The Freedom of Henry Meredyth

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popular St£ ©billing 1ftov>els Edward Bellamy Equality Hall Caine The Christian The Manxman The Scapegoat The Bondman Richard Harding Davis Soldiers of Fortune Harold Frederic Illumination Sarah Grand The Heavenly Twins Ideala Our Manifold Nature M. Hamilton McLeod of the Camerons A Self-Denying Ordinance Robert Hichens Flames The Folly of Eustace An Imaginative Man Henry James What Maisie Knew The Other House The Spoils of Poynton Embarrassments Terminations Annie E. Holdsworth The Years that the Locust hath Eaten W. E. Norris Marietta's Marriage 'Ihe Dancer in Yellow A Victim of Good Luck The Countess Radna Flora Annie Steel In the Permanent Way On the Face of the Waters The Potter's Thumb From the Five Rivers Robert Louis Stevenson St. Ives The Ebb Tide . Zangwill The Master The King of Schnorrers Children of the Ghetto The Premier and the Painter LONDON : WILLIAM HEINEMANN 21 Bedford Street, W.C. And all Booksellers and Bookstalls By M. Hamilton Author of " McLeod of the Camerons," " A Self-denying Ordinance," " Across an Ulster Bog," etc. London William Heinemann A il rights reserved

Part I Chapter

I. When Henry Meredyth gained his divorce suit against his wife, with costs against Major Arkwright- Gage, the co-respondent, there was a certain amount of excitement among his friends. He had gone to Norway immediately after the scandal, and had consequently, in the rush of the season, faded a little out of people's minds, but he now found himself revived. There had been no points of special interest about the case; the rumours that a disgraceful countercharge was to be made by the opposite side had proved to be only rumours, arousing undue expectations of ex citement. On the contrary, there had been no de fence. Nevertheless, when Mrs. Fraser-Latimer and Lady Grace Bruce went out to a drawing-room tea after leav ing the court, they found themselves centres of interest, before which the charms of various befeathered debu tantes faded into insignificance.

Lady Grace and Mrs. Fraser-Latimer had considered 1 it their duty to be present at the trial as friends of the injured husband, but they proved disappointingly de void of fresh particulars of any kind. " So Pat Meredyth is a free man again," said Lady Dawley, a pretty young woman, who was in charge of one of the drawing-room debutantes. " With something like the traditional twopence halfpenny in his pocket," said Lady Grace Bruce. " Is everything hers? " " Every penny. Pat Meredyth was broke before he was two-and-twenty, and then they married him off to this heiress, and they tied up her money pretty success fully first." The man who gave this piece of information was married to a Meredyth cousin, and therefore an au thority. " Poor fellow! " said Mrs. Fraser-Latimer, who gen erally got the box seat in Meredyth's coach, and was really sorry; " what will become of him?

" " Oh, he'll go to the devil as imperturbably as he has been accustomed to go everywhere else," said an other man. " Pat Meredyth won't cry out when he's hurt." "Wasn't he worth seeing in court?" said Lady Grace; " dressed and perfumed to the highest pitch of perfection, answering questions in his slow, dreamy way, with his air of not letting himself be perturbed by such a trifle as a divorce." " I shouldn't be surprised if he turned up at your show this evening, Lady Dawley," said somebody else, '•' braving it out, you know. It would be rather like him." " He's not half a bad fellow," a man said; " pity he's such a fool! " " He never cared for his wife," said Mrs. Fraser- Latimer; " he's a good friend of mine, but I must say he neglected her shamefully." There was a half-concealed sensation of amusement at her words.

If Henry Meredyth had neglected his wife, Mrs. Fraser-Latimer was supposed to have had a good deal to say to it. But Mrs. Latimer was a model of virtue as to words, by which means she gained for herself a certain latitude as to actions. When Meredyth's wife was discussed, she spoke of her after a fashion of severe virtue. She had known what would come, she said; she had feared it. Evelyn Meredyth had always been so ill-regulated and excitable. She would find her punish ment in Major Arkwright-Gage. " But she was very fond of her children," said Lady Dawley. "In her way, yes. Heaven help them now!" " Why, surely you don't think Pat will ill-treat them? " " Ill-treat them! " Mrs. Fraser-Latimer said with a laugh. " Oh, certainly not. Only indulge them with a little wholesome neglect. I suppose their mother will provide for them; otherwise they will have to starve."

