CHAPTER LII.
THE RESULTS OF LOVE AND WINE.
Two, three, four, and even five o'clock still found Sir Felix Carburyin bed on that fatal Thursday. More than once or twice his mothercrept up to his room, but on each occasion he feigned to be fastasleep and made no reply to her gentle words. But his condition wasone which only admits of short snatches of uneasy slumber. From headto foot, he was sick and ill and sore, and could find no comfortanywhere. To lie where he was, trying by absolute quiescence tosoothe the agony of his brows and to remember that as long as he laythere he would be safe from attack by the outer world, was all thesolace within his reach. Lady Carbury sent the page up to him, and tothe page he was awake. The boy brought him tea. He asked for soda andbrandy; but there was none to be had, and in his present condition hedid not dare to hector about it till it was procured for him.
The world surely was now all over to him. He had made arrangementsfor running away with the great heiress of the day, and hadabsolutely allowed the young lady to run away without him. Thedetails of their arrangement had been such that she absolutely wouldstart upon her long journey across the ocean before she could findout that he had failed to keep his appointment. Melmotte's hostilitywould be incurred by the attempt, and hers by the failure. Then hehad lost all his money,--and hers. He had induced his poor mother toassist in raising a fund for him,--and even that was gone. He was socowed that he was afraid even of his mother. And he could remembersomething, but no details, of some row at the club,--but still with aconviction on his mind that he had made the row. Ah,--when would hesummon courage to enter the club again? When could he show himselfagain anywhere? All the world would know that Marie Melmotte hadattempted to run off with him, and that at the last moment he hadfailed her. What lie could he invent to cover his disgrace? And hisclothes! All his things were at the club;--or he thought that theywere, not being quite certain whether he had not made some attempt tocarry them off to the Railway Station. He had heard of suicide. Ifever it could be well that a man should cut his own throat, surelythe time had come for him now. But as this idea presented itself tohim he simply gathered the clothes around him and tried to sleep. Thedeath of Cato would hardly have for him persuasive charms.
Between five and six his mother again came up to him, and when heappeared to sleep, stood with her hand upon his shoulder. Theremust be some end to this. He must at any rate be fed. She, wretchedwoman, had been sitting all day,--thinking of it. As regarded her sonhimself, his condition told his story with sufficient accuracy. Whatmight be the fate of the girl she could not stop to enquire. She hadnot heard all the details of the proposed scheme; but she had knownthat Felix had proposed to be at Liverpool on the Wednesday night,and to start on Thursday for New York with the young lady; and withthe view of aiding him in his object she had helped him with money.She had bought clothes for him, and had been busy with Hetta for twodays preparing for his long journey,--having told some lie to her owndaughter as to the cause of her brother's intended journey. He hadnot gone, but had come, drunk and degraded, back to the house. Shehad searched his pockets with less scruple than she had ever beforefelt, and had found his ticket for the vessel and the few sovereignswhich were left to him. About him she could read the riddle plainly.He had stayed at his club till he was drunk, and had gambled away allhis money. When she had first seen him she had asked herself whatfurther lie she should now tell to her daughter. At breakfast therewas instant need for some story. "Mary says that Felix came back thismorning, and that he has not gone at all," Hetta exclaimed. The poorwoman could not bring herself to expose the vices of the son to herdaughter. She could not say that he had stumbled into the house drunkat six o'clock. Hetta no doubt had her own suspicions. "Yes; he hascome back," said Lady Carbury, broken-hearted by her troubles. "Itwas some plan about the Mexican railway I believe, and has brokenthrough. He is very unhappy and not well. I will see to him." Afterthat Hetta had said nothing during the whole day. And now, about anhour before dinner, Lady Carbury was standing by her son's bedside,determined that he should speak to her.
"Felix," she said,--"speak to me, Felix.--I know that you are awake."He groaned, and turned himself away from her, burying himself,further under the bedclothes. "You must get up for your dinner. It isnear six o'clock."
"All right," he said at last.
"What is the meaning of this, Felix? You must tell me. It must betold sooner or later. I know you are unhappy. You had better trustyour mother."
"I am so sick, mother."
"You will be better up. What were you doing last night? What has comeof it all? Where are your things?"
"At the club.--You had better leave me now, and let Sam come up tome." Sam was the page.
"I will leave you presently; but, Felix, you must tell me about this.What has been done?"
"It hasn't come off."
"But how has it not come off?"
"I didn't get away. What's the good of asking?"
"You said this morning when you came in, that Mr. Melmotte haddiscovered it."
"Did I? Then I suppose he has. Oh, mother, I wish I could die. Idon't see what's the use of anything. I won't get up to dinner. I'drather stay here."
