Books: Our Friend the Charlatan

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When, a couple of hours later, Dyce came down dressed for dinner,
Mrs. Toplady was already in the drawing-room. He heard her voice, a
well-modulated contralto which held the ear, and, looking in that
direction, saw a tall, dark-robed woman, of middle age, with a thin
face, its lines rather harsh, but in general effect handsome, and a
warm complexion, brightly red upon the prominent cheek-bones.
Jewelry sparkled in her hair, from her white throat, and on her.
fingers. As Lashmar came forward, she finished what she was saying,
and turned her eyes upon him with expectant interest; a smile at the
corner of her lips had a certain mischievousness, quite
good-humoured but a little perturbing to one who encountered it,
together with the direct dark gaze, for the first time. Introduction
having been performed with Lady Ogram's wonted carelessness, Mrs.
Toplady said at once:

"I know a friend of yours, Mr. Lashmar,--Mrs. Woolstan. Perhaps
she has spoken to you of me?"

"She has," Dyce replied, remembering now that it was from Mrs.
Woolstan he had heard her name.

"Why, how's that?" exclaimed the hostess. "You never told me about
it, Mr. Lashmar."

Dyce had much ado to conceal his annoyed embarrassment. He wondered
whether Mrs. Woolstan had made known the fact of his tutorship,
which he did not care to publish, preferring to represent himself as
having always held an independent position. With momentary
awkwardness he explained that Mrs. Toplady's name had but once
casually passed Mrs. Woolstan's Tips in his hearing, and that till
now he had forgotten the circumstance.

"I saw her yesterday," said the lady of the roguish lips. "She's in
trouble about parting with her little boy--just been sent to
school."

"Ah--yes."

"Very sweet face, hasn't she? Is the child like her? I never saw
him--perhaps you never did, either?"

Mrs. Toplady had a habit, not of looking steadily at an
interlocutor, but of casting a succession of quick glances, which
seemed to the person thus inspected much more searching than a fixed
gaze. Though vastly relieved by the assurance that Mrs. Woolstan had
used discretion concerning him, Dyce could not become at ease under
that restless look: he felt himself gauged and registered, though
with what result was by no means discernible in Mrs. Toplady's
countenance. Those eyes of hers must have gauged a vast variety of
men; her forehead told of experience and meditation thereon. Of all
the women he could remember, she impressed him as the least
manageable according to his method. Compared with her, Lady Ogram
seemed mere ingenuousness and tractability.

"And, pray, _who_ is Mrs. Woolstan?" the hostess was asking, with a
rather dry insistence.

"A charming little woman," replied Mrs. Toplady, sincerity in look
and voice. "I knew her before her marriage, which perhaps was not
quite--but the poor man is dead. A sister of hers married into my
husband's family. She plays beautifully, an exquisite touch."

They were summoned to dinner. At table it was Mrs. Toplady who led
the conversation, but in such a way as to assume no undue
prominence, rather she seemed to be all attention to other talk,
and, her smile notwithstanding, to listen with the most open-minded
interest to whatever was said. Her manner to Lady Ogram was marked
with deference, at times with something like affectionate
gentleness; to Miss Bride she paid the compliment of amiable
gravity; and towards Lashmar she could not have borne herself more
respectfully--at all events in language--if he had been a member
of the Cabinet; every word which fell from him she found suggestive,
illuminative, and seemed to treasure it in her mind. After dinner,
Dyce received from her his cue for drawing-room oratory; he was led
into large discourse, and Mrs. Toplady's eyes beamed the most
intelligent sympathy. None the less did roguery still lurk at the
corner of her lips, so that from time to time the philosopher
fidgeted a little, and asked himself uneasily what that smile meant.

At nine o'clock next morning, Lashmar and Constance sat down to
breakfast alone. Mrs. Toplady rarely showed herself much before
noon.

"If the sky clears," said Constance, "Lady Ogram will drive at
eleven, and you are invited to accompany her."

"And you?" asked Dyce.

"I have work for two or three hours."

Lashmar chipped at an egg, a thoughtful smile upon his countenance.

"Can you tell me anything about Mrs. Toplady?" he inquired.

"Only what I have heard from Lady Ogram."

