Marion Fay: A Novel

  E-text prepared by Delphine Lettau and Joseph E. Loewenstein, M.D.

  MARION FAY.

  A Novel.

  by

  ANTHONY TROLLOPE,

  Author of"Framley Parsonage," "Orley Farm," "The Way We Live Now," etc., etc.

  In Three Volumes.

  VOL. I.

  London:Chapman & Hall, Limited, 11, Henrietta St.1882[All Rights reserved.]

  Bungay:Clay and Taylor, Printers.

  CONTENTS OF VOLUME I.

  I. THE MARQUIS OF KINGSBURY. II. LORD HAMPSTEAD. III. THE MARCHIONESS. IV. LADY FRANCES. V. MRS. RODEN. VI. PARADISE ROW. VII. THE POST OFFICE. VIII. MR. GREENWOOD. IX. AT KOENIGSGRAAF. X. "NOBLESSE OBLIGE." XI. LADY PERSIFLAGE. XII. CASTLE HAUTBOY. XIII. THE BRAESIDE HARRIERS. XIV. COMING HOME FROM HUNTING. XV. MARION FAY AND HER FATHER. XVI. THE WALK BACK TO HENDON. XVII. LORD HAMPSTEAD'S SCHEME. XVIII. HOW THEY LIVED AT TRAFFORD PARK. XIX. LADY AMALDINA'S LOVER. XX. THE SCHEME IS SUCCESSFUL. XXI. WHAT THEY ALL THOUGHT AS THEY WENT HOME. XXII. AGAIN AT TRAFFORD.

  MARION FAY.

  CHAPTER I.

  THE MARQUIS OF KINGSBURY.

  When Mr. Lionel Trafford went into Parliament for the Borough ofWednesbury as an advanced Radical, it nearly broke the heart of hisuncle, the old Marquis of Kingsbury. Among Tories of his day theMarquis had been hyper-Tory,--as were his friends, the Duke ofNewcastle, who thought that a man should be allowed to do what heliked with his own, and the Marquis of Londonderry, who, when somesuch falling-off in the family politics came near him, spoke withindignation of the family treasure which had been expended indefending the family seat. Wednesbury had never been the Marquis'sown; but his nephew was so in a peculiar sense. His nephew wasnecessarily his heir,--the future Marquis,--and the old Marquis neveragain, politically, held up his head. He was an old man when thisoccurred, and luckily for him he did not live to see the worse thingswhich came afterwards.

  The Member for Wednesbury became Marquis and owner of the largefamily property, but still he kept his politics. He was a RadicalMarquis, wedded to all popular measures, not ashamed of his Charterdays, and still clamorous for further Parliamentary reform, althoughit was regularly noted in Dod that the Marquis of Kingsbury wassupposed to have strong influence in the Borough of Edgeware. Itwas so strong that both he and his uncle had put in whom theypleased. His uncle had declined to put him in because of hisrenegade theories, but he revenged himself by giving the seat to aglib-mouthed tailor, who, to tell the truth, had not done much creditto his choice.

  But it came to pass that the shade of his uncle was avenged, if itcan be supposed that such feelings will affect the eternal rest of adead Marquis. There grew up a young Lord Hampstead, the son and heirof the Radical Marquis, promising in intelligence and satisfactoryin externals, but very difficult to deal with as to the use of histhoughts. They could not keep him at Harrow or at Oxford, becausehe not only rejected, but would talk openly against, Christiandoctrines; a religious boy, but determined not to believe inrevealed mysteries. And at twenty-one he declared himself aRepublican,--explaining thereby that he disapproved altogether ofhereditary honours. He was quite as bad to this Marquis as had beenthis Marquis to the other. The tailor kept his seat because LordHampstead would not even condescend to sit for the family borough.He explained to his father that he had doubts about a Parliament ofwhich one section was hereditary, but was sure that at present he wastoo young for it. There must surely have been gratification in thisto the shade of the departed Marquis.

