CHAPTER XLIV
Saturday Evening and Sunday Morning
We must now go back a little and describe how Frank had been sent offon special business to London. The household at Greshamsbury was atthis time in but a doleful state. It seemed to be pervaded, from thesquire down to the scullery-maid, with a feeling that things werenot going well; and men and women, in spite of Beatrice's comingmarriage, were grim-visaged, and dolorous. Mr Mortimer Gazebee,rejected though he had been, still went and came, talking much to thesquire, much also to her ladyship, as to the ill-doings which were inthe course of projection by Sir Louis; and Frank went about the housewith clouded brow, as though finally resolved to neglect his onegreat duty.
Poor Beatrice was robbed of half her joy: over and over again herbrother asked her whether she had yet seen Mary, and she was obligedas often to answer that she had not. Indeed, she did not dare tovisit her friend, for it was hardly possible that they shouldsympathise with each other. Mary was, to say the least, stubborn inher pride; and Beatrice, though she could forgive her friend forloving her brother, could not forgive the obstinacy with which Marypersisted in a course which, as Beatrice thought, she herself knew tobe wrong.
And then Mr Gazebee came down from town, with an intimation that itbehoved the squire himself to go up that he might see certain learnedpundits, and be badgered in his own person at various dingy, dismalchambers in Lincoln's Inn Fields, the Temple, and Gray's Inn Lane. Itwas an invitation exactly of that sort which a good many years agowas given to a certain duck.
"Will you, will you--will you, will you--come and be killed?"Although Mr Gazebee urged the matter with such eloquence, the squireremained steady to his objection, and swam obstinately about hisGreshamsbury pond in any direction save that which seemed to leadtowards London.
This occurred on the very evening of that Friday which had witnessedthe Lady Arabella's last visit to Dr Thorne's house. The question ofthe squire's necessary journey to the great fountains of justice was,of course, discussed between Lady Arabella and Mr Gazebee; and itoccurred to the former, full as she was of Frank's iniquity and ofMary's obstinacy, that if Frank were sent up in lieu of his father,it would separate them at least for a while. If she could only getFrank away without seeing his love, she might yet so work upon him,by means of the message which Mary had sent, as to postpone, if notbreak off, this hateful match. It was inconceivable that a youthof twenty-three, and such a youth as Frank, should be obstinatelyconstant to a girl possessed of no great beauty--so argued LadyArabella to herself--and who had neither wealth, birth, nor fashionto recommend her.
And thus it was at last settled--the squire being a willing partyto the agreement--that Frank should go up and be badgered in lieuof his father. At his age it was possible to make it appear athing desirable, if not necessary--on account of the importanceconveyed--to sit day after day in the chambers of Messrs Slow &Bideawhile, and hear musty law talk, and finger dusty law parchments.The squire had made many visits to Messrs Slow & Bideawhile, and heknew better. Frank had not hitherto been there on his own bottom, andthus he fell easily into the trap.
Mr Oriel was also going to London, and this was another reason forsending Frank. Mr Oriel had business of great importance, which itwas quite necessary that he should execute before his marriage. Howmuch of this business consisted in going to his tailor, buying awedding-ring, and purchasing some other more costly present forBeatrice, we need not here inquire. But Mr Oriel was quite on LadyArabella's side with reference to this mad engagement, and as Frankand he were now fast friends, some good might be done in that way."If we all caution him against it, he can hardly withstand us all!"said Lady Arabella to herself.
The matter was broached to Frank on the Saturday evening, and settledbetween them all the same night. Nothing, of course, was at thatmoment said about Mary; but Lady Arabella was too full of the subjectto let him go to London without telling him that Mary was ready torecede if only he would allow her to do so. About eleven o'clock,Frank was sitting in his own room, conning over the difficultiesof the situation--thinking of his father's troubles, and his ownposition--when he was roused from his reverie by a slight tap at thedoor.
"Come in," said he, somewhat loudly. He thought it was one of hissisters, who were apt to visit him at all hours and for all mannerof reasons; and he, though he was usually gentle to them, was not atpresent exactly in a humour to be disturbed.
The door gently opened, and he saw his mother standing hesitating inthe passage.
"Can I come in, Frank?" said she.
"Oh, yes, mother; by all means:" and then, with some surprise markedin his countenance, he prepared a seat for her. Such a visit as thisfrom Lady Arabella was very unusual; so much so, that he had probablynot seen her in his own room since the day when he first left school.He had nothing, however, to be ashamed of; nothing to conceal, unlessit were an open letter from Miss Dunstable which he had in his handwhen she entered, and which he somewhat hurriedly thrust into hispocket.
