Felix Dorrien; or, a tale twice told ... Illustrated by Lady Boston

Front matter

FELIX DORRIEN OK A TALE TWICE TOLD He regarded her thoughtfully. Fiontisficce. [See p. 1 60. FELIX DORRIEN OR A TALE TWICE TOLD Bl REGINALD LUCAS o, AUTHOR OF "HOIST WITH HER OWN PETARD." ILLUSTRATED BY LADY BOSTON LONDON WARD & DOWNEY Limited 12 YORK BUILDINGS ADELPHI W.C. \_All rights reserved^ "Vaulting Ambition, which o'erleaps itself, And falls on the other side." Macbeth i. vi. AFFECTIONATELY DEDICATED TO MY SISTER MARY ALICE FRYER CONTENTS. CHAP- FACE I. Death in the House . . . . i II. Felix Dorrien Emerges .... 9 III. He Goes Abroad 20 IV. And Plays with Fire .... 30 V. Which Burns 40 VI. Felix Goes upon his Way ... 54 VII. And Makes a Fair Start ... 62 VIII. Windlesham Goes Abroad 73 IX. The Plot Opens 84 X. Windlesham is Repulsed ... 99 XI. Two Betrothals . . . . .110 XII Being Extracts from the Diary of Felix Dorrien 120 XIII.

Rosamund's First Effort . . .129 XIV. A Public Ceremony 142 XV. Lady Ermyntrude Begins . 151 XVI. A Scene and a Crisis .... 162 XVII. A Dinner Party 174 XVIII. Lady Ermyntrude Contents. VLLL PAGE CHAP. XIX. On Spiritualism ... iQ4 XX. Felix, the Father ... • 204 XXI Ermyntrude, the Wife . . . .213 XXII. Husband and Wife . . . 224 XXIII A Card Scandal 236 XXIV. The Downfall 246 XXV. Lady Ermyntrude Falls III . . .256 XXVI. The Filling of the Cup . . .266 XXVII. The End 274 Postscript ...... 285 LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS. PAGE He regarded her thoughtfully . . Frontispiece 160 Lord Oldham 68 Lady Ermyntrude was not unattractive . . -72 They displayed but little sign of enjoyment . . 80 Barnabas B. Rummage aloft on a rocky place . .100 I had no line of conduct ready . . . . .126 Mrs. Pipser sat down ...... 138 He nursed his gout and his grievances . . .196 Lady Windlesham passed slowly through the rooms .

Chapter I

death in the house Southborough House was shrouded in gloom ; an oppressive pall seemed to hang over the venerable grey walls. The old lord lay dead within ; he had been dead not many hours, and reposed still in the great four-poster which he had used full fifty years; never now to wake again. His servant was on guard in the dressing-room. There was a fire burning, and he sat before it with a London paper on his knees. But he read little. His thoughts were with his dead master next door ; selfish thoughts to a certain extent, but not wholly so. It was impossible — it would have been unnatural — not to wonder what legacy might be down for him in the will : at the same time he had not been in close and daily attendance for a quarter of a century without forming a strong and faithful attachment to the old gentleman, whose nobility of nature had broken through tradition and made him something of a hero to his own valet.

It was in the year 18 — , at the close of a winter's day. The new Lord Windlesham was in his own room downstairs ; he had appropriated it on leaving Eton, and here had ever since been stored such books and papers as he had at present collected. Presumably he must transfer these now, since they came into his daily habits and occupations, into the great chamber sacred to the head of the house : but he need not think of that yet. His father's B chair had been left vacant to-day : the heir would let it rest a little unoccupied. He paced up and down the room, his hands clasped behind his back, in earnest meditation. He was dressed for dinner; and beyond the folding doors, which stood open, was a table laid for three. He awaited his companions, if not impatiently, at all events in some anxiety. Presently he stopped in front of the fire, and resting his hands upon the mantelpiece stared fixedly into the bright flames.

He was a massively built man of four-and-twenty, with one of the plainest, at the same time one of the kindest faces imaginable. His hair and complexion were sandy; the former devoid of curl, the latter freckled ; his nose was short, his moustache did nothing to give character to his appearance. Only his eyes were remarkable ; they were blue as the sky in spring, and seemed to be windows through which one could see the true, honest soul within. The old Lord Windlesham had not married until he was over forty, and had been left a widower before his fiftieth birthday. His married life had been short, and perfectly happy : two children had been born to him, Frank and Margaret, and after their mother's death he had never contemplated re-marriage. He had lived and died in great serenity. His rank was exalted, his wealth immense, and his abilities not slender.

