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Page 79
In the days which followed Lord Marshmoreton's visit to George at
the cottage, not a few of the occupants of Belpher Castle had their
mettle sternly tested in this respect; and it is a pleasure to be
able to record that not one of them failed to come through the
ordeal with success. The general public, as represented by the
uncles, cousins, and aunts who had descended on the place to help
Lord Belpher celebrate his coming-of-age, had not a notion that
turmoil lurked behind the smooth fronts of at least half a dozen of
those whom they met in the course of the daily round.
Lord Belpher, for example, though he limped rather painfully,
showed nothing of the baffled fury which was reducing his weight at
the rate of ounces a day. His uncle Francis, the Bishop, when he
tackled him in the garden on the subject of Intemperance--for Uncle
Francis, like thousands of others, had taken it for granted, on
reading the report of the encounter with the policeman and Percy's
subsequent arrest, that the affair had been the result of a drunken
outburst--had no inkling of the volcanic emotions that seethed in
his nephew's bosom. He came away from the interview, indeed,
feeling that the boy had listened attentively and with a becoming
regret, and that there was hope for him after all, provided that he
fought the impulse. He little knew that, but for the conventions
(which frown on the practice of murdering bishops), Percy would
gladly have strangled him with his bare hands and jumped upon the
remains.
Lord Belpher's case, inasmuch as he took himself extremely
seriously and was not one of those who can extract humour even from
their own misfortunes, was perhaps the hardest which comes under
our notice; but his sister Maud was also experiencing mental
disquietude of no mean order. Everything had gone wrong with Maud.
Barely a mile separated her from George, that essential link in her
chain of communication with Geoffrey Raymond; but so thickly did it
bristle with obstacles and dangers that it might have been a mile
of No Man's Land. Twice, since the occasion when the discovery of
Lord Marshmoreton at the cottage had caused her to abandon her
purpose of going in and explaining everything to George, had she
attempted to make the journey; and each time some trifling,
maddening accident had brought about failure. Once, just as she was
starting, her aunt Augusta had insisted on joining her for what she
described as "a nice long walk"; and the second time, when she was
within a bare hundred yards of her objective, some sort of a cousin
popped out from nowhere and forced his loathsome company on her.
Foiled in this fashion, she had fallen back in desperation on her
second line of attack. She had written a note to George, explaining
the whole situation in good, clear phrases and begging him as a man
of proved chivalry to help her. It had taken up much of one
afternoon, this note, for it was not easy to write; and it had
resulted in nothing. She had given it to Albert to deliver and
Albert had returned empty-handed.
"The gentleman said there was no answer, m'lady!"
"No answer! But there must be an answer!"
"No answer, m'lady. Those was his very words," stoutly maintained
the black-souled boy, who had destroyed the letter within two
minutes after it had been handed to him. He had not even bothered
to read it. A deep, dangerous, dastardly stripling this, who fought
to win and only to win. The ticket marked "R. Byng" was in his
pocket, and in his ruthless heart a firm resolve that R. Byng and
no other should have the benefit of his assistance.
Maud could not understand it. That is to say, she resolutely kept
herself from accepting the only explanation of the episode that
seemed possible. In black and white she had asked George to go to
London and see Geoffrey and arrange for the passage--through
himself as a sort of clearing-house--of letters between Geoffrey
and herself. She had felt from the first that such a request should
be made by her in person and not through the medium of writing, but
surely it was incredible that a man like George, who had been
through so much for her and whose only reason for being in the
neighbourhood was to help her, could have coldly refused without
even a word. And yet what else was she to think? Now, more than
ever, she felt alone in a hostile world.
Yet, to her guests she was bright and entertaining. Not one of them
had a suspicion that her life was not one of pure sunshine.
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