Constance sketched a biography. The lady had been twice married,
first in early youth to a man who had nothing, and who became
phthisical; during his illness they suffered from dire poverty and,
at her husband's death, the penniless widow received great kindness
from Lady Ogram, whose acquaintance she had made accidentally. Two
years afterwards, she married a northern manufacturer of more than
twice her age; an instance (remarked Miss Bride) of natural
reaction. It chanced that a Royal Personage, on a certain public
occasion, became the guest of the manufacturer, who had local
dignities; and so well did Mrs. Toplady play her part of hostess
that Royalty deigned to count her henceforth among its friends. Her
husband would have received a title, but an inopportune malady cut
short his life. A daughter of the first marriage still lived; she
had wedded into the army, and was little heard of. Mrs. Toplady, a
widow unattached, took her ease in the world.

"She has seven or eight thousand a year," said Constance, "and
spends it all on herself. Naturally, she is a very polished and
ornamental person."

"Something more than that, I fancy," returned Dyce, musing.

"Oh, as Lady Ogram would say, she is not a fool."

Dyce smiled, and let the topic pass. He was enjoying his breakfast,
and, under this genial influence, presently felt moved to intimate
speech.

"You live very comfortably here, don't you? You have no objection on
principle to this kind of thing?"--his waving hand indicated the
well-spread table.

"I? Certainly not. Why should I object to civilisation?"

"I'm not quite sure that I have got at your point of view yet,"
answered Dyce, good-humouredly. "You know mine. The tools to him who
can use them. A breakfast such as this puts us at an advantage over
the poorer world for the rest of the day. But the advantage isn't
stolen. How came we here? Is it merely the cost of the railway
ticket that transports me from my rasher in a London lodging to
reindeer's tongue and so on in the breakfast-room at Rivenoak? I
fancy not."

He paused. Was it wise to hint before Constance that he had lived
rather poorly? He hoped, and believed, that she knew nothing
definite as to his circumstances.

"Why, no," she assented, with a smile. "I, for example, have perhaps
some part in it."

Dyce gazed at her, surprised at this frankness.

"You certainly have. And it reminds me that I may seem very
ungrateful; I have hardly said 'thank you.' Shake hands, and believe
that I am _not_ ungrateful."

She hesitated. Not till the hand had been extended to her for an
appreciable moment, did she give her own. In doing so, she wore a
hard smile.

"So, this evening," went on Dyce, "I meet my supporters. Lady Ogram
gave me an account of them yesterday. Tell me what you think. May I
be myself with these people? Or must I talk twaddle. I dislike
twaddle, as you know, but I don't want to spoil my chances. You
understand how I look at this business? My object in life is to gain
influence, that I may spread my views. Parliament, I take it, is the
best means. Considering the nature of the average elector, I don't
think one need worry about the method one pursues to get elected. I
won't tell lies; that goes against the grain with me. But I must be
practical."

Constance watched him, and seemed to weigh his remarks.

"As for twaddle," she said, "I shouldn't advise much of it in Mrs.
Toplady's hearing."

"You are right. That would never do. I suppose that woman may be of
real use to me?"

"Yes, I think so," replied Constance, seriously. "You are of course
aware that a man doesn't become parliamentary candidate by just
walking into a town and saying--'Behold me! Your votes!' There is
such a thing as party organisation."

Dyce looked at her with involuntary respect. He reminded himself
that "twaddle" was as little likely to have weight with Miss Bride
as with Mrs. Toplady.

"She knows political people?" he asked.

"She knows everybody--or can know. I confess I don't understand
why. In any case, it'll be well for yon to have her good word. Lady
Ogram can do a good deal, here, but I'm not sure that she could make
your acceptance by the Liberals a certain thing."

"Of course I have thought of that," said Dyce. Then, fearing he had
spoken in too off-hand a way, he added graciously, "I needn't say
that I regard your advice as valuable. I shall often ask for it."

Constance was mute.

"I suppose I may take it for granted that you wish for my success?"

"To be sure. I wish for it because Lady Ogram does."

Dyce felt inclined to object to this, but Constance's face did not
invite to further talk on the point.

"At all events," he continued, "it seems no other candidate has been
spoken of. The party isn't sanguine; they look upon Robb as an
unassailable; _sedet in aeter-numque sedebit_. But we shall see
about it. Presently I should like to talk over practical details
with you. I suppose I call myself Unionist? These questions of
day-to-day politics, how paltry they are! Strange that people can
get excited about them. I shall have to look on it as a game, and
amuse myself for certain hours of the day--a relaxation from
thought and work. You haven't told me, by the bye, what you think of
my bio-sociological system."

"I've been considering it. How was it suggested to you?"

Constance asked the question so directly, and with so keen a look,
that she all but disconcerted the philosopher.