It had been predicted in his younger days that he would make some stir in the world, but a form of heart disease had early in life cut him off from all hopes of public activity. It had not, however, made him an entire invalid ; he had spent a useful and most honourable career of devotion to his county, of which he had been Lord Lieutenant, and to his estate, over which he had held an enviable position of semi-feudal authority, won by continual residence and unrelaxed attention to the interests of his dependents. And now, at the age of seventy or more, his old enemy had carried him off in the most startlingly sudden, but apparently painless and peaceful manner. Frank and his father had been excellent friends. The old Earl had been quite shrewd enough to perceive that his son was gifted with no remarkable ability, neither possessed of the graces which might help him to shine in the great world ; but of his sterling goodness he had been Death in the House. 3 well assured, and had felt that the family name and family honour were passing into safe hands.

As for Margaret, she was as good and sweet as she could be — not beautiful — and by constitution delicate. She might not get married as quickly as would be likely with a better looking and higher spirited girl ; but her brother was not the man to let her suffer neglect or discomfort of any sort. They had been close allies for twenty years, and Frank was not likely to turn her out of his house unless she had one equally good to go to. At present she was dining upstairs with her companion, Miss Mellor, while her brother waited for his guests below. One may perhaps be surprised that Frank should choose the day of his father's death for entertaining ; but the case was peculiar. As Viscount Southborough he had been about to stand for Parliament ; they were on the eve of the election, and Lord Windlesham's sudden death had abruptly prevented his candidature.

Indeed, he had been summoned from a meeting of canvassers that morning to hear that his father had, in the act of re-arranging some books in the library with his servant, simply stopped, sat down, and died. In the shock and emotion of the moment, Frank had been beset with many duties ; sheaves of telegrams had to be sent ; orders issued ; doctors, lawyers, relations informed. He had been busy all day — so busy that he had scarcely had time to think of his own grief since he had bent and laid a reverent kiss upon the cold forehead, and taken a farewell look through blinding tears at the beloved features, beautiful in the dignity of death. But in the midst of many cares, one stood pre-eminent, a kind of public responsibility — to take immediate steps for replacing himself in the constituency.

He had sent a mounted messenger forthwith to Colonel Baring, his chairman, begging him to come and dine, and bring with him Mr. Tyne Jones, of Southborough, the head and front of local Toryism. He should be fully occupied all day, he wrote, but if these two gentlemen would come in the evening, they might make up for lost time. Colonel Baring had a long way to come, but he arrived first. He handed his hat and coat to the butler with a friendly nod. "Well, Roberts, it's a sad business. The end was quite peaceful though, wasn't it ? " B The butler wore a scared look, which had been prevalent downstairs all day. " Perfectly, sir. Massey says his Lord ship just sat down quite natural, as if he was tired. Massey couldn't believe he was dead, not at first." " Ah, well — that's a great comfort at all events."

And without further comment he was shown into Frank's room. He took Frank's hand, and looked him full in the face. " South, old boy ; I'm so sorry." " Thanks, Colonel," answered Frank, though his eyes said much more. Luckily we can say a great deal without many words when once we understand one another. Mr. Tyne Jones drove up in a hurry five minutes later. He was not as well acquainted with Roberts as the Colonel, who had been a frequent guest ; and he asked point-blank if Lord Windlesham was at home. Roberts started : it was the first time anyone had spoken of Southborough by his new name. Mr. Tyne Jones came briskly into the room. He was a wiry little man, brim-full of energy, but not so well found in tact. He was a genuine Tory, a less rare bird in those days than it is now. In a hurried tone, half professional, half funereal, he said, as he shook hands, " Let me have the melancholy satisfaction of congratulating your lordship on your advancement to the earldom, and wish you long life and prosperity."

He had thought it over carefully ; he fancied something of the sort ought to be said, and this appeared to meet the requirements of the case. Frank made a proper reply, concealing his astonishment as well as he could, and led the way into the next room. Their dinner talk was naturally not brilliant. Meeting as they did under the shadow of death, they spoke, perhaps unconsciously, in subdued tones. More than this, the knowledge that they had great matters to discuss, which matters must not be named before the servants, rendered their conversation superficial and disjointed. It was not until they had got back into the other room that business was approached. The two guests were comfortably seated ; Colonel Baring lit a cigar. Mr Tyne Jones never smoked. " Now," said Frank, " we are not likely to be dis turbed, we can begin."

