MY LADY’S MONEY(我的女士的钱)

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MY LADY'S MONEY

by Wilkie Collins

MY LADY'S MONEY

PERSONS OF THE STORY

Women

Lady Lydiard (Widow of Lord Lydiard) Isabel Miller (her Adopted

Daughter) Miss Pink (of South Morden) The Hon. Mrs. Drumblade (Sister

to the Hon. A. Hardyman)

Men

The Hon. Alfred Hardyman (of the Stud Farm) Mr. Felix Sweetsir

(Lady Lydiard's Nephew) Robert Moody (Lady Lydiard's Steward) Mr.

Troy (Lady Lydiard's Lawyer) Old Sharon (in the Byways of Legal

Bohemia)

Animal

Tommie (Lady Lydiard's Dog)

MY LADY'S MONEY

PART THE FIRST.

THE DISAPPEARANCE.

CHAPTER I.

OLD Lady Lydiard sat meditating by the fireside, with three letters

lying open on her lap.

Time had discolored the paper, and had turned the ink to a brownish

hue. The letters were all addressed to the same person--"THE RT. HON.

LORD LYDIARD"--and were all signed in the same way--"Your

affectionate cousin, James Tollmidge." Judged by these specimens of his

correspondence, Mr. Tollmidge must have possessed one great merit as a

letter-writer--the merit of brevity. He will weary nobody's patience, if he is

allowed to have a hearing. Let him, therefore, be permitted, in his own

high-flown way, to speak for himself.

_First Letter._--"My statement, as your Lordship requests, shall be

short and to the point. I was doing very well as a portrait-painter in the

country; and I had a wife and children to consider. Under the

circumstances, if I had been left to decide for myself, I should certainly

have waited until I had saved a little money before I ventured on the

serious expense of taking a house and studio at the west end of London.

Your Lordship, I positively declare, encouraged me to try the experiment

without waiting. And here I am, unknown and unemployed, a helpless

artist lost in London--with a sick wife and hungry children, and

bankruptcy staring me in the face. On whose shoulders does this dreadful

responsibility rest? On your Lordship's!"

_Second Letter._--"After a week's delay, you favor me, my Lord, with

a curt reply. I can be equally curt on my side. I indignantly deny that I or

my wife ever presumed to see your Lordship's name as a means of

recommendation to sitters without your permission. Some enemy has

MY LADY'S MONEY

slandered us. I claim as my right to know the name of that enemy."

_Third (and last) Letter._--"Another week has passed--and not a word

of answer has reached me from your Lordship. It matters little. I have

employed the interval in making inquiries, and I have at last discovered

the hostile influence which has estranged you from me. I have been, it

seems, so unfortunate as to offend Lady Lydiard (how, I cannot imagine);

and the all-powerful influence of this noble lady is now used against the

struggling artist who is united to you by the sacred ties of kindred. Be it so.

I can fight my way upwards, my Lord, as other men have done before me.

A day may yet come when the throng of carriages waiting at the door of

the fashionable portrait-painter will include her Ladyship's vehicle, and

bring me the tardy expression of her Ladyship's regret. I refer you, my

Lord Lydiard, to that day!"

Having read Mr. Tollmidge's formidable assertions relating to herself

for the second time, Lady Lydiard's meditations came to an abrupt end.

She rose, took the letters in both hands to tear them up, hesitated, and

threw them back in the cabinet drawer in which she had discovered them,

among other papers that had not been arranged since Lord Lydiard's death.

"The idiot!" said her Ladyship, thinking of Mr. Tollmidge, "I never

even heard of him, in my husband's lifetime; I never even knew that he

was really related to Lord Lydiard, till I found his letters. What is to be

done next?"

She looked, as she put that question to herself, at an open newspaper

thrown on the table, which announced the death of "that accomplished

artist Mr. Tollmidge, related, it is said, to the late well-known connoisseur,

Lord Lydiard." In the next sentence the writer of the obituary notice

deplored the destitute condition of Mrs. Tollmidge and her children,

"thrown helpless on the mercy of the world." Lady Lydiard stood by the

table with her eyes on those lines, and saw but too plainly the direction in

which they pointed--the direction of her check-book.

