Part 45 (1/2)

The young messenger retired, leaving Mr. Galloway to his fate. He persisted in a.s.suming that the news was too absurd to be correct; but a dreadful inward misgiving began to steal over him.

The question was set at rest by the Lady Augusta. Feeling excessively vexed with Roland for not having informed Mr. Galloway of his intended departure--as from the message, it would appear he had not done--she determined to go round; and did so, following closely on the heels of the maid. Her ladys.h.i.+p had already wonderfully recovered her spirits. They were of a mercurial nature, liable to go up and down at touch; and Hamish had contrived to cheer her greatly.

”What does all this mean? Where's Roland?” began Mr. Galloway, showing little more deference to her ladys.h.i.+p, in his flurry, than he might have shown to Roland himself.

”Did you not know he was going?” she asked.

”I know nothing. Where is he gone?”

”He has started for Port Natal; that is, he has started for London, on his way to it. He went by the eight o'clock train.”

Mr. Galloway sat down in consternation. ”My lady, allow me to inquire what sort of behaviour you call this?”

”Whether it is good or bad, right or wrong, I can't help it,” was the reply of Lady Augusta. ”I'm sure I have enough to bear!” she added, melting into tears. ”Of course he ought to have informed you of his intention, Mr. Galloway. I thought he did. He told me he had done so.”

A reminiscence of Roland's communication crossed Mr. Galloway's mind; of his words, ”Don't say I did not give you notice, sir.” He had paid no heed to it at the time.

”He is just another of my headstrong boys,” grumbled Lady Augusta. ”They are all specimens of wilfulness. I never knew that it was this morning he intended to be off, until he was gone, and I had to run after him to the station. Ask Hamish Channing.”

”He must be mad!” exclaimed Mr. Galloway.

”He says great fortunes are made, out at Port Natal. I don't know whether it is so.”

”Great fortunes made!” irascibly responded Mr. Galloway. ”Pittances, that folks go out with, are lost, when they are such as he. That's what it is. Harem-scarem chaps, who won't work, can do no good at Port Natal. Great fortunes made, indeed! I wonder that you can be led away by notions so wild and extravagant, Lady Augusta!”

”I am not led away by them,” peevishly returned Lady Augusta, a recollection of her own elation on the point darting unpleasantly to her mind. ”Where would have been the use of my holding out against it, when he had set his heart upon the thing? He would have gone in spite of me. Do you not think fortunes are made there, Mr. Galloway?”

”I am sure they are not, by such as Roland,” was the reply. ”A man who works one hour in the day, and plays eleven, would do less good at Port Natal than he would in his own country. A business man, thoroughly industrious, and possessing some capital, may make something at Port Natal, as he would at any other port. In the course of years he might realize a fortune--in the course of _years_, I say, Lady Augusta.”

This was not precisely the prospect Roland had pictured to Lady Augusta, or to which her own imagination had lent its hues, and she stood in consternation almost equal to Mr. Galloway's. ”What on earth will he do, then, when he gets there?” e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.ed she.

”Find out his mistake, my lady, and come home without a coat to his back, as hundreds have done before him, and worked their pa.s.sage home, to get here. It is to be hoped he will have to do the same. It will teach him what work is.”

”There never was such an unhappy mother as I am!” bewailed my lady. ”They will do just as they like, and always would, from George downwards: they won't listen to me. Poor dear boy! reduced, perhaps, to live on brown bread and pea-soup!”

”And lucky to get that!” cried angry Mr. Galloway. ”But the present question, Lady Augusta, is not what he may do when he gets to Port Natal, but what am I to do without him here. Look at the position it has placed me in!”

Lady Augusta could give neither help nor counsel. In good truth, it was not her fault. But she saw that Mr. Galloway seemed to think it was hers, or that it was partially hers. She departed home again, feeling cross with Roland, feeling damped about his expedition, and beginning to fancy that Port Natal might not, after all, bring her diamonds to wear, or offer her streets paved with malachite marble.

Mr. Galloway sat down, and reiterated the question in relation to himself, which Lady Augusta had put regarding Roland when he should arrive at Port Natal--What on earth was he to do? He could not close his office; he could not perform its various duties himself; he could not be out of doors and in, at one and the same time, unless, indeed, he cut himself in two! What was he to do?

