Lady Maude's Mania Part 43

"Yes, Tom, G.o.d bless her, she is," faltered the old man, "and I shall-- shall about break my heart if I'm to lose my darling."

"Come, father, come, father," cried the young man huskily. "This is no time for tears, you must act. Yes, and in future too. You see what giving way to her ladyship has done."

"Yes, yes, my son," said the old man. "I'll rebel--I'll strike for freedom."

Tom smiled sadly as he gazed at his father; and then he rang the bell, which was responded to promptly by Robbins.

"Send up and ask her ladyship if she can see us. Then put a change of linen in one valise for his lordship and myself."

The butler bowed, and returned at the end of five minutes to say that her ladyship was sitting up in her dressing-room if they would come.

Her ladyship looked really ill as she sat there, tended by Tryphie and Justine, and the latter moved towards the door.

"You need not go, Justine," said Tom, quietly, and the Frenchwoman's eyes sparkled at this token of confidence as she resumed her seat at her ladyship's side.

Tom marked the change in his mother, and he was ready to condole with her, but she swept his kind intentions to the winds by exclaiming--

"Oh, Tom, I can never show my face in society again. Such a brilliant match too. My heart is broken."

"Poor old lady!" said Tom, bursting into a sarcastic fit in his rage at her selfishness and utter disregard of the fate of her child. "But we want some money to go in search."

"Money?" cried her ladyship. "Search? Not a penny. The wicked creature. And to-morrow. Such a brilliant match. Oh, that wicked girl!"

"No, no," said Tom, "it was to be to-day. But don't fret, _mia cara madre_, as we say in Italian. It is only a change. A fine handsome son-in-law, Italian too. You ought to be proud of him."

"Tom!" cried her ladyship.

"Oh, milord Thomas, it is not so," cried Justine, shaking her head.

"Oh yes," cried Tom, sarcastically. "Such a nice change. You adore music, mamma, and the signor can attend your reunions with his instrument."

"Tom, you are killing me. Oh, that I was ever a mother."

"It will be grand," cried Tom, rubbing his hands. "Maude can sing too, and take a turn at the handle when the signor gets tired."

"Take what money you want, Tom," sobbed her ladyship, and she handed her keys.

Tom smiled grimly, took the keys, and did take what money he wanted--all there was--from a small cabinet on a side table.

"Where--where are you going?" sighed her ladyship.

"Where!" said Tom, "everywhere. To bring poor Maude home."

"No, no, Tom, impossible--impossible," cried her ladyship.

"We'll see about that," said Tom. "Now, father, come along;" and the couple descended to the dining-room.

"Here, Robbins," cried the young man, as the butler came to answer the bell, "what time is it?"

"Harpus four, my lord," said the butler, who looked haggard and in want of a shave.

"Humph! Well, look here, we've gone on to Scotland Yard if that policeman returns."

"Yes, my lord."

"And then--well, never mind about then. Here, go up and ask Miss Wilder to come and speak to me, and send Joseph for a cab. Not gone to bed, has he?"

"No, sir; they're all having a cup o' coffee in the kitchen, sir."

"Trust 'em, just the time when they'd like a feed," growled Tom.

"There: Miss Wilder. Look sharp."

Five minutes after Tom stood at the door holding Tryphie's hand, while his father went slowly down to the cab.

"Good-bye, little one," he said.

"But, Tom, what are you going to do?"

"I'm going to bring my sister back, and then--"

"And then, Tom dear," whispered Tryphie, throwing her arms about his neck--"There, do you believe I care for you now?"

"My little pet," he whispered hoa.r.s.ely, and rushed away just as Mr Hurkle came up undulating, and looking more like a pulled out concertina than ever.

"Sorry I've been so long, sir," he panted; "but I understand I am required to--"

"Go to the devil," cried Tom, brushing past him; and as the daylight was growing broader the cab drove into Great Scotland Yard, where there was a certain conversation, and wires were set to work, after which there was an adjournment for breakfast to an hotel at Charing Cross.

"Are--are we going in pursuit, my dear boy?" said his lordship, feebly.

"Yes, certainly, and in earnest."

"When, my dear Tom?"

"Now directly, father," said the young man sternly. "The poor girl has been driven mad by her mother's cruelty; and in a wild fit of infatuation she has preferred to share the fortunes of this handsome foreign vagabond to marrying a worn-out _roue_."

"But, my dear Tom, it is impossible."

"Look here, father," said the young man, "the poor girl's future is at stake. She has been cruelly treated. Our behaviour to Charley Melton was simply disgusting--one day he was worshipped, supposed to have money; the next he was forbidden the house, because he was poor. As for Maude's feelings--of course, poor girl, as a young lady of fashion, she ought to have had none. I hope mamma is satisfied with her new son-in-law."

"But--but where are we going?"

"Don't know yet," said the young man, harshly. "To Paris certain-- probably to Italy. Maybe, though," he said, with a bitter laugh, "only as far as the padrone's at Saffron Hill."

By the time father and son had made a very poor breakfast, a sergeant was ushered in by the waiter.

"We've got the cabman, sir."