Turning towards the fireplace, she rang the bell. "I can do nothing in

this matter," she thought to herself, "until I know whether the report about

Mrs. Tollmidge and her family is to be depended on. Has Moody come

MY LADY'S MONEY

back?" she asked, when the servant appeared at the door. "Moody"

(otherwise her Ladyship's steward) had not come back. Lady Lydiard

dismissed the subject of the artist's widow from further consideration until

the steward returned, and gave her mind to a question of domestic interest

which lay nearer to her heart. Her favorite dog had been ailing for some

time past, and no report of him had reached her that morning. She opened

a door near the fireplace, which led, through a little corridor hung with

rare prints, to her own boudoir. "Isabel!" she called out, "how is Tommie?"

A fresh young voice answered from behind the curtain which closed

the further end of the corridor, "No better, my Lady."

A low growl followed the fresh young voice, and added (in dog's

language), "Much worse, my Lady--much worse!"

Lady Lydiard closed the door again, with a compassionate sigh for

Tommie, and walked slowly to and fro in her spacious drawing-room,

waiting for the steward's return.

Accurately described, Lord Lydiard's widow was short and fat, and, in

the matter of age, perilously near her sixtieth birthday. But it may be said,

without paying a compliment, that she looked younger than her age by ten

years at least. Her complexion was of that delicate pink tinge which is

sometimes seen in old women with well-preserved constitutions. Her eyes

(equally well preserved) were of that hard light blue color which wears

well, and does not wash out when tried by the test of tears. Add to this her

short nose, her plump cheeks that set wrinkles at defiance, her white hair

dressed in stiff little curls; and, if a doll could grow old, Lady Lydiard, at

sixty, would have been the living image of that doll, taking life easily on

its journey downwards to the prettiest of tombs, in a burial-ground where

the myrtles and roses grew all the year round.

These being her Ladyship's personal merits, impartial history must

acknowledge, on the list of her defects, a total want of tact and taste in her

attire. The lapse of time since Lord Lydiard's death had left her at liberty

to dress as she pleased. She arrayed her short, clumsy figure in colors that

were far too bright for a woman of her ages. Her dresses, badly chosen as

to their hues, were perhaps not badly made, but were certainly badly worn.

MY LADY'S MONEY

Morally, as well as physically, it must be said of Lady Lydiard that her

outward side was her worst side. The anomalies of her dress were matched

by the anomalies of her character. There were moments when she felt and

spoke as became a lady of rank; and there were other moments when she

felt and spoke as might have become the cook in the kitchen. Beneath

these superficial inconsistencies, the great heart, the essentially true and

generous nature of the woman, only waited the sufficient occasion to

assert themselves. In the trivial intercourse of society she was open to

ridicule on every side of her. But when a serious emergency tried the metal

of which she was really made, the people who were loudest in laughing at

her stood aghast, and wondered what had become of the familiar

companion of their everyday lives.

Her Ladyship's promenade had lasted but a little while, when a man in

black clothing presented himself noiselessly at the great door which

opened on the staircase. Lady Lydiard signed to him impatiently to enter

the room.

"I have been expecting you for some time, Moody," she said. "You

look tired. Take a chair."

The man in black bowed respectfully, and took his seat.

CHAPTER II.

