CHAPTER XXVII
George's recovery, when the doctors had given up all hope, wassufficiently marvellous to suggest the idea that a certain power haddetermined--on the hangman's principle, perhaps--to give him thelongest of ropes; but it could in reality be traced to a moreterrestrial influence--namely, Lady Bellamy's nursing. Had it not beenfor this nursing, it is very certain that her patient would havejoined his forefathers in the Bratham churchyard. For whole days andnights she watched and tended him, scarcely closing her own eyes, andquite heedless of the danger of infection; till in the end sheconquered the fever, and snatched him from the jaws of the grave. Howoften has not a woman's devotion been successful in such a struggle!
On the Monday following the events narrated in the last chapter,George, now in an advanced stage of convalescence, though forbidden togo abroad for another fortnight, was sitting downstairs enjoying thewarm sunshine, and the sensation of returning life and vigour that wascreeping into his veins, when Lady Bellamy came into the room,bringing with her some medicine.
"Here is your tonic, George; it is the last dose that I can give you,as I am going back to my disconsolate husband at luncheon-time."
"I can't have you go away yet; I am not well enough."
"I must go, George; people will begin to talk if I stop here anylonger."
"Well, if you must, I suppose you must," he answered, sulkily. "But Imust say I think that you show a great want of consideration for mycomfort. Who is to look after me, I should like to know? I am far fromwell yet--far from well."
"Believe me," she said, softly, "I am very sorry to leave you, and amglad to have been of help to you, though you have never thought muchabout it."
"Oh, I am sure I am much obliged, but it is not likely that you wouldleave me to rot of fever without coming to look after me."
She sighed as she answered,
"You would not do as much for me."
"Oh, bother, Anne, don't get sentimental. Before you go, I must speakto you about that girl Angela. Have you taken any steps?"
Lady Bellamy started.
"What, are you still bent upon that project?"
"Of course I am. It seemed to me that all my illness was one longdream of her. I am more bent upon it than ever."
"And do you still insist upon my playing the part you had marked outfor me? Do you know, George, that there were times in your illnesswhen, if I had relaxed my care for a single five minutes, it wouldhave turned the scale against you, and that once I did not close myeyes for five nights? Look at me, how thin and worn I am: it is fromnursing you. I have saved your life. Surely you will not now force meto do this unnatural thing."
"If, my dear Anne, you had saved my life fifty times, I would stillforce you to do it. Ah! it is no use your looking at that safe. I haveno doubt that you got my keys and searched it whilst I was ill, but Iwas too sharp for you. I had the letters moved when I heard that youwere coming to nurse me. They are back there now, though. Howdisappointed you must have been!" And he chuckled.
"I should have done better to let you die, monster of wickedness andingratitude that you are!" she said, stamping her foot upon the floor,and the tears of vexation standing in her eyes.
"The letters, my dear Anne; remember that you have got to earn yourletters. I am very much obliged to you for your nursing, but businessis business."
She was silent for a moment, and then spoke in her ordinary tone.
"By the way, talking of letters, there was one came for you thismorning in your cousin Philip's handwriting, and with a Londonpostmark. Will you read it?"
"Read it--yes; anything from the father of my inamorata will bewelcome."
She fetched the letter and gave it him. He read it aloud. After a pageof congratulations on his convalescence, it ended,
"And now I want to make a proposal to you--viz., to buy back theIsleworth lands from you. I know that the place is distasteful to you,and will probably be doubly so after your severe illness; but, if youcare to keep the house and grounds, I am not particularly anxious toacquire them. I am prepared to offer a good price," &c. &c.
"I'll see him hanged first," was George's comment. "How did he get themoney?"
"Saved it and made it, I suppose."
"Well, at any rate, he shall not buy me out with it. No, no, MasterPhilip; I am not fond enough of you to do you that turn."
"It does not strike you," she said, coldly, "that you hold in yourhands a lever that may roll all your difficulties about this girl outof the way."
"By Jove, you are right, Anne. Trust a woman's brain. But I don't wantto sell the estates unless I am forced to."
"Would you rather part with the land, or give up your project ofmarrying Angela Caresfoot?"
