Marion Fay: A Novel

  CHAPTER XI.

  MR. GREENWOOD BECOMES AMBITIOUS.

  Mr. Greenwood was still anxious as to the health of the Rectorof Appleslocombe. There might be even yet a hope for him;but his chance, he thought, would be better with the presentMarquis--ill-disposed towards him as the Marquis was--than withthe heir. The Marquis was weary of him, and anxious to get rid ofhim,--was acting very meanly to him, as Mr. Greenwood thought, havingoffered him L1000 as a final payment for a whole life's attention.The Marquis, who had ever been a liberal man, had now, perhaps onhis death-bed, become unjust, harsh, and cruel. But he was weak andforgetful, and might possibly be willing to save his money and getrid of the nuisance of the whole affair by surrendering the living.This was Mr. Greenwood's reading of the circumstances as they atpresent existed. But the Marquis could not dispose of the livingwhile the Rector was still alive; nor could he even promise it,to any good effect, without his son's assent. That Lord Hampsteadwould neither himself so bestow his patronage or allow it to be sobestowed, Mr. Greenwood was very sure. There had been that betweenhim and Lord Hampstead which convinced him that the young manwas more hostile to him even than the father. The Marquis, as Mr.Greenwood thought, had insulted him of late;--but Lord Hampstead,young as he was, had also been insolent; and what was worse, he hadinsulted Lord Hampstead. There had been something in the young lord'seye which had assured him of the young lord's contempt as well asdislike. If anything could be done about the living it must be doneby the Marquis. The Marquis was very ill; but it was still probablethat the old rector should die first. He had been given to understandthat the old rector could hardly live many weeks.

  Mr. Greenwood understood but little of the young lord's character.The Marquis, no doubt, he knew well, having lived with him formany years. When he supposed his patron to be fretful and irasciblebecause of his infirmities, but to be by nature forgiving,unreasonable, and weak, he drew an easy portrait, which was like theperson portrayed. But in attributing revenge, or harshness, or prideof power to Lord Hampstead he was altogether wrong. As regardedAppleslocombe and other parishes, the patronage of which would someday belong to him, Lord Hampstead had long since made up his mindthat he would have nothing to do with them, feeling himself unfit toappoint clergymen to ministrations in a Church to which he did notconsider himself to belong. All that he would leave to the Bishop,thinking that the Bishop must know more about it than himself. Washis father, however, to make any request to him with reference toAppleslocombe especially, he would no doubt regard the living asbestowed before his father's death. But of all this Mr. Greenwoodcould understand nothing. He felt, however, that as the Marquis hadgiven him cause for anger, so had the young lord given him cause forhatred as well as anger.

  Daily, almost hourly, these matters were discussed between LadyKingsbury and the chaplain. There had come to be strong sympathybetween them as far as sympathy can exist where the feelings aremuch stronger on the one side than on the other. The mother of the"darlings" had allowed herself to inveigh very bitterly against herhusband's children by his former marriage, and at first had beenreceived only half way by her confidential friend. But of lateher confidential friend had become more animated and more bitterthan herself, and had almost startled her by the boldness of hisdenunciations. She in her passion had allowed herself more than onceto express a wish that her stepson--were dead. She had hardly intruth meant as much as she implied,--or meaning it had hardly thoughtof what she meant. But the chaplain taking the words from her lips,had repeated them till she was almost terrified by their iniquity andhorror. He had no darlings to justify him! No great injury had beendone to him by an unkind fortune! Great as were the sin of LordHampstead and his sister, they could bring no disgrace upon him!And yet there was a settled purpose of hatred in his words whichfrightened her, though she could not bring herself to oppose them.She in her rage had declared that it would be well that LordHampstead should break his neck out hunting or go down in his yachtat sea; and she had been gratified to find that her friend hadsanctioned her ill-wishes. But when Mr. Greenwood spoke as thoughsomething might possibly be done to further those wishes, then shealmost repented herself.

  She had been induced to say that if any power should come to herof bestowing the living of Appleslocombe she would bestow it on Mr.Greenwood. Were Lord Hampstead to die before the Marquis, and werethe Marquis to die before the old rector, such power would belongto her during the minority of her eldest son. There had, therefore,been some meaning in the promise; and the clergyman had referred toit more than once or twice. "It is most improbable, you know, Mr.Greenwood," she had said very seriously. He had replied as seriouslythat such improbabilities were of frequent occurrence. "If it shouldhappen I will do so," she had answered. But after that she had neverof her own accord referred to the probability of Lord Hampstead'sdeath.

