Read Ebook: The Prodigals and Their Inheritance; vol. 1 by Oliphant Mrs Margaret

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Ebook has 366 lines and 30229 words, and 8 pages

"Oh, Tom, come in and get warmed and eat something."

"Is it going to be very bad, then?" the young man said.

"I think," said Winifred anxiously, "you had much better change those wet clothes; your room is ready."

"Look here!" he cried; "all that about New Zealand, that's all nonsense, of course?" He watched the changes of her countenance as he spoke.

Winifred shook her head. "Oh, Tom, I told you long ago you must never take what my father says as nonsense. He is not that sort of man. Come to the fire, then, if you will not change your clothes. And here is Hopkins coming with the tray. Don't say anything before Hopkins, Tom."

"Why shouldn't I? If he means that, they'll know soon enough. I don't believe he means it. The governor--the governor"--Tom's voice died away in his throat, partly because it trembled, partly because of Hopkins' presence. "Yes, yes, that'll do," he said fretfully, as the butler placed a chair for him, and stood waiting. "I don't want anything to eat, thank you. I'll have a drink if you like. The governor," he resumed, with a sort of laugh, as Hopkins, knowing the nature of the drink required, went off to fetch it, "would never repeat himself, Winnie. He is not such a duffer as that. All very well once perhaps; but to send George to Sydney and me to New Zealand--oh, that's too much of a good thing! I can't believe he means it. Thank you, that's more to the purpose," he added, as he took a large fizzing glass out of Hopkins' hand.

"You need not wait. We have everything my brother will want," said Winifred. "Oh, Tom, what can I say to you? You know how my father had set his heart on your success--success anyhow, he did not mind what kind."

"Well, well," said Tom sulkily; "you women are always harping on what is past. I know very well I have been an ass. But there is no such dreadful harm done after all. I'm not fifty, if you come to that, and this time I'll work, I really will, and get through."

Winifred said no more for the moment. She persuaded him to seat himself at the table, to fortify himself with food. "We can talk it all over when you have had your supper. There is plenty of time; and what a wretched journey you must have had, Tom!"

"Wretched enough, but nothing so bad as the drive from the station, with the rain pouring down upon one, and that fellow Short pitying one all the way. Talk of not speaking before the servants--he knew as well as I did I was in disgrace with the governor, and was sorry for me--my own groom! Why didn't you let me get a fly from the station? It would have been twenty times more comfortable."

"That is what my father said," said Winifred, with a smile.

"Oh, he thought of that, did he? The governor has a great deal of sense," said Tom, brightening a little. "He understands a fellow better than you can. I don't say anything against you, Win; you are always as good as you know how."

Winifred looked at her brother with a tremulous smile of wonder and pity. Nothing could be more forlorn than his appearance; the steam rising from his wet coat, his hair limp on his forehead, his colourless face more eloquent of anxiety and suspense than his words were. He swallowed with difficulty the dainty food, the dish he specially liked, and pushed his chair from the table with relief.

"Am I to see him to-night?" he said. "If it's got to be, the sooner the better. It will be a thing well over."

"Tom,"--Winifred's voice faltered, she could hardly say what she had to say,--"I am afraid it is all a great deal worse than you think. He did not want to see you at all, and if he has consented at last, it is chiefly because he thinks you will then be convinced how little you have to expect."

Tom's countenance fell, and then he made an effort to recover himself, and laughed. "Nobody ever was so hard as the governor looks," he said; "he wants to frighten me, I know that."

He looked anxiously in her eyes, and Winifred's eyes were not encouraging. Her brother broke out again with a stifled oath. "You can't mean me to suppose that that about New Zealand is true, Winnie? You don't mean that?"

"Dear Tom!" Winifred said, with tears in her eyes.

"Don't dear Tom me! That's not natural, you don't mean it. Good heavens! I'd sooner you were taking your fun out of me, if it was a moment for that. I won't go! I'm not a child to be ordered about like that. I tell you I won't go!"

"Oh, Tom! if you could but do anything at home; if you would but let him see that you could manage for yourself! That might be of some use, if you could do it, Tom."

"I won't go," he repeated hoarsely, "to the other end of the world, away from everything I care for! There is a limit to everything. You can tell him I won't do that. And all for what? For having been unlucky about my books, as half the men in the university have been one time or the other. What does it matter being ploughed? It happens every day. Winnie, I swear to you I'll work like--like a navvy, if I can only have another chance."

