CHAPTER XXXIX

BETWEEN BEAUCHAMP AND CECILIA

Beauchamp quitted the house without answering as to what next, and

without seeing Rosamund.

In the matter of money, as of his physical health, he wanted to do too

much at once; he had spent largely of both in his efforts to repair the

injury done to Dr. Shrapnel. He was overworked, anxious, restless,

craving for a holiday somewhere in France, possibly; he was all but

leaping on board the boat at times, and, unwilling to leave his dear old

friend who clung to him, he stayed, keeping his impulses below the

tide-mark which leads to action, but where they do not yield peace of

spirit. The tone of Renee's letters filled him with misgivings. She wrote

word that she had seen M. d'Henriel for the first time since his return

from Italy, and he was much changed, and inclined to thank Roland for the

lesson he had received from him at the sword's point. And next she urged

Beauchamp to marry, so that he and she might meet, as if she felt a

necessity for it. 'I shall love your wife; teach her to think amiably of

me,' she said. And her letter contained womanly sympathy for him in his

battle with his uncle. Beauchamp thought of his experiences of Cecilia's

comparative coldness. He replied that there was no prospect of his

marrying; he wished there were one of meeting! He forbore from writing

too fervently, but he alluded to happy days in Normandy, and proposed to

renew them if she would say she had need of him. He entreated her to deal

with him frankly; he reminded her that she must constantly look to him,

as she had vowed she would, when in any kind of trouble; and he declared

to her that he was unchanged. He meant, of an unchanged disposition to

shield and serve her; but the review of her situation, and his knowledge

of her quick blood, wrought him to some jealous lover's throbs, which led

him to impress his unchangeableness upon her, to bind her to that

standard.

She declined his visit: not now; 'not yet': and for that he presumed to

chide her, half-sincerely. As far as he knew he stood against everybody

save his old friend and Renee; and she certainly would have refreshed his

heart for a day. In writing, however, he had an ominous vision of the

morrow to the day; and, both for her sake and his own, he was not

unrejoiced to hear that she was engaged day and night in nursing her

husband. Pursuing his vision of the morrow of an unreproachful day with

Renee, the madness of taking her to himself, should she surrender at last

to a third persuasion, struck him sharply, now that he and his uncle were

foot to foot in downright conflict, and money was the question. He had

not much remaining of his inheritance--about fifteen hundred pounds. He

would have to vacate Holdesbury and his uncle's town-house in a month.

Let his passion be never so desperate, for a beggared man to think of

running away with a wife, or of marrying one, the folly is as big as the

worldly offence: no justification is to be imagined. Nay, and there is no

justification for the breach of a moral law. Beauchamp owned it, and felt

that Renee's resistance to him in Normandy placed her above him. He

remembered a saying of his moralist: 'We who interpret things heavenly by

things earthly must not hope to juggle with them for our pleasures, and

can look to no absolution of evil acts.' The school was a hard one. It

denied him holidays; it cut him off from dreams. It ran him in heavy

harness on a rough highroad, allowing no turnings to right or left, no

wayside croppings; with the simple permission to him that he should daily

get thoroughly tired. And what was it Jenny Denham had said on the

election day? 'Does incessant battling keep the intellect clear?'

His mind was clear enough to put the case, that either he beheld a

tremendous magnification of things, or else that other men did not attach

common importance to them; and he decided that the latter was the fact.

An incessant struggle of one man with the world, which position usually

ranks his relatives against him, does not conduce to soundness of

judgement. He may nevertheless be right in considering that he is right

in the main. The world in motion is not so wise that it can pretend to

silence the outcry of an ordinarily generous heart even--the very infant

of antagonism to its methods and establishments. It is not so difficult

to be right against the world when the heart is really active; but the

world is our book of humanity, and before insisting that his handwriting

shall occupy the next blank page of it, the noble rebel is bound for the

sake of his aim to ask himself how much of a giant he is, lest he fall

like a blot on the page, instead of inscribing intelligible characters

there.

Moreover, his relatives are present to assure him that he did not jump

out of Jupiter's head or come of the doctor. They hang on him like an

ill-conditioned prickly garment; and if he complains of the irritation

they cause him, they one and all denounce his irritable skin.

Fretted by his relatives he cannot be much of a giant.

Beauchamp looked from Dr. Shrapnel in his invalid's chair to his uncle

Everard breathing robustly, and mixed his uncle's errors with those of

the world which honoured and upheld him. His remainder of equability

departed; his impatience increased. His appetite for work at Dr.

