Chapter XXXIII: A Stirring of Mud

It is an old saying, founded on very correct observation, that long-continued calm breaks up in storm. And the same holds good of life, individual and national. Too long a calm leads at times to somewhat of deterioration--at all events to a laxing of the fibres and an indolent reliance on the continuance of things as they are; and that, in a world whose essence is growth and change, is not without its dangers. And--proverbially again--a storm always clears the air.

It seemed to Jim Carron that, of a sudden, the accumulated storms of all the long quiet years burst upon him.

He had intended seeing Lord Deseret at the first possible moment and questioning him as to that very curious remark of his. But he could not broach such a matter at the theatre and in company, and his lordship had driven off to some other appointment the moment the curtain fell.

So, at twelve next day, having scrambled through his morning's duties with a quite unusually preoccupied mind, he presented himself at Mme Beteta's lodgings and was taken upstairs to her apartments.

She welcomed him graciously, and they sat down at once to the table.

He thought she looked decidedly older in the daylight, but it was only in the texture of her face, devoid now of any artificial assistance, and slightly lined in places.

The two great plaits of black hair showed no silver threads. The luminous black eyes were still bright. The sinewy form the dancer was full of exquisite grace.

"Now tell me about yourself," demanded madame, as they sipped their final coffee, and the maid retired.

"I don't think there's anything to tell," said Jim, with his open boyish smile.

"We have lived all our lives at Carne--Jack and I--until we went to Harrow, and then he went to Woolwich and I came to London."

"Jack is your brother?"

"Yes; we're twins. He's the clever one. That's why he's at Chatham now--in the Engineers. It was all I could do to scramble into the Hussars." And he laughed reminiscently at the scramble, and then told her about it.

"And which of you is the elder? Even in twins one of you must come first."

"That's funny now. Lord Deseret was asking me that the first time we met, and I couldn't tell him. We've really never troubled about it, you see, or thought about it at all until a very short time ago. I suppose it was the fellows at school wanting to know which was the elder that set us thinking about it. We asked old Mrs. Lee--she keeps house for us at Carne, you know--and Mr. Eager----"

"Who is Mr. Eager?"

"Oh, he's a splendid fellow. He's curate at Wyvveloe, and he's done everything for us, he and Gracie "--and madame noted the softened inflection as he said the word.

"And who is Gracie?"

"Mr. Eager's sister. They call her 'the Little Lady' in Wyvveloe."

"Is she pretty?"

"Oh, she's lovely, and as good and sweet as can be."

"You're in love with her, I suppose."

"Yes, I am," said Jim, colouring up, "and I'm not ashamed of it."

"And what about Jack?"

"He's in love with her, too."

"That's rather awkward, isn't it? What does Miss Gracie say to it all?"

"Oh, she was terribly upset. You see she had never thought of us like that. It was after the dance at Sir George Herapath's that we found it out----"

"She had a low dress on, I suppose--bare arms and shoulders, and you had never seen her so before."

"Yes," he said, surprised at such acumen, "I suppose that was it. We all used to bathe together and run about the sands. But that night she seemed to grow up all of a sudden--and so did we."

"And what does her brother say to it--and your grandfather?"

"We're to say nothing more about it for a year. You see, this war is coming on and you never can tell----"

"War is horror," she said, with a shudder. "I have seen fighting in Spain and in the streets of Paris. It is terrible. You may neither of you come back alive. If only one comes, then, I suppose----"

"Yes, that would settle it all."

"And you do not remember your mother?" she asked, after a pause.

"We never knew her," he said thoughtfully, bethinking him suddenly of Lord Deseret and that curious saying of his. "She died when we were born, and nobody has told us about her. Old Mrs. Lee must remember her, but she would never tell us, and Sir Denzil--well, you can't ask him about anything--at least, not to get any good from it."

"He has been good to you both?"

"Oh yes, in his way. But if it hadn't been for Mr. Eager----. We were growing up just little savages, running wild In the sand-hills, you know. And then he came, and it has made all the difference in the world to us."

"You owe him much, then?"

"Everything! Him and Gracie."

In his boyish Impulsiveness, having been led on to talk about himself, he was half tempted to consult her about the matter that was troubling his mind in connection with Lord Deseret. But how should this half-foreign woman know anything about such matters. It was not likely that she had ever heard tell of Lady Susan Sandys. How should she? And so he lapsed into a brown study, thinking over it all.

