Kitobni o'qish: «That Stick», sahifa 3

CHAPTER VI
THE WEIGHT OF HONOURS

The next was a fortnight of strange and new experiences.  Lord Northmoor spent most of his days over the papers in the office, so much his usual self, that Mr. Burford generally forgot, and called to him as ‘Morton’ so naturally that after the first the other clerks left off sniggering.

There Sir Edward called on him, and in an interview in his sitting-room at the office asked him to a quiet dinner, together with the solicitor; but this was hardly a success, for Mr. Burford, being at home with the family, did all the talking, and Frank could not but feel in the presence of his master, and had not a word to say for himself, especially as George and Freda looked critical, and as if ‘That stick’ was in their minds, if not on their lips.  The only time when he approached a thaw was when in the hot summer evening Lady Kenton made him her companion in a twilight stroll on the terraces, when he looked at the roses with delight, and volunteered a question about the best sorts, saying that the garden at Northmoor had been much neglected, and he wanted to have it in good order, ‘that is’—blushing and correcting himself—‘if we can live there.’

Lady Kenton noted the ‘we’ and was sorry to be here interrupted.  ‘We shall do nothing with him till we get him alone,’ she said.  ‘We must have him apart from Mr. Burford.’

Before this, however, they had to meet him at a very splendid party, given with all the resources of the Burford family at their villa, when the county folks, who had no small curiosity to see the new peer, were invited in full force, and the poor peer felt capable of fewer words than ever to throw at them.

Lady Kenton ventured on asking Mrs. Burford to introduce her to Miss Marshall, taking such presence for granted.

‘Oh, Lady Kenton, really now I did not think that foolish affair should be encouraged.  It is such an unfortunate thing for him; and as Miss Lang and I agreed, it would be so much better for both of them if it were given up.’

‘Is there anything against her?’

‘Oh no, not at all; only that, poor thing, she is quite unfitted for the position, and between ourselves, in the condition of the property, it is really incumbent on his Lordship to marry a lady of fortune.  At his age he cannot afford romance,’ she added with a laugh, being in fact rather inferior to her husband in tone, or perhaps in manners.  Indeed, she was of all others the person who most shrivelled up the man whom she had always treated like a poor dependent, till her politeness became still more embarrassing.  Among all the party, Sir Edward and Lady Kenton were those with whom he was most nearly at ease, for they had nothing to revoke in their manners towards him, and could, without any change, treat him as an equal whom they respected; nor did they try to force him forward into general conversation—as did his host—with the best intentions.

Lady Kenton, under cover of Miss Burford’s piano, asked him whether she might call on Miss Marshall, and saw him flush with gratitude and pleasure, as he answered, ‘It will be very kind in you.’

Lady Kenton knew enough of the ways of the school to understand when to make her visit, so as to have a previous conversation with Miss Lang, whom of course she already knew.  That lady received her in one of the drawing-rooms, the folding doors into the other were shut.

‘I have told Miss Marshall,’ said Miss Lang, ‘that the room is always at her service to receive Lord Northmoor, though, in fact, he never comes till after business hours.’

‘He is behaving very well.’

‘Very honourably indeed; but poor Miss Marshall is in a very distressing position.’

‘Indeed!  Is she not very happy in his constancy?’

‘She is in great doubt and difficulty,’ said Miss Lang, ‘and we really hardly know how to advise her.  She seems sure of his affection, but she shrinks from entering on a position for which she is so unfit.’

‘Is she really unfit?’

Miss Lang hesitated.  ‘She is a complete lady, and as good and conscientious a creature as ever existed; but you see, Lady Kenton, her whole life has been spent here, ever since she was sixteen, she has known nothing beyond the schoolroom, and how she is ever to fulfil the duties of a peeress, and the head of a large establishment, I really cannot see.  It might be just misery to her, and to him, too.’

‘Has she good sense?’

‘Yes, very fair sense.  We can trust to her judgment implicitly in dealing with the girls, and she teaches well, but she is not at all clever, and could never shine.’

‘Perhaps a person who wanted to shine might be embarrassing,’ said Lady Kenton, rather amused.

‘Well, it might be so.  The poor man is certainly no star himself, but surely he needs some one who would draw him out, and push him forward, make a way in society, in fact.’

‘That might not be for his domestic happiness.’

‘Perhaps not, but your Ladyship has not seen what a poor little insignificant creature she is—though, indeed, we are both very fond of her, and should be very much relieved not to think we ought to strengthen her scruples.  For, indeed,’ and tears actually came into the good lady’s eyes, ‘I am sure that though she would release him for his good, that it would break her heart.  Shall I call her?  Ah!’ as a voice began to become very audible on the other side of the doors, ‘she has a visitor.’

‘Not Lord Northmoor.  It is a woman’s voice, and a loud one.’

