CHAPTER X.
DOES HE KNOW IT YET?
Almost immediately after this George Bertram did go to Paris;but before he went he received a letter from Arthur Wilkinson,begging him to go down to Hurst Staple. This was Arthur's answerto the letter in which Bertram had communicated the last news fromLittlebath. There were not as many words in the letter as there hadbeen in that from Adela to Caroline; but they were much to the sameeffect. "This is an important step, old fellow; very: pray--pray becareful; for your own sake and hers. I am not good at letter-writing,as you know; but come down here and talk it over. I have other thingsof my own I want to talk about. The spare bedroom is empty." That wasnearly the whole of it. In answer to this, Bertram had declared hisintention of going to Paris, but had promised to go down to HurstStaple as soon as he returned home.
At this time the popularity of Louis Philippe was on the wane. Thegrocers of Paris were becoming sick of their paternal citizen king,who, in spite of his quiet family costume and citizen umbrella,seemed to think as much as some other kings of crowds of soldiers,of fortifications, and war taxes; who seemed to think also thatfree-spoken deputies might be judiciously controlled, that apaternally-royal family might be judiciously enriched, and thata good many of the old crown tenets and maxims might again bejudiciously brought to bear upon the commonwealth. Poor grocers! toomuch prosperity had made them over-nice. When Mr. Smith had beenabout six months gone from them, how gladly would they have had himback again!
But they are again satisfied. The grocer interest, which on thewhole may perhaps be looked on as predominant in Paris, is once moreswathed in rose-leaves. The swathings certainly are somewhat tight;and rose-leaves may be twisted till there is no breaking them.But there will still remain the fragrance, the _pot-pourri_ odourwhich is so delectable to ancient housewives, the oily savour ofplenteousness. If a king can so devise that chocolate shall besold--and paid for--what more can a grocer interest need? What morethan this, that having sold its daily quantum of chocolate, it shallhave a theatre to go to, a spectacle to look at, ices, coffee, and_eau sucree!_ Since the world began to open its young eyes and lookabout it with any understanding, what else has been desirable? Whatdoes a man and a grocer want? _Panem et circenses_; soup that shallnot be too maigre; and a seat at the Porte St. Martin that shall notbe too dear. Is it not all written in that?
England a nation of shopkeepers! No, let us hope not; not as yet,at any rate. There have been nations to whom the buying and sellingof bread and honey--especially of honey--has been everything; lostnations--people deadened, whose souls were ever sleeping, whosemouths only and gastric organs attested that life was in them. Therewere such people in the latter days of ancient Rome; there were suchalso in that of Eastern Rome upon the Bosphorus; rich and thrivingpeople, with large mouths and copious bellies, wanting merely thesalt of life. But let us hope that no English people will be such aslong as the roads are open to Australia, to Canada, and New Zealand.
A young man whose life was to be spent in writing politico-religiouspamphlets had much to learn in Paris in those days. Indeed, Parishas ever been a school for such writers since men began to find thatsomething was wrong, even under the reign of the great Dubarry. Sincethose days it has been the laboratory of the political alchemist,in which everything hitherto held precious has been reduced to aresiduum, in order that from the ashes might be created that greatarcanum, a fitting constitution under which thinking men may livecontented. The secret had been hardly solved in those latter days ofpoor Louis Philippe. Much had certainly been done when a citizen kingwas thought of and set agoing; but even a citizen king required to bewound up, and the alchemist was still at his crucibles.
Now, indeed, the work has been finished. The laboratory is closed.The philosopher, his task all done, has retired to his needed rest.Thinking men, even thinking Frenchmen, can live contented. Chocolateis sold--and paid for. And a score and a half of daily theatres areopen at the most moderate of prices.
Intent on such things, and on his coming volume, our youngbroken-hearted philosopher stayed out three months at Paris. We neednot follow him very closely in his doings there. His name was alreadysufficiently known to secure his admittance amongst those learnedmen who, if they had hitherto established little, had at any rateachieved the doubting of much. While he was here the British Ministrywent out of office. Sir Robert, having repealed the corn laws,fell to the ground between two stools, and the number of the"Daily Jupiter" which gave the first authentic list of the membersof the new government, contained, among the few new names thatwere mentioned, that of Sir Henry Harcourt as Her Majesty'ssolicitor-general.
