Читать книгу Expiation - E. Phillips Oppenheim - Страница 8

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The next morning dawned, a truly autumnal one; a heavy mist spreading over the country and brooding in the valleys, which, however, the sun, shining through it at first like a ball of fire, soon gained the force to disperse. Mr. Mornington, despite his restless night, was down early, but was soon joined by Eva, and as Mr. Woodruff had had breakfast and gone out an hour before, and Mrs. Neville always took hers in her room, the two were alone. Notwithstanding her over-night's determination, Eva was nervous, and her greeting was shy, although affectionate. She was urged when she encountered her father's steady gaze, and received his somewhat stiff salute, to rush upstairs to her room, and give way to the tears which she had difficulty in repressing. She was successful, however, in overcoming the impulse, and sat through the meal in quietude.

Mr. Mornington did not speak until it was nearly over, when he laid down the newspaper and said with a short laugh: "This is all Greek to me for the present; I have been away so long. Oh, your brother is coming to-day. You are very fond of him, I suppose?"

Eva laughed slightly.

"Of course; but, considering we are twins, I have seen very little of him. It is two years since the last time."

"Humph! Well, I have not had time, it's clear, to ask you many questions, Eva; but from what Mr. Woodruff tells me, you have been happy with. Mrs. Neville, eh?"

"Very," said Eva; "but I hope to be happier since you have come home, that is if you will love me, father," she added timidly, and half-frightened at her plain speech, as she peeped tearfully over at the dark, stern face. It relaxed a little as he answered her, not unkindly:

"Naturally, I shall love you, Eva; you need have no fear of that. Perhaps you think that I am not very effusive," he added, after a pause; "but you must remember that I am not as other men are." He smiled somewhat sadly. "I have spent the best years of my life in a circle of gloom; and there has crept over my feelings, my affections principally, a blight which I cannot at once dispel. I wish—you will remember this, my child—to say but little of my past life. During all the long years of absence I have existed, never lived; and there has come upon me an apathy not easily thrown aside just yet. You must not mistake this for coldness, my child; for, believe me, it is not that. It is my misfortune "—he sighed deeply—"that life for me seems to have become merely a mechanical existence. I cannot help it, I seem powerless to break through bonds which long-continued habits of restraint and self-control have woven. Scenes which in former days would have roused my enthusiasm and my admiration—forms and faces like yours, my dear, which would have quickened my love—ay, even caresses and endearments which would have refreshed my heart—these seem mere trifles to me now. It is as if I had lost the power to appreciate even love, and until change of scene and condition removes and expels the apathy and restores to me my former self, you must forgive me, Eva, if I seem cold to you."

An odd apology, but withal a strangely affecting one. When he had finished speaking, his hearer could scarce again keep the tears from her eyes; for there was a softened ring of sadness in his tones which could not fail to pain her; and, indeed, his quietly spoken words had gone straight to her heart. She did not make him any reply; none, indeed, was needed; but she came round to his side, and took his hand in hers, pressing it gently, and smiling up at him through the dewy mist in her eyes. "That horrid feeling will soon leave you, father," she murmured. "Remember that the dark preface of your life is over, and that the major part of the volume will be unfolded here, at home among your friends, and with your children," she emphatically added, "whose love must banish your mournful memories, and make you happy."

"Happy!" he repeated dreamily. "Yes, I suppose I ought to be happy." He left her side, and went to the window to look out for a few minutes, so she could not see his face. When he turned it towards her again, any traces of emotion had vanished and he spoke in matter-of-fact tones.

"Mr. Woodruff and Cameron are coming up the drive; that reminds me that I promised to ride round some part of the estate this morning. If you ride, you may as well come with us."

"I should like it very much; I won't be five minutes getting ready."

Eva hurried away to don her habit.

The ride was a delightful one to her.

