第 四 章 · 第4章

It was during the voyage that Cedric's mother told him that his home was

not to be hers; and when he first understood it, his grief was so

great that Mr. Havisham saw that the Earl had been wise in making the

arrangements that his mother should be quite near him, and see him

often; for it was very plain he could not have borne the separation

otherwise. But his mother managed the little fellow so sweetly and

lovingly, and made him feel that she would be so near him, that, after a

while, he ceased to be oppressed by the fear of any real parting.

“My house is not far from the Castle, Ceddie,” she repeated each time

the subject was referred to--“a very little way from yours, and you can

always run in and see me every day, and you will have so many things

to tell me! and we shall be so happy together! It is a beautiful place.

Your papa has often told me about it. He loved it very much; and you

will love it too.”

“I should love it better if you were there,” his small lordship said,

with a heavy little sigh.

He could not but feel puzzled by so strange a state of affairs, which

could put his “Dearest” in one house and himself in another.

The fact was that Mrs. Errol had thought it better not to tell him why

this plan had been made.

“I should prefer he should not be told,” she said to Mr. Havisham. “He

would not really understand; he would only be shocked and hurt; and

I feel sure that his feeling for the Earl will be a more natural and

affectionate one if he does not know that his grandfather dislikes me so

bitterly. He has never seen hatred or hardness, and it would be a great

blow to him to find out that any one could hate me. He is so loving

himself, and I am so dear to him! It is better for him that he should

not be told until he is much older, and it is far better for the Earl.

It would make a barrier between them, even though Ceddie is such a

child.”

So Cedric only knew that there was some mysterious reason for the

arrangement, some reason which he was not old enough to understand, but

which would be explained when he was older. He was puzzled; but, after

all, it was not the reason he cared about so much; and after many talks

with his mother, in which she comforted him and placed before him the

bright side of the picture, the dark side of it gradually began to fade

out, though now and then Mr. Havisham saw him sitting in some queer

little old-fashioned attitude, watching the sea, with a very grave face,

and more than once he heard an unchildish sigh rise to his lips.

“I don't like it,” he said once as he was having one of his almost

venerable talks with the lawyer. “You don't know how much I don't like

it; but there are a great many troubles in this world, and you have

to bear them. Mary says so, and I've heard Mr. Hobbs say it too. And

Dearest wants me to like to live with my grandpapa, because, you see,

all his children are dead, and that's very mournful. It makes you

sorry for a man, when all his children have died--and one was killed

suddenly.”

One of the things which always delighted the people who made the

acquaintance of his young lordship was the sage little air he wore

at times when he gave himself up to conversation;--combined with his

occasionally elderly remarks and the extreme innocence and seriousness

of his round childish face, it was irresistible. He was such a handsome,

blooming, curly-headed little fellow, that, when he sat down and nursed

his knee with his chubby hands, and conversed with much gravity, he was

a source of great entertainment to his hearers. Gradually Mr. Havisham

had begun to derive a great deal of private pleasure and amusement from

his society.

“And so you are going to try to like the Earl,” he said.

“Yes,” answered his lordship. “He's my relation, and of course you have

to like your relations; and besides, he's been very kind to me. When a

person does so many things for you, and wants you to have everything you

wish for, of course you'd like him if he wasn't your relation; but when

he's your relation and does that, why, you're very fond of him.”

“Do you think,” suggested Mr. Havisham, “that he will be fond of you?”

“Well,” said Cedric, “I think he will, because, you see, I'm his

relation, too, and I'm his boy's little boy besides, and, well, don't

you see--of course he must be fond of me now, or he wouldn't want me to

have everything that I like, and he wouldn't have sent you for me.”

“Oh!” remarked the lawyer, “that's it, is it?”

“Yes,” said Cedric, “that's it. Don't you think that's it, too? Of

course a man would be fond of his grandson.”

The people who had been seasick had no sooner recovered from their

seasickness, and come on deck to recline in their steamer-chairs and

enjoy themselves, than every one seemed to know the romantic story of

little Lord Fauntleroy, and every one took an interest in the little

fellow, who ran about the ship or walked with his mother or the tall,

thin old lawyer, or talked to the sailors. Every one liked him; he

made friends everywhere. He was ever ready to make friends. When the

gentlemen walked up and down the deck, and let him walk with them, he

stepped out with a manly, sturdy little tramp, and answered all their

jokes with much gay enjoyment; when the ladies talked to him, there was

always laughter in the group of which he was the center; when he played

with the children, there was always magnificent fun on hand. Among the

sailors he had the heartiest friends; he heard miraculous stories about

pirates and shipwrecks and desert islands; he learned to splice ropes

and rig toy ships, and gained an amount of information concerning

“tops'ls” and “mains'ls,” quite surprising. His conversation had,

indeed, quite a nautical flavor at times, and on one occasion he raised

a shout of laughter in a group of ladies and gentlemen who were sitting

on deck, wrapped in shawls and overcoats, by saying sweetly, and with a

very engaging expression:

“Shiver my timbers, but it's a cold day!”

