Lynborough

“ Lynborough paid no heed; he was not the man to be put off his reflections by intrusive facts.
“The blank wall of a strange house is like the old green curtain at the theatre. It may rise for you any moment and show you—what? Now what is there at Nab Grange?”
“A lot of country bumpkins, I expect,” growled Stabb.
“No, no,” Wilbraham protested. “I’ll tell you, if you like——”
“What’s there?” Lynborough pursued. “I don’t know. You don’t know—no, you don’t, Roger, and you probably wouldn’t even if you were inside. But I like not knowing—I don’t want to know. We won’t visit at the Grange, I think. ”

“ Lynborough denied himself to no man, and received with courtesy every man who came. But his face grew grim and his manner distant when Stillford discounted the favourable effect produced by his appearance and manner—also by his name, well known in the county—by confessing that he called in the capacity of the Marchesa’s solicitor. ”

“ Sandy Nab loomed up, dimly the sea rose and fell, twinkled and sank into darkness. It talked too—talked to Lynborough with a soft, low, quiet voice; it seemed (to his absurdly whimsical imagination) as though some lovely woman gently stroked his brow and whispered to him. He liked to encourage such freaks of fancy.
Cromlech couldn’t go. That was absurd.
And the young fellow? So much a gentleman! Lynborough had liked the terms of his apology no less than the firmness of his protest. “It’s the first time, I think, that I’ve been told that I’m no gentleman,” he reflected with amusement. ”

“ Young Woodwell was playing for safety now—his fifty loomed ahead! Lynborough had time for a glance round. He saw Stabb saunter on to the field; then—just behind where he stood when the second gardener was bowling from the Lynborough Arms end of the field—a wagonette drove up. Four ladies descended. A bench was placed at their disposal, and the two menservants at once began to make preparations for lunch, aided therein by the ostler from the Lynborough Arms, who rigged up a table on trestles under a spreading tree. ”

“ Why am I more mad than the Archdeacon, Roger?”
“But there’s all the difference!”
“Of course there is,” said Stabb. “All the difference that there is between being able to do it and not being able to do it—and I know of none so profound.”
“There’s no difference at all,” declared Lynborough. “Therefore—as a good son, no less than as a good friend—you will come and bathe with me to-morrow?”
“Oh, I’ll come and bathe, by all means, Lynborough.”
“By all means! Well said, young man. By all means, that is, which are becoming in opposing a lady. ”

“ They grew curious and restless on the lawn; the private audience lasted long, the homage took much time in paying.
“A marvellous thing has come to me,” said Lynborough, speaking slower than his wont, “and with it a great courage. I have seen my dream. This morning I came here not knowing whether I should see it. I don’t speak of the face of my dream-image only, though I could speak till next St John’s Day upon that. I speak to a soul. I think our souls have known one another longer, ay, and better than our faces.” ”

“ Lynborough assisted her into the carriage.
“I hope we shall meet again,” he said, with no small empressement.
“I’m afraid not,” answered Miss Gilletson dolefully. “You see, Helena——”
“Yes, yes; but ladies have their moods. Anyhow you won’t think too hardly of me, will you? I’m not altogether an ogre.”
There was a pretty faint blush on Miss Gilletson’s cheek as she gave him her hand. “An ogre! No, dear Lord Lynborough,” she murmured.
“A wedge!” said Lynborough, as he watched her drive away. ”

“ Lynborough seemed to have no objection; proximity made conversation easier; he moved slowly on.
Norah seemed defeated—but suddenly she saw her chance, and hailed it with a cry. The Marchesa’s bailiff—John Goodenough—was approaching the path from the house situated at the south-west corner of the meadow. Her cry of his name caught his attention—as well as Lynborough’s. The latter walked a little quicker. John Goodenough hurried up. Lynborough walked steadily on.
“Stop him, John!” cried Norah, her eyes sparkling with new excitement. “You know her Excellency’s orders? This is Lord Lynborough!” ”

“ Dinner had passed off quite as Lynborough anticipated; he had enjoyed himself exceedingly. Whenever the temporary absence of the servants allowed, he had rallied his friends on their susceptibility to beauty, on their readiness to fail him under its lures, on their clumsy attempts at concealment of their growing intimacy, and their confidential relations, with the fascinating mistress of Nab Grange. ”

