Gilbert Murray. A novel

Chapter I. The Beginning Op The Fight

.... 30 II. HARD AT WORK 51 III. THE HARBOUR AT SUNSET G5 IV. REGINALD AND ELISABETH 89 V. 'EACH MAN IN HIS TIME PLAYS MANY PARTS' . 100 VI. GILBERT'S HANDKERCHIEF 112 ATII. AN OPENING 125 VIII. GILBERT IS INTRODUCED TO ELISABETH . . 13G IX. REGINALD'S RELATIONS 150 X. MORE OF REGINALD'S RELATIONS . . . . 1G0 XI. THE FRETTING OF OLD TIES . . . .177 XII. FATHER AND DAUGHTER 101! XIII. LOVE STORIES 207 XIV. ARNOLD'S PROPOSAL 219 XV. CHANGES 235 XVI. A RETURN TO LIFE 247 XA'II. HOW IT WAS DECIDED 2(>4 XVIII. REGINALD IS DISAPPOINTED 277 XIX. HEATH FIRES 287 XX. AT FRANBURY HALL 304 XXI. 'WITH EXACTNESS GRINDS HE ALL' . . . 318 XXII. THE POOL IN THE WOOD GILBERT MUEEAY PEELUDE A CONTEAST Nearly two miles out of tbe town of Farborough stands a beautiful old Tudor house called Beau croft Manor. It is of red brick, but so covered by various creepers that only its gables, chimneys, and turrets show the material of which it is built.

For six generations of Murrays, descending in the last four in a regular line from father to only son, the beautiful china, furniture and pictures had been known to stand much as they stand at present in many of the oak-paneUed rooms ; but the property had been theirs at least a hundred and fifty years before the present house was built. The exterior is in very good preservation, and the interior has only recently been restored with much taste and skill and at enormous expense. The house is now indeed comfortable as O B Avell as picturesque, and is generally full of life and brightness, in spite of tbe age and colour of its oak. But at the time of which we write a deep cloud rested upon it. Just a fortnight ago, the man who had restored, beautified and loved it, as perhaps none of its possessors had ever loved it before, had been flung from his horse and brought home dead.

The sen-ants, in moving quietly about the house, spoke in whispers, as if still under the shadow of the awe of that sudden shock. The butler an swered all inquiries with an important and sorrow ful air : Mrs. and Miss Murray were not at all well, and Mrs. Murray still kept her room. Mr. Gilbert Murray — Mr. Murray, he should say — still remained at home, but saAv no one. The funeral had been quite an event for the seiwants. The housekeeper had given a supper on the occasion. The maids thought mourning became them very well, especially as all their things had come from one of the best houses in town. The men perhaps thought more of the supper, but owned that black was an agreeable change, and suited the housemaids and lady'smaids uncommonly well. Great were the discussions as to what Mr. Gilbert would be like as head of the household, and whether Mrs. and Miss Murray would leave the Manor : it was supposed PRELUDE not, till Mr. Gilbert married, and would he be likely to marry soon ?

Tbe sympathies of the whole household were with the widow and her daughter. They had felt the blow terribly ; but Mr. Gilbert had not shown much, if any, feeling. They would haA'e said that he did not care at all and was glad to be master, had it not been for one sob wrung from his lips just as he gave the last look into his father's open grave. Chatter, chatter, chatter ; the tongues wagged cheerfully enough in the servants' hall, but up stairs, in the Avidow's room, were tears and bitter lamentations. Never was woman left so desolate before. She had lost the best and tenderest of husbands. Life could never be the same again without him ; she almost wished that she might die too. Who would read to ber, and think for her, and take all the cares of life off her shoulders now ? She was sure Gilbert would not ; he was so cold and selfish, so unsympathetic.