ROBERT MOODY was at this time nearly forty years of age. He was

a shy, quiet, dark person, with a pale, closely-shav en face, agreeably

animated by large black eyes, set deep in their orbits. His mouth was

perhaps his best feature; he had firm, well-shaped lips, which softened on

rare occasions into a particularly winning smile. The whole look of the

man, in spite of his habitual reserve, declared him to be eminently

trustworthy. His position in Lady Lydiard's household was in no sense of

the menial sort. He acted as her almoner and secretary as well as her

steward--distributed her charities, wrote her letters on business, paid her

bills, engaged her servants, stocked her wine-cellar, was authorized to

borrow books from her library, and was served with his meals in his own

MY LADY'S MONEY

room. His parentage gave him claims to these special favors; he was by

birth entitled to rank as a gentleman. His father had failed at a time of

commercial panic as a country banker, had paid a good dividend, and had

died in exile abroad a broken-hearted man. Robert had tried to hold his

place in the world, but adverse fortune kept him down. Undeserved

disaster followed him from one employment to another, until he

abandoned the struggle, bade a last farewell to the pride of other days, and

accepted the position considerately and delicately offered to him in Lady

Lydiard's house. He had now no near relations living, and he had never

made many friends. In the intervals of occupation he led a lonely life in

his little room. It was a matter of secret wonder among the women in the

servants' hall, considering his personal advantages and the opportunities

which must surely have been thrown in his way, that he had never tempted

fortune in the character of a married man. Robert Moody entered into no

explanations on that subject. In his own sad and quiet way he continued to

lead his own sad and quiet life. The women all failing, from the handsome

housekeeper downward, to make the smallest impression on him, consoled

themselves by prophetic visions of his future relations with the sex, and

predicted vindictively that "his time would come."

"Well," said Lady Lydiard, "and what have you done?"

"Your Ladyship seemed to be anxious about the dog," Moody

answered, in the low tone which was habitual to him. "I went first to the

veterinary surgeon. He had been called away into the country; and--"

Lady Lydiard waved away the conclusion of the sentence with her

hand. "Never mind the surgeon. We must find somebody else. Where did

you go next?"

"To your Ladyship"s lawyer. Mr. Troy wished me to say that he will

have the honor of waiting on you--"

"Pass over the lawyer, Moody. I want to know about the painter's

widow. Is it true that Mrs. Tollmidge and her family are left in helpless

poverty?"

"Not quite true, my Lady. I have seen the clergyman of the parish, who

takes an interest in the case--"

MY LADY'S MONEY

Lady Lydiard interrupted her steward for the third time. "Did you

mention my name?" she asked sharply.

"Certainly not, my Lady. I followed my instructions, and described

you as a benevolent person in search of cases of real distress. It is quite

true that Mr. Tollmidge has died, leaving nothing to his family. But the

widow has a little income of seventy pounds in her own right."

"Is that enough to live on, Moody?" her Ladyship asked.

"Enough, in this case, for the widow and her daughter," Moody

answered. "The difficulty is to pay the few debts left standing, and to start

the two sons in life. They are reported to be steady lads; and the family is

much respected in the neighborhood. The clergyman proposes to get a few

influential names to begin with, and to start a subscription."

"No subscription!" protested Lady Lydiard. "Mr. Tollmidge was Lord

Lydiard's cousin; and Mrs. Tollmidge is related to his Lordship by

marriage. It would be degrading to my husband's memory to have the

begging-box sent round for his relations, no matter how distant they may

be. Cousins!" exclaimed her Ladyship, suddenly descending from the lofty

ranges of sentiment to the low. "I hate the very name of them! A person

who is near enough to me to be my relation and far enough off from me to

be my sweetheart, is a double-faced sort of person that I don't like. Let's

get back to the widow and her sons. How much do they want?"

"A subscription of five hundred pounds, my Lady, would provide for

everything--if it could only be collected."

"It _shall_ be collected, Moody! I will pay the subscription out of my

own purse." Having asserted herself in those noble terms, she spoilt the

effect of her own outburst of generosity by dropping to the sordid view of

the subject in her next sentence. "Five hundred pounds is a good bit of

money, though; isn't it, Moody?"

"It is, indeed, my Lady." Rich and generous as he knew his mistress to

be, her proposal to pay the whole subscription took the steward by surprise.

Lady Lydiard's quick perception instantly detected what was passing in his

mind.

"You don't quite understand my position in this matter," she said.

