from the wreck of his fortunes he must contrive to provide her with an allowance, for he could not doubt that whatever economies were practised by Lady Lynton would be at Lydia’s expense. On the only occasion when he had ventured to suggest various ways of retrenchment to her, such as the substitution of a more modest maid for her staggeringly expensive dresser, she had put him utterly to rout by replying that she had considered this expedient, but that when she had asked herself if Poor Papa would have wished her to make this dismal change she had received an unequivocal answer: he would not have wished it at all,
“And you can’t argue that,” had observed Lydia, “because it’s true! He would merely have said: Pooh! Nonsense!’”
One of the economies which Adam feared his mother might practise was in the matter of Lydia’s coming-out. Lady Lynton’s disposition was not social; she had never enjoyed large parties; and it seemed probable that she would make penury an excuse for neglecting this part of her maternal duties. The thought just flickered in Adam’s mind that if he were himself married, and in affluent circumstances, his wife would be able to launch Lydia into society.
The thought vanished; he dipped his dry pen in the inkwell, and ended his letter to Lydia rather abruptly, not regaling her, as he had intended, with an account of his interview with Mr Chawleigh.
The afternoon was disagreeably enlivened by a note sent round by hand from Wimmering’s place of business. That harassed practitioner had received a disturbing communication disclosing yet another obligation incurred by the late Lord Lynton. He very much feared that it would have to be met. No documents relating to the transaction were in his possession; he wrote in haste to enquire whether the present Viscount had discovered any relevant matter amongst his father’s private papers.
Adam, realizing that persons committing suicide were not necessarily insane, set about the task of sifting, yet again, the mass of his volatile parent’s papers.
He was engaged on this labour when he received a visit from Lord Oversley.
“I have only a few minutes to spare,” Oversley said, grasping his hand, “but I felt I ought to make a push to see you, in case you should act hastily, before I’d had a chance to represent to you — You’ve seen Chawleigh, I know: he came to call on me directly afterwards. He’s taken a fancy to you: I thought he might.”
“Much obliged to him!” returned Adam. “I would I could return the compliment!”
“Ah!” said his lordship. “That’s what I was afraid of. Just as well I decided to snatch a moment to see you!”
“Good God!” exclaimed Adam. “You can’t have supposed — you of all people! — that there was the least chance I should — Why, it’s unthinkable!”
“Then I don’t scruple to tell you, Adam, that you’re not the man I took you for!” said his lordship. “I’ll also tell you that if you whistle down the wind the best chance you’ll ever have offered you to save Fontley, provide for your sisters, and bring yourself off clear of debt, I shall think so much the worse of you that I shall be glad, instead of sorry, that you’re not my son-in-law!” He saw Adam stiffen, and said in a milder tone: “I know it’s a mighty hard thing to do, and not the match anyone would have chosen for you, but the ugly truth is, boy, that you’re in the devil’s own mess! I say in all sincerity that you owe it to your name to seize any honourable chance that offers of bringing yourself about”
“Honourable?” Adam ejaculated. “Selling myself to a wealthy Cit’s daughter? Oh, no! Not myself: my title!”
“Pooh! No need for any Cheltenham tragedies! It’s a fair bargain, and one that’s being struck more often than you know. Yes, yes, you have formed what you believe to be a lasting passion for Julia! Lord, if we were all to marry our first loves what a plague of ill-assorted marriages there would be! Put her out of your mind! You may believe me when I tell you that she’s no more fitted to be the wife of a marching officer than — ”
“This is unnecessary, sir!” Adam interposed. “If I haven’t been able to put her out of my mind, you may rest assured that there’s no thought of marriage to her there, or to anyone!”
