The Way We Live Now

  CHAPTER XCV.

  THE LONGESTAFFE MARRIAGES.

  In another part of Suffolk, not very far from Bungay, there was alady whose friends had not managed her affairs as well as Ruby'sfriends had done for Ruby. Miss Georgiana Longestaffe in the earlydays of August was in a very miserable plight. Her sister's marriagewith Mr. George Whitstable was fixed for the first of September, aday which in Suffolk is of all days the most sacred; and the combinedenergies of the houses of Caversham and Toodlam were being devotedto that happy event. Poor Georgey's position was in every respectwretched, but its misery was infinitely increased by the triumphof those hymeneals. It was but the other day that she had lookeddown from a very great height on her elder sister, and had utterlydespised the squire of Toodlam. And at that time, still so recent,this contempt from her had been accepted as being almost reasonable.Sophia had hardly ventured to rebel against it, and Mr. Whitstablehimself had been always afraid to encounter the shafts of irony withwhich his fashionable future sister-in-law attacked him. But all thatwas now changed. Sophia in her pride of place had become a tyrant,and George Whitstable, petted in the house with those sweetmeatswhich are always showered on embryo bridegrooms, absolutely gavehimself airs. At this time Mr. Longestaffe was never at home. Havingassured himself that there was no longer any danger of the Brehgertalliance he had remained in London, thinking his presence to benecessary for the winding up of Melmotte's affairs, and leavingpoor Lady Pomona to bear her daughter's ill-humour. The family atCaversham consisted therefore of the three ladies, and was enlivenedby daily visits from Toodlam. It will be owned that in this state ofthings there was very little consolation for Georgiana.

  It was not long before she quarrelled altogether with her sister,--tothe point of absolutely refusing to act as bridesmaid. The reader mayremember that there had been a watch and chain, and that two of theladies of the family had expressed an opinion that these trinketsshould be returned to Mr. Brehgert who had bestowed them. ButGeorgiana had not sent them back when a week had elapsed since thereceipt of Mr. Brehgert's last letter. The matter had perhaps escapedLady Pomona's memory, but Sophia was happily alive to the honourof her family. "Georgey," she said one morning in their mother'spresence, "don't you think Mr. Brehgert's watch ought to go back tohim without any more delay?"

  "What have you got to do with anybody's watch? The watch wasn't givento you."

  "I think it ought to go back. When papa finds that it has been keptI'm sure he'll be very angry."

  "It's no business of yours whether he's angry or not."

  "If it isn't sent George will tell Dolly. You know what would happenthen."

  This was unbearable! That George Whitstable should interfere in heraffairs,--that he should talk about her watch and chain. "I neverwill speak to George Whitstable again the longest day that ever Ilive," she said, getting up from her chair.

  "My dear, don't say anything so horrible as that," exclaimed theunhappy mother.

  "I do say it. What has George Whitstable to do with me? A miserablystupid fellow! Because you've landed him, you think he's to ride overthe whole family."

  "I think Mr. Brehgert ought to have his watch and chain back," saidSophia.

  "Certainly he ought," said Lady Pomona. "Georgiana, it must be sentback. It really must,--or I shall tell your papa."

  Subsequently, on the same day, Georgiana brought the watch and chainto her mother, protesting that she had never thought of keeping them,and explaining that she had intended to hand them over to her papaas soon as he should have returned to Caversham. Lady Pomona was nowempowered to return them, and they were absolutely confided to thehands of the odious George Whitstable, who about this time made ajourney to London in reference to certain garments which he required.But Georgiana, though she was so far beaten, kept up her quarrel withher sister. She would not be bridesmaid. She would never speak toGeorge Whitstable. And she would shut herself up on the day of themarriage.

  She did think herself to be very hardly used. What was there left inthe world that she could do in furtherance of her future cause? Andwhat did her father and mother expect would become of her? Marriagehad ever been so clearly placed before her eyes as a condition ofthings to be achieved by her own efforts, that she could not endurethe idea of remaining tranquil in her father's house and waitingtill some fitting suitor might find her out. She had struggled andstruggled,--struggling still in vain,--till every effort of her mind,every thought of her daily life, was pervaded by a conviction thatas she grew older from year to year, the struggle should be moreintense. The swimmer when first he finds himself in the water,conscious of his skill and confident in his strength, can make hisway through the water with the full command of all his powers. Butwhen he begins to feel that the shore is receding from him, that hisstrength is going, that the footing for which he pants is stillfar beneath his feet,--that there is peril where before he hadcontemplated no danger,--then he begins to beat the water withstrokes rapid but impotent, and to waste in anxious gaspings thebreath on which his very life must depend. So it was with poorGeorgey Longestaffe. Something must be done at once, or it would beof no avail. Twelve years had been passed by her since first sheplunged into the stream,--the twelve years of her youth,--and she wasas far as ever from the bank; nay, farther, if she believed her eyes.She too must strike out with rapid efforts, unless, indeed, she wouldabandon herself and let the waters close over her head. But immersedas she was here at Caversham, how could she strike at all? Even nowthe waters were closing upon her. The sound of them was in her ears.The ripple of the wave was already round her lips; robbing her ofbreath. Ah!--might not there be some last great convulsive effortwhich might dash her on shore, even if it were upon a rock!