" Won't his brother, Lord Meredyth, do something? Won't Pat's eldest boy come in for the title? " " I suppose he will. But Lord Meredyth and Pat never hit it off." " The only thing," said Mrs. Latimer with decision, " is for Pat to marry again, and to marry money. He was born to be a bachelor, and it's a pity, but it's absolutely necessary." " And it's a question," said Lady Grace, " if the four children won't weight the scale rather heavily against his somewhat elderly charms." The Meredyth cousin murmured a regretful aside, reminiscent of Mr. Fraser-Latimer's unfortunate existence. " If Pat can make up his mind to the accent," said Mrs. Latimer, " an American would marry an idiot centenarian, with children as the sands of the sea, if he were next heir to an earldom." " I think I have heard," said the Meredyth cousin, " of English girls " " At any rate," Mrs. Latimer interrupted, " an heir ess must be found — and I will find her.

But I am afraid it must be an American." Everybody agreed that she was exceedingly kind. One or two, notably the Meredyth cousin, doubted, in an aside, if her help and patronage would conduce to a happy marriage. But Mrs. Fraser-Latimer knew better than to hear an aside.

Chapter II

Hexey Meredyth, when he came out of court, called a hansom, and had an imperceptible moment's hesitation as to where he should tell the driver to go- Meredyth was a tall, fair, handsome man, with pale blue eyes and rather a weak chin. He wore his hair divided in the middle, and carefully disposed to hide a slight increasing baldness, which caused him acute concern. Upon his appearance and his clothes he be stowed much consideration, finding a distinct pleasure in being known as the most invariably suitably dressed man in town. Even upon the present occasion, which had not afforded much opportunity for delicacies and shades in attire, there was something in the arrange ment of his tie and the absence of his usual buttonhole which proved that he had not failed to give the matter due consideration.

When he found himself alone in the hansom, he was careful not to relax the manner of indifference and abstraction with which he had faced the court. He lounged back in his seat, stroking his duly waxed mustache thoughtfully; a little later it occurred to him to roll and light a cigarette, and he had time to smoke it half through before the hansom stopped at his own door. There was no reason or temptation to hurry. Mere dyth went slowly up the steps, and waited for a moment before he threw away his cigarette, and felt instinctively but uselessly for his latchkey. lie had not been at home since the crash. He resentfully imagined a certain curiosity in the face of the footman who opened the door, and gave him a curt nod with a determined want of expression of any kind in his face. Oddly the sense of being observed weighed upon him more than it had done when he had fronted the sea of faces in the court-house; to escape, he turned into the breakfast-room as the nearest door, and told the man sharply to take a whisky and soda to the smoking-room.

A moment later the desolate feeling of a room that has been unused for some time struck upon him. It was very cold, and there was no fire; the blinds were down, and he went over and drew them up hastily. He found himself facing a great blank space on the wall with a faint sense of surprise, till he remembered that a large painting of Evelyn had hung there. She had sat for it to Millais soon after their marriage, and later had been immensely gratified to have her por trait hung on the line at the Academy. Meredyth found himself resenting the officiousness of its removal. The room was unbearable with that blank wall staring at him, and the absence of all the little touches which Evelyn had understood so well. He went to the smoking-room, where a newly born fire was sending up cold little jets of flame and smoke.

He mixed himself an unusually stiff tumbler of whisky and soda, and threw himself into a chair. It was all so uncomfortable and disagreeable, and it was an unreasonable dispensation of Providence to send him discomfort and unpleasantness. Meredyth had been accustomed to put aside all disagreeable things for nearly forty years, and he felt himself ill-used. He had got along very comfortably, had never gone out of his way to do harm to any one, and had, in fact, many times done much kindness. It was curious that hc became all at once aware that he missed his wife — the woman who had been his wife till an hour ago — his wife who had been so little to him. He would have liked to have her with him now, and to say some politely, bitterly crushing thing to her. How little they had known of each other in the eighteen years of their marriage!

How little, Meredyth thought, she had ever tried to understand him or make him happy! It occurred to him to wonder vaguely about the children. They had been so little in evidence, so entirely apart from his life, that he had really scarcely thought about the matter as it affected them before. Meredyth was accustomed, quite simply and unconsciously, to consider everything as it affected himself. But they formed an undoubted complication, and gave rise to all kinds of unpleasant misgivings. True to his principle of never allowing himself to worry, he got up and hunted out something to read. He did not very often take up a book; like most thoroughly idle men, he considered that he had no time. It was popularly supposed that if he knew how to read, it was about as much as he did know; but, like many popular beliefs, this was a very great mistake.

