Anthony Cuthbert

Chapter I

^THONY CUTHBERT, of Cuthbertsheugh in the county r\ of Northumberland, was, unlike many bearers of Northumbrian names scarcely less ancient than his own, a rich man.

If former generations of Cuthberts had gambled and drank, and kept open house in the old, genial Northumbrian way, the reigning squire of Cuthbertsheugh had not suffered financially thereby. Anthony Cuthbert’s father, who, like his father and his grandfather before him, had also been called Anthony, had married a woman of large fortune, and this fortune had been very strictly tied up by her marriage settlements. Perhaps the knowledge that he could only touch the interest of his wife’s capital had made the late squire more careful of his money than many of his neighbours had considered it necessary to be of their own. As a matter of fact, he had been something of a miser, and was perpetually haunted by the idea that he was a poor man. His wife had borne him eleven children ; but the Northumbrian climate, conducing as it does to the survival of the fittest, had successfully defeated this thoughtless fertility. Out of these eleven babies, who had arrived in the world apparently more or less equipped for a journey through life, only six had travelled any distance along the road; and of these six, only two, the actual possessor of Cuthbertsheugh and his sister, Miss Jane Cuthbert, were still travelling.

The natural thing would of course have been, that Miss Cuthbert, when her brother’s wife died leaving him a lone and childless widower, should have gone to Cuthbertsheugh to keep house for him. Between the brother and sister, however, little i sympathy existed. Miss Cuthbert was given up to good works , or, to speak more accurately, she was given up to the inciting ot others to perform them. She was deeply religious, and her religion was cast in a decidedly limited and evangelical mould ; whereas her brother Anthony was by no means religiously inclined, but was to all intents and purposes a freethinker. After her sister-in-law’s death, Miss Cuthbert had made a valiant effort to live with her brother at Cuthbertsheugh. The manage, however, had not been a success. After a few months’ trial, Miss Cuthbert had declared herself unable to live in a godless atmosphere, and Anthony Cuthbert had not sought to dissuade her from trying a change of air. She had accordingly retired to the little house she had formerly occupied in the outskirts of Alnwick, where she sought consolation in district visiting, and in becoming an active member of the local branch of a society for the promotion of interference between servant-girls and their employers.

And so Anthony Cuthbert had been for some years left alone in the old house at Cuthbertsheugh — a great, square block of buildings erected at different dates round the nucleus of a massive peel-tower of the twelfth century. The present owner of Cuthbertsheugh had by no means inherited the tastes of a long line of Northumbrian ancestors for hard living and hard drinking. As a matter of course he was a sportsman. Born and bred under the shadow of the Cheviots, he could scarcely have failed to have sporting instincts. But, unlike many of his neighbours, Mr. Cuthbert was a cultured man as well as a sportsman. He was a man, moreover, who could and did think for himself ; and consequently, even in his earlier days, when he had hunted and shot and fished with the keenest and hardest of his brother squires, he had never been obliged to resort to the whisky-bottle for companionship when kept within doors.

Of late years, however, and more especially since his wife’s death, Anthony Cuthbert had led an increasingly secluded life. At rare intervals he would appear in the hunting-field, always well mounted, and always riding hard when hard riding was necessary. Every November the coverts at Cuthbertsheugh afforded four days’ shooting which, although on no exaggerated scale, was regarded as being among the best in the northern portion of the county. On these occasions Mr. Cuthbert would show himself to be an excellent and agreeable host, and Cuthbertsheugh a comfortable and well-ordered establishment.

The place had about it a peculiar fascination. Those whose only knowledge of Northumberland is gained from looking out of the windows of a railway carriage between Newcastle and Berwick have little idea that they are traversing one of the most picturesque, as it is one of the most historically interesting counties in England. On one side of him the traveller on the North-Eastern main line sees flat fields of stubble or turnips ; on the other side a sullen sea breaking on a low, rock-bound coast. The natural beauties lying beyond that strip of arable land — the glorious, wide- spreading moors, purple in late summer and russet-brown in winter ; the still woodlands ; the rivers and streams, castle-crowned, now gliding under wooded banks, now tumbling through rocky ravines — are hidden from the sight of the traveller in a Scotch express train. Consequently, there are those who assert — may God forgive them ! — that Northumberland is an uglv county.

