Читать книгу Ride With Me - Thomas B. Costain - Страница 7

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Frank wakened at an early hour in the morning with a feeling that something momentous had happened. This was not unusual with him; often he would experience a brief mood in which he knew that a crisis of some kind was impending. There was nothing physically disturbing about it; other newspapermen, in fact, had told him that they were subject at times to similar reactions; but it never failed to prove the forerunner of important developments.

He got out of bed and walked to the window. The fog had disappeared, and there was the first bare suggestion of gray light in the sky. The new day would be clear and cold. Silence lay over the great city, although he could hear at a distance an occasional sound: the turn of a wheel, the beat of a horse’s hoof, the unpleasant interruption of a human voice.

Well, whatever had happened, he would know about it in due course. Certainly no intimation of the nature of the event could be gleaned by contemplation of the heavy drabness of the sleeping city. He went back to bed.

It was several hours later when he was wakened a second time by the sound of Tinker stirring about in the next room. Tinker was Caradoc’s man, and it was apparent that he was filling a tub for his master’s morning bath. Caradoc was a great hand for cold baths. In a moment, Frank knew, his brother would bound out of bed and immerse himself without any hesitation in the icy water that filled the wooden biddy. He would slosh it gustily over the muscular whiteness of his magnificent body, talking as he did so in his forthright way to the admiring Tinker. Yes, there it started; a splash, an involuntary gasp from the bather, not entirely of pleasure, and then an assured: “Ha, Tinker, this is the way to start off the day. This is what puts life in a man, I tell you!”

Frank had never allowed himself the luxury of a personal servant. He had not been able to afford one, in fact, because of the strain imposed on him by the purchase of his second tenth interest in the Tablet. Probably he would never have a man. He had a sense of restraint which made the care of his body a purely personal matter. There could be no enjoyment for him in having anyone scrub his back or hold up the trousers into which he was to step. While in the next room Caradoc splashed and threw scraps of talk to Tinker, Frank gave himself a scrubbing from the water in his pitcher. It had turned ice-cold, and he enjoyed it so little that he hurried the operation through. He pulled on his loose trousers and buttoned over his shoulders a new contrivance he had been persuaded into buying by his tailor—a crossed pair of felt straps called braces. He decided that he liked them; they held up the trousers evenly and securely.

Frank smiled when he saw that Purdy had put his plate of kedgeree and a folded copy of the Tablet at the head of the table. He glanced over the paper as he applied himself to the food and frowned when he realized that the printers had been at fault again. The sheets were “monks”; that is, they had been given a weak impression. He wondered if the power press that Cope had been talking about would overcome this continual difficulty of proper inking.

Twisty, the second man, took his empty plate away and said: “Topp’s outside, sir. Says he must see you at once.”

Frank looked up from the paper in surprise. Topp was the office runner. He had served with the army in India and had the reputation around the office of being even more worthless than most ex-soldiers. It was hard to conceive of any matter in which he was concerned being of sufficient importance to warrant this early appearance.

Framed in the rear door, Topp was wearing a long yellow garment which reached to his heels and seemed to combine the functions of greatcoat, coat, and “weskit” all in one. He bobbed his head and spread out his arms in an oriental salutation, saying, “Salaam, sahib,” in a voice which owed nothing to any part of the world but East London.

“What is it, Windy?”

The runner looked up and winked. “Something odd, sahib,” he said. “Something very odd. I was busy as a gravedigger last night, what with messages to be took by hand and a note to the Peers and another to the Commings. It wur clost to four in the small uns when I gets through and starts for my p’lashull quatters. I’m close to White’ll when I sees a gent hobbling along and leading his prad by the bridle. I wonders what he’s up to, and then I sees he’s studying the houses.”

“Come to the point, Windy. I’m in a hurry this morning.”

Topp made the same gesture with his arms. “So be it, sahib. Well, I follows along. I ’spects to see him took up by a night dubber or get a oliver skull emptied over him from one o’ the bedroom winders. And then I gets close enough to see his face and, sahib, it gives me a start. It wur Riding Bobby hisself.”

“Do you mean Sir Robert Wilson?”

“Yes, sahib. Bobby Wilson. I knows he left Frog-and-Toe^[1] for Roosha just two months ago, and by rights he ought to be up to his armpits in snow this very minute. He couldn’t get back so soon, and yet there he wur.”

