Chapter XIV: For Pity’s Sake

When Usk returned to England, he found his parents in London, established in a corner of the vast mansion which had been built by Lord Caerleon’s grandfather, the Peninsular General, and much adorned by his son, the Crimean hero, in the palmy days of landowning. Both these veterans took a keen professional interest in battle-pictures, and had embellished Caerleon House with many square yards of warlike frescoes, which their civilian descendant sometimes wished had been painted on canvas, so that they could be removed and sold. When his father’s death, or, strictly speaking, the duties consequent thereon, left Lord Caerleon unable to keep up two establishments, he succeeded in letting the town house on a long lease to a Northern magnate who had made a fortune in sugar-refining, but now sugar, as well as land, had fallen upon evil days. The house was on its owner’s hands once more, and it was cheaper to encamp in some of the smaller rooms than to live in lodgings, especially since Lady Caerleon’s chief desire was for a drawing-room which she could lend for meetings. Thus, while in the state apartments the blinds remained down, and the furniture looked ghostly in holland wrappings, Usk and his parents lived and worked, interviewed political friends and opponents, and furthered various religious and philanthropic schemes, in the modest suite traditionally allotted to the heir of the house, and called the Viscount’s rooms. It did not occur to them to feel ashamed of their obvious poverty, and they found pleasure in entertaining the few, chiefly old friends or fellow-workers, who did not consider that stinted means and lack of “smartness” placed the Caerleons beyond the pale of decent society.

As for Usk, he threw himself so completely into his parents’ interests that he had no time to think even of running down to Llandiarmid, and thus the peace of mind of Gwladys and Myfanwy Jones remained undisturbed. Lord Caerleon’s Temperance measure had hitherto escaped the different snares and pitfalls in its path, and was rapidly nearing the goal which was the usual fate of the Bills he brought forward--a piteous request from the Government for its withdrawal, since to press it further would jeopardise the success of the complete and carefully drawn scheme of reform which His Majesty’s Ministers intended to introduce next session. It is a striking instance of the vanity of human wishes that never in any case did the next session see the introduction of such a Bill.

This was the state of affairs when one afternoon, about the middle of April, Cyril walked into Caerleon House, and found his brother and sister-in-law in the great desolate conservatory, which was sparsely sprinkled with pots of flowers sent up from Llandiarmid. Lady Caerleon thought the conservatory the most country-like place in the house; and her husband preferred it because to smoke in any of the other rooms seemed like sacrilege.

“Why, Cyril!” cried Lady Caerleon, catching sight of him first. “Is the--is Ernestine here?”

“No, I have run over alone. Usk’s out, I hope? I wanted to catch you two together. Bill flourishing, Caerleon? The session onward plods its weary way, I suppose? How does Usk work?”

“Splendidly. When we have him in the Commons, we shall begin to move at last, I feel certain.”

“Good. No chance that the Southumberland seat will fall vacant just yet, is there, though? Morrell will hang on until death or a general election unseats him, and there’s no present likelihood of either, I believe?”

“Not that I know of.”

“That’s all right, then. I want Usk.”

Lady Caerleon turned pale. “Oh, Cyril, has Félicia repented?”

“Never further from it. She is making splendid progress towards her heart’s desire. But your maternal instinct was not at fault, Nadia. It is on behalf of a prospective daughter-in-law that I am come to you.”

“But Usk has never said anything----”

“About her? I think he has. Has he never mentioned the Princess Helene of Schwarzwald-Molzau?”

“A Schwarzwald-Molzau!” cried Lord Caerleon, but his wife broke in--

“Yes, of course. We saw her engagement to the Grand-Duke Ivan, and Usk was quite unhappy about it. He said the man was a brute.”

“Well, it was broken off about a week ago, but I suppose the news has not got into the English papers yet. That is the young lady.”

“But, Cyril, I am quite sure Usk has never thought of her in that way.”

“It’s just possible he might learn to do it.”

“But why should he? Oh, you can’t mean that she has fallen in love with him, and let other people see it, when he hasn’t said a word to her?”