It surprised him when they laughed. He had picked up this sea-faring

remark from an “elderly naval man” of the name of Jerry, who told him

stories in which it occurred frequently. To judge from his stories of

his own adventures, Jerry had made some two or three thousand voyages,

and had been invariably shipwrecked on each occasion on an island

densely populated with bloodthirsty cannibals. Judging, also, by these

same exciting adventures, he had been partially roasted and eaten

frequently and had been scalped some fifteen or twenty times.

“That is why he is so bald,” explained Lord Fauntleroy to his mamma.

“After you have been scalped several times the hair never grows again.

Jerry's never grew again after that last time, when the King of the

Parromachaweekins did it with the knife made out of the skull of the

Chief of the Wopslemumpkies. He says it was one of the most serious

times he ever had. He was so frightened that his hair stood right

straight up when the king flourished his knife, and it never would lie

down, and the king wears it that way now, and it looks something like a

hair-brush. I never heard anything like the asperiences Jerry has had! I

should so like to tell Mr. Hobbs about them!”

Sometimes, when the weather was very disagreeable and people were

kept below decks in the saloon, a party of his grown-up friends would

persuade him to tell them some of these “asperiences” of Jerry's, and as

he sat relating them with great delight and fervor, there was certainly

no more popular voyager on any ocean steamer crossing the Atlantic than

little Lord Fauntleroy. He was always innocently and good-naturedly

ready to do his small best to add to the general entertainment, and

there was a charm in the very unconsciousness of his own childish

importance.

“Jerry's stories int'rust them very much,” he said to his mamma. “For my

part--you must excuse me, Dearest--but sometimes I should have thought

they couldn't be all quite true, if they hadn't happened to Jerry

himself; but as they all happened to Jerry--well, it's very strange, you

know, and perhaps sometimes he may forget and be a little mistaken, as

he's been scalped so often. Being scalped a great many times might make

a person forgetful.”

It was eleven days after he had said good-bye to his friend Dick before

he reached Liverpool; and it was on the night of the twelfth day that

the carriage in which he and his mother and Mr. Havisham had driven from

the station stopped before the gates of Court Lodge. They could not

see much of the house in the darkness. Cedric only saw that there was a

drive-way under great arching trees, and after the carriage had rolled

down this drive-way a short distance, he saw an open door and a stream

of bright light coming through it.

Mary had come with them to attend her mistress, and she had reached the

house before them. When Cedric jumped out of the carriage he saw one or

two servants standing in the wide, bright hall, and Mary stood in the

door-way.

Lord Fauntleroy sprang at her with a gay little shout.

“Did you get here, Mary?” he said. “Here's Mary, Dearest,” and he kissed

the maid on her rough red cheek.

“I am glad you are here, Mary,” Mrs. Errol said to her in a low voice.

“It is such a comfort to me to see you. It takes the strangeness away.”

And she held out her little hand, which Mary squeezed encouragingly. She

knew how this first “strangeness” must feel to this little mother who

had left her own land and was about to give up her child.

The English servants looked with curiosity at both the boy and his

mother. They had heard all sorts of rumors about them both; they knew

how angry the old Earl had been, and why Mrs. Errol was to live at the

lodge and her little boy at the castle; they knew all about the great

fortune he was to inherit, and about the savage old grandfather and his

gout and his tempers.

“He'll have no easy time of it, poor little chap,” they had said among

themselves.

But they did not know what sort of a little lord had come among

them; they did not quite understand the character of the next Earl of

Dorincourt.

He pulled off his overcoat quite as if he were used to doing things for

himself, and began to look about him. He looked about the broad hall, at

the pictures and stags' antlers and curious things that ornamented it.

They seemed curious to him because he had never seen such things before

in a private house.

“Dearest,” he said, “this is a very pretty house, isn't it? I am glad

you are going to live here. It's quite a large house.”

It was quite a large house compared to the one in the shabby New York

street, and it was very pretty and cheerful. Mary led them upstairs to

a bright chintz-hung bedroom where a fire was burning, and a large

snow-white Persian cat was sleeping luxuriously on the white fur

hearth-rug.

