Miss Marjoribanks

  _Chapter XLII_

  There were a great many reasons why this should be a critical period inMiss Marjoribanks's life. For one thing, it was the limit she had alwaysproposed to herself for her term of young-ladyhood; and naturally, asshe outgrew the age for them, she felt disposed to put away childishthings. To have the control of society in her hands was a great thing;but still the mere means, without any end, was not worth Lucilla'swhile--and her Thursdays were almost a bore to her in her present stageof development. They occurred every week, to be sure, as usual; but themachinery was all perfect, and went on by itself, and it was not in thenature of things that such a light adjunct of existence should satisfyLucilla, as she opened out into the ripeness of her thirtieth year. Itwas this that made Mr Ashburton so interesting to her, and his electiona matter into which she entered so warmly, for she had come to an age atwhich she might have gone into Parliament herself had there been nodisqualification of sex, and when it was almost a necessity for her tomake some use of her social influence. Miss Marjoribanks had her ownideas in respect to charity, and never went upon ladies' committees,nor took any further share than what was proper and necessary in parishwork; and when a woman has an active mind, and still does not care forparish work, it is a little hard for her to find a "sphere." AndLucilla, though she said nothing about a sphere, was still more or lessin that condition of mind which has been so often and so fully describedto the British public--when the ripe female intelligence, not having thenatural resource of a nursery and a husband to manage, turns inwards,and begins to "make a protest" against the existing order of society,and to call the world to account for giving it no due occupation--and toconsume itself. She was not the woman to make protests, nor claim forherself the doubtful honours of a false position; but she felt all thesame that at her age she had outlived the occupations that weresufficient for her youth. To be sure, there were still the dinners toattend to, a branch of human affairs worthy of the weightiestconsideration, and she had a house of her own, as much as if she hadbeen half a dozen times married; but still there are instincts which goeven beyond dinners, and Lucilla had become conscious that hercapabilities were greater than her work. She was a Power in Carlingford,and she knew it; but still there is little good in the existence of aPower unless it can be made use of for some worthy end.

  She was coming up Grange Lane rather late one evening, pondering uponthese things--thinking within herself compassionately of poor MrCavendish, a little in the same way as he had been thinking of her, butfrom the opposite point of view. For Lucilla could not but see theantithesis of their position, and how he was the foolish apprentice whohad chosen his own way and was coming to a bad end, while she was thesteady one about to ride by in her Lord Mayor's coach. And MissMarjoribanks was thinking at the same time of the other candidate, whosecanvass was going on so successfully; and that, after the election andall the excitement was over, she would feel a blank--and Lucilla did notsee how the blank was to be filled up as she looked into the future;for, as has been said, parish work was not much in her way, and for awoman who feels that she is a Power, there are so few other outlets. Shewas a little disheartened as she thought it all over. Gleams ofpossibility, it is true, crossed her mind, such as that of marrying themember for Carlingford, for instance, and thus beginning a new and moreimportant career; but she was too experienced a woman not to be awareby this time, that possibilities which did not depend upon herself alonehad better not be calculated upon. And there did occur to her, amongother things, the idea of making a great Experiment which could becarried out only by a woman of genius--of marrying a poor man, andaffording to Carlingford and England an example which might influenceunborn generations. Such were the thoughts that were passing through hermind when, to her great surprise, she came up to her father, walking upGrange Lane over the dirty remains of the snow--for there was a greatdeal of snow that year. It was so strange a sight to see Dr Marjoribankswalking that at the first glance Lucilla was startled, and thoughtsomething was the matter; but, of course, it all arose from a perfectlynatural and explainable cause.

  "I have been down to see Mrs Chiley," said the Doctor; "she has herrheumatism very bad again; and the horse has been so long out that Ithought I would walk home. I think the old lady is a little upset aboutCavendish, Lucilla. He was always a pet of hers."

  "Dear Mrs Chiley! she is not very bad, I hope?" said Miss Marjoribanks.

  "Oh, no, she is not very bad," said the Doctor, in a dreary tone. "Thepoor old machine is just about breaking up, that is all. We can cobbleit this once, but next time perhaps----"

  "Don't talk in such a disheartening way, papa," said Lucilla. "I am sureshe is not so very old."

  "We're all pretty old, for that matter," said the Doctor; "we can't runon for ever, you know. If you had been a boy like that stupid fellowTom, you might have carried on my practice, Lucilla--and even extendedit, I shouldn't wonder," Dr Marjoribanks added, with a little grunt, aswho should say _that_ is the way of the world.

  "But I am not a boy," said Lucilla mildly; "and even if I had been, youknow, I might have chosen another profession. Tom never had any turn formedicine that I ever heard of----"

  "I hope you know pretty well about all the turns he ever had with thatold--woman," said the Doctor, pulling himself up sharply, "always atyour ear. I suppose she never talks of anything else. But I hope youhave too much sense for that sort of thing, Lucilla. Tom will never beanything but a poor man if he were to live a hundred years."

