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Marion Fay

<h3>CHAPTER III.</h3> <h4>ALL THE WORLD KNOWS IT.  </h4> The story was in truth all over London and half over England by the time that Lady Frances had returned to Hendon Hall. Though Vivian had made a Foreign Office secret of the affair at Gorse Hall, nevertheless it had been so commonly talked about during the last Sunday there, that Hautboy had told it all to poor Walker and to the Walker ladies. "By Jove, fancy!" Hautboy had said, "to go at once from a Post Office clerk to a duke! It's like some of those stories where a man goes to bed as a beggar and gets up as a prince. I wonder whether he likes it." Hampstead had of course discussed the matter very freely with his sister, still expressing an opinion that a man could not do other than take his father's name and his father's title. Lady Frances having thus become used to the subject was not surprised to find the following letter from her friend Lady Amaldina when she reached her home:—   <blockquote> My dearest Fanny,— I am indeed delighted to be able to congratulate you on the wonderful and most romantic story which has just been made known to us. I was never one of those who blamed you very much because you had given your affections to a man so much below you in rank. Nevertheless, we all could not but feel that it was a pity that he should be a Post Office clerk! Now, indeed, you have reason to be proud! I have already read up the subject, and I find that the Ducas di Crinola are supposed to have the very best blood in Europe. There can be no doubt that one of the family married a Bourbon before they came to the French throne. I could send you all the details, only I do not doubt that you have found it out for yourself already. Another married a second cousin of that Maximilian who married Mary of Burgundy. One of the ladies of the family is supposed to have been the wife of the younger brother of one of the Guises, though it isn't quite certain whether they were ever married. But that little blot, my dear, will hardly affect you now. Taking the name altogether, I don't think there is anything higher in all Europe. Papa says that the Di Crinolas have always been doing something in Italy in the way of politics, or rebellion, or fighting. So it isn't as though they were all washed out and no longer of any account, like some of those we read of in history. Therefore I do think that you must be a very happy girl. I do feel so completely snuffed out, because, after all, the title of Merioneth was only conferred in the time of Charles the Second. And though there was a Lord Llwddythlw before that, even he was only created by James the First. The Powells no doubt are a very old Welsh family, and it is supposed that there was some relationship between them and the Tudors. But what is that to be compared to the mediæval honours of the great House of Di Crinola? Papa seems to think that he will not have much fortune. I am one of those who do not think that a large income is at all to be compared to good birth in the way of giving real position in the world. Of course the Duke's estates are supposed to be enormous, and Llwddythlw, even as an eldest son, is a rich man; but as far as I can see there is nothing but trouble comes from it. If he has anything to do with a provincial town in the way of rents he is expected to lay the first brick of every church and institute about the place. If anything has to be opened he has to open it; and he is never allowed to eat his dinner without having to make two or three speeches before and afterwards. That's what I call a great bore. As far as I can see you will be always able to have your duke with you, because he will have no abominable public duties to look after. I suppose something will have to be done as to an income. Llwddythlw seems to think that he ought to get into Parliament. At least that is what he said to papa the other day; for I have not seen him myself for ever so long. He calls in the Square every Sunday just as we have done lunch, and never remains above two minutes. Last Sunday we had not heard of this glorious news; but papa did see him one day at the House, and that was what he said. I don't see how he is to get into the House if he is an Italian Duke, and I don't know what he'd get by going there. Papa says that he might be employed in some diplomatic position by his own Government; but I should think that the Marquis could do something for him as he has so much at his own disposition. Every acre of the Merioneth property is settled upon,—well,—whoever may happen to be the next heir. There will sure to be an income. There always is. Papa says that the young dukes are always as well off, at any rate, as the young ravens. But, as I said before, what does all this signify in comparison with Blood. It does make your position, my dear, quite another thing from what we had expected. You would have kept your title no doubt; but where would he have been? I wonder whether you will be married now before August. I suppose not, because it doesn't seem to be quite certain when that wicked papa of his died; but I do hope that you won't. A day at last has been fixed for us;—the 20th of August, when, as I told you before, Lord David is to run away instantly after the ceremony so as to travel all night and open something the next morning at Aberdeen. I mention it now, because you will be by far the most remarkable of all my bevy of twenty. Of course your name will have been in the papers before that as the future Italian Duchess. That I own will be to me a just cause of pride. I think I have got my bevy all fixed at last, and I do hope that none of them will get married before my day. That has happened so often as to be quite heart-breaking. I shall cry if I find that you are to be married first. Believe me to be Your most affectionate friend and cousin, Amaldina.   </blockquote> She wrote also to her future husband on the same subject;—   <blockquote> Dearest Llwddythlw,— It was very good of you to come last Sunday, but I wish you hadn't gone away just because the Graiseburys were there. They would not have eaten you, though he is a Liberal. I have written to Fanny Trafford to congratulate her; because you know it is after all better than being a mere Post Office clerk. That was terrible;—so bad that one hardly knew how to mention her name in society! When people talked about it, I really did feel that I blushed all over. One can mention her name now because people are not supposed to know that he has got nothing. Nevertheless, it is very dreadful. What on earth are they to live on? I have told her about the young ravens. It was papa who said that when he first heard of this Di Crinola affair. I suppose a girl ought to trust in Providence when she marries a man without a shilling. That was what papa meant. Papa says that you said that he ought to go into Parliament. But what would he get by that? Perhaps as he is in the Post Office they might make him Postmaster-General. Only papa says that if he were to go into Parliament, then he could not call himself Duca di Crinola. Altogether it seems to be very sad,—though not quite so sad as before. It is true that one of the Di Crinolas married a Bourbon, and that others of them have married ever so many royalties. I think there ought to be a law for giving such people something to live upon out of the taxes. How are they to be expected to live upon nothing? I asked papa whether he couldn't get it done; but he said it would be a money bill, and that you ought to take it up. Pray don't, for fear it should take you all August. I know you wouldn't have a scruple about putting off your own little affair, if anything of that kind were to come in the way. I believe you'd like it. Do stop a little longer when you come on Sunday. I have ever so many things to say to you. And if you can think of anything to be done for those poor Di Crinolas, anything that won't take up all August,—pray do it. Your own, Amy.   </blockquote> One more letter shall be given; the answer, namely, to the above from the lover to his future bride;—   <blockquote> Dear Amy,— I'll be at the Square on Sunday by three. I will walk out if you like, but it is always raining. I have to meet five or six conservative members later on in the afternoon as to the best thing to be done as to Mr. Green's Bill for lighting London by electricity. It would suit everybody; but some of our party, I am afraid, would go with them, and the Government is very shilly-shally. I have been going into the figures, and it has taken me all the week. Otherwise I would have been to see you. This Di Crinola affair is quite a romance. I did not mean that he ought to go into the House by way of getting an income. If he takes up the title of course he could not do so. If he takes it, he must regard himself as an Italian. I should think him quite as respectable, earning his bread as a clerk in a public office. They tell me he's a high-spirited fellow. If he is, that is what he will do. Yours affectionately, Llwddythlw.   </blockquote> When Lord Persiflage spoke of the matter to Baron d'Ossi, the Italian Minister in London, the Baron quite acknowledged the position of the young Duca, and seemed to think that very little could be wanting to the making of the young man's fortune. "Ah, yes, your Excellency," said the Baron. "He has no great estates. Here in England you all have great estates. It is very nice to have great estates. But he has an uncle who is a great man in Rome. And he will have a wife whose uncle is a very great man in London. What more should he want?" Then the Baron bowed to the Minister of State, and the Minister of State bowed to the Baron. But the surprise expressed and the consternation felt at the Post Office almost exceeded the feelings excited at the Foreign Office or among Lady Fanny's family and friends. Dukes and Ministers, Barons and Princes, are terms familiar to the frequenters of the Foreign Office. Ambassadors, Secretaries, and diplomatic noblemen generally, are necessarily common in the mouths of all the officials. But at the Post Office such titles still carried with them something of awe. The very fact that a man whom they had seen should be a Duke was tremendous to the minds of Bobbin and Geraghty; and when it became known to them that a fellow workman in their own room, one who had in truth been no more than themselves, would henceforth be called by so august a title, it was as though the heavens and the earth were coming together. It affected Crocker in such a way that there was for a time a doubt whether his senses were not temporarily leaving him,—so that confinement would become necessary. Of course the matter had found its way into the newspapers. It became known at the office on the last day of February,—two days before the return of the Rodens to London. "Have