CHAPTER XXV.
"I WOULD DO IT NOW."
Though it was rumoured all over London that the Duke of Omnium wasdying, his Grace had been dressed and taken out of his bed-chamberinto a sitting-room, when Madame Goesler was brought into hispresence by Lady Glencora Palliser. He was reclining in a greatarm-chair, with his legs propped up on cushions, and a respectableold lady in a black silk gown and a very smart cap was attendingto his wants. The respectable old lady took her departure when theyounger ladies entered the room, whispering a word of instructionto Lady Glencora as she went. "His Grace should have his broth athalf-past four, my lady, and a glass and a half of champagne. HisGrace won't drink his wine out of a tumbler, so perhaps your ladyshipwon't mind giving it him at twice."
"Marie has come," said Lady Glencora.
"I knew she would come," said the old man, turning his head roundslowly on the back of his chair. "I knew she would be good to me tothe last." And he laid his withered hand on the arm of his chair, sothat the woman whose presence gratified him might take it within hersand comfort him.
"Of course I have come," said Madame Goesler, standing close by himand putting her left arm very lightly on his shoulder. It was allthat she could do for him, but it was in order that she might do thisthat she had been summoned from London to his side. He was wan andworn and pale,--a man evidently dying, the oil of whose lamp was allburned out; but still as he turned his eyes up to the woman's facethere was a remnant of that look of graceful faineant nobility whichhad always distinguished him. He had never done any good, but hehad always carried himself like a duke, and like a duke he carriedhimself to the end.
"He is decidedly better than he was this morning," said LadyGlencora.
"It is pretty nearly all over, my dear. Sit down, Marie. Did theygive you anything after your journey?"
"I could not wait, Duke."
"I'll get her some tea," said Lady Glencora. "Yes, I will. I'll do itmyself. I know he wants to say a word to you alone." This she addedin a whisper.
But sick people hear everything, and the Duke did hear the whisper."Yes, my dear;--she is quite right. I am glad to have you for aminute alone. Do you love me, Marie?"
It was a foolish question to be asked by a dying old man of a youngwoman who was in no way connected with him, and whom he had neverseen till some three or four years since. But it was asked withfeverish anxiety, and it required an answer. "You know I love you,Duke. Why else should I be here?"
"It is a pity you did not take the coronet when I offered it you."
"Nay, Duke, it was no pity. Had I done so, you could not have had usboth."
"I should have wanted only you."
"And I should have stood aloof,--in despair to think that I wasseparating you from those with whom your Grace is bound up soclosely. We have ever been dear friends since that."
"Yes;--we have been dear friends. But--" Then he closed his eyes, andput his long thin fingers across his face, and lay back awhile insilence, still holding her by the other hand. "Kiss me, Marie," hesaid at last; and she stooped over him and kissed his forehead. "Iwould do it now if I thought it would serve you." She only shook herhead and pressed his hand closely. "I would; I would. Such thingshave been done, my dear."
"I would; I would."]
"Such a thing shall never be done by me, Duke."
They remained seated side by side, the one holding the other by thehand, but without uttering another word, till Lady Glencora returnedbringing a cup of tea and a morsel of toast in her own hand. MadameGoesler, as she took it, could not help thinking how it might havebeen with her had she accepted the coronet which had been offered. Inthat case she might have been a duchess herself, but assuredly shewould not have been waited upon by a future duchess. As it was, therewas no one in that family who had not cause to be grateful to her.When the Duke had sipped a spoonful of his broth, and swallowed hisallowance of wine, they both left him, and the respectable old ladywith the smart cap was summoned back to her position. "I suppose hewhispered something very gracious to you," Lady Glencora said whenthey were alone.
"Very gracious."
"And you were gracious to him,--I hope."
"I meant to be."
"I'm sure you did. Poor old man! If you had done what he asked you Iwonder whether his affection would have lasted as it has done."
"Certainly not, Lady Glen. He would have known that I had injuredhim."
"I declare I think you are the wisest woman I ever met, Madame Max.I am sure you are the most discreet. If I had always been as wise asyou are!"
"You always have been wise."
"Well,--never mind. Some people fall on their feet like cats; but youare one of those who never fall at all. Others tumble about in themost unfortunate way, without any great fault of their own. Think ofthat poor Lady Laura."
"Yes, indeed."
"I suppose it's true about Mr. Kennedy. You've heard of it of coursein London." But as it happened Madame Goesler had not heard thestory. "I got it from Barrington Erle, who always writes to me ifanything happens. Mr. Kennedy has fired a pistol at the head ofPhineas Finn."
"At Phineas Finn!"
"Yes, indeed. Mr. Finn went to him at some hotel in London. Noone knows what it was about; but Mr. Kennedy went off in a fit ofjealousy, and fired a pistol at him."
"He did not hit him?"
"It seems not. Mr. Finn is one of those Irish gentlemen who alwaysseem to be under some special protection. The ball went through hiswhiskers and didn't hurt him."
"And what has become of Mr. Kennedy?"