The house at Cuthbertsheugh stood, surrounded by woods, below a long ridge of basaltic rocks — one of those ridges which are locally termed “heughs” — from which the place derived its name, and which afforded shelter from the fierce easterly gales that sweep across the North Sea. A low, battlemented gateway, the last remains of the outer defences of a mediaeval fortress, gave access to an avenue of ancient lime-trees from the high-road leading to the Scottish border some fifteen miles distant. At the end of this avenue rose the square peel-tower, massive and grey of hue, on either side of which the more modern portions of the house had been added at different periods.

A terraced garden lay in front of the house, and from its broad grass walks could be seen a wide expanse of hill and dale, of wood and moorland, stretching away to the Cheviots on the western horizon.

Walking slowly up and down one of these terraces, and stopping every now and then to look at the gorgeous tints of an autumn sunset clothing the distant Cheviots with a mantle of purple and gold, Mr. Cuthbert of Cuthbertsheugh was engaged in earnest conversation with a good-looking young man of apparently some six or seven and twenty years of age. Although he would soon never see fifty again, Anthony Cuthbert was scarcely less good-looking in his way than his companion, who was also his nephew. There was, indeed, an indescribable charm of manner and bearing about Anthony Cuthbert which few people of either sex could be long in his company and fail to realise, provided always that he took the trouble to allow it to appear. Very frequently, however, he did not take this trouble ; and then he would pass for a silent, reserved man, engrossed in his own thoughts and indifferent to those of his neighbours.

When Mrs. Cuthbert died, the said neighbours had unanimously decided that the squire of Cuthbertsheugh would marry again at no very distant date. So far as some of them were concerned the wish had been father to the thought, and candidates for the vacant position had not been wanting. Years had passed, however, and Anthony Cuthbert had shown no signs of wishing to renew bonds which death had broken. Some people declared that he was an embittered man, and others that he was an egoist. There were not wanting others, again, who shook their heads and whispered of a mistress who was probably French. Sometimes the mistress was elevated into the position of a wife, and credited with a family which, at the squire’s death, would appear on the scene and lay claim to Cuthbertsheugh.

But in the meantime Mr. Cuthbert himself, whenever he vouchsafed to speak of his affairs, had recently alluded to his nephew, Captain James Sinclair, as his probable heir and successor. It was with this nephew, the son of a sister who had died when her only child was on the verge of manhood, that Anthony Cuthbert was conversing on an October evening beneath the grey walls of Cuthbertsheugh.

CHAPTER II u TT’S an infernal sell, Uncle Anthony, and I don’t pretend JL that it isn’t,” the younger man was saying ; “but ”

Anthony Cuthbert turned aside to tie up a mass of crimson dahlias which had broken away from the stick supporting them. “ But,” he observed, when he had completed the operation, “ it is one of the accidents of your profession. All the same, Jim,” he added, “ as you say, the thing is an infernal sell for you, and a great disappointment to me. Five years in India, and now ordered off again at a moment’s notice to a hole like Malta — when you have scarcely been on leave a month — yes — it is certainly what you call a ‘sell.’”

His nephew laughed. “ Distinctly,” he replied; “but, after all, it’s part of the business — and I don’t suppose they will keep us very long at Malta.”

“ I should have been very glad to have had you here till after Christmas,” said Mr. Cuthbert. “ What with the shooting and hunting you would probably not have found it too dull, and — well, I should have been glad of your company during the winter evenings.” He spoke hesitatingly. Indeed, the latter part of his remark was delivered almost brusquely.

Jim Sinclair glanced at him. “ I thought you liked being alone ? ” he said.

“Of course,” returned Mr. Cuthbert hastily; “so I do! Meglio solo che maV accomftagnato, the Italians say; and I have long ago discovered that they are certainly right.”

“ Don’t understand Italian,” said his nephew briefly.