Why, every day lately had he not entreated her to get up and go for a drive, when he must know that she was too much crushed and enfeebled by the shock to go anywhere, or to do anything ? Mrs. Murray did not fesl very affectionately towards her son that day. She had but newly B grasped tbe idea that now the house and everything in it belonged to him. She supposed she would be, in a great measure, obliged to consult his wishes now, as, if she did not, he would be sure to marry young, and then she would be compelled to leave the beautiful Manor and go to live at the little dower-house, in a different county, miles away, and she could not bear eA7en the thought of doing that. Of the type of woman which resembles nothing so much as a dainty piece of porcelain, Mrs. Murray, at the age of forty-eight, was almost as beautiful as she had ever been.

Not a line of grey streaked the dark masses of her abundant hair : the years had passed as lightly over her face as if they were reluctant to steal away its charms. Her once brilliant colouring was a little faded, the lines a trifle deeper than they had been twenty years ago around her mouth and eyes, but this did not greatly alter her. Gertrude, her only daughter, and Gilbert's senior by six years, was often taken for her mother's sister, but not nearly so beautiful or so attractive a sister. It is frequently not at all an adA'antage to a girl to have a too charming mother, and Gertrude grew up, as plants do in the shade, somewhat out of due proportion and shape, and with sweet juices a little soured. PRELUDE Gilbert was now just tbree-and-twenty. He was tall, slight and dark, beautifully proportioned, but by no means regularly handsome : perhaps because the expression and the form of his features were at variance.

He had piercingly bright hazel eyes, rather wide nostrils, and a firm mouth and chin, but his expression was usually one of lazi ness and indifference. Of late, indeed, a new ex pression might have been seen there, half sorrow ful and half defiant, but then Fate had only recently dealt him a sudden blow which had changed all his life, and he had not yet got his bearings again. It was a wild afternoon in early summer. The rain splashed on the roof and against the windows, the wind hustled the ivy, virginia creepers, and clematis, whistled round the gables and chimneys of the house, and swayed the giant elms of the park and aA'enue until they creaked ominously as if about to fall. The prospect of meadows, fields, and distant town was almost blotted out by the sweeping mist of rain. A carriage, coming from the direction of the station, emerged from the surrounding gloom, and droA'e rapidly towards the house.

One of the housemaids, who had nothing par ticular to do that afternoon, and was examining the collection of pretty silver things on the table in the deserted drawing-room, saw its approach, and ran to carry the news to the servants' hall. Gilbert was in the library. His position and surroundings might have been chosen to depict an ideal representation of indolence, ease, and luxury. It was the middle of June, but the afternoon, as we have said, Avas damp and cheerless ; the cur tains were half-drawn to exclude possible draughts, and a bright fire was blazing on the hearth. Gilbert was half lying in the depths of an im mense armchair, a pile of cushions behind him, with his feet flung up on another chair in front of him. Tbe butler, as he came in, admired the effect very much, and thought that though with his somewhat portly form he could scarcely hope to imitate the grace of the attitude, he might at any rate attain the comfort of the position.

He did not observe that the book his young master held was upside down or that his eyes were full of tears. 'Mr. Fuller, sir,' he announced, preceding a tall and thin, keen, but kindly-looking man into the room. Gilbert looked up in some surprise ; he had not expected another visit from the London lawyer just at present. Mr. Fuller crossed the room with a look and air that in itself betokened disaster. He asked PRELUDE 7 after Mrs. and Miss Murray in a nervous, hurried way, and then, without waiting for an answer, went on to say that he was shocked and grieved to find himself compelled to be the bearer of very evil tidings. GUbert smiled fearlessly without flinching : the worst blow that could come had, he thought, already fallen upon him ; but he had not the very slightest suspicion wbat form the threatened evil was to take.

