Miss Marjoribanks

  _Chapter XVII_

  The arrival of Mr Archdeacon Beverley in Carlingford was, for manyreasons, an event of importance to the town, and especially to society,which was concerned in anything that drew new and pleasant people toGrange Lane. For one thing, it occurred at the time when that firstproposal of elevating Carlingford into a bishopric, in order to relievethe present bishop of the district of a part of his immense diocese, hadjust been mooted; and supposing this conception to be ever carried out,nobody could have been more eligible as first bishop than theArchdeacon, who was in the prime of life, and a very successfulclergyman. And then, not to speak of anything so important, his presencewas a great attraction to the country clergy, especially as he had cometo hold a visitation. Notwithstanding all this, it is impossible to denythat Mrs Chiley, his hostess, and even Miss Marjoribanks herself,regarded the manner of his first appearance with a certain displeasure.If he had only had the good sense to stay at home, and not come to seekhis entertainers! To be sure it is awkward to arrive at a house and findthat everybody is out; but still, as Mrs Chiley justly observed, theArchdeacon was not a baby, and he might have known better. "Coming toyou the very first night, and almost in his travelling things, to takethe cream off everything," the old lady said, with tears of vexation inher eyes; "and after that, what have we to show him in Carlingford,Lucilla?" As for Miss Marjoribanks, she was annoyed, but she knew thewealth of her own resources, and she was not in despair, like her oldfriend. "They never know any better," she said sympathetically. "DearMrs Chiley, there was nothing else to be expected; but, at the sametime, I don't think things are so very bad," said Lucilla; for she hadnaturally a confidence in herself of which even Mrs Chiley's admiringfaith fell short.

  The Archdeacon himself took it quite cheerfully, as if it was the mostnatural thing in the world. "I have no doubt it was a very pleasantparty, if one could have got the key-note," he said, in hisBroad-Church way, as if there was nothing more to be said on thesubject, and Lucilla's Thursday was the merest ordinary assembly. Forthere could be no doubt that he was Broad-Church, even though hisantecedents had not proclaimed the fact. He had a way of talking on manysubjects which alarmed his hostess. It was not that there was anythingobjectionable in what he said--for, to be sure, a clergyman and anarchdeacon may say a great many things that ordinary people would notlike to venture on,--but still it was impossible to tell what it mightlead to; for it is not everybody who knows when to stop, as Mr Beverleyin his position might be expected to do. It was the custom of goodsociety in Carlingford to give a respectful assent, for example, to MrBury's extreme Low-Churchism--as if it were profane, as it certainly wasnot respectable, to differ from the Rector--and to give him as wide afield as possible for his missionary operations by keeping out of theway. But Mr Beverley had not the least regard for respectability, northat respect for religion which consists in keeping as clear of it aspossible; and the way in which he spoke of Mr Bury's views wounded somepeople's feelings. Altogether, he was, as Mrs Chiley said, an anxiousperson to have in the house; for he just as often agreed with thegentlemen in their loose ways of thinking, as with the more correctopinions by which the wives and mothers who had charge of Their moralitystrove hard to keep them in the right way; and that was the reverse ofwhat one naturally expected from a clergyman. He was very nice, and hada nice position; and, under all the circumstances, it was not only aduty to pay attention to him, but a duty from which results of a mostagreeable character might spring; but still, though she could not beotherwise than kind, it would be impossible to say that it was out ofpersonal predilection that Mrs Chiley devoted herself to her guest. Sheadmitted frankly that he was not like what clergymen were in her time.For one thing, he seemed to think that every silly boy and girl ought tohave an opinion and be consulted, as if they had anything to do withit--which was just the way to turn their heads, and make them utterlyinsupportable. On the whole, perhaps, the old lady was more charitableto Mary Chiley, and understood better how it was that she, brought up insound Church principles, did not get on so well as might be desired withher husband's family, after a week of the Archdeacon. And yet he was adelightful person, and full of information, as everybody admitted; andif Carlingford should be erected into a bishopric, as would be onlyright--and if Mr Beverley should happen to be appointed bishop, as washighly probable--then it would be a pleasure to think that one had beenkind to him. At the same time, it must be owned that he showed a greatwant of tact in coming to Miss Marjoribanks's Thursday on the night ofhis arrival, and thus brushing, as it were, the very cream off hisintroduction to Grange Lane. And Mrs Chiley still sighed a little overMr Cavendish, and thought within herself that it was not his fault, butthat designing, artful creature, who was enough to lead any man wrong.For it was very clear to the meanest capacity that nobody could evercall the Archdeacon "my dear," as, with all his faults, it had beenpossible to call Mr Cavendish. And by this line of thought Mrs Chileywas led to regret Mr Cavendish, and to wonder what had become of him,and what family affairs it could be that had taken him so suddenly away.