"Oh, Tom, I have said everything, I have tried every way. I think if you were to do as you said just now, say to him that you won't go to New Zealand, that you can manage for yourself at home, that would be your best chance. Show him that you can maintain yourself, do something, write something, it does not matter what it is"--

"Maintain myself?" said Tom. He had left his seat, and was standing in front of the fire, his pale face and dishevelled, damp hair showing against the black marble of the mantelpiece; his eyes had a bewildered and discomfited look. "Do something? It is so easy to talk. What am I to do? Write? I am not one of the fellows that can write. I have never been used to that sort of thing. I say, Winnie, for God's sake speak to my father! I can't, I can't go to that dreadful place."

"Oh, Tom!" she cried, turning her head away.

To see him standing there, helpless, feeble, sure only of one thing, and that that he himself was good for nothing, was like a sword in this young woman's heart. It is the most horrible of all the tortures that women have to bear, to see the men belonging to them, whom they would so fain look up to, breaking down into ruinous failure. He gave her a distracted look, and when she withdrew her eyes, went and plucked her by the sleeve. "Winnie, for Heaven's sake tell my father! It's all dreadful to me: I can't work in an office; I can't go a long voyage. I hate the sea, I am not strong, not a man that can rough it and knock about. George was different, he was always that sort of fellow; and then he's married. Winnie, speak for me. You can do it if you like."

"I have done nothing else ever since he told me, Tom, and I dare not say any more. He will not listen, he says he will send me away too. I shouldn't care for that if I could help you, but I can't--I can't. It is almost worse for me, for I can do nothing--nothing!"

"Oh no," said Tom; "don't make believe, Winnie. Worse for you?--Why, what does it matter to you? While I am out at sea, perhaps in danger of my life, you'll be snug at home, with everything that heart can desire. And who is he going to leave his money to, if he casts me off? You? Oh, I see it all now! Why should you speak for me? It's against your own interests. I see it all now."

She could only look at him with an appeal for pity in her eyes. She could not protest that her own interests were little in her mind. There are some things which it is impossible to say, as it ought to be needless to say them. Tom for his part worked himself up to an outburst of miserable, artificial rage which it is to be supposed was a relief to his excitement.

"Oh, it is you that are to be his heir?" he cried. "A girl! I might have known. No wonder you don't speak up for me, when it's all in your own favour. I'm to be cut off, and George is to be cut off, all for you! Oh, I might have known! A girl is always at home, wriggling and wriggling into favour, cutting out the lawful heirs. And what does he think he's going to make of you, that haven't even a name of your own, that are no more good for the family than a stranger? George wasn't enough, I might have had the sense to see that--there was me that had to be got rid of too, and now you've done it; now you have succeeded. Yes, yes! and this is Winnie!" he cried in a burst of despairing rage. "Winnie! I thought Winnie was my friend whoever failed me; and all this time you were plotting to get rid of me too!"

Tom had been advancing towards her, gesticulating with fury, his hand raised, his blood-shot eyes gleaming, when the door opened suddenly. In a moment he fell back, his hand dropped by his side, the look as of a beaten hound came into his eyes. Mr. Chester had come in, and set his back against the door.

They were little, and he was tall; they were slight of form, and he was massive and big--a vigorous man with a great "wind of going" about him, like one who could push through every difficulty, and make his way. He stood against the door, and looked at them; a man who felt more life in him than was in both put together, to whom they were nobodies, insignificant creatures whom he could make or unmake at his pleasure. He looked at his son with contempt unmixed with pity. He was not touched by Tom's miserable looks, his air of hopeless dejection, or furtive, trembling hope. And for the moment Winifred's want of size and importance struck him more than the fact which had been forced upon him, that she had done him credit. He despised them both, the products of a smaller race than his own, taking after their mother, like the Robinsons. The Chesters were a better race in point of thews and sinews, though nobody knew very well from what illegitimate source these sinews came.

"Look here!" he said; "I don't permit you to bully your sister. What's she done to you? She has always stood up for you a deal more than you deserve. If I let you come here at all, it was because she insisted upon it. I never could see what was the use of it, for my part."

Tom's rage had been subdued in a moment. He was supposed to be a being of small will, unable to restrain himself; but he was capable of an effort of the will when it was necessary, as most people are. He looked at his father with a piteous desire to conciliate and touch his heart. "I thought," he said, "papa,--I hope you'll forgive me,--that I had a right to come here."

"I know, sir, that you have a right to be angry"--Tom began.

"I am not angry. I don't care enough about it. So long as there was some hope of you, I might be angry, but now that you've gone and made a fool of me--the rich man that tried to make a gentleman of his son!--I might as well have tried to make a gentleman of Winnie. As soon as I understand it, that's enough, and I've learned my lesson, thank you. You are no good, and I have washed my hands of you."

