Читать книгу This House to Let - William Le Queux - Страница 5

Table of Contents

When Hugh got back to his quarters the first thing he did was to hunt up his great friend Jack Pomfret. He found that young gentleman stretched in front of a blazing fire—ft was a very chilly March—and smoking a cigar nearly as big as himself. Jack Pomfret, it may be said, was quite a small man, of about the size and weight that would be associated with the coxswain of a 'Varsity boat.

Next to Murchison, perhaps Pomfret was the most popular man in the regiment. He was certainly the poorest, for although he came of an aristocratic family, the said family had very little to bless themselves with.

If it had been left to his immediate relatives, Jack would have had to enter a line regiment, and subsist on his pay, supplemented by more or less regular small remittances from his hard-up father.

But fortune had smiled on Jack when he was in his cradle. A rich great-aunt had been his godmother, and from the date of his christening had taken him under her wing. She had been crossed in love when quite a girl, would never marry. Jack Pomfret had a handsome, but not an extravagant, allowance now, and he would come into his great-aunt's fortune when she died.

Jack always complained that his aunt was a bit thrifty, and did not fully understand the imperative necessities of a young subaltern in an expensive regiment like the Twenty-fifth.

As a matter of fact, Miss Harding, his mother's youngest sister, suffered from acute indigestion, existed principally on soda-water and biscuits, lived in a comparatively small house with one manservant and two maids, and saved a great deal every year out of a large income. She loved Jack very much, but she had little or no sympathy with the follies and indiscretions of youth. She had a hazy sort of idea that an officer should live within his pay, as she lived well within her income. Needless to say that Jack had long disabused her of this silly idea.

"Great tidings, old man," cried Murchison, breaking in upon the meditative little man, blowing great clouds of smoke. "I'll give you six guesses."

"Not in a guessing mood," returned Jack shortly. "All my brain-power is used up. I am trying to concoct a letter to the dear old aunt—God bless her, she is one of the best!—insinuating gently that a cheque for a couple of hundred would be very convenient at the present moment."

Murchison took a seat. "Silly old ass," he said in a kindly tone, "if you want a couple of hundred have it from me, and don't worry about the aunt. You can pay me when she stumps-up. From what you have told me about your respected relative, it might be a lengthy business. I suppose you will plead debts. She might offer to discharge them, and ask the names of the creditors. In that case, old chap, you wouldn't handle much personally, would you?"

Pomfret laughed genially. He was always very hard-up, but he was never depressed for very long. There was always a silver lining to every cloud.

"She's the sweetest, dearest soul on God's earth," he said in a tone of conviction. "But you know, Hughie old man, she doesn't understand—I say emphatically, she doesn't understand—you know what I mean. She is early Victorian. As to your suggestion, I appreciate it very much, but emphatically, no." He added, with a whimsical smile: "Yours is a loan, I should have to pay back; Heaven knows when I could do so. The dear old aunt, well, it is a gift, no question of paying back. I haven't thought it all out yet, but in the early cool of to-morrow morning, I shall write her a beautiful and touching letter. I know by experience it will bring a cheque."

"You're an artful young devil, I know," said Murchison. Straight as a die himself, he was not too appreciative of his friend's diplomatic methods.

On the other hand, was he justified in criticising? He had a magnificent allowance from his opulent father. Poor Jack, with a somewhat puritanical and niggardly aunt at his back, had just to worry along, and live in this expensive regiment from hand to mouth.

There was no more to be said on this subject.

"Well, Jack, are you in a mood to listen to my news?"

Pomfret leaned forward, and flicked the ash oft his cigar. "Yes, I think I am. Begone dull care! I shall write that letter the first thing to-morrow morning."

"Well, I have made the acquaintance of that pretty Burton girl, whom nobody in Blankfield visits."

Mr. Pomfret emitted a little chuckling sound. "Lucky devil. How did you do it? I thought she was unapproachable. She walks down the High Street, 'with a haughty stare, and her nose in the air,' and looks neither to left nor right. How did you manage it, old man?"

Hugh laughed. "Oh, as easy as anything. Just dropped in to Winkley's, expecting to see a lot of you fellows with your best girls. Not a soul there I knew. Room full—every table full, save for one at which Miss Burton was sitting alone—sat at the one table, vis-à-vis with Miss Burton. There it is in a nutshell."

Mr. Pomfret grinned broadly. "Oh, Hughie, what I would have given for your chance. You know I am awfully gone on that girl, she is so sweet and dainty, far and away the prettiest girl in Blankfield. What did you make of your chance?"

