Chapter VII

CHAPTER VII.

"SWEET COZ."

Clement Fildew had not left Cadogan Place more than half an hour when Mr. Slingsby Boscombe was announced. Slingsby had not seen Cecilia since the funeral of the young Earl of Loughton, which had taken place at Ringwood, the family seat, in Bedfordshire. Slingsby had attended as one of the mourners in chief.

"I don't think that I was ever in poor Alexander's company more than five or six times in my life," said Mr. Boscombe, in answer to a question put by Cecilia. He was a round-faced, boyish-looking young fellow of two-and-twenty, with a tendency to become abnormally stout even at that early age. "The dowager never cared to cultivate our branch of the family over much, and I have often heard my father speak of her in no very friendly terms."

"I believe that Lady Loughton was always noted for having a temper of her own," said Miss Collumpton. "I have been told that when her son's wife was alive--I mean, poor Alic's mother--she stood so much in awe of the dowager's temper that she never would see her when the latter called at Ringwood, but used to lock herself up in her own rooms till she was gone."

"When Alic's mother died, of course the dowager went back to Ringwood."

"Yes, and there she has lived ever since, and would, doubtless, have continued to live, but for this terrible accident, till Alic got married, in which case I suppose she would have had to find a home elsewhere."

"And very proper, too. From what little I have seen of her I should hardly care to live under the same roof with her."

"And yet she must be nearly eighty years old."

"And looks likely to live to be a hundred. She is certainly a very wonderful old lady."

"I used to like her very well when I went to Ringwood as a child, although, of course, I stood in great awe of her. But after that she and Aunt Percival had some words, and I have not seen her for several years. Fortunately I met poor Alic in the Park only three months ago: we had a long talk about old times. How little I thought that I should never see him again!"

There were tears in Cecilia's eyes, and Slingsby forebore to speak for a minute or two. Then he said, "Do you know, Cis, my father never told me till a week ago what a very large slice of the Loughton property was left to me by Alic's father in case Alic should die without heirs! I was perfectly astounded. I suppose the governor's reason for not speaking to me about it before was because he thought the chance of its coming to me seemed so very remote that it was not worth while troubling me about it in any way. But what an absurd proviso is that which precludes me from touching a penny of it till I am twenty-five years old! You can do as you like with your share, although you are four months younger than I, while I shall have to wait another three years for mine. It is really too ridiculous!"

"I suppose that when Uncle Charles drew up his will he had an idea that boys remain boys till they are five-and-twenty, which, indeed, quite a number of them seem to do."

"And meanwhile I have to depend on my father for my income."

"Instead of earning it for yourself, as so many other young men are obliged to do. How thankful you ought to be that you have such a father!"

"As for that, the governor says that I shall have plenty to do by and by in looking after the estates and attending to the property. I am sure that he works as hard as any laborer."

"Then why not take some of his work on to those broad shoulders of yours?"

"Bless you, he won't let me have anything to do with the management of the property. He says it will be time enough for me to think about that when he is gone."

"But you will no longer have to wait for any such mournful contingency. Three years will soon pass away, and then this Loughton property, which will be yours, will find you plenty to do."

"And will make me my own master into the bargain, and that is by no means the most unimportant feature in the case. You will, perhaps, hardly credit it, Cis, but I never knew till after Alic's death that the estates were not entailed."

"I believe the entail was cut off about eighty years ago."

"And a good thing for you and me that it was cut off! By-the-bye, how is his new lordship supposed to be able to keep up the traditional state and dignity of an Earl of Loughton?"

"I believe it is not at present known where his new lordship is to be found, or even whether he is alive or dead. If he be alive, it is quite possible that he may have means of his own. If it be proved that he is dead, I suppose we shall have to address you, sir, as my lord earl."

"Provided the missing earl has not left a son and heir behind him."

From this it will be seen that the conversation we are now recording took place before that first interview between "Mr. Fildew" and the dowager countess.

Mr. Fildew, senior, was cousin to Charles, the seventh earl, who was father of the young lord recently killed. Mr. Slingsby Boscombe was grandson to the youngest brother of the sixth earl, while Miss Collumpton was granddaughter to the only sister of the same nobleman.