"I wanted to say a few words to you, Frank, before you start forLondon about this business." Frank signified by a gesture, that hewas quite ready to listen to her.
"I am so glad to see your father putting the matter into your hands.You are younger than he is; and then--I don't know why, but somehowyour father has never been a good man of business--everything hasgone wrong with him."
"Oh, mother! do not say anything against him."
"No, Frank, I will not; I do not wish it. Things have beenunfortunate, certainly. Ah me! I little thought when I married--but Idon't mean to complain--I have excellent children, and I ought to bethankful for that."
Frank began to fear that no good could be coming when his motherspoke in that strain. "I will do the best I can," said he, "up intown. I can't help thinking myself that Mr Gazebee might have done aswell, but--"
"Oh, dear no; by no means. In such cases the principal must showhimself. Besides, it is right you should know how matters stand. Whois so much interested in it as you are? Poor Frank! I so often feelfor you when I think how the property has dwindled."
"Pray do not mind me, mother. Why should you talk of it as my matterwhile my father is not yet forty-five? His life, so to speak, is asgood as mine. I can do very well without it; all I want is to beallowed to settle to something."
"You mean a profession."
"Yes; something of that sort."
"They are so slow, dear Frank. You, who speak French so well--Ishould think my brother might get you in as attache to some embassy."
"That wouldn't suit me at all," said Frank.
"Well, we'll talk about that some other time. But I came aboutsomething else, and I do hope you will hear me."
Frank's brow again grew black, for he knew that his mother was aboutto say something which it would be disagreeable for him to hear.
"I was with Mary, yesterday."
"Well, mother?"
"Don't be angry with me, Frank; you can't but know that the fateof an only son must be a subject of anxiety to a mother." Ah! howsingularly altered was Lady Arabella's tone since first she had takenupon herself to discuss the marriage prospects of her son! Then howautocratic had she been as she sent him away, bidding him, with fullcommand, to throw himself into the golden embraces of Miss Dunstable!But now, how humble, as she came suppliantly to his room, cravingthat she might have leave to whisper into his ears a mother's anxiousfears! Frank had laughed at her stern behests, though he had halfobeyed them; but he was touched to the heart by her humility.
He drew his chair nearer to her, and took her by the hand. But she,disengaging hers, parted the hair from off his forehead, and kissedhis brow. "Oh, Frank," she said, "I have been so proud of you, amstill so proud of you. It will send me to my grave if I see you sinkbelow your proper position. Not that it will be your fault. I am sureit will not be your fault. Only circumstanced as you are, you shouldbe doubly, trebly, careful. If your father had not--"
"Do not speak against my father."
"No, Frank
; I will not--no, I will not; not another word. And now,Frank--"
Before we go on we must say one word further as to Lady Arabella'scharacter. It will probably be said that she was a consummatehypocrite; but at the present moment she was not hypocritical. Shedid love her son was anxious--very, very anxious for him; was proudof him, and almost admired the very obstinacy which so vexed her toher inmost soul. No grief would be to her so great as that of seeinghim sink below what she conceived to be his position. She was asgenuinely motherly, in wishing that he should marry money, as anotherwoman might be in wishing to see her son a bishop; or as the Spartanmatron, who preferred that her offspring should return on his shield,to hearing that he had come back whole in limb but tainted in honour.When Frank spoke of a profession, she instantly thought of what Lordde Courcy might do for him. If he would not marry money, he might, atany rate, be an attache at an embassy. A profession--hard work, asa doctor, or as an engineer--would, according to her ideas, degradehim; cause him to sink below his proper position but to dangle ata foreign court, to make small talk at the evening parties of alady ambassadress, and occasionally, perhaps, to write demi-officialnotes containing demi-official tittle-tattle; this would be in properaccordance with the high honour of a Gresham of Greshamsbury.
We may not admire the direction taken by Lady Arabella's energy onbehalf of her son, but that energy was not hypocritical.
"And now, Frank--" She looked wistfully into his face as sheaddressed him, as though half afraid to go on, and begging that hewould receive with complaisance whatever she found herself forced tosay.
"Well, mother?"
"I was with Mary, yesterday."
"Yes, yes; what then? I know what your feelings are with regard toher."
"No, Frank; you wrong me. I have no feelings against her--none,indeed; none but this: that she is not fit to be your wife."
"I think her fit."
"Ah, yes; but how fit? Think of your position, Frank, and what meansyou have of keeping her. Think what you are. Your father's only sonthe heir to Greshamsbury. If Greshamsbury be ever again more than aname, it is you that must redeem it. Of all men living you are theleast able to marry a girl like Mary Thorne."