"As much as could be made in five or ten minutes. She told me a lot about things, her disappointment in finding that the Blankfield people would not call upon her, and that, excepting her brother, she had not a soul to speak to."

"Poor little soul!" said Mr. Pomfret, in a voice of the deepest sympathy. "Poor little soul!" he repeated.

"Well, we talked for some little time, some ten minutes perhaps, I don't think it could have been much longer. And then—then—you will never believe it, Jack—she asked me to call, and be introduced to her brother."

Mr. Pomfret was quite young, in fact he was the baby of the regiment. But having been educated at a public school, he had learned a certain amount of worldly wisdom rather early. He gave expression to it now.

"If she were living with her mother, or a maiden aunt, Hughie, the thing would be so easy. But the brother, we have seen him walking beside that lovely girl. It would be difficult to class him. It would be perhaps too much to say he was either a bounder or a cad—he's not boisterous enough for the one or common enough for the other. But clearly, he's not a gentleman or the imitation of one."

"No," answered Hugh. "Your description of the brother quite fits. He is neither fish, flesh, fowl, nor good red-herring, as the old saw has it. Then the girl is so different. She is, to an extent, frank and unconventional."

"She must be, or she wouldn't have asked you to call upon her," interrupted the astute Mr. Pomfret.

"Quite so, I perfectly agree. But upon my soul, Jack, she has the most perfect manners. She does these sort of things in such a way that you cease to wonder why she does them."

"I understand." Mr. Pomfret looked very wise. "There's a wonderful fascination about the girl. She radiates it, even when you pass her in the street. By Gad, there's not a young woman in Blankfield who can hold a candle to her. Well, Hughie, what are you going to do about the invitation?"

"I'm in two minds, old man, to go or stay away. There's the brother, you see."

"There's the brother," repeated Mr. Pomfret, "and a dashed disappointing sort of a brother, too. If it had only been a mother, or a maiden aunt! what a priceless opportunity! And yet it seems a bit too good to be lost."

"But the brother, what about him?" Hugh insisted.

"The brother is, of course, a stumbling-block. You can't ask him to Mess. 'Old Fireworks' will stand more from you than anybody, but he would never stand Burton. He would be calling him 'Your Grace' or 'Your worship' or something."

"Old Fireworks," it may be explained, was the nickname of the respected Colonel of the gallant Twenty-fifth Lancers. It had been conferred upon him, on account of his explosive temper. He was also a rigid disciplinarian.

"I shall not go," said Hugh after a brief pause.

Mr. Pomfret was thinking deeply. He pulled at his big cigar in a meditative fashion. Then at length, out of his wisdom, he spoke:

"Let us reason this out, my well-beloved friend. A very pretty girl asks you to go and see her, she is unfortunately hampered by an undesirable brother. You accept their hospitality, but you know he is not a man you can ask to Mess. But you can take him to an hotel, and feed him up there. Tell him the Colonel's kicked up rough about guests, any lie you like, to save his amour propre."

"A good idea, Jack. Have you anything more to say? Don't forget that if I go to Rosemount, the news will be all over Blankfield in five minutes."

Mr. Pomfret snapped his fingers. "Who cares a fig for the Blankfield people? Everybody knows, or ought to know, that a soldier loves and rides away. And the Blankfield girls are dull enough, Heaven knows, I wouldn't give a thought to them."

"Then you advise me to call, and be introduced to the brother, eh?"

"Of course, we shall be off in another two months, and leave only tender memories behind us." Mr. Pomfret was a practical person, if ever there was one. "Let us seize the passing day. By the way, have you any objection to taking me up to call with you, when you go? Say no, if you have the slightest objection."

Hugh Murchison looked at him squarely. "No, old chap, not the slightest. The girl interests me in a way, chiefly, I think, because I can't quite make her out, can't determine whether she is very cunning or very simple, but I am not attracted in the ordinary sense. I take it you are."

Pomfret's look of indifference changed to one of gravity. "Yes, Hughie, I am. I would like to see that girl at close quarters."

Hugh rose. "Right, we will call together, and in the meantime we will keep it from the other fellows?"

"Good Heavens, I should think so, we should be chaffed to death," was Jack's fervent answer.

A few days later, the two young men walked to Rosemount. It was a villa sort of house, set in a small garden, very carefully kept. The windows were ornamented with boxes of flowers. Small as the establishment was, there was an air of elegance about it, an elegance perhaps of restricted means but of refined taste.

Pomfret nudged his senior officer. "I say, they've turned it into a very decent sort of little crib, haven't they? I should say that is due to the girl."

Hugh laughed. "Perhaps it is the brother after all. He might be an artist, you know. Artists are often very rum-looking chaps."