Frank was thinking: “If he’s correct about this, it means Wilson has turned right around and come back. Only one thing could cause that. Russia has declared war on us.” Aloud he asked, “Are you sure you would know Sir Robert Wilson if you saw him?”

The runner laughed. “Know him if I see him? Sahib, I’d pick Riding Bobby out of a millyun. I cheered myself black in the face the day old Nobs knighted all the ossifers what rode in the charge, and I see Bobby as close as I am to ye now. And I see him once atter he mizzles to Gretner Green with the young ledy from the chanc’ry and gets hisself hitched. I knew him in a brace o’ snaps, sahib, and make no mistake about it.”

“Where did he go?”

“That’s the point, sahib. I follows atter him, and he stops at one o’ the houses and knocks loud enough to waken the comp’ny on a cold-turkey slab.^[2] It takes a lot of it to waken anybody, but fin’lly a rainbow in a red nightcap comes to the door. He says, ‘What the banging hell and brimstone do ye mean, ye cup-shot, getting honest men outa their beds at this bloody something hour?’ Riding Bobby says something to him in a whisper and the rainbow straightens hisself up and says respeckfull like, ‘I’ll waken the master at once, sir.’ Riding Bobby hitches his prad and goes inside, and I waits half an hour and he don’t come out. So I gets home and goes to Ruggins for a few hours. Then I gets up and comes here.”

Frank said, “You were right to let me know, Windy.” He was thinking it had been four o’clock when he wakened the first time; this, then, was what it had meant. War with Russia! He asked, “Can you take me to the house?”

The runner winked joyously with a sense of his own importance in the matter. “I can that, sahib. And I knows who lives there. The Hunrubble George Canning hisself. What’s more, I knows where Bobby stays when he’s in London if ye should want to go there.”

There could be no doubt about the meaning of Wilson’s sudden return. Frank said: “Twisty will get you something to drink. I’ll be with you in a minute.”

He hurried back into the house, part of his mind busy with the importance of the information he had received, the other part running on the exploits of Sir Robert Wilson, the one hero that the disastrous campaign in Flanders had produced for a victory-hungry country. He began to sing in an undertone:

“The French were five to England’s one;

‘Ride ’em down!’ cried Bobby.

Their thunder spoke from every gun;

‘Ride with me,’ said Bobby.”

In the central foyer he encountered an excited and chattering group with linked arms, his mother (who seldom appeared before noon) in the center between Caradoc and Lady Mary. They wheeled around to face him, all three beaming with the promise of good news. The two ladies were in white muslin with their morning muffs of black fur dangling from their wrists. Frank was always surprised to see how young his mother could look. She appeared to much better advantage in the girlish round skirt, which the fashion of the day made incumbent for early wear, than Lady Mary, who lacked this happy gift of always looking right. Mary, he reflected, appeared at her best on the back of a horse; and then she was quite superb.

“Francis, my boy,” trilled Mrs. Ellery, “we have news for you. Such good news!”

“I don’t think it’s going to surprise him,” said Caradoc, throwing back his head with one of his hearty laughs. “Frank has guessed what it is. He knows a thing or two.”

Frank looked at Mary. Her eyes were flushed and happy, and there was a suggestion of breathlessness about her; also, alas, a slight shine on the tip of her nose.

“Dear Frank!” she said. “I know he’s going to be glad.”

“These two children are going to be married,” announced Mrs. Ellery. “It’s too Romantic for Words. Caradoc proposed to Mary before we came to town. It was just after she heard him rehearse his speech. It was so fitting that way.”

“I’m delighted to hear it.” Frank gave his brother a hearty slap on the back and then shook hands with him. “Congratulations, you lucky dog. You’re both going to be very happy, I’m sure. You know how I feel about you, Mary, and about this.”

Lady Mary said, “You might kiss me, then.” Her cheek was warm, and the hand she placed on his shoulder trembled a little. “Yes, we’re going to be very happy. But I can never be happier than I am right now.”

Mrs. Ellery took Frank by the arm. “They’re going to have breakfast together now. I had my cup of chocolate before I got up. We’ll leave them to themselves.”

Caradoc’s eyes were fixed on the newspaper under his brother’s arm. He reached out an eager hand for it. “I’ll read that at the same time,” he said. “Of course, I’m not seriously concerned about the report. You’ve got to disregard such things when you’re in public life.”