  That ultimate failure in her matrimonial projects would be the sameas drowning she never for a moment doubted. It had never occurredto her to consider with equanimity the prospect of living as an oldmaid. It was beyond the scope of her mind to contemplate the chancesof a life in which marriage might be well if it came, but in whichunmarried tranquillity might also be well should that be her lot. Norcould she understand that others should contemplate it for her. Nodoubt the battle had been carried on for many years so much under theauspices of her father and mother as to justify her in thinking thattheir theory of life was the same as her own. Lady Pomona had beenvery open in her teaching, and Mr. Longestaffe had always given asilent adherence to the idea that the house in London was to bekept open in order that husbands might be caught. And now when theydeserted her in her real difficulty,--when they first told herto live at Caversham all the summer, and then sent her up to theMelmottes, and after that forbade her marriage with Mr. Brehgert,--itseemed to her that they were unnatural parents who gave her a stonewhen she wanted bread, a serpent when she asked for a fish. She hadno friend left. There was no one living who seemed to care whethershe had a husband or not. She took to walking in solitude about thepark, and thought of many things with a grim earnestness which hadnot hitherto belonged to her character.

  "Mamma," she said one morning when all the care of the householdwas being devoted to the future comforts,--chiefly in regard tolinen,--of Mrs. George Whitstable, "I wonder whether papa has anyintention at all about me."

  "In what sort of way, my dear?"

  "In any way. Does he mean me to live here for ever and ever?"

  "I don't think he intends to have a house in town again."

  "And what am I to do?"

  "I suppose we shall stay here at Caversham."

  "And I'm to be buried just like a nun in a convent,--only that thenun does it by her own consent and I don't! Mamma, I won't stand it.I won't indeed."

  "I think, my dear, that that is nonsense. You see company here, justas other people do in the country;--and as for not standing it, Idon't know what you mean. As long as you are one of your papa'sfamily of course you must live where he lives."

  "Oh, mamma, to hear you talk like that!--It is horrible--horrible!As if you didn't know! As if you couldn't understand! Sometime
s Ialmost doubt whether papa does know, and then I think that if he didhe would not be so cruel. But you understand it all as well as I domyself. What is to become of me? Is it not enough to drive me madto be going about here by myself, without any prospect of anything?Should you have liked at my age to have felt that you had no chanceof having a house of your own to live in? Why didn't you, among you,let me marry Mr. Brehgert?" As she said this she was almost eloquentwith passion.

  "You know, my dear," said Lady Pomona, "that your papa wouldn't hearof it."

  "I know that if you would have helped me I would have done it inspite of papa. What right has he to domineer over me in that way? Whyshouldn't I have married the man if I chose? I am old enough to knowsurely. You talk now of shutting up girls in convents as being athing quite impossible. This is much worse. Papa won't do anything tohelp me. Why shouldn't he let me do something for myself?"

  "You can't regret Mr. Brehgert!"

  "Why can't I regret him? I do regret him. I'd have him to-morrow ifhe came. Bad as it might be, it couldn't be so bad as Caversham."

  "You couldn't have loved him, Georgiana."

  "Loved him! Who thinks about love nowadays? I don't know any one wholoves any one else. You won't tell me that Sophy is going to marrythat idiot because she loves him! Did Julia Triplex love that manwith the large fortune? When you wanted Dolly to marry Marie Melmotteyou never thought of his loving her. I had got the better of all thatkind of thing before I was twenty."

  "I think a young woman should love her husband."

  "It makes me sick, mamma, to hear you talk in that way. It doesindeed. When one has been going on for a dozen years trying to dosomething,--and I have never had any secrets from you,--then that youshould turn round upon me and talk about love! Mamma, if you wouldhelp me I think I could still manage with Mr. Brehgert." Lady Pomonashuddered. "You have not got to marry him."

  "It is too horrid."

  "Who would have to put up with it? Not you, or papa, or Dolly. Ishould have a house of my own at least, and I should know what I hadto expect for the rest of my life. If I stay here I shall go mad,--ordie."

  "It is impossible."

  "If you will stand to me, mamma, I am sure it may be done. I wouldwrite to him, and say that you would see him."

  "Georgiana, I will never see him."

  "Why not?"

  "He is a Jew!"

  "What abominable prejudice;--what wicked prejudice! As if you didn'tknow that all that is changed now! What possible difference can itmake about a man's religion? Of course I know that he is vulgar, andold, and has a lot of children. But if I can put up with that, Idon't think that you and papa have a right to interfere. As to hisreligion it cannot signify."

  "Georgiana, you make me very unhappy. I am wretched to see you sodiscontented. If I could do anything for you, I would. But I will notmeddle about Mr. Brehgert. I shouldn't dare to do so. I don't thinkyou know how angry your papa can be."