  A great many people in Carlingford were at that moment occupied by thesame wonders and regrets. Some people thought he was frightened to findhow far he had gone with _that_ Miss Lake, and had left town for alittle to be out of the way; and some thought he must have beenspeculating, and have lost money. To tell the truth, it was very strangethat he should have disappeared so suddenly,--just at the moment, too,when old Mr Chiltern had one of his bad attacks of bronchitis, which DrMarjoribanks himself had admitted might carry him off any day. Nothingcould be more important to the future interests of young Cavendish thanto be on the spot at this critical moment, and yet he had disappearedwithout telling anybody he was going, or where he was going, which wason the whole a perfectly unexplainable proceeding. His very servants, ashad been ascertained by some inquiring mind in the community, wereunaware of his intention up to the very last moment; and certainly hehad not said good-bye to anybody before leaving Dr Marjoribanks's gardenon that Thursday evening. Mr Woodburn, who was not a person of veryrefined perceptions, was the only man who found his disappearance quitenatural. "After making such a deuced ass of himself, by George! whatcould the fellow do?" said his brother-in-law, who naturally enjoyed thediscomfiture of so near a connection; and this was no doubt aprovidential circumstance for Mrs Woodburn, who was thus saved from thenecessity of explaining or accounting for her brother's unexpecteddisappearance; but it failed to satisfy the general community, who didnot think Mr Cavendish likely to give in at the first blow even of sodistinguished an antagonist as Miss Marjoribanks. Some of the morecharitable inhabitants of Grange Lane concluded that it must be thesudden illness of some relative which had called him away; but then,though he was well known to be one of the Cavendishes, neither he norhis sister ever spoke much of their connections; and, on the whole,public opinion fluctuated between the two first suggestions--whichseemed truest to nature at least, whether or not they might be fullycorroborated by fact--which were, either that Mr Cavendish had takenfright, as he might very naturally have done, at the advanced state ofhis relations with Barbara Lake; or that he had speculated, and lostmoney. In either case his departure would have been natural enough, andneed not, perhaps, have been accomplished with quite so muchprecipitation; but still such a community as that in Grange Lane was incircumstances to comprehend how a young man might take fright and leavehome, either because of losing a lot of money, or getting entangled witha drawing-master's daughter.