  "Perhaps not, papa," said Lucilla, with a little sigh. The Doctor knewnothing about the great social experiment which it had entered into MissMarjoribanks's mind to make for the regeneration of her contemporariesand the good of society, or possibly he might not have distinguished Tomby that particular title. Was it he, perhaps, who was destined to be thehero of a domestic drama embodying the best principles of that MoralPhilosophy which Lucilla had studied with such success at MountPleasant? She did not ask herself the question, for things had not asyet come to that point, but it gleamed upon her mind as by a side-light.

  "I don't know how you would get on if you were poor," said the Doctor."I don't think that would suit you. You would make somebody a capitalwife, I can say that for you, Lucilla, that had plenty of money and aliberal disposition like yourself. But poverty is another sort of thing,I can tell you. Luckily you're old enough to have got over all thelove-in-a-cottage ideas--if you ever had them," Dr Marjoribanks added.He was a worldly man himself, and he thought his daughter a worldlywoman; and yet, though he thoroughly approved of it, he still despisedLucilla a little for her prudence, which is a paradoxical state of mindnot very unusual in the world.

  "I don't think I ever had them," said Lucilla; "not that kind ofpoverty. I know what a cottage means; it means a wretched man, alwaysabout the house with his feet in slippers, you know--what poor dear MrCavendish would come to if he was poor----"

  The Doctor laughed, though he had not seemed up to this moment muchdisposed for laughing. "So that is all your opinion of Cavendish," hesaid; "and I don't think you are far wrong either; and yet that was ayoung fellow that might have done better," Dr Marjoribanks saidreflectively, perhaps not without a slight prick of conscience that hehad forsaken an old friend.

  "Yes," said Lucilla, with a certain solemnity--"but you know, papa, if aman will not when he may----" And she sighed, though the Doctor, whohad not been thinking of Mr Cavendish's prospects in that light, laughedonce more; but it was a sharp sort of sudden laugh without much heart init. He had most likely other things of more importance in his mind.

  "Well, there have been a great many off and on since that time," hesaid, smiling rather grimly. "It is time you were thinking about itseriously, Lucilla. I am not so sure about some things as I once was,and I'd rather like to see you well settled before----It's a kind ofprejudice a man has," the Doctor said abruptly, which, whatever he mightmean by it, was a dismal sort of speech to make.

  "Before what, papa?" asked Lucilla, with a little alarm.
r />   "Tut--before long, to be sure," he said impatiently. "Ashburton wouldnot be at all amiss if he liked it and you liked it; but it's no usemaking any suggestions about those things. So long as you don't marry afool----" Dr Marjoribanks said, with energy. "I know--that is, ofcourse, I've _seen_ what that is; you can't expect to get perfection, asyou might have looked for perhaps at twenty; but I advise you to marry,Lucilla. I don't think you are cut out for a single woman, for my part."

  "I don't see the good of single women," said Lucilla, "unless they areawfully rich; and I don't suppose I shall ever be awfully rich. But,papa, so long as I can be a comfort to you----"

  "Yes," said the Doctor, with that tone which Lucilla could rememberfifteen years ago, when she made the same magnanimous suggestion, "but Ican't live for ever, you know. It would be a pity to sacrifice yourselfto me, and then perhaps next morning find that it was a uselesssacrifice. It very often happens like that when self-devotion is carriedtoo far. You've behaved very well, and shown a great deal of good sense,Lucilla--more than I gave you credit for when you commenced--I may saythat; and if there was to be any change, for instance----"

  "What change?" said Lucilla, not without some anxiety; for it was an oddway of talking, to say the least of it; but the Doctor had come to apause, and did not seem disposed to resume.

  "It is not so pleasant as I thought walking over this snow," he said; "Ican't give _that_ up, that I can see. And there's more snow in the airif I'm any judge of the weather. There--go in--go in; don't wait forme;--but mind you make haste and dress, for I want my dinner. I may haveto go down to Mrs Chiley again to-night."

  It was an odd way of talking, and it was odd to break off like this; butthen, to be sure, there was no occasion for any more conversation, sincethey had just arrived at their own door. It made Lucilla uneasy for themoment, but while she was dressing she managed to explain it to herself,and to think, after all, it was only natural that her papa should haveseen a little into the movement and commotion of her thoughts; and thenpoor dear old Mrs Chiley being so ill, who was one of his own set, so tospeak. He was quite cheerful later in the evening, and enjoyed hisdinner, and was even more civil than usual to Mrs John. And though hedid not come up to tea, he made his appearance afterwards with a flakeof new-fallen snow still upon his rusty gray whiskers. He had gone tosee his patient again, notwithstanding the silent storm outside. And hiscountenance was a little overcast this time, no doubt by the late walk,and the serious state Mrs Chiley was in, and his encounter with thesnow.

  "Oh, yes, she is better," he said. "I knew she would do this time.People at our time of life don't go off in that accidental kind of way.When a woman has been so long used to living, it takes her a time to getinto the way of dying. She might be a long time thinking about it yet,if all goes well----"

  "Papa, don't speak like that!" said Lucilla. "Dying! I can't bear tothink of such a thing. She is not so very old."