"It seems rather strange, doesn't it, Cis," resumed Slingsby, "that Earl Charles should pass over his own cousin, the man who, if he lived, must come into the title in case of Alic dying without heirs, in favor of two such insignificant people as you and I?"

"The missing earl is said to have been very wild and dissipated when young, and to have got at length into such dreadful difficulties that he was compelled to go abroad. I suppose there was a great scandal about it, and very probably the earl's will was made about the time he felt so much annoyed at his cousin's outrageous conduct."

"And this disgrace to the family has never been heard of since?"

"Not to my knowledge: most probably he is dead."

"Even if he be, the difficulty will be to prove it."

Slingsby, having contemplated this difficulty in silence for a minute or two, said: "Do you know, Cis, that my father has been badgering me again about that old family scheme for making you and me man and wife?"

"And Lady Loughton has been stirring up my aunt about the same thing. They have become friends again since Alic's death."

"I wish they would mind their own business."

"So do I, with all my heart."

"Do you think we care enough for each other, Cis, to marry."

"I think it very doubtful, Slingsby, whether we do."

"When you are told from youth upward that you must marry one person and no other, you naturally begin to rebel in your secret heart."

"My own feelings exactly."

"You know, Cis, I am very fond of you, and always have been."

"And I of you, Slingsby--in a cousinly sort of way."

"Just so in a cousinly sort of way. But that's hardly how a husband and wife ought to feel towards each other, is it?"

"I've had no experience either one way or the other, but I should think not."

"Now that we so thoroughly understand each other, may I tell you a secret, Cis?"

"A hundred if you like, Slingsby. Being a woman, I am fond of secrets."

"But, being a woman, can you keep one?"

"I'll try. I daren't say more than that."

"In any case I'll trust you. I'm in love."

"Slingsby?"

"Desperately, devotedly in love. I--I've actually taken to writing verses, and if that's not a sure sign of being in love, I should like to know what is."

"Is the lady any one with whom I am acquainted?"

"No. She's a doctor's daughter. She lives down in Hampshire, and her father's dead."

"What is she like? Pretty, of course."

"Not so pretty as you, Cis."

"You have no right to say that, sir. If you love her, as you say you do, she ought to be perfection in your eyes."

"She is perfection in my eyes, but for all that she's not so pretty as you are. I don't know," added Slingsby, musingly, "that I should care to have a very pretty woman for my wife. I might grow jealous, you know, and that must be a jolly uncomfortable sort of feeling."

"Does your father know anything of this affair?"

"No--there's the rub. I dare not tell him on any account. His heart is set on my marrying you, and as I'm altogether dependent on him, and shall be for three more years, it would never do to let him into the secret. But you can help me in my difficulty, Cis?"

"In what way can I help you, Slingsby?"

"By not letting any one know that there is nothing serious between you and me. You have not refused me yet, have you, because I have never made you an offer?"

"No; you have certainly not made me an offer, and till you do that, of course I can't refuse you."

"Then, of course, I can tell my father that you have not refused me; and if I were further to hint to him that you are hardly prepared to marry just yet, that you would prefer to wait, say, a year or eighteen months longer, would that be a very wide departure from the truth?"

"It would be no departure from the truth so far as I am concerned. I certainly am not prepared to take to myself a husband for a long time to come."

"You know I can continue to look in here once or twice a week as usual; and perhaps you wouldn't mind my being seen with you in the Row, now and then, or at the opera, or the theatre?"

"Not at all. Come with me as often as you like. I have very few engagements."

"And if your Aunt Percival or Lady Loughton should hint anything to you 'about our supposed engagement, could you not give them to understand that you and I are on excellent terms with each other, and that the less they interfere in the matter the better?"

"I certainly could do all that, although the doing of it would involve a certain amount of deception on my part."

"But deception that can harm nobody. If these worthy old souls would only leave you and me to look after our own happiness, there would be no occasion for subterfuge of any kind."

"Then, under cover of all this, you intend to carry on your flirtation with the doctor's daughter?"

"It's no flirtation, Cis, but a real downright serious case of spoons. I've promised to marry her, and I shall do so in spite of everything. If I can only keep my father in the dark till I'm five-and-twenty, then all will come right, and with your help, Cis, I shall be able to do that without much difficulty."