Miss Marjoribanks

  _Chapter XXXIV_

  This was how the crisis came to an end, which had been of so muchinterest to the parties immediately affected. Mrs Woodburn had one ofher nervous attacks next morning, and was very ill, and alarmed DrMarjoribanks; but at her very worst moment the incorrigible mimicconvulsed her anxious medical adviser and all her attendants by a suddenadoption of the character of Mrs Mortimer, whom she must have made acareful study of the previous night. "Tell him to tell him to godownstairs," cried the half-dead patient; "I want to speak to him, andhe is not to hear;--if he were not so thoughtless, he would offer himsome lunch at least," Mrs Woodburn said pathetically, with closed eyesand a face as pale as death. "She never did anything better in herlife," Dr Marjoribanks said afterwards; and Mr Woodburn, who was fond ofhis wife in his way, and had been crying over her, burst into such anexplosion of laughter that all the servants were scandalised. And thepatient improved from that moment. She was perfectly well and in thefullest force a week afterwards, when she came to see Lucilla, who hadalso been slightly indisposed for a day or two. When Thomas had shut thedoor, and the two were quite alone, Mrs Woodburn hugged MissMarjoribanks with a fervour which up to that moment she had neverexhibited. "It was only necessary that we should get into full sympathywith each other as human creatures," she said, lifting her finger likethe Archdeacon; and for all the rest of that autumn and winter MrsWoodburn kept society in Carlingford in a state of inextinguishablelaughter. The odd thing was that Miss Marjoribanks, who had been one ofher favourite characters, disappeared almost entirely from herrepertory. Not quite altogether, because there were moments of supremetemptation which the mimic could not resist; but as a general ruleLucilla was the only woman in Carlingford who escaped the universalcritic. No sort of acknowledgment passed between them of the obligationsone had to the other, and, what was still more remarkable, no discussionof the terrible evening when Lucilla had held the Archdeacon with hereye, and prevented the volcano from exploding. Perhaps Mrs Woodburn, forher part, would have been pleased to have had such an explanation, butMiss Marjoribanks knew better. She knew it was best not to enter uponconfidences which neither could ever forget, and which might preventthem meeting with ease in the midst of the little world which knewnothing about it. What Lucilla knew, she knew, and could keep toherself; but she felt at the same time that it was best to have noexpansions on the subject. She kept it all to herself, and made thearrangements for Mrs Mortimer's marriage, and took charge of everything.Everybody said that nothing could be more perfect than the bride'stoilette, which was as nice as could be, and yet not like a _real_ brideafter all; a difference which was only proper under the circumstances;for she was married in lavender, poor soul, as was to be expected. "Youhave not gone off the least bit in the world, and it is quite a pleasureto see you," Lucilla said, as she kissed her _that_ morning--andnaturally all Carlingford knew that it was owing to her goodness thatthe widow had been taken care of and provided for, and saved up for theArchdeacon. Miss Marjoribanks, in short, presided over the ceremony asif she had been Mrs Mortimer's mother, and superintended the weddingbreakfast, and made herself agreeable to everybody. And in the meantime,before the marriage took place, most people in Carlingford availedthemselves of the opportunity of calling on Mrs Mortimer. "If she shouldhappen to be the future bishop's lady, and none of us ever to havetaken any notice of her," somebody said, with natural dismay. Lucilladid not discourage the practical result of this suggestion, but she feltan instinctive certainty in her mind that _now_ Mr Beverley would neverbe bishop of Carlingford, and indeed that the chances were Carlingfordwould never be elevated into a bishopric at all.

