Читать книгу A True Woman - Baroness Orczy - Страница 12

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And now a month and more had gone by, and the whole aspect of the world and of life was changed for Luke. Not for Louisa, because she, woman-like, had her life in love and love alone. Love was unchanged, or if changed at all it was ennobled, revivified, purified by the halo of sorrow and of abnegation which glorified it with its radiance.

For Luke the world had indeed changed. With the advent of Philip de Mountford that spring afternoon into the old house in Grosvenor Square, life for the other nephew—for Luke, once the dearly loved—became altogether different.

That one moment of softness, when Lord Radclyffe—a bent and broken old man—went from the library up the stairs to his own room, determined to be alone, and gently removed Luke’s affectionate hand from his own bowed shoulders, that one moment of softness was the last that passed between uncle—almost father—and nephew. After that, coldness and cynicism; the same as the old man had meted out to every one around him—save Luke—for years past. Now there was no exception. Coldness and cynicism to all; and to the intruder, the new comer, to Philip de Mountford, an unvarying courtesy and constant deference that at times verged on impassive submission.

And the change, I must own, did not come gradually. Have I not said that only a month had gone by, and Arthur’s son, from the land of volcanoes and earthquakes, had already conquered all that he had come to seek? He who had been labelled an impostor and a blackmailer took—after that one interview—his place in the old man’s mind, if not in his heart. Heaven only knows—for no one else was present at that first interview—what arguments he held, what appeals he made. He came like a thief, bribing his way into his uncle’s presence, and stayed like a dearly loved son, a master in the house.

And Luke was shut out once and for all from Lord Radclyffe’s mind and heart. Can you conceive that such selfless affection as the older man bore to the younger can live for a quarter of a century and die in one hour? Yet so it seemed. Luke was shut out from that innermost recess in Uncle Rad’s heart which he had occupied, undisputed, from childhood upward. Now he only took his place amongst the others; with Jim and Edie and Frank, children of the younger brother, of no consequence in the house of the reigning peer.

Luke with characteristic pride—characteristic indolence, mayhap, where his own interests were at stake—would not fight for his rightful position—his by right of ages, twenty years of affection, of fidelity, and comradeship.

The day following the first momentous interview, Lord Radclyffe spent in lawyers’ company—Mr. Davies in Finsbury Court, then Mr. Dobson in Bedford Row. The latter argued and counselled. Though papers might be to all appearances correct and quite in order, there was no hurry to come to a decision. But Lord Radclyffe—with that same dictatorial obstinacy with which he had originally branded the claimant as an impostor and a blackmailer—now clung to his reversed opinion. Convinced—beyond doubt, apparently—that Philip de Mountford was his brother Arthur’s son, he insisted on acknowledging him openly as his heir, and on showering on him all those luxuries and privileges which Luke had enjoyed for so many years.

Indignant and mentally sore, Jim and Edie protested with all the violence of youth, violence which proved as useless as it was ill-considered. Luke said nothing, for he foresaw that the end was inevitable. He set about making a home for his younger brothers and sister to be ready for them as soon as the cataclysm came, when Philip de Mountford, usurping every right, would turn his cousins out of the old home.

Frank, absent at Santiago—a young attaché out at his first post—had been told very little as yet. Luke had tried to break the news to him in a guarded letter, which received but the following brief and optimistic answer:

“Why, old man! what’s the matter with you? worrying over such rubbish? Take my advice and go to Carlsbad. Your liver must be out of order.”

But the catastrophe came, nevertheless; sooner even than was expected. Edie’s language grew very unguarded in Philip’s presence, and Jim—“in the Blues”—did not watch over his own manners when the new cousin was in the house.

One evening when Luke was absent—as was very often the case now—and the family gathering consisted of Lord Radclyffe—sullen and morose; Philip, pleasantly condescending; and Jim and Edie, snubbed and wrathful, a difference in political opinion between the young people set a spark to the smouldering ashes.

Philip—still pleasantly condescending—did not say much that evening, though he had been called a cad and an upstart, and told to go back to his nigger relations; but the next morning Jim and Edie received a curt admonition from Lord Radclyffe, during which they were told that if such a disgraceful exhibition of impertinence occurred again, they would have to go and pitch their tent elsewhere.

They brought their grievance to Luke; told him all that they had treasured up in their rebellious young hearts against the usurper, and much that they had hitherto kept from the elder brother, who already, God knows! had a sufficient load of disappointment to bear.