"Artist be hanged," said Pomfret emphatically. "I'll bet you a fiver he isn't an artist, whatever he is. A 'bookie' or a 'bookie's' tout, more likely."

At the end of this short colloquy, they had reached the hall door. A very smart maidservant, in a becoming cap and apron, opened it. In answer to their inquiry, Miss Burton was in.

They were shown into the drawing-room. The young mistress of the house was reclining in an easy-chair; an open book lay on her lap.

She advanced towards them with that peculiar air of self-possession which had so impressed Hugh on his first meeting in the tea-shop. A hostess with years of social experience could not have been more at her ease than this young girl.

"How nice of you to come, after that very vague invitation," she said, in her clear, silvery voice.

She addressed Murchison first, and then turned swiftly to Pomfret, in whose eyes she doubtless recognised frank admiration of her peculiar attractiveness.

"I know your friend is going to introduce you in proper form. But it is really quite unnecessary. I know you are Mr. Pomfret. I have learned the names of all the officers from the tradespeople, also, my only friends in Blankfield. Perhaps Captain Murchison has told you what I confided to him the other day, that we are as isolated here as if we were on a desert island."

Mr. Pomfret sat down beside her on a small Chesterfield. From his vantage point he could gaze into the beautiful eyes, he could note the lustre of that fair, wavy hair.

"A beastly shame," growled the young subaltern, at a loss for appropriate words to express the enormities of Blankfield Society.

She turned away lightly, as if the subject interested her no further.

"I think we will have tea. My brother is engaged in scientific pursuits. when he can tear himself away, he will join us. Captain Murchison, will you kindly ring the bell?"

Truly, she had the manners of a woman of the world. She took the homage of the two men as an accomplished fact. The villadom of Blankfield could not produce such a hostess, so free from fussiness or exaggerated hospitality. You would have to go to the "county" to find her parallel. The two men exchanged appreciative glances. Whatever her origin, Miss Burton could shine in any circle in which she found herself permanently, or temporarily, located.

The tea was served, and over the tea-cups they chatted in desultory fashion. Then the drawing-room door opened, and Mr. Burton appeared. From the moment of his appearance, the atmosphere seemed to be changed. He advanced towards them with outstretched hands. His manner was extremely cordial, but it went beyond the limits of good taste. His tones were breezy but blusterous. There was a rasping and a vulgar ring in his voice.

"Welcome to our humble abode, gentlemen. It is very brave of you to come and visit the boycotted ones."

Hugh and Jack Pomfret fidgeted in their chairs. This common-looking young man was a bit too communicative about his private affairs. They had a slight suspicion that he had been indulging in alcohol, his manner was so unrestrained.

Mr. Burton sank down in his chair, and took a cup of tea from the hands of his attentive sister. The visitors did not see it, but she shot a warning glance at him, and in face of that warning glance, Mr. Burton, by a strong effort, pulled himself together.

"You see, gentlemen, I feel very sore about this matter; my sister has a calmer temperament, and she takes things as they come. Here we came from the North of Ireland, from a little town where we were highly looked up to, where we knew every man, woman and child in the place. We came here, and, as I say, we are boycotted."

Miss Burton looked at him severely. "George, I do not think it is very good taste of you to inflict your grievances upon these gentlemen, who have just come to make an afternoon call. Don't you think you could soothe your nerves better by getting back to your laboratory, or whatever you call it?"

Mr. Burton accepted the hint, and rose. He waved a genial hand towards the visitors.

"You will excuse me for a few moments. I have a most important experiment on. But I shall be back very shortly: I shall see you again before you leave."

The two young men devoutly wished that they might not see him again. The man was a confirmed and innate vulgarian. Both he and his sister, no doubt, felt very sore about their social ostracism, but how different were the methods of expression indulged in by the two. She explained the situation with a proud dignity, hiding her chagrin with a show of indifference. He was exposing his gaping wounds to the public eye with an air of ostentation.

"I must ask you to excuse my brother," said Miss Burton when her ebullient relative had left the room. "He has the true Irish temperament, it is impossible for him to conceal his feelings. He would like to go down the High Street, trailing his coat behind him, and inviting the residents to tread upon it, in real Irish fashion, so that he could indulge in a free fight with them."

The young men laughed cordially. They felt that a somewhat awkward situation had been saved by her ready tact, her rather humorous explanation.

But Murchison, the more level-headed of the two, looked at her very fixedly, as he said, "But you are Irish, too. How is it that you have learned to control your feelings so successfully?"