  It was not until after the marriage that Mr Cavendish went away. To besure, he was not absolutely present at the ceremony, but there can be nodoubt that the magnificent _parure_ which Mrs Mortimer received theevening before her marriage, "from an old friend," which madeeverybody's mouth water, and which she herself contemplated with mingledadmiration and dismay, was sent by Mr Cavendish. "Do you think it couldbe from _him_; or only from him?" the bride said, bewildered andbewildering. "I am sure he might have known I never should requireanything so splendid." But Lucilla, for her part, had no doubt whateveron the subject; and the perfect good taste of the offering made MissMarjoribanks sigh, thinking once more how much that was admirable waswasted by the fatal obstacle which prevented Mr Cavendish from aspiringto anybody higher than Barbara Lake. As for the Archdeacon, he too foundit very easy to satisfy his mind as to the donor of the emeralds. He putthem away from him severely, and did not condescend to throw a secondglance at their deceitful splendour. "Women are curiously constituted,"said Mr Beverley, who was still at the height of superiority, though hewas a bridegroom. "I suppose those sort of things give thempleasure--things which neither satisfy the body nor delight the soul."

  "If it had been something to eat, would it have pleased you better?"said Lucilla, moved for once in her life to be impertinent, like anordinary girl. For really when a man showed himself so idiotic as todespise a beautiful set of emeralds, it went beyond even the well-knowntolerance and compassionate good-humour with which Miss Marjoribanksregarded the vagaries of "the gentlemen." There is a limit in allthings, and this was going too far.

  "I said, to satisfy the body, Miss Marjoribanks," said the Archdeacon,"which is an office very temporarily and inadequately performed bysomething to eat. I prefer the welfare of my fellow-creatures to a fewglittering stones--even when they are round Her neck," Mr Beverleyadded, with a little concession to the circumstances. "Jewellery isrobbery in a great town where there is always so much to be done, and solittle means of doing it; to secure health to the people, andeducation----"

  "Yes," said Miss Marjoribanks, who knew in her heart that the Archdeaconwas afraid of her. "It is so nice of you not to say any of thosedreadful sanitary words--and I am sure you could make something verynasty and disagreeable with that diamond of yours. It is a beautifuldiamond; if I were Helen I should make you give it me," said Lucillasweetly; and the Archdeacon was so much frightened by the threat that heturned his ring instinctively, and quenched the glitter of the diamondin his closed hand.

  "It was a present," he said hastily, and went away to seek some betteroccupation than tilting with the womankind, who naturally had possessionof the bride's little house and everything in it at that interestingmoment. It was the last evening of Lucilla's reign, and she was disposedto take the full good of it. And though Mrs Mortimer's trousseau wasmodest, and not, as Lydia Brown repeated, like that of a _real_ bride,it was still voluminous enough to fill the room to overflowing, where itwas all being sorted and packed under Miss Marjoribanks's eye.

  "It is a very nice diamond indeed," said Lucilla; "if I were you I wouldcertainly make him give it to me--rings are no good to a gentleman. Theynever have nice hands, you know--though indeed when they have nicehands," said Miss Marjoribanks reflectively, "it is a great deal worse,for they keep always thrusting them under your very eyes. It is curiouswhy They should be so vain. They talk of women!" Lucilla added, withnatural derision; "but, my dear, if I were you I would make him give itme; a nice diamond is always a nice thing to have."

  "Lucilla," said the widow, "I am sure I don't know how to thank you forall you have done for me; but, dear, if you please, I would not talklike that! The gentlemen laugh, but I am sure they don't like it all thesame;" for indeed the bride thought it her duty, having won the prize inher own person, to point out to her young friend how, to attain the sameend, she ought to behave.