“ The thought of that possibility—though she could devise or imagine no means by which it might find accomplishment—carried her towards Lynborough in a rush of feeling. The idea—never wholly lost even in her moments of anger and dejection—came back—the idea that all the time he had been playing a game, that he did not want the wounds to be mortal, that in the end he did not hate. If he did not hate, he would not desire to hurt. ”

“ The two first were strangers to her; the third she had seen for a moment the afternoon before on Sandy Nab. It was Lynborough himself, beyond a doubt. The others must be friends—she cared not about them. But to sit here with the padlock before her, and see Lynborough pass through the gate—a meeker woman than she had surely been moved to wrath! He had bathed—as he had said he would. And he had sent her the padlock. That was what came of listening to conciliatory counsels, of letting herself give ear to dilatory persuasions!
“War!” declared the Marchesa. “War—war—war! ”

“ Why does it exist at all? (14) Is it Ridiculous?
It is not to be inferred that Lord Lynborough answers these questions. He is, like a wise man, content to propound them. If, however, he had answered them, it might have been worth while to transcribe the diary.
“Can we as gentlemen——?”—Roger had put the question. It waited unanswered till Lynborough had taken his book and returned to record its utterance—together with the speculations to which that utterance gave rise. Stabb weighed it carefully, rubbing his bald head, according to the habit which his friend had animadverted upon. ”

“ I puts my hand on your lordship's shoulder like that——"
He suited the action to the word. In an instant Lynborough's long lithe arms were round him, Lynborough's supple lean leg twisted about his. Gently, as though he had been a little baby, Lynborough laid the sturdy fellow on the grass.
For all she could do, Norah Mountliffey cried "Bravo!" and clapped her hands. Goodenough sat up, scratched his head, and laughed feebly.
"Force not quite sufficient, Goodenough," cried Lynborough gaily. "Now I repass!"
He lifted his hat to Norah, then waved his hand. ”

“ Lynborough sat on the terrace which ran along the front of the Castle and looked down, over Nab Grange, to the sea. With him were Leonard Stabb and Roger Wilbraham. The latter was a rather short, slight man of dark complexion; although a light-weight he was very wiry and a fine boxer. His intellectual gifts corresponded well with his physical equipment; an acute ready mind was apt to deal with every-day problems and pressing necessities; it had little turn either for speculation or for fancy. He had dreams neither about the past, like Stabb, nor about present things, like [Pg 34] Lynborough. ”

“ His was, in a word, the practical spirit, and Lynborough could not have chosen a better right-hand man.
They were all smoking; a silence had rested long over the party. At last Lynborough spoke.
"There's always," he said, "something seductive in looking at a house when you know nothing about the people who live in it."
"But I know a good deal about them," Wilbraham interposed with a laugh. "Coltson's been pumping all the village, and I've had the benefit of it." ”

“ But you'll be thought odd over there, Ambrose."
"Odd? I odd? What the deuce is there odd about me, Cromlech?"
"Everything." The investigator stuck his cheroot back in his mouth.
Lynborough considered dispassionately—as he fain would hope. "I don't see it."
That was the difficulty. Stabb was well aware of it. A man who is odd, and knows it, may be proud, but he will be careful; he may swagger, but he will take precautions. Lynborough had no idea that he was odd; he followed his nature—in all its impulses and in all its whims—with equal fidelity and simplicity. ”

“ But Lord Lynborough she never mentioned—not to Miss Gilletson, nor even to Norah. She seemed to have regained her tranquillity; her wrath at least was over; she was very friendly to all the ladies; she was markedly cordial to Roger Wilbraham on his visits. But she asked him nothing of Lord Lynborough—and, if she ever looked from the window towards Scarsmoor Castle, none—not even her observant maid—saw her do it.
Yet Cupid was in the Grange—and very busy. There were signs, not to be misunderstood, that Violet had not for handsome Stillford the scorn she had bestowed on unfortunate Irons ”

