Caught in a Trap Part 22

"But, mother--"

"But me no buts sir! I tell you I won't have it, and that's enough."

"Really, mother."

"Really, indeed! I suppose you think I'm as great a fool as you are, Thomas."

"Pray don't excite yourself, mother," said Tom, trying to keep down the thermometer until he could obtain a fair hearing, but the old lady was not to be pacified, for his soothing words only added fuel to the fire.

"Excite myself, indeed! I should think there was a little cause for excitement to hear a baby like you talking of getting married! And bearding me in my own house to be sure! I tell you, Thomas, I won't have it!" And the dowager paced rapidly backwards and forwards on one side of the dining-room with short, jerky steps, swinging her hands, with the fingers clasping and unclasping in unison with her nervous walk.

Tom walked up and down the room on the other side, the table being entrenched between them. He took long military strides, and twirled the end of his moustache impatiently every now and then, for his temper too was rising. He did not reply at once, so his mother went on with a recapitulated volley of wrath. She had only been winding up as it were, before, and now burst out in a flowing stream of words, like an alarm clock running down, as if she had never paused from her last utterance.

"A boy like you--not of age yet, and whom I only carried in my arms the other day! You deserve to be whipped and sent to bed, sir! I never heard of such a thing in all my born days! And as for that little chit--she--she, I don't know what oughtn't to be done with her. Little minx! But it serves me right, putting that jackanapes of a brother of hers into that snug living down there." And the dowager with a wave of her hand indicated Hartwood village. "There is he prancing about on that little beast of a pony of his every day after the heels of that fine my lady who wanted to poke her nose in here if I had only let her.

I can see what's going on, although I do mind my own business! And now that artful little jade is trying to catch you with her big staring eyes! I wonder what you can see in her I'm sure. I know what she's after: they have heard that you are the heir, and they want to secure you for the family, but I'll spoil their tricks. I'm not going to be turned out of my own house yet. I'll pack that jackanapes of a brother off about his business, and as for the artful little minx--it's positively indecent a girl running after a boy like that! I saw what they were fishing for, in sending up every day that Gezaba of a servant of theirs to enquire 'how Mister Tom was.' Mister Tom, indeed! It ought to be Master Tom, and he to be birched. The artful little minx!

I'll--I'll--"

"Stop, mother," shouted Tom, seizing upon a favourable opportunity when the dowager paused a moment from loss of breath. "Stop, mother, I won't have you say a word against that young lady. I don't mind what you say of me, but I won't stand by and hear you abuse an innocent girl like that. You ought to be ashamed of yourself, mother, to use such language. Against your own s.e.x, too, and a lady whom I intend to make my wife."

"Your wife!" screamed the old lady with tenfold vehemence and pa.s.sion.

"Your wife! I'd sooner see you in your grave first!"

"You forget yourself, mother," said Tom, hotly. Like all easy-going men who have good tempers and are seldom roused up to anger, Tom took some time to lose his temper thoroughly, and when he did, he lost it completely. He was now in a regular pa.s.sion, and his mother's taunts sent him up to fever heat.

"Forget myself, indeed!"--It was a case of flint and steel between the two.--"It is you that forget yourself, talking like a Bashaw of Nine Tails of marrying whom you please, as if you were a lord and master.

Fine doings, indeed! why you're as mad as your sister Susan."

"You need not bring poor Susan into the conversation, mother. I'm sure she's very happy, and I believe she did for the best, if this be a sample of a mother's affection, and what she would have met with at home"--Tom e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.ed bitterly.

"Oh! she did for the best, did she? And a fine mess she made of it, running off with that swindling vagabond. I would like to see him on the treadmill! If that was the only way in which she could get back her senses, it would have been better for her to have been dead at once.

But it is the way with all silly women; they never seem to have their senses until they have tied themselves to some scoundrel who has only married them for their money. You are more mad than she is, Thomas.

Marry, indeed! A pretty pa.s.s things are coming to. You're an idiot, and she's a minx, there!"

"I tell you, mother, I won't have you say a word against that lady. If there be any fault attached to the business, which I can't see myself, she's not to blame at any rate."

"She's a little minx, there," repeated the dowager, with increased venom. She saw how well the shaft was aimed, and like a woman she pushed it in.

"I won't have it, mother."

"Minx! minx! minx! there!" uttered the old lady rapidly, giving her head a jerky nod after each repet.i.tion of the obnoxious epithet.

"This is scandalous!" said Tom, literally boiling over with pa.s.sion.

The term "minx," applied to Lizzie, having apparently the same effect on him as a red rag has on a bull, or a fat turkey gobler, to adapt a more ign.o.ble simile. "I won't have it, whether you're my mother or not, and I'll marry whom I please, without asking your leave or licence."

"You will, will you? I should like to know how you're going to support a wife? I'm not going to do it for you."