  Miss Marjoribanks did not laugh, for her sense of humour, as has beensaid, was not strong, but she kissed her friend with protectingtenderness. "My dear, if that had been what I was thinking of I neednever have come home," said Lucilla; and her superiority was so calmand serene, that Mrs Mortimer felt entirely ashamed of herself formaking the suggestion. The widow was simple-minded, and, like most otherwomen, it gratified her to believe that here and there, as in MissMarjoribanks's case, there existed one who was utterly indifferent tothe gent
lemen, and did not care whether they were pleased or not; whichrestored a little the balance of the world to the widow-bride, who feltwith shame that she cared a great deal, and was quite incapable of suchvirtue. As for Lucilla herself, she was not at that moment in consciousenjoyment of the strength of mind for which her friend gave her credit.On the contrary, she could not help a certain sense of surpriseddepression as she superintended the packing of the boxes. The man hadhad it in his power to propose to her, and he was going to be married toMrs Mortimer! It was not that Lucilla was wounded or disappointed, butthat she felt it as a wonderful proof of the imperfection and weaknessof human nature. Even in the nineteenth century, which has learnt somuch, such a thing was possible! It filled her with a gentle sadness asshe had the things put in, and saw the emeralds safely deposited intheir resting-place. Not that she cared for the Archdeacon, who had thusdisposed of himself; but still it was a curious fact that such a thingcould be.

  Altogether it must be admitted that at this special moment MissMarjoribanks occupied a difficult position. She had given the Archdeaconto understand that Mr Cavendish was a "_very_ particular friend"; andeven when the danger was past, Lucilla scorned to acknowledge her piousprevarications. During all this interval she continued so gracious tohim that everybody was puzzled, and Mrs Woodburn even insisted on herbrother, after all, making his proposal, which would be better late thannever.

  "I am sure she is fond of you," said the softened mimic, "and that sortof thing doesn't matter to a woman as it does to a man;" for it has beenalready said that Mrs Woodburn, notwithstanding her knack of externaldiscrimination, had very little real knowledge of character. And even atmoments, Mr Cavendish himself, who ought to have known better, was halftempted to believe that Lucilla meant it. The effect upon DrMarjoribanks was still more decided. He thought he saw in his daughterthe indications of that weakness which is sometimes so surprising inwomen, and it disturbed the Doctor's serenity; and he actually tried tosnub Lucilla on sundry occasions, with that wonderful fatuity which iscommon to men.

  "I hope when this marriage is over people will recover their senses. Ihear of nothing else," Dr Marjoribanks said one day at dessert, whenthey were alone. He took some chestnuts as he spoke, and burned hisfingers, which did not improve his temper. "That sort of rubbish, Isuppose, is much more interesting than attending to your naturalduties," the Doctor added morosely, which was not a kind of addresswhich Miss Marjoribanks was used to hear.

  "Dear papa," said Lucilla, "if I attended to my duties ever so much Icould not keep you from burning your fingers. There are some things thatpeople _must_ do for themselves," the dutiful daughter added, with asigh. Nobody could doubt who knew Lucilla that she would have gladlytaken the world on her shoulders, and saved everybody from those littlemisadventures; but how could she help it if people absolutely would nottake care of themselves?

  The Doctor smiled grimly, but he was not satisfied. He was, on thecontrary, furious in a quiet way. "I don't need at this time of day tobe told how clever you are, Lucilla," said her father; "and I thoughtyou had been superior to the ordinary folly of women----"

  "Papa, for Heaven's sake!" cried Miss Marjoribanks. She was reallyalarmed this time, and she did not hesitate to let it be apparent. "I donot mean to say that I always do precisely what I ought to do," saidLucilla; "nobody does that I know of; but I am sure I never did anythingto deserve _that_. I never was superior, and I hope I never shall be;and I know I never pretended to it," she said, with natural horror; forthe accusation, as everybody will perceive, was hard to bear.

  The Doctor laughed again, but with increased severity. "We understandall that," he said. "I am not in the secret of your actions, Lucilla. Idon't know what you intend, or how far you mean to go. The only thing Iknow is that I see that young fellow Cavendish a great deal oftener inthe house and about it than I care to see him; and I have had occasionto say the same thing before. I know nothing about his means," said DrMarjoribanks; "his property may be in the Funds, but I think it a greatdeal more likely that he speculates. I have worked hard for my money,and I don't mean it to go in that way, Lucilla. I repeat, I am not inthe secret of your proceedings----"