"Mother, I will not sell myself for what you call my position."
"Who asks you? I do not ask you; nobody asks you. I do not want youto marry any one. I did think once--but let that pass. You are nowtwenty-three. In ten years' time you will still be a young man. Ionly ask you to wait. If you marry now, that is, marry such a girl asMary Thorne--"
"Such a girl! Where shall I find such another?"
"I mean as regards money, Frank; you know I mean that; how are you tolive? Where are you to go? And then, her birth. Oh, Frank, Frank!"
"Birth! I hate such pretence. What was--but I won't talk about it.Mother, I tell you my word is pledged, and on no account will I beinduced to break it."
"Ah, that's just it; that's just the point. Now, Frank, listen to me.Pray listen to me patiently for one minute. I do not ask much ofyou."
Frank promised that he would listen patiently; but he looked anythingbut patient as he said so.
"I have seen Mary, as it was certainly my duty to do. You cannot beangry with me for that."
"Who said that I was angry, mother?"
"Well, I have seen her, and I must own, that though she was notdisposed to be courteous to me, personally, she said much that markedher excellent good sense. But the gist of it was this; that as shehad made you a promise, nothing should turn her from that promise butyour permission."
"And do you think--"
"Wait a moment, Frank, and listen to me. She confessed that thismarriage was one which would necessarily bring distress on all yourfamily; that it was one which would probably be ruinous to yourself;that it was a match which could not be approved of: she did, indeed;she confessed all that. 'I have nothing', she said--those were herown words--'I have nothing to say in favour of this engagement,except that he wishes it.' That is what she thinks of it herself.'His wishes are not a reason but a law,' she said--"
"And, mother, would you have me desert such a girl as that?"
"It is not deserting, Frank: it would not be deserting: you would bedoing that which she herself approves of. She feels the improprietyof going on but she cannot draw back because of her promise to you.She thinks that she cannot do it, even though she wishes it."
"Wishes it! Oh, mother!"
"I do believe she does, because she has sense to feel the truth ofall that your friends say. Oh, Frank, I will go on my knees to you ifyou will listen to me."
"Oh, mother! mother! mother!"
"You should think twice, Frank, before you refuse the only requestyour mother ever made you. And why do I ask you? why do I come to youthus? Is it for my own sake? Oh, my boy! my darling boy! will youlose everything in life, because you love the child with whom youhave played as a child?"
"Whose fault is it that we were together as children? She is now morethan a child. I look on her already as my wife."
"But she is not your wife, Frank; and she knows that she ought not tobe. It is only because you hold her to it that she consents to beso."
"Do you mean to say that she does not love me?"
Lady Arabella would probably have said this, also, had she dared;but she felt, that in doing so, she would be going too far. It wasuseless for her to say anything that would be utterly contradicted byan appeal to Mary herself.
"No, Frank; I do not mean to say that you do not love her. WhatI do mean is this: that it is not becoming in you to give upeverything--not only yourself, but all your family--for such a loveas this; and that she, Mary herself, acknowledges this. Every one isof the same opinion. Ask your father: I need not say that he wouldagree with you about everything if he could. I will not say the deCourcys."
"Oh, the de Courcys!"
"Yes, they are my relations; I know that." Lady Arabella could notquite drop the tone of bitterness which was natural to her in sayingthis. "But ask your sisters; ask Mr Oriel, whom you esteem so much;ask your friend Harry Baker."
Frank sat silent for a moment or two while his mother, with a lookalmost of agony, gazed into his face. "I will ask no one," at last hesaid.
"Oh, my boy! my boy!"
"No one but myself can know my own heart."
"And you will sacrifice all to such a love as that, all; her, also,whom you say that you so love? What happiness can you give her asyour wife? Oh, Frank! is that the only answer you will make yourmother on her knees?
"Oh, mother! mother!"
"No, Frank, I will not let you ruin yourself; I will not let youdestroy yourself. Promise this, at least, that you will think of whatI have said."
"Think of it! I do think of it."
"Ah, but think of it in earnest. You will be absent now in Londonyou will have the business of the estate to manage; you will haveheavy cares upon your hands. Think of it as a man, and not as a boy."
"I will see her to-morrow before I go."
"No, Frank, no; grant me that trifle, at any rate. Think upon thiswithout seeing her. Do not proclaim yourself so weak that you cannottrust yourself to think over what your mother says to you withoutasking her leave. Though you be in love, do not be childish with it.What I have told you as coming from her is true, word for word; if itwere not, you would soon learn so. Think now of what I have said, andof what she says, and when you come back from London, then you candecide."