“It was the house-kaper up at the Castle, ma'am, sint her to yez,”

explained Mary. “It's herself is a kind-hearted lady an' has had

iverything done to prepar' fur yez. I seen her meself a few minnits, an'

she was fond av the Capt'in, ma'am, an' graivs fur him; and she said to

say the big cat slapin' on the rug moight make the room same homeloike

to yez. She knowed Capt'in Errol whin he was a bye--an' a foine handsum'

bye she ses he was, an' a foine young man wid a plisint word fur every

one, great an' shmall. An' ses I to her, ses I: 'He's lift a bye

that's loike him, ma'am, fur a foiner little felly niver sthipped in

shoe-leather.”'

When they were ready, they went downstairs into another big bright room;

its ceiling was low, and the furniture was heavy and beautifully carved,

the chairs were deep and had high massive backs, and there were queer

shelves and cabinets with strange, pretty ornaments on them. There was

a great tiger-skin before the fire, and an arm-chair on each side of it.

The stately white cat had responded to Lord Fauntleroy's stroking and

followed him downstairs, and when he threw himself down upon the rug,

she curled herself up grandly beside him as if she intended to make

friends. Cedric was so pleased that he put his head down by hers, and

lay stroking her, not noticing what his mother and Mr. Havisham were

saying.

They were, indeed, speaking in a rather low tone. Mrs. Errol looked a

little pale and agitated.

“He need not go to-night?” she said. “He will stay with me to-night?”

“Yes,” answered Mr. Havisham in the same low tone; “it will not be

necessary for him to go to-night. I myself will go to the Castle as soon

as we have dined, and inform the Earl of our arrival.”

Mrs. Errol glanced down at Cedric. He was lying in a graceful, careless

attitude upon the black-and-yellow skin; the fire shone on his handsome,

flushed little face, and on the tumbled, curly hair spread out on the

rug; the big cat was purring in drowsy content,--she liked the caressing

touch of the kind little hand on her fur.

Mrs. Errol smiled faintly.

“His lordship does not know all that he is taking from me,” she said

rather sadly. Then she looked at the lawyer. “Will you tell him, if you

please,” she said, “that I should rather not have the money?”

“The money!” Mr. Havisham exclaimed. “You can not mean the income he

proposed to settle upon you!”

“Yes,” she answered, quite simply; “I think I should rather not have

it. I am obliged to accept the house, and I thank him for it, because it

makes it possible for me to be near my child; but I have a little money

of my own,--enough to live simply upon,--and I should rather not take

the other. As he dislikes me so much, I should feel a little as if I

were selling Cedric to him. I am giving him up only because I love him

enough to forget myself for his good, and because his father would wish

it to be so.”

Mr. Havisham rubbed his chin.

“This is very strange,” he said. “He will be very angry. He won't

understand it.”

“I think he will understand it after he thinks it over,” she said. “I do

not really need the money, and why should I accept luxuries from the

man who hates me so much that he takes my little boy from me--his son's

child?”

Mr. Havisham looked reflective for a few moments.

“I will deliver your message,” he said afterward.

And then the dinner was brought in and they sat down together, the big

cat taking a seat on a chair near Cedric's and purring majestically

throughout the meal.

When, later in the evening, Mr. Havisham presented himself at the

Castle, he was taken at once to the Earl. He found him sitting by the

fire in a luxurious easy-chair, his foot on a gout-stool. He looked

at the lawyer sharply from under his shaggy eyebrows, but Mr. Havisham

could see that, in spite of his pretense at calmness, he was nervous and

secretly excited.

“Well,” he said; “well, Havisham, come back, have you? What's the news?”

“Lord Fauntleroy and his mother are at Court Lodge,” replied Mr.

Havisham. “They bore the voyage very well and are in excellent health.”

The Earl made a half-impatient sound and moved his hand restlessly.

“Glad to hear it,” he said brusquely. “So far, so good. Make yourself

comfortable. Have a glass of wine and settle down. What else?”

“His lordship remains with his mother to-night. To-morrow I will bring

him to the Castle.”

The Earl's elbow was resting on the arm of his chair; he put his hand up

and shielded his eyes with it.

“Well,” he said; “go on. You know I told you not to write to me about

the matter, and I know nothing whatever about it. What kind of a lad is

he? I don't care about the mother; what sort of a lad is he?”

Mr. Havisham drank a little of the glass of port he had poured out for

himself, and sat holding it in his hand.

“It is rather difficult to judge of the character of a child of seven,”

he said cautiously.

The Earl's prejudices were very intense. He looked up quickly and

uttered a rough word.

“A fool, is he?” he exclaimed. “Or a clumsy cub? His American blood

tells, does it?”

“I do not think it has injured him, my lord,” replied the lawyer in

his dry, deliberate fashion. “I don't know much about children, but I

thought him rather a fine lad.”