Mr. Fuller proceeded to unfold to him, with all due proofs of the correctness of his statements, that this was the total loss of the whole of their hrvested capital. They had now no money in the world but the sum that might happen still to lie to their account at the bank. The late Mr. Murray had, as Gilbert knew, in opposition to Mr. Fuller's advice, re-invested his whole capital in a company that professed to pay a higher rate of interest than he had formerly received. Gilbert, on attaining his majority, had been persuaded by his father into giving his consent to this. The company had now proved a fraud, and every farthing had been lost. Nor was this the worst. A heavy mortgage had been raised on the land to pay the expenses of the restoration of the house : Gilbert had consented to what was to bave been only a temporary cutting off of the entail in order that this might be possible.

How was the interest on this now to be paid ; nay, how were Mrs. and Miss Murray and himself even to live from day to day? The pictures, house, property, everything, must be sold at once ; there was no other possible way, and at any sacrifice, he said, every debt must be paid. Mr. Fuller promised to do his very utmost for them all, and Gilbert kneAV that he had reason to trust him. He had heard the news with the same perfect calm with which he had received the tidings of his father's sudden death. He had indeed turned a little paler when the magnitude of this second calamity was first brought home to him, but he made no comment, and discussed details with the apparent coolness of a man not personally interested in the affair. Only once did he manifest any im patience, and that was when Mr. Fuller began to attempt some excuse for his late client's conduct by reminding Gilbert that it had been his father's too confident hope that by this transfer he was iniproA-ing the property and increasing the yearly income of his son. ' I am perfectly aware that my father thought he was making sacrifices for my sake,' he said coldly.

The lawyer then considerately suggested that PRELUDE he should take upon himself the burden of breaking the news to Mrs. and Miss Murray ; but Gilbert, thanking him, said that he preferred they should not hear until the morning. There was nothing more that could be done then, so declining Gilbert's invitation to stay to dinner, Mr. Fuller hurried back to town, and the young man was left alone, to realise, if he could, what had happened. He did not resume his former position, but sat by the table, resting his arms upon it, with his head upon his hands. Miss Murray had not spent a cheerful day and she found that things in general were all going wrongly that night. Dinner was served nearly five minutes late, the soup had too much pepper in it to suit her taste, the potatoes were cold, the floAvers were badly arranged.

These were all causes of complaint, but worst of all was the fact that, though her brother ate nothing, he would not join in her grumblings. This was merely from perverseness and ill-humour on his part, she was sure ; if it were not so, he would be ready enough to see that nothing was going right now that dear father was not here to look after things. But even this did not rouse him. He looked at the silver on the table and side board, at the richly cut glass and delicate dinner service, at the hot-house flowers and fruit, thoughtfully, as if he had never seen them before ; as indeed he never had, in the light in Avhich he now looked at them. His sister, however, had passed an idle, miserable day, and was much out of humour in conse quence. As soon as the servants had left the room she returned to the charge, and again upbraided him for neither doing nor saying anything. ' It is perfectly abominable ; you really ought to speak to Sims, Gilbert ; the silver was in a disgraceful condition.

Look at this dish — there are finger-marks on it in three distinct places ; and the soup-tureen and the salt-cellars were just as bad ! ' ' It is a very serious thing,' said GUbert gravely ; ' I must really see what can be done about it, to-morrow.' ' Oh ! to-morrow ! ' replied his sister impatiently ; ' you will forget all about it by to-morrow.' ' Perhaps I shall,' said Gilbert slowly ; ' I should almost say you were likely to be right there.' ' That's just what I say ! You put off everything tUl to-morrow, because you are too lazy to do it to-day, and then when the time comes you find a hundred excuses for not doing it at all. You are not fit to be master here if you cannot look after things. You have never said a word to the PRELUDE servants since dear father died — I believe you are afraid of them ! ' Gilbert looked dangerous, as his sister now perceived for the first time.