Presently, indeed, there was a tone that made Lady Kenton say, ‘People do scent things very fast.  It must be some one wanting to apply for patronage.’

‘I am a little afraid it is that sister-in-law of his,’ said Miss Lang, lowering her voice.  ‘I saw her once at the choral festival—and—and I wasn’t delighted.’

‘Perhaps I had better come another day,’ said Lady Kenton.  ‘We seem to be almost listening.’

Even as the lady was taking her leave, the words were plainly heard—

‘Artful, mean-spirited, time-serving viper as you are, bent on dragging him down to destruction!’

CHAPTER VII
MORTONS AND MANNERS

‘Shillyshally,’ quoth Mrs. Charles Morton over her brother-in-law’s letter.  ‘Does he think a mother is to be put off like that?’

So she arrayed herself in panoply of glittering jet and nodding plumes, and set forth by train to Hurminster to assert her rights, and those of her children, armed with a black sunshade, and three pocket-handkerchiefs.  She did not usually wear mourning, but this was an assertion of her nobility.

In his sitting-room, wearing his old office coat, pale, wearied, and worried, the Frank Morton, ‘who could be turned round the finger of any one who knew how,’ appeared at her summons.

She met him with an effusive kiss of congratulation.  ‘Dearest Frank!  No, I must not say Frank!  I could hardly believe my eyes when I read the news.’

‘Nor I,’ said he.

‘Nor the dear children.  Oh, if your dear brother were only here!  We are longing to hear all about it,’ she said, as she settled herself in the arm-chair, a relic of his mother.

He repeated what he had told Mary about the family, the Park, and the London house.

‘I suppose there is a fine establishment of servants and carriages?’

‘The servants are to be paid off.  As to the carriages and the rest of the personal property, they go to Miss Morton; but the executors are arranging about my paying for such furniture as I shall want.’

‘And jewels?’

‘There are some heirlooms, but I have not seen them.  How are the children?’

‘Very well; very much delighted.  Dear Herbert is the noblest boy.  He was ready to begin on his navigation studies this next term, but of course there is no occasion for that now.’

‘It is a pity, with his taste for the sea, that he is too old to be a naval cadet.’

‘The army is a gentleman’s profession, if he must have one.’

‘I must consider what is best for him.’

‘Yes, my Lord,’ impressively.  ‘I am hoping to know what you mean to do for your dear brother’s dear orphans,’ and her handkerchief went up to her eyes.

‘I hope at any rate to give Herbert the education of a gentleman, and to send his sisters to good schools.  How are they getting on?’

‘Dear Ida, she is that clever and superior that a master in music and French is all she would want.  Besides, you know, she is that delicate.  Connie is the bookish one; she is so eager about the examination that she will go on at her school; though I would have taken her away from such a low place at once.’

‘It is a good school, and will have given her a good foundation.  I must see what may be best for them.’

‘And, of course, you will put us in a situation becoming the family of your dear brother,’ she added, with another application of the handkerchief.

‘I mean to do what I can, you may be sure, but at present it is impossible to name any amount.  I neither know what income is coming to me, nor what will be my expenses.  I meant to come and see you as soon as there was anything explicit to tell you; but of course this first year there will be much less in hand than later.’

‘Well,’ she said, pouting, ‘I can put up with something less in the meantime, for of course your poor dear brother’s widow and children are your first consideration, and even a nobleman as a bachelor cannot have so many expenses.’

‘I shall not long continue a bachelor,’ was the answer, given with a sort of shy resolution.

‘Now, Lord Northmoor!  You don’t mean to say that you intend to go on with that ridiculous affair; when, if you marry at all, it ought to be one who will bring something handsome into the family.’

‘Once for all, Emma, I will hear no more on that subject.  A twenty years’ engagement is not lightly to be broken.’

‘A wretched little teacher,’ she began, but she was cut short.

‘Remember, I will hear no more of this, and’ (nothing but despair of other means could have inspired him) ‘it is for your own interest to abstain from insulting my future wife and myself by such remonstrances.’

Even then she muttered, ‘Very hard!  Not even good-looking.’

‘That is as one may think,’ said he, mentally contrasting the flaunting, hardened complexion before him with the sweet countenance he had never perceived to be pinched or faded; and as he heard something between a scornful sniff and a sob, he added, ‘I am wanted in the office, so, if you have no more to say of any consequence, I must leave you, and Hannah shall give you some tea.’

‘Oh, oh, that you should leave your poor brother’s widow in this way!’ and she melted into tears and sobs.

‘I can’t help it, Emma,’ he said, distressed and perplexed.  ‘They want me about some business of Mr. Claughton’s, and I can’t keep them waiting.  These are office hours, you know.  Have some tea, and I will come to you again.’

