Books: Our Friend the Charlatan

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Lord Dymchurch nodded and mused. From his look it was plain that
Lashmar interested, and at the same time, puzzled him. In their
previous conversations, Dyce had talked more or less vaguely,
throwing out a suggestion here, a criticism there, and, though with
the air of one who had made up his mind on most subjects, preserving
an attitude of liberal scepticism; to-day he seemed in the mood for
precision, and the coherence of his arguments did not fail to
impress the listener. His manner in reasoning had a directness, an
eagerness, which seemed to declare fervid conviction; as he went on
from point to point, his eyes gleamed and his chin quivered; the
unremarkable physiognomy was transformed as though from within;
illumined by unexpected radiance, and invested with the beauty of
intellectual ardour. Very apt for the contagion of such enthusiasm,
Lord Dymchurch showed in his smile that he was listening with
pleasure; yet he did not wholly yield himself to the speaker's
influence.

"One objection occurs to me," he remarked, averting his eyes for a
moment. "The organic body is a thing finished and perfect. Granted
that evolution goes on in the same way to form the body politic, the
process, evidently, is far from complete--as you began by
admitting. Won't the result depend on the nature and tendency of
each being that goes to make up the whole? And, if that be so, isn't
it the business of the individual to assert his individuality, so as
to make the State that he's going to belong to the kind of State he
would wish it to be? I express myself very awkwardly--"

"Not at all, not at all! In that sense, individualism is no doubt
part of the evolutionary scheme; I quite agree with you. What I
object to is the idea, conveyed in Spencer's title, that the man as
a man can have interests or rights opposed to those of the State as
a State. Your thorough individualist seems to me to lose sight of
the fact that, but for the existing degree of human association, he
simply wouldn't be here at all. He speaks as if he had made himself,
and had the right to dispose of himself; whereas it is society,
civilisation, the State--call it what you will--that has given
him everything he possesses, except his physical organs. Take a
philosopher who prides himself on his detachment from vulgar cares
and desires, duties and troubles, and looks down upon the world with
pity or contempt. Suppose the world--that is to say, his human
kind--revenged itself by refusing to have anything whatever to do
with him, however indirectly; the philosopher would soon find
himself detached with a vengeance. And suppose it possible to go
further than that; suppose the despised world could demand back from
him all it had given, through the course of ages to his ancestors in
him; behold Mr. Philosopher literally up a tree--a naked
anthropoid, with a brain just capable of supplying his stomach
and--perhaps--of saving him from wild beasts."

Lord Dymchurch indulged a quiet mirth.

"You've got hold of a very serviceable weapon," he said, stretching
his legs before him, and clasping his hands behind his head. "I, for
one, would gladly be convinced against individualism. I'm afraid
it's my natural point of view, and I've been trying for a long time
to get rid of that old Adam. Go on with your idea about the
organisation of society. What ultimate form do you suppose nature to
be aiming at?"

Dyce seemed to reflect for a moment. He asked himself, in fact,
whether Lord Dymchurch was at all likely to come upon that French
work which, pretty certainly, he had not yet read. The probability
seemed slight. In any case, cannot a theory be originated
independently by two minds?

His eye lighting up with the joy of clear demonstration--to Dyce
it was a veritable joy, his narrow, but acute, mind ever tending to
sharp-cut system--he displayed the bio-sociological theory in its
whole scope. More than interested, and not a little surprised, Lord
Dymchurch followed carefully from point to point, now and then
approving with smile or nod. At the end, he was leaning forward, his
hands grasping his ankles, and his head nearly between his knees;
and so he remained for a minute when Dyce had ceased.

"I like that!" he exclaimed at length, the smile of boyish pleasure
sunny upon his face. "There's something satisfying about it. It
sounds helpful."