He was standing before the fire and looked from one to the other of his companions. " I Death in the House. 5 am much obliged to you gentlemen for coming here. There was no time to be lost ; and although I don't wish to arrogate to myself undue importance, I thought it might be convenient for you to meet here." His listeners murmured assent. " No one could have foreseen what has happened — " he paused a moment. Colonel Baring looked down and said nothing. Mr. Tyne Jones gave a sympathetic wriggle, and said something about certain melancholy contingencies being unavoidable. " I mean," continued Frank, " that I feel people may think I had no business to come forward. All I can say is, that we had no reason to expect anything happening to my dear father : we were justified in hoping he had still a good many years to live.

However, there it is ; I am obliged to desert you, and we must find a substitute." Colonel Baring spoke. " You may clear your mind at once on that score, South. Everyone knows the risk of running a peer's eldest son. You were no exception to the rule ; and even if you had been, we should have deserved the blame ; not you." " Quite so," exclaimed Mr. Tyne Jones. ' ' Very proper." " Very well, then," said Frank; "now to business. I don't know whether you have ever thought about a second string." " It's a confession of weakness," said Colonel Baring ; "but upon my word I never did. Did you, Jones?" Mr. Tyne Jones was not going to give himself away. " Well, Colonel, I always hoped you would come forward in the event of anything happening to his lordship— not such a sad occurrence as this, of course," he made haste to explain.

" I mean, generally speaking, in the absence of Lord Southborough." He gave a convincing nod and wave of his right hand. Colonel Baring smiled. " I won't return the compliment, Jones, because I know very well that if you had wanted to stand, you would have stood long before this. As for my self — frankly, I would rather not. I don't say that if no one could be found, and I was pressed to come forward, I should refuse. But I would rather not." " Then whom would you recommend ? " asked Mr. Tyne Jones. Colonel Baring reflected. "It is uncommonly hard to say : the fact is we have nobody. Lord Oldham's brother isn't likely to give up his present seat — it's safer than this." " What difference will this make in our chances ? " broke in Frank. " What do you think, Jones ? " asked the Colonel, passing on the question.

Mr. Tyne Jones screwed up his mouth. " Lord South borough would have got in, of that I am convinced. What another man may do, I can't say. We lose ground by the change, and in these dreadful democratic days, there's no knowing what will happen." It is to be observed that " laudator temporis acti " is a per manent type and no new character. Mr. Tyne Jones was only ahead of his times in so far as his Toryism was more rigid than was common, and therefore more easily shocked. "What about that fellow North, at Chirkton; do you think he would stand ? " said Colonel Baring, after a pause. " Lord, no ! " cried Mr. Tyne Jones. " The man is half a Radical. I couldn't conscientiously support him." Colonel Baring laughed. " Then it's no use thinking of him. What do you think though, South? Have you thought of anyone ?

" Southborough had not spoken yet. " I wanted first to hear whether you had a man ready ; because to my mind there is one, and only one who will do." " Who is that ? " asked Colonel Baring. Southborough looked straight at him. " Felix Dorrien," he said. "Young Dorrien?" repeated Colonel Baring, in astonish ment. Mr. Tyne Jones seemed equally surprised. " You know him, don't you ? " inquired Frank. " I suppose I do," answered Colonel Baring. " But I don't know much about him. Do you, Jones ? " Mr. Tyne Jones shook his head. " I don't know that I've ever seen the young gentleman ; though I daresay he's been at the Rectory when I have been there." " If you once saw him, you wouldn't forget him," exclaimed Frank, with a gleam in his eyes. " He's the best looking fellow in England." " His appearance may be all right," said Colonel Baring j Death in the House. 7 " and if the women had votes, I daresay he would do ; but is he a strong man ?

" " My dear Colonel, he's a giant. He swept the board at Eton and Cambridge. There was no one to touch him ; surely you must have met him ? " Colonel Baring pondered. " I've seen him dancing, and playing cricket ; and I've seen him out hunting ; he rides well enough, and I know he has got a great many runs at Lord's, and all that. I never heard he was clever. Can he make a speech ? Has he got any political instinct ? " " He'd make a splendid candidate," Frank protested. " He knows his facts, and he speaks magnificently. When we were at Eton, he made the Pop. debates quite exciting." " What is he doing now ? " " He has been reading for the Bar since he came back from abroad." Colonel Baring appealed to Mr. Tyne Jones, who was clearly not enthusiastic. " You see, it's coming from the Earl of Windlesham's son to the Rector of Southborough's son.

I don't know that our people wouldn't lose some of their interest in the fight." Frank was nobly indifferent to the inference to be drawn from this, that his strength lay in his name rather than him self. " Set Felix on a platform," he declared ; " he will very soon put heart into them." " Is he a great friend of yours ? " inquired Colonel Baring. " Yes, very great. I know him better, and admire him more, than any man living. He is bound to come to the front sooner or later, and it seems to me that this is just the opening for him." " Is he a man of means ? " " You know his people, of course. His mother has got some money. Felix is the only one. Of course he will have it all." " But at present what has he got ? " " Well, nothing, I suppose, beyond what they choose to give him. But I can't imagine they would let such a chance slip.