Anthony Cuthbert laughed. “ You will find a little acquaintance with the language useful in Malta,” he said drily. “ I suppose,” he continued after a pause, “that you have been brought up to think of me as an eccentric recluse. It’s not altogether my fault, Jim, if you and I have not seen as much of one another as we might have done. Circumstances have been to blame — and the War Office.”

“ I never thought you wanted to see much of me, Uncle Anthony,” said Jim Sinclair, with a smile.

“I didn’t,” replied Mr. Cuthbert frankly; “not when you were a child. I detest children. Moreover, your father, when he was alive, did not consider that I should be a good companion for you; and when you were one-and-twenty you went out to India with your regiment. But now you are not a boy any longer.”

“ I’ve often wondered — ” began James Sinclair, and then he stopped abruptly.

“Why I never married again?” supplemented Mr. Cuthbert.

“ Well — yes ! ”

“ Ah ! there again — Meglio solo che maV accompagnato. You don’t understand the proverb. I hope you never will have cause to feel its truth. Do you know what they say about me in these parts, Jim ? ” he added.

His nephew shook his head. “How should I?” he replied. “ I have not been at Cuthbertsheugh for six years.”

Anthony Cuthbert smiled a cynical smile. “ They say I keep a wife and family — some people insist that it is only a lady and family — abroad.”

Captain Sinclair glanced at him quickly. “ Yes ? ” he said inquiringly.

“ It would be very awkward for you if it happened to be true — the wife, I mean,” observed Mr. Cuthbert somewhat incoherently.

Jim’s face flushed a little. “ I don’t see that it would be any business of mine,” he said.

The other looked at him keenly ; then he smiled approvingly.

“ My dear Jim,” he remarked, “ if people only occupied themselves with their own business, they would be — well, about here they would be very idle. As it is, they have occupied themselves with mine. I observe that you do not ask me if the story is true.”

“No, Uncle Anthony, I don’t. As I said before, it is no business of mine. It appears to me that any little arrangements you may have across the Channel ”

Anthony Cuthbert stared at him for a moment, and then he burst out laughing. “ Upon my word, Jim,” he exclaimed, “ you have risen in my estimation. If you had declared that you couldn’t and wouldn’t credit anything of the kind about your uncle, I should have put you down as either a humbug or an ass —probably as both. Well, as a matter of fact the whole thing is nonsense. I don’t keep a second establishment, legal or otherwise ; but it amuses my Northumbrian neighbours to think that I do ; and it is a source of constant mental excitement to my sister Jane. When she looks at me and sighs heavily, I know she is thinking of the second establishment.”

“ But don’t you sometimes feel lonely here at Cuthbertsheugh ? ” asked his nephew.

“ Sometimes — yes. But I love the place, except in spring. After Christmas, as you know, I go to the South ; to the Riviera and Italy, and very often much further afield. Had it not been for this sudden order to proceed to Malta, you might have remained here and hunted three days a week through January and February. I want you to look upon the place as your home. In all probability, if you behave yourself decently, Cuthbertsheugh will be yours some day. But, when that day comes, you will have to take your mother’s name. Nobody but a Cuthbert must own Cuthbertsheugh.”

Anthony Cuthbert’s glance wandered over the landscape before them as he spoke. He had only told the truth when he said that he loved Cuthbertsheugh. He loved every acre of his Northumbrian possessions, and of the wild, strong Border country in which they lay. It was strange, perhaps, that a man of his tastes should be able to feel an almost passionate affection for scenes so different from the voluptuous southern lands whither he had been accustomed to resort for quite half the year. It was not to be wondered at if Anthony Cuthbert were something of an enigma to his neighbours. There was a general impression that something must be radically amiss with a man who, possessing lands and a considerable income in his own country, should elect to spend so large a portion of his time among foreigners. Had it not been for the acknowledged fact that the owner of Cuthbertsheugh could handle a gun or a salmon-rod, and could ride to hounds with the best of his neighbours, he would doubtless have been looked upon as too refined and intellectual to be a worthy representative of the generations of Cuthberts who had formerly made Cuthbertsheugh famous in the sporting annals of the North Country. As it was, however, Anthony Cuthbert’s county neighbours of his own sex regarded him as a “ crank,” who had nevertheless many redeeming points about him. It was chiefly their wives who whispered together of the French mistress, the illegitimate progeny, and the scandal which would inevitably come to light whenever Mr. Cuthbert should be gathered to his fathers.