To so much Frank consented after some further parley; namely, that hewould proceed to London on the following Monday morning without againseeing Mary. And in the meantime, she was waiting with sore heart forhis answer to that letter that was lying, and was still to lie for somany hours, in the safe protection of the Silverbridge postmistress.
It may seem strange; but, in truth, his mother's eloquence had moreeffect on Frank than that of his father: and yet, with his father hehad always sympathised. But his mother had been energetic; whereas,his father, if not lukewarm, had, at any rate, been timid.
"I willask no one," Frank had said in the strong determination of his heart;and yet the words were hardly out of his mouth before he bethoughthimself that he would talk the thing over with Harry Baker. "Not,"said he to himself, "that I have any doubt; I have no doubt; but Ihate to have all the world against me. My mother wishes me to askHarry Baker. Harry is a good fellow, and I will ask him." And withthis resolve he betook himself to bed.
The following day was Sunday. After breakfast Frank went with thefamily to church, as was usual; and there, as usual, he saw Mary inDr Thorne's pew. She, as she looked at him, could not but wonder whyhe had not answered the letter which was still at Silverbridge; andhe endeavoured to read in her face whether it was true, as his motherhad told him, that she was quite ready to give him up. The prayers ofboth of them were disturbed, as is so often the case with the prayersof other anxious people.
There was a separate door opening from the Greshamsbury pew out intothe Greshamsbury grounds, so that the family were not forced intounseemly community with the village multitude in going to and fromtheir prayers; for the front door of the church led out into a roadwhich had no connexion with the private path. It was not unusual withFrank and his father to go round, after the service, to the chiefentrance, so that they might speak to their neighbours, and get ridof some of the exclusiveness which was intended for them. On thismorning the squire did so; but Frank walked home with his mother andsisters, so that Mary saw no more of him.
I have said that he walked home with his mother and his sisters;but he rather followed in their path. He was not inclined to talkmuch, at least, not to them; and he continued asking himself thequestion--whether it could be possible that he was wrong in remainingtrue to his promise? Could it be that he owed more to his father andhis mother, and what they chose to call his position, than he did toMary?
After church, Mr Gazebee tried to get hold of him, for there was muchstill to be said, and many hints to be given, as to how Frank shouldspeak, and, more especially, as to how he should hold his tongueamong the learned pundits in and about Chancery Lane. "You must bevery wide awake with Messrs Slow & Bideawhile," said Mr Gazebee. ButFrank would not hearken to him just at that moment. He was going toride over to Harry Baker, so he put Mr Gazebee off till the half-hourbefore dinner,--or else the half-hour after tea.
On the previous day he had received a letter from Miss Dunstable,which he had hitherto read but once. His mother had interrupted himas he was about to refer to it; and now, as his father's nag wasbeing saddled--he was still prudent in saving the black horse--heagain took it out.
Miss Dunstable had written in an excellent humour. She was in greatdistress about the oil of Lebanon, she said. "I have been trying toget a purchaser for the last two years; but my lawyer won't let mesell it, because the would-be purchasers offer a thousand pounds orso less than the value. I would give ten to be rid of the bore; but Iam as little able to act myself as Sancho was in his government. Theoil of Lebanon! Did you hear anything of it when you were in thoseparts? I thought of changing the name to 'London particular;' but mylawyer says the brewers would bring an action against me.
"I was going down to your neighbourhood--to your friend the duke's,at least. But I am prevented by my poor doctor, who is so weak thatI must take him to Malvern. It is a great bore; but I have thesatisfaction that I do my duty by him!
"Your cousin George is to be married at last. So I hear, at least.He loves wisely, if not well; for his widow has the name of beingprudent and fairly well to do in the world. She has got over thecaprices of her youth. Dear Aunt de Courcy will be so delighted. Imight perhaps have met her at Gatherum Castle. I do so regret it.
"Mr Moffat has turned up again. We all thought you had finallyextinguished him. He left a card the other day, and I have told theservant always to say that I am at home, and that you are with me. Heis going to stand for some borough in the west of Ireland. He's usedto shillelaghs by this time.
"By the by, I have a _cadeau_ for a friend of yours. I won't tell youwhat it is, nor permit you to communicate the fact. But when you tellme that in sending it I may fairly congratulate her on having sodevoted a slave as you, it shall be sent.
"If you have nothing better to do at present, do come and see myinvalid at Malvern. Perhaps you might have a mind to treat for theoil of Lebanon. I'll give you all the assistance I can in cheating mylawyers."