It can't matter to them whether he goes to the Bar or not. He doesn't want money, and he is just the man for politics. As a matter of fact," he concluded, " as I have rather left you in the lurch, I should be quite prepared to smooth over that difficulty for this election." He added this shyly, and Mr. Tyne Jones muttered, " Very handsome, very handsome." Colonel Baring lived some way off, and Mr. Tyne Jones went little into society ; consequently neither of them had come across the Rector's son during such periods as he had spent at home as an Eton boy, and an undergraduate. Frank Southborough had to introduce his friend by declamation. The two gentlemen listened attentively enough. To tell the truth, they had been unable to disguise from themselves that they were in a fix. It had been a day of worry and indecision ; and in their present state of mind any suggestion, however weak it might at first appear, came as a relief.

Colonel Baring was silent. Mr. Tyne Jones plaintively remarked that the seat had always been fought by a county man, and that in these dreadful democratic days it would not do to run any but the strongest. Goodness only knew what things were coming to; he didn't. Whatever happened, they mustn't listen to any name which did not guarantee sound Tory principles. Southborough assured him that his friend was as sound a Tory as could be found ; no heresy was in him. In fact, the party would, in his opinion, be lucky to get such a man, and the constituency would be honoured by such a repre sentative. Colonel Baring seemed tempted rather than convinced. " At all events," he said, " it is worth considering. Where is he now ? " " In London," said Frank. " He promised to come and help me electioneering.

If I send him a telegram he will be here to-morrow." " We might call a meeting for to-morrow afternoon," said Colonel Baring. " We ought to lose no time." So it was settled. In default of other candidates, Felix Dorrien might do ; perhaps they might have to make him do. So they thanked Southborough for his assistance, and presently took themselves off home.

Chapter II. Felix Dorrien Emerges

Felix Dorrien was the only child of the Rev. John Dorrien and Elizabeth his wife. Mr. Dorrien had formerly been curate at Waterdale, in the North. He was an amiable and accomplished man, rather dreamy and reserved, and it had astonished local society to hear that he was going to marry Elizabeth Tanner, daughter of the great ironmaster. Miss Tanner was not only an heiress ; she was something of a character on her own account — good-looking, sprightly, even eccentric, and proportionately popular. Most of the young men about Waterdale had wished to marry her at one time or another ; but they had all bored her after a while, even those to whom she had taken spasmodic fancies, thereby inciting them to great but ill-grounded hopes. When she announced herself the betrothed of Mr. Dorrien, the curate, her father's rage was unmeasured.

He had made a fine fortune and a considerable position, and he considered this alliance a sad falling away. However, Elizabeth was resolute, and in the end she had her way, as usual. So much so, indeed, that Mr. Tanner purchased the advowson of Southborough, and presented his son-in-law to the living. It had rather annoyed Lord Windlesham at the time. Had he known it was in the market, he would have liked to buy it himself: however, he heard of it too late, and was only con soled upon finding that Mr. Dorrien was a particularly agreeable and efficient person. In due season Mr. Tanner died, bequeathing a large sum of money to his daughter. Mrs. Dorrien had married for love, but she had no idea of cherishing her passion in a cottage. She proposed, on the other hand, to keep herself well in evidence, and play her full part in the comedy of life.

To begin with, she had moved into one of the biggest and best houses in Southborough, to which the title of Rec tory was for convenience transferred, the former and proper Rectory being handed over to the curates as a clergy house. She had a great idea of getting either a fashionable London church or a reverend canonry for John by-and-by — her incli nation fluctuating between the two, according as her instinct for the moment happened to be social or emotional. In due season a son was born unto them, and baptized in the name of Felix. Of his early years there were amassed, without doubt, great quantities of house-lore : such as they were, however, they affect not this story. Felix went to Eton at the same time and into the same house as little Southborough. Great had been the good mother's inward satisfaction at this auspicious coincidence.

Greater still had been her glee when she perceived that with each re curring holiday the link of friendship was faster riveted between the two boys. Felix was continually at South borough House ; Frank not less often at the Rectory. Mrs. Dorrien had not even the pains of pointing this out to her neighbours : they saw it for themselves, and commented on it whenever they came to call. Better still, it became evident as time went on that Felix had the predominant character of the two. He had given early proof of brain power ; a respectable library of school prizes already attested this much. He took no less kindly to games, and he left Eton Captain of the Oppidans, in the Eleven, in Pop.; captain or president of half the things in the school. He could remember all his life a certain Sunday evening at the end of his school career.