Help amid the confusing problems of life was what Lord Dymchurch
continually sought. In his private relations one of the most
blameless of men, he bore about with him a troubled conscience, for
he felt that he was living to himself alone, whereas, as a man, and
still more as member of a privileged order, he should have been
justifying his existence and his position by some useful effort. At
three and twenty he had succeeded to the title--and to very little
else; the family had long been in decline; a Lord Dymchurch who died
in the early part of the nineteenth century practically completed
the ruin of his house by an attempt to form a Utopia in Canada, and
since then a rapid succession of ineffectual peers, _fruges
consumere nati_, had steadily reduced the dignity of the name. The
present lord--Walter Erwin de Gournay Fallowfield--found himself
inheritor of one small farm in the county of Kent, and of funded
capital which produced less than a thousand a year; his ancestral
possessions had passed into other hands, and, excepting the Kentish
farm-house, Lord Dymchurch had not even a dwelling he could call his
own. Two sisters were his surviving kin; their portions being barely
sufficient to keep them alive, he applied to their use a great part
of his own income; unmarried, and little likely to change their
condition, these ladies lived together, very quietly, at a country
house in Somerset, where their brother spent some months of every
year with them. For himself, he had rooms at Highgate Grove, not
unpleasant lodgings in a picturesque old house, where he kept the
books which were indispensable to him, and a few pictures which he
had loved from boyhood. All else that remained from the slow
Dymchurch wreck was down in Somerset.

He saw himself as one of the most useless of mortals. For his
sisters' sake he would have been glad to make money, and one way of
doing so was always open to him; he had but to lend his name to
company promoters, who again and again had sought him out with
tempting proposals. This, however, Lord Dymchurch disdained; he was
fastidious in matters of honour, as on some points of taste. For the
same reason he remained unmarried; a penniless peer in the attitude
of wooing seemed to him ridiculous, and in much danger of becoming
contemptible. Loving the life of the country, studious, reserved, he
would have liked best of all to withdraw into some rustic hermitage,
and leave the world aside but this he looked upon as a temptation to
be resisted; there must be duties for him to discharge, if only he
could discover them. So he kept up his old acquaintances, and--
though rarely made new; he strove to interest himself in practical
things, if perchance his opportunity might meet him by the way; and
always he did his best to obtain an insight into the pressing
questions of the time. Though in truth of a very liberal mind, he
imagined himself a mass of prejudices; his Norman blood
(considerably diluted, it is true) sometimes appeared to him as a
hereditary taint, constituting an intellectual, perhaps a moral,
disability; in certain moods he felt hopelessly out of touch with
his age. To anyone who spoke confidently and hopefully concerning
human affairs, Lord Dymchurch gave willing attention. With Dyce
Lashmar he could not feel that he had much in common, but this
rather loquacious young man certainly possessed brains, and might
have an inkling of truths not easily arrived at. To-day, at all
events, Lashmar's talk seemed full of matter, and it was none the
less acceptable to Lord Dymchurch because of its anti-democratic
tenor.

"Not long ago," he remarked, quietly, "I was reading Marcus
Aurelius. You will remember that the idea of the community of human
interests runs through all his thought. He often insists that a man
is nothing apart from the society he belongs to, and that the common
good should be our first rule in conduct. When you were speaking
about individualism a sentence of his came into my mind. 'What is
not good for the beehive cannot be good for the bee.'"

"Yes, yes!" cried Dyce, eagerly. "Thank you very much for reminding
me; I had quite forgotten it."

They were no longer alone in the library; two other men had strolled
in, and were seated reading; on this account, Lord Dymchurch subdued
his voice even more than usual, for he had a horror of appearing to
talk pretentiously, or of talking at all when his words might fall
upon indifferent ears. Respectful of this recognised characteristic,
Lashmar turned the conversation for a minute to lighter themes, then
rose and moved away. He felt that he had made an impression, that
Lord Dymchurch thought more of him than hitherto, and this sent him
forth in buoyant mood. That evening, economy disregarded, he dined
well at a favourite restaurant.

On the third day after posting his letter to Constance Bride, he
received her reply. It was much longer than he had expected.
Beginning with a rather formal expression of interest in Dyce's
views, Constance went on to say that she had already spoken of him
to Lady Ogram, who would be very glad to make his acquaintance. He
might call at Rivenoak whenever he liked; Lady Ogram generally had a
short drive in the morning, but in the afternoon she was always at
home. The state of her health did not allow her to move much; her
eyes forbade much reading; consequently, talk with interesting
people was one of her chief resources.

"I say with _interesting_ people, and use the word advisedly.
Anything that does _not_ interest her, she will not endure. Being
frankness itself, she says exactly what she thinks, without the
least regard for others' feelings. If talk is (or seems to her)
dull, she declares that she has had enough of it. I don't think
there is any need to warn you of this, but it may be as well that
you should know it.