  The immediate result, so far as society was concerned, was one for whichpeople did not know whether to be most glad or sorry. Mrs Woodburn, whokept half the people in Grange Lane in terror of their lives, seemed tohave lost all her inspiration now her brother was away. She did not seemto have the heart to take off anybody, which was quite a serious matterfor the amusement of the community. To be sure, some people werethankful, as supposing themselves exempted from caricature; but thenunfortunately, as has been said, the people who were most afraid for MrsWoodburn w
ere precisely those who were unworthy of her trouble, and hadnothing about them to give occupation to her graphic powers. As for MissMarjoribanks, who had supplied one of the mimic's most effectivestudies, she was much disturbed by the failure of this element ofentertainment. "I have always thought it very strange that I never hadany sense of humour," Lucilla said; "but it would not do, you know, ifall the world was like me; and society would be nothing if everybody didnot exert themselves to the best of their abilities." There was amournful intonation in Lucilla's voice as she said this; for, to tellthe truth, since Mr Cavendish's departure she had been dreadfullysensible of the utter absence of any man who could flirt. As for OsmondBrown and the other boys of his age, it might be possible to train them,but at the best they were only a provision for the future, and in themeantime Miss Marjoribanks could not but be sensible of her loss. Shelamented it with such sincerity that all the world thought her the mostperfect actress in existence. "I have nothing to say against any ofyou," Lucilla would say, contemplating with the eye of an artist theyoung men of Grange Lane who were her raw material. "I dare say you willall fall in love with somebody sooner or later, and be very happy andgood for nothing; but you are no assistance in any way to society. It isMr Cavendish I am sighing for," said the woman of genius, with thecandour of a great mind; and even Mrs Woodburn was beguiled out of herdespondency by a study so unparalleled. All this time, however, Lucillahad not forgotten the last look of her faithless admirer as he facedround upon her when Mr Archdeacon Beverley came into the room. She too,like everybody else, wondered innocently why Mr Cavendish had gone away,and when he was coming back again; but she never hinted to any one thatthe Archdeacon _had_ anything to do with it; for indeed, as she said toherself, she had no positive evidence except that of a look that theArchdeacon had anything to do with it. By which it will be seen thatMiss Marjoribanks's prudence equalled her other great qualities. Itwould be wrong to say, however, that her curiosity was not excited, andthat in a very lively way; for the vague wonder of the public mind overa strange fact, could never be compared in intensity to the surprise andcuriosity excited by something one has actually seen, and which givesone, as it were, a share in the secret,--if indeed there was a secret,which was a matter upon which Lucilla within herself had quite made upher mind.

  As for the Archdeacon, the place which he took in society was one quitedifferent from that which had been filled by Mr Cavendish, as, indeed,was natural. He was one of those men who are very strong for themasculine side of Christianity; and when he was with the ladies, he hada sense that he ought to be paid attention to, instead of taking thattrouble in his own person. Miss Marjoribanks was not a woman to beblind to the advantages of this situation, but still, as was to beexpected, it took her a little time to get used to it, and to make allthe use of it which was practicable under the circumstances--which wasall the more difficult since she was not in the least "viewy" in her ownperson, but had been brought up in the old-fashioned orthodox way ofhaving a great respect for religion, and as little to do with it aspossible, which was a state of mind largely prevalent in Carlingford.But that was not in the least Mr Beverley's way.

  It was when Lucilla's mind was much occupied by this problem that shereceived a visit quite unexpectedly one morning from little Rose Lake,who had just at that time a great deal on her mind. For it may easily besupposed that Mr Cavendish's sudden departure, which bewildered thegeneral public who had no special interest in the matter, must have hada still more overwhelming effect upon Barbara Lake, who had just beenraised to the very highest pinnacle of hope, closely touching uponreality, when all her expectations collapsed and came to nothing in amoment. She would not believe at first that it could be true; and then,when it was no longer possible to resist the absolute certainty of MrCavendish's departure, her disappointment found vent in every kind ofviolence--hysterics, and other manifestations of unreason and self-will.Rose had been obliged to leave the Female School of Design upon herpapa's overburdened shoulders, and stay at home to nurse her sister.Perhaps the little artist was not the best person to take care of asufferer under such circumstances; for she was neither unreasonable norself-willed to speak of, though perhaps a little opinionative in herway--and could not be brought to think that a whole household should bedisturbed and disordered, and a young woman in good health retire to herroom, and lose all control of herself, because a young man, with whomshe had no acquaintance three months before, had gone out of townunexpectedly. Perhaps it was a want of feeling on the part of theunsympathetic sister. She gave out that Barbara was ill, and kept up amost subdued and anxious countenance downstairs, for the benefit of thechildren and the maid-of-all-work, who represented public opinion inGrove Street; but when Rose went into her sister's room, where Barbarakept the blinds down, and had her face swollen with crying, it was witha very stern countenance that her little mentor regarded the invalid."I do not ask you to have a sense of duty," Rose said, with a certainfine disdain, "but at least you might have a proper pride." This was allshe took the trouble to say; but it must be admitted that a great dealmore to the same effect might be read in her eyes, which were generallyso dewy and soft, but which could flash on occasion. And then as theweek drew on towards Thursday, and all her representations provedunavailing to induce Barbara to get up and prepare herself for her usualduties, the scorn and vexation and impatience with which the dutifullittle soul met her sister's sullen determination that "she was notable" to fulfil her ordinary engagements, roused Rose up to a greatresolution. For her own part she was one of the people who do notunderstand giving in. "What do you mean by lying there?" she said,pounding Barbara down small and cutting her to pieces with infalliblegood sense and logic; "will that do any good? You would try to lookbetter than usual, and sing better than usual, if you had any properpride. I did not fall ill when my flounce was passed over at theexhibition. I made up my mind that very evening about the combinationfor my veil. I would die rather than give in if I were you."

