"He drives me down in the morning and back at night, but they will give me a bed or a sofa here to-night--I can"t..." Cecilia stretched her hand out, blinded, to the earl.
He squeezed her hand.
"These letters take away my strength: crying is quite useless, I know that," said she, glancing at a pile of letters that she had partly replied to. "Some are from people who can hardly write. There were people who distrusted him! Some are from people who abused him and maltreated him. See those poor creatures out in the rain!"
Lord Romfrey looked through the venetian blinds of the parlour window.
"It"s as good as a play to them," he remarked.
Cecilia lit a candle and applied a stick of black wax to the flame, saying: "Envelopes have fallen short. These letters will frighten the receivers. I cannot help it."
"I will bring letter paper and envelopes in the afternoon," said Lord Romfrey. "Don"t use black wax, my dear."
"I can find no other: I do not like to trouble Miss Denham. Letter paper has to be sealed. These letters must go by the afternoon post: I do not like to rob the poor anxious people of a little hope while he lives. Let me have note paper and envelopes quickly: not black-edged."
"Plain; that"s right," said Lord Romfrey.
Black appeared to him like the torch of death flying over the country.
"There may be hope," he added.
She sighed: "Oh! yes."
"Gannet will do everything that man can do to save him."
"He will, I am sure."
"You don"t keep watch in the room, my dear, do you?"
"Miss Denham allows me an hour there in the day: it is the only rest she takes. She gives me her bedroom."
"Ha: well: women!" e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.ed the earl, and paused. "That sounded like him!"
"At times," murmured Cecilia. "All yesterday! all through the night! and to-day!"
"He"ll be missed."
Any sudden light of happier expectation that might have animated him was extinguished by the flight of chatter following the cry which had sounded like Beauchamp.
He went out into the rain, thinking that Beauchamp would be missed. The fellow had bothered the world, but the world without him would be heavy matter.
The hour was mid-day, workmen"s meal-time. A congregation of shipyard workmen and a mult.i.tude of children crowded near the door. In pa.s.sing through them, Lord Romfrey was besought for the doctor"s report of Commander Beauchamp, variously named Beesham, Bosham, b.i.t.c.ham, Bewsham.
The earl heard his own name p.r.o.nounced as he particularly disliked to hear it--Rumfree. Two or three men scowled at him.
It had not occurred to him ever before in his meditations to separate his blood and race from the common English; and he was not of a character to dwell on fantastical and purposeless distinctions, but the misp.r.o.nunciation of his name and his nephew"s at an instant when he was thinking of Nevil"s laying down his life for such men as these gross excessive breeders, of ill shape and wooden countenance, pushed him to reflections on the madness of Nevil in endeavouring to lift them up and brush them up; and a curious tenderness for Nevil"s madness worked in his breast as he contrasted this much-abused nephew of his with our general English--the so-called n.o.bles, who were sunk in the mud of the traders: the traders, who were sinking in the mud of the workmen: the workmen, who were like harbour-flats at ebb tide round a stuck-fast fleet of vessels big and little.
Decidedly a fellow like Nevil would be missed by him!
These English, huddling more and more in flocks, turning to lumps, getting to be cut in a pattern and marked by a label--how they bark and snap to rend an obnoxious original! One may chafe at the botheration everlastingly raised by the fellow; but if our England is to keep her place she must have him, and many of him. Have him? He"s gone!
Lord Romfrey reasoned himself into pathetic sentiment by degrees.
He purchased the note paper and envelopes in the town for Cecilia.
Late in the afternoon he deposited them on the parlour table at Dr.
Shrapnel"s. Miss Denham received him. She was about to lie down for her hour of rest on the sofa. Cecilia was upstairs. He inquired if there was any change in his nephew"s condition.
"Not any," said Miss Denham.
The voice was abroad for proof of that.
He stood with a swelling heart.
Jenny flung out a rug to its length beside the sofa, and; holding it by one end, said: "I must have my rest, to be of service, my lord."
He bowed. He was mute and surprised.
The young lady was like no person of her age and s.e.x that he remembered ever to have met.
"I will close the door," he said, retiring softly.
"Do not, my lord."
The rug was over her, up to her throat, and her eyes were shut. He looked back through the doorway in going out. She was asleep.
"Some delirium. Gannet of good hope. All in the usual course"; he transmitted intelligence to his wife.
A strong desire for wine at his dinner-table warned him of something wrong with his iron nerves.
CHAPTER LI. IN THE NIGHT
The delirious voice haunted him. It came no longer accompanied by images and likenesses to this and that of animate nature, which were relieving and distracting; it came to him in its mortal nakedness--an afflicting incessant ringing peal, bare as death"s ribs in telling of death. When would it stop? And when it stopped, what would succeed? What ghastly silence!
He walked to within view of the lights of Dr. Shrapnel"s at night: then home to his hotel.
Miss Denham"s power of commanding sleep, as he could not, though contrary to custom he tried it on the right side and the left, set him thinking of her. He owned she was pretty. But that, he contended, was not the word; and the word was undiscoverable. Not Cecilia Halkett herself had so high-bred an air, for Cecilia had not her fineness of feature and full quick eyes, of which the thin eyelids were part of the expression. And Cecilia sobbed, snifed, was patched about the face, reddish, bluish. This girl was pliable only to service, not to grief: she did her work for three-and-twenty hours, and fell to her sleep of one hour like a soldier. Lord Romfrey could not recollect anything in a young woman that had taken him so much as the girl"s tossing out of the rug and covering herself, lying down and going to sleep under his nose, absolutely independent of his presence.
She had not betrayed any woman"s petulance with him for his conduct to her uncle or guardian. Nor had she hypocritically affected the reverse, as ductile women do, when they feel wanting in force to do the other.
She was not unlike Nevil"s marquise in face, he thought: less foreign of course; looking thrice as firm. Both were delicately featured.
He had a dream.
It was of an interminable procession of that odd lot called the People. All of them were quarrelling under a deluge. One party was for umbrellas, one was against them: and sounding the dispute with a question or two, Everard held it logical that there should be protection from the wet: just as logical on the other hand that so frail a shelter should be discarded, considering the tremendous downpour. But as he himself was dry, save for two or three drops, he deemed them all lunatics. He requested them to gag their empty chatter-boxes, and put the mother upon that child"s cry.
He was now a simple unit of the procession. Asking naturally whither they were going, he saw them point. "St. Paul"s," he heard. In his own bosom it was, and striking like the cathedral big bell.