It must be confessed that Anthony Cuthbert had not always troubled himself as to whether or not he might be offending local prejudices. It was perfectly well known that he was not always alone at- Cuthbertsheugh, and his shooting parties were not the only gatherings which took place within its walls. In the early autumn especially, the railway employes on the branch line running between Alnwick and the comparatively little-known country under the Cheviots were occasionally disturbed in their minds by passengers conversing in unknown tongues, whose palpably un-British luggage was labelled for the roadside station from which Cuthbertsheugh was some three miles distant. Somehow or other, it was invariably known when Cuthbertsheugh happened to be, as it was contemptuously described, full of foreigners. There was, nevertheless, keen curiosity on the part of the neighbourhood to see what manner of men and women these foreigners might be. Anthony Cuthbert always noticed, with a quiet smile of amusement, that he received more visits on such occasions than at any other period. Mr. Cuthbert was, however, invariably “ not at home,” and the callers would drive away down the lime avenue with looks of pregnant meaning on their faces.

When all was said and done, the neighbours were not entirely in the wrong. Anthony Cuthbert was, and always had been from his youth upward, something of a Bohemian at heart. He was, moreover, entirely cosmopolitan both by nature and habit. A talent for acquiring other languages than his own had broken down for him the greater number of those mental and moral barriers with which the average Englishman surrounds himself. As he himself was fully aware, he was a man of diverse lives ; and his nature permitted him to lead each of these lives with satisfactory consistency, according to the circumstances in which he might find himself placed.

It was manifest that such a character as that of the owner of Cuthbertsheugh must present altogether unsatisfactory peculiarities to his Northumbrian neighbours. The consciousness that this was the case — the knowledge that he was regarded as an abnormal individual — probably made Anthony Cuthbert show to less advantage among his neighbours in the county than he would otherwise have done. On such occasions as one of his shooting parties, or when the hounds met at Cuthbertsheugh, Mr. Cuthbert would show himself in his role of a Northumbrian county magnate. His guests would then say to one another that it was deplorable to think that a man who knew so well how to maintain the traditions of his family should be so eccentric in other ways.

It was generally reported that Anthony Cuthbert had been somewhat wild in his younger days; but his wildness had not taken those forms which were regarded as more or less natural to other young men of his standing in the county. He had neither drank nor gambled ; and, whatever his other vices might have been, it was presumed that he had found greater facilities for indulging in them across the Channel than in his own country.

Mr. Cuthbert’s married life had been brief, and not particularly happy. His wife, the daughter of a Scottish peer of family as ancient as his own, had become a hopeless invalid a few months after the marriage, of which a still-born child had been the only result. Nobody had ever found a word to say against Anthony Cuthbert’s conduct as a husband during the four years his wife had lingered. His kindness and attention to her had

IO been unremitting; and, since the Northumbrian climate is not among those best adapted to the consumptive, he had taken her wherever the doctors had thought fit to suggest. As a matter of fact, the marriage had been one rather of expediency than of love. At the time of his father’s death Anthony Cuthbert had been still a bachelor, with no inclination to change his condition. The elder Anthony, however, feeling his time to be drawing near, had seriously represented to his son that it was his duty to marry ; since, if he should not do so, Cuthbertsheugh must eventually lose its proud tradition of having passed from father to son for more than five hundred years. To the younger Anthony his father’s desire seemed reasonable enough, and, indeed, he would have been the last to disregard the family traditions. Why he had not married again, therefore, was the more inexplicable ; and, since he could readily have found a score of eligible young ladies in the county, any one of whom would have been delighted to become the mistress of Cuthbertsheugh, it was perhaps not to be wondered at if irate mothers whispered, with an air of offended virtue, of a foreign entanglement.

