Читать книгу Cursed by a Fortune - Fenn George Manville - Страница 12

Kate was not the only one at the Manor House who declined to come down to dinner.

The bell had rung, and after Mrs Wilton had been up twice to her niece’s room, and reported the ill success of her visits to her lord, Wilton growled out:

“Well, I want my dinner. Let her stay and starve herself into her senses. But here,” he cried, with a fresh burst of temper, “why the devil isn’t that boy here? I’m not going to be kept waiting for him. Do you hear? Where is he?”

“He was so ill, dear, he said he was obliged to go upstairs and lie down.”

“Bah! Rubbish! He wasn’t hurt.”

“Oh, my dear, you don’t know,” sobbed Mrs Wilton.

“Yah! You cry if you dare. Wipe your eyes. Think I haven’t had worry enough to-day without you trying to lay the dust? Ring and tell Samuel to fetch him down.”

“Oh, pray don’t do that, dear; the servants will talk enough as it is.”

“They’d better. I’ll discharge the lot. I’ve been too easy with everybody up to now, and I’ll begin to turn over a new leaf. Stand aside, woman, and let me get to that bell.”

“No, no, don’t, pray don’t ring. Let me go up and beg of him to come down.”

“What! Beg? Go up and tell him that if he don’t come down to dinner in a brace of shakes I’ll come and fetch him with a horsewhip.”

“James, my dear, pray, pray don’t be so violent.”

“But I will be violent. I am in no humour to be dictated to now. I’ll let some of you see that I’m master.”

“But poor dear Claud is so big now.”

“I don’t care how big he is – a great stupid oaf! Go and tell him what I say. And look here, woman.”

“Yes, dear,” said Mrs Wilton, plaintively.

“I mean it. If he don’t come at once, big as he is, I’ll take up the horsewhip.”

Mrs Wilton stifled a sob, and went up to her son’s room and entered, to find him lying on his bed with his boots resting on the bottom rail, a strong odour of tobacco pervading the room, and a patch or two of cigar ashes soiling the counterpane.

“Claud, my dearest, you shouldn’t smoke up here,” she said, tenderly, as she laid her hand upon her son’s forehead. “How are you now, darling?”

“Damned bad.”

“Oh, not quite so bad as that, dearest. Dinner is quite ready.”

” – The dinner!”

“Claud, darling, don’t use such dreadful language. But please get up now, and let me brush your hair. Your father is so angry and violent because you are keeping him waiting. Pray come down at once.”

“Shan’t!”

“Claud, dearest, you shouldn’t say that. Please come down.”

“Shan’t, I tell you. Be off, and don’t bother me.”

“I am so sorry, my dear, but I must. He sent me up, dear.”

“I – shan’t – come – down. There!”

“But Claud, my dear, he is so angry. I dare not go without you. What am I to say?”

“Tell him I say he’s an old beast.”

“Oh, Claud, I can’t go and tell him that. You shouldn’t – you shouldn’t, indeed.”

“I’m too bad to eat.”

“Yes – yes; I know, darling, but do – do try and come down and have a glass of wine. It will do you good, and keep poor papa from being so violent.”

“I don’t want any wine. And I shan’t come. There!”

“Oh, dear me! Oh, dear me!” sighed Mrs Wilton; “what am I to do?”

“Go and tell him I won’t come. Bad enough to be hit by that beastly old prize fighter, without him kicking me as he did. I’m not a door mat.”

“No, no, my dear; of course not.”

“An old brute! I believe he has injured my liver.”

“Claud, my darling, don’t, pray don’t say that.”

“Why not? The doctor ought to be fetched; I’m in horrid pain.”

“Yes, yes, my dear; and it did seem very hard.”

“Hard? I should think it was. I’m sure there’s a rib broken, if not two.”

“Oh, my own darling boy!” cried Mrs Wilton, embracing him.

“Don’t, mother; you hurt. Be off, and leave me alone. Tell him I shan’t come.”

“No, no, my dear; pray make an effort and come down.”

“Shan’t, I tell you. Now go!”

“But – but – Claud, dear, he threatened to come up with a horse whip and fetch you.”

“What!” cried Claud, springing up on the bed without wincing, and staring at his mother; “did he say that?”

“Yes, my love,” faltered the mother.

“Then you go down and tell him to come, and I’ll knock his old head off.”

“Oh, Claud, my dear boy, you shouldn’t. I can not sit here and listen to such parricidical talk.”

“Stand up then, and now be off.”

“But, my darling, you will come?”

“No, I won’t.”

“For my sake?”

“I won’t, for my own. I’m not going to stand it. He shan’t bully and knock me about I’m not a boy now. I’ll show him.”

“But, Claud, darling, for the sake of peace and quietness; I don’t want the servants to know.”