“Why that tone of deep disgust? I seem to remember a young lady once whom I only dissuaded with the greatest difficulty from sending a refusal, in writing, to a man who had never proposed to her.”

“Unfair, Cyril!” cried Lord Caerleon. “Nadia couldn’t help knowing that I cared for her.”

“I can’t stand up against the two of you, that’s certain. Well, Nadia, let me tell you the circumstances, and I think you will acquit poor little Princess Lenchen of any worse crimes than a romantic disposition, and an ingenuous readiness to take Usk on trust on the strength of a childlike adoration for his uncle.”

“Of course I don’t wonder at her falling in love with Usk,” said Usk’s mother.

“Of course you don’t. And she never told her love, at any rate, which is an extenuating circumstance. You mustn’t think there was ever any affection between her and Ivan Petrovitch. Her parents had been pressing her to accept him, and she yielded suddenly at last, about--yes, it must have been just about the time Usk came home--simply because she had not vitality enough to hold out longer, I should think. She looked like a ghost after the engagement, but she was dragged out to all the gaieties there were, which in itself was nearly enough to kill a delicate girl brought up very quietly in the mountains. She looked worse and worse as the days went on, and Ernestine almost broke her heart over her; but when she spoke to the Grand-Duchess, she only wept, and said her husband was determined the marriage should take place, and she dared not cross him. The climax came at the time of the Mi-Carême Battle of Flowers. The Grand-Duke and the lover insisted upon the poor girl’s going, though she had a perfect terror of it, after the fright she got at the Carnival, where Usk met her first. She fainted twice while she was dressing, and the Grand-Duchess was alarmed at last, and sent for a doctor. Very fortunately, the English doctor whom Ernestine had advised her to call in was in the hotel at the moment, visiting Usk’s friend Nicholson, who was his patient. He put an absolute veto on the girl’s going out that day, and promised to come and examine her thoroughly in the morning. They told him nothing of the circumstances, but after seeing her he said there was some trouble pressing upon her mind, and if it was not removed she would die of sheer terror. The Grand-Duke stormed, but could not shake him, and as no one could pretend not to know what the trouble was, Ivan Petrovitch was sent about his business. I should imagine the Grand-Ducal family went through stormy times for a day or two. The Grand-Duke is not a pleasant man to oppose, but if you have to do it, it’s as well to do it with spirit. Félicia and he get on excellently, because if she doesn’t like what he tells her to do, she says so, and the matter is at an end. Well, the doctor continued his visits, as the Grand-Duchess asked him, but he told Ernestine privately that it was useless. There was no organic disease, but the child did not seem to have any wish to live. She knew that her parents quarrelled over her, I suppose, and had not the courage to assert herself. She was quiet and fairly happy when once her engagement was broken off, but she didn’t get better. And only just seventeen, Nadia!”

“Much too young to be thinking about engagements at all,” said Lady Caerleon, decisively but not harshly.