“Now, listen, Adam!” begged Oversley. “If you’re thinking that Miss Chawleigh is like her father, she’s not! She’s not a beauty, but she always seemed to me an agreeable, well-behaved girl. I see no reason why she shouldn’t make you an amiable wife. She’s a little shy, to be sure, but perfectly sensible, and will give you no cause to blush for her manners. As for Chawleigh, I don’t think he’ll embarrass you. He’s not encroaching. Yes, I know he has a bee in his brain where his daughter’s concerned, but he don’t himself wish to be admitted into the ton. You might not believe it, but he’s never been across my threshold till today. I’m under a considerable obligation to him, and I did think I might be regularly in for it, but not a bit of it! All he wanted me to do was to put Jenny in the way of meeting what he calls
“I’m sure he’s a very respectable person,” said Adam, “but I have no desire to marry his daughter.”
“Come out of the clouds, Adam!” said Oversley sternly. “They say — and I believe it! — that he’s one of the richest men in the country, and that girl of his will inherit his whole fortune! He has a name for driving devilish hard bargains, but he’s not a screw, and the more he spends on his Jenny the better pleased he seems to be. Marry her, and you will live as high as a coach-horse for the rest of your life! You will not only be able to hold Fontley: you will be able to bring it back to what it was in your grandfather’s day.” He laid his hand on Adam’s shoulder, gripping it. “Listen to me, you young fool! You’ve no right to refuse the only chance offered you to restore what your father squandered! If you could do the thing by your own exertion I wouldn’t urge you to this marriage, but you can’t. You talk of rejoining your Regiment, and for anything I know you might achieve the highest rank. But once Fontley has passed out of your hands you will never win it back again. You think that over, boy, and remember that you’re the head of your house, and have the power to prevent its falling down — if you choose to exert it!” His grip tightened. “Don’t make a piece of work over it!” he said, with rough kindness. “It’s a fair bargain: no need to feel you’re offering false coin! The girl knows you’re not in love with her. As for the rest — I wish with all my heart you might have had time to recover before this came upon you, but, believe me, Adam, you
A quick handshake, and he was gone, distressed by the drawn look in Adam’s face, but not (as he later informed his lady) unhopeful of the issue.
And on the following day, after passing a sleepless night, Adam wrote to accept Mr Chawleigh’s invitation. Two days later still he set out in a hackney-coach, to take his pot-luck in Russell Square.
He had been bidden for six o’clock, and warned that the occasion was to be informal, but although he had at first supposed this to mean that morning-dress would be worn, a doubt later shook him, and resulted in his assuming the long-tailed coat, white waistcoat, black pantaloons, and silk stockings which constituted correct evening attire. Possibly he would find himself overdressed, but to be under-dressed, he suspected, might be taken as a slight.
It took some time to reach Russell Square, which was of recent date, built on the site of Bedford House, when this ducal mansion had been demolished fourteen years previously. Adam retained a dim memory of having been taken to Bedford House, as a child, but as the hack proceeded on its slow way over the cobbles it seemed to him, in the oppression of his spirits, that he was being carried beyond the realms of gentility. However, when he at last reached his destination he was agreeably surprised by the size and style of the square. It covered a very large area, and was almost surrounded by brick houses which were sufficiently imposing to enable house-agents to advertise them as Desirable Mansions. In the centre was a railed garden, with several trees, shrubberies, and an enormous statue of a man leaning on a plough. Having paid off the hack, Adam trod up the shallow steps to Mr Chawleigh’s front-door. It was flung open before he had had time to do more than lift his hand to the massive brass knocker, and he was bowed into the house by what at first glance appeared to him to be a platoon of footmen. There were, in fact, four of them, besides a butler, far more stately than his own at Fontley, who conducted him up the crimson-carpeted stairway to the drawing-room on the first floor, and sonorously announced him.
It was still daylight, but although the curtains had not been drawn across the windows the candles had been lit in the magnificent crystal chandelier that hung from the ceiling, and in all the wall-lustres. A myriad points of light momentarily dazzled Adam. He had a confused impression of glitter, mingled with yellow satin, gilded mirrors, chairs, and picture-frames before his attention was claimed by his host, who surged forward to meet him, his hand out-thrust, and a loquacious welcome on his lips.
“Come in, my lord, come in!” he said hospitably. “I’m heartily glad to have the honour of receiving you, and on the stroke of the hour, too, which I didn’t look for, not after the scold I got from my ladies here for having invited