"Nothing, it seems. Nobody sent for the police, and he has beenallowed to go back to Scotland,--as though a man were permitted byspecial Act of Parliament to try to murder his wife's lover. It wouldbe a bad law, because it would cause such a deal of bloodshed."
"But he is not Lady Laura's lover," said Madame Goesler, gravely.
"That would make the law difficult, because who is to say whether aman is or is not a woman's lover?"
"I don't think there was ever anything of that kind."
"They were always together, but I dare say it was Platonic. Ibelieve these kind of things generally are Platonic. And as for LadyLaura;--heavens and earth!--I suppose it must have been Platonic.What did the Duke say to you?"
"He bade me kiss him."
"Poor dear old man. He never ceases to speak of you when you areaway, and I do believe he could not have gone in peace without seeingyou. I doubt whether in all his life he ever loved any one as heloves you. We dine at half-past seven, dear: and you had better justgo into his room for a moment as you come down. There isn't a soulhere except Sir Omicron Pie, and Plantagenet, and two of the othernephews,--whom, by the bye, he has refused to see. Old Lady Hartletopwanted to come."
"And you wouldn't have her?"
"I couldn't have refused. I shouldn't have dared. But the Duke wouldnot hear of it. He made me write to say that he was too weak to seeany but his nearest relatives. Then he made me send for you, mydear;--and now he won't see the relatives. What shall we do if LadyHartletop turns up? I'm living in fear of it. You'll have to be shutup out of sight somewhere if that should happen."
During the next two or three days the Duke was neither much betternor much worse. Bulletins appeared in the newspapers, though no oneat Matching knew from whence they came. Sir Omicron Pie, who, havingretired from general practice, was enabled to devote his time to the"dear Duke," protested that he had no hand in sending them out. Hedeclared to Lady Glencora every morning that it was only a questionof time. "The vital spark is on the spring," said Sir Omicron, wavinga gesture heavenward with his hand. For three days Mr. Palliser wasat Matching, and he duly visited his uncle twice a day. But not asyllable was ever said between them beyond the ordinary words ofcompliments. Mr. Palliser spent his time with his private secretary,working out endless sums and toiling for unapproachable results inreference to decimal coinage. To him his uncle's death would be agreat blow, as in his eyes to be Chancellor of the Exchequer was
muchmore than to be Duke of Omnium. For herself Lady Glencora was nearlyequally indifferent, though she did in her heart of hearts wish thather son should go to Eton with the title of Lord Silverbridge.
On the third morning the Duke suddenly asked a question of MadameGoesler. The two were again sitting near to each other, and the Dukewas again holding her hand; but Lady Glencora was also in the room."Have you not been staying with Lord Chiltern?"
"Yes, Duke."
"He is a friend of yours."
"I used to know his wife before they were married."
"Why does he go on writing me letters about a wood?" This he asked ina wailing voice, as though he were almost weeping. "I know nothingof Lord Chiltern. Why does he write to me about the wood? I wish hewouldn't write to me."
"He does not know that you are ill, Duke. By-the-bye, I promised tospeak to Lady Glencora about it. He says that foxes are poisoned atTrumpeton Wood."
"I don't believe a word of it," said the Duke. "No one would poisonfoxes in my wood. I wish you'd see about it, Glencora. Plantagenetwill never attend to anything. But he shouldn't write to me. He oughtto know better than to write letters to me. I will not have peoplewriting letters to me. Why don't they write to Fothergill?" and thenthe Duke began in truth to whimper.
"I'll put it all right," said Lady Glencora.
"I wish you would. I don't like them to say there are no foxes; andPlantagenet never will attend to anything." The wife had long sinceceased to take the husband's part when accusations such as this werebrought against him. Nothing could make Mr. Palliser think it worthhis while to give up any shred of his time to such a matter as thepreservation of foxes.
On the fourth day the catastrophe happened which Lady Glencora hadfeared. A fly with a pair of horses from the Matching Road stationwas driven up to the door of the Priory, and Lady Hartletop wasannounced. "I knew it," said Lady Glencora, slapping her hand down onthe table in the room in which she was sitting with Madame Goesler.Unfortunately the old lady was shown into the room before MadameGoesler could escape, and they passed each other on the threshold.The Dowager Marchioness of Hartletop was a very stout old lady, nowperhaps nearer to seventy than sixty-five years of age, who for manyyears had been the intimate friend of the Duke of Omnium. In latterdays, during which she had seen but little of the Duke himself, shehad heard of Madame Max Goesler, but she had never met that lady.Nevertheless, she knew the rival friend at a glance. Some instincttold her that that woman with the black brow and the dark curls wasMadame Goesler. In these days the Marchioness was given to waddlingrather than to walking, but she waddled past the foreign female,--asshe had often called Madame Max,--with a dignified though duck-likestep. Lady Hartletop was a bold woman; and it must be supposed thatshe had some heart within her or she would hardly have made sucha journey with such a purpose. "Dear Lady Hartletop," said LadyGlencora, "I am so sorry that you should have had this trouble."
"I must see him," said Lady Hartletop. Lady Glencora put both herhands together piteously, as though deprecating her visitor's wrath."I must insist on seeing him."