"Oh, it grew out of my reading and observation grew bit by bit--no
armed Pallas leaping to sudden life--"

"You have worked it out pretty thoroughly."

"In outline, yes."

Dyce read the newspapers, and walked a little in the garden.
Punctually at eleven, Lady Ogram descended. The carriage was at the
door.

This stately drive, alone with the autocrat of Rivenoak, animated
the young man. He felt that the days of his insignificance were
over, that his career--the career so often talked about--had
really begun. A delightful surprise gave piquancy to his sensations;
had he cared to tell himself the truth, he would have known that,
whatever his self-esteem, he had never quite believed in the
brilliant future of which he liked to dream. It is one thing to
merit advancement, quite another to secure it. Yet here he was,
driving with a great lady, his friend, his admirer; driving towards
the excitement of political contest, perhaps towards a seat in
Parliament, and who could say what subsequent distinctions. Lady
Ogram was not the woman to aid half-heartedly where her feelings
were interested. Pretty surely he could count upon large support, so
long as he did not disappoint his benefactress. For the present he
had no anxieties--thanks to another woman, of whom, in truth, he
thought scarcely once in twenty-four hours. He lived at ease; his
faculties were expanding under this genial sunshine of prosperity.
Even in aspect he was a man of more importance than a few weeks ago;
his cheeks had coloured, his eyes rested with a new dignity on all
they saw.

They returned, and as Lady Ogram was entering the hall, a servant
made a respectful announcement.

"Mr. Kerchever is here, my lady."

"Mr. Kerchever? Indeed?"

With an unusually quick step, the old lady moved towards the
library. There, occupied with a newspaper, sat a man whose fifty
years still represented the prime of life, a tall,
athletically-built man, his complexion that of a schoolboy after
summer holidays, his brown hair abundant and crisp, spring and stay
declared in every muscle of his limbs and frame. Lightly he arose,
gracefully he swung forward, with the bow and smile of one who knows
not constraint. Mr. Kerchever followed the law, but he also,
whenever a chance offered, followed the hounds, and with more gusto.
At school and University he had won palms; that his place in
academic lists was less glorious mattered little to one who had a
comfortable seat awaiting him in the paternal office.

"And what brings you here?" asked Lady Ogram, unable to subdue an
agitation which confused her utterance.

"I have made a discovery which will interest you," replied Mr.
Kerchever, in a voice which sounded very strong and melodious by
contrast.

"What is it? Don't keep me waiting."

"I have found a grand-daughter of your brother Joseph Tomalin."

The listener drew a deep, tremulous sigh.

"Can't you go on?" she exclaimed, thickly, just as the lawyer was
resuming.

"I'll tell you how I came upon her track--"

"I don't care anything about that!" cried the old lady, with violent
irritation. "_What_ is she? _Where_ is she?"

"Miss May Tomalin is twenty-five years old. Her parents are dead.
She lives with relatives of her mother in the town of Northampton.
She has been well educated, well brought up altogether, and has a
little income--about a hundred a year."

Again Lady Ogram drew a deep breath. Her face was hotly flushed; her
hands trembled; a great joy shone from the transformed countenance.

"Thank goodness!" broke from her hoarsely. "Thank goodness!" Then,
with sudden alarm, "I suppose you're making no idiotic mistake?"

"That kind of mistake, Lady Ogram," responded Mr. Kerchever with a
tolerant motion of the eyebrows, "is not quite in my way. Indeed,
I'm not in the habit of making mistakes of any kind. You may be sure
I have taken every precaution before coming here with such news as
this."

"All right! What are you angry about? Lawyers and doctors and
parsons--there's no talking with them, they're so touchy. Can't
you go on? Here's a girl falls out of the clouds, and I'm to show no
curiosity about her! You drive me crazy with your roundabout
nonsense. Go _on_, can't you!"

Mr. Kerchever eyed his client curiously. He was not offended, for he
had known Lady Ogram long, and had received traditions regarding her
from a time before he was born; but he could not help being struck
just now with her face and manner; they made him uneasy.

"I will tell you everything forthwith," he resumed, "but I must beg
you to control yourself, Lady Ogram. I do so out of regard for your
health. Emotion is natural, but, now that you know the news is all
good, your excellent sense should tranquillise you. Pray let us talk
quietly."

Lady Ogram glanced at him, but nodded acquiescence.

"I'm as cool as you are. Talk as much as you like."

