Peregrine's Progress Page 4

  CHAPTER II

  TELLS HOW AND WHY I SET FORTH UPON THE QUEST IN QUESTION

  "Ladylike!" said I to myself, leaning forth from my chamber windowinto a fragrant summer night radiant with an orbed moon. But for onceI was heedless of the ethereal beauty of the scene before me and feltnone of that poetic rapture that would otherwise undoubtedly haveinspired me, since my vision was turned inwards rather than out and mycustomary serenity hatefully disturbed.

  "Ladylike!"

  Thus, all unregarding, I breathed the incense of flowery perfumes andstared blindly upon the moon's splendour, pondering this hateful wordin its application to myself. And gradually, having regard to themanifest injustice and bad taste of the term, conscious of the affrontit implied, I grew warm with a righteous indignation that magnifieditself into a furious anger against my two uncles.

  "Damn them! Damn them both!" exclaimed I and, in that moment, caughtmy breath, shocked, amazed, and not a little ashamed at this outburst,an exhibition so extremely foreign to my usually placid nature.

  'To swear is a painful exhibition of vulgarity, and passionuncontrolled lessens one's dignity and is a sign of weakness.'

  Remembering this, one of my wonderful aunt's incontrovertible maxims,I grew abashed (as I say) by reason of this my deplorable lapse. Andyet:

  "'Ladylike!'"

  I repeated the opprobrious epithet for the third time and scowled upat the placid moon.

  And this, merely because I had a shrinking horror of all brutal andsordid things, a detestation for anything smacking of vulgarity or badtaste. To me, the subtle beauty of line or colour, the singing musicof a phrase, were of more account than the reek of stables or thewhooping clamour and excitement of the hunting-field, my joys beingrather raptures of the soul than the more material pleasures of theflesh.

  "And was it," I asked myself, "was it essential to exchange buffetswith a 'Camberwell Chicken,' to shoot and be shot at, to spur sweatingand unwilling horses over dangerous fences--were such things trulynecessary to prove one's manhood? Assuredly not! And yet--'Ladylike!'"

  Moved by a sudden impulse I turned from the lattice to the elegantluxuriousness of my bedchamber, its soft carpets, rich hangings andexquisite harmonies of colour; and coming before the cheval mirror Istood to view and examine myself as I had never done hitherto,surveying my reflection not with the accustomed eyes of PeregrineVereker, but rather with the coldly appraising eyes of a stranger, andbeheld this:

  A youthful, slender person of no great stature, clothed in garmentselegantly unostentatious.

  His face grave and of a saturnine cast--but the features fairlyregular.

  His complexion sallow--but clear and without blemish.

  His hair rather too long--but dark and crisp-curled.

  His brow a little too prominent--but high and broad.

  His eyes dark and soft--but well-opened and direct.

  His nose a little too short to please me--but otherwise well-shaped.

  His mouth too tender in its curves--but the lips close and firm.

  His chin too smoothly rounded, at a glance--but when set, looksdetermined enough.

  His whole aspect not altogether unpleasing, though I yearned mightilyto see him a few inches taller.

  Thus then I took dispassionate regard to, and here as dispassionatelyset down, my outer being; as to my inner, that shall appear, I hope,as this history progresses.

  I was yet engaged on this most critical examination of my person whenI was interrupted by the sound of footsteps on the flagged terracebeneath my open window and the voices of my two uncles as they passedslowly to and fro, each word of their conversation very plain to hearupon the warm, still air. Honour should have compelled me to close myears or the lattice; had I done so, how different might this historyhave been, how utterly different my career. As it was, attracted bythe sound of my own name, I turned from contemplation of my personand, coming to the window, leaned out again.

  "Poor Peregrine," said my uncle George for the second time.

  "Why the pity, George? Curse and confound it, wherefore the pity? Ouryouth is a perfect ass, an infernal young fish, a puppy-dog--pah!"

  "Aye, but," quoth my uncle George (and I could distinguish the faintjingle of his spurs), "we roasted him devilishly to-night between us,Jervas, and never a word out o' the lad--"

  "Egad, Julia did the talking for him--"

  "Ha, yes--dooce take me, she did so!" exclaimed uncle George. "What anamazingly magnificent creature she is--"

  "And did ye mark our youth's cool insolence, his disdainful airs--thecock of his supercilious nose--curst young puppy!"

  "Most glorious eyes in Christendom," continued my uncle George,"always make me feel so dooced--er--so curst humble--no, humble's notquite the word; what I do mean is--"

  "Fatuous, George?" suggested Uncle Jervas a trifle impatiently.