But Mrs. Emma swallowed her sobs as soon as he was gone, and instead of waiting for the tea, set forth for Miss Lang’s.  On asking for Miss Marshall she was shown into the drawing-room, where, after she had waited a few minutes, nursing her wrath to keep it warm, the small figure appeared, whom she had no hesitation in accosting thus—

‘Now, Miss Marshall, do I understand that you are resolved to attempt thrusting yourself on his Lordship, Lord Northmoor’s family?’

Mary, entirely taken by surprise, could only falter, ‘I can only do whatever he wishes.’

‘That is just a mere pretence.  I wonder you are not ashamed to play on his honourable feelings, when you know everything is changed, and that it is absolutely ridiculous and derogatory for a peer of the realm to stoop to a mere drudge of a teacher.’

‘It is,’ owned Mary; but she went back to her formulary, ‘it must be as he wishes.’

‘If he is infatuated enough to pretend to wish it, I tell you it is your simple duty to refuse him.’

Whatever might be Mary’s own views of her duty, to have it inculcated in such a manner stirred her whole soul into opposition, which was shown, not in words, but in a tiny curve of the lips, such as infuriated her visitor, so that vulgarity and violence were under no restraint, and whether all self-command was lost in passion, or whether there was an idea that bullying might gain the day, Mrs. Morton’s voice rose into a shrill scream as she denounced the nasty, mean-spirited viper, worming herself—

The folding doors suddenly opened and in a dignified tone Miss Lang announced, ‘Lady Kenton wishes to be introduced to you, Miss Marshall.’

Mary made her little formal bend as well as her trembling limbs would allow her.  Her cheeks were hot, her eyes swam, her hand shook as Lady Kenton took it kindly, while Mrs. Morton, too strong in her own convictions to perceive how the land lay, exclaimed, ‘Your Ladyship is come for the same purpose as me, to let Miss Marshall know how detrimental and improper it is in her to persist in holding my brother, Lord Northmoor, to the unfortunate engagement she inveigled him into.’

To utter this with moderate coolness cost such an effort that she thought Mr. Rollstone could not have done it better, and was astonished when Lady Kenton replied, ‘Indeed, I came to have the pleasure of congratulating Miss Marshall on, if it be not impertinent to say so, a beautiful and rare perseverance and constancy being rewarded.’

‘As if she had not known what she was about,’ muttered Mrs. Morton, not even yet quite confounded, but as she saw the lady lay another hand over that of still trembling Mary, she added, ‘Well, if that is the case, my lady, and she is to be encouraged in her obstinacy, I have no more to say, except that it is a cruel shame on his poor dear brother’s children, that—that he has made so much of, and have the best right—’ and she began to sob again.

‘Come,’ said Miss Lang, as if talking to a naughty girl, ‘if you are overcome like that, you had better come away.’

Wherewith authoritative habits made it possible to her to get Mrs. Morton out of the room; while Mary, well used to self-restraint, was struggling with choking tears, but when warm-hearted Lady Kenton drew her close and kissed her, they began to flow uncontrollably, so that she could only gasp, ‘Oh, I beg your pardon, my lady!’

‘Never mind,’ was the answer; ‘I don’t wonder!  There’s no word for that language but brutal.’

‘Oh, don’t,’ was Mary’s cry.  ‘She is his, Lord Northmoor’s sister-in-law, and he has done everything for her ever since his brother’s death.’

‘That is no reason she should speak to you in that way.  I must ask you to excuse me, but we could not help hearing, she was so loud, and then I felt impelled to break in.’

‘It was very very kind!  But oh, I wish I knew whether she is not in the right after all!’

‘I am sure Lord Northmoor is deeply attached—quite in earnest,’ said Lady Kenton, feeling rather as if she was taking a liberty.

‘Yes, I know it would grieve him most dreadfully, if it came to an end now, dear fellow.  I know it would break my heart, too, but never mind that, I would go away, out of his reach, and he might get over it.  Would it not be better than his being always ashamed of an inferior, incompetent creature, always dragging after him?’

‘I do not think you can be either, after what my daughter and Miss Lang have told me.’

‘You see, it is not even as if I had been a governess in a private family, I have always been here.  I know nothing about servants, or great houses, or society, not so much as our least little girl, who has a home.’

‘May I tell you what I think, my dear,’ said Lady Kenton, greatly touched.  ‘You have nothing to unlearn, and there is nothing needful to the position but what any person of moderate ability and good sense can acquire, and I am quite sure that Lord Northmoor would be far less happy without you, even in the long-run, besides the distress you would cause him now.  It is not a brilliant, showy person that he needs, but one to understand and make him a real home.’

‘That is what he is always telling me,’ said Mary, somewhat cheered.

‘Yes, and he could not help showing where his heart is,’ said the lady.  ‘Now the holidays are near, are they not?’

‘The 11th of July.’