It was more than Mr. Galloway could tell. He put his two hands upon his knees, and stared in consternation, feeling himself grow hot and cold alternately. Could Roland--then whirling along in the train, reclining at his ease, his legs up on the opposite cus.h.i.+on as he enjoyed a luxurious pipe, to the inestimable future benefit of the carriage--have taken a view of Mr. Galloway and his discomfiture, his delight would have been unbounded.

”Incorrigible as he was, he was better than n.o.body,” e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.ed Mr. Galloway, rubbing up his flaxen curls. ”He could keep office, if he did not do much in it; he received and answered callers; he went out on hasty messages; and, upon a pinch, he did accomplish an hour or so's copying. I am down on my beam-ends, and no mistake. What a simpleton the fellow must be! Port Natal, indeed, for him! If Lord Carrick were not own brother to my lady, he might have the sense to stop it. Why--”

Arrival the first, and no one to answer it but Mr. Galloway! A fly had driven up and stopped at the door. No one appeared to be getting out of it, so Mr. Galloway, perforce, proceeded to see what it wanted. It might contain one of the chapter, or the dean himself!

But, by the time he reached the pavement, the inmates were descending. A short lady, in a black bonnet and short black skirts, had let herself out on the opposite side, and had come round to a.s.sist somebody out on this. Was it a ghost, or was it a man? His cheeks were hollow and hectic, his eyes were glistening as with fever, his chest heaved. He had a fur boa wrapped round his neck, and his overcoat hung loosely on his tall, attenuated form, which seemed too weak to support itself, or to get down the fly steps without being lifted.

”Now don't you be in a hurry!” the lady was saying, in a cross tone. ”You'll come pitch into the mud with your nose. Can't you wait? It's my belief you are wanting to do it. Here, let me get firm hold of you; you know you are as weak as ever was a rat!”

You may recognize the voice as belonging to Mrs. Jenkins, and that poor shadow could be no one but Jenkins himself, for there certainly was not another like it in all Helstonleigh. Mr. Galloway stood in astonishment, wondering what this new move could mean. The descent accomplished, Jenkins was conducted by his wife through the pa.s.sage to the office. He went straight to his old place at his desk, and sat down on his stool, his chest palpitating, his breath coming in great sighs. Laying his hat beside him, he turned respectfully to Mr. Galloway, who had followed him in, speaking with all his native humility: ”I have come, sir, to do what I can for you in this emergency.”

And there he stopped--coughing, panting, shaking; looking like a man more fit to be lying on his death-bed than to be keeping office. Mr. Galloway gazed at him with compa.s.sion. He said nothing. Jenkins at that moment could neither have heard nor answered, and Mrs. Jenkins was out, paying the driver.

The paroxysm was not over when she came in. She approached Jenkins, slightly shook him--her mode of easing the cough--dived in his pockets for his silk handkerchief, with which she wiped his brow, took off the fur from his neck, waited until he was quiet, and began: ”I hope you are satisfied! If you are not, you ought to be. Who's to know whether you'll get back alive? I don't.”

”What did he come for?” asked Mr. Galloway.

”Ah!” said Mrs. Jenkins, ”that's just what I want to know! As if he could do any good in the state he is! Look at him, sir.”

Poor Jenkins, who was indeed a sight to be looked at, turned his wan face upon Mr. Galloway.

”I cannot do much sir, I know; I wish I could: but I can sit in the office--at least, I hope I can--just to take care of it while you are out, sir, until you can find somebody to replace Mr. Roland.”

”How did you know he was gone off?” demanded Mr. Galloway.

”It was in this way,” interposed Mrs. Jenkins, ages before poor Jenkins could gain breath to answer. ”I was on my hands and knees, brus.h.i.+ng the fluff off my drawing-room carpet this morning, when I heard something tearing up the stairs at the rate of a coach-and-six. Who should it be but young Mr. Yorke, on his way to Jenkins in bed, without saying so much as 'With your leave,' or 'By your leave.' A minute or two, and down he came again, gave me a little touch of his impudence, and was gone before I could answer. Well, sir, I kept on at my room, and when it was done I went downstairs to see about the breakfast, never suspecting what was going on with _him_”--pointing her finger at Jenkins. ”I was pouring out his tea when it was ready to take up to him, and putting a bit of something on a plate, which I intended to make him eat, when I heard somebody creeping down the stairs--stumbling, and panting, and coughing--and out I rushed. There stood he--_he_, Mr. Galloway! dressed and washed, as you see him now! he that has not got up lately till evening, and me dressing him then! 'Have you took leave of your senses?' said I to him. 'No,' said he, 'my dear, but I must go to the office to-day: I can't help myself. Young Mr. Yorke's gone away, and there'll be n.o.body.' 'And good luck go with him, for all the use he's of here, getting you out of your bed,' said I. If Jenkins were as strong as he used to be, Mr. Galloway, I should have felt tempted to treat him to a shaking, and then, perhaps, he'd have remembered it!”