  "Unworthy--yes, unworthy and er--altogether dooced, d'ye see--herwhole life one of exemplary self-sacrifice and so forth, d'ye see,Jervas--"

  "Exactly, George! Julia will never marry, we know, while she has thisprecious youth to pet and pamper and cherish--"

  "Instead of us, Jervas!"

  "Us? George, don't be a fool! She couldn't wed us both, man!"

  "Why, no!" sighed uncle George. "She'd ha' to be content wi' one ofus, to be sure, and that one would be--"

  "Myself, George!"

  "Aye!" quoth uncle George, sighing more gustily than ever. "Begad, Ithink it would, Jervas."

  "Though, mark me, George, I have sometimes thought she has thepreposterous lack of judgment to prefer you."

  "No--did you though!" exclaimed my uncle George, spurs jingling again."B'gad, and did you though--dooce take me!"

  "Aye, George, I did, but only very occasionally. Of course, were shefree of this incubus Peregrine, free to live for her own happinessinstead of his, I should have her wedded and wifed while you werethinking about it."

  "Aye," sighed my uncle George, "you were always such an infernaldasher--"

  "As it is, the boy will grow into a priggish, self-satisfieddo-nothing, and she into an adoring, solitary old woman--"

  "Julia! An old woman! Good God! Hush, Jervas--it sounds doocedindecent!"

  "But true, George, devilish true! Here's Julia must grow into acrotchety old female, myself into a solitary, embittered recluse, andyou into a lonely, doddering old curmudgeon--and all for sake of thisdamned lad--"

  At this, stirred by sudden impulse, I thrust my head out of the windowand hemmed loudly, whereupon they halted very suddenly and stoodstaring up at me, their surprised looks plain to see by reason of thebrilliant moon.

  "Pardon me, my dear uncles," said I, bowing to them as well as Imight, "pardon me, but I venture to think not--"

  "Now 'pon me everlasting soul!" exclaimed my uncle Jervas, fumblingfor his eyeglass. "What does the lad mean?"

  "With your kind attention, he will come down and explain," said I, andclambering through the casement, I descended forthwith, hand overhand, by means of the ivy stems that grew very thick and stronghereabouts.

  Reaching the terrace, I paused to brush the dust from knee and elbowwhile my uncle Jervas, lounging against the balustrade, viewed melanguidly through his glass, and uncle George stared at me very roundof eye and groped at his close-trimmed whisker.

  "Sirs," said I, glancing from one to other, "I regret that I shouldappear to you as a 'fish,' a 'puppy' and a 'self-satisfieddo-nothing,' but I utterly refuse to be considered either an 'incubus'or a 'damned lad'!"

  "Oh, the dooce!" ejaculated uncle George.

  "To the which end," I proceeded, "I propose to remove myself for awhile--let us say for six months or thereabouts--on a condition."

  "Remove yourself, nephew?" repeated uncle Jervas, peering at me alittle more narrowly. "Pray where?"

  "Anywhere, sir. I shall follow the wind, tramp the roads, consort withall and sundry, open the book of Life and endeavour to learn of man byman himself."

  "Very fine!" said my un
cle Jervas,--"and damned foolish!"

  "In a word," I continued, "I propose to follow your very excellentadvice, Uncle Jervas, and go out into the world to find my manhood ifI can! That was your phrase, I think?"

  "Ah, and when, may I ask?"

  "At once, sir. But, as I said before--on a condition."

  "Hum!" quoth my uncle Jervas, dropping his glass to tenderly strokehis somewhat too prominent chin.

  "And might we humbly venture to enquire as to the condition?"

  "Merely this, sir; so soon as Aunt Julia is freed of her incubus--sosoon as I am gone--you will see to it she is not lonely. You will wooher, beginning at once, both together or turn about, because I wouldnot have her--this best, this noblest and most generous ofwomen--forfeit anything of happiness on my account; because, havingneither father nor mother that I ever remember, the love and reverencethat should have been theirs I have given to her."

  "Lord!" exclaimed my uncle George, clashing his spurs suddenly. "Lordlove the lad--begad--oh, the dooce!"

  As for uncle Jervas, forgetting his languor, he stood suddenly erect,frowning, his chin more aggressive than ever.

  "You haven't been drinking, have you, Peregrine?" he demanded.

  "No, sir!"

  "Then you must be mad!"

  "I think not, sir. Howbeit, I shall go!"

  "Preposterousandamridiculous!" he exclaimed in a breath.

  "Possibly, sir!" quoth I, squaring my shoulders resolutely. "But mymind is resolved--"

  "Julia--your aunt, will never permit such tom-fool nonsense, boy!"