A little later he went up to get ready for dinner, and dressed himself, to the camellia in his buttonhole, with as much characteristic care as if he had not ex pected to spend the evening alone. On his way to the dining-room he met with a sur prise. He found himself face to face with a girl — a girl also dressed for the evening, who stood and returned his look, out of light blue eyes like his own, only with a life in them which his own lacked. She had pretty, soft, fair hair, just the colour of his, and a latent ob stinacy about her lips which was also one of his char acteristics. She stood opposite him with a flushed face, and a certain defiance in her whole manner. " Vivien! " Meredyth said in surprise. He had last seen this daughter of his a few months ago, with her hair down her back and dresses to her ankles, and to find himself faced by a young woman gave him a shock.

"How do you do?" said Vivien politely. "I thought it would be better for me to come down to dinner." Meredyth was incapable of protesting, but he found himself filled with consternation. He had considered himself to have only children to deal with. How old was Vivien? When she had taken the head of the table in the most matter-of-course way in the world, and he was seated opposite to her, he studied her with a curious new interest. He felt a certain necessity for making conversation upon him. He was not aware that he and his eldest daughter had ever been alone together before, and certainly their conversation had always been limited to an exchange of greeting or a hope on his part that she was getting on well with her les sons. Now he could think of nothing to say to this stranger. " Where is Miss Mordaunt?

" he said at last. " She left last week," said Vivien shortly. " Left last week! " said Meredyth, with a little hurry in his deliberate voice. " How do you mean she left? I heard nothing about it." " You didn't engage her," said Vivien; " and, at any rate, I know she wrote to you in Norway. But we very seldom knew your address." Meredyth moved uncomfortably on his chair, and helped himself to fish. " And do you mean to say there is nobody to look after you all?" he said. "You'll have to go to school — you and Milly — that will be the best thing." Vivien coloured hotly. " No, indeed," she said; " you don't understand, father. I am not a child." Meredyth was silenced. His lines had never lain among very young girls, and he entirely failed to under stand any exaggeration in his daughter's manner.

She appeared to know all about it, and certainly he did not understand. But he was entirely dismayed, and began to puzzle over Vivien's age again. " How old are you? " he asked her at last. " I shall be eighteen before very long," said Vivien; " you can't send me to school. Why, I know two girls who were married at eighteen! " Meredyth studied her curiously. He was half in clined to ask her what she proposed that he should do with her if he did not send her to school. It was ridicu lous, impossible, outrageous that he should be burdened with a daughter like this. His day was not over; he was a young man still, and if he had any ideas for the future at all they were connected with bachelor life at one of his clubs. At the same time he was conscious of a curious in terest in Vivien, more perhaps as a girl than as his own child.

What was she thinking and feeling? How much did she know or understand of what had happened to-day? He became seized with a fear that she would ask him for her mother. What did she know? She must guess something; she must have some ideas of her own. She could not be content to lose her mother out of her life without inquiry or curiosity. If she asked questions, what was he to say? In his fear of it he plunged into talk about Norway. Vivien pretended to no interest. He became more and more conscious of the half-veiled hostility in her manner. She was a pretty girl, or rather she would be pretty when she got rid of certain youthful angularities. She had a very healthy appetite, and she was very much alive; every word and movement were full of energy, and reminded him of her mother. He had considered Vivien as " one of the children," but now he began to realize uncomfortably that she had a very decided individuality of her own.

Misgivings about the others came to him. How old was Johnny? Must he expect a development equally astounding from him? Meredyth felt himself a most unjustly hampered man, and pitied himself profoundly.

Chapter III

" Meeedyth vs. Meredyth and Arkwright-Gage." Meredyth had taken up the paper without thinking, as a kind of protection from the unfriendly eyes of his young daughter. He had got half way through his breakfast, and made a few remarks which had received little response. Now when he opened the paper his own name seemed to spring to his eyes. He crumpled it up im patiently. Could he not even have his breakfast in peace? But he could not put Vivien out of sight. He became aware that she was rather smartly dressed — somewhat too smartly for the hour and the occasion. It occurred to him as a distinctly unpleasant fact that he had not the least idea where the money to pay for dresses or anything else was to come from. Vivien had obviously not wasted her space of free dom. There was a pile of letters waiting for him in the smoking-room.

Meredyth did not appreciate letters, and had not had them sent after him, nor had he been in any haste to open them the night before. Now, to drive certain unpleasant feelings about Vivien out of his head, he began to turn them over as he smoked. He had a great idea of making himself comfortable. He drew a long, lounging chair up to the fire, and lighted his pipe and put up his feet before he began to look leisurely through his letters. He had half expected to see his wife's handwriting, and gave a sigh of relief when he found that he was mistaken. There were a few invitations — a very few — among the earliest letters; there were notes from the people who considered themselves his most intimate friends, including two from Mrs. Fraser-Latimer. But the chief part of his correspondence consisted of bills of all kinds, dates, and amounts.