Mrs. Ellery led her oldest son to the small sitting room on the ground floor which she had dedicated to her own use. It had come to reflect her personality; a pretty room in which one person, and one only, could be completely comfortable. The raised stone hearth was spotless in spite of the ample fire crackling in it, the hinged fall-front escritoire was tidy even though it catered quite obviously to a voluminous correspondence, the chairs were placed just right. Frank always held his breath here for fear of causing some upset to its perfect order.

She seated herself in the exact center of the walnut day bed, which left him the choice of standing or trusting himself to one of the two delicate chairs. He elected to stand. A fluffy yellow poodle, which had pranced ahead of them into the room, sprang up beside his mistress and fixed the intruder with a supercilious eye as though to say: “You see? I can sit here but you can’t.”

“I want to talk to you about Caradoc,” she began. “You realize now, I’m sure, what a future he has. It was very clear to me yesterday—and to everyone who cared enough to be there to hear him—that he’s going to become a Great Man.”

“You don’t have to tell me that, Mother. Have you read the notice in the paper?”

“Yes.” There was the slightest trace of reserve in her voice, as though she suspected something had been done about it but could not be sure what it was. “I had Elsie read it to me before I got up. It was—it was Good.” She shook her head and sighed. “It will be unfortunate, Francis, if Caradoc doesn’t have the right kind of influence behind him. Even with his great talents, he needs influence.”

“I’m not sure that he does.” Frank drew up one of the chairs and seated himself after all. This, he knew from experience, was going to be long and perhaps a little tedious.

“That just shows you haven’t given any real thought at all to your brother’s problems.” There was a suggestion of suppressed resentment in her voice. “You can’t be truly concerned or you’d know that offices can be withheld when there isn’t pressure from above.”

“But, Mother, he’s only twenty-four. He needn’t worry if he doesn’t get into office at once. He’ll get there soon enough, never fear.”

“William Pitt was Prime Minister at the age of twenty-five,” declared Mrs. Ellery. It was clear she had made up her mind that anything less than that would be unworthy of her son’s transcendent ability.

There was a moment’s silence. Then: “What can we do about it, Mother?”

She sat up straight at that, fixing him intently with her vivid blue eyes. “You can do something, Francis. But you must bring yourself first to be sympathetic and—yes, a mite unselfish.”

“I’ll try to be both. I hope I haven’t been too lacking in those qualities in the past.”

Her voice quivered. “He’s such a wonderful boy, Francis! You must do this for him. You must, Francis!”

“Do what? Tell me what you’ve got in your mind.”

The poodle for no good reason at all raised its head and barked. Mrs. Ellery slapped it impatiently. “Naughty dog! To bother me at a time like this!” She looked at her oldest son with a hint of tears. “It’s about his engagement. Francis, I’m sorry to tell you that it’s not all plain sailing.”

“The Duke is against it?” Knowing His Grace of Westgate, Frank was prepared for opposition in that quarter.

Mrs. Ellery’s face flushed with anger. “Yes, the Duke is against it. I can’t understand it. I—I’m so upset when I think about it that I don’t know what to say. After all, Mary is no beauty. And Caradoc—well, my Caradoc could pick and choose. They should feel honored that his choice has fallen on her. They should indeed.” She swallowed hard. “He’s a stubborn old fool!”

“I’m surprised he allowed Mary to come to London with you under the circumstances.”

“It’s a secret.” His mother lowered her voice instinctively. “Mary is supposed to be visiting her cousin, Melisande Courcy, at Great Bayles. The poor child felt she would die if she couldn’t hear Caradoc make his speech in the House, so we planned things this way. She’s leaving right after breakfast.”

“It’s too bad the old boy is against it,” he said. “Isn’t there some way he can be won around?”

“That’s the point exactly. It would do Everything for Caradoc.” As his mother said this, Frank had an uncomfortable feeling that the obvious advantages of the match had played some part in Caradoc’s decision. He hoped he was wrong, for he was fond of Mary and did not want to see her hurt in any way.

“I know he looks on us as climbers,” said Frank, thinking back. “There was that trouble also over fishing rights, and then Father bought the old Fenelon farm under his nose. He and Father disagreed about many things. They didn’t get along at all.”

Mrs. Ellery’s eyes hardened. “Your father, Francis, didn’t get along with anyone.” Frank had always known how things stood between his parents. Joseph Ellery was many years older than the young bride he had found in the crowded home of a West Country vicar. He had a profitable printing business at the time and no doubt had looked a good catch to Amy Lawcey, with her four older sisters and the dreary life she shared with them at Little Vandery. After bearing him three sons, however, she had made it abundantly clear that she had nothing but detestation for her moody, ambitious spouse. The loss of the promised title had been the final blow. It had seemed at times to Frank that she included him in her resentment because of the likeness he bore his father.