  "I'm not going to let papa be a bugbear to frighten me. What can hedo? I don't suppose he'll beat me. And I'd rather he would than shutme up here. As for you, mamma, I don't think you care for me a bit.Because Sophy is going to be married to that oaf, you are become soproud of her that you haven't half a thought for anybody else."

  "That's very unjust, Georgiana."

  "I know what's unjust,--and I know who's ill-treated. I tell youfairly, mamma, that I shall write to Mr. Brehgert and tell him thatI am quite ready to marry him. I don't know why he should be afraidof papa. I don't mean to be afraid of him any more, and you may tellhim just what I say."

  All this made Lady Pomona very miserable. She did not communicate herdaughter's threat to Mr. Longestaffe, but she did discuss it withSophia. Sophia was of opinion that Georgiana did not mean it, andgave two or three reasons for thinking so. In the first place had sheintended it she would have written her letter without saying a wordabout it to Lady Pomona. And she certainly would not have declaredher purpose of writing such letter after Lady Pomona had refused herassistance. And moreover,--Lady Pomona had received no former hint ofthe information which was now conveyed to her,--Georgiana was in thehabit of meeting the curate of the next parish almost every day inthe park.

  "Mr. Batherbolt!" exclaimed Lady Pomona.

  "She is walking with Mr. Batherbolt almost every day."

  "But he is so very strict."

  "It is true, mamma."

  "And he's five years younger than she! And he's got nothing but hiscuracy! And he's a celibate! I heard the bishop laughing at himbecause he called himself a celibate."

  "It doesn't signify, mamma. I know she is with him constantly. Wilsonhas seen them,--and I know it. Perhaps papa could get him a living.Dolly has a living of his own that came to him with his property."

  "Dolly would be sure to sell the presentation," said Lady Pomona.

  "Perhaps the bishop would do something," said the anxious sister,"when he found that the man wasn't a celibate. Anything, mamma, wouldbe better than the Jew." To this latter proposition Lady Pomonagave a cordial assent. "Of course it is a come-down to marry acurate,--but a clergyman is always considered to be decent."

  The preparations for the Whitstable marriage went on without anyapparent attention to the intimacy which was growing up between Mr.Batherbolt and Georgiana. There was no room to apprehend anythingwrong on that side. Mr. Batherbolt was so excellent a young man,and so exclusively given to religion, that, even should Sophy'ssuspicion be correct, he might be trusted to walk about the park withGeorgiana. Should he at any time come forward and ask to be allowedto make the lady his wife, there would be no disgrace in the matter.He was a clergyman and a gentleman,--and the poverty would beGeorgiana's own affair.

  Mr. Longestaffe returned home only on the eve of his eldestdaughter's marriage, and with him came Dolly. Great trouble had beentaken to teach him that duty absolutely required his presence at hissister's marriage, and he had at last consented to be there. It isnot generally considered a hardship by a young man that he shouldhave to go into a good partridge country on the 1st of September, andDolly was an acknowledged sportsman. Nevertheless, he considered thathe had made a great sacrifice to his family, and he was received byLady Pomona as though he were a bright example to other sons. Hefound the house not in a very comfortable position, for Georgianastill persisted in her refusal either to be a bridesmaid or to speakto Mr. Whitstable; but still his presence, which was very rare atCaversham, gave some assistance: and, as at this moment his moneyaffairs had been comfortably arranged, he was not called upon tosquabble with his father. It was a great thing that one of the girlsshould be married, and Dolly had brought down an enormous china dog,about five feet high, as a wedding present, which added materiallyto the happiness of the meeting. Lady Pomona had determined that shewould tell her husband of those walks in the park, and of other signsof growing intimacy which had reached her ears;--but this she wouldpostpone until after the Whitstable marriage.

  But at nine o'clock on the morning set apart for that marriage, theywere all astounded by the news that Georgiana had run away with Mr.Batherbolt. She had been up before six. He had met her at the parkgate, and had driven her over to catch the early train at Stowmarket.Then it appeared, too, that by degrees various articles of herproperty had been conveyed to Mr. Batherbolt's lodgings in theadjacent village, so that Lady Pomona's fear that Georgiana would nothave a thing to wear, was needless. When the fact was first knownit was almost felt, in the consternation of the moment, that theWhitstable marriage must be postponed. But Sophia had a word to sayto her mother on that head, and she said it. The marriage was notpostponed. At first Dolly talked of going after his younger sister,and the father did dispatch various telegrams. But the fugitivescould not be brought back, and with some little delay,--which madethe marriage perhaps uncanonical but not illegal,--Mr. GeorgeWhitstable was made a happy man.

  It need only be added that in about a month's time Georgiana returnedto Caversham as Mrs. Batherbolt, and that she resided there with herhusband in muc
h connubial bliss for the next six months. At the endof that time they removed to a small living, for the purchase ofwhich Mr. Longestaffe had managed to raise the necessary money.