”Mr. Roland told me he was going away, sir, and that you had n.o.body to replace him; indeed, I gathered that you were ignorant of the step,” struck in the quiet, meek voice of poor Jenkins. ”I could not stay away, sir, knowing the perplexity you would be put to.”

”No, it's my belief he could not,” tartly chimed in Jenkins's lady. ”He would have tantalized himself into a fever. Why, Mr. Galloway, had I marched him back to his bed and turned the key upon him, he'd have been capable of letting himself down by a cord from his window, in the face and eyes of all the street. Now, Jenkins, I'll have none of your contradiction! you know you would.”

”My dear, I am not contradicting; I am not well enough to contradict,” panted poor Jenkins.

”He would have come off there and then, all by himself: he would, Mr. Galloway, as I am a living sinner!” she hotly continued. ”It's unbeknown how he'd have got here--holding on by the wall, like a snail, or fastening himself on to the tail of a cart; but try at it, in some way, he would! Be quiet, Jenkins! How dare you attempt to interrupt!”

Poor Jenkins had not thought to interrupt; he was only making a movement to pull off his great-coat. Mrs. Jenkins resumed: ”'No,' said I to him; 'if you must go, you shall be conveyed there, but you don't start without your breakfast.' So I sat him down in his chair, Mr. Galloway, and gave him his breakfast--such as it was! If there's one thing that Jenkins is obstinate in, above all others, it's about eating. Then I sent Lydia for a fly, and wrapped up his throat in my boa--and that he wanted to fight against!--and here he is!”

”I wished to get here, sir, before you did,” cried Jenkins, meekly. ”I knew the exertion would set me coughing at first, but, if I had sat awhile before you saw me, I should not have seemed so incapable. I shall be better presently, sir.”

”What are you at with that coat?” tartly asked Mrs. Jenkins. ”I declare your hands are never at rest. Your coat's not to come off, Jenkins. The office is colder than our parlour, and you'll keep it on.”

Jenkins, humbly obeying, began to turn up the cuffs. ”I can do a little writing, sir,” he said to Mr. Galloway, ”Is there anything that is in a hurry?”

”Jenkins,” said Mr. Galloway, ”I could not suffer you to write; I could not keep you here. Were I to allow you to stop, in the state you are, just to serve me, I should lay a weight upon my conscience.”

Mrs. Jenkins looked up in triumph. ”You hear, Jenkins! What did I tell you? I said I'd let you have your way for once--'twas but the cost of the fly; but that if Mr. Galloway kept you here, once he set eyes on your poor creachy body, I'd eat him.”

”Jenkins, my poor fellow!” said Mr. Galloway, gravely, ”you must know that you are not in a state to exert yourself. I shall not forget your kindness; but you must go back at once. Why, the very draught from the frequent opening of the door would do you an injury; the exertion of speaking to answer callers would be too much for you.”

”Didn't I tell you so, Jenkins, just in them very words?” interrupted the lady.

”I am aware that I am not strong, sir,” acknowledged Jenkins to Mr. Galloway, with a deprecatory glance towards his wife to be allowed to speak. ”But it is better I should be put to a trifle of inconvenience than that you should, sir. I can sit here, sir, while you are obliged to be out, or occupied in your private room. What could you do, sir, left entirely alone?”

”I don't know what I can do,” returned Mr. Galloway, with an acidity of tone equal to that displayed by Mrs. Jenkins, for the question recalled all the perplexity of his position. ”Sacrifice yourself to me, Jenkins, you shall not. What absurd folly can have taken off Roland Yorke?” he added. ”Do you know?”