“Well,” he asked, “what steps do you propose we take to soften the old boy toward us?”

“There would be no difficulty at all if Caradoc had been the first son.” She watched him closely as she said this.

“It’s a little late to do anything about that.”

“Well, not necessarily. There’s something we can do. There is something, Francis, if you’ll only see things in their right light.” There was a pause, and then she went on in an almost wheedling tone. “You go to Caster Towers so seldom. I’m sure you’ve never loved the place the way Caradoc does. He seems to be—well, growing into it. He rides over the farms every day; and he’s such a fine horseman, sitting up so straight in his saddle! He loves to fish at Willars Bend. He even likes to direct the help and discuss matters with the tenants. He’s quite the squire now.”

“And what you want me to do is to transfer the Towers to Carr?” There was a weary note in Frank’s voice, as though he were realizing for the first time how exclusively her affections and interests were pledged to his brother.

“No, to sell it to him. To—well, to make a trade.” She was speaking rapidly and nodding her head as though to compel his acquiescence. “The place means so little to you——”

“Why are you so sure of that?”

“Well, you come down so seldom.”

“Has it occurred to you that I’m so busy making the money to keep the Towers running that I haven’t the time? You might be surprised, Mother, if you knew how much we spend these days.”

“Francis, you’re just saying that. I know how little you care for the place. And it would make all the difference if Caradoc had the Towers. I mean as far as the Duke is concerned. Mary sounded him out after she had said yes to Caradoc, and he was quite violent about it. He said—I’m telling you everything frankly—that if it had been you she wanted, he wouldn’t have minded, but he wouldn’t let his daughter marry a landless second son who had suffered reverses.”

“Reverses? Just what does that mean?”

“Surely you know about it.”

“I know nothing about it at all.” Frank’s tone had become sharp. “If Carr has been in difficulties, he hasn’t seen fit to consult me. He never does, of course. He always makes it clear he doesn’t value my opinions.”

“You know how he is, Francis. He’s so self-reliant. And so proud. He doesn’t like to lean on anyone. He said to me, ‘Mother, what I’ve done is my own trouble.’ ” She looked almost pleadingly at her oldest son. “He saw this coming and he wanted so much to better his position. He put some of his money in colonial ventures which haven’t turned out very well. There have been losses.”

Frank got up and began to pace about the room. A needlepoint footstool got in the way of his stiff leg and almost tripped him. He resented any mishaps due to his lameness, and he kicked the stool aside angrily. He was finding it hard to control himself. Those so-called colonial ventures had been outright swindles. He had known about them and had warned his brother, had supplied him with proofs of their worthlessness. And there had been no need for Caradoc to better his position. The will had left the two residences to Frank as the oldest son, but it had provided a very considerable sum of money for Caradoc as an equivalent; their mother had seen to that. Each of the three sons had been left his one share in the Tablet. Humphrey, now in India with his regiment, had been the one to come off badly; poor little Hump, who had never complained about the small sum of money he had inherited with his tenth interest.

He stopped in front of his mother. “Are the losses heavy?”

She nodded reluctantly. “Heavy enough, I’m afraid. The poor boy has none of his father’s capacity for business. Sometimes I’m glad of it.” She hastened to add, “That’s one of the reasons he must get into office as soon as possible.”

“If he has thrown away any considerable part of the money Father left him, he’s in no position to make a trade with me.”

Her eyes began to show a hostile gleam. “I can almost believe it’s your father speaking when you say things like that. And in that Tone.”

“Is that anything for me to be ashamed of?” Frank felt a sudden surge of loyalty for the bitter, aloof man who had done so much for all of them. “Father was a remarkable man. He made the Tablet the best newspaper in England. I’m proud to be like him.”

Perhaps she realized she had gone too far. She did not reply at once but got to her feet and walked behind a dainty screen in one corner of the room, where she applied a dampened towel to her face.

She returned and sat down. “Talk like this always upsets me, as you know. But we must get something settled. A fair arrangement can be made, I’m sure.”

“But what kind of an arrangement could be made which would be fair to me? After all, Carr and I shared equally. Would he include in the deal his interest in the Tab?”

Mrs. Ellery protested indignantly at this suggestion. “He could never keep up the Towers,” she said, “if his income was cut off. Surely you must see that.”

