George Fenn - Lady Maude's Mania

“Hang it, go on, governor. Quit your roof – paternal roof,” whispered Tom.

“Quit your paternal roof, will shine – yes, shine in her new sphere as an ornament to society, as her mother has been before her. A woman all love, all gentleness, and sweetness of disposition.”

“Oh, hang it governor; draw it mild,” whispered Tom.

“Yes, mild,” said his lordship, “mild to a fault. Eh? bless me, what is the matter?”

It was a favourable opportunity for a display of emotion, and her ladyship displayed it beautifully for the assembled company to study and take a lesson in maternal and wifely tenderness. Her beloved child was being handed over to the tender mercies of a man – was about to leave her home – about to be torn away.

Her ladyship burst into an agony of tears – of wild sobbing – for she was a model of all the virtues; but when virtues were made, nature selected another pattern and this one was cast aside.

A sympathetic coo ran round the table, tears were shed, and Tom winked at Charley Melton, who kept his countenance.

Then her ladyship declared that it was “so foolish,” and that she was “quite well now”; and other speeches good and bad were made. And at last the bridegroom’s carriage was at the door; the bride was handed in; there was the usual cheering; white satin slippers and showers of rice were thrown, and the carriage rolled away. For Lady Barmouth had achieved one of the objects of her life – a brilliant match for her elder daughter – leaving her free to execute her plans for Maude.

All had been en règle so far: the hall was filled with company; the sound of wheels was still to be heard rolling down the broad thoroughfare: when “I say, look out,” whispered Tom to his friend. “There she goes.”

It was a coarse way of expressing himself, but “there” “she” did go – to wit her ladyship. Sir Grantley Wilters, whom she hoped some day to call son, was close at hand. It was quite time for her maternal feelings to assert themselves again, and they did, for she sank heavily into the nearest arms.

They were not her husband’s but those of the baronet, most rotten reeds upon which a lady might lean. The result was that as Lady Barmouth gave way, Sir Grantley did the same, and both would have fallen heavily but for Doctor Todd, who seized the baronet in time, and with extraneous help her ladyship was placed in the porter’s great chair.

“Salts, and a little air: she has only fainted,” said the doctor.

By all the rules of family etiquette as observed in the best society, Maude should have run to her mother’s side, and made one in a pathetic group: but just at the same moment she encountered Charley Melton’s eyes, let her own rest upon them as a singular thrill ran through her, till she wrenched them away and encountered Sir Grantley Wilters’ eye-glass, and directly after she recalled a promise she had made to herself.

“Open that door a little,” said the doctor – “ajar. Some fresh air.”

Luigi Malsano was back in the street, and the organ struck up once more, “’Tis hard to give the hand where the heart can never be,” while at the same moment a dismal howl came from the doorstep and a head was thrust in, to be followed by a body rather out of proportion.

It was only Charley Melton’s ugly bull-dog Joby, who had followed his master to the house, and been waiting on step and in area for the said master to come. He had several times made an attempt to enter, but had been driven back by Robbins the butler, and thought of going back to his master’s chambers, but at last the opportunity had come, and he too found his way in, for Luigi’s music nearly drove him mad.

Meanwhile the Resident’s young wife was being carried towards Charing Cross en route for Brindisi – the Suez Canal – India – right away out of the country, and out of this story, leaving the stage clear for her sister’s important scene.

“I’m afraid you are not serious, Mr Melton,” said Lady Barmouth; shaking her head at him sadly.

“Serious, Lady Barmouth; indeed I am,” said Charley Melton, who was Viscount Diphoos’ guest down at the Hurst, Lord Barmouth’s seat in Sussex; “and as to personal matters, my income – ”

“Hush, hush! you bad, wicked boy,” exclaimed her ladyship; “what do you take me for? Just as if the union of two young hearts was to be made a question of hard cash and settlements, and such mean, wretched, sordid matters. I beg you will never utter a word to me again about such things. They are shocking to me.”

“I am very glad to hear you say so, Lady Barmouth,” said Melton, smiling frankly in her face, as in a gentle heaving billow style, she leaned, upon his arm, and undulated softly and tapped his fingers with her fan.

“I like to think of my darling Maude as a sweet innocent girl in whose presence such a sordid thing as money ought never to be mentioned. There, there, there, they are calling you from the lawn, Charley Melton; go to them and play and be happy while you have your youth and high spirits. How I envy you all sometimes?”

“Your ladyship has made me very happy,” said Melton, flushing slightly.

“It is my desire to make all belonging to me happy,” replied her ladyship. “I have seen Diana, my sweet child, settled, now it is my desire to see Maude the same. There, there, go away, for my eyes are weak with tears, and I feel half hysterical. Go away, my dear boy, go away.”

“But you will let me see your ladyship to a seat?”

“No, no, no; go away, go away.”

“Yo-hoy!” shouted a familiar voice. “Charley Melton! — are you coming!”

“Yes, yes, coming,” replied Melton, as her ladyship tapped him on the arm very significantly, and shook her head at him, while her eyes plaintively gazed at his. And she said to herself – “Yes, his expectations, Lady Rigby said, were excellent.”

The next moment he was on his way to the croquet lawn, where a gaily dressed party was engaged in preparing for a little match.

“I never expected it,” said the young man to himself; “and either I’m in luck’s way, or her ladyship is not the mercenary creature people say. She is evidently agreeable, and if she is, I have no fear of Lord Barmouth, for the old man likes me.”

“Come, old fellow,” cried Tom, advancing to meet him, with the biggest croquet mallet over his shoulder that could be found in the trade. “What have you and the old lady been chatting over? She hasn’t been dropping any hints about being de trop ?”

Melton was silent, for he enjoyed the other’s interest.

“If she has,” cried Tom, “I’ll strike: I won’t stand it. It’s too bad; – it’s – ”

“Gently, gently,” said Melton, smiling. “She has been all that I could desire, and it is evident that she does not look upon my pretensions to your sister’s hand with disfavour.”

“What – disfavour? Do you mean to say in plain English that the old girl has not cut up rough about your spooning after Maude?”

“Is that plain English?”

“Never mind. Go on. What did she say?”

“Called me her dear boy, and said her sole wish was to see her child happy.”

“Gammon!” said Viscount Diphoos. “She’s kidding you.”

“Nonsense! What a miserable sceptic you are!”

“Yes; I know my dear mamma.”

“I merely quote her words,” said Melton, coldly.

“Then the old girl’s going off her chump,” said Tom. “But there, never mind; so much the better. Charley, old man, I give you my consent.”

“Thank you,” said Melton, smiling.

“Ah, you may laugh, but ’pon my soul I should like you to marry Maudey. She’s the dearest and best girl in the world, and I was afraid the old girl meant Wilters to have her. Well, I am glad, old man. Give us your fist. I’m sure Maudey likes you, so go in and win. Make your hay while the sun shines, my boy. Only stow all that now. It’s croquet, so get a mallet. You and Maudey are partners, against Tryphie Wilder and me.”