At the end of the three months Bertram returned to England, enrichedby many new ideas as to the government of mankind in general. Hisvolume was not yet finished. So he packed up his papers in hisportmanteau and took them down with him to Hurst Staple. He sawno one as he passed through London. The season was then over,and his friend Sir Henry was refreshing himself with ten days'grouse-shooting after the successful campaign of the last session.But had he been in London, Bertram would not have seen him, for hesaw no one. He asked no questions about Caroline, nor any about hisuncle. He did not even call on his sincere friend Pritchett. Had hedone so, he would have learned that Miss Baker and her niece wereboth staying at Hadley. He might also have learned other news, which,however, was not long in following him.
He went down to Hurst Staple, merely writing a line the day before hestarted, to prepare his friend for his advent. But when he reachedthe vicarage, Arthur Wilkinson was not there. He was at Oxford; buthad left word that he was to be summoned home as soon as Bertramarrived. The ladies, however, expected him, and there would havebeen nothing for him to remark in the state of the quiet householdhad there not been another visitor in the house. Adela Gauntlet wasstaying there, and she was dressed in the deepest mourning.
The story was soon told to him. Mr. Gauntlet had one morning beenfound dead in his dressing-room. The good old man had been fullof years, and there was nothing frightful in his death but itssuddenness. But sudden death is always frightful. Overnight he hadbeen talking to his daughter with his usual quiet, very quiet, mirth;and in the morning she was woke with the news that his spirit hadfled. His mirth for this world was over. His worldly duties weredone. He had received his daughter's last kiss, had closed for thelast time the book which had been his life's guide, had whispered toheaven his last prayer, and his soul was now at rest.
There was nothing in this that the world need regard as mournful.There was no pain, no mental pangs, no dire remorse. But for Adelathe suddenness had been very dreadful.
Among her other miseries had been the great misery of having to seeka home. An Englishman's house is his castle. And a rector's parsonageis as much the rector's castle, his own freehold castle, as is theearl's family mansion that of the earl. But it is so with thisdrawback, that the moment the rector's breath is out of his body, allright and claim to the castle as regards his estate and family ceaseinstantly. If the widow and children remain there one night, theyremain there on sufferance.
Adela's future home would now necessarily be with her aunt, MissPenelope Gauntlet; but it happened most unfortunately that at themoment of her brother's death, Miss Gauntlet was absent with otherrelatives in Italy. Nor was her address accurately known. Her partyhad been at Rome; but it was supposed that they had left the holycity before the end of May: and now, at the end of August, when herpresence in England was so necessary, Adela had no more than a faintbelief that her aunt was at the baths of Lucca. In the meantimeit was absolutely necessary that she should somewhere find aresting-place for herself.
Both Caroline Waddington and Miss Baker wrote to her at once.Unfortunately they were at Hadley; but if Adela would come to them,they would return to Littlebath. They, or at any rate, one of themwould do so. There was much that was really generous in this offer,as will be seen when we come in the next page or two to narratewhat had lately occurred at Hadley. But Adela already knew what hadoccurred; a
nd much as she then longed for a home, she knew that shecould not allow either of them to go to Littlebath.
Immediately that Mr. Gauntlet's death was known at Hurst Staple--andit was known there two hours after Adela knew it herself--Mrs.Wilkinson went over to bring her to the vicarage. The reader willknow that there were reasons why Adela should be most unwilling tochoose that house as her temporary residence. She was most unwilling;and for a day or two, much to Mrs. Wilkinson's surprise, she refusedto leave West Putford. But it was necessary that she should leave it.She could not remain alone in the house on the day that her father'sbody was carried to his grave; and so at last she submitted, andallowed herself to be taken over to Hurst Staple.
"It is provoking, dear," said Mrs. Wilkinson to her, "and I amsure you will think it very uncivil, but Arthur went off to Oxfordyesterday. And it was uncivil. I am sure he needs not have gone atthis very moment."
Then Adela felt very grateful to her neighbour, and acknowledged inher heart that he had been kind to her.
"But he must be back on Saturday," continued the widow, "for he couldget no clergyman to take his duty. Indeed, he has to take the eveningservice at West Putford as well."
On the day following this, George Bertram arrived at the vicarage.