He and South had finished tea — of course they messed together— and had gone into the playing fields. For a long time they sat upon the bench in Poets' walk, heavy hearted at the prospect before them. Nobody but a boy who has done it, can appreciate the acuteness of the anguish of leaving school. South in his way had made a considerable mark, and was entitled to the glorious sorrow of laying down the pride of boy heroism. In fact he was heard to say many years later, that he con sidered upon the whole that his grief at leaving Eton was the most poignant he had ever felt. This evening, at all events, he had been sad enough. " It has been a good time," he said, looking round ; " and it's going, Felix ; all going. It will never come again." Felix relished little enough the abandonment of his empire.

" It's worse for me than for you, I think, South," he said. " You will be a great man always : I shall be nobody now for the rest of my life." Southborough laughed. " I'd exchange chances with you quick enough. You will walk away from the lot of us. I don't say you'll be a bigger swell than you are here, because that's impossible; but we shall all be taking off our hats to you thirty years hence." Felix threw pebbles into the river, and smiled pleasantly. " You probably won't know me ten years hence," he said. But he didn't mean it. He knew his own value pretty well. Southborough hotly repudiated the idea ; his devotion to Felix was very great. In fact, he had subordinated his own mind to that of his brilliant companion in a manner which could not escape such a close observer as Mrs. Dorrien, and the good lady continued to remark the fact with much satisfac tion.

The two boys went to Cambridge, and in altered circum stances the same relations obtained. They both took degrees — Felix, a first-class in honours ; Southborough, an ordinary pass. After this they went round the world together ; and now, at four-and-twenty years of age, they had taken their places as men, to make what they could of life. Mr. Dorrien had always attached supreme importance to the intellectual side of his son's character. It was his earnest wish that Felix should take orders ; for the sake of the Establishment he was in favour of enlisting in the service of the Church the best abilities to be had, and he would have liked to see his son rising high in the calling for which he himself entertained so ardent an affection. But Mrs. Dorrien thought otherwise. Had Felix been good, and intelligent, he might very well have succeeded his father in the living of Southborough ; but he was something more than this.

The proud mother knew that her son was not as other Rectors' sons, and she determined that he should not fail to profit by his advantages. Her mind had long been fixed upon the Bar. All clever men went there, she believed ; at all events, all the clever men she had ever known seemed to have been barristers ; and she preferred for her son the " woolsack " to the See of Canterbury. Of course, he would go into Parliament in time ; that was the obviou channel to fame, and she had a confused idea that the Bar and the House of Commons went together in the history of all great careers. Felix himself had at one time leaned towards the pro fession of arms. He was gifted, as he well knew, with extraordinary good looks, and the sight of the Guards marching through Eton had always fired him with martial ardour.

Those fellows looked so uncommonly smart ; he flattered himself he should be in his element amongst them. Under his mother's care, however, this passion, which chiefly arose from vanity, gave way to a more legitimate ambition. He was pleased to accept the career which she offered for his consideration, and to the Bar he accordingly turned his attention. He was taking the first step in that direction — namely, eating his dinners at the Inner Temple, at the time of Lord Windlesham's death. He came down at once in response to his friend's telegram. He had seen, of course, in the papers that the old Lord was dead, and was not particularly surprised that South should wish to see him. There were probably a great number of things to be done, and there was nobody in the house to whom he could turn.

It did not occur to him at first that this death would prevent South from stand ing; even when it did strike him, the idea never for a moment presented itself that there could be any personal interest for him in the matter. He had not identified himself with public matters at Southborough. He had played cricket with the men, and danced with the women, but he had never thought of cultivating the acquaintance of the shining lights of the neighbourhood. In fact, he had been regretting that now South was coming out, his own local knowledge was not sufficient to enable him to offer better assistance. He reached Southborough House after lunch, and found his friend writing in his own room. " South, dear old boy, I can't tell you how sorry I am. I know how fond you were of him." " No one ever had a better father," said Southborough, simply.

There was a pause. Even between these close friends there was a little shyness. Death is so rare, and so solemn, that we are always awed by it, and cannot behave quite naturally in its presence. " How is Lady Margaret ? " asked Felix. " Very well. She was here a minute ago. It was good of you to come, Felix," he added. " Of course I came. If there is anything I can do for you, you know I'd like to do it." " It's very good of you. In the first place you must have some food; there is something in here." And he led the way through the folding doors. Felix had a healthy appetite, whetted now by a railway journey, and he made no demur to appeasing it. South borough sat in an armchair at a distance, watching him. There could be no question as to where the physical advantage lay between the two men.