True, her father was occupied most of the time talking to Mr. Cameron, but he frequently turned to her with hints on the arrangement of her reins, or as to her seat, which, showing his consideration, gratifies her. Mr. Mornington himself was a perfect rider, and Eva was never tired of admiring his graceful seat, and the easy skill with which he managed his rather spirited horse. Their ride was a long one, and when home again, it was considerably past the luncheon hour. Mr. Mornington assisted his daughter to alight, lingering himself to leave some instructions with the groom. When he followed her, and saw her standing on the verandah waiting for him, the likeness between her and the picture in the dining-room was so striking, that he could not repress a start of surprise, or check a low groan which arose to his lips. It was the same pose very nearly. She was leaning against the rail with the skirt of her habit gathered up in one hand, while with the other she was idly cutting leaves from the ivy with her toy riding whip. The colour brought to her cheeks by the ride, and the happy light in her ayes, enhanced to the fullest extent the beauty of her face, and her slender but bewitchingly formed figure looked to the best advantage in her close-fitting attire. And yet, to look on her was painful to Mr. Mornington, because she revived his first love. He hurried up to her, so that they entered the house together, his abruptness perplexing her. Luncheon passed without a word, except from Mrs. Neville, who, however, was quite content to do all the talking, and immediately afterwards Mr. Mornington and Mr Woodruff went into the library, and remained there until close upon dinner time.

Nothing occurred to interrupt them, as Godfrey's train was late, and it was nearly seven when the roll of wheels up the drive indicated his arrival. Mr. Mornington was alone in the library when the dogcart passed by the window, Mr. Woodruff not having descended from his room for dinner. One would scarcely have thought that he was expecting to meet, for the first time, his son and heir, to judge by his dark and moody countenance. He was faultlessly dressed in evening clothes, for the fashionable tailor to whom he had repaired on landing in England, had proved equal to the task, and there was nothing in his appearance to indicate an absence from civilized regions for so long a time. He was standing on the hearthrug, with his back to the fire, but at the sound of the wheels he left this truly national position, and walked down the hall to receive his son on the steps.

Godfrey Mornington was barely twenty-three, but habits of self-dependence, forced upon him by the peculiarity of his position, had made him older than his years; hence his appearance and manners were those of a man of riper age. He was tall, rather slight, with an upright, athletic frame, fair hair and blue eyes, in which was an air of complete nonchalance and indifference; indeed, a leading and constant characteristic of his, seldom vanishing even for a moment. It piqued women, who could make nothing of this good-looking imperturbable young fellow, only too ` la mode; but it excited the envy of men, although they accepted it as proof of good breeding, and general "good form." Some with whom he was brought into contact were irritated by it, and put it down to pride; and, certainly in some measure, Godfrey was proud of his name and position. Howbeit, this shortcoming was far less apparent when amongst his inferiors than with his equals. At any rate, he was altogether free from that vulgar pride or snobism which springs generally from the recent acquisition of money or lands. A few called him indolent, but they judged wrongly, for indolent in its proper sense Godfrey certainly was not. At the private school where his guardian had placed him he was the recognised leader in all the sports, and now at Oxford he was stroke of his college eight, and a member of the University eleven. He was popular there, on the whole, and deservedly; for he was both generous and good-natured, and the few who knew him intimately would maintain that there was no better fellow in England than Godfrey Mornington. He had not many friends there, however, partly from his own choice, partly because he would attach himself to neither the fast set nor the studious, but preferred striking out for himself a line between the two—a difficult task at his college. Those of his friends who, knowing his worth and appreciating his friendship, endeavoured to follow his lead, were generally beguiled after a week or so into one or the other of the two recognised sets. This troubled him little, for he was most self-reliant. Lord Dereham was, perhaps, his only friend, and he saw very little of him, as the young heir to an earldom was distinctly a member of the fast set, whose orgies Godfrey seldom cared to join.

