Sybil, Or, The Two Nations, Earl of Beaconsfield Benjamin Disraeli [chrysanthemum read aloud TXT] 📗

letter on his return to the Abbey, not calculated to dispel these somewhat morbid feelings; a letter from his agent, urging the settlement of his election accounts, the primary cause of his visit to his brother.

Lady Marney left the dining-room; the brothers were alone. Lord Marney filled a bumper, which he drank off rapidly, pushed the bottle to his brother, and then said again, “What a cursed bore it is that Grouse is not here.”

“Well, I cannot say, George, that I particularly miss the presence of Captain Grouse,” said his brother.

Lord Marney looked at Egremont pugnaciously, and then observed, “Grouse is a capital fellow; one is never dull when Grouse is here.”

“Well, for my part,” said Egremont, “I do not much admire that amusement which is dependent on the efforts of hangers-on.”

“Grouse is no more a hanger-on than any one else,” said Lord Marney, rather fiercely.

“Perhaps not,” said Egremont quietly; “I am no judge of such sort of people.”

“I should like to know what you are a judge of; certainly not of making yourself agreeable to young ladies. Arabella cannot he particularly charmed with the result of your visit to Mowbray, as far as Lady Joan is concerned, Arabella’s most intimate friend by the bye. If for no other reason, you ought to have paid her more attention.”

“I cannot pay attention unless I am attracted,” said Egremont; “I have not the ever-ready talent of your friend, Captain Grouse.”

“I do not know what you mean by my friend Captain Grouse. Captain Grouse is no more my friend than your friend. One must have people about the house to do a thousand things which one cannot do oneself, and which one cannot trust to servants, and Grouse does all this capitally.”

“Exactly; he is just what I said, a capital hanger-on if you like, but still a hanger-on.”

“Well, and what then! Suppose he is a hanger-on; may I not have hangers-on as well as any other man?”

“Of course you may; but I am not bound to regret their absence.”

“Who said you were? But I will regret their absence, if I choose. And I regret the absence of Grouse, regret it very much; and if he did happen to be inextricably engaged in this unfortunate match, I say, and you may contradict me if you please, that he ought to have taken care that Slimsey dined here, to tell me all that had happened.”

“I am very glad he omitted to do so,” said Egremont; “I prefer Grouse to Slimsey.”

“I dare say you do,” said Lord Marney, filling his glass and looking very black; “you would like, I have no doubt, to see a fine gentleman-saint, like your friend Mr St Lys, at Marney, preaching in cottages, filling the people with discontent, lecturing me about low wages, soliciting plots of grounds for new churches, and inveigling Arabella into subscriptions to painted windows.”

“I certainly should like to see a man like Aubrey St Lys at Marney,” said Egremont quietly, but rather doggedly.

“And if he were here, I would soon see who should be master,” said Lord Marney; “I would not succumb like Mowbray. One might as well have a jesuit in the house at once.”

“I dare say St Lys would care very little about entering your house,” said Egremont. “I know it was with great reluctance that he ever came to Mowbray Castle.”

“I dare say; very great reluctance indeed. And very reluctant he was, I make no doubt, to sit next to Lady Maud. I wonder he does not fly higher, and preach to Lady Joan; but she is too sensible a woman for such fanatical tricks.”

“St Lys thinks it his duty to enter all societies. That is the reason why he goes to Mowbray Castle, as well as to the squalid courts and cellars of the town. He takes care that those who are clad in purple and fine linen shall know the state of their neighbours. They cannot at least plead ignorance for the nonfulfilment of their duty. Before St Lys’s time, the family at Mowbray Castle might as well have not existed, as far as benefiting their miserable vicinage. It would be well perhaps for other districts not less wretched, and for other families as high and favoured as the Mowbrays, if there were a Mr St Lys on the spot instead of a Mr Slimsey.”

“I suppose that is meant for a cut,” said Lord Marney; “but I wish the people were as well off in every part of the country as they are on my estate. They get here their eight shillings a week, always at least seven, and every hand is at this moment in employ, except a parcel of scoundrels who prefer woodstealing and poaching, and who would prefer wood-stealing and poaching if you gave them double the wages. The rate of wages is nothing: certainty is the thing; and every man at Marney may be sure of his seven shillings a-week for at least nine months in the year; and for the other three, they can go to the House, and a very proper place for them; it is heated with hot air, and has every comfort. Even Marney Abbey is not heated with hot air. I have often thought of it; it makes me mad sometimes to think of those lazy, pampered menials passing their lives with their backs to a great roaring fire; but I am afraid of the flues.”

“I wonder, talking of fires, that you are not more afraid of burning ricks,” said Egremont.

“It’s an infernal lie,” said Lord Marney, very violently.

“What is?” said Egremont.

“That there is any incendiarism in this neighbourhood.”

“Why, there was a fire the day after I came.”

“That had nothing to do with wages; it was an accident. I examined into it myself; so did Grouse, so did Slimsey; I sent them about everywhere. I told them I was sure the fire was purely accidental, and to go and see about it; and they came back and agreed that it was purely accidental.”

“I dare say they did,” said Egremont; “but no one has discovered the accident.”

“For my part, I believe it was spontaneous combustion,” said Lord Marney.

“That is a satisfactory solution.” said Egremont, “but for my part, the fire being a fact, and it being painfully notorious that the people of Marney—”

“Well, sir, the people of Marney”—said his lordship fiercely.

“Are without question the most miserable population in the county.”

“Did Mr St Lys tell you that?” interrupted Lord Marney, white with rage.

“No, not Mr Lys, but one better acquainted with the neighbourhood.”

“I’ll know your informant’s name,” said Lord Marney with energy.

“My informant was a woman,” said Egremont.

“Lady Maud, I suppose; second-hand from Mr St Lys.”