Shrapnel's writing-desk was voracious. He was ready for any labour, the

transcribing of papers, writing from dictation, whatsoever was of service

to Lord Avonley's victim: and he was not like the Spartan boy with the

wolf at his vitals; he betrayed it in the hue his uncle Everard detested,

in a visible nervousness, and indulgence in fits of scorn. Sharp epigrams

and notes of irony provoked his laughter more than fun. He seemed to

acquiesce in some of the current contemporary despair of our immoveable

England, though he winced at a satire on his country, and attempted to

show that the dull dominant class of moneymakers was the ruin of her.

Wherever he stood to represent Dr. Shrapnel, as against Mr. Grancey

Lespel on account of the Itchincope encroachments, he left a sting that

spread the rumour of his having become not only a black torch of

Radicalism--our modern provincial estateholders and their wives bestow

that reputation lightly--but a gentleman with the polish scratched off

him in parts. And he, though individually he did not understand how there

was to be game in the land if game-preserving was abolished, signed his

name R. C. S. NEVIL BEAUCHAMP for Dr. SHRAPNEL, in the communications

directed to solicitors of the persecutors of poachers.

His behaviour to Grancey Lespel was eclipsed by his treatment of Captain

Baskelett. Cecil had ample reason to suppose his cousin to be friendly

with him. He himself had forgotten Dr. Shrapnel, and all other

dissensions, in a supremely Christian spirit. He paid his cousin the

compliment to think that he had done likewise. At Romfrey and in London

he had spoken to Nevil of his designs upon the widow: Nevil said nothing

against it and it was under Mrs. Wardour-Devereux's eyes, and before a

man named Lydiard, that, never calling to him to put him on his guard,

Nevil fell foul of him with every capital charge that can be brought

against a gentleman, and did so abuse, worry, and disgrace him as to

reduce him to quit the house to avoid the scandal of a resort to a

gentleman's last appeal in vindication of his character. Mrs. Devereux

spoke of the terrible scene to Cecilia, and Lydiard to Miss Denham. The

injured person communicated it to Lord Avonley, who told Colonel Halkett

emphatically that his nephew Cecil deserved well of him in having kept

command of his temper out of consideration for the family. There was a

general murmur of the family over this incident. The widow was rich, and

it ranked among the unwritten crimes against blood for one offshoot of a

great house wantonly to thwart another in the wooing of her by humbling

him in her presence, doing his utmost to expose him as a schemer, a

culprit, and a poltroon.

Could it be that Beauchamp had reserved his wrath with his cousin to

avenge Dr. Shrapnel upon him signally? Miss Denham feared her guardian

was the cause. Lydiard was indefinitely of her opinion. The idea struck

Cecilia Halkett, and as an example of Beauchamp's tenacity of purpose and

sureness of aim it fascinated her. But Mrs. Wardour-Devereux did not

appear to share it. She objected to Beauchamp's intemperateness and

unsparingness, as if she was for conveying a sisterly warning to Cecilia;

and that being off her mind, she added, smiling a little and colouring a

little: 'We learn only from men what men are.' How the scene commenced

and whether it was provoked, she failed to recollect. She described

Beauchamp as very self-contained in manner throughout his tongue was the

scorpion. Cecilia fancied he must have resembled his uncle Everard.

Cecilia was conquered, but unclaimed. While supporting and approving him

in her heart she was dreading to receive some new problem of his conduct;

and still while she blamed him for not seeking an interview with her, she

liked him for this instance of delicacy in the present state of his

relations with Lord Avonley.

A problem of her own conduct disturbed the young lady's clear conception

of herself: and this was a ruffling of unfaithfulness in her love of

Beauchamp, that was betrayed to her by her forgetfulness of him whenever

she chanced to be with Seymour Austin. In Mr. Austin's company she

recovered her forfeited repose, her poetry of life, her image of the

independent Cecilia throned above our dust of battle, gazing on broad

heaven. She carried the feeling so far that Blackburn Tuckham's

enthusiasm for Mr. Austin gave him grace in her sight, and praise of her

father's favourite from Mr. Austin's mouth made him welcome to her. The

image of that grave capable head, dusty-grey about the temples, and the

darkly sanguine face of the tried man, which was that of a seasoned

warrior and inspired full trust in him, with his vivid look, his personal

distinction, his plain devotion to the country's business, and the

domestic solitude he lived in, admired, esteemed, loved perhaps, but

unpartnered, was often her refuge and haven from tempestuous Beauchamp.