"Father, I know I have been an ass. You can't say more to me than I have said to myself. And I've learned my lesson too. Give me another chance, and I'll do all you wish," he cried, holding up his hands, almost falling on his knees.

"Come, I'm not going to have a scene out of the theatre," said Mr. Chester roughly. "I've given you all you have a right to ask of me--a start in the world. When I was your age, fifty pounds in my pocket would have seemed a fortune to me. And if you like,--there's no better field for a young man than New Zealand,--you may come home in twenty years with as many thousands as you have pounds to take with you, or hundreds of thousands if you have luck. The only thing is to exert yourself. You'd thank me for the chance if you had any spirit. That's all, I think, there is to say. Winnie will tell you the rest. Cable Line, Liverpool--I've taken you a first-class cabin, though on principle I should have sent you in the steerage. Good luck to you, my boy! Work and you'll do well. Winnie will tell you the rest."

"Father, you are not going to throw me overboard like this?" cried the miserable young man, rushing forward as Mr. Chester turned round to open the door.

"You are going to the bottom as fast as you can, and I throw you into the lifeboat, which is a very different matter. You'll find a decent salary and an honest way of getting your living on the other side. Only don't think any more of Bedloe and that sort of thing. Good-bye. If you do well, you can send Winnie word; if not"--He gave a shrug of his shoulders. "Farewell to you, once for all: don't think I am either to be coaxed or bullied. What's done is done, and I make no new beginnings. Get him up in time once in his life, and let him leave to-morrow by the first train, Winnie. I shall have to speak to Hopkins if I cannot trust you."

"Let him stay to-morrow. Oh, papa! don't you see how ill he is looking--how miserable he is? Let him stay to-morrow; let him get used to the idea, papa."

"I must speak to Hopkins, I see," Mr. Chester said. "Hopkins, Mr. Tom is going off to-morrow by the first train--see that he is not late. If he misses that, he will lose his ship; and if you let him miss it, it will be the worse for you. That's enough, I hope. Tom, good-bye."

"I can't--I can't get ready at a day's notice. I have got no outfit--I have nothing"--

"All that's been thought of," said Mr. Chester, waving his hand. "Winnie will tell you. Good-bye!"

He left the brother and sister alone with a light step and a hard heart. They could hear him whistling to himself as he went away. When Mr. Chester whistled, the household trembled. The sound convinced Tom more than anything that had been said. He threw himself down in the great easy-chair by the fire, and covered his face with his hands. What the sounds were that misery brought from his convulsed bosom we need not pause to describe. Sobs or curses, what does it matter? He was in the lowest deep of wretchedness--wretchedness which he had never believed in, which had seemed to him impossible. He could not say that it was impossible any longer, but still it seemed incredible, beyond all powers of belief. His sister flew to him to comfort him, and wept over him, notwithstanding the insult he had offered her; and he himself forgot, which was more wonderful, and clung to her as to his only consolation. Misery of this kind which has no nobleness in it, but only weakness, cowardice--compunction in which is no repentance--are of all things in the world the most terrible to witness. And Winnie loved her brother, and felt everything that was unworthy in him to the bottom of her heart.

Next morning he went away with red eyes and a pallid face and quivering lips. It was all he could do to keep up the ordinary forms of composure as he crossed the threshold of his father's house. He was sorry for himself with an acute and miserable anguish, broken down, without any higher thought to support him. He never believed it would have come to this. He could not believe it now, though it had come. He feared the voyage, the unknown world, the unaccustomed confinement, every thing that was before him; that he should be no longer the young master, but a mere clerk; that he should have to work for his living; that all his little false importance was gone; that he should be presently, he who could not endure the sea, sick and miserable on a long voyage. All these details drifted across his mind in the midst of the current of miserable consciousness that all was over with him, and the impulse of frenzied resistance that now and then rose in his mind, resistance that meant nothing, that could make no stand against inexorable fact.

"It is the best thing that could happen to him," he said, "if there is anything in him at all. If there isn't, of course he will go to the wall--but so he would do anyhow."

"Oh, papa! He is your son."

"And what of that? He's no more like me than Hopkins is. You are the only one that is like me. I have sent for Babington to make another will."

"I do not want your money, papa."

"Softly, young woman; nobody is offering it to you. I don't mean to be like King Lear. Indeed, for anything I know, I may marry, and put all your noses out of joint. But in the meantime"--

"I will never supplant my brother," said Winifred. "I will never take what does not belong to me. I wish you would dispose of it otherwise, father. It is yours to do what you like with it; but I have a will of my own too."

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