"You must have something to eat, Felix."
"Sam can bring it me. Do let him get me some brandy and water. I'm sofaint and sick with all this that I can hardly bear myself. I can'ttalk now. If he'll get me a bottle of soda water and some brandy,I'll tell you all about it then."
"Where is the money, Felix?"
"I paid it for the ticket," said he, with both his hands up to hishead.
Then his mother again left him with the understanding that he was tobe allowed to remain in bed till the next morning; but that he wasto give her some further explanation when he had been refreshed andinvigorated after his own prescription. The boy went out and got himsoda water and brandy, and meat was carried up to him, and then hedid succeed for a while in finding oblivion from his misery in sleep.
"Is he ill, mamma?" Hetta asked.
"Yes, my dear."
"Had you not better send for a doctor?"
"No, my dear. He will be better to-morrow."
"Mamma, I think you would be happier if you would tell meeverything."
"I can't," said Lady Carbury, bursting out into tears. "Don't ask.What's the good of asking? It is all misery and wretchedness. Thereis nothing to tell,--except that I am ruined."
"Has he done anything, mamma?"
"No. What should he have done? How am I to know what he does? Hetells me nothing. Don't talk about it any more. Oh, God,--how muchbetter it would be to be childless!"
"Oh, mamma, do you mean me?" said Hetta, rushing across the room, andthrowing herself close to her mother's side on the sofa. "Mamma, saythat you do not mean me."
"It concerns you as well as me and him. I wish I were childless."
"Oh, mamma, do not be cruel to me! Am I not good to you? Do I not tryto be a comfort to you?"
"Then marry your cousin, Roger Carbury, who is a good man, and whocan protect you. You can, at any rate, find a home for yourself, anda friend for us. You are not like Felix. You do not get drunk andgamble,--because you are a woman. But you are stiff-necked, and willnot help me in my trouble."
"Shall I marry him, mamma, without loving him?"
"Love! Have I been able to love? Do you see much of what you calllove around you? Why should you not love him? He is a gentleman, anda good man,--soft-hearted, of a sweet nature, whose life would be oneeffort to make yours happy. You think that Felix is very bad."
"I have never said so."
"But ask yourself whether you do not give as much pain, seeing whatyou could do for us if you would. But it never occurs to you tosacrifice even a fantasy for the advantage of others."
Hetta retired from her seat on the sofa, and when her mother againwent up-stairs she turned it all over in her mind. Could it be rightthat she should marry one man when she loved another? Could it beright that she should marry at all, for the sake of
doing good toher family? This man, whom she might marry if she would,--who didin truth worship the ground on which she trod,--was, she well knew,all that her mother had said. And he was more than that. Her motherhad spoken of his soft heart, and his sweet nature. But Hetta knewalso that he was a man of high honour and a noble courage. In sucha condition as was hers now he was the very friend whose advice shecould have asked,--had he not been the very lover who was desirousof making her his wife. Hetta felt that she could sacrifice much forher mother. Money, if she had it, she could have given, though sheleft herself penniless. Her time, her inclinations, her very heart'streasure, and, as she thought, her life, she could give. She coulddoom herself to poverty, and loneliness, and heart-rending regretsfor her mother's sake. But she did not know how she could giveherself into the arms of a man she did not love.
"Can I marry the man I do not love?"]
"I don't know what there is to explain," said Felix to his mother.She had asked him why he had not gone to Liverpool, whether he hadbeen interrupted by Melmotte himself, whether news had reached himfrom Marie that she had been stopped, or whether,--as might have beenpossible,--Marie had changed her own mind. But he could not bringhimself to tell the truth, or any story bordering on the truth. "Itdidn't come off," he said, "and of course that knocked me off mylegs. Well; yes. I did take some champagne when I found how it was. Afellow does get cut up by that kind of thing. Oh, I heard it at theclub,--that the whole thing was off. I can't explain anything more.And then I was so mad, I can't tell what I was after. I did get theticket. There it is. That shows I was in earnest. I spent the L30in getting it. I suppose the change is there. Don't take it, for Ihaven't another shilling in the world." Of course he said nothingof Marie's money, or of that which he had himself received fromMelmotte. And as his mother had heard nothing of these sums she couldnot contradict what he said. She got from him no further statement,but she was sure that there was a story to be told which would reachher ears sooner or later.