"Why do you ask?"
"Because you will have to choose between the two."
"Then I had rather sell."
"You had better give it up, George. I am not superstitious, but I haveknowledge in things that you do not understand, and I foresee nothingbut disaster in this plan."
"Once and for all, Anne, I will not give it up whilst I have anybreath left in my body, and I take my oath that unless you help me,and help me honestly, I will expose you."
"Oh! I am your very humble servant; you may count on me. The galley-slave pulls well when the lash hangs over his shoulders," and shelaughed coldly.
Just then a servant announced that Mr. Caresfoot was at the door, andanxious to speak to his cousin. He was ordered to show him into thedrawing-room. As soon as he had gone on his errand, George said,
"I will not see him; say I am too unwell. But do you go, and see thatyou make the most of your chance."
Lady Bellamy nodded, and left the room. She found Philip in thedrawing-room.
"Ah! how do you do, Mr. Caresfoot? I come from your cousin to say thathe cannot see you to-day; he has scarcely recovered sufficiently fromthe illness through which I have been nursing him; but of course youknow all about that."
"Oh! yes, Lady Bellamy, I have heard all about it, including your ownbrave behaviour, to which, the doctor tells me, George owes his life.I am sorry that he cannot see me, though. I have just come down fromtown, and called in on my way from Roxham. I had some rather importantbusiness that I wanted to speak about."
"About your offer to repurchase the Isleworth lands?" she asked.
"Ah! you know of the affair. Yes, that was it."
"Then I am commissioned to give you a reply."
Philip listened anxiously.
"Your cousin absolutely refuses to sell any part of the lands."
"Will nothing chance his determination? I am ready to give a goodprice, and pay a separate valuation for the timber."
"Nothing; he does not intend to sell."
A deep depression spread itself over her hearer's face.
"Then there go the hopes of twenty years," he said. "For twenty longyears, ever since my misfortune, I have toiled and schemed to getthese lands back, and now it is all for nothing. Well, there isnothing more to be said," and he turned to go.
"Stop a minute, Mr. Caresfoot. Do you know, you interest me verymuch."
"I am proud to interest so charming a lady," he answered, a touch ofdepressed gallantry.
"That is as it should be; but you interest me because you are aninstance of the truth of the saying that every man has some rulingpassion, if only one could discover it. Why do you want theseparticular lands? Your money will buy others just as good."
"Why does a Swiss get home-sick? Why does a man defrauded of his ownwish to recover it?"
Lady Bellamy mused a little.
"What would you say if I showed you an easy way to get them?"
Philip turned sharply round with a new look of hope upon his face.
"You would earn my eternal gratitude--a gratitude that I should beglad to put into a practical shape."
She laughed.
"Oh! you must speak to Sir John about that. Now listen; I am going tosurprise you. Your cousin want
s to get married."
"Get married! George wants to get married!"
"Exactly so; and now I have a further surprise in store for you--hewants to marry your daughter Angela."
This time Philip said nothing, but he started in evident anduncomfortable astonishment. If Lady Bellamy wished to surprise him,she had certainly succeeded.
"Surely you are joking!" he said.
"I never was further from joking in my life; he is desperately in lovewith her, and wild to marry her."
"Well?"
"Well, don't you now see a way to force your cousin to sell thelands?"
"At the price of Angela's hand?"
"Precisely."
Philip walked up and down the room in thought. Though, as the readermay remember, he had himself, but a month before, been base enough tosuggest that his daughter should use her eyes to forward his projects,he had never, in justice to him be it said, dreamt of forcing her intoa marriage in every way little less than unnatural. His idea ofresponsibility towards his daughter was, as regards sins of omission,extremely lax, but there were some of commission that he did not careto face. Certain fears and memories oppressed him too much to allow ofit.
"Lady Bellamy," he said, presently, "you have known my cousin Georgeintimately for many years, and are probably sufficiently acquaintedwith his habits of life to know that such a marriage would be aninfamy."
"Many a man who has been wild in his youth makes a good husband," sheanswered, quietly.