  "Your flounce!" sobbed Barbara--"oh, you unfeeling insensible thing!--asif your h-heart had anything to do with--that. I only went to s-spiteLucilla--and I won't go--no more--oh, no more--now he's been anddeserted me. You can't understand my feelings--g-go away and leave mealone."

  "Barbara," said Rose, with solemnity, "I would forgive you if you wouldnot be mean. I don't understand it in one of _us_. If Mr Cavendish hasgone away, it shows that he does not care for you; and you would scornhim, and scorn to show you were thinking of him, if you had any properpride."

  But all the answer Barbara gave was to turn away with a jerk ofannoyance the old easy-chair in which she was lying buried, with herhands thrust up into her black hair, and her eyes all red; upon whichRose left her to carry out her own resolution. She was prompt in all hermovements, and she wasted no time on reconsideration. She went down intoGrange Lane, her little head erect, and her bright eyes regarding theworld with that air of frank recognition and acknowledgment which Rosefelt she owed as an artist to her fellow-creatures. They were all goodsubjects more or less, and the consciousness that she could draw themand immortalise them gave her the same sense of confidence in theirfriendliness, and her own perfect command of the situation, as a youngprincess might have felt whose rank protected her like an invisiblebuckler. Rose, too, walked erect and open-eyed, in the confidence of_her_ rank, which made her everybody's equal. It was in this frame ofmind that she arrived at Dr Marjoribanks's house, and found Lucilla, whowas very glad to see her. Miss Marjoribanks was pondering deeply on theArchdeacon at that moment, and her little visitor seemed as one sent byheaven to help her out. For to tell the truth, though Lucilla understoodall about Mr Cavendish, and men of his description, and how to managethem, and take full use of their powers, even her commandingintelligence felt the lack of experience in respect to such a case asthat of the Archdeacon, who required a different treatment to draw himout. She was thinking it over intently at the moment of Rose's arrival,for Lucilla was not a person to give up the advantages of a novelposition because
she did not quite understand it. She felt withinherself that there was no doubt a great effect might be produced if shecould but see how to do it. And it was Thursday morning, and there wasno time to lose.

  "I came to speak to you about Barbara," said Rose. "She is not fit tocome out this morning. I told her it was very ungrateful not to make aneffort after you had been so kind; but I am sorry to say she has not astrong sense of duty; and I don't think she would be able to sing or doanything but look stupid. I hope you will not think very badly of her.There are some people who can't help giving in, I suppose," said Rose,with an impatient little sigh.

  "And so this is you, you dear little Rose!" said Lucilla, "and I havenever seen you before since I came home--and you always were such a petof mine at Mount Pleasant! I can't think why you never came to see mebefore; as for me, you know, I never have any time. Poor papa has nobodyelse to take care of him, and it always was the object of my life to bea comfort to papa."