Obviously his circumstances were entirely public property. Meredyth had never felt the want of money — his marriage had been just in time to save him from that — and at present his chief feeling was a ruffled annoy ance at the impertinence of this deluge of bills. He got up and threw his letters aside impatiently. There was no good bothering over them; all the bothering in the world would not provide him with money to pay them. It was the injustice of Fate and not any fault of his own which had brought him into this diffi culty, and he was very much inclined to leave it to Fate to get him out again. He had had quite enough of his own society, and it occurred to him to go down to the club, by way of finding somebody or something to distract his thoughts. It was a very hot morning. Meredyth leaned back in the hansom, and tried to find shade for himself.

His idea was to lunch at his club, and he had vague thoughts of going to see Mrs. Fraser-Latimer later on. He was one of those men who need a woman, and he wanted to be pitied and sympathized with. If he had carried out his half-formed programme, his life would probably have been very different. But an accidental meeting, to all appearance a very unim portant one, changed his plans. Meredyth was an intensely self-conscious man. His slightest action or speech was always considered with a view to its effect on other people. As he got out of the hansom at the door of the club, he looked round with an instinct to see if any one was noticing him. When he did so, his eyes met those of a tall, brown haired woman, who was sheltered by a coloured sun shade, but seemed otherwise entirely indifferent to the heat as she walked along with a quick, businesslike step.

She was walking so quickly that if she had not seen Meredyth he, in his deliberation, would never have been able to stop her. But she did see him, and paused with a very pleasant smile. He had known Alison Carnegie all her life; the Meredyths and Carnegies had married and intermarried for many generations, and she was, in fact, a kind of cousin of his. There had been at one time a youthful engagement MEEEDYTH. 15 between them, which had been very properly quashed by the authorities in both families. Meredyth had always kept up a kindly feeling for her, though for many years they had seen very little of each other. Meredyth, who hunted twice a week, went immense ly into society, and spent all his odd time at his club, had not a moment left to cultivate any one whose way was not his, and Alison Carnegie, in her exceedingly different line, was a very busy woman.

But just now there was nobody he would have wel comed more gladly, and he greeted her with his most charming manner — Meredyth could be very charming when he chose. " Alison," he said, " I am very glad to see you. Where are you going to? " " To lunch. I am glad we have met, Henry; I was going to write to you." " Come and have lunch with me. Please do." Miss Carnegie shook her head. " I should hardly have time. My lunch is a very brief affair." " I'll take you to St. James's," said Meredyth, " and you needn't stay a moment longer than you like." He stood in front of her with languid obstinacy, stroking his mustache and waiting. Having made up his mind that he wished to talk to Alison, he was not to be easily set aside. When he got his way, and found himself opposite her at luncheon, he was satisfied, and leaned back in his chair with much contentment.

Alison Carnegie was a restful sort of person to be with; people less impressi ble than Meredyth had found that out. She was not an absolutely handsome woman, but she had been much admired nevertheless, and though she was many years over thirty now, and it pleased her to talk of herself as no longer young, it seldom occurred to any one else so to think of her. She had struck out a line of her own in life, and to all appear ance found it a satisfying one. " Busy as ever? " said Meredyth. His instinctive in clination to make himself agreeable always made him anxious not to neglect the fads of other people. But Alison Carnegie did not care to talk to him of her interests. She turned his question off slightly, and there was a sort of pause between them. Both of them knew that Meredyth wanted to talk of his troubles, and that he was impatient for sympathy.

On the whole, he was glad of their chance meeting, and felt that Alison would be a safer and more satisfactory confidante than Mrs. Fraser-Latimer. But he had an unexpected difficulty in opening the subject, and he did it at last with ex aggerated carelessness. "Aren't you going to condole with me — or congratu late me? " he said. Alison let his remark pass. She did not consider that it needed an answer, and she was satisfied now that he had been the first to speak. " I wanted to ask you," she said, " can I help you with the children? " Meredyth sighed. What a dependable kind of per son Alison was, and how he would have liked to shift the responsibility of the children to her shoulders! He did not think this definitely, but it was what the sigh meant. " Children, indeed! " he said; " let me tell you about Vivien.