"The more I think of it," went on Philip, excitedly, after the fashionof one who would lash himself into a passion, "the more I see theutter impossibility of any such thing, and I must say that I wonder atyour having undertaken such an errand. On the one hand, there is ayoung girl who, though I do not, from force of circumstances, see muchof myself, is, I believe, as good as she is handsome----"
"And on the other," broke in Lady Bellamy, ironically, "are theIsleworth estates."
"And on the other," went on Philip, without paying heed to her remark--"I am going to speak plainly, Lady Bellamy--is a man utterly devoidof the foundations of moral character, whose appearance is certainlyagainst him, who I have got reason to know is not to be trusted, andwho is old enough to be her father, and her cousin to boot--and youask me to forward such a marriage as this! I will have nothing to dowith it; my responsibilities as a father forbid it. It would be thewickedest thing I have ever done to put the girl into the power ofsuch a man."
Lady Bellamy burst into a low peal of laughter; she never laughedaloud. She thought that it was now time to throw him a little off hisbalance.
"Forgive me," she said, with her sweetest smile, "but you must admitthat there is something rather ludicrous in hearing the hero of thegreat Maria Lee scandal talking about moral character, and the fatherwho detests his daughter so much that he fears to look her in theface, and whose sole object is to rid himself of an encumbrance,prating of his paternal responsibilities."
Philip started visibly at her words.
"Ah! Mr. Caresfoot," she went on, "I surprise you by my knowledge, butwe women are sad spies, and it is my little amusement to find outother people's secrets, a very useful little amusement. I could tellyou many things----"
"I was about to say," broke in Philip, who had naturally no desire tosee more of the secrets of his life unveiled by Lady Bellamy, "that,even if I did wish to get rid of Angela, I should have littledifficulty in doing so, as young Heigham, who has been stopping at theAbbey House for a fortnight or so, is head over ears in love with her;indeed, I should think it highly probable that they are at this momentengaged."
It was Lady Bellamy's turn to start now.
"Ah!" she said, "I did not know that; that complicates matters." Andthen, with a sudden change of tone--"Mr. Caresfoot, as a friend, letme beg of you not to throw away such a chance in a hurry for the sakeof a few nonsensical ideas abut a girl. What is she, after all, thatshe should stand in the way of such grave interests as you have inhand? I tell you that he is perfectly mad about her. You can make yourown terms and fix your own price."
"Price! ay, that is what it would be--a price for her body and soul."
"Well, and what of it? The thing is done every day, only one does nottalk of it in that way."
"Who taught you, who were once a young girl yourself, to plead such acause as this?"
"Nonsense, it is a very good cause--a cause that will benefiteverybody, especially your daughter. George will get what he wants;you, with the recovery of the estates, will also recover your lostposition and reputation, both to a great extent an affair of landedproperty. Mr. Heigham will gain a little experience, whilst she willbloom into a great lady, and, like any other girl in the samecircumstances, learn to adore her husband in a few months."
"And what will _you_ get, Lady Bellamy?"
"I!" she replied, with a gay laugh. "Oh! you know, virtue is its ownreward. I shall be quite satisfied in seeing everybody else madehappy. Come, I do not want to press you about the matter at present.Think it over at your leisure. I only beg you not to give a decidedanswer to young Heigham, should he ask you for Angela, till I haveseen you again--say, in a week's time. Then, if you don't like it, youcan leave it alone, and nobody will be a penny the worse."
"As you like; but I tell you that I can never consent;" and Philiptook his leave.
"Your cousin entirely refuses his consent, and Angela is by this timeprobably engaged to your ex-ward, Arthur Heigham," was Lady Bellamy'snot very promising report to the interesting invalid in the dining-room.
After relieving his feelings at this intelligence in language moreforcible than polite, George remarked that, under these circumstances,matters looked very bad.
"Not at all; they look very well. I shall see your cousin again in aweek's time, when I shall have a different tale to tell."
"Why wait a week with that young blackguard making the running on thespot?"
"Because I have put poison into Philip's mind, and the surest poisonalways works slow. Besides, the mischief has been done. Good-by. Iwill come and see you in a day or two, when I have made my plans. Yousee I mean to earn my letters."
Dawn Page 32