"A few days ago I had occasion to look through the lists of a London
University Calendar. My eye fell on the name Tomalin, and of course
I was interested. May Tomalin matriculated at London three years
ago. I could find no further record of her, but inquiries were easy,
and they guided me to Northampton. There I made the acquaintance of
a Mr. Rooke, a manufacturer, in whose house Miss Tomalin is
resident, and has been for a good many years; to be precise, since
she was nine years old. Without trouble I discovered the girl's
history. Her grandfather, Joseph Tomalin, died in Canada forty-seven
years ago--"

"How do you know it was Jo--my brother?" asked the listener,
sharply.

"All these things you can follow out for yourself in detail in the
papers I will leave with you. This Joseph had a brother Thomas, and
his age corresponds very well with that of your own brother Joseph.
Thomas Tomalin has left no trace, except the memory of his name
preserved by the wife of Joseph, and handed on to her son, who, in
turn, spoke of Thomas to his wife, who has been heard by Mrs. Rooke
(her sister) to mention that fact in the family history. What is
more, I find a vague tradition that a sister of Joseph and Thomas
made a brilliant marriage."

"How is it that your advertisements were never seen by these
people--these Rookes?"

"So it happened, that's all one can say. I have known many such
failures. May Tomalin was born at Toronto, where he? father, also a
Joseph, died in '80. Her mother, an Englishwoman, came back to
England in '81, bringing May, the only child; she settled at
Northampton, and, on her death in the following year, May passed
into the care of the Rookes. She has no surviving relative of her
own name. Her father, a builder, left a little money, which now
provides the young lady with her income."

Prom a state of choleric flurry Lady Ogram was passing into
irritable delight.

"Better late than never," she exclaimed, "but I can't see why you
didn't find the girl ages ago. Haven't you advertised in Canada?"

"No. We knew that your brothers went to Australia. Thomas, no doubt,
died there. The story of Joseph's wanderings is irrecoverable; we
must be content to have satisfactory evidence of his death, and of
this girl's descent from him."

"Well, and why haven't you brought her?"

"I saw no need for such precipitancy. Miss Tomalin has not yet been
informed of what is going on. Of course, she is her own mistress,
free to accept any invitation that may be offered her. The Rookes
seem to be quiet people, in easy circumstances; no trouble of any
kind is to be feared from them. You may act at your leisure. Here is
the address. Of course if you would like me to return to Northampton--"

"She must come at once!" said Lady Ogram, starting up. "Would the
Crows understand a telegram?"

"The Rookes, you mean? I think it would be better to write.
Naturally, I have not let them know your name. At first I found Mr.
Rooke rather disposed to stand upon his dignity; but a firm of
Northampton solicitors vouched for my _bona fides_, and then things
were smoother. No, I don't think I would telegraph."

"Then go to Northampton, and bring the girl back with you."

"If you wish it."

"When is there a train?--Oh, there's the luncheon bell. Of course
you must eat. Come and eat. I have some one staying here that I
should like you to know our Liberal candidate at the next election."

"Oh, so you have found one?"

"Of course I have. Didn't I write to tell you? A lot of people dine
here this evening to meet him. Perhaps you could stay over night?
Yes, now I come to think of it, I should like you to dine with us.
You shall go to Northampton to-morrow. Write to Rooky this
afternoon." Lady Ogram grew sportive. "Prepare him. Come along, now,
to lunch; you look hungry."

"Just one word. You are quite sure it will be wise to bring this
young lady at once to Rivenoak?"

"You say she knows how to behave herself!"

"Certainly. But the change in her position will be rather sudden,
don't you think? And--if I may venture--how can you be sure that
Miss Tomalin will recommend herself to you?"

"Isn't she of my own blood?" cried Lady Ogram, in a high croak of
exasperation. "Isn't she my brother's grandchild--the only
creature of my own blood living?"

"I merely urge a little prudence--"

"Is the girl a fool?"

"I have no reason to think so. But she has led a quiet, provincial
life--"

"Come and eat!" cried Lady Ogram. "We'll talk again afterwards."

Mrs. Toplady joined them in the dining-room, as she seated herself.
"Everybody's late to-day. Mr. Kerchever--Mr. Lashmar I want you to
know each other. Mr. Lashmar, what have you been doing all the
morning? Why, of course you had a drive with me--I had forgot ten!
Do sit down and let us eat. If everyone's as hungry as I am!"

For all that, she satisfied her appetite with one or two mouthfuls,
and talked on in a joyously excited strain, to the astonishment of
Constance, who saw that Mr. Kerchever must have brought some very
important news. Lashmar, also exhilarated, kept up conversation with
Mrs. Toplady. It was a vivacious company, Miss Bride being the only
person who spoke little. She was commonly silent amid general talk,
but her eyes travelled from face to face, reading, commenting.