  "I am determined, sir!" said I, folding my arms. "I go for hersake--her future happiness--"

  "Happiness?" cried my uncle George, pulling at his whisker, "'t wouldbreak her heart, Perry; she'd grieve, boy, aye, begad she would--she'dgrieve, as I say, and--grieve, d'ye see--"

  "Then you must comfort her--you or Uncle Jervas, or both! Woo her, winher whoever can, only make her happy--that happiness she has deniedherself for my sake, all these years. This you must do--it is for thisI am about to sacrifice the joy of her companionship, the gentle quietand luxury of home to pit myself, alone and friendless, against analien world. This, my dear uncles," said I, finding myself not alittle moved as I concluded, "this is my prayer, that, through one ofyou she may find a greater happiness than has ever been hershitherto."

  "Tush, boy!" murmured my uncle Jervas, lounging gracefully against thebalustrade of the terrace again, "Tush and fiddle-de-dee! If you havedone with these heroics, let us get to our several beds likecommon-sense beings," and he yawned behind a white and languid hand.

  His words stung me, I will own; but it was not so much these thatwrought me to sudden, cold fury, as that contemptuous yawn. Even as Istood mute with righteous indignation, all my finer feelings thuswantonly outraged, he yawned again.

  "Come, Peregrine," he mumbled sleepily, "come you in to bed, like asensible lad."

  "Uncle Jervas," said I, smiling up at him as contemptuously aspossible, "I will see you damned first!"

  "Good God!" exclaimed my uncle George, and letting go his whisker hefell back a step, staring down at me as if he had never seen me beforein all his life. Uncle Jervas, on the contrary, regarded me silentlyawhile, then I saw his grim lips twitch suddenly and he broke into apeal of softly modulated laughter.

  "Our sucking dove can roar, it seems, George--our lamb can bellow onoccasion. On me soul, I begin to hope we were perhaps a trifle out inour estimation of him. There was an evil word very well meant andheartily expressed!" And he laughed again; then his long arm shot out,though whether to cuff or pat my head I do not know nor stayed toenquire, for, eluding that white hand, I vaulted nimbly over thebalustrade and, from the flower bed below, bowed to him with aflourish.

  "Uncle Jervas," said I, "pray observe that I bow to your impertinence,by reason of your age; may God mend your manners, sir! Uncle George,farewell. Uncles both, heaven teach you to be some day more worthy myloved aunt Julia!" Saying which, I turned and strode resolutely awayacross the shadowy park, not a little pleased with myself.

  I was close upon the gates that opened upon the high road when,turning for one last look at the great house that had been my home, Iwas amazed and somewhat disconcerted to find my two uncles hasteningafter me; hotfoot they came, at something betwixt walk and run, theirlong legs covering the ground with remarkable speed. Instinctively Ibegan to back away and was deliberating whether or not to cast dignityto the winds and take to my heels outright, when my uncle Georgehailed me, and I saw he flourished a hat the which I recognised as myown.

  "Hold hard a minute, Perry!" he called, spurs jingling with his haste.

  "My good uncles," I called, "you are two to one--two very large,ponderous men; pray excuse me therefore if I keep my distance."

  "My poor young dolt," quoth uncle Jervas a trifle breathlessly, "wemerely desire a word with you--"

  "Aye, just a word, Perry!" cried uncle George. "Besides, we've broughtyour hat and coat, d'ye see."

  "You have no other purpose?" I enquired, maintaining my rearwardmovement.

  "Dammit--no!" answered uncle Jervas.

  "Word of honour!" cried uncle George.

  At this I halted and suffered them to approach nearer.

  "You do not meditate attempting the futility of force?" I demanded.

  "We do not!" said uncle Jervas.

  "Word of honour!" cried uncle George.

  "On the contrary," continued uncle Jervas, handing me mysilver-buttoned, frogged surtout, "I for one heartily concur andcommend your decision in so far as concerns yourself--a trifle ofhardship is good for youth and should benefit you amazingly, nephew--"

  "B'gad, yes!" nodded uncle George. "Fine thing, hardship--if not toohard. So we thought it well to see that you did not go short ofthe--ah--needful, d'ye see."

  "Needful, sir?" I enquired.

  "Rhino, lad--chink, my boy!"

  "Ha, to be sure," sighed uncle Jervas, noting my bewilderment. "Thesecoarse metaphors are but empty sounds in your chaste ears,nephew--brother George is trying to say money. Do you happen to have asufficiency of such dross about you, pray?" A search of my variouspockets resulted in the discovery of one shilling and a groat."Precisely as I surmised," nodded my uncle Jervas, "having had yourevery possible want supplied hitherto, money is a sordid vulgarity youknow little about, yet, if you persist in adventuring your preciousperson into the world of men and action, you will find money asomewhat useful adjunct. In this purse are some twelve guineas orso--" here he thrust the purse into the right-hand pocket of my coat.