  "Such things will happen whether you can bear to think of them or not,"said the Doctor. "I said you would go down and see her to-morrow. We'veall held out a long time--the lot of us. I don't like to think of thefirst gap myself, but somebody must make a beginning, you know."

  "The Chileys were always older than you," said Mrs John. "I remember inpoor Mrs Marjoribanks's time:--they were quite elderly then, and youwere just beginning. When my Tom was a baby----"

  "We were always of the same set," said the Doctor, interrupting herwithout hesitation. "Lucilla, they say Cavendish has got hold of theRector. He has made believe to be penitent, you know. That is clevererthan anything you could have done. And if he can't be won back again itwill be serious, the Colonel says. You are to try if you can suggestanything. It seems," said the Doctor, with mingled amusement and satire,and a kind of gratification "that Ashburton has great confidence inyou."

  "It must have been the agent," said Lucilla. "I don't think any of therest of them are equal to that. I don't see, if that is the case, how weare to win him back. If Mr Ashburton had ever done anything very wicked,perhaps----"

  "You are safe to say _he_ is not penitent anyhow," said DrMarjoribanks, and he took his candle and went away with a smile. Buteither Mr Ashburton's good opinion of Lucilla, or some other notion, hadtouched the Doctor. He was not a man who said much at any time, but whenhe bade her good-night, his hand drooped upon Lucilla's shoulder, and hepatted it softly, as he might have patted the head of a child. It wasnot much, but still it was a good deal from him. To feel the lingeringtouch of her father's hand caressing her, even in so mild a way, wassomething quite surprising and strange to Miss Marjoribanks. She lookedup at him almost with alarm, but he was just then turning away with hiscandle in his hand. And he seemed to have laid aside his gloom, and evensmiled to himself as he went upstairs. "If _she_ had been the boyinstead of that young ass," he said to himself. He could not haveexplained why he was more than ordinarily hard just then upon theinnocent, far-distant Tom, who was unlucky, it is true, but not exactlyan ass, after all. But somehow it struck the Doctor more than ever howgreat a loss it was to society and to herself that Lucilla was not "theboy." She could have continued, and perhaps extended, the practice,whereas just now it was quite possible that she might drop down intoworsted-work and tea-parties like any other single woman--while Tom, whohad carried off the family honours, and was "the boy" in this limitedand unfruitful generation, was never likely to do anything to speak of,and would be a poor man if he were to live for a hundred years. Perhapsthere was something else behind that made the Doctor's brow contract alittle as he crossed the threshold of his chamber, into which, no morethan into the recesses of his heart, no one ever penetrated; but it wasthe lighter idea of that comparison, which had no actual pain in it, butonly a kind of humorous discontent, which was the last articulatethought in his mind as he went to his room and closed his door with alittle sharpness, as he always did, upon the outside world.

  Aunt Jemima, for her part, lingered a little with Lucilla downstairs."My dear, I don't think my brother-in-law looks well to-night. I don'tthink Carlingford is so healthy as it is said to be. If I were you,Lucilla, I would try and get your papa to take something," said MrsJohn, with anxiety, "before he goes to bed."

  "Dear Aunt Jemima, he never takes anything. You forget he is a doctor,"said Miss Marjoribanks. "It always puts him out when he has to go out inthe evening; and he is sad about Mrs Chiley, though he would not sayso." But nevertheless Lucilla knocked at his door when she wentupstairs. And the Doctor, though he did not open, growled within with avoice which reassured his dutiful daughter. "What should I want, do youthink, but to be left quiet?" the Doctor said. And even Mrs John, whohad waited at his door, with her candle in her hand, to hear the result,shrank within at the sound and was seen no more. And Miss Marjoribanks,too, went to her rest, with more than one subject of thought which kepther awake. In the first place, the Rector was popular in his way, and ifhe chose to call all his forces to rally round a penitent, there was nosaying what might come of it; and then Lucilla could not help going backin the most illogical manner to her father's caress, and wondering whatwas the meaning of it. Meantime the snow fell heavily outside, andwrapped everything in a soft and secret whiteness. And amid thewhiteness and darkness, the lamp burned steadily outside at thegarden-gate, which pointed out the Doctor's door amid all the closedhouses and dark garden-walls in Grange Lane--a kind of visible succourand help always at hand for those who were suffering. And though DrMarjoribanks was not like a young man making a practice, but had perfectcommand of Carlingford, and was one of the richest men in it, it waswell known in the town that the very poorest, if in extremity, in thedepths of the wildest night that ever blew, would not seek help there invain. The bell that had roused him when he was young, still hung nearhim in the silence of his closed-up house when he was old, and stillcould make him spring up, all self-possessed and ready, when the enemyDeath had to be fought with. But that night the snow cushioned the wireoutside, and even made white cornices and columns about the steady lamp,and the Do
ctor slept within, and no one disturbed him; for except MrsChiley and a few chronic patients, there was nothing particularly amissin Carlingford, and then it was Dr Rider whom all the new people wentto, the people who lived in the innumerable new houses at the other endof Carlingford, and had no hallowing tradition of the superior authorityof Grange Lane.