When Mr. Woodruff's telegram reached Godfrey, he was in Scotland, shooting, but immediately he caught the first train south, and now, his journey at an end, he could not restrain nervous apprehensions as to the sire whom he had never seen. They flitted, however, as soon as he caught sight of the man who stood on the steps waiting for him, and whose identity he understood at once. He was somewhat surprised at first. Somehow, he had got the impression, not a very unreasonable one, that he should see a haggard-looking man, with long dishevelled beard, and evidences of neglect in his clothing, and perhaps with hard hands and awkward manners. He thought that over a score years spent, presumably in poverty, in a far-off land, would to a certain extent have taken away the outward appearance of good birth. And yet, the person who waited to greet him, by his bearing and the fit of his clothes, might have lived all his life in clubdom. It must be confessed that this was a great relief to Godfrey. He had not inherited Eva's romantic disposition, nor her warm heart, and he did not profess to entertain overwhelming affection for a father whom he had never seen. He was prepared, whatever sort of a man his father might be, to become a dutiful son to him. This behaviour would not have been in the slightest degree less respectful, if, instead of the well-dressed gentleman, here had been a man whom misfortune had ruined, and who had, forgetting his birth, adopted the manners and speech, even appearance, of the very lowest classes with whom he might have been compelled to mix. Yet, none the less, the impression of this possibility was almost a nightmare, so utterly conventional was his disposition, and there was relief as well as welcome in his smile as he held out his hand. Again he was agreeably surprised, for his father received him, though kindly, without the slightest "gush," and as they strolled down the hall towards the library, he felt that he should be able to get on with this Chesterfield* better than he anticipated. Arrived in the library, Mr. Mornington seated himself in an easy chair, and motioned his son to one opposite him.

[* sic. Presumably an allusion to the relationship between Lord Chesterfield and his son. Lord Chesterfield wrote the popular Letters to His Son (published posthumously in 1774), a manual on acquiring social graces and succeeding in society that stressed the importance of appearances.]

"You are not like your mother, Godfrey," he said, regarding him intently, "and not like me, but you have the Mornington features all the same. I am glad to see that you, like me, are not expansive; but I am delighted to see you, and I haven't the slightest doubt we shall get on together capitally, Of course, I don't expect you to feel any great amount of affection for me, whom you see now for the first time, nor do I even desire it. I shall try to be a good father to you, and you shall not find my return making any difference in your position. That is all I need say at present, I think. You had better go and change your things at once, as we have waited dinner for you."

Few people possessed a greater horror of what are termed "scenes" than Godfrey, and ever since he had received Mr. Woodruffs telegram, he had been looking forward with a nervous dread to this meeting which he feared must result in one. But now he realized that his fears had been groundless, and that his pet aversion was shared, in an equal degree by his father. This pleased him, and he answered in tones which for him were unusually warm.

"I'm quite sure that we shall get on all right; and to tell you the truth, I'm very much relieved to find that you don't expect me—er—to make a long speech—er—to express my—er—gratification at your return, and—er—sympathy with your troubles. I can see that you understand me, and will believe that I am glad to see you home, and all that, without my making a—a fuss about it. So I'll take your advice, and change, for I'm desperately hungry."

With a nod, he left the room, and the grand meeting between father and son was over, greatly to the relief of both.

The dinner was, in great contrast to the luncheon, a most animated repast. Godfrey, who was in high spirits, allowed them for once to carry him away, and never permitted the conversation to slacken for a moment. Mr. Woodruff also exerted himself, and, finally, Mr. Mornington seemed to forget for a time his reserve, and talked well and amusingly. Long after Mrs. Neville and Eva had left the table, the three men sat over their wine talking mirthfully; Godfrey told quaint anecdotes of college life, which appeared to interest his father especially, who frequently capped them with similar reminiscences of his own. Then the conversation turned to hunting, fishing, and shooting, all of which Mr. Mornington appeared to understand thoroughly, and plans were discussed, and made, for repeating the feats. To his son, Mr. Mornington imparted his intention of participating freely in the out-door pastimes of the county, and even hinted at the possibility of his entering Parliament. Godfrey upheld him in all his resolutions and approved of all his intentions, and when, at last, after the third summons, they returned into the drawing-room for tea, they carried their animation with them, and seldom had the room contained a merrier party. It was late when they retired. Eva and Godfrey met on the landing.

"What do you think of him?" was of course the first question which rose to Eva's lips, as she looked up anxiously into her brother's face.

"Think of him?" repeated Godfrey; "he's just the sort of father I should have chosen if I'd been consulted."

"Yes, but don't you think he looks unhappy at times? I have noticed there comes such a dark look into his face as if he had something terrible on his mind, not to be forgotten. It quite frightens me."

"All fancy," said Godfrey. "I haven't noticed it myself. I thought he seemed pretty lively, considering. Good night; don't look so seriously out of those big eyes of yours, or you will have wrinkles in no time," with which physiological advice and a kind nod, Godfrey went his way to the Land of Nod.