may see well to give, you will receive them from him, as you would from myself. I invest him with full and complete power. And in all my absences from the manufactory, whether they may be of an hour’s, a day’s, or any longer duration, Mr. Halliburton is its master.”
They touched their hair, turned and went out as far as the serving-room, collecting there to talk. In a short time, one of them was seen coming back again; a grey-haired man, a sorter of leather. He addressed himself to Mr. Ashley.
“We have not disputed his orders, please, sir, that we can call to mind; and if we have done it unintentional, we’d ask pardon for it, for it’s what we never thought to do. Next to yourself, sir, we couldn’t wish for a better master than young Mr. Halliburton. We think as much of him, sir, as we should if he was your own son.”
“All right, my men,” cheerfully responded Thomas Ashley.
But was not Cyril put in the background by this? As badly as Dick had been; and Cyril had no door-post to climb, and so obtain vantage ground. He had stood with his back to the crowd and his face to the counter. When the men were out of hearing, he turned and walked up to the master.
“It is the place I thought to fill,” said he. “It is the place that was promised me.”
“Not promised,” replied Mr. Ashley. “Not thought to be promised. A very long time ago, you may have been spoken of conditionally, as likely to fill it. Conditionally, I say.”
“Conditionally on what, sir?”
“On your fitness for it. By conduct and by capability.”
“What is the matter with my conduct, sir?” returned Cyril, his tone a sharp one.
“It is bad,” curtly replied Mr. Ashley. “Deceitful in public; bad in private. I have told you once before this morning, that I do not care to go into details; you must know that there is no necessity for my doing so.”
Cyril paused. “I have been led to expect, sir, that you would take me into partnership.”
“Not by me,” said the master.
“My father and mother had given me the hope ever since I came here.”
“I cannot help that. They had no authority for it from me.”
“They have always said I should be made your partner and son-in-law,” persisted Cyril.
“They have! It is very obliging of them, I am sure, to settle my affairs for me, even to the disposal of my daughter! Pray what nice little destiny may they have carved out for Mrs. Ashley or for my son?”
Cyril chafed at the words. He would have liked, just then, to strike Mr. Ashley, as he had struck William. “Would I ever have demeaned myself to enter a glove manufactory, disgracing my family, had I known I was to be only a workman in it?” he cried. “No, sir, that I never would. I am rightly served, for putting myself out of my position as a gentleman.”
Mr. Ashley, but for the pity he felt, could have laughed outright. He really did feel pity for Cyril. He believed that the unhappy way in which the young Dares were turning out might be laid to the fault of their rearing, and this had rendered him considerate to Cyril. How considerate he had for a long while been, he himself alone knew: Cyril perhaps suspected.
“It is a shame!” cried Cyril. “To be dealt with in this way is nothing less than a fraud upon me. I was led to expect that I should be made your partner.”
“Wait a bit, Cyril. I am willing to put you right upon the point. The proposal, that you should be placed here, emanated in the first instance from your father. He came to me one day, here, in this very room, saying that he concluded I should not put Henry to business, and thought it would be a fine opening for his son Cyril. He hinted that I should want some one to succeed me; and that you might come to it with that view. But I most distinctly disclaimed endorsing that hint in the remotest degree. I would not subscribe to it so much as by a vague ‘Perhaps it may be so.’ All that I conceded upon the point was this. I told Mr. Dare that when the time came for me to be looking out for some one to succeed me — if it ever did come — and I found his son — you — had served me faithfully, was upright in conduct and in heart — one, in short, whom I could thoroughly confide in — why, then he should have the preference over any other. So much I did say, Cyril, but no more.”
“And why won’t you give me the preference, sir?”
Mr. Ashley looked at him, apparently in surprise that he could ask the question. He bent his head forward, and spoke in a low tone, but one full of meaning.
“Upright in conduct and in heart, I said, Cyril. It was an absolute condition.”
Cyril’s gaze fell before Mr. Ashley’s. His conscience may have pricked him, and he had the grace to look ashamed of himself. There ensued a pause.
Presently Cyril looked up. “Then I am to understand, sir, that all hope of being your partner and successor is over?”
“It is. It has been over this many a year, Cyril. I should do wrong to deal otherwise than perfectly plainly with you. Were you to reform anything there may have been amiss in your conduct, to become a model of excellence in the sight of Helstonleigh, I could never admit your name to be associated with mine. The very notion is offensive to me.”
Cyril — it was a great wonder — restrained his passion. “Perhaps I had better leave, then?” he said.
“You are welcome to stay until you can find a situation more agreeable to you,” replied Mr. Ashley. “Provided you undertake to behave yourself.”
“Stay! and for nothing in the end!” echoed Cyril. “No, that I never will! If I must remain a dependant, I’ll try it on at something else. I am sick of this.”
He untied his apron, dashed it on to the floor, and went out without another word. So furiously did he stamp through the serving-room, that James Meeking turned round to look at him, and Dick, taking a recreative balance at that moment on the edge of an upright coal-scuttle, thought he must be running for the fire-engines. Dick’s speculations were disturbed by the sound of the master’s voice, calling to him.