He got up slowly and rang the bell. ' Tell every servant in the house to come here,' he said quietly ; ' I wish to speak to you all.' ' Gilbert ! GUbert ! — what are you going to do ? — are you mad ? ' expostulated his sister. But he did not speak again tiU the servants bad filed in. ' I believe you think,' he began angrily, ' because I didn't make you feel the rein just at first, that I don't know how to drive and that this team may just run anyhow ; but you are mistaken. I am master here, this is my house, you are my servants ; you have been engaged to do definite things, or to see that definite things are done, and I expect you to fulfil your engagements. Dinner Avas late to-night — whose fault was that ? The silver had not been looked after properly, the flowers were carelessly arranged.' Never had the seiwants heard such a harangue ; it amazed and bewUdered them : but the conclusion was more bewildering still.

He ended by speaking in the very kindest terms of those of the household who had been there a long time, and then bade them all abruptly good-night. At about ten o'clock Gilbert went up to his mother's room. She was sitting before the fire in the little boudoir adjoining her bedroom. A peacock's-feather fan was in her hand, with which she was sheltering her face from the blaze. She greeted him with a very sweet smile. ' So, clear boy, you haA'e not forgotten me,' she said. Gilbert seated himself by her side without a word. He could not command his voice at the moment to speak quite in his natural tones, and so was silent. 'I am coming down to breakfast to-morrow,' she went on ; ' I have been thinking that it has been weak and selfish in me to shrink so long from resuming my ordinary life. WhUe indulging my sorrow for the beloved dead, I have perhaps a little forgotten the almost equally beloved living.

Forgive me, Gilbert.' He stooped and kissed her. A wave of pas sionate pity for her swept through his heart. She Avas not strong enough, he thought, to battle with adversity : yet he could neither saA-e nor shelter her. To-morrow she must hear of this second heavy calamity which had overtaken them. She laid her pretty hand caressingly in his, but her mind was too fully occupied with the thought of the probable effect the feeling of her soft fingers PRELUDE 13 laid in his would have upon him to notice how his pulses throbbed and his hands trembled. ' You may order the carriage for me to-morrow at half-past twelve, if it is fine,' she went on ; 'I will go out for an hour, or an hour and a half, before luncheon. I am sure you are right ; the air will do me good.' ' Yes, mother, I am very glad you will go out,' said GUbert, his voice sounding strangely in his ears. ' You are not vexed with your poor old mother, are you ? ' she asked presently, thinking him unusually silent. ' Oh, Gilbert ! you do not know how crushed I haA'e been, how impossible it seemed to come again in contact with the outer world where life can never again be the same thing.

I hadn't strength for it. But don't imagine that I am intending always to be a burden and a care to you ; I shall learn to live for my children now.' Gilbert tried to divert her attention by telling her of the little events of the day : how the puppies were getting on, and how one of tbe horses had gone lame. But he could not interest her. ' I must be nice to you now, mustn't I, Gilbert ? or you wUl be wanting to send me away to the little dower-house, and I shouldn't like that at alb' She said it with quavering playfulness : like a chUd, she wished to be soothed by emphatic assurances that this was a groundless fear. To her dismay he did not speak. She possessed very little of her son's confidence, and a sudden terror seized her that he might be already engaged. ' What do you mean ? Why don't you speak, Gilbert?

I could never bear to live in that dreadful little place ! ' ' We never know what we can do, or not do, until we try, dear mother,' he said soothingly ; ' you might be very happy there.' ' Oh ! no, no ; I couldn't live away from here : Gilbert, don't send me away. I will be good to you ! ' ' If it depended on me you should most assuredly never go away,' he said ; ' I Avould do anything in my power, God knows, to shield you from trouble and distress.' And then, anxious that she should ha\Te at least one more tranquil night, he began to comfort and reassure her with most unusual tenderness. Poor mother ! if she could not live anywhere but in that one spot her days on earth were numbered. Gilbert passed a sleepless night, but, anxious and painful as the hours were, he found them short, not long, as we do if we dread the morning.