He was aroused from it by another leading question from madame.

"And your father? Is he alive? Can he not help to solve your difficulty?"

"Well--you must think us a queer lot--we never saw our father till a short time ago. He has been living in France. We thought he was dead. He killed a man in a gaming quarrel long ago and had to live abroad, and he's been there ever since."?

"Truly, as you say, you are an odd family. Will you bring your brother to see me sometime?"

"I'm sure he would like it, but he's not often in town. You see, he has the brains and he's putting them to use. I'll bring him, though, the first time he's up."

It was not till afterwards that her interest in him and his struck him as somewhat unusual, and then he had other things to think about.

That same afternoon he went to Park Lane, and found Deseret House and asked for Lord Deseret.

"Now, this is good of you," was his lordship's greeting--"to look up an old man when all the world is young and calling to you."

"I wanted to ask you something, sir, if I may."

"Say on, my boy. Anything I can tell you is very much at your service."

"When you were speaking about Jack and me the other night, you said something which has been puzzling me ever since. You asked, 'Which of you is Lady Susan Sandys's boy?'"

"Yes--well?" asked the old man, with a glint of surprise in the keen dark eyes, which rested on the boy's ingenuous face.

"Was Lady Susan Sandys our mother, sir?"

"Good heavens, boy, do you mean to say you don't know who your own mother was?"

"We don't know anything sir. That was the first time I had ever heard her name."

"Good God!" And there was no doubt about the vast surprise in the calm white face now, as its owner stood for a moment staring at Jim and then began to pace the room in very deep thought.

"Your grandfather? Has he never discussed these things with you?"

"Never, sir. We have never had very much to do with him, you see. Until quite lately we supposed our father was dead too. Then, one day, he came to Carne--from France, where he lives, and it was a great surprise to us."

"And you know nothing about your mother?"

"Nothing whatever, sir. But since you said that, I have been thinking of very little else. You said, 'Which of you is Lady Susan Sandys's boy?' Does that mean that we are not both Lady Susan Sandys's boys? That would mean that we had different mothers. But how could that be when we are both the same age? I wish you would tell me what it all means, for I've thought and thought till my brain is getting all twisted up with thinking."

Lord Deseret paced the long room with bent head and his thin white hands clasped behind him.

It seemed to him shameful that these boys should have been kept in such ignorance of matters so vital. He was not aware, of course, of their strange upbringing in the wilds of Carne.

On the other hand, if their father and grandfather had not thought fit to enlighten them it would hardly become him to do so. Moreover, as he turned it all over in his mind, he perceived that there might be something to be said on the other side.

The boys had obviously been brought up in perfect equality. Any revelation of the mystery of their births could only make for upsetting--must introduce elements of doubt into their minds, might work disastrously upon their fellowship.

Quite unconsciously, supposing they knew all about it, he had stirred up the muddy waters that had lain quiescent for twenty years.

"This is a great surprise to me, my boy," he said quietly at length--"a very great surprise. I should never have said what I did had I not supposed you knew all about it. As matters lie . . . I'm afraid you must absolve me from my promise. If your grandfather and your father have deemed it wise to keep silence in regard to certain family matters, it would hardly be seemly in me to discuss them without their permission. You see that, don't you?"

"I see it from your point of view, sir, but not at all from my own," said Jim stubbornly. "There is something we do not know and we certainly ought to know it. If you won't tell me I must go elsewhere. I wish I had Jack's head. I think I'll go down to Chatham and talk it over with him."

The mischief was done. Lord Deseret saw that the only thing left to him was to direct the boy's quite legitimate curiosity into right channels.

"If I were you I would go straight to Sir Denzil. Tell him just what has happened, and that you will know no peace of mind till you understand the whole matter."

"Thank you, sir. I will do that, but I think I will see Jack first and perhaps we could go down together. It's right he should know, and he's got a better head than I have."

"It concerns you both, of course. Perhaps it would be as well you should go together," said Lord Deseret, and long after Jim had gone he pondered the matter and wondered what would come of it, and yet took no blame to himself. For who could have imagined that any boys could have grown to such an age in such complete ignorance of their father and mother and all their family concerns?