His first evening in the house was not very bright. Mrs. Wilkinsonhad never been a bright woman. She had certain motherly goodqualities, which had been exerted in George's favour in his earliestyears; and on this account she was still able to speak to him in amotherly way. She could talk to him about his breakfasts and dinners,and ask after his buttons and linen, and allude to his bachelorhabits. And in such conversation the first evening was chieflypassed. Adela said almost nothing. The Wilkinson girls, who weregenerally cheerful themselves, were depressed by Adela's sorrow--anddepressed also somewhat by what they knew of Bertram's affairs. Onthis matter Mrs. Wilkinson was burning to speak; but she had madeup her mind to leave it in silence for one evening. She confinedherself, therefore, to the button question, and to certain allusionsto her own griefs. It appeared that she was not quite so happy withreference to Arthur as one would have wished her to be. She did notabsolutely speak against him; but she said little snubbing things ofhim, and seemed to think him by no means sufficiently grateful forall the care she took of him.
That night, in the privacy of Adela's own room, something was saidabout George Bertram. "I am sure he does not know it yet," saidSophia.
"Caroline told me she would write to him," said Adela: "she would bevery wrong not to do so--very wrong."
"You may be sure he has not heard it," repeated the other. "Did younot observe the way he spoke of Mr. Harcourt?"
"Sir Henry Harcourt," said Mary.
"I did not hear it," said Adela.
"Oh, he did speak of him. He said something about his great goodfortune. He never would have spoken in that way had he known it."
"Do you know," said Mary, "I do not think he would have come downhere had he heard it--not yet, at least."
The next morning two letters were laid before George Bertram as theywere sitting at breakfast. Then he did know it; then he did learn it,and not till then. It was now the end of August, and in the comingmonth of November--about the end of November--Sir Henry Harcourt, HerMajesty's solicitor-general, and member for the Battersea Hamlets,was to lead to the hymeneal altar Miss Caroline Waddington, thegranddaughter and presumed heiress of the great millionaire, Mr.Bertram. Who so high now on the ladder of fortune as the fortunateSir Henry Harcourt? In love and politics and the realms of Plutus, hecarried all before him. Yes, Sir Henry Harcourt was the coming man.Quidnuncs at the clubs began to say that he would give up the legalside of politics and devote himself to statesmanship. He would be thevery man for a home secretary. Old Bertram, they observed, was knownto be dying. Old Bertram, they also observed, had made a distinctpromise to Sir Henry and his granddaughter. The marriage was to takeplace at Hadley, from the old man's house; the old man was delightedwith the match, &c., &c., &c.; who so happy, who so great, who sofortunate as Sir Henry Harcourt?
That habit of bringing in letters at the breakfast-table has its goodpoints, certainly. It is well that one should have one's lettersbefore the work or pleasure of the day commences: it is well to beable to discuss the different little subjects of mutual interest asthey are mentioned. "Eliza's baby has got her first tooth: it's allright. There's nothing like Daffy's Elixir after all." "My dear,the guano will be here to-day; so the horses will be wanted all theweek--remember that." "What a bore, papa; for here's a letter to saythat Kate Carnabie's coming; and we must go over to the Poldoodles.Frank Poldoodle is quite smitten with Kate." This is all veryconvenient; but the plan has its drawbacks. Some letters will be intheir nature black and brow-compelling. Tidings will come from timeto time at which men cannot smile. There will be news that rufflesthe sweetest temper, and at receipt of which clouds will darken themost kindly face. One would fain receive such letters in private.
Two such letters Bertram received that morning, and read while theeyes of the parsonage breakfast-table were--not fixed on him, butwhich under such circumstances is much worse--were purposely turnedaway. He knew well the handwriting of each, and would fain haveescaped with them from the room. But this he felt to be cowardly; andso he read them both, sitting there in the family circle. They werefrom Caroline and Sir Henry. We will give precedence to the lady; butBertram did not so read them. The lady's letter was the most tryingto his nerves, and was therefore taken the last. It can hardly besaid that their contents surprised him. When they both came into hishands together, he seemed to feel by intuition what was the newswhich they contained. That from Caroline was very fairly written.But how many times had it been rewritten before that fair copy wasprepared?
Hadley, August, 184--.
My dear Mr. Bertram,
I do not know whether I am right in thinking that I ought myself to tell you of the step which I am going to take. If it is unnecessary, I know you will forgive me, and will be certain that I have intended to do what is right. Sir Henry Harcourt has proposed to me, and I have accepted him. I believe we shall be married some time before Christmas.
We are staying here with grandpapa. I think he approves of what I am doing; but you know that he is not very communicative. At any rate, I shall be married from this house, and I think that he likes Sir Henry. Aunt Mary is reconciled to all this now.