Nothing that lay beyond seemed to him so terrible as what he must face then ; or, rather, PRELUDE this so completely blocked the way and engrossed every thought, that his mind only saw vaguely and afar off the dim forms of other horrors that he would also have to meet and grapple with. He would have shrunk from being compelled to inform his mother that she must bave one carriage-horse less. How was he to tell her that for the future she would most probably have to live upon an income of fewer hundreds than her thousands had formerly been ? She was already enfeebled by the first shock she had sustained so recently — how would she bear the second ? He had fixed in his own mind a certain time when he thought tbat he would tell his mother and sister both together the evil tidings, but as the hour drew near his heart failed him more and more, and at last he resolved to let his sister know first, and induce her, if he could, to help him to break the news to their mother ; she would know how terrible it must be to him and would surely be ready to assist him.

Gertrude flushed a little when he had told her, but she took it very calmly. ' I always thought that that was exactly what would happen,' she said ; ' well, I don't envy you haA'ing to tell mother, that's all,' and she got up and walked out of tbe room without another word. Indignation at her selfishness carried Gilbert with a firm, unhesitating step as far as his mother's door, but once there he paused for a moment, and then he entered the room. Mrs. Murray was standing before her mirror, half sadly, half complacently surveying herself in her black robes; and, indeed, her skin did look very fair and lovely against their sombre black ness. She was dressed in walking costume for the first time since her widowhood, and even the heavy, ungraceful folds of crape could not disfigure her. She turned round to him with a pathetic little gesture and put up her face to be kissed.

She felt at once that Gilbert took an unusual amount of interest in her that day — perhaps it was the effect of her weeds. ' I am glad to see you are nearly ready, mother,' began Gilbert ; ' but the carriage is not round yet, and there is something I wish to say to you before you start.' His manner was so grave that Mrs. Murray became at once alarmed, and, instantly connecting her fears of the night before with her present terror, she leapt to the conclusion that Gilbert was intending to announce his engagement to her — that another woman was going to dispossess her of her house. ' Wbat is it, GUbert ? What is it ? ' she asked breathlessly, sinking into a chair. PRELUDE The dread and revulsion that Gilbert felt against tbe necessity for telling her almost made him sick. ' Mother,' he said, 'you will try to be brave ; I am obliged to tell you something that will distress you.' She gave a little cry. ' Oh, GUbert ! tben I know, I know ; we shall haA'e to leave this house and go to Courtlands, and » be poor and miserable all the rest of our lives.

Oh!' ' Yes, that is it,' he said amazed. ' How did you know ? Oh, mother ! I am so sorry, so very sorry ! ' On hearing this she blazed into sudden anger, and, taking her handkerchief from her face, looked at him with flashing eyes. ' You wicked, bad boy to say you are sorry, to dare to say you are sorry ; it is all your fault ; you have done it. It is very selfish of you, Gilbert, and just at this time too — you might have spared me a little longer. When is it to be — the funeral baked meats, you know — only for Hamlet this time, not the Queen ? ' Well, how soon must we go — to-day ? No wonder you wanted me to go out!' Gilbert was so bewildered and horrified that he could not speak. c But suddenly his mother's mood changed, and she began to cry piteously. ' Who is she ? Tell me all about her.

Is she — is she — pretty ? ' she sobbed. Tben Gilbert was certain that the double shock had turned his mother's brain. In indescribable anxiety he shook her gently by one arm to make her look at him. ' Mother ! mother ! what do you mean ? ' he said ; ' you do not understand. See, I bave brought the papers to show you ; Mr. FuUer came down yesterday to tell us that our capital is all lost. We shall be obliged to live at Courtlands for the future ; Ave shall have enough to live upon if we are very careful, but this house and everything in it must be sold.' To his amazement she sat up and looked re lieA-ed ; the imaginary terror that had so possessed her mind seemed far worse than the real calamity. ' Then you are not engaged ? ' she asked. ' I ? Engaged ? ' echoed Gilbert. ' No, indeed ! ' She flung herself into his arms and kissed him again and again. ' Then I don't care ; I don't care as long as my darling boy is still my own — all, all my own.