  "Yes," said Rose, who was a straightforward little woman, and not givento compliments. "I have a great deal to do too," she said; "and then allmy spare moments I am working at my design. Papa always says thatsociety accepts artists for what they can give, and does not expect themto sacrifice their time," Rose continued, with her little air ofdignity. Miss Marjoribanks knew very well that society was utterlyunconscious of the existence of the Lake family; but then there isalways something imposing in such a perfectly innocent and superbassumption as that to which the young Preraphaelite had just givenutterance; and it began to dawn upon Lucilla that here was anotherimperfectly understood but effective instrument lying ready to her hand.

  "I should like to see your design," said Miss Marjoribanks graciously."You made such a pretty little wreath for the corner of myhandkerchief--don't you remember?--all frogs' legs and things. It lookedso sweet in the old satin stitch. What is the matter with poor Barbara?I felt sure she would catch cold and lose her voice. I shall tell papato go and see her. As for to-night, it will be a dreadful loss to besure, for I never could find a voice that went so well with mine. But ifyou are sure she can't come----"

  "When people have not a sense of duty," said Rose, with an indignantsigh, "nor any proper pride,----Some are so different. Barbara ought tohave been some rich person's daughter, with nothing to do. She would notmind being of no use in the world. It is a kind of temperament I don'tunderstand," continued the little artist. All this, it is true, wasnovel to Miss Marjoribanks, who had a kind of prejudice in favour of thedaughters of rich persons who had nothing to do; but Lucilla's geniuswas broad and catholic, and did not insist upon comprehendingeverything. She gave Rose a sudden scrutinising look, and measured hermentally against the gap she had to fill. No doubt it was an experiment,and might fail signally; but then Miss Marjoribanks was always at handto cover deficiencies, and she had that confidence in herself and hergood fortune which is necessary to everybody who greatly dares.

  "You must come yourself this evening, you dear old Rose," said Lucilla."You know I always was fond of you. Oh, yes, I know you can't sing likeBarbara. But the Archdeacon is coming, who understands about art; and ifyou would like to bring your design----My principle has always been,that there should be a little of everything in society," said MissMarjoribanks. "I dare say you will feel a little strange at first withnot knowing the people, but that will soon pass off--and you _must_come."

  When she had said this, Lucilla bestowed upon little Rose a friendlyschoolfellow kiss, putting her hands upon the little artist's shoulders,and looking her full in the face as she did so. "I am sure you cantalk," said Miss Marjoribanks. She did not say "Go away now, and leaveme to my arrangements;" but Rose, who was quick-witted, understood thatthe salute was a dismissal, and she went away accordingly, tingling withpride and excitement and pleasure and a kind of pain. The idea ofpractically exemplifying, in her own person, the kind of demeanour whichsociety ought to expect from an artist had not occurred to Rose; butdestiny having arranged it so, she was not the woman to withdraw fromher responsibilities. She said to herself that it would be shabby forher who was known to have opinions on this subject, to shrink fromcarrying them out; and stimulated her courage by recourse to herprinciples, as people do who feel themselves bound to lay sacrifices onthe altar of duty. Notwithstanding this elevated view of the emergency,it must be admitted that a sudden thought of what she would wear hadflushed to Rose's very finger-tips, with a heat and tingle of which thelittle heroine was ashamed. For it was Thursday morning, and there wasnot a moment to be lost. However, after the first thrill which this ideahad given her, Rose bethought herself once more of her principles, andstilled her beating heart. It was not for her to think of what she wasto put on, she who had so often proclaimed the exemption of "a family ofartists" from the rules which weigh so hard upon the common world. "Wehave a rank of our own," she said to herself, but with that tremor whichalways accompanies the transference of a purely theoretical and evenfantastic rule of conduct into practical ground--"We are everybody'sequal, and we are nobody's equal--and when papa begins to be appreciatedas he ought to be, and Willie has made a Name----" This was always thepoint at which Rose broke off, falling into reverie that could not beexpressed in words; but she had no leisure to remark upon the chance"compositions" in the street, or the effects of light and shade, as shewent home. A sudden and heavy responsibility had fallen upon hershoulders, and she would have scorned herself had she deserted herpost.