Frank laughed. “Yes, I begin to see, Mother. Carr is to have his cake and eat it too. Or rather, having eaten a good part of his own, I’m to hand over the biggest part of mine to him. It’s a gift you mean, after all.”

“Now you are talking like your father, and I don’t mind saying, Francis Ellery, that I don’t like it. We have a suggestion to make but you won’t listen.”

Frank seated himself again. He was trying to think of ways to make her see the injustice of what she was proposing. He took no special pride in the ownership of the great old house which had stood for so many centuries, but the land was a different matter. He loved the rolling sweep of its green acres around the many twists and turns of Philips River, the line of its wooded hills against the northern sky; he loved it at least as much as Caradoc. He had had his dreams of the day when he would marry and settle down there. It was an inheritance that gave him eligibility as a suitor, even if his fancy should soar far above his social standing. Even—well, it did not seem completely impossible, after all. Many of the émigrés had married to escape the difficulties of their position. As a landed proprietor he might have a chance. His mother was asking him to throw this chance away.

“Has it occurred to you,” he asked, “that I may want to marry myself?”

“You’ll have the town house. And you’ll do well, as your father did. You could buy another place later.”

“Must Carr’s career be put above everything? Have I no prospect of a career which might be furthered by retaining the place?”

His mother regarded him with a set look. “Surely,” she began, “you won’t let any feeling of jealousy influence you now that Caradoc has shown us what he is capable of——”

“Well, what is the arrangement you have to propose?”

“A payment of money. One thousand pounds. That’s all the poor boy can spare now. Then he’ll agree to buy the second tenth he’s allowed in the will as soon as he’s married. He and Mary could manage that between them, and it would be turned over to you. That would give you a share almost large enough to control the paper. That would be worth some sacrifice, wouldn’t it? Of course, the transfer of the property would have to be made at once in order to win the Duke over.”

Frank indulged in some hasty calculations. “What I would receive would represent a little more than half the value of the property. Do you realize that, Mother?”

“You know the will provides that, when Clayhorn dies, his heirs must offer to sell back his interest. Caradoc would agree to let you assume it all.”

He felt that he would not be able to contain himself if the discussion were continued.

“Carr knows, of course, that you’re making this suggestion to me?”

She hesitated. “Yes. We’ve talked it over several times. He’s pinning all his hopes on it.”

“Does Mary know?”

“No, no. We’ve said nothing to her.”

“I’m glad of that. I’m sure she would be unhappy about it if she knew.” He was silent for a moment. “Well, Mother, the best I can say is that I’ll think it over.”

In the hall he met Aunt Francilea. She was prepared for the long drive back to her cottage on the Sussex coast. A scarlet pelisse was wrapped voluminously around her, and she wore on her head something fearful and wonderful which resembled in a curious way the dome of St. Paul’s. Apparently she sensed that something was wrong from the expression of his face, for she seized him brusquely by the arm and swung him around.

“What has the queen been saying to you, Frank?”

“We’ve been discussing business matters.”

“There’s more to it than that. I know you, my boy, and I can see you’re all upset.” The old lady tightened her lips into an ominous line. “Now you listen to me, Frank. Whatever this is, I won’t have it! Don’t you give in to her. She’s your own mother, so I suppose you’re bound to stand up for her; but just the same, I’m going to tell you something for your own good. I’ve understood Amy Lawcey from the first moment my poor brother brought her to meet me. She’s a selfish woman and she’s trying to talk you into something. I don’t know what it is and I’m sure you won’t tell me. But I know one thing. It won’t be to your best interests. It’s something she wants for herself—or for Caradoc.” She smiled reluctantly. “I love Caradoc. No woman could help it, I guess. But he’s more Lawcey than Ellery. And you’re all Ellery, Frank.”

“It concerns Carr’s career.”

“Damn his career! Oh, I suppose he’ll do well enough in politics. He’s a glib young rascal. But I still say the best career for him would be to marry some girl with a lot of money. I suppose he’s going to marry Mary Murreys because the Westgate connection will help him in the House.” She laid a compelling hand on Frank’s arm. “You’re too easy, young man. I don’t know where you get it; certainly it doesn’t show in either family. Well, you mustn’t be easy this time. Whatever Amy’s asking you to do, say no. If you don’t, I may change my will.”

[1]	Frog-and-Toe was the cant name of the moment for London.

[2]	The morgue.