Oh, Gilbert ! how you frightened me ! ' Gilbert sat down rather suddenly on a chair PRELUDE near. He had turned so white that his mother ran to the carafe for some water, and gave it to him to drink ; then, standing behind him, she dreAV his head on to her shoulder, and began to caress him gently and tenderly as if he had been still a child. ' My poor boy, my dear boy, my brave boy ! ' she murmured over him. ' Never mind, Gilbert ; I sha'n't feel it so much. There is more society round Courtlands even than here, and everyone there knows who we are. But perhaps we shall not be rich enough for any society, though I and Gertrude, I am sure, have clothes enough to last us for a year or two ; eA'en when we go out of mourning we could have them altered to the fashion, you know ; that wouldn't be very expensive, and it's clothes really that come to so large a sum.

But how much shall we have to live on, Gilbert ? ' ' Mr. Fuller still hopes that we may have several hundred a year,' he said. Mrs. Murray, no doubt, felt staggered at this announcement, but she had now chosen ber rule and must act up to it. ' Why, GUbert, I thought you meant that we must all live on about a pound a week or something of that sort ; if we have two hundred a year we shall manage very well. I don't mind, I really don't mind much, my dear boy; but if you had c been going to be married and live here, while Gertrude and I had to go to live at Courtlands Cottage, I shouldn't haA'e liked that at all ! ' Like Sorrow, Joy is not exclusive. She visits a cottage where there are necessarUy many un satisfied desires, quite as readily as she visits a palace where life may be like a luxurious dream, and Avhere, if desire is unsatisfied, it is for need of further objects to desire.

So there had often before been times of rejoic ing in the shabby little bouse in one of the back streets of Farborough where ' George Jumper, Solicitor and Notary Public,' as the legend on the front door ran, Avas struggling to rear and proA'ide for his large family ; but all previous occasions of joy and delight sank into nothingness before tbis one. News had just been receiATed that Reginald, the eldest son and fourth cbild, had been left a fortune and large property by an eccentric old bachelor, who, as they now learnt, bad taken a fancy to him when he had been quite a small boy. Hence the state of excitement into which the whole family was now thrown. The chorus of jubilation would have been overwhelming to one who, unlike the Jumpers, was not used to noisy demonstrations of joy and grief.

Reginald was now two-and-twenty, and was an PRELUDE 21 intelligent young man, pleasing in appearance, and of medium colouring and height. Being cleverer and better-looking than any of his brothers and sisters, he was his parents' joy and pride, and the only one of their children who had been sent to a good school and afterwards to college. This had been accomplished with considerable difficulty, and had necessitated deprivations and sacrifices on the part of all the rest. But not one of them had grudged their brother this privilege ; their affec tion for him was too strong, and besides they felt sure he was going to make all up to them some day, when the name of Jumper would have become famous in the land. Reginald weU knew what was hoped for from him, and was determined not to disappoint the family expectations.

If not actually Prime Minister he would at any rate become a Q.C., and be M.P. for the county, besides making a name for himself in literature, before his race was run. And now behold the preliminary difficulties, which had sometimes seemed almost too great to be surmounted, had been rolled away ; there was nothing now that he might not accomplish. He sat on the edge of the table in the crowded little parlour, trying to realise the fact of this Avonderful change. Unconsciously he held his head higher, and a pleasing feeling of dignity and self-importance took possession of him. He began to wish that his brothers and sisters would be a little more restrained in tbeir exuberant expressions of joy ; they grated a Little against this newly acquired sense. ' Now we shall be able to go to the subscription balls and have as beautiful dresses as Ethel and Matilda Harrison- Smith ! ' cried the two eldest girls. ' I shall have a pony and ride to school every morning — hurrah! ' cried the third brother joyfully. ' I shall go to Eton,' announced another school boy.