“Ah, well, her parents had put the thought into her mind, you see. Then, three days ago, she had a dreadful shock. Usk’s friend Nicholson had another attack of hæmorrhage, and died in the hotel. Ernestine thought him very much softened lately, and he used to like her to read to him. She was with him just before the end, and the Grand-Duchess asked her not to go and see Helene that day, lest she should inquire for him. She took an interest in him as an invalid, you see, and used to send him some of the flowers which were sent her. That afternoon the Grand-Duke came to our rooms in a terrible state of mind. The Grand-Duchess’s maid had let out to Helene that Nicholson was dead, and, somehow, it seemed to awaken the child to the fact that she wasn’t very far from dying herself. It did not disturb her to realise it, but the Grand-Duke complained that his wife and the other women looked at him as if he was a murderer. He begged Ernestine to go and see them, and even promised that anything she thought might be any good should be done. Of course Ernestine went, and you can imagine the state of things she found--the lady-in-waiting weeping in the _salon_, the maid sobbing in the passage, and the Grand-Duchess herself in Helene’s room in floods of tears. I suppose the poor girl thought she had no time to lose, for without giving her mother any opportunity of recovering from the first shock, she had asked for her jewels and other little things, and was saying who she would like to have them. She’s such a simple little soul that it didn’t occur to her she was doing anything hackneyed--it was just the most natural thing in the world to her. There were bracelets and so on for her sisters and cousins, and some trifle for me, and then she touched a ring which she always wears, which was given her at her confirmation, and said she would like Usk to have it. Her mother was so much astonished that she didn’t answer for a moment, and Helene said piteously, ‘You won’t mind then, will you, mamma? I shall never see him again, you know.’ Ernestine thought the Grand-Duchess had gone out of her mind, for she got up suddenly and seized her by the arm and took her out of the room. When the door was shut, she said, ‘That’s what the child wants! You will help me. We will take her to the mountains at once, and she shall marry your nephew instead of Ivan Petrovitch, and get well. Come, let us tell her about it.’ Ernestine begged her to wait and consult the Grand-Duke, but she absolutely refused. She went back into Helene’s room, and swept all the jewels into their box again. ‘Nonsense, Lenchen!’ she said. ‘You are not going to die. This place is too hot for you. We will go back to the mountains, to our own Lauterbach, just you and I, and your aunt will come and stay with us.’ Ernestine felt obliged to back her up by saying that as I could not leave Nice just at present, she would ask Usk to come and escort her to Lauterbach, and they would stay at the cottage close to the Schloss, so that Helene might be quite quiet. She says she didn’t dare to look at the child as she spoke, but she heard her whisper, ‘Then I shall see him again, after all!’ and for the first time she felt there was some hope.”

“But the Grand-Duke!” cried Lord Caerleon. “What did he think about it?”

“Well, Ernestine and the Grand-Duchess very prudently came to our rooms to have it out with him, lest Helene should be disturbed. Of course he vowed he would never hear of such a thing, but for once his wife seemed to have lost her fear of him. She told him plainly that she would separate from him rather than let Helene die when she could be saved; and as the money is nearly all hers, that brought him round. At last he calmed down sufficiently to allow the doctor to be consulted, and he was called in. He approved highly of the mountain plan, and recommended very strongly that the girl’s inclination should not be forced in any way. She was so sensitive, he said, that only a man of a most sympathetic type could hope to make her happy. In deference to the Grand-Duke’s feelings, his wife consented to leave that part of the programme in abeyance, but they start for the mountains to-morrow, and I should like to pack Usk off to join them, if you have no objection.”

“On what footing?” asked Lord Caerleon sharply. “I won’t have him bandied about according to the state of the Grand-Duke’s temper.”

“My dear Caerleon, haven’t you learnt yet that the honour--the punctilio, I might say--of the family is safe with me? Usk will be received as a suitor approved by the young lady’s parents, though he will not be formally presented to her as such.”

“Well,” said Lady Caerleon, “if I were in Princess Helene’s place, it would not make me better to know that a young man was being brought to marry me, quite irrespective of his own wishes.”

“She knows nothing of the kind, and no one has suggested it to her. I don’t pretend to say what may be passing in her mind, but I should imagine she flatters herself that she regards him merely as a dear friend. But I seem to be unfortunate in my advocacy, Nadia. Since my words only prejudice you further against the poor little girl, I shall be obliged to show you this, which I didn’t mean to bring out if I could help it, for it’s not flattering.”

He handed Lady Caerleon a photograph, which she took with a stern and unbending aspect, but her look changed suddenly.

“Oh, Cyril, what a sad little face!--and how very----”

“Plain?” suggested Cyril, as she hesitated. “If you saw her, you wouldn’t think so. It’s the expression that is wanting in the photograph.”

“She must have beautiful eyes and hair,” said Lady Caerleon slowly. “But, Cyril, Carlino, think of the difference from Félicia! Do you think Usk would ever care for her? And so badly dressed! I should like to take her in hand.”