  But there was worse than this,--infinitely worse. Lord Hampsteadformed a close friendship with a young man, five years older thanhimself, who was but a clerk in the Post Office. In George Roden, asa man and a companion, there was no special fault to be found. Theremay be those who think that a Marquis's heir should look for his mostintimate friend in a somewhat higher scale of social rank, and thathe would more probably serve the purposes of his future life byassociating with his equals;--that like to like in friendship isadvantageous. The Marquis, his father, certainly thought so in spiteof his Radicalism. But he might have been pardoned on the score ofRoden's general good gifts,--might have been pardoned even thoughit were true, as supposed, that to Roden's strong convictionsLord Hampstead owed much of the ultra virus of his politicalconvictions,--might have been pardoned had not there been worseagain. At Hendon Hall, the Marquis's lovely suburban seat, the PostOffice clerk was made acquainted with Lady Frances Trafford, and theybecame lovers.

  The radicalism of a Marquis is apt to be tainted by specialconsiderations in regard to his own family. This Marquis, thoughhe had his exoteric politics, had his esoteric feelings. With him,Liberal as he was, his own blood possessed a peculiar ichor. Thoughit might be well that men in the mass should be as nearly equal aspossible, yet, looking at the state of possibilities and realities asexistent, it was clear to him that a Marquis of Kingsbury had beenplaced on a pedestal. It might be that the state of things was matterfor regret. In his grander moments he was certain that it was so. Whyshould there be a ploughboy unable to open his mouth because of hisinfirmity, and a Marquis with his own voice very resonant in theHouse of Lords, and a deputy voice dependent on him in the House ofCommons? He had said so very frequently before his son, not knowingthen what might be the effect of his own teaching. There had been acertain pride in his heart as he taught these lessons, wrong thoughit might be that there should be a Marquis and a ploughboy so farreversed by the injustice of Fate. There had been a comfort to himin feeling that Fate had made him the Marquis, and had made someone else the ploughboy. He knew what it was to be a Marquis down tothe last inch of aristocratic admeasurement. He would fain that hischildren should have understood this also. But his lesson had gonedeeper than he had intended, and great grief had come of it.

  The Marquis had been first married to a lady altogether unconnectedwith noble blood, but whose father had held a position of remarkableascendancy in the House of Commons. He had never been a CabinetMinister, because he had persisted in thinking that he could betterserve his country by independence. He had been possessed of wealth,and had filled a great place in the social world. In marrying theonly daughter of this gentleman the Marquis of Kingsbury had indulgedhis peculiar taste in regard to Liberalism, and was at the same timeheld not to have derogated from his rank. She had been a woman ofgreat beauty and of many intellectual gifts,--thoroughly imbued withher father's views, but altogether free from feminine pedantry andthat ambition which begrudges to men the rewards of male labour. Hadshe lived, Lady Frances might probably not have fallen in with thePost Office clerk; nevertheless, had she lived, she would have knownthe Post Office clerk to be a worthy gentleman.

  But she had died when her son was about sixteen and her daughter nomore than fifteen. Two years afterwards our Marquis had gone amongthe dukes, and had found for himself another wife. Perhaps thefreshness and edge of his political convictions had been blunted bythat gradual sinking down among the great peers in general which wasnatural to his advanced years. A man who has spouted at twenty-fivebecomes tired of spouting at fifty, if nothing special has come fromhis spouting. He had been glad when he married Lady Clara Mountressorto think that circumstances as they had occurred at the last electionwould not make it necessary for him to deliver up the borough to thetailor on any further occasion. The tailor had been drunk at thehustings, and he ventured to hope that before six months were overLord Hampstead would have so far rectified his frontiers as to beable to take a seat in the House of Commons.