"Whilst I am writing, I had better mention one or two other
peculiarities of Lady Ogram. At the first glance you will see that
she is an invalid, but woe to you if you show that you see it. She
insists on being treated by everyone (I suppose, her doctor
excepted, but I am not sure) as if she were in perfect health. You
will probably hear her make plans for drives, rides, even long walks
about the country, and something more than mere good breeding must
rule your features as you listen. Occasionally her speech is
indistinct; you must manage never to miss a word she says. She is
slightly--very slightly--deaf; you must speak in your natural
voice, yet never oblige her to be in doubt as to what you say. She
likes a respectful manner, but if it is overdone the indiscretion
soon receives a startling reproof. Be as easy as you like in her
presence provided that your ease is natural; if it strikes Lady
Ogram as self-assertion--beware the lash! From time to time she
will permit herself a phrase or an exclamation which reminds one
that her birth was not precisely aristocratic; but don't imagine
that anyone else is allowed to use a too racy vernacular; you must
guard your expressions, and the choicer they are the better she is
pleased.

"As you may wish to speak of polities, I will tell you that, until a
year or two ago, Lady Ogram was a strong Conservative; she is now on
the Liberal side, perhaps for the simple reason that she has
quarrelled with the Conservative member of Hollingford, Mr. Robb. I
need not go into the details of the affair; sufficient that the name
of Robb excites her fury, and that it is better to say nothing about
the man at all unless you know something distinctly to his
disadvantage--and, in _that_ case, you must take your chance of
being dealt with as a calumniator or a sycophant; all depends on
Lady Ogram's mood of the moment. Detesting Mr. Robb, she naturally
aims at ousting him from his Parliamentary seat, and no news could
be more acceptable to her than that of a possible change in the
political temper of Hollingford. The town is Tory, from of old. Mr.
Robb is sitting in his second Parliament, and doubtless hopes to
enter a third. But he is nearly seventy years old, and we hear that
his constituents would not be sorry if he gave place to a more
active man. The hope that Hollingford may turn Liberal does not seem
to me to be very well founded, and yet I don't regard the thing as
an impossibility. Lady Ogram has persuaded herself that a thoroughly
good man might carry the seat. That man she is continually seeking,
and she carries on a correspondence on the subject with party
leaders, whips, caucus directors, and all manner of such folk. If
she lives until the next general election, heaven and earth will be
moved against Mr. Robb, and I believe she would give the half of her
substance to anyone who defeated him."

This epistle caused a commotion in Lashmar's mind. The last
paragraph opened before him a vista of brilliant imaginings. He read
it times innumerable; day and night he could think of nothing else.
Was not here the occasion for which he had been waiting? Had not
fortune turned a shining face upon him?

If only he had still been in enjoyment of his three hundred a year.
There, indeed, was a troublesome reflection. He thought of writing
to his father, of laying before him the facts of his position, and
asking seriously whether some financial arrangement could not be
made, which would render him independent for a year or two. Another
thought occurred to him--but he did not care to dwell upon it for
the present. Twenty-four hours' consideration decided him to go down
to Hollingford without delay. When he had talked with Lady Ogram, he
would be in a better position for making up his mind as to the
practical difficulty which beset him.

He esteemed it very friendly on Connie Bride's part to have written
such a letter of advice. Why had she taken the trouble?
Notwithstanding the coldness of her language, Connie plainly had his
interests at heart, and gave no little thought to him. This was
agreeable, but no matter of surprise; it never surprised Lashmar
that anyone should regard him as a man of importance; and he felt a
pleasant conviction that the boyish philandering of years ago would
stand him in good stead now that he understood what was due to
women--and to himself.

CHAPTER V

So next morning he packed his bag, drove to Euston, and by mid-day
was at Hollingford. The town, hitherto known to him only by name,
had little charm of situation or feature, but Dyce, on his way to a
hotel, looked about him with lively interest, and persuaded himself
that the main streets had a brisk progressive air; he imagined
Liberalism in many faces, and noted cheerfully the publishing office
of a Liberal newspaper. If his interview with Lady Ogram proved
encouraging, he would stay here over the next day, and give himself
time to make acquaintance with the borough.