Mr. Kerchever consented to stay over night. In the afternoon he had
a stroll with Lashmar, but they did not much enjoy each other's
society; Dyce took no interest whatever in sports or games, and the
athletic lawyer understood by politics a recurring tussle between
two parties, neither of which had it in its power to do much good or
harm to the country; of philosophy and science (other than that of
boxing) he knew about as much as the woman who swept his office.
Privately, Mr. Kerehever opined that this young man was a conceited
pedant, who stood no chance whatever of being elected to Parliament.
When questioned by Lady Ogram, he inquired whether Mr. Lashmar had
means.

"Oh, he has money enough," was the careless answer. "But its his
brains that we count upon."

"I never heard they went for muck in politics," said Mr. Kerchever.

CHAPTER X

The dinner went off very well indeed.

It was not merely her animus against Mr. Robb which supported Lady
Ogram's belief in the future of the Liberals at Hollingford. A
certain restiveness could be noted in the public mind, heretofore so
obedient to the long Tory tradition. Mr. Breakspeare's paper
certainly had an increasing sale, and an attention to Mr. Robb in
public gatherings other than political was not so sure of cordial
response as formerly. This might only imply a personal
dissatisfaction with the borough's representative, who of late had
been very visibly fossilising; it would be difficult to explain a
marked reaction in Hollingford against the tendencies of the country
at large. Still, a number of more or less active and intelligent
persons had begun to talk of contesting the Tory seat, and with
these the lady at Rivenoak held active communication. They gathered
about her this evening; enjoyed the excellent meal provided for
them; inspected Mr. Dyce Lashmar, and listened attentively even to
his casual remarks. Mr. Lashmar might or might not prove to be the
candidate of their choice; there was plenty of time to think about
that; in the meantime, no one more suitable stood before them, and,
having regard to Lady Ogram's social authority, considerable from
one point of view, they were very willing to interest themselves in
a man of whom she thought so highly. Very little was definitely
known about him. He was understood to be a gentleman of means and
erudite leisure, nor did his appearance conflict with this
description. Now and then Dyce's talk had an impressive quality; he
spoke for the most part in brief, pregnant sentences, which seemed
the outcome of solid thought and no little experience. Constance
Bride, observing him studiously, often admired his grave, yet easy,
bearing, his facile, yet never careless speech. Herself in doubt as
to his real weight, whether as man or politician, she carefully
watched the impression he produced on others; on the whole it seemed
to be favourable, and once or twice she caught a remark decidedly
eulogistic. This pleased her. Like everybody else this evening, she
was in good spirits.

Mrs. Toplady, much observed and courted, but seemingly quite
indifferent to homage, watched the scene with her eyes of placid
good-humour, the roguish smile ever and again appearing on her lips.
She lost no opportunity of letting fall a laudatory word concerning
Dyce Lashmar. Her demeanour with humdrum persons was courteous
amiability almost in excess; to the more intelligent she behaved
with a humourous frankness which was very captivating. At a certain
moment of the evening, she found occasion to sit down by Constance
Bride, and Constance would have been more than human had she
altogether resisted the charm of that fine contralto modulating
graceful compliments. Mrs. Toplady had read the report of the social
work at Shawe; it interested her keenly; she could not sufficiently
admire the philanthropic energy which had been put into this
undertaking--in so great a part, as she heard, due to Miss Bride's
suggestions.

"I am glad to hear from Lady Ogram," she said, "that there is a
probability of your being in town before long. If so, I hope you
will let me have a long talk with you, about all sorts of things.
One of them, of course, must be Mr. Lashmar's candidature."

Saying this, Mrs. Toplady beamed with kindness. Constance noted the
words and the look for future reflection. At this moment, she was
occupied with the news that Lady Ogram thought of going to London,
no hint of any such intention having before this reached her ear.

In the course of the afternoon, Lady Ogram had held private colloquy
with her guest from the brilliant world, a conversation more
intimate on her part than any that had ever passed between them.
Such expansion was absolutely necessary to the agitated old lady,
and she deemed it good fortune that a confidante in whom she put so
much trust chanced to be near her. Speaking of Lashmar, she
mentioned his acquaintance with Lord Dymchurch, and inquired whether
Mrs. Toplady knew that modest peer.

"He is only a name to me," was the reply, "and I should rather like
to see him in the flesh. Mr. Lashmar must bring him to Pont Street--if
he can."

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