I do not know that I need say any more, excepting that I shall always--always hope for your welfare; and be so happy if I can hear of your happiness. I pray you also to forgive me what injuries I may have done you.
It may be that at some future time we shall meet as friends in London. I hope we may. It is a comfort to me that Sir Henry Harcourt knows exactly all that there has been between us.
Believe me to be, Yours most sincerely,
CAROLINE WADDINGTON.
Harcourt's letter was written in faster style, and a more runninghand. Solicitors-general have hardly time to stop and pick theirwords. But though the manner of it was free and easy, it seemed toBertram that the freedom and easiness were but affected.
My dear Bertram,
I hope and trust that the news I have to tell you will be no interruption to our friendship. I am sure that it should not be, seeing that I am doing you no injury. Caroline Waddington and I have agreed to put our fortunes into the same boat. We shall feel much more comfortable on the seas if you will be gracious enough to say, "God save the bark."
Caroline has of course told me all that has occurred; as, indeed, you had done previously. As far as I am concerned, I must say she has behaved gloriously. I always admired her greatly, as you know; though of course till lately I never thought it possible I should possess what I so much admired.
Speaking plainly, I think that she will be happier with me than she would have been with you; and that I shall be happier with her than you would have been. We are better adapt
ed to each other. There is a dash of worldliness about us both from which your more ethereal composition is happily free.
God bless you, old fellow. Pray write a line in answer, saying as much to me. Of course, you will let us see you in London. Caroline wishes it particularly; and so do I.
I believe I shall be turned off in December. Such a mill-horse as I am cannot choose my time. I am going to Scotland for ten days, and shall then be hard at work till our marriage. I must of course be back when the session commences. We talk of going to Nice, and thence to Genoa.
The old gentleman is very civil; but there has been no word of money, nor will there be a word. However, thank God, I don't want it.
Always your sincerest friend,
HENRY HARCOURT.
Reform Club--August, 184--.
These letters did not take long in the reading. Within five minutesBertram was spreading the butter on his toast; and within two minutesmore he was asking what news there was from Arthur--when would he behome? He had received a great blow, a stunning blow; but he was ableto postpone the faintness which would follow it till he should bewhere no eye could see him.
The breakfast passed away very silently. They all knew what those twoletters contained. One of the girls had had them in her hand, and hadknown the handwriting of one and guessed that of the other. But evenwithout this they would have known. Are not most of our innermostsecrets known to all the world?
And then Bertram skulked off--or endeavoured rather to do so; forMrs. Wilkinson detected him in the act, and stopped him. She had saidnothing hitherto about his matrimonial or non-matrimonial affairs.She had abstained with wonderful discretion; and she now intendedthat her discretion should be rewarded.
"George, George," she said, as he turned from the breakfast-parlourdoor to the rack in the hall on which his hat was hanging, "I wantyou just for a minute." So George returned into the parlour as thegirls passed across the hall into the drawing-room.
"I'm afraid you'll think me unkind because I've said nothing aboutthis sad affair of yours."
"Not at all, aunt," he said: though she was no aunt of his, he hadalways called her so when he had been at Hurst Staple as a child."There are some things which had, perhaps, better not be talkedabout." Mrs. Wilkinson, however, was not the woman to be deterred bysuch a faint repulse as this.
"Exactly so; except among intimate family friends. But I was verysorry to hear about your breaking off the affair with CarolineWaddington. I was, indeed; very. It would have been so suitable asregards the old gentleman--I know all about that you know--" andthe lady nodded her head, as ladies will do sometimes when theyflatter themselves that they know more about such things than theirneighbours.
"It was necessary," said Bertram.
"Necessary--ah, yes: I dare say. I don't in the least mean to blameyou, George. I am sure you would not behave badly to any girl--and,from what I have heard, I am quite sure--quite sure it was not yourfault. Indeed, I know very well--" and in lieu of finishing herspeech, Mrs. Wilkinson again nodded her head.
"Nobody was to blame, aunt; nobody, and it is much better to saynothing about it."
"That is very good of you, George; very. But I always shall say--"
"Dear aunt, pray say nothing. We had thought when we knew little ofeach other that it would suit us to live together. As we learnt eachother's characters more thoroughly, we found that we had been wrong.It was better for us, therefore, to part; and we did part."
"And so now she is going to be Lady Harcourt?"
"Yes; it seems so."