She could see in vision the pride of Seymour Austin's mate. It flushed

her reflectively. Conquered but not claimed, Cecilia was like the frozen

earth insensibly moving round to sunshine in nature, with one white

flower in her breast as innocent a sign of strong sweet blood as a woman

may wear. She ascribed to that fair mate of Seymour Austin's many lofty

charms of womanhood; above all, stateliness: her especial dream of an

attainable superlative beauty in women. And supposing that lady to be

accused of the fickle breaking of another love, who walked beside him,

matched with his calm heart and one with him in counsel, would the

accusation be repeated by them that beheld her husband? might it not

rather be said that she had not deviated, but had only stepped higher?

She chose no youth, no glistener, no idler: it was her soul striving

upward to air like a seed in the earth that raised her to him: and she

could say to the man once enchaining her: Friend, by the good you taught

me I was led to this!

Cecilia's reveries fled like columns of mist before the gale when tidings

reached her of a positive rupture between Lord Avonley and Nevil

Beauchamp, and of the mandate to him to quit possession of Holdesbury and

the London house within a certain number of days, because of his refusal

to utter an apology to Mrs. Culling. Angrily on his behalf she prepared

to humble herself to him. Louise Wardour-Devereux brought them to a

meeting, at which Cecilia, with her heart in her hand, was icy. Mr.

Lydiard, prompted by Mrs. Devereux, gave him better reasons for her

singular coldness than Cecilia could give to herself, and some time

afterward Beauchamp went to Mount Laurels, where Colonel Halkett mounted

guard over his daughter, and behaved, to her thinking, cruelly. 'Now you

have ruined yourself there's nothing ahead for you but to go to the

Admiralty and apply for a ship,' he said, sugaring the unkindness with

the remark that the country would be the gainer. He let fly a side-shot

at London men calling themselves military men who sought to repair their

fortunes by chasing wealthy widows, and complimented Beauchamp: 'You're

not one of that sort.'

Cecilia looked at Beauchamp stedfastly. 'Speak,' said the look.

But he, though not blind, was keenly wounded.

'Money I must have,' he said, half to the colonel, half to himself.

Colonel Halkett shrugged. Cecilia waited for a directness in Beauchamp's

eyes.

Her father was too wary to leave them.

Cecilia's intuition told her that by leading to a discussion of politics,

and adopting Beauchamp's views, she could kindle him. Why did she

refrain? It was that the conquered young lady was a captive, not an ally.

To touch the subject in cold blood, voluntarily to launch on those vexed

waters, as if his cause were her heart's, as much as her heart was the

man's, she felt to be impossible. He at the same time felt that the

heiress, endowing him with money to speed the good cause, should be his

match in ardour for it, otherwise he was but a common adventurer, winning

and despoiling an heiress.

They met in London. Beauchamp had not vacated either Holdesbury or the

town-house; he was defying his uncle Everard, and Cecilia thought with

him that it was a wise temerity. She thought with him passively

altogether. On this occasion she had not to wait for directness in his

eyes; she had to parry it. They were at a dinner-party at Lady Elsea's,

generally the last place for seeing Lord Palmet, but he was present, and

arranged things neatly for them, telling Beauchamp that he acted under

Mrs. Wardour-Devereux's orders. Never was an opportunity, more propitious

for a desperate lover. Had it been Renee next him, no petty worldly

scruples of honour would have held him back. And if Cecilia had spoken

feelingly of Dr. Shrapnel, or had she simulated a thoughtful interest in

his pursuits, his hesitations would have vanished. As it was, he dared to

look what he did not permit himself to speak. She was nobly lovely, and

the palpable envy of men around cried fool at his delays. Beggar and

heiress he said in his heart, to vitalize the three-parts fiction of the

point of honour which Cecilia's beauty was fast submerging. When she was

leaving he named a day for calling to see her. Colonel Halkett stood by,

and she answered, 'Come.'

Beauchamp kept the appointment. Cecilia was absent.

He was unaware that her father had taken her to old Mrs. Beauchamp's

death-bed. Her absence, after she had said, 'Come,' appeared a

confirmation of her glacial manner when they met at the house of Mrs.

Wardour-Devereux; and he charged her with waywardness. A wound of the

same kind that we are inflicting is about the severest we can feel.