He hastened to the counting-house, and was ordered to “take that apron away.” Dick picked it up and withdrew with it, folding it carefully against Mr. Cyril should come in. Dick little thought the manufactory had seen the last of him.
Mr. Ashley was indulging in a quiet laugh. “Demeaning himself by entering my manufactory! Disgracing his family — the high blood of the Dares! Poor Cyril! William, do you look at it in the same light?”
William had remained in the room, taking no part whatever in the final contest. He had stood with his back to them, following his occupation. He turned round now.
“Sir, you know I do not.”
“You once told me it presented no field for getting on. What was the word you used? — was it ambition? Truly, there’s not much ambition attached to it. Nevertheless, I am satisfied with my career, William, although I am only the glove manufacturer, Thomas Ashley.”
/> He satisfied! How many a one would be proud to be in the position of Thomas Ashley! William did not say so. He began to speak of Cyril Dare.
“Do you think he will come back again, sir?”
“I do not think he will. Should he do so, the doors are closed to him. He has left of his own accord, and I shall not allow him to return.”
“I am very sorry,” remarked William. “It has been partly my fault.”
“Do not make yourself uneasy. I have tolerated Cyril Dare here; have allowed him to remain on sufferance: and that is the best that can be said of it.”
“He may feel it as a blow.”
“As a jubilee, you mean. It will be nothing less to him. He has hated the manufactory with all his heart from the moment he first entered it, and is now, if we could see him, kicking up his heels with delight at the emancipation. Cyril Dare my partner!”
William continued his work, saying nothing. Mr. Ashley resumed:
“I must be casting my thoughts around for a fitting substitute to succeed to the post of ambition Cyril coveted. Can you direct me to any quarter, William?”
Mr. Ashley was now standing at William’s side, looking at him as he went over the gloves left by Cyril. He saw the red flush mount to his face. Mr. Ashley laid his hand on William’s shoulder, and spoke in low tones, full of emotion.
“It may come, my boy; my almost son! And when Thomas Ashley’s head shall be low in the grave, the leading manufacturer of this city may be William Halliburton.”
A loud rapping at the door with a thick stick interrupted the master’s words. He turned to behold Mr. Dare. It appeared that Cyril had by chance met his father in the street almost immediately after going out; he had volunteered to him a most exaggerated account, and Mr. Dare had come, as he said, to learn the rights of it.
William left the room. He could not avoid remarking the bowed, broken appearance of the man. Mr. Ashley related the particulars, and the listener was obliged to acknowledge that Cyril had been to blame — had been too hasty.
“I confess it appears so,” he said. “He must have been led away by temper. But, Mr. Ashley, you ought to stretch a point, and make a concession. We are kinsmen.”
“What concession?”
“Discharge William Halliburton. Things can never go on smoothly between him and Cyril. Stretch a point to oblige us, and send him away.”
“Discharge William Halliburton!” echoed Mr. Ashley in surprise. “I could as soon discharge myself. William is the right hand of the business. It could go on without me, but I am not sure that it could do so without him.”
“Cyril can take his place.”
“Cyril is not qualified for it. And — —”
“Cyril declares he will never enter the place again, so long as Halliburton is in it.”
“Cyril never will enter it again,” quietly rejoined Mr. Ashley. “Cyril and I have parted. I will give you his wages for this week, now that you are here; legally, though, he could not claim them.”
Mr. Dare looked sad — gloomy. It was only what he had expected for some time past. “You promised to do well by him, Mr. Ashley; to take him into partnership.”
“You must surely remember that I promised nothing of the sort,” said Mr. Ashley. “I have been telling the same thing to Cyril. All I said — and a shrewd, business man, as you are, could not fail thoroughly to understand me,” he pointedly added— “was, that I would choose Cyril in preference to others, provided he proved himself worthy of the preference. Circumstances appear to have worked entirely against carrying out that idea, Mr. Dare.”
“What circumstances?”
Mr. Ashley did not immediately reply, and the question was repeated in a hasty, almost an imperative tone. Then Mr. Ashley answered it.
“I do not wish to say a word that should unnecessarily hurt your feelings; but in a matter of business I believe there is no resource but to speak plainly. The unfortunate notoriety acquired, in one way or other, by your sons, has rendered the name of Dare so conspicuous, that, were there no other reason, it could never be associated with mine.”
“Conspicuous? How?” interposed Mr. Dare.
Mr. Ashley would not have believed the words were uttered as a question, but that the answer was evidently waited for. “You ask how,” he said. “Surely I need not remind you. The scandal which, in more ways than one, attached to Anthony — though I am sorry to allude to him, poor fellow, in any such way; the circumstances attending the trial of Herbert; the — —”
“Herbert was innocent,” interrupted Mr. Dare.
“Innocent of the murder, no doubt; as innocent as you or I. But people made free with his name in other ways; had often made free with it. And look at this last report, wafted over to us from Germany, that is just now astonishing the city!”