At his hotel, he made inquiry about the way to Rivenoak, a name
respectfully received. Lady Ogram's estate was distant some two
miles and a half from the edge of the town; it lay hard by the
village of Shawe, which was on the highroad to--places wherewith
Dyce had no concern. Thus informed, he ordered his luncheon, and
requested that a fly might be ready at three o'clock to convey him
to Rivenoak. When that hour arrived, he had studied the local
directory, carefully looked over the town and county newspapers, and
held a little talk with his landlord, who happened to be a political
malcontent, cautiously critical of Mr. Robb. Dyce accepted the fact
as of good augury. It was long since he had felt so lighthearted and
sanguine.

Through an unpleasant quarter, devoted to manufactures, his vehicle
bore him out of Hollingford, and then along a flat, uninteresting
road, whence at moments he had glimpses of the river Holling, as it
flowed between level fields. Presently the country became more
agreeable; on one hand it rose gently to wooded slopes, on the other
opened a prospect over a breezy common, yellow with gorse. At the
village named Shawe, the river was crossed by a fine old bridge,
which harmonised well with grey cottages and an ancient low-towered
church; but the charm of all this had been lamentably injured by the
recent construction of a large paper-mill, as ugly as mill can be,
on what was once a delightful meadow by the waterside. Dyce eyed the
blot resentfully; but he had begun to think of his attitude and
language at the meeting with Lady Ogram, and the gates of Rivenoak
quickly engaged his attention.

The drive wound through a pleasant little park, less extensive,
perhaps, than the visitor had preconceived it, and circled in front
of a plain Georgian mansion, which, again, caused some
disappointment. Dyce had learnt from the directory that the house
was not very old, but it was spoken of as "stately;" the edifice
before him he would rather have described as "commodious." He caught
a glimpse of beautiful gardens, and had no time to criticise any
more, for the fly stopped and the moment of his adventure was at
hand. When he had mechanically paid and dismissed the driver, the
folding doors stood open before him; a man-servant, with back at the
reverent angle, on hearing his name at once begged him to enter.
Considerably more nervous than he would have thought likely, and
proportionately annoyed with himself, Dyce passed through a bare,
lofty hall, then through a long library, and was ushered into a room
so largely constructed of glass, and containing so much verdure,
that at first glance it seemed to be a conservatory. It was,
however, a drawing-room, converted to this purpose after having
served, during the late Baronet's lifetime, for such masculine
delights as billiards and smoking. Here, as soon as his vision
focussed itself, Dyce became aware of three ladies and a gentleman,
seated amid a little bower of plants and shrubs. The hostess was
easily distinguished. In a very high-backed chair, made rather
throne-like by the embroidery and gilding upon it, sat a meagre lady
clad in black silk, with a silvery grey shawl about her shoulders,
and an other of the same kind across her knees. She had the aspect
of extreme age and of out-worn health; the skin of her face was like
shrivelled parchment; her hands were mere skin and bone; she sat as
though on the point of sinking across the arm of her chair for very
feebleness. But in the whitish-yellow visage shone a pair of eyes
which had by no means lost their vitality; so keen were they, so
darkly lustrous, that to meet them was to forget every other
peculiarity of Lady Ogram's person. Regarding the eyes alone, one
seemed to have the vision of a handsome countenance, with proud
lips, and carelessly defiant smile. The illusion was aided by a
crown of hair such as no woman of Lady Ogram's age ever did, or
possibly could, possess in her own right; hair of magnificent
abundance, of rich auburn hue, plaited and rolled into an elaborate
coiffure.

Before this singular figure, Dyce Lashmar paused and bowed. Pale,
breathing uneasily, he supported the scrutiny of those dark eyes for
what seemed to him a minute or two of most uncomfortable time. Then,
with the faintest of welcoming smiles, Lady Ogram--who had slowly
straightened herself--spoke in a voice which startled the hearer,
so much louder and firmer was it than he had expected.

"I am glad to see you, Mr. Lashmar. Pray sit down."

Without paying any attention to the rest of the company, Dyce
obeyed. His feeling was that he had somehow been admitted to the
presence of a sovereign, and that any initiative on his own part
would be utterly out of place. Never in his life had he felt so
little and so subdued.

"You have come from town this morning?" pursued his hostess, still
closely examining him.

"This morning, yes."

Lady Ogram turned to the lady sitting near her right hand, and said
abruptly:

"I don't agree with you at all. I should like to see as many women
doctors as men. Doctoring is mostly humbug, and if women were
attended by women there'd be a good deal less of that. Miss Bride
has studied medicine, and a very good doctor she would have made."