"Well, at any rate, we must all say this: she hasn't lost any time. Idon't know what Sir Henry may think of it; but it certainly does seemto me--"
"Dear aunt, pray do not talk to me about this. I think MissWaddington quite right to accept Sir Henry Harcourt. That is, I thinkher right under the circumstances. He is a rising man, and she willgrace any station in which he can place her. I do not at all blameher, not in the least; it would be monstrous if I did."
"Oh, of course--we all know that it was you broke off the othermatch; all the world knows that. But what I want to speak about isthis. The old gentleman's money, George! Now Sir Henry of course islooking to that."
"He has my permission."
"And of course he will get some of it. That's to be expected--she'shis grandchild--of course I know that," and Mrs. Wilkinson againnodded her head. "But, George, you must look very close after the oldgentleman. It won't at all do to let Harcourt cut you out altogether.I do hope you mean to be a good deal down at Hadley. It won't lastfor long, you know."
Bertram would not condescend to explain to Mrs. Wilkinson that he hadno intention of going near his uncle again, and that he was sick ofthe very name of the old man's money. So he hummed and hawed, andchanged the conversation by saying that he should be so glad to seeArthur on his return.
"Yes, I am sure you will. But you'll find Arthur much changed--verymuch." And it was clear from the tone of Mrs. Wilkinson's voice thatshe did not think that this change in her son was for the better.
"He is growing older, I suppose; like the rest of us," said Bertram,attempting to laugh.
"Oh, yes; he's growing older, of course. But people should growbetter, George, and more contented; particularly when they haveeverything about them that they can possibly want."
"Is not Arthur contented? He should get married then. Look at AdelaGauntlet there!"
"Nonsense, George; pray don't put that into his head. What has he tomarry on? And as for Adela, if she has fifteen hundred pounds it willbe every farthing. And what's that for a family?"
"But Arthur has a living."
"Now, George, don't you be talking in that way to him. In one sensehe has a living; for, situated as things at present are, of courseI cannot hold it in my own hands. But in real truth he has not aliving--not of his own. Lord Stapledean, whom I shall always regardas the very first nobleman in the land, and a credit to the wholepeerage, expressly gave the living to me."
"To you, aunt?"
"Yes, expressly to me. And now I fear Arthur is discontented becausehe knows that I choose to remain mistress of my own house. I havedone everything I can to make the house pleasant to him. He has thesame study his dear father always had; and he has his own separatehorse in the stable, which is more than his father had."
"But Arthur has his fellowship."
"And where would his fellowship be if he married Adela Gauntlet? Ido hope you'll say something to him to make him more contented. Isay nothing about his conduct to me. I don't suppose he means to beundutiful."
And then Bertram did manage to escape; and taking his hat he walkedaway along that same river-path which led to West Putford--that samepath which Arthur Wilkinson had used to take when he went fishingin those happy early days before promotion had come to him, and theglories of manhood.
But George was not thinking now of Arthur or of Adela. He hadenough of sorrow in his own breast to make his mind selfish for thepresent--Caroline Waddington was to be married! to be married so soonafter getting quit of her former bondage; to be married to HenryHarcourt. There was no chance left now, no hope, no possibility thathe might regain the rich prize which he had flung away.
And did he wish to regain it? Was it not now clear enough that shehad never loved him? In May, while the fruits were filling, they hadseparated; and now before they were well ripe she had given herselfto another! Love him! no, indeed. Was it possible that she shouldlove any man?--that she, who could so redeem herself and so bestowherself, should have any heart, any true feeling of what love is?
And yet this was not the worst of it. Such love as she had to give,had she not given it to this Harcourt even before she had rescuedherself from her former lover? Had she not given this man herpreference, such preference as she had to give, then, then when shewas discussing with him how best to delay her nuptials with heracknowledged suitor? This successful, noisy, pushing, worldly man hadwon her by his success and his worldlines
s. The glitter of the goldhad caught her; and so she had been unhappy, and had pined, and wornherself with grief till she could break away from her honest troth,and bind herself to the horn of the golden calf.
'Twas thus that he now thought of her, thus that he spoke of her tohimself out loud, now that he could wander alone, with no eye towatch him, no ear to hear him. And yet he loved her with a stronglove, with a mad passion such as he had never felt before. Much as heblamed her, thoroughly as he despised her for being so venal; yet heblamed, nay, scorned, himself more vehemently in that he had let thisplausible knave with his silken words rob from him the only treasureworth his having. Why had he not toiled? Why had he not made a namefor himself? Why had he not built a throne on which his lady-lovemight sit and shine before the world?