At such a direct question, he would have expected her to flush a little; at any rate, show some slight symptoms of embarrassment. But this remarkably self-possessed girl of twenty or thereabouts was as cool as a cucumber. She laughed her little silvery laugh.

"My brother and I are as wide apart as the North and South Poles," she said lightly. "Many people have commented on the fact. Would you like to know the reason?"

She directed a rather challenging glance in the direction of Pomfret, whom she rightly judged to be more susceptible to feminine influence than his friend.

"I should like to very much," was the subaltern's answer. That eloquent glance had completely subjugated the young man.

"Well, listen. My father was a hard-riding, gambling, hard-drinking Irish squire, who squandered his money and left little but debts behind him. My brother takes after him in certain qualities, thank Heaven not his least desirables ones. My mother was an Englishwoman, rather a puritanical sort of woman, who fell in love, perhaps a little injudiciously, and I think wore her life out in the attempt to curb my father's unhappy propensities. I take after my mother. You understand? George is really my half-brother by my father's first wife."

Pomfret nodded his head gravely. "I quite understand," he said, and his tone was one of conviction. Murchison preserved a benevolent attitude of neutrality. He was still thinking it all out.

Miss Burton was very pretty, nay, more than pretty, very charming, very attractive, gifted with a marvellous self-possession, very clever, very adroit. But was she as genuine and frank as she seemed? Pomfret evidently thought so, but Murchison was not quite sure.

Mr. George Burton, who took after his Irish father in several respects, according to his sister's account, made a re-appearance before the visitors left. There had been just a little suspicion at first that he had been indulging in the hard-drinking habits of his male parent. If so, that suspicion must be at once removed. He was bright, breezy and blusterous, but he was certainly master of himself. He advanced with the most cordial air.

"Gentlemen, I feel I owe you an apology. I had no right to intrude my private grievances upon you, even although I am very possessed with them. Please put it down to my Irish temperament. You will forgive me, I am sure."

He stretched out appealing hands, the hands of the plebeian as Murchison was quick to notice, nails bitten to the quick, coarse fingers and thumbs.

Murchison quietly ignored the outstretched hand. So did Pomfret, subjugated as he was with the charm and attractiveness of Miss Burton. He did not quite feel that he wanted to shake hands with this very terrible brother, who took after his Irish father.

"I apologise most sincerely, gentlemen," he repeated, "for my outburst just now. I had no right to inflict upon you a recital of my private grievances against the inhabitants of this wretched town. But I am a wild, excitable Irishman, whatever is in my mind has to come out. Please forgive me; I know my sister Norah never will."

He looked appealingly at the girl who sat there, calm and self-possessed as always, with a slight expression of contempt upon her charming face.

"I have already made excuses for you to Captain Murchison and Mr. Pomfret," she said coldly.

The visitors were very much embarrassed. What could they say to this dreadful person who seemed so utterly lacking in all the qualities of good breeding? Hugh remained silent, Pomfret opened his lips and murmured something about the whole affair being very regrettable.

But these somewhat incoherent remarks were quite enough to restore Mr. Burton to his normal state of easy buoyancy. He smiled affably.

"So that is all over. Well, I am delighted to see you, and it will not be my fault if your first visit is your last. Now, I propose you come round and have a little bit of dinner with us soon, so that we may get to know each other better. Any night that you are at liberty will suit us. We are not overwhelmed with invitations, as you can understand from what I have told you."

If Murchison had been by himself, he would have politely shelved the invitation. Miss Burton, who took after her English mother, was quite decent and ladylike. The brother was insufferable. Vulgarity, so to speak, oozed from him. He was offensive even in his geniality. In short, he was impossible.

But Pomfret took the wind out of his senior's sails.

"Sorry we are quite full up this week, but hardly anything on next. Shall we say Monday?"

Miss Burton took the matter out of her brother's hands by turning directly to Murchison.

"Monday, of course, will suit us. Will it suit you?" she asked him pointedly.

Taken by surprise, the unhappy young man could only mutter a reluctant affirmative. A few minutes later they left, pledged to partake of the Burtons' hospitality on the following Monday.

When they were safely outside, Murchison spoke severely to his brother officer.

"You've let us in for a nice thing. If you had left it to me, I would have got out of that dinner somehow."

"But I didn't want to get out of it," replied the unabashed junior. "We knew the brother was pretty bad all along. I don't know that on the whole he is much worse than we imagined. But she's a ripping girl. I want to see more of her."

"You silly young ass," growled Murchison; "I believe you've fallen head over ears in love with her."

And Pomfret, one of the most mercurial and light-hearted of subalterns, answered quite gravely:

"I rather fancy I have. I've never met a girl who appealed to me in quite the same sort of way."