There was not much about Mary in this; but still, the little that wassaid made him again declare that neither father nor mother shouldmove him from his resolution. "I will write to her and say that shemay send her present when she pleases. Or I will run down to Malvernfor a day. It will do me good to see her." And so resolved, he rodeaway to Mill Hill, thinking, as he went, how he would put the matterto Harry Baker.
Harry was at home; but we need not describe the whole interview. HadFrank been asked beforehand, he would have declared, that on nopossible subject could he have had the slightest hesitation in askingHarry any question, or communicating to him any tidings. But when thetime came, he found that he did hesitate much. He did not want to askhis friend if he should be wise to marry Mary Thorne. Wise or not, hewas determined to do that. But he wished to be quite sure that hismother was wrong in saying that all the world would dissuade him fromit. Miss Dunstable, at any rate, did not do so.
At last, seated on a stile at the back of the Mill Hill stables,while Harry stood close before him with both his hands in hispockets, he did get his story told. It was by no means the firsttime that Harry Baker had heard about Mary Thorne, and he was not,therefore, so surprised as he might have been, had the affairbeen new to him. And thus, standing there in the position we havedescribed, did Mr Baker, junior, give utterance to such wisdom as wasin him on this subject.
"You see, Frank, there are two sides to every question and, as Itake it, fellows are so apt to go wrong because they are so fond ofone side, they won't look at the other. There's no doubt about it,Lady Arabella is a very clever woman, and knows what's what; andthere's no doubt about this either, that you have a very ticklishhand of cards to play."
"I'll play it straightforward; that's my game" said Frank.
"Well and good, my dear fellow. That's the best game always. But whatis straightforward? Between you and me, I fear there's no doubt thatyour father's property has got into a deuce of a mess."
"I don't see that that has anything to do with it."
"Yes, but it has. If the estate was all right, and your father couldgive you a thousand a year to live on without feeling it, and if youreldest child would be cock-sure of Greshamsbury, it might be verywell that you should please yourself as to marrying at once. Butthat's not the case; and yet Greshamsbury is too good a card to beflung away."
"I could fling it away to-morrow," said Frank.
"Ah! you think so," said Harry the Wise. "But if you were to hearto-morrow that Sir Louis Scatcherd were master of the whole place,and be d---- to him, you would feel very uncomfortable." Had Harryknown how near Sir Louis was to his last struggle, he would not havespoken of him in this manner. "That's all very fine talk, but itwon't bear wear and tear. You do care for Greshamsbury if you are thefellow I take you to be: care for it very much; and you care too foryour father being Gresham of Greshamsbury."
"This won't affect my father at all."
"Ah, but it will affect him very much. If you were to marry MissThorne to-morrow, there would at once be an end to any hope of yoursaving the property."
"And do you mean to say I'm to be a liar to her for such reasons asthat? Why, Harry, I should be as bad as Moffat. Only it would be tentimes more cowardly, as she has no brother."
"I must differ from you there altogether; but mind, I don't mean tosay anything. Tell me that you have made up your mind to marry her,and I'll stick to you through thick and thin. But if you ask myadvice, why, I must give it. It is quite a different affair to thatof Moffat's. He had lots of tin, everything he could want, and therecould be no reason why he should not marry,--except that he was asnob, of whom your sis
ter was well quit. But this is very different.If I, as your friend, were to put it to Miss Thorne, what do youthink she would say herself?"
"She would say whatever she thought best for me."
"Exactly: because she is a trump. And I say the same. There can be nodoubt about it, Frank, my boy: such a marriage would be very foolishfor you both; very foolish. Nobody can admire Miss Thorne more thanI do; but you oughtn't to be a marrying man for the next ten years,unless you get a fortune. If you tell her the truth, and if she's thegirl I take her to be, she'll not accuse you of being false. She'llpeak for a while; and so will you, old chap. But others have had todo that before you. They have got over it, and so will you."
Such was the spoken wisdom of Harry Baker, and who can say that hewas wrong? Frank sat a while on his rustle seat, paring his nailswith his penknife, and then looking up, he thus thanked his friend:--
"I'm sure you mean well, Harry; and I'm much obliged to you. I daresay you're right too. But, somehow, it doesn't come home to me. Andwhat is more, after what has passed, I could not tell her that I wishto part from her. I could not do it. And besides, I have that sort offeeling, that if I heard she was to marry any one else, I am sure Ishould blow his brains out. Either his or my own."
"Well, Frank, you may count on me for anything, except the lastproposition:" and so they shook hands, and Frank rode back toGreshamsbury.