  "And six in this, Perry!" said uncle George, thrusting his purse intomy left pocket.

  "So here are eighteen-odd guineas," quoth uncle Jervas, "a paltry andmost inadequate sum, perhaps, but these should last you a fewdays--with care, or at least until, wearying of hardship, you stealback into the silken lap of luxury."

  "And look 'ee, Perry lad," added uncle George, clapping me on theshoulder and eyeing me a little anxiously, "come back soon, boy--soon,d'ye see--"

  "He will, George, he will!" nodded uncle Jervas.

  "He looks damnably solitary, somehow, Jervas."

  "And small, George."

  "Sirs," said I, "for my lack of size, blame nature. As toloneliness--'my mind to me my kingdom is,' and one peopled by athousand loved friends, or of what avail the reading of books?"

  "Books? M--yes, precisely!" quoth my uncle George, ruffling up histhick curls and eyeing me askance. "But what are we to tell your auntJulia?"

  "Nothing, sir. At the first inn I stop at I will write her fullyregarding my departure and future plans--"

  "But--oh, curse it. Perry," exclaimed uncle George, fumbling for hiswhisker, "she'll be sure to blame us, aye, she will so, b'gad d'yesee--"

  "Not when she reads my letter, sir. Indeed I feel--nay, I know that myabsence will but serve to draw you nearer together, all three, and Ilook forward with assured hope to seeing her happily wedded to--to oneor other of you when--when I return--"
/>
  "Lord love me!"

  "Now on me immortal soul!" exclaimed my two uncles in one breath.

  "My dear sirs," I continued, "I have long suspected your passion formy peerless aunt, nor do I venture to blame you--"

  "Blame, b'gad!" exclaimed my uncle George faintly.

  "To-night I chanced to overhear words pass between you that put thematter beyond doubt--"

  "Impertinent young eavesdropper!" exclaimed my uncle Jervas, very redin the face.

  "Thus, in taking my departure, I can but wish you every happiness. Butbefore I go, I would beg of you to satisfy me on a point of familyhistory--if you will. My parents died young, I believe?"

  "They did!" answered my uncle Jervas in strangely repressed voice.

  "Very young!" sighed my uncle George.

  "And what--how came they to die?" I questioned.

  "Your mother died of--a broken heart, Peregrine," said uncle Jervas.

  "Sweet child!" added uncle George.

  "Then I pray that God in His mercy has mended it long ere this," saidI. "And my father, sirs,--how came he by death so early?"

  Here my two uncles exchanged looks as though a little at a loss.

  "Has your aunt never told you?" enquired my uncle Jervas.

  "Never, sir! And her distress forbade my questioning more than theonce. But you are men and so I ask you how did your brother and myfather die?"

  "Shot in a duel, lad, killed on the spot!" said my uncle George, and Isaw his big hand clench itself into a quivering fist. "They fought ina little wood not so far from here--such a lad he was--our fag atschool, d'ye see. I remember they carried him up these very steps--andthe sun so bright--and he had scarcely begun to live--"

  "And the bullet that slew him," added my uncle Jervas, "just as surelykilled your mother also."

  "Yes!" said I. "And whose hand sped that bullet?"

  "He is dead!" murmured my uncle Jervas, gazing up at the placid moon."Dead and out of reach--years ago."

  "Aye--he died abroad," added uncle George, "Brussels, I think, orParis--or was it Vienna--anyhow he--is dead!"

  "And--out of reach!" murmured uncle Jervas, still apparently lost incontemplation of the moon.

  "As to yourself, dear, foolish lad," said uncle George, laying hishand upon my shoulder, "if go you will, come back soon! And should youmeet trouble--need a friend--any assistance, d'ye see, you can alwaysfind me at the Grange."

  "Or a letter to me, Peregrine, directed to my chambers in St. James'sStreet, will always bring you prompt advice in any difficulty and,what is better, perhaps--money. Moreover, should you wish to see thetown or aspire socially, you will find I can be of some smallservice--"

  "My dear uncles," I exclaimed, grasping their hands in turn, "for thiskind solicitude God bless you both again and--good-bye!"

  So saying, I turned (somewhat hastily) and went my way; but after Ihad gone some distance I glanced back to behold them watching me,motionless and side by side; hereupon, moved by their wistfulattitude, I forgot my dignity and, whipping off my hat, I flourishedit to them above my head ere a bend in the drive hid them from myview.