“ No,” repeated Mr. Cuthbert, after a pause ; “I am sorry to disappoint my neighbours, but the truth is that I do not keep a wife hidden across the Channel ! So, at all events for the present, Jim, you can be easy in your mind. As to a mistress — ” Anthony Cuthbert paused, and looked away to where the red disc of the sun was just sinking behind Carter Fell and the purple Cheviots.

“ Yes, Uncle Anthony ? ” said his nephew, as he paused.

The observation was mildly interrogative, and Anthony Cuthbert laughed.

“ Not even that ! ” he said ; “ not, at all events, in the ordinary sense of the term.”

James Sinclair glanced at him, and his glance betrayed an amusement he was unable to conceal.

“ Let us walk a little,” continued Mr. Cuthbert quietly ; “the air is getting frosty. Look at that pale green colour in the sky, above the red glow. To-morrow morning the dahlias will be black. What was I saying ? Ah, yes ; we were talking about — well, about women. Personally, I never could see the advantage of keeping a mistress. I shouldn’t advise you ever to do so. One can dispense hospitality to one’s friends and acquaintances without being so generous as that ! ”

Jim Sinclair laughed. He was becoming accustomed to his uncle’s cynicisms; and, unlike Mr. Cuthbert’s country neighbours, he did not regard them as signs of latent depravity.

“Too expensive a luxury for a poor man,” he observed laconically.

Anthony Cuthbert nodded. “ Quite so,” he returned ; “ expensive, and unsatisfactory. You tell me that you wonder I never married again, Jim,” he continued after a pause. “Perhaps, therefore, it would not surprise you very much to learn that some few years ago I was on the point of doing so. It is as well that you should know the story — since you are the one person in the world who will probably benefit by its occurrence.” Mr. Cuthbert spoke somewhat bitterly, and Jim Sinclair felt a sudden sensation of embarrassment.

“ I am sorry, Uncle Anthony — ” he began.

Anthony Cuthbert cut him short. “ On the contrary,” he said quickly, “ you ought to be glad ! Cuthbertsheugh is worth four thousand a year at the least, and it represents the minor part of my income.”

Jim Sinclair’s face flushed. “ All the same,” he said quietly, “lam sorry if — if things have not turned out as you wished.”

“As I wished,” repeated Mr. Cuthbert; “no, they certainly did not turn out as I wished ! However, it is no use thinking about that. It is quite true, Jim, some few years ago I was on the point of marrying again — for love. My first venture was hardly a love match. I did my best to believe that it was so at the time ; but afterwards, well — afterwards I learned the difference. Yes. When I was nearly forty — old enough to know better — I fell in love with a Florentine girl twenty years younger than myself— twenty-one years younger, to be correct. The odd part of it was that I had known her family for many years, and had watched her growing up.”

“ A girl of the people, perhaps ? ” hazarded his nephew.

“By no means ! ” replied Anthony Cuthbert hastily. “ A girl as well born as you or I. Her family is as old as any in Tuscany, and that is saying a good deal.”

“ In that case, what stood in the way ? ” asked Captain Sinclair ; “ difference in age, perhaps ? ”

Anthony Cuthbert shook his head. “ No,” he answered drily, “ I can flatter myself that the difference in our respective ages was no obstacle to her returning my love. There was another difference, however, of a more serious kind.”

“Not money, certainly ! ”

“Religion,” said Mr. Cuthbert briefly. “At least,” he added, “ religion was made the excuse. But there were other considerations.”

“ Of course,” observed Jim Sinclair, “ she would be a Roman Catholic. But that fact would hardly have made any difference to you, Uncle Anthony ? ”

“ Of course not ! To me all creeds are the same. But at the last moment the marriage was made conditional to my becoming a Catholic myself.”