“Hang him for a simpleton!” burst forth Mr. Dare.
“It is all so much discredit to the name — to the family altogether,” concluded Mr. Ashley, as if his sentence had not been interrupted.
“The faults of his brothers ought to be no good reason for your rejecting Cyril.”
“They are not my reason for rejecting him,” quietly returned Mr. Ashley.
“No? You have just said they were.”
“I said the notoriety given by your sons to the name of Dare would bar its association with mine. In saying ‘your sons,’ I included Cyril himself. He interposes the greatest barrier of all. Were the rest of them of good report in the sight of day, Cyril is not so.”
“What’s the matter with him?” asked Mr. Dare.
“I do not care to tell you. A great deal of it you must know.”
“Go on,” cried Anthony Dare, who was leaning forward in his chair, his chin resting on his stick, as one who sets himself calmly to hear the whole.
“Cyril’s private conduct is bad. He — —”
“Follies of youth only,” cried old Anthony. “He will outlive them.”
“Youth’s follies sometimes end in manhood’s crimes,” was the reply. “I am thankful that my son is free from them.”
“Your son!” returned Anthony Dare, coughing down his slighting tone. “Your son is one apart. He has not the health to be knocking about. If young men are worth anything, they are sure to be a bit wild.”
A frown passed over the master’s brow. “You are mistaken, Mr. Dare. Young men who are worth anything keep themselves from such folly. Opinions have taken a turn. Society is becoming more sensible of the world’s increased enlightenment; and ill conduct, although its pursuer may be a fashionable young man, is beginning to be called by its right name. Would you believe that Cyril has, more than once, come here — I hesitate to say the word, it is so ugly a one — drunk? Drunk, Mr. Dare!”
“No!”
“He has.”
“Then he must have been a fool for his pains,” was the angry retort of old Anthony.
“He is untruthful; he is idle; he is deceitful — but I do not, I say, care to go into this. Were you cognizant of the application Cyril made to me yesterday, respecting my daughter?”
“I don’t know of any application.”
“He did me the honour to make her an offer of marriage.”
Old Anthony lifted his head sharply, not speaking. The master continued:
“He said yesterday that he was acting by your advice. He repeated to-day, that you and Mrs. Dare had led him to look to Mary.”
“Well?” returned Mr. Dare. “But I did not know he had spoken.”
“How could you — excuse me, I again say, if I am to speak plainly — how could you ever have entertained so wild an idea?”
“Perhaps you would like to call it a presumptuous one?” chafed Mr. Dare.
“I do call it so,” returned Mr. Ashley. “It can be regarded as nothing less; any impartial person would tell you so. I put out of the discussion altogether the want of means on the part of Cyril; I speak of its suitability. That Cyril should have aspired to an alliance with Mary Ashley was presumption in the
highest degree. It has displeased me very much, and Henry looks upon it in the light of an insult.”
“Who’s Henry?” scornfully returned Mr. Dare. “A dreamy hypochondriac! Pray is Cyril not as well born as Mary Ashley?”
“Has he been as well reared? Is he proving that he has been? A man’s conduct is of far more importance than his birth.”
“It would seem that you care little about birth, or rearing either, or you would not exalt Halliburton to a level with yourself.”
The master fixed his expressive eyes on Anthony Dare. “Halliburton’s birth is, at any rate, as good as your family’s and mine. His father’s mother and your wife’s father were brother and sister.”
Old Anthony looked taken by surprise. “I don’t know anything about it,” said he, somewhat roughly. “I know a little of how he has been bred, he and his brothers.”
“So do I,” said Mr. Ashley. “I wish a few more in the world had been bred in the same way.”
“Why! they have been bred to work!” exclaimed old Anthony, in astonishment. “They have not been bred as gentlemen. They have not had enough to eat.”
The concluding sentence elicited an involuntary laugh from the master. “At any rate, the want does not appear to have stinted their growth, or injured them in a physical point of view,” he rejoined, a touch of sarcasm in his tone. “They are fine-grown men; and, Mr. Dare, they are gentlemen, whether they have been bred as such or not. Gentlemen in looks, in manners, and in mind and heart.”
“I don’t care what they are,” again repeated old Anthony. “I did not come here to talk about them, but about Cyril. Your exalting Halliburton into the general favour that ought legitimately to have been Cyril’s is a piece of injustice. Cyril says you have this morning announced publicly that Halliburton is master, under you. It is flagrant injustice.”
“No man living has ever had cause to tax me with injustice,” impressively answered Thomas Ashley. “I have been far more just to Cyril than he deserves. Stay: ‘just’ is a wrong word. I have been far more lenient to him. Shall I tell you that I have kept him on here out of compassion, in the hope that the considerate way in which I treated him might be an inducement to him to turn over a new leaf, and discard his faults? I would not turn him away to be a town’s talk. Deep down within the archives of my memory, my own sole knowledge, I buried the great fault of which he was guilty here. He was young; and I would not take from him his fair fame on the very threshold of his commercial life.”