That evening, about nine o'clock, Mr. Broune called in WelbeckStreet. He very often did call now, coming up in a cab, staying fora cup of tea, and going back in the same cab to the office of hisnewspaper. Since Lady Carbury had, so devotedly, abstained fromaccepting his offer, Mr. Broune had become almost sincerely attachedto her. There was certainly between them now more of the intimacy ofreal friendship than had ever existed in earlier days. He spoke toher more freely about his own affairs, and even she would speak tohim with some attempt at truth. There was never between them now evena shade of love-making. She did not look into his eyes, nor did hehold her hand. As for kissing her,--he thought no more of it thanof kissing the maid-servant. But he spoke to her of the things thatworried him,--the unreasonable exactions of proprietors, and theperilous inaccuracy of contributors. He told her of the exceedingweight upon his shoulders, under which an Atlas would have succumbed.And he told her something too of his triumphs;--how he had had thisfellow bowled over in punishment for some contradiction, and that mansnuffed out for daring to be an enemy. And he expatiated on his ownvirtues, his justice and clemency. Ah,--if men and women only knewhis good nature and his patriotism;--how he had spared the rod here,how he had made the fortune of a man there, how he had saved thecountry millions by the steadiness of his adherence to some grandtruth! Lady Carbury delighted in all this and repaid him by flattery,and little confidences of her own. Under his teaching she had almostmade up her mind to give up Mr. Alf. Of nothing was Mr. Broune morecertain than that Mr. Alf was making a fool of himself in regard tothe Westminster election and those attacks on Melmotte. "The world ofLondon generally knows what it is about," said Mr. Broune, "and theLondon world believes Mr. Melmotte to be sound. I don't pretend tosay that he has never done anything that he ought not to do. I am notgoing into his antecedents. But he is a man of wealth, power, andgenius, and Alf will get the worst of it." Under such teaching asthis, Lady Carbury was almost obliged to give up Mr. Alf.
Sometimes they would sit in the front room with Hetta, to whom alsoMr. Broune had become attached; but sometimes Lady Carbury would bein her own sanctum. On this evening she received him there, and atonce poured forth all her troubles about Felix. On this occasion shetold him everything, and almost told him everything truly. He hadalready heard the story. "The young lady went down to Liverpool, andSir Felix was not there."
"He could not have been there. He has been in bed in this house allday. Did she go?"
"So I am told;--and was met at the station by the senior officerof the police at Liverpool, who brought her back to London withoutletting her go down to the ship at all. She must have thought thather lover was on board;--probably thinks so now. I pity her."
"How much worse it would have been, had she been allowed to start,"said Lady Carbury.
"Yes; that would have been bad. She would have had a sad journey toNew York, and a sadder journey back. Has your son told you anythingabout money?"
"What money?"
"They say that the girl entrusted him with a large sum which she hadtaken from her father. If that be so he certainly ought to lose notime in restoring it. It might be done through some friend. I woulddo it for that matter. If it be so,--to avoid unpleasantness,--itshould be sent back at once. It will be for his credit." This Mr.Broune said with a clear intimation of the importance of his advice.
It was dreadful to Lady Carbury. She had no money to give back, nor,as she was well aware, had her son. She had heard nothing of anymoney. What did Mr. Broune mean by a large sum? "That would bedreadful," she said.
"Had you not better ask him about it?"
Lady Carbury was again in tears. She knew that she could not hope toget a word of truth from her son. "What do you mean by a large sum?"
"Two or three hundred pounds, perhaps."
"I have not a shilling in the world, Mr. Broune." Then it all cameout,--the whole story of her poverty, as it had been brought about byher son's misconduct. She told him every detail of her money affairsfrom the death of her husband, and his will, up to the presentmoment.
"He is eating you up, Lady Carbury." Lady Carbury thought that shewas nearly eaten up already, but she said nothing. "You must put astop to this."
"But how?"
"You must rid yourself of him. It is dreadful to say so, but it mustbe done. You must not see your daughter ruined. Find out what moneyhe got from Miss Melmotte and I will see that it is repaid. Thatmust be done;--and we will then try to get him to go abroad. No;--donot contradict me. We can talk of the money another time. I must beoff now, as I have stayed too long. Do as I bid you. Make him tellyou, and send me word down to the office. If you could do it earlyto-morrow, that would be best. God bless you." And so he hurried off.
Early on the following morning a letter from Lady Carbury was putinto Mr. Broune's hands, giving the story of the money as far as shehad been able to extract it from Sir Felix. Sir Felix declared thatMr. Melmotte had owed him L600, and that he had received L250 out ofthis from Miss Melmotte,--so that there was still a large balancedue to him. Lady Carbury went on to say that her son had at lastconfessed that he had lost this money at play. The story was fairlytrue; but Lady Carbury in her letter acknowledged that she was notjustified in believing it because it was told to her by her son.
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