“Come,” said Cyril, “this is a ray of hope. Now you realise that she needs comforting and dressing, Nadia, you won’t steel your heart against her for long.”

“I don’t want to steel my heart against her, poor little thing! but you don’t seem to see--I daresay it sounds very selfish, but you feel it too, don’t you, Carlino?--when Phil is so far away, to have to give up Usk too! I know I ought to be willing to do it, if it’s to help some one, but for him to have to go and live in Germany--it would be like losing him altogether.”

“No, no, Nadia,” said her husband quickly, as she turned to him with streaming eyes, “that’s out of the question. Usk has his duties here, and he won’t give them up with my consent.”

“You both seem to have the worst possible opinion of me,” lamented Cyril. “Is it likely that I should deliberately arrange for Usk to become a hanger-on at a petty German Court, where he wouldn’t even be welcomed? No; the Grand-Duchess quite sees that her husband and her daughter agree best at a distance. ‘The young people will live in England, of course,’ she said to me, ‘but they must come and see me in the mountains every year, and sometimes I will come and see them.’”

“Is that Usk coming in?” cried Lady Caerleon, starting up.

“Suppose you break the idea to him, Nadia, and see how he takes it,” suggested Cyril. “No one wants to force him into anything, of course, but I hardly see how he can do better. And you will manage it much more artistically than I should, for with you I began by giving the poor little girl away, which was the last thing I meant to do.”

Lady Caerleon hurried into the house, and the brothers were left together.

“I hope Usk will be able to see his way to it,” said Cyril. “Ernestine and I are quite foolish over this child Helene. Imagine my tearing across Europe just to get her what she wants!”

“I can’t understand even now how the Grand-Duke came to give in. One has always heard that his views on unequal marriages were so very strict.”

“I’m going to give you a tip,” said Cyril. “You mustn’t allow that it is unequal, on any account. Play the _grand seigneur anglais_ for all you’re worth when you meet him. Be impassive, bored, contemptuously tolerant of all you see, and let him know that you have much better at home.”

“Anything else?”

“It’s perfectly true. None of the Grand-Duke’s palaces can hold a candle to this house, and there’s no need to mention that you can’t afford to live in it. And as for Llandiarmid, though Félicia was pleased to turn up her pretty nose at it, it would make him miserably discontented with all his country seats, even if he saw it as it is. To German ears your rent-roll sounds magnificent, and the family jewels are historic. I’m thankful you never parted with them--but they are heirlooms, aren’t they? so it was not any virtue on your part. If you have to come to Molzau--for the wedding--make Nadia wear the emeralds, and have the pearls mounted afresh for Helene. That will smooth your path wonderfully.”

“If you exalt me much higher, I shall begin to think that it is Usk who is making the _mésalliance_.”

“Oh, the rest of the Schwarzwald-Molzau family will soon undeceive you in that case. It’s the Grand-Duke’s bitterest pill that he has imbued his children so thoroughly with his views that they will all look askance at him now. The youngest son, Prince Franz, who married the daughter of Félicia’s uncle, Don Florian, is the only one from whom he can expect any sympathy. Princess Resi is _recht demokratisch_, I understand.”

“Nice to be received upon sufferance into a family where only the Radicals will tolerate you!”

“You must make allowance for the susceptibilities of young people who have all married as they were told, and done excellently for themselves. I don’t know whether they married for rank, but they have certainly married where rank is. The Grand-Duke has always warned them against the romantic taint which crops out in the family with such curious persistency, and their feelings will naturally be hurt when it turns out that the taint has reappeared and vanquished him in the youngest and most timid of them all.”

“And this taint is merely a disposition to marry for love, I suppose?”

“Exactly; the sort of thing which can’t be allowed in a semi-royal house. The men in whom it appeared have generally gone to the bad, I believe, and the women become _dévotes_, after experiences which proved how wise their family were in refusing to listen to their wishes. It doesn’t seem to have struck the family that it would have been cheaper, and saved a good deal of scandal, to allow the delinquents to resign their rank, and settle down in private life with the objects of their affections. Their domestic squabbles would have served as awful warnings to the next generation. Perhaps that is the secret of the Grand-Duke’s yielding now.”