“ Roger Wilbraham, going suddenly a little white, said he thought that persecuting a lady was no fit amusement for a gentleman. Lynborough did not suppose that the Marchesa—with the battle of the day at least drawn, if not decided in her favour—could be regarded as the subject of persecution—and he did recognize that young fellows, under certain spells, spoke hotly and were not to be held to serious account. He was smiling still when, with a forced remark about the heat, the pair went out together to smoke on the terrace. ”

“ Dawson assured him with the utmost cheerfulness. Never had Dawson invested a glass of beer to better profit!
Lynborough threw away his cigar and entered the sacred precincts. His brain was very busy. “Another wedge!” he was saying to himself. “Another wedge!”
The lady had gone into the church. Lynborough went in too. He came first on Stabb—on his hands and knees, examining one of the old brasses and making copious notes in a pocket-book.
“Have you seen a lady come in, Cromlech?” asked Lord Lynborough. ”

“ He hardened his heart against the Marchesa. She chose to fight; the fortune of war must be hers. He turned his eyes down to Nab Grange. Lights burned there—were her guests demanding to be sent to Easthorpe? Why, no! As he looked, Lynborough came to the conclusion that she had reduced them all to order—that they would be whipped back to heel—that his manœuvres (and his lunch!) ”

“ She gave a charming little shrug, accompanied with what Roger, from his novel-reading, conceived to be a moue.
“Of course I—I know that you—you think you’re right,” he stammered.
She stopped on the path. “Yes, I do think I’m right, Mr Wilbraham. But that’s not it. If it were merely a question of right, it would be unneighbourly to insist. I’m not hurt by Lord Lynborough’s using this path. But I’m hurt by Lord Lynborough’s discourtesy. In my country women are treated with respect—even sometimes (she gave a bitter little laugh) with deference. That doesn’t seem to occur to Lord Lynborough.” ”

“ Lynborough was signalled to take his position yet deeper in the field. Young Woodwell immediately got to business—but he kept the ball low. Lynborough had, however, the satisfaction of saving several "boundaries." Roger, keeping wicket, observed his chief's exertions with some satisfaction. Other wickets fell rapidly—but young Woodwell's score rapidly mounted up. If he could stay in, they would make a hundred—and Fillby looked with just apprehension on a score like that. The second gardener, who had given himself a brief rest, took the ball again with an air of determination. ”

“ Stabb objected.
"I've asked her to have the obstruction removed before eight o'clock," Lynborough explained.
"If it isn't?" asked Roger Wilbraham.
"We have hands," answered Lynborough, looking at his own very small ones.
"Wilbraham wants to know why you don't go to law, Ambrose."
Lord Lynborough never shrank from explaining his views and convictions.
"The law disgusts me. So does my experience of it. You remember the beer, Cromlech? Nobody ever acted more wisely or from better motives. And if I made money—as I did, till the customers left off coming—why not? I was unobtrusively doing good. ”

“ We shall use the path.” Lynborough cocked his head on one side, looking up at the sturdy lawyer with a mischievous amusement. “I shall harry you, Mr Stillford—day and night I shall harry you. If you mean to keep me off that path, vigils will be your portion. And you won’t succeed.”
“I make a last appeal to your lordship. The matter could, I believe, be adjusted on an amicable basis. The Marchesa could be prevailed upon to grant permission——”
“I’d just as soon ask her permission to breathe,” interrupted Lynborough. ”

“ Every real conviction springs from personal experience. I hate the law because it interfered with me. I'm not aware of any better reason. So I'm going on without it—unless somebody tries to steal my forty thousand, of course. Ambrose, thou art a humbug—or, more precisely, thou canst not avoid being a human individual!"
Lord Lynborough completed the entry in his diary—he was tolerably well aware that he might just as well not have written it—and cast his eyes toward the window of the library. ”

“ He found her in the neighborhood of his family monuments which, with his family pew, crowded the little chancel of the church. She was not employed in devotions, but was arranging some flowers in a vase—doubtless a pious offering. Somewhat at a loss how to open the conversation, Lynborough dropped his hat—or rather gave it a dex [Pg 117] terous jerk, so that it fell at the lady's feet. Miss Gilletson started violently, and Lord Lynborough humbly apologized. ”