The Master of the Ceremonies Part 116

He turned round sharply, for he had received a hearty clap on the shoulder, and found that Barclay had approached him unperceived; and he now took the young fellow's hand and shook it warmly.

"Good lad!" he exclaimed. "That's brave. Go and see him; and if you like you may tell him that Mr Linnell and I have got the best lawyer in London to defend him."

"You have, Mr Barclay?"

"Yes; we have. There, don't stare at me like that. Your father once did me a good turn; and do you suppose a money-lender has no bowels?

You tell him--no, don't tell him. He is in a queer, obstinate way just now, and you've got your work cut out to tell him about your brother's trouble. That's enough for one day, but you may give him a bit of comfort about your sisters. You can tell him that my stupid, obstinate old wife has got 'em in hand, and that as long as there's a roof over Mrs Barclay's head, and anything to eat, Miss Denville will share them.

No, no; don't shake hands with me. I've nothing to do with it. It's all her doing."

Morton could not speak, but gripped the money-lender's hand tightly before turning to Mrs Barclay. He held out his hand and took hers, his lips trembling as he gazed in the plump, motherly face. Then, with something like a sob of a very unmanly nature, he threw his arms round her and kissed her twice.

"G.o.d bless you!" he cried; and he turned and ran out of the room.

Barclay's face puckered up as his wife sank down in a chair sobbing, with her handkerchief to her eyes, and rocking herself to and fro, but only to start up in alarm as Barclay dashed to the fireplace, and caught up the poker, before running towards the door.

"Jo-si-ah!" she cried, catching his arm.

"Just got away in time, a scoundrel--and before my very face! You suffered it, too, madam."

"Oh--oh--oh--oh!" sobbed Mrs Barclay hysterically, as she took the poker away, and replaced it in the fender before throwing herself on her husband's breast. "My own dear old man! I won't ever say a word again about money. The best and dearest fellow that ever lived!"

Barclay drew her close to him and played the elderly lover very pleasantly and well, leading his plump wife to a sofa, and sitting down by her with her head resting upon his shoulder.

"Hush, old lady, don't cry so," he whispered. "What's the good of having money if you don't try and do some good with it? I like little Claire; she's about as near an angel as we find them in Saltinville; and as for poor old Denville, he has been the most unlucky of men. He's not a bad fellow at heart, and as for that affair about old Lady Teigne-- well, there's no knowing what a man may do when tempted by poverty and with a lot of jewels twinkling before his eyes."

"Oh, hush, Jo-si-ah, you don't think--you can't think--"

"Hush, old girl! we must not think it of him aloud. We must get him off, but I'm very much afraid."

"Oh, Jo-si-ah, don't say it, dear."

"Only to you, my gal. I'm afraid the poor old fellow was trying to-- well, say borrow a few diamonds, and what happened afterwards was an accident."

"Oh, my dear! my dear!"

"It looks sadly like it."

"But this Fred Denville says he did it."

"Yes, poor lad, to get clear of his officers, and to save his father's life. That will go for nothing. Soldiers often charge themselves with crimes to get out of the army. That story will never be believed."

Morton Denville shivered as he approached the prison, and felt half disposed to turn back as he encountered a couple of men of his regiment; but he mastered his nervousness and walked boldly up to the gate and was admitted.

He found his father in much the same despondent att.i.tude as he had occupied when Fred Denville came to the prison, and Morton stood with his lip quivering and breast heaving, looking down for some minutes at the wasted form.

"Father," he said at last, but there was no reply, and when the lad went and laid a hand upon his shoulder, the old man did not start, but raised his head in a dazed manner, as if he did not quite realise who it was.

Then, recognising him, he rose from his stool, smiling sadly.

"You, Morton!" he said. "You have come!"

Morton did not answer for a few moments, struggling as he was with intense emotion, and the Master of the Ceremonies looked at him keenly now. His face changed directly, though, as Morton threw his arms round him and stood with his head bowed down upon the old man's shoulder.

"I'm glad: very glad. Egad, Morton, my son," said Denville, trying to a.s.sume his old parade manner, but with his piping voice quavering, and sounding forced and strained, "you make me feel very proud of you. It is, of course--yes, egad--of course--a very painful thing for a gentleman--an officer--to have to visit--a relative in prison--a man situated as I am--to a man in your position, it is a terrible thing-- and--and you'll pardon me--my son--I could not have felt--er--surprised if you had--stayed away; but--but--you have come; and--G.o.d bless you, my boy--my boy."

The old man would have sunk upon his seat quivering with emotion, but Morton held him in his clasp.

"No, no, father," he said with spirit, "you must not give way. We must meet this trouble like men. You must advise with me. I've been playing the boy too long. There, sit down and let's talk. What shall I do about your trial?"

Denville took his son's hand, and looked at him proudly, but he shook his head.

"What do you mean, father?" cried Morton, the lad flushing and looking manly as he spoke. "This is no time for indecision. I have seen Mr Barclay and Mr Linnell. They have engaged counsel, and what we want now is your help over your defence."

Denville smiled sadly, and again shook his head,

"No, my boy, no," he said, "you can do nothing. It is very brave and true of you."

"But, father--"

"Hush, my son! Let me speak and act as my knowledge and experience dictate. I am glad you have come, for you have been much in my mind; and I want to get you as free as I can from this horrible disgrace."

"My dear old father, don't think of me," pleaded Morton, "but of yourself."

"Of myself, my boy? No, I am only an old worn-out stock, and I am quite resigned to my fate--to my duty. I am old; you are young. There is your future to think of, and your sister's. Look here--"

"But, my dear father," cried Morton, "I must insist. I am only a mere boy, I know, but I am forced to take command."

"Not yet, Morton; I have not resigned. You'll pardon me, my son-- wounded, but not unfit to command--as yet. Morton, my boy, Lord Carboro' has always been my friend. Go to him, my son, and ask him to use his influence to get you an exchange into some other regiment. Try foreign service, my boy, for a few years. It will be taking you clear of the stain upon our name. Claire has friends, I have no fear for her--good, true woman. It is about you I am concerned. You must exchange and get right away from here. Go at once. Carboro' will see the necessity, and advise and help you."

"And leave you here in prison--in peril of your life; charged with a crime you did not commit? Father, you don't know me yet."

The old man's lip quivered, and he grasped his son's hand firmly.

"It is my wish, my boy. For your sake and for your sister's," he said firmly. "You must go at once."

"And leave you here--like this, father?"

"Yes, my boy--it is my fate," said the old man sadly. "I can bear it.

You must go."

"And leave Fred in his trouble?"

"Silence! Don't name him. Don't let me hear his name again," said the old man, firing up.

But it was only a flash of the old fire which died out at once, and he grew pale and weak again, his head sinking upon his breast.

"Father!" cried Morton, "I can't bear this. You are too bitter against poor Fred, and it seems doubly hard now."