MY LADY'S MONEY

"When I read the newspaper notice of Mr. Tollmidge's death, I searched

among his Lordship's papers to see if they really were related. I discovered

some letters from Mr. Tollmidge, which showed me that he and Lord

Lydiard were cousins. One of those letters contains some very painful

statements, reflecting most untruly and unjustly on my conduct; lies, in

short," her Ladyship burst out, losing her dignity, as usual. "Lies, Moody,

for which Mr. Tollmidge deserved to be horsewhipped. I would have done

it myself if his Lordship had told me at the time. No matter; it's useless to

dwell on the thing now," she continued, ascending again to the forms of

expression which became a lady of rank. "This unhappy man has done me

a gross injustice; my motives may be seriously misjudged, if I appear

personally in communicating with his family. If I relieve them

anonymously in their present trouble, I spare them the exposure of a

public subscription, and I do what I believe his Lordship would have done

himself if he had lived. My desk is on the other table. Bring it here,

Moody; and let me return good for evil, while I'm in the humor for it!"

Moody obeyed in silence. Lady Lydiard wrote a check.

"Take that to the banker's, and bring back a five-hundred pound note,"

she said. "I'll inclose it to the clergyman as coming from 'an unknown

friend.' And be quick about it. I am only a fallible mortal, Moody. Don't

leave me time enough to take the stingy view of five hundred pounds."

Moody went out with the check. No delay was to be apprehended in

obtaining the money; the banking-house was hard by, in St. James's Street.

Left alone, Lady Lydiard decided on occupying her mind in the generous

direction by composing her anonymous letter to the clergyman. She had

just taken a sheet of note-paper from her desk, when a servant appeared at

the door announcing a visitor--

"Mr. Felix Sweetsir!"

CHAPTER III.

"MY nephew!" Lady Lydiard exclaimed in a tone which expressed

astonishment, but certainly not pleasure as well. "How many years is it

MY LADY'S MONEY

since you and I last met?" she asked, in her abruptly straightforward way,

as Mr. Felix Sweetsir approached her writing-table.

The visitor was not a person easily discouraged. He took Lady

Lydiard's hand, and kissed it with easy grace. A shade of irony was in his

manner, agreeably relieved by a playful flash of tenderness.

"Years, my dear aunt?" he said. "Look in your glass and you will see

that time has stood still since we met last. How wonderfully well you wear!

When shall we celebrate the appearance of your first wrinkle? I am too old;

I shall never live to see it."

He took an easychair, uninvited; placed himself close at his aunt's side,

and ran his eye over her ill-chosen dress with an air of satirical admiration.

"How perfectly successful!" he said, with his well-bred insolence. "What a

chaste gayety of color!"

"What do you want?" asked her Ladyship, not in the least softened by

the compliment.

"I want to pay my respects to my dear aunt," Felix answered, perfectly

impenetrable to his ungracious reception, and perfectly comfortable in a

spacious arm-chair.

No pen-and-ink portrait need surely be drawn of Felix Sweetsir--he is

too well-known a picture in society. The little lith e man, with his bright,

restless eyes, and his long iron-gray hair falling in curls to his shoulders,

his airy step and his cordial manner; his uncertain age, his innumerable

accomplishments, and his unbounded popularity--is he not familiar

everywhere, and welcome everywhere? How gratefully he receives, how

prodigally he repays, the cordial appreciation of an admiring world! Every

man he knows is "a charming fellow." Every woman he sees is "sweetly

pretty." What picnics he gives on the banks of the Thames in the summer

season! What a well-earned little income he derives from the whist-table!

What an inestimable actor he is at private theatricals of all sorts (weddings

included)! Did you never read Sweetsir's novel, dashed off in the intervals

of curative perspiration at a German bath? Then you don't know what

brilliant fiction really is. He has never written a second work; he does

everything, and only does it once. One song--the despair of professional

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MYLADY'SMONEY1MYLADY'SMONEYbyWilkieCollinsMYLADY'SMONEY2PERSONSOFTHESTORYWomenLadyLydiard(WidowofLordLydiard)IsabelMiller(herAdoptedDaughter)MissPink(ofSouthMorden)TheHon.Mrs.Drumblade(SistertotheHon.A.Hardyman)MenTheHon.AlfredHardyman(oftheStudFarm)Mr.FelixSweetsir(LadyLydiard'sNephew)RobertMoody(L...

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