But dear Claud – his mother’s own darling – was as obstinate now as his father, whom he condemned loudly, then condemned peace and quietness, then the servants, and swore that he would serve Kate out for causing the trouble.

“I’ll bring her down on her knees – I’ll tame her, and make her beg for a kiss next time.”

“Yes, yes, my dear, you shall, but not now. You must be humble and patient.”

“Are you coming down, Maria?” ascended in a savage roar.

“Yes, yes, my dear, directly,” cried the trembling woman. “There, you hear, darling. He is in a terrible fury. Come down with me.”

“I won’t, I tell you,” cried the young man, making a snatch at the pillow, to raise it threateningly in his hands; “go, and tell him what I said.”

“Maria! Am I to come up?” ascended in a roar.

“Yes – no – no, my dear,” cried Mrs Wilton. “I’m – I’m coming down.”

She hurried out of the room, dabbed her eyes hastily, and descended to where the Squire was tramping up and down the hall, with Samuel, the cook, housemaid, and kitchen maid in a knot behind the swing baize door, which cut off the servants’ offices, listening to every word of the social comedy.

“Well,” roared Wilton, “is he coming?”

“N-n-not just now, my d-dear. He feels so ill and shaken that he begs you will excuse him.”

“Humbug, woman! My boy couldn’t have made up such a message. He said he wouldn’t, eh? Now then; no prevarication. That’s what he said.”

“Y-yes, my dear,” faltered the mother. “Oh, James dearest, pray – pray don’t.”

She clung to him, but he shook her off, strode to the umbrella stand, and snatched a hunting whip from where it hung with twisted thong, and stamped up the stairs, with his trembling wife following, sobbing and imploring him not to be so violent; but all in vain, for he turned off at the top of the old oaken staircase and stamped away to the door of his son’s bedroom – that at the end of the wing which matched to Kate’s.

Here Mrs Wilton made a last appeal in a hurried whisper.

“He is so bad – says his ribs are broken from the kick.”

“Bah!” roared the Squire; “he has no ribs in his hind legs – Here, you, Claud; come down to dinner directly or – Here, unlock this door.”

He rattled the handle, and then thumped and banged in vain, while Mrs Wilton, who had been ready to shriek with horror, began to breathe more freely.

“I thought you said he was lying down, too bad to get up?”

“Yes, yes, dear, he is,” faltered the poor woman.

“Seems like it. Able to lock himself in. Here, you sir; come down.”

But there was no reply; not a sound in answer to his rattling and banging; and at last, in the culmination of his rage, the Squire drew back to the opposite wall to gain force so as to dash his foot through the panel if he could, but just then Eliza opened Kate’s door at the far end of the long corridor, and peered out.

That ended the disturbance.

“Come on down to dinner, Maria,” said the Squire.

“Yes, my dear,” she faltered, and they descended to dine alone, Mrs Wilton on water, her husband principally on wine, and hardly a word was spoken, the head of the house being very quiet and thoughtful in the calm which followed the storm.

Just as the untasted pheasants were being taken away, after the second course, Wilton suddenly said to the footman:

“Tell Miss Kate’s maid to come here.”

Mrs Wilton looked at her husband wonderingly, but he sat crumbling his bread and sipping his claret till the quiet, grave, elderly servant appeared.

“How is your mistress?” he said.

“Very unwell, sir.”

“Think the doctor need be sent for?”

“Well, no, sir, I hardly think that. She has been very much agitated.”

“Yes, of course; poor girl,” said Wilton, quietly.

“But I think she will be better after a good night’s rest, sir.”

“So do I, Eliza. You will see, of course, that she has everything she wants.”

“Oh, yes, sir. I did take her up some dinner, but I could not prevail upon her to touch it.”

“Humph! I suppose not. That will do, thank you. – No, no, Maria, there is no occasion to say any more.”

Mrs Wilton’s mouth was open to speak, but she shut it again quickly, fearing to raise another storm, and the maid left the room. But the mother would speak out as soon as they were alone.

“I should like to order a tray with one of the pheasants to be sent up to Claud, dear.”

“I daresay you would,” he replied. “Well, I shouldn’t.”

“May I send for Doctor Leigh?”

“What for? You heard what the woman said?”

“I meant for Claud, dear.”

“Oh, I’ll see to him in the morning. I shall have a pill ready for him when I’m cooled down. It won’t be so strong then.”

“But, James, dear – ”

“All right, old lady, I’m getting calm now; but listen to me. I mean this: you are not to go to his room to-night.”

“James!”

“Nor yet to Kate’s, till I go with you.”

“My dear James!”

“That’s me,” he said, with a faint smile, “and you’re a very good, affectionate, well meaning old woman; but if ever there was one who was always getting her husband into scrapes, it is you.”

“Really, dear!” she cried, appealingly.