  From day to day there grew upon her a feeling that she had subjectedherself to domination, almost to tyranny from Mr. Greenwood. Theman whom she had known intimately during her entire married lifenow appeared to assume different proportions and almost a differentcharacter. He would still stand before her with his flabby handshanging listlessly by his side, and with eyes apparently full ofhesitation, and would seem to tremble as though he feared the effectof his own words; but still the words that fell from him were felt tobe bonds from which she could not escape. When he looked at her fromhis lack-lustre eyes, fixing them upon her for minutes together,till the minutes seemed to be hours, she became afraid. She did notconfess to herself that she had fallen into his power; nor did sherealize the fact that it was so; but without realizing it she wasdominated, so that she also began to think that it would be wellthat the chaplain should be made to leave Trafford Park. He, however,continued to discuss with her all family matters as though hisservices were indispensable to her; and she was unable to answer himin such a way as to reject his confidences.

  The telegram reached the butler as to Hampstead's coming on theMonday, and was, of course, communicated at once to Lord Kingsbury.The Marquis, who was now confined to his bed, expressed himselfas greatly gratified, and himself told the news to his wife. She,however, had already heard it, as had also the chaplain. It quicklywent through the whole household, in which among the servants thereexisted an opinion that Lord Hampstead ought to have been againsent for some days since. The Doctor had hinted as much to theMarchioness, and had said so plainly to the butler. Mr. Greenwood hadexpressed to her ladyship his belief that the Marquis had no desireto see his son, and that the son certainly had no wish to pay anothervisit to Trafford. "He cares more about the Quaker's daughter thananything else," he had said,--"about her and his hunting. He and hissister consider themselves as separated from the whole of the family.I should leave them alone if I were you." Then she had said a faintword to her husband, and had extracted from him something thatwas supposed to be the expression of a wish that Lord Hampsteadshould not be disturbed. Now Lord Hampstead was coming without anyinvitation.

  "Going to walk over, is he, in the middle of the night?" said Mr.Greenwood, preparing to discuss the matter with the Marchioness.There was something of scorn in his voice, as though he were takingupon himself to laugh at Lord Hampstead for having chosen this way ofreaching his father's house.

  "He often does that," said the Marchioness.

  "It's an odd way of coming into a sick house,--to disturb it in themiddle of the night." Mr. Greenwood, as he spoke, stood looking ather ladyship severely.

  "How am I to help it? I don't suppose anybody will be disturbed atall. He'll come round to the side door, and one of the servants willbe up to let him in. He always does things differently from anybodyelse."

  "One would have thought that when his father was dying--"

  "Don't say that, Mr. Greenwood. There's nothing to make you saythat. The Marquis is very ill, but nobody has said that he's so badas that." Mr. Greenwood shook his head, but did not move from theposition in which he was standing. "I suppose that on this occasionHampstead is doing what is right."
br />   "I doubt whether he ever does what is right. I am only thinking thatif anything should happen to the Marquis, how very bad it would befor you and the young lords."

  "Won't you sit down, Mr. Greenwood?" said the Marchioness, to whomthe presence of the standing chaplain had become almost intolerable.

  The man sat down,--not comfortably in his chair, but hardly more thanon the edge of it, so as still to have that air of restraint whichhad annoyed his companion. "As I was saying, if anything shouldhappen to my lord it would be very sad for your ladyship and for LordFrederick, and Lord Augustus, and Lord Gregory."

  "We are all in the hands of God," said her ladyship, piously.

  "Yes;--we are all in the hands of God. But it is the Lord's intentionthat we should all look out for ourselves, and do the best we can toavoid injustice, and cruelty, and,--and--robbery."

  "I do not think there will be any robbery, Mr. Greenwood."

  "Would it not be robbery if you and their little lordships should beturned at once out of this house?"

  "It would be his own;--Lord Hampstead's,--of course. I should haveSlocombe Abbey in Somersetshire. As far as a house goes, I shouldlike it better than this. Of course it is much smaller;--but whatcomfort do I ever have out of a house like this?"

  "That's true enough. But why?"

  "There is no good in talking about it, Mr. Greenwood."

  "I cannot help talking about it. It is because Lady Frances hasbroken up the family by allowing herself to be engaged to a youngman beneath her own station in life." Here he shook his head, as healways did when he spoke of Lady Frances. "As for Lord Hampstead,I look upon it as a national misfortune that he should outlive hisfather."