you heard it, Mr. Jerningham?" said Crocker, rushing into the room that morning. He was only ten minutes after the proper time, having put himself to the expense of a cab in his impetuous desire to be the first to convey the great news to his fellow clerks. But he had been forestalled in his own room by the energy of Geraghty. The condition of mind created in Mr. Jerningham's bosom by the story told by Geraghty was of such a nature that he was unable to notice Crocker's sin in reference to the ten minutes. "Dchuca di Crinola!" shouted Geraghty in his broadest brogue as Crocker came in; determined not to be done out of the honour fairly achieved by him. "By Jove, yes! A Duke," said Crocker. "A Duke! My own especial friend! Hampstead will be nowhere; nowhere; nowhere! Duca di Crinola! Isn't it beautiful? By George, I can't believe it. Can you, Mr. Jerningham?" "I don't know what to believe," said Mr. Jerningham. "Only he was always a most steady, well-behaved young man, and the office will have a great loss of him." "I suppose the Duke won't come and see us ever," said Bobbin. "I should like to shake hands with him once again." "Shake hands with him," said Crocker. "I'm sure he won't drop out like that;—my own peculiar friend! I don't think I ever was so fond of anybody as George Ro—, the Duca di Crinola of course I mean. By George! haven't I sat at the same table with him for the last two years! Why, it was only a night or two before he started on this remarkable tour that I spent an evening with him in private society at Holloway!" Then he got up and walked about the room impetuously, clapping his hands, altogether carried away by the warmth of his feelings. "I think you might as well sit down to your desk, Mr. Crocker," said Mr. Jerningham. "Oh, come, bother, Mr. Jerningham!" "I will not be spoken to in that way, Mr. Crocker." "Upon my word, I didn't mean anything, sir. But when one has heard such news as this, how is it possible that one should compose oneself? It's a sort of thing that never happened before,—that one's own particular friend should turn out to be the Duca di Crinola. Did anybody ever read anything like it in a novel? Wouldn't it act well? Can't I see the first meeting between myself and the Duke at the Haymarket! 'Duke,' I should say—'Duke, I congratulate you on having come to your august family title, to which no one living could do so much honour as yourself.' Bancroft should do me. Bancroft would do me to the life, and the piece should be called the Duke's Friend. I suppose we shall call him Duke here in England, and Duca if we happen to be in Italy together; eh, Mr. Jerningham?" "You had better sit down, Mr. Crocker, and try to do your work." "I can't;—upon my word I can't. The emotion is too much for me. I couldn't do it if Æolus were here himself. By the way, I wonder whether Sir Boreas has heard the news." Then he rushed off, and absolutely made his way into the room of the great potentate. "Yes, Mr. Crocker," said Sir Boreas, "I have heard it. I read the newspapers, no doubt, as well as you do." "But it's true, Sir Boreas?" "I heard it spoken of two or three days ago, Mr. Crocker, and I believe it to be true." "He was my friend, Sir Boreas; my particular friend. Isn't it a wonderful thing,—that one's particular friend should turn out to be Duca di Crinola! And he didn't know a word of it himself. I feel quite sure that he didn't know a word of it." "I really can't say, Mr. Crocker; but as you have now expressed your wonder, perhaps you had better go back to your room and do your work." "He pretends he knew it three days ago!" said Crocker, as he returned to his room. "I don't believe a word of it. He'd have written to me had it been known so long ago as that. I suppose he had too many things to think of, or he would have written to me." "Go aisy, Crocker," said Geraghty. "What do you mean by that? It's just the thing he would have done." "I don't believe he ever wrote to you in his life," said Bobbin. "You don't know anything about it. We were here together two years before you came into the office. Mr. Jerningham knows that we were always friends. Good heavens! Duca di Crinola! I tell you what it is, Mr. Jerningham. If it were ever so, I couldn't do anything to-day. You must let me go. There are mutual friends of ours to whom it is quite essential that I should talk it over." Then he took his hat and marched off to Holloway, and would have told the news to Miss Clara Demijohn had he succeeded in finding that young lady at home. Clara was at that moment discussing with Mrs. Duffer the wonderful fact that Mr. Walker and not Lord Hampstead had been kicked and trodden to pieces at Gimberley Green. But even Æolus, great as he was, expressed himself with some surprise that afternoon to Mr. Jerningham as to the singular fortune which had befallen George Roden. "I believe it to be quite true, Mr. Jerningham. These wonderful things do happen sometimes." "He won't stay with us, Sir Boreas, I suppose?" "Not if he is Duca di Crinola. I don't think we could get on with a real duke. I don't know how it will turn out. If he chooses to remain an Englishman he can't take the title. If he chooses to take the title he must be an Italian, then he'll have nothing to live on. My belief is we shan't see him any more. I wish it had been Crocker with all my heart." <div style="break-after:column;"></div>

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