  "Dear papa! as if there was any secret," said Lucilla, fixing her candideyes upon her father's face. "I might pretend I did not understand youif there was anything in what you say, but I never go upon falsepretences when I can help it. I am very fond of Mr Cavendish," shecontinued regretfully, after a pause. "There is nobody in Carlingfordthat is so nice; but I don't see whom he can marry except Barbara Lake."Miss Marjoribanks would have scorned to conceal the unfeigned regretwhich filled her mind when she uttered these words. "I am dreadfullysorry, but I don't see anything that can be done for him," she said, andsighed once more. As for the Doctor, he forgot all about his chestnuts,and sat and stared at her, thinking in his ignorance that it was a pieceof acting, and not knowing whether to be angry or to yield to theamusement which began to rise in his breast.

  "He may marry half a dozen Barbara Lakes," said Dr Marjoribanks, "and Idon't see what reason we should have to interfere: so long as he doesn'twant to marry you----"

  "That would be impossible, papa," said Lucilla, with pensive gravity. "Iam sure I am very, very sorry. She has a very nice voice, but a mancan't marry a voice, you know; and if there was anything that I coulddo----I am not sure that he ever wished for _that_ either," MissMarjoribanks added, with her usual candour. "It is odd, but for all thatit is true." For it was a moment of emotion, and she could not helpgiving utterance to the surprise with which this consideration naturallyfilled her mind.

  "What is odd, and what is true?" said Dr Marjoribanks, growing more andmore bewildered. But Lucilla only put aside her plate and got up fromher chair.

  "Not any more wine, thank you," she said. "I know you don't want me anymore, and I have so much to do. I hope you will let me invite Barbarahere when they are married, and pay her a little attention; for nobodylikes her in Grange Lane, and it would be so hard upon _him_. The more Ithink of it, the more sorry I am," said Lucilla; "he deserved better,papa; but as for me, everybody knows what is my object in life."

  Thus Miss Marjoribanks left the table, leaving her father in a singularstate of satisfaction and surprise. He did not believe a word of whatshe had been saying, with that curious perversity common to the peoplewho surrounded Lucilla, and which arose not so much from doubt of herveracity as from sheer excess of confidence in her powers. He thoughtshe had foiled him in a masterly manner, and that she was only, aspeople say, amusing herself, and had no serious intentions; and helaughed quietly to himself when she left him, in the satisfaction offinding there was nothing in it. Miss Marjoribanks, for her part, wenton tranquilly with the arrangements for the marriage; one by one she wasdisembarrassing herself from the complications which had grown round herduring the first year of her reign in Carlingford; and now only the lastlinks of the difficulty remained to be unrolled.

  The explanation she had with Mr Cavendish himself was in every way moreinteresting. It happened pretty late one evening, when Lucilla wasreturning with her maid from the widow's little cottage, which was sosoon to be deserted. She was just at that moment thinking of thewistaria which had grown so nicely, and of all the trouble she had takenwith the garden. Nobody could tell who might come into it now, after shehad done so much for it; and Miss Marjoribanks could not but have amomentary sense that, on the whole, it was a little ungrateful on thepart of Mrs Mortimer, when everybody had taken such pains to make hercomfortable. At this moment, indeed, Lucilla was slightly given tomoralising, though with her usual wisdom she kept her meditations toherself. She was thinking with a momentary vexation of all the plantsthat had been put into the beds, and of so much time and troublelost--when Mr Cavendish came up to her. It was a cold evening, and therewas nothing in common between this walk and the walk they had takentogether from Grove Street to Grange Lane on an earlier occasion. Butthis time, so far from being reluctant to accompany her, Mr Cavendishcame to her side eagerly. The ma
id retired a little behind, and then thetwo found themselves in that most perfect of all positions for mutualconfidence--a street not too crowded and noisy, all shrouded in thedarkness, and yet twinkling with the friendly lights of an autumnevening. Nothing could have been more perfect than their isolation fromthe surrounding world, if they thought proper to isolate themselves; andyet it was always there to be taken refuge in if the confidence shouldreceive a check, or the mind of the chance companions change.