What could Luke do but promise that Jim and Edie should in future have a house of their own, wherein neither usurper nor upstarts would have access, and where they could nurse their wrath in peace and unsnubbed.

For the first time since many, many days Luke was alone with his uncle in the library. Philip was out, and Lord Radclyffe was taken unawares.

What Luke would never have dreamed of doing for himself he did for his brothers and sister; he made appeal to his uncle’s sense of right, of justice, and of mercy.

“Uncle Rad,” he said, “you have told us all so often that this should be a home for us all. It doesn’t matter about me, but the others—Jim and Edie—they haven’t offended you, have they?”

Lord Radclyffe was fretful and irritable. When Luke first came in, it had almost seemed as if he would order him to go. Such an old man he looked—sour and morose —his clothes hung more loosely than before on an obviously attenuated frame. He seemed careworn and worried, and Luke’s heart, which could not tear itself away from the memories of past kindness, ached to see the change.

“Would you,” he asked insistently, “would you rather we went away, Uncle Rad?”

The old man shifted about uneasily in his chair. He would not meet Luke’s eyes any more than he would take his hand just now.

“Jim and Edie,” he said curtly, “are very ill-mannered, and Philip feels—”

He passed his tongue over his lips which were parched and dry. A look—it was a mere flash—almost of appeal passed from his eyes to Luke.

“Then,” said Luke simply, “it is this—this Philip whom Jim and Edie have offended? Not you, Uncle Rad?”

“Philip is your uncle Arthur’s son,” rejoined Lord Radclyffe, speaking like a fretful child in a thin voice that cracked now and again. “He will be the head of the family presently—”

“Not,” interposed Luke earnestly, “before many years are past, I trust and pray for all our sakes, Uncle Rad—”

“The sooner,” continued the old man, not heeding the interruption, “those young jackanapes learn to respect him, the better it will be for them.”

“Jim and Edie have been a little spoiled by your kindness, sir. They are finding the lesson a little hard to learn. Perhaps they had better go and study elsewhere.”

Lord Radclyffe made no reply. Silence was full of potent meaning; of submission to another’s more dominant personality, of indifference to everything save to peace and quiet.

Suppressing a sigh of bitter disappointment, Luke rose to go.

“Then,” he said, “the sooner I make all arrangements the better. There’s only the agreement for the flat to sign and we can move in next week.”

“Where’s the flat?” queried the old man hesitatingly.

“In Exhibition Road, Kensington, close to the park. Edie loves the park, and it won’t be far from barracks for Jim.”

“But you’ve no furniture. How will you furnish a flat? Don’t go yet,” continued Lord Radclyffe seeing that Luke was preparing to take his leave. “Philip won’t be here till tea time.”

“I am afraid, sir, that I don’t care to steal a few minutes of your company, just when Philip is absent. I would rather not see you at all than see you on sufferance.”

“You are very obstinate and tiresome—and you make it so difficult for me. I want to hear about the furniture—and how you are going to manage.”

“Lou is helping Edie to get what is wanted,” replied Luke, smiling despite the heavy weight of disappointment in his heart. It was pitiable to see the old man’s obvious feeling of relief in the absence of the man who was exercising such boundless influence over him.

“But have you money, Luke?” he asked.

“Not overmuch, sir, but enough.”

“The fifteen thousand pounds your father left you?”

“Yes. And that’s about all.”

“And the fifteen thousand pounds from your uncle Arthur?”

“I don’t know about that, sir. I think that should go back to Uncle Arthur’s son.”

“Nonsense, nonsense!” retorted Lord Radclyffe querulously. “I’ve talked to Dobson about that. Your uncle Arthur left that money to you—and not to his son. He had his own reasons for doing this. Dobson thinks so too.”

“It is very kind of Mr. Dobson to trouble about my affairs but—”

“The money was left to you,” persisted the old man, “and to Jim and Edie and Frank.”

“They will do whatever they like with their share, but I could not touch a penny of Uncle Arthur’s money.”

“What will you do?”

“I don’t know yet, uncle. I have only had a month in which to think of so much—and there was the new flat to see to.”

Lord Radclyffe rose and shuffled toward Luke. He dropped his voice, lest the library walls had ears.

“I’ll not forget you, Luke—presently—when I am gone—and that won’t be long—I’ll provide for you—my will—”

“Don’t, Uncle Rad, for God’s sake,” and the cry was wrung from a heart overburdened with pity and with shame.

And without waiting to take more affectionate leave, Luke hurried from the room.