CHAPTER XI
AND THERE ARE SOCIAL DUTIES TO PERFORM
The first November fog.
The world had wagged on its matter-of-fact way for more than sixmonths now, since that day in April when Philip de Mountford--undercover of lies told by Parker--had made his way into Lord Radclyffe'spresence: more than five months since the favoured nephew had been sounceremoniously thrust out of his home.
Spring had yielded to summer, summer given way to autumn, and alreadywinter was treading hard on autumn's heels. The autumn session hadfilled London with noise and bustle, with political dinner parties andmonster receptions, with new plays at all the best theatres, andvolumes of ephemeral literature.
And all that was--to-night--wrapped in a dense fog, the first of theseason, quite a stranger, too, in London, for scientists had assertedpositively that the era of the traditional "pea-souper" was over; themetropolis would know it no more.
Colonel Harris was in town with his sister, Lady Ryder, and Louisa,and swearing at London weather in true country fashion. He declaredthat fogs paralyzed his intellect that he became positively imbecile,not knowing how to fight his way in the folds of such a black pall.Taxicab drivers he mistrusted; in fact, he had all an old sportsman'shatred of mechanically propelled vehicles, whilst he flatly refused tobring valuable horses up to town, to catch their death of cold whilstwaiting about in the fog.
So Luke had promised to pilot the party as far as the Danish Legation,where they were to dine to-night. This was the only condition underwhich Colonel Harris would consent to enter one of those confoundedmotors.
Colonel Harris had remained loyal to the core to Luke and to hisfortunes. It is a way old sportsmen have, and he had never interferedby word or innuendo in Louisa's actions with regard to her engagement.His daughter was old enough, he said, to know her own mind. She likedLuke, and it would be shabby to leave him in the lurch, now that thelast of the society rats were scurrying to leave the sinking ship.They were doing it, too, in a mighty hurry. The invitations which thepenniless younger son received toward the end of the London seasonwere considerably fewer than those which were showered on him at itsbeginning before the world had realized that Philip de Mountford hadcome to stay, and would one day be Earl of Radclyffe with a rent rollof eighty thousand pounds a year, and the sore need of a wife.
It had all begun with the bridge parties. Luke would no longer play,since he could no longer afford to lose a quarter's income at onesitting. Uncle Rad used to shrug indifferent shoulders at such losses,and place blank checks at the dear boy's disposal. Imagine then howwelcome Luke was at bridge parties, and how very undesirable now.
Then he could no longer make return for hospitable entertainments. Hehad no home to which to ask smart friends. Lord Radclyffe though amonster of ill-humour, gave splendid dinner parties at which Luke wasquasi host. Now it was all give and no take; and the givers retiredone by one, quite unregretted by Luke, who thus was spared theinitiative of turning his back on his friends. They did the turning,quite politely but very effectually. Luke scarcely noticed how he wasdropping out of his former circle. He was over-absorbed and really didnot care. Moreover his dress clothes were getting shabby.
To-night at the Langham, when he arrived at about seven o'clock so asto have an undisturbed half hour with Lou, Colonel Harris greeted himwith outstretched hand and a cordial welcome.
"Hello, Luke, my boy! how goes it with you?"
Louisa said nothing, but her eyes welcomed him, and she drew him nearher, on to the sofa in front of the fire, and allowed her hand to restin his, for she knew how he loved the touch of it. People werebeginning to say that Louisa Harris was getting old: she never hadbeen good-looking, poor thing, but always smart, very smart--now shewas losing her smartness, and what remained?
She had come up to town this autumn in last autumn's frocks! and thetwins were after all being chaperoned by their aunt. Would that absurdengagement never be broken off? Fancy Louisa Harris married to a poorman! Why, she did not know how to do her hair, and dresses were stillworn fastened at the back, and would be for years to come! LouisaHarris and no French maid! Cheap corsets and cleaned gloves! It wasunthinkable.
Perhaps the engagement was virtually broken off--anyhow the weddingcould never take place.
Unless Philip de Mountford happened to die.
But it did not look as if the engagement was broken off. Not at anyrate on this raw November evening, when there was a dense fog outside,but a bright, cheery fire and plenty of light in the little sittingroom at the Langham, and Luke sat on the sofa beside Louisa, and plainLouisa--in last autumn's gown--looking at him with her candid,luminous eyes.
"How is Lord Radclyffe?" asked Colonel Harris.
"Badly," replied Luke, "I am afraid. He looks very feeble, and hisasthma I know must bother him. He was always worse in foggy weather."
"He ought to go to Algeciras. He always used to."
"I know," assented Luke dejectedly.
"Can't something be done? Surely, Luke, you haven't lost all yourinfluence with him."
"Every bit, sir. Why, I hardly ever see him."
"Hardly ever see him?" ejaculated Colonel Harris, and I am afraid thathe swore.
"I haven't been to Grosvenor Square for over six weeks. I am onlyallowed to see him when Philip is out, or by special permission fromPhilip. I won't go under such conditions."