  "I have been trying to catch a glimpse of you for a long time," said MrCavendish, after they had talked a little in the ordinary way, aseverybody was doing in Grange Lane, about the two people henceforward tobe known in Carlingford as "the Beverleys." "But you are always so busyserving everybody. And I have a great deal to say to you that I don'tknow how to say."

  "Then don't say it, please," said Lucilla. "It is a great deal betternot. It might be funny, you know; but I am not disposed to be funnyto-night. I am very glad about Mrs Mortimer, to be sure, that she is tobe settled so nicely, and that they are going to be married at last.But, after all, when one thinks of it, it is a little vexatious. Justwhen her house was all put to rights, and the garden looking so pretty,and the school promising so well," said Lucilla; and there was a certainaggrieved tone in her voice.

  "And it is you who have done everything for her, as for all the rest ofus," said Mr Cavendish, though he could not help laughing a little; andthen he paused, and his voice softened in the darkness by Lucilla'sside. "Do not let us talk of Mrs Mortimer," he said. "I sometimes havesomething just on my lips to say, and I do not know whether I dare sayit. Miss Marjoribanks----"

  And here he came to a pause. He was fluttered and frightened, which waswhat she, and not he, ought to have been. And at the bottom of his hearthe did not wish to say it, which gave far more force to his hesitationthan simply a doubt whether he might dare. Perhaps Lucilla's heartfluttered too, with a sense that the moment which once would not havebeen an unwelcome moment, had at last arrived. Her heart, it is true,was not _very_ particularly engaged; but still she was sensible of allMr Cavendish's capacities, and was "very fond" of him, as she said; andher exertions on his behalf had produced their natural effect, and movedher affections a little. She made an involuntary pause for the hundredthpart of a minute, and reckoned it all up again, and asked herselfwhether it were possible. There was something, in the first place,becoming and suitable in the idea that she, who was the only person whoknew his secret, should take him and it together and make the best ofthem. And Lucilla had the consciousness that she could indeed make agreat deal of Mr Cavendish. Nobody had ever crossed her path of whom somuch could be made; and as for any further danger of his real origin andposition being found out and exposed to the world, Miss Marjoribanks wascapable of smiling at that when the defence would be in her own hands.She might yet accept him, and have him elected member for Carlingford,and carry him triumphantly through all his difficulties. For a smallpart--nay, even for the half of a minute--Lucilla paused, and made arapid review of the circumstances, and reconsidered her decision.Perhaps if Mr Cavendish had been really in earnest, that which was onlya vague possibility might have become, in another minute, a fact andreal. It was about the first time that her heart had found anything tosay in the matter; and the fact was that it actually fluttered in herreasonable bosom, and experienced a certain _malaise_ which was quitenew to her. Was it possible that she could be in love with Mr Cavendish?or was it merely the excitement of a final decision which made thatunusual commotion far away down at the bottom of Lucilla's heart?

  However that might be, Miss Marjoribanks triumphed over her momentaryweakness. She saw the possibility, and at the same moment she saw thatit could not be; and while Mr Cavendish hesitated, she, who was alwaysprompt and ready, made up her mind.

  "I don't know what I have done in particular, either for her or the restof you," she said, ignoring the other part of her companion's falteringaddress, "except to help to amuse you; but I am going to do somethingvery serious, and I hope you will show you are grateful, as yousay--though I don't know what you have to be grateful about--by payinggreat attention to me. Mr Cavendish, I am going to give you goodadvice," said Lucilla; and, notwithstanding her courage, she toofaltered a little, and felt that it was rather a serious piece ofbusiness that she had taken in hand.

  "Advice?" Mr Cavendish said, like an echo of her voice; but that was allhe found time to say.

  "We are such old friends, that I know you won't be vexed," said Lucilla;"and then we understand each other. It is so nice when two peopleunderstand each other; they can say quantities of things that strangerscannot say. Mr Cavendish, you and Barbara are in love," said Lucilla,making a slight pause, and looking in his face.