‘Then, if you have no other plans, will you come and stay with me?  We are very quiet people, but you would have an opportunity of understanding something of the kind of life.’

‘Oh, how very kind of you!  Nobody has been so good to me.’

‘I think I can help you in some of the difficulties if you will let me,’ said Lady Kenton, quite convinced herself, and leaving a much happier woman than she had found.

CHAPTER VIII
SECOND THOUGHTS

Though Miss Lang was shocked and indignant at Mrs. Morton’s violence, she was a wise woman, and felt that it would be better tact not to let such a person depart without an attempt at pacification; so she did her best at dignified soothing, and listened to a good deal of grumbling and lamentation.

She contrived, however, to give the impression that as things stood, Mrs. Morton would be far wiser to make no more resistance, but to consult family peace by accepting Miss Marshall, who, she assured the visitor, was a very kind and excellent person, not likely to influence Lord Northmoor against his own family, except on great provocation.

Mrs. Morton actually yielded so far as to declare she had only spoken for her dear brother-in-law’s own good, and that since he was so infatuated, she supposed, for her dear children’s sake, she must endure it.  Having no desire to encounter him again, she went off by the next train, leaving a message that she had had tea at Miss Lang’s.  She related at home to her expectant daughter that Lord Northmoor had grown ‘that high and stuck-up, there was no speaking to him, and that there Miss Marshall was an artful puss, as knew how to play her cards and get in with the quality.’

‘I wish you had taken me, ma,’ said Ida, ‘I should have known what to say to them.’

‘I can’t tell, child, you might only have made it worse.  I see how it is now, and we must be mum, or it may be the worse for us.  He says he will do what he can for us, but I know what that means.  She will hold the purse-strings, and make him meaner than he is already.  He will never know how to spend his fortune now he has got it!  If your poor, dear pa had only been alive now, he would never have let you be wronged.’

‘But you gave it to them?’ cried Ida.

‘That I did!  Only that lady, Lady Kenton, came in all stuck-up and haughty, and cut me short, interfering as she had no business to, or I would have brought Miss Mary to her marrow-bones.  She hadn’t a word to say for herself, but now she has got those fine folks on her side, the thing will go on as sure as fate.  However, I’ve done my dooty, that’s one comfort; and now, I suppose I shall have to patch it up as best I can.’

‘I wouldn’t!’ said Ida hotly.

‘Ah, Ida, my dear, you don’t know what a mother won’t do for her children.’

A sigh that was often reiterated as Mrs. Morton composed a letter to her brother-in-law, with some hints from Ida on the spelling, and some from Mr. Rollstone on the address.  The upshot was that her dear brother and his fiancée were to believe her actuated by the purest sense of the duty and anxiety she owed to them and her dear children, the orphans of his dear deceased brother.  Now that she had once expressed herself, she trusted to her dear Frank’s affectionate nature to bury all in oblivion, and to believe that she should be ready to welcome her new sister-in-law with the warmest affection.  Therewith followed a request for five pounds, to pay for her mourning and darling Ida’s, which they had felt due to him!

Lord Northmoor did not quite see how it was due to him, nor did he intend to give whatever his dear sister-in-law might demand, but she had made him so angry that he felt that he must prove his forgiveness to himself.  Mary had not thought it needful to describe the force of the attack upon herself, or perhaps his pardon might not have gone so far.  He sent the note, and added that as he was wanted at Northmoor for a day or two, he would take his nephew Herbert with him.

This was something like, as Mrs. Morton said, a kind of tangible acknowledgment of their relationship and of Herbert as his heir, and it was a magnificent thing to tell all her acquaintances that her son was gone to the family seat with his uncle, Lord Northmoor.  She would fain have obtained for him some instructions in the manners of the upper ten thousand from Mr. Rollstone, but Herbert entirely repudiated listening to that old fogey, observing that after all it was only old Frank, and he wasn’t going to bother himself for the like of him.

The uncle was fond of his brother’s boy, and had devised this plan partly for the sake of the pleasure it would give, and partly because it was impossible to form any judgment of his character while with the mother.  He was a fine, well-grown, manly boy, and when seen among his companions, had an indefinable air of good blood about him.  He had hitherto been at a good day-school which prepared boys for the merchant service, and his tastes were so much in the direction of the sea, that it was much to be regretted that at fourteen and a half it was useless to think of preparation for a naval cadetship.  He was sent up by train to join his uncle at Hurminster, and the first question after the greeting was, ‘I say, uncle, shan’t you have a yacht?’

‘I could not afford it, if I wished it,’ was the answer, while Punch was handed over to him, and Lord Northmoor applied himself to a long blue letter.

‘Landlubber!’ sighed Herbert to himself, with true marine contempt for a man who had sat on an office-stool all his life.  ‘He doesn’t look a bit more of a swell than he used to.  It is well there’s some one with some pluck in the family.’