I come home to find her in long dresses, mistress of the house, and, I've no doubt, with her head full of balls and Ascot and Henley. Heartless little wretch! " " Poor child! " Alison said. "Poor child, indeed! I don't think she needs much pity. Most girls, I should think, if they had lost — any kind of a mother — would have felt it, and have asked at least — or But I believe Vivien is rather pleased than otherwise at getting a chance of wearing long dresses and sitting at the head of the table. She never said a word or asked a question." Alison looked at him. " If I believed that, Henry," she said, " I should think tliere was still more reason to say 'Poor child! ' But do you, after all these years, venture to set your self up as capable of understanding a woman — above all, a child-woman?

" " Well," said Meredyth, " it comes to this: Will you help me?" " Of course," said Alison, " if I can. Vivien is the ••> difficulty, I can see, poor little soul! Milly is so young, and the boys " " There are none of them too young to starve," said Meredyth with a laugh. " I didn't like to speak about that till you said something," said Alison. She was absently crumbling her bread, and bestowing more attention upon what she was saying than upon her luncheon. She knew that it was not difficult to offend Meredyth, and that she might easily do more harm than good. " Jack will surely do something for Johnny," she said, " and — and, Evelyn, it will be quite right for her to help with the children " Meredyth coloured hotly. " And perhaps somebody charitable can be found to support me," he said bitterly.

" No, I would rather send the children to the workhouse than beg like that, and go and drown myself — best thing I can do! " His manner and feelings were so entirely removed from the despairing words of his speech that Alison found herself smiling in spite of all she could do, and the fact that she felt by no means gay. " What I was coming to," she said, " was, have you any plans? Have you any ideas about getting some thing to do?" "Do? What can I do? " said Meredyth. He certainly looked particularly devoid of energy as he lounged on his chair, bestowing the best part of his attention on his clothes and hair. " The horses are all gone," he said, " and I suppose the next thing is to get rid of the house, and take a family room in one of your beloved slums. I dare say you can recommend one."

Miss Carnegie answered him a little sharply: " Don't be so affected, Henry," she said. " It is all very well to say that, but I don't see any thing else before us, sooner or later. What can I do at my age and without any training? Handicapped, besides, with four children. I am capable either of driving a cab or of giving my name as a director of companies. But of nothing else." Alison knew very well that there was no use in showing impatience. " Well," she said, " I would rather drive a cab than sit down with my hands crossed." Something in her tone prevented him from saying what he was inclined to say, that he was of a different opiniom A wish not to appear entirely ill in her eyes roused him into a greater energy of speech. " But what can I do? " he said. " Even if I do get a cab to drive, I don't suppose I shall make more than a couple of pounds a week, and five of us can't live on that!

Why, my club subscriptions, my clothes " Miss Carnegie interrupted him. " Henry," she said, " I have never thought you a fool. Please don't do yourself the injustice of talking like that. Think it over. I must go now, as I shall be late as it is for an appointment at the office. Think it over, and come and talk to me about that and the children on Sunday afternoon, will you? " She did not put into words her idea that she might be able to help him, or rather to put him into the way of helping himself. She had a fancy that he would not like the thought of help from a woman. When he had her into a hansom, Meredyth did not go to see Mrs. Fraser-Latimer. He was conscious of an unusual and uncomfortable sense of responsibility and uneasiness. With the influ ence of Alison Carnegie upon him, he had an idea that he must do something — make some effort.

He went home and made his bills into a neat bun dle, and filed them, after which he felt better. He also wrote a letter to his lawyers, with a view to discovering his position and exactly how much he would have to live upon. As the result of all these exertions, he found him self somewhat exhausted, and decided not to face an other evening tete-a-tete with Vivien, but to dine at the club. In the meantime he wandered about the house in search of amusement, and finally made his way to the library, and began to turn over book after book idly. He scarcely noticed little Jocelyn, his youngest boy, who was sitting in the dusk, curled up in a big chair by the window. Jocelyn was a pale, plain child of eight or nine. He had something wrong with his heart, and was never allowed to exert himself or to run and play with the others.

Meredyth, who was always good-natured, had consequently taken more notice of him than of the rest, but just then he did not feel inclined to talk to anybody. He stood there, taking down first one book and then another, scarcely thinking what he was doing. He had almost forgotten the child's existence, and was half startled by a very long and heartfelt sigh be hind him. He turned round, not abruptly — Meredyth never did anything abruptly — but with less deliberation than usual. " Hullo, Jossy! " he said. " What's the matter? " Jossy raised a very friendly little face. " It's only that I'm bored," he said with a half drawl which Meredyth recognised as an unintentional carica ture of his own manner. " It's very dull for us, isn't it? " Jossy ended confidentially. " By Jove, it is! " said Meredyth, with an echo of his little son's sigh.