His manner of speech was always deliberate and unenthusiastic, but he

made it a trifle more so than usual. He had a shrewd fancy that it

would be better that the Earl should judge for himself, and be quite

unprepared for his first interview with his grandson.

“Healthy and well-grown?” asked my lord.

“Apparently very healthy, and quite well-grown,” replied the lawyer.

“Straight-limbed and well enough to look at?” demanded the Earl.

A very slight smile touched Mr. Havisham's thin lips. There rose up

before his mind's eye the picture he had left at Court Lodge,--the

beautiful, graceful child's body lying upon the tiger-skin in careless

comfort--the bright, tumbled hair spread on the rug--the bright, rosy

boy's face.

“Rather a handsome boy, I think, my lord, as boys go,” he said, “though

I am scarcely a judge, perhaps. But you will find him somewhat different

from most English children, I dare say.”

“I haven't a doubt of that,” snarled the Earl, a twinge of gout seizing

him. “A lot of impudent little beggars, those American children; I've

heard that often enough.”

“It is not exactly impudence in his case,” said Mr. Havisham. “I can

scarcely describe what the difference is. He has lived more with older

people than with children, and the difference seems to be a mixture of

maturity and childishness.”

“American impudence!” protested the Earl. “I've heard of it before. They

call it precocity and freedom. Beastly, impudent bad manners; that's

what it is!”

Mr. Havisham drank some more port. He seldom argued with his lordly

patron,--never when his lordly patron's noble leg was inflamed by gout.

At such times it was always better to leave him alone. So there was a

silence of a few moments. It was Mr. Havisham who broke it.

“I have a message to deliver from Mrs. Errol,” he remarked.

“I don't want any of her messages!” growled his lordship; “the less I

hear of her the better.”

“This is a rather important one,” explained the lawyer. “She prefers not

to accept the income you proposed to settle on her.”

The Earl started visibly.

“What's that?” he cried out. “What's that?”

Mr. Havisham repeated his words.

“She says it is not necessary, and that as the relations between you are

not friendly----”

“Not friendly!” ejaculated my lord savagely; “I should say they were not

friendly! I hate to think of her! A mercenary, sharp-voiced American! I

don't wish to see her.”

“My lord,” said Mr. Havisham, “you can scarcely call her mercenary. She

has asked for nothing. She does not accept the money you offer her.”

“All done for effect!” snapped his noble lordship. “She wants to wheedle

me into seeing her. She thinks I shall admire her spirit. I don't admire

it! It's only American independence! I won't have her living like a

beggar at my park gates. As she's the boy's mother, she has a position

to keep up, and she shall keep it up. She shall have the money, whether

she likes it or not!”

“She won't spend it,” said Mr. Havisham.

“I don't care whether she spends it or not!” blustered my lord. “She

shall have it sent to her. She sha'n't tell people that she has to live

like a pauper because I have done nothing for her! She wants to give the

boy a bad opinion of me! I suppose she has poisoned his mind against me

already!”

“No,” said Mr. Havisham. “I have another message, which will prove to

you that she has not done that.”

“I don't want to hear it!” panted the Earl, out of breath with anger and

excitement and gout.

But Mr. Havisham delivered it.

“She asks you not to let Lord Fauntleroy hear anything which would

lead him to understand that you separate him from her because of your

prejudice against her. He is very fond of her, and she is convinced that

it would cause a barrier to exist between you. She says he would not

comprehend it, and it might make him fear you in some measure, or at

least cause him to feel less affection for you. She has told him that

he is too young to understand the reason, but shall hear it when he is

older. She wishes that there should be no shadow on your first meeting.”

The Earl sank back into his chair. His deep-set fierce old eyes gleamed

under his beetling brows.

“Come, now!” he said, still breathlessly. “Come, now! You don't mean the

mother hasn't told him?”

“Not one word, my lord,” replied the lawyer coolly. “That I can

assure you. The child is prepared to believe you the most amiable and

affectionate of grandparents. Nothing--absolutely nothing has been said

to him to give him the slightest doubt of your perfection. And as

I carried out your commands in every detail, while in New York, he

certainly regards you as a wonder of generosity.”

“He does, eh?” said the Earl.

“I give you my word of honor,” said Mr. Havisham, “that Lord

Fauntleroy's impressions of you will depend entirely upon yourself. And

if you will pardon the liberty I take in making the suggestion, I think

you will succeed better with him if you take the precaution not to speak

slightingly of his mother.”

“Pooh, pooh!” said the Earl. “The youngster is only seven years old!”

“He has spent those seven years at his mother's side,” returned Mr.

Havisham; “and she has all his affection.”