Dyce turned towards Constance, of whose proximity he had been aware,
though he had scarcely looked at her, and, as she bent her head
smiling, he rose and bowed. The lady whom their hostess had
addressed--she was middle-aged, very comely and good-humoured of
countenance, and very plainly attired--replied to the blunt
remarks in an easy, pleasant tone.

"I should have no doubt whatever of Miss Bride's competence. But--"

Lady Ogram interrupted her, seeming not to have heard what she said.

"Let me introduce to you Mr. Dyce Lashmar, who has thought a good
deal more about this kind of thing than either you or me. Mrs.
Gallantry, Mr. Gallantry."

Again Dyce stood up. Mr. Gallantry, a tall, loose-limbed, thinly
thatched gentleman, put on a pair of glasses to inspect him, and did
so with an air of extreme interest, as though profoundly gratified
by the meeting. Seldom breaking silence himself, he lent the most
flattering attention to anyone who spoke, his brows knitted in the
resolve to grasp and assimilate whatever wisdom was uttered:

"Did you walk out from Hollingford?" asked Lady Ogram, who again had
her eyes fixed on the visitor.

"No, I drove, as I didn't know the way."

"You'd have done much better to walk. Couldn't you ask the way? You
look as if you didn't take enough exercise. Driving, one never sees
anything. When I'm in new places, I always walk. Miss Bride and I
are going to Wales this summer, and we shall walk a great deal. Do
you know Brecknock? Few people do, but they tell me it's very fine.
Perhaps you are one of the people who always go abroad? I prefer my
own country. What did you think of the way from Hollingford?"

To this question she seemed to expect an answer, and Dyce, who was
beginning to command himself, met her gaze steadily as he spoke.

"There's very little to see till you come to Shawe. It's a pretty
village--or rather, it was, before someone built that hideous
paper-mill."

Scarcely had he uttered the words when he became aware of a change
in Lady Ogram's look. The gleam of her eyes intensified; deeper
wrinkles carved themselves on her forehead, and all at once two rows
of perfect teeth shone between the pink edges of her shrivelled
lips.

"Hideous paper-mill, eh?" she exclaimed, on a half-laughing note of
peculiar harshness, "I suppose you don't know that _I_ built it?"

A shock went through Dyce's blood. He sat with his eyes fixed on
Lady Ogram's, powerless to stir or to avert his gaze. Then the
courage of despair suddenly possessed him.

"If I had known that," he said, with much deliberation, "I should
have kept the thought to myself. But I'm afraid there's no denying
that the mill spoils the village."

"The mill is the making of the village," said Lady Ogram,
emphatically.

"In one sense, very likely. I spoke only of the picturesqueness of
the place."

"I know you did. And what's the good of picturesqueness to people
who have to earn their living? Is that your way of looking at
things? Would you like to keep villages pretty, and see the people
go to the dogs?"

"Not at all. I'm quite of the other way of thinking, Lady Ogram. It
was by mere accident that I made that unlucky remark. If anyone with
me had said such a thing, it's more than likely I should have
replied with your view of the matter. You must remember that this
district is quite strange to me. Will you tell me something about
it? I am sure you had excellent reasons for building the mill; be so
kind as to explain them to me."

The listeners to this dialogue betrayed approval of the young man's
demeanour. Constance Bride, who had looked very grave indeed,
allowed her features to relax; Mrs. Gallantry smiled a smile of
conciliation, and her husband drew a sigh as if supremely edified.

Lady Ogram glanced at her secretary.

"Miss Bride, let him know my 'excellent reasons,' will you?"

"For a long time," began Constance, in clear, balanced tones, "the
village of Shawe has been anything but prosperous. It was
agricultural, of course, and farming about here isn't what is used
to be; there's a great deal of grass and not much tillage. The folk
had to look abroad for a living; several of the cottages stood
empty; the families that remained were being demoralised by poverty;
they wouldn't take the work that offered in the fields, and
preferred to scrape up a living in the streets of Hollingford, if
they didn't try their hand at a little burglary and so on. Lady
Ogram saw what was going on, and thought it over, and hit upon the
idea of the paper-mill. Of course most of the Shawe cottagers were
no good for such employment, but some of the young people got taken
on, and there was work in prospect for children growing up, and in
any case, the character of the village was saved. Decent families
came to the deserted houses, and things in general looked up."

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