"Sir Omicron has refused permission to any one to visit him."
"I shall not go till I've seen him. Who was that lady?"
"A friend of mine," said Lady Glencora, drawing herself up.
"She is--, Madame Goesler."
"That is her name, Lady Hartletop. She is my most intimate friend."
"Does she see the Duke?"
Lady Glencora, when expressing her fear that the woman would cometo Matching, had confessed that she was afraid of Lady Hartletop.And a feeling of dismay--almost of awe--had fallen upon her onhearing the Marchioness announced. But when she found herself thuscross-examined, she resolved that she would be bold. Nothing onearth should induce her to open the door of the Duke's room to LadyHartletop, nor would she scruple to tell the truth about MadameGoesler. "Yes," she said, "Madame Goesler does see the Duke."
"And I am to be excluded!"
"My dear Lady Hartletop, what can I do? The Duke for some time pasthas been accustomed to the presence of my friend, and therefore herpresence now is no disturbance. Surely that can be understood."
"I should not disturb him."
"He would be inexpressibly excited were he to know that you were evenin the house. And I could not take it upon myself to tell him."
Then Lady Hartletop threw herself upon a sofa, and began to weeppiteously. "I have known him for more than forty years," she moaned,through her choking tears. Lady Glencora's heart was softened, andshe was kind and womanly; but she would not give way about the Duke.It would, as she knew, have been useless, as the Duke had declaredthat he would see no one except his eldest nephew, his nephew's wife,and Madame Goesler.
That evening was very dreadful to all of them at Matching,--exceptto the Duke, who was never told of Lady Hartletop's perseverance.The poor old woman could not be sent away on that afternoon, and wastherefore forced to dine with Mr. Palliser. He, however, was warnedby his wife to say nothing in the lady's presence about his uncle,and he received her as he would receive any other chance guestat his wife's table. But the presence of Madame Goesler made thechief difficulty. She herself was desirous of disappearing for thatevening, but Lady Glencora would not permit it. "She has seen you,my dear, and asked about you. If you hide yourself, she'll say allsorts of things." An introduction was therefore necessary, and LadyHartletop's manner was grotesquely grand. She dropped a very lowcurtsey, and made a very long face, but she did not say a word. Inthe evening the Marchioness sat close to Lady Glencora, whisperingmany things about the Duke; and condescending at last to a finalentreaty that she might be permitted to see him on the followingmorning. "There is Sir Omicron," said Lady Glencora, turning roundto the little doctor. But Lady Hartletop was too proud to appeal toSir Omicron, who, as a matter of course, would support the orders ofLady Glencora. On the next morning Madame Goesler did not appear atthe breakfast-table, and at eleven Lady Hartletop was taken back tothe train in Lady Glencora's carriage. She had submitted herself todiscomfort, indignity, fatigue, and disappointment; and it had allbeen done for love. With her broad face, and her double chin, and herheavy jowl, and the beard that was growing round her lips, she didnot look like a romantic woman; but, in spite of appearances, romanceand a duck-like waddle may go together. The memory of those fortyyears had been strong upon her, and her heart was heavy because shecould not see that old man once again. Men will love to the last,but they love what is fresh and new. A woman's love can live on therecollection of the past, and cling to what is old and ugly. "Whatan episode!" said Lady Glencora, when the unwelcome visitor wasgone;--"but it's odd how much less dreadful things are than you thinkthey will be. I was frightened when I heard her name; but you seewe've got through it without much harm."
A week passed by, and still the Duke was living. But now he was tooweak to be moved from one room to another, and Madame Goesler passedtwo hours each day sitting by his bedside. He would lie with his handout upon the coverlid, and she would put hers upon it; but very fewwords passed between them. He grumbled again about the TrumpetonWoods, and Lord Chiltern's interference, and complained of hisnephew's indifference. As to himself and his own condition, he seemedto be, at any rate, without discomfort, and was certainly free fromfear. A clergyman attended him, and gave him the sacrament. He tookit,--as the champagne prescribed by Sir Omicron, or the few mouthfulsof chicken broth which were administered to him by the old lady withthe smart cap; but it may be doubted whether he thought much more ofthe one remedy than of the other. He knew that he had lived, and thatthe thing was done. His courage never failed him. As to the future,he neither feared much nor hoped much; but was, unconsciously,supported by a general trust in the goodness and the greatness ofthe God who had made him what he was. "It is nearly done now, Marie,"he said to Madame Goesler one evening. She only pressed his hand inanswer. His condition was too well understood between them to allowof her speaking to him of any possible recovery. "It has been a greatcomfort to me that I have known
you," he said.
"Oh no!"
"A great comfort;--only I wish it had been sooner. I could havetalked to you about things which I never did talk of to any one. Iwonder why I should have been a duke, and another man a servant."
"God Almighty ordained such difference."
"I'm afraid I have not done it well;--but I have tried; indeed I havetried." Then she told him he had ever lived as a great nobleman oughtto live. And, after a fashion, she herself believed what she wassaying. Nevertheless, her nature was much nobler than his; and sheknew that no man should dare to live idly as the Duke had lived.
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