“ But if you consider all creeds to be the same, why shouldn’t you have become one ? ”

“ And profess to believe in things in which I have not the slightest faith?” asked Anthony Cuthbert contemptuously. “ No, Jim, I couldn’t do that. I was prepared to subscribe to all the conditions demanded by the priests in the case of a ‘ mixed marriage,’ but I could not tie myself to any religious denomination, Catholic, Protestant, or otherwise. Besides, the religious difficulty was only a secondary, a very secondary matter. The real fact was that the family desired another alliance for the young lady. I was a foreigner, and supposed to be a Protestant ; though, as you know, I entirely decline to be labelled as belonging to any religious denomination. Moreover, I had no title. In a country like Italy, where titles are as thick as blackberries in the hedges, it is almost impossible to make people who do not happen to understand our English system in those matters believe that an Englishman may be the equal, and often the superior, in blood and ancient descent to dozens of his compatriots having handles to their names. An Italian, for instance, could with difficulty be made to realise that the grandson of a duke might only be simply Mr. So-and-So. But this difficulty, like the religious difficulty, would speedily have been surmounted had it not been for other influences at work. Indeed, it was never seriously advanced by the family, which was well acquainted with our English system in those matters.”

“ But if the girl cared for you ? ”

Mr. Cuthbert shrugged his shoulders. “ My dear Jim,” he replied, “that would be a mere detail in the eyes of her family — an unfortunate accident not to be taken into account. Marriages are 4 arranged ’ in Italy ; and Donna Laura Conti’s marriage had already been arranged before — well, before we either of us realised how things were between us.”

“She is married, then?” asked Jim Sinclair.

“ Very much so,” replied his uncle drily. 44 Her present name is the Princess del Monte. Her husband is a Roman. It was an affair of love at second hand.”

Jim Sinclair looked puzzled. “At second hand?” he repeated.

“Ah, you do not understand? Well, luckily such marriages do not very often occur in this country ; but they are not quite unknown even here. Yes : Donna Laura Conti married, or rather was married to Prince del Monte — a man perhaps three years younger than myself, but certainly not more.”

“ Was he very rich — a great catch ? ”

“Neither the one nor the other,” answered Mr. Cuthbert. “There are princes — and princes in Rome. Del Monte belongs to the latter category. His title would, if all accounts be true, not bear any very searching examination into its authenticity. It was a papal title, bestowed upon his grandfather by Pius the Ninth. History does not go further than the grandfather, who, in point of fact, was a successful contractor in Rome, and made himself useful financially to the Vatican at a moment when that institution needed all the help it could get. Most of the family fortune, I imagine, went in purchasing the title. But I need not go into details. Everybody in Rome would tell you about the principe del Monte. The Romans are so fond of titles, that they are always ready to ignore any little irregularities that may have occurred in the acquisition of them.”

“ Then, Uncle Anthony, I don’t see the object of the marriage,” observed Captain Sinclair. “ I should have thought that the young lady’s family would have jumped at your offer, even if it did come a little late in the day.”

Anthony Cuthbert hesitated. “ She was sacrificed,” he said presently — “sacrificed, Jim ! Of course she did not know it at the time. She did what the majority of Italian girls are brought up to do under similar circumstances. She put aside her personal feelings and accepted the arrangement made for her by her parents. It is an ugly story ; but it was never a secret at any time to those who knew the by-paths of Florentine and Roman society that del Monte was the lover of the duchessa di Carmagnano, his future mother-in-law.”

Jim Sinclair uttered an exclamation of disgust.

“It was no secret,” repeated Mr. Cuthbert, “except, of course, to Donna Laura herself. Those domestic situations occur sometimes,” he added quietly.

“ What a beast the mother must be ! ” Jim Sinclair exclaimed indignantly.

“ Was,” returned Anthony Cuthbert. “ She is dead. She was a beautiful woman,” he continued, “ one of the most beautiful women in Italy, of her day. Del Monte had been her lover for years. He had some other hold over her, however, besides that of love. It was always supposed that the duchessa arranged the marriage in order to escape a very unpleasant financial exposure with which the principe del Monte threatened her unless she would consent to give him her daughter.”

“You knew her well, Uncle Anthony — this duchessa, I mean?” asked Jim Sinclair curiously.

“ Oh, very well ! everybody knew the duchessa di Carmagnano. She was a most attractive woman — and, as you may gather, a most unscrupulous one, especially where money was concerned. That is how del Monte obtained his hold over her.