  Then very quickly there were born three little flaxen-hairedboys,--who became at least flaxen-haired as they emerged from theircradles,--Lord Frederic, Lord Augustus, and Lord Gregory. That theymust be brought
up with ideas becoming the scions of a noble Housethere could be no doubt. Their mother was every inch a duke'sdaughter. But, alas, not one of them was likely to become Marquisof Kingsbury. Though born so absolutely in the purple they were butyounger sons. This was a silent sorrow;--but when their half sisterLady Frances told their mother openly that she had plighted her trothto the Post Office clerk, that was a sorrow which did not admit ofsilence.

  When Lord Hampstead had asked permission to bring his friend to thehouse there seemed to be no valid reason for refusing him. Low as hehad descended amidst the depths of disreputable opinion, it was notsupposed that even he would countenance anything so horrible as this.And was there not ground for security in the reticence and dignityof Lady Frances herself? The idea never presented itself to theMarchioness. When she heard that the Post Office clerk was coming shewas naturally disgusted. All Lord Hampstead's ideas, doings, and wayswere disgusting to her. She was a woman full of high-bred courtesy,and had always been gracious to her son-in-law's friends,--but ithad been with a cold grace. Her heart rejected them thoroughly,--asshe did him, and, to tell the truth, Lady Frances also. Lady Franceshad all her mother's dignity, all her mother's tranquil manner, butsomething more than her mother's advanced opinions. She, too, had herideas that the world should gradually be taught to dispense with thedistances which separate the dukes and the ploughboys,--gradually,but still with a progressive motion, always tending in thatdirection. This to her stepmother was disgusting.

  The Post Office clerk had never before been received at Hendon Hall,though he had been introduced in London by Lord Hampstead to hissister. The Post Office clerk had indeed abstained from coming,having urged his own feelings with his friend as to certainunfitnesses. "A Marquis is as absurd to me as to you," he had saidto Lord Hampstead, "but while there are Marquises they should beindulged,--particularly Marchionesses. An over-delicate skin is anuisance; but if skins have been so trained as not to bear the freeair, veils must be allowed for their protection. The object should beto train the skin, not to punish it abruptly. An unfortunate SybariteMarchioness ought to have her rose leaves. Now I am not a rose leaf."And so he had stayed away.

  But the argument had been carried on between the friends, and thenoble heir had at last prevailed. George Roden was not a rose leaf,but he was found at Hendon to have flowers of beautiful hues andwith a sweet scent. Had he not been known to be a Post Officeclerk,--could the Marchioness have been allowed to judge of himsimply from his personal appearance,--he might have been taken to beas fine a rose leaf as any. He was a tall, fair, strongly-built youngman, with short light hair, pleasant grey eyes, an aquiline nose, andsmall mouth. In his gait and form and face nothing was discerniblymore appropriate to Post Office clerks than to the nobility at large.But he was a clerk, and he himself, as he himself declared, knewnothing of his own family,--remembered no relation but his mother.

  It had come to pass that the house at Hendon had become specially theresidence of Lord Hampstead, who would neither have lodgings of hisown in London or make part of the family when it occupied KingsburyHouse in Park Lane. He would sometimes go abroad, would sometimesappear for a week or two at Trafford Park, the grand seat inYorkshire. But he preferred the place, half town half country, inthe neighbourhood of London, and here George Roden came frequentlybackwards and forwards after the ice had been broken by a firstvisit. Sometimes the Marquis would be there, and with him hisdaughter,--rarely the Marchioness. Then came the time when LadyFrances declared boldly to her stepmother that she had pledgedher troth to the Post Office clerk. That happened in June, whenParliament was sitting, and when the flowers at Hendon were at theirbest. The Marchioness came there for a day or two, and the PostOffice clerk on that morning had left the house for his office work,not purposing to come back. Some words had been said which had causedannoyance, and he did not intend to return. When he had been goneabout an hour Lady Frances revealed the truth.