  "Miss Marjoribanks!" cried the assaulted man, in the extremity of hisamazement and horror. As for Lucilla, she came a little closer to him,and shook her head in a maternal, semi-reproving way.

  "Don't say you are not," said Miss Marjoribanks; "you never coulddeceive _me_--not in anything like that. I saw it almost as soon as youmet. They are not rich, you know, but they are very nice. Mr Lake andRose," said Lucilla, with admirable prudence, keeping off the difficultsubject of Barbara herself, "are the two very nicest people I know; andeverybody says that Willie is dreadfully clever. I hope you will soon bemarried, and that you will be very happy," she continued, with aneffort. It was a bold thing to say, and Lucilla's throat even contracteda little, as if to prevent the words from getting utterance; but thenshe was not a person, when she knew a thing was right, to hesitate aboutdoing it; and in Miss Marjoribanks's mind duty went before all, as hasalready been on several occasions said.

  After this a horrible silence fell upon the two--a silence which, likedarkness, could be felt. The thunderbolt fell upon the victim'sunprotected head without any warning. The idea that Lucilla would talkto him about Barbara Lake was the very last that could have entered MrCavendish's mind. He was speechless with rage and mortification. He tookit for an insult inflicted upon him in cold blood, doing Lucilla muchinjustice as the other people who took the candid expression of hersentiments for a piece of acting. He was a gentleman, notwithstandinghis doubtful origin, and civilised down to his very finger-tips; but hewould have liked to have knocked Miss Marjoribanks down, though she wasa woman. And yet, as she was a woman, he dared not for his life make anydemonstration of his fury. He walked along by her side down into therespectable solitude of Grange Lane, passing through a bright bit ofGeorge Street, and seeing askance, by the light from the shop windows,his adviser walking beside him, with the satisfaction of a goodconscience in her face. This awful silence lasted until they reached DrMarjoribanks's door.

  "Thank you for coming with me so far," said Lucilla, holding out herhand. "I suppose I must not ask you to come in, though papa would bedelighted to see you. I am afraid you are very angry with me," MissMarjoribanks added, with a touch of pathos; "but you may be sure I wouldalways stand by _you_; and I said it because I thought it was for thebest."

  "On the contrary, I am much obliged to you," said Mr Cavendish, withquiet fury, "and deeply touched by the interest you take in myhappiness. You may be sure I shall always be grateful for it; and forthe offer of your support," said the ungrateful man, with the mosttruculent meaning. As for Miss Marjoribanks, she pressed quite kindlythe hurried hand with which he touched hers, and went in, still saying,"Good-night." She had done her duty, whatever might come of it. Herushed home furious; but she went to a little worsted-work with a mindat peace with itself and all men. She was gentler than usual even to themaids, who always found Miss Marjoribanks a good mistress--but she felta little sad in the solitude of her genius. For it is true that to bewiser and more enlightened than one's neighbours is in most cases aweariness to the flesh. She had made a sacrifice, and nobody appreciatedit. Instead of choosing a position which pleased her imagination, andsuited her energies, and did not go against her heart, Lucilla, moved bythe wisest discretion, had decided, not without regret, to give it up.She had sacr
ificed her own inclination, and a sphere in which herabilities would have had the fullest scope, to what she believed to bethe general good; and instead of having the heroism acknowledged, shewas misunderstood and rewarded with ingratitude. When Miss Marjoribanksfound herself alone in the solitude of her drawing-room, and in thestill greater solitude, as we have said, of her genius, she felt alittle sad, as was natural. But at the same moment there came intoLucilla's mind a name, a humble name, which has been often pronounced inthe pages of this history, and it gave her once more a certainconsolation. A sympathetic presence seemed to diffuse itself about herin her loneliness. There are moments when the faith of a very humbleindividual may save a great soul from discouragement; and theconsciousness of being believed in once more came with the sweetest andmost salutary effect upon Lucilla's heart.