"How that house must have altered!"
"You wouldn't know it, sir: All the old servants have gone, one afterthe other; they had rows with Philip and left at a month's notice. Isuppose he has no idea how to set about getting new ones--I know Ishouldn't! There's only a man and his wife, a sort of charwoman whocleans and cooks, and the man is supposed to look after Uncle Rad; buthe doesn't do it, for he is half seas over most of the time."
"Good God!" murmured Colonel Harris.
"They have shut up all the rooms, except the library where Uncle Radand Philip have their meals when they are at home. But they lunch anddine at their club mostly."
"What club do they go to? I called in at the Atheneum last night,thinking to find Radclyffe there, but the hall porter told me that henever went there now."
"No. He and Philip have joined some new club in ShaftesburyAvenue--The Veterans' I think it is called."
"Some low, mixed-up kind of place! Old Radclyffe must be out of hissenses!"
"He likes it, so he tells me, because people don't come and bother himthere."
"I should think not indeed. I wouldn't set foot in such a place."
"He goes there most evenings, and so does Philip--and it's so bad forUncle Rad to be out late these foggy nights."
"You ought to make an effort and stop it, Luke."
"I have made many efforts, sir. But, as a matter of fact, I had madeup my mind to make a final one to-night. Uncle Rad ought to go abroad,and I thought I would try to impress this on Philip. He can't be a badman."
"Oh! can't he?" was Colonel Harris's muttered comment.
"At any rate, if I have no influence, he has, and he must exert it andget Uncle Rad down to Algeciras or anywhere he likes so long as it iswell south."
Luke paused awhile, his face flushed with this expression ofdetermination which must have caused his pride many a bitter pang.Then he resumed more quietly:
"It's rather humiliating, isn't it, to go to that man as asuppliant?"
"Don't go as a suppliant, my boy. You must insist on your uncle beingproperly looked after."
Colonel Harris thought all that sort of thing so easy. One always doesbefore one has had a genuine tussle with the unpleasant realities oflife; to the good country squire with an assured position, an assuredincome, assured influence, it seemed very easy indeed to insist. Hehimself never had to insist; things occurred round him and at hisword, as it were, of themselves.
But Louisa, knowing how matters stood, made no suggestion. She knewthat Luke would do his best, but that that best was of little availnow; as Philip de Mountford arranged so it would all come
about.
Friends and well-wishers could but pray that the intruder was not abad man, and that he had his uncle's health at heart.
She gave the signal to go, saying simply,
"We mustn't be late for dinner, father, must we?"
And she rose to go, held back by the hand, by Luke's ferventinsistence.
He could not accustom himself to part from her, as he often had to do.It seemed absurd, but undeniable. He was supremely happy in hercompany, and snatched as much of it as ever he could; but the wrenchwas always awful and Louisa--subtly comprehensive--was conscious ofthe terrible pain which she gave him at every parting. She felt therepercussion of it in all her nerves, although her sound common-sensecondemned the sensation as unreal.
To-night the feeling was even stronger than it had ever been before.At her first suggestion that it was time to go, an elusive currentpassed from him to her. He had been holding her hand, and his hadbeen cool and only slightly on the quiver from time to time when herown fingers pressed more markedly against his. But now, all at once itseemed as if a sudden current of lava had penetrated his veins; hishand almost scorched her own, and though visibly it did not move, yetshe felt the pulses throbbing and trembling beneath the flesh. Thelook of misery in his face made her own heart ache though she tried tosmile with easy gaiety.
"To-morrow we go to the Temple Show together; don't forget, Luke."
Her words seemed to recall him from another world, and he quicklyenough pulled himself together and helped her on with her cloak.Colonel Harris with the gentle tactfulness peculiar to kind hearts hadloudly announced that he would be waiting in the hall.
"Anything the matter, Luke?" she asked as soon as her father had gonefrom the room.
He contrived to smile and to look unconcerned.
"Not particularly," he replied.
"You seem different to-night, somehow."
"How different?"
"I can't explain. But you are not yourself."
"Myself more than ever. My adoration for you is moreuncontrolled--that is all."
She wrapped herself up in her furs, for it was silence that gave thebest response. And then he said quite calmly:
"Will you go first. I'll switch off the light."
"Father will be waiting down stairs," she rejoined.
Then she went past him and out through the door, and he had to go backto the mantel-piece where one of the electric light switches was. Heturned off the light; the room remained in darkness save where thedying embers of the fire threw a red glow on the sofa where she hadsat with him, and the footstool on which her evening shoe had rested.
And the conventional man of the world, schooled from childhood onwardto discipline and self-control, fell on both knees against that mutefootstool, and leaning forward he pressed his burning lips against thesilk cushions of the sofa, which still bore the impress and thefragrance of her exquisite shoulders.
Then he, too, went out of the room.
The Heart of a Woman Page 11