Beauchamp received intelligence of his venerable great-aunt's death from

Blackburn Tuckham, and after the funeral he was informed that eighty

thousand pounds had been bequeathed to him: a goodly sum of money for a

gentleman recently beggared; yet, as the political enthusiast could not

help reckoning (apart from a fervent sentiment of gratitude toward his

benefactress), scarcely enough to do much more than start and push for

three or more years a commanding daily newspaper, devoted to Radical

interests, and to be entitled THE DAWN.

True, he might now conscientiously approach the heiress, take her hand

with an open countenance, and retain it.

Could he do so quite conscientiously? The point of honour had been

centred in his condition of beggary. Something still was in his way. A

quick spring of his blood for air, motion, excitement, holiday freedom,

sent his thoughts travelling whither they always shot away when his

redoubtable natural temper broke loose.

In the case of any other woman than Cecilia Halkett he would not have

been obstructed by the minor consideration as to whether he was wholly

heart-free to ask her in marriage that instant; for there was no

hindrance, and she was beautiful. She was exceedingly beautiful; and she

was an unequalled heiress. She would be able with her wealth to float his

newspaper, THE DAWN, so desired of Dr. Shrapnel!--the best restorative

that could be applied to him! Every temptation came supplicating him to

take the step which indeed he wished for: one feeling opposed. He really

respected Cecilia: it is not too much to say that he worshipped her with

the devout worship rendered to the ideal Englishwoman by the heart of the

nation. For him she was purity, charity, the keeper of the keys of

whatsoever is held precious by men; she was a midway saint, a light

between day and darkness, in whom the spirit in the flesh shone like the

growing star amid thin sanguine colour, the sweeter, the brighter, the

more translucent the longer known. And if the image will allow it, the

nearer down to him the holier she seemed.

How offer himself when he was not perfectly certain that he was worthy of

her?

Some jugglery was played by the adept male heart in these later

hesitations. Up to the extent of his knowledge of himself, the man was

fairly sincere. Passion would have sped him to Cecilia, but passion is

not invariably love; and we know what it can be.

The glance he cast over the water at Normandy was withdrawn. He went to

Bevisham to consult with Dr. Shrapnel about the starting of a weekly

journal, instead of a daily, and a name for it--a serious question: for

though it is oftener weekly than daily that the dawn is visible in

England, titles must not invite the public jest; and the glorious project

of the daily DAWN was prudently abandoned for by-and-by. He thought

himself rich enough to put a Radical champion weekly in the field and

this matter, excepting the title, was arranged in Bevisham. Thence he

proceeded to Holdesbury, where he heard that the house, grounds, and farm

were let to a tenant preparing to enter. Indifferent to the blow, he kept

an engagement to deliver a speech at the great manufacturing town of

Gunningham, and then went to London, visiting his uncle's town-house for

recent letters. Not one was from Renee: she had not written for six

weeks, not once for his thrice! A letter from Cecil Baskelett informed

him that 'my lord' had placed the town-house at his disposal. Returning

to dress for dinner on a thick and murky evening of February, Beauchamp

encountered his cousin on the steps. He said to Cecil, 'I sleep here

to-night: I leave the house to you tomorrow.'

Cecil struck out his underjaw to reply: 'Oh! good. You sleep here

to-night. You are a fortunate man. I congratulate you. I shall not

disturb you. I have just entered on my occupation of the house. I have my

key. Allow me to recommend you to go straight to the drawing-room. And I

may inform you that the Earl of Romfrey is at the point of death. My lord

is at the castle.'

Cecil accompanied his descent of the steps with the humming of an opera

melody: Beauchamp tripped into the hall-passage. A young maid-servant

held the door open, and she accosted him: 'If you please, there is a lady

up-stairs in the drawing-room; she speaks foreign English, sir.'

Beauchamp asked if the lady was alone, and not waiting for the answer,

though he listened while writing, and heard that she was heavily veiled,

he tore a strip from his notebook, and carefully traced half-a-dozen

telegraphic words to Mrs. Culling at Steynham. His rarely failing

promptness, which was like an inspiration, to conceive and execute

measures for averting peril, set him on the thought of possibly

counteracting his cousin Cecil's malignant tongue by means of a message

to Rosamund, summoning her by telegraph to come to town by the next train

that night. He despatched the old woman keeping the house, as trustier

than the young one, to the nearest office, and went up to the

drawing-room, with a quick thumping heart that was nevertheless as little

apprehensive of an especial trial and danger as if he had done nothing at

all to obviate it. Indeed he forgot that he had done anything when he

turned the handle of the drawing-room door.