"I don't care whether you do or do not," said Tom, savagely.

The bull had been now tormented sufficiently, and the matador thought it time to give the _coup de grace_.

"Mark my words," said the dowager, impressively, "if you marry that chit, Thomas, or have anything more to do with her, or any of that toadying crew, not a penny piece of my money do you get, Thomas."

"Hang the money! I don't want it: I suppose I can get along somehow or other without it."

"Remember, you're not of age yet, young sir, and when you are, you won't be much better off, unless I please. You haven't a penny of your own now, except what I give you, and if you don't abandon the whole thing, not a penny more will you have."

The dowager was aware of the advantage in military tactics of cutting off the enemy's supplies.

"I'm sure I don't want it," said Tom; but he thought in a moment how ungracious this was to his mother, who had previously been so kind to him. "I mean, I don't want you to help me any more, if it's to be thrown in my teeth like this. I am very much obliged to you, mother, for what you have done for me already. That is past and gone, and I'm not going to sell myself now and break a trusting girl's heart for the sake of my future chances. Hang the money! I hate the very sound of the word."

"But it is a very useful thing, Thomas--a very useful thing; and you don't seem to have had any objection to it before. It's very hard on me, Thomas, very hard." The old lady was broken now a good deal, after all the trouble she had gone through, and was not able to prosecute the combat with her customary vigour. "After I've been slaving and saving for you all these years to meet with such a return. It's a judgment on me; and if I had served my church better than I have served my son, it-- it--" And the dowager fairly broke down for the first time in her life, after vainly attempting to paraphrase Cardinal Wolsey's memorable monologue.

Tom was fairly vanquished.

"I beg your pardon, mother. I did not mean to say anything unkind or ungrateful, but really--"

"After all I have done for you, too," whimpered Mrs Hartshorne; "it's a judgment on me for neglecting your sister and making so much of you."

"I'm very sorry, mother, but I'm a man now, and this is a matter I must decide for myself."

"You shan't marry with my consent," retorted the dowager; "and you can't marry without that."

"You're my mother," said Tom, sadly emphasising that undeniable fact; "and you can ruin my hopes of happiness, if you please. But I shan't stop here; I shall go abroad."

"You go where you please," said the old lady, in her usual sharp way, "so long as you give up that chit."

"I'm not going to give up anybody," said Tom, defiantly; "and I shall exchange into an Indian regiment to-morrow, and when I come of age I shall do as I please."

"Suit yourself," said the dowager, curtly; "but mark my words, not a penny of my money do you get."

At this point the engagement terminated, each party withdrawing their forces without undergoing either a defeat or a victory. It was a decided case of what the dowager had termed in the first instance, "Fiddle-de-dee!"

Tom, immediately after returning from his unsuccessful trip to Havre, had gone down one fine morning to the pretty little parsonage house at Hartwood.

This was not like the first visit he had paid after his convalescence.

Then he had been prevented from speaking all he had to say, for Pringle was there; and however much a man may be in love and dying to speak out to the object of his young affections, he cannot very well do it in the presence of her brother. Much, therefore, as Tom liked Pringle, he had hated him at the time of his prior visit for his persistent presence.

"Why on earth could he not go away and set to work about his sermon or something else," Tom thought savagely at the time, and I believe his wishes were shared in this respect, mingled with a little trembling and nervousness, by Miss Lizzie herself, for she doubtless guessed what Tom wished to say. There is something inherent in the divine s.e.x which tells them at once when a male biped is going to make a fool of himself.

But then Pringle had not gone away, and the tale, that billionth-told tale, had still to be told.

Why is it that writers always allude to a love episode as that "old, old story?" It is never old, my dear sir, or madam, or mayhap, mademoiselle. It is always new. That wonderful little drama, oftentimes a tragedy, in which two actors only take the parts. It is like the fabled Phoenix which possesses the faculty of reproduction, for it is perennially fresh, and young, and new.

Tom found Lizzie alone this time, and you may be certain he took advantage of the opportunity. You see the case had nearly been concluded before, and was well understood between the pair, so it did not require all that serious preparation, and Quintus Curtian resolve before dashing into the yawning gulf. Tom plunged into it at once.

Lizzie's fresh little face, with its melting violet eyes, and the pretty embarra.s.sment which she displayed as she received him in her little conservatory, into which he walked at once to find her on hearing Pringle was out, made him fear nothing and all confident.

The impudent dog darted forward on catching sight of her; and, would you believe it, he had Lizzie folded in his arms before she knew where she was, murmuring over her "My darling, my darling!" And Miss Lizzie--I suppose from discretion, knowing how powerless she was against his strong arms, did not appear to offer any protest. "Abandoned girl!" I hear the old campaigner exclaiming in her dulcet accents.

Master Tom was not going to let the opportunity slip, you may be bound.