“Cyril!” Lord Caerleon turned and looked fixedly at his brother. “I hope there’s no morganatic foolery about this business? That I won’t stand.”

“Certainly not. Our Plantagenet blood, which your Radical friends think so lightly of except when they want you to push their Bills in Parliament, has stood us in good stead here, as I have often found before. But I own I never expected to be grateful for poor old O’Malachy’s descent from Irish kings. It was a happy thought of his to have that elaborate pedigree drawn out, though I believe it was the only thing he had to leave Nadia at his death, wasn’t it? I must have it copied to take back with me, though I remembered enough of it to quiet the Grand-Duke’s apprehensions as to Usk’s mother’s possessing the regulation number of quarterings. But it is a curious thing that you, the most typical Englishman I know, should apparently be doomed to associate with foreigners. You have a foreign wife, so have I, and now everything is conspiring to provide you with a foreign daughter-in-law.”

Lord Caerleon growled impatiently. “It doesn’t seem to have struck any one to ask how Usk and his wife are to live,” he said. “Has the Princess any money?”

“In Germany she is regarded as something of an heiress, and her fortune undoubtedly looks rather imposing reckoned in marks. I should say she would have about eight hundred a-year--pounds, I mean.”

“Even with what I can give Usk, it’ll be precious little to support such a lot of grandeur upon. They won’t have much margin.”

“She is sure to be a good housekeeper. All German girls are. By the bye, what about that new railway which was to pass Llandiarmid and open up the hill district? Is it still on the _tapis_?”

“Rather. But Nadia and I both felt that we ought not to run up the price of the land, as the line is so much needed.”

“You didn’t tell the Company that, I hope? Don’t, pray, feel that you must love your neighbour better than yourself. Let them make the first offer. You may be sure they won’t propose to give more than the land is worth, but you certainly ought to get enough out of them to increase Usk’s allowance to something a little more in accordance with his position.”

In the meantime, Lady Caerleon had intercepted her son in the hall, and drawn him aside into the library.

“Your uncle is here, Usk, and he and your father are having a little talk. Come in here. I--I want to speak to you.”

“Anything wrong?” he asked in surprise. “Why, you’ve been crying, mater! What is it?”

“No, dear, there is nothing wrong. It was foolish of me to cry. I ought to feel very glad and proud, after what I have just heard about you.”

“There’s little enough about me to make you either glad or proud, I’m afraid,” he said bitterly. “But I’m glad you’re pleased, mater, whatever it is.”

“But I am not pleased!” cried Lady Caerleon. “At least, as I say, I ought to be. But if it is to make you happy, I _will_ be pleased.”

Usk changed colour. “Mother,” he said, almost breathlessly, “if it’s any message about--anything from Félicia, it’s no good. I don’t want to hear from her. I could never trust her again.”

“No, no! It’s about the Princess Helene of Schwarzwald-Molzau. Her engagement to the Scythian Prince is broken off.”

“Is that all?” cried Usk. “What a start you gave me! And what in the world has it to do with me?--though of course I’m glad for the poor little girl’s own sake.”

“Usk,” said his mother quickly, “had you any idea she cared for you?”

“For me? Princess Helene? What an idea! Of course not.”

“She has been very ill, and when she thought she was dying, she begged that the ring she always wore might be given to you. And now--they hope she will not die.”

“I--I don’t think you ought to have told me this,” said Usk awkwardly. He looked with a kind of reproach at his mother, who could not meet his eyes. “You see,” he went on more firmly, “she’s such a nice little girl that it’s a shame to say that sort of thing about her. She’s as innocent as a baby, and it would get her into dreadful trouble with her people if they thought it was true.”

“It is true,” said Lady Caerleon desperately, “and your uncle would like you to marry her. Could you care for her at all, Usk?”

“No one could help caring for her, she’s such a gentle, friendly little thing. But not in that way! Mater, say you’re joking.”