  Her brother at that time was two-and-twenty. She was a year younger.The clerk might perhaps be six years older than the young lady. Hadhe only been the eldest son of a Marquis, or Earl, or Viscount;had he been but an embryo Baron, he might have done very well. Hewas a well-spoken youth, yet with a certain modesty, such a one asmight easily take the eye of a wished-for though ever so noble amother-in-law. The little lords had learned to play with him, andit had come about that he was at his ease in the house. The veryservants had seemed to forget that he was no more than a clerk, andthat he went off by railway into town every morning that he mightearn ten shillings by sitting for six hours at his desk. Even theMarchioness had almost trained herself to like him,--as one of thoseexcrescences which are sometimes to be found in noble families, somegoverness, some chaplain or private secretary, whom chance or merithas elevated in the house, and who thus becomes a trusted friend.Then by chance she heard the name "Frances" without the prefix"Lady," and said a word in haughty anger. The Post Office clerkpacked up his portmanteau, and Lady Frances told her story.

  Lord Hampstead's name was John. He was the Honourable John Trafford,called by courtesy Earl of Hampstead. To the world at large he wasLord Hampstead,--to his friends in general he was Hampstead; to hisstepmother he was especially Hampstead,--as would have been her owneldest son the moment he was born had he been born to such good luck.To his father he had become Hampstead lately. In early days there hadbeen some secret family agreement that in spite of conventionalitieshe should be John among them. The Marquis had latterly suggested thatincreasing years made this foolish; but the son himself attributedthe change to step-maternal influences. But still he was John to hissister, and John to some half-dozen sympathising friends,--and amongothers to the Post Office clerk.

  "He has not said a word to me," the sister replied when she was taxedby her brother with seeming partiality for their young visitor.

  "But he will?"

  "No girl will ever admit as much as that, John."

  "But if he should?"

  "No girl will have an answer ready for such a suggestion."

  "I know he will."

  "If so, and if you have wishes to express, you should speak to him."

  All this made the matter quite clear to her brother. A girl suchas was his sister would not so receive a brother's notice as to aproposed overture of love from a Post Office clerk, unless she hadbrought herself to look at the possibility without abhorrence.

  "Would it go against the grain with you, John?" This was what theclerk said when he was interrogated by his friend.

  "There would be difficulties."

  "Very great difficulties,--difficulties even with you."

  "I did not say so."

  "They would come naturally. The last thing that a man can abandon ofhis social idolatries is the sanctity of the women belonging to him."

  "God forbid that I should give up anything of the sanctity of mysister."

  "No; but the idolatry attached to it! It is as well that even anobleman's daughter should be married if she can find a noblemanor such like to her taste. There is no breach of sanctity in thelove,--but so great a wound to the idolatry in the man! Things havenot changed so quickly that even you should be free from the feeling.Three hundred years ago, if the man could not be despatched outof the country or to the other world, the girl at least would belocked up. Three hundred years hence the girl and the man will standtogether on their own merits. Just in this period of transition it isvery hard for such a one as you to free himself altogether from theold trammels."

  "I make the endeavour."

  "Most bravely. But, my dear fellow, let this individual thing standseparately, away from politics and abstract ideas. I mean to ask yoursister whether I can have her heart, and, as far as her will goes,her hand. If you are displeased I suppose we shall have to part,--fora time. Let theories run ever so high, Love will be stronger thanthem all." Lord Hampstead at this moment gave no assurance of hisgood will; but when it came to pass that his sister had given herassurance, then he ranged himself on the side of his friend the
clerk.

  So it came to pass that there was great trouble in the household ofthe Marquis of Kingsbury. The family went abroad before the end ofJuly, on account of the health of the children. So said the _MorningPost_. Anxious friends inquired in vain what could have befallenthose flaxen-haired young Herculeses. Why was it necessary that theyshould be taken to the Saxon Alps when the beauties and comforts ofTrafford Park were so much nearer and so superior? Lady Frances wastaken with them, and there were one or two noble intimates among theworld of fashion who heard some passing whispers of the truth. Whenpassing whispers creep into the world of fashion they are heard farand wide.