“I wish I could, but everything is arranged in a way. They think she is pining after you--no, I know it doesn’t sound kind to say it, Usk, but what am I to say? You were kind to her, weren’t you? and she misses you, and they say it would cheer her if you went and stayed with your aunt near her, and saw her every day. It doesn’t sound much to ask, but then it involves a good deal more.”

“But why?” asked Usk quickly. “I shouldn’t a bit mind seeing her as much as she liked, and--anything of that sort. Why shouldn’t it stop there?”

“I suppose people would talk--I don’t know. Besides, if she really----”

Usk stopped her. “Please don’t. It would make her so awfully miserable if she knew things of that kind were being said about her. Feeling as I do, I have no business to listen to it. If I cared for her, it might be different.”

“But couldn’t you? Do you never mean----”

“To marry? I don’t know. Perhaps some day it will seem more possible than it does now. Mother, think! If you knew how I loved and trusted Félicia, you would know that I could never feel the same to any woman again, never! If she had even broken it off at one wrench, it would not be so bad; but she played me like a salmon, pretending to let me go, and then drawing me back again, until every feeling of that sort seems quite dried up.”

“But you are young, Usk. You will get over it some day.”

“Possibly. I don’t feel like it just yet.”

“And a good girl--not one like Félicia----”

“Do you realise what Félicia is--how beautiful?--‘witchlike’ Princess Helene called it once, I remember. If she was looking at me, I should know it, though I was at the other end of the room and there was a crowd of people between,--I should feel it all over me, somehow. I couldn’t feel like that for the little Princess. I should like to make her happy, to take her away from her father and be kind to her, and see her begin to assert herself, and hear the funny things she says, but I couldn’t marry her on that, could I?”

“But pity is akin to love.”

“Mater, you’re weakening! You don’t mean to say you would wish it?”

“I don’t wish it, but--I’m beginning to be afraid it may be your duty.”

“And then it’s all up, isn’t it? What a thing it is to have a mother with a conscience!”

“Don’t talk so hardly, Usk. I can’t help thinking how we should feel if the poor girl died. You say you would not make it up with Félicia if you could; don’t you think you may be called to make this sacrifice?”

“It’s not a sacrifice altogether,” admitted Usk. “I really do like her, you know, but not in that way. The question is, is it fair to Princess Helene herself? No; certainly it would not be such a sacrifice as marrying one of the Jones girls,” he added with a laugh.

“What, Gwladys or Myfanwy? My dear Usk!”

“Why, mater, I had made up my mind to propose to one of them in due time, simply because I thought you were so fond of them.”

“As helpers in the parish, perhaps. But not to marry you.”

“It’s just as well that we have had this explanation, then, for I should certainly have done it.”

“I am most thankful you haven’t. And Mr Jones--oh, Usk!”

“Mater, I’m afraid you’re a very worldly woman.”

“Am I? I hope not. But perhaps I am, though I don’t think there’s anything wrong in preferring a Princess of Schwarzwald-Molzau to Miss Jones. No, I’m afraid you’re right. I have always been so anxious people should not think your father had done himself harm in marrying me. It was pride, of course, because I used to hope you would both make brilliant marriages. But I couldn’t wish Phil to have chosen differently--though I wish she lived in England. But I should like you to marry well, Usk.”

“Then, on your own rule of conduct, I ought to go and propose to Miss Jones at once, so as to mortify your pride, oughtn’t I?”

“No, it would not be fair to Princess Helene. We have her to think of too, you know.” Usk raised his eyebrows at this sophistry. “I--I should like you to go back with your uncle, Usk.”

“And propose immediately to the poor little girl?”

“Oh no, that’s not necessary. Only go and be kind to her. You may find that she doesn’t care for you, after all, or you may come to care for her, in time.”

“And in any case I shall be safe from your friends?”

“Don’t, Usk. I only want to see you happy, you know that. Any woman that can make you happy again will be welcome to me.”

“Then the Princess Helene shall have the honour of trying the experiment,” said Usk.