  "What can we do?"

  "Well, my lady; it is hard to say. What will my feelings be, shouldanything happen to the Marquis, and should I be left to the tendermercies of his eldest son? I should have no claim upon Lord Hampsteadfor a shilling. As he is an infidel, of course he would not want achaplain. Indeed I could not reconcile it to my conscience to remainwith him. I should be cast out penniless, having devoted all my life,as I may say, to his lordship's service."

  "He has offered you a thousand pounds."

  "A thousand pounds, for the labours of a whole life! And whatassurance shall I have of that? I don't suppose he has ever dreamedof putting it into his will. And if he has, what will a thousandpounds do for me? You can go to Slocombe Abbey. But the rectory,which was as good as promised, will be closed against me." TheMarchioness knew that this was a falsehood, but did not dare to tellhim so. The living had been talked about between them till it wasassumed that he had a right to it. "If the young man were out of theway," he continued, "there would be some chance for me."

  "I cannot put him out of the way," said the Marchioness.

  "And some chance for Lord Frederic and his brothers."

  "You need not tell me of that, Mr. Greenwood."

  "But one has to look the truth in the face. It is for your sake thatI have been anxious,--rather than my own. You must own that." Shewould not own anything of the kind. "I suppose there was no doubtabout the first marriage?"

  "None at all," said the Marchioness, terrified.

  "Though it was thought very odd at the time. It ought to be lookedto, I think. No stone ought to be left unturned."

  "There is nothing to be hoped for in that direction, Mr. Greenwood."

  "It ought to be looked to;--that's all. Only think what it will be ifhe marries, and has a son before anything is--is settled."

  To this Lady Kingsbury made no answer; and after a pause Mr.Greenwood turned to his own grievances. "I shall make bold," he said,"to see the Marquis once again before Lord Hampstead comes down. Hecannot but acknowledge that I have a great right to be anxious. I donot suppose that any promise would be sacred in his son's eyes, butI must do the best I can." To this her ladyship would make no answer,and they parted, not in the best humour with each other.

  That was on the Monday. On the Tuesday Mr. Greenwood, having asked tobe allowed an interview, crept slowly into the sick man's room. "Ihope your lordship find yourself better this morning?" The sick manturned in his bed, and only made some feeble grunt in reply. "I hearthat Lord Hampstead is coming down to-morrow, my lord."

  "Why should he not come?" There must have been something in the toneof Mr. Greenwood's voice which had grated against the sick man'sears, or he would not have answered so sulkily.

  "Oh, no, my lord. I did not mean to say that there was any reason whyhis lordship should not come. Perhaps it might have been better hadhe come earlier."

  "It wouldn't have been at all better."

  "I only just meant to make the remark, my lord; there was nothing init."

  "Nothing at all," said the sick man. "Was there anything else youwished to say, Mr. Greenwood?"

  The nurse all this time was sitting in the room, which the chaplainfelt to be uncomfortable. "Could we be alone for a few minutes, mylord?" he asked.

  "I don't think we could," said the sick man.

  "There are a few points which are of so much importance to me, LordKingsbury."

  "I ain't well enough to talk business, and I won't do it. Mr. Robertswill be here to-morrow, and you can see him."

  Mr. Roberts was a man of business, or agent to the property, wholived at Shrewsbury, and whom Mr. Greenwood especially disliked.Mr. Greenwood being a clergyman was, of course, supposed to be agentleman, and regarded Mr. Roberts as being much beneath himself. Itwas not customary for Mr. Roberts to dine at the house, and he wastherefore regarded by the chaplain as being hardly more than an upperservant. It was therefore very grievous to him to be told that hemust discuss his own private affairs and make his renewed request asto the living through Mr. Roberts. It was evidently intended thathe should have no opportunity of discussing his private affairs.Whatever the Marquis might offer him he must take; and that, as faras he could see, without any power of redress on his side. If Mr.Roberts were to offer him a thousand pounds, he could only accept thecheque and depart with it from Trafford Park, shaking off from hisfeet the dust which such ingratitude would forbid him to carry withhim.

  He was in the habit of walking daily for an hour before sunset,moving very slowly up and down the driest of the roads near thehouse, generally with his hands clasped behind his back, believingthat in doing so he was consulting his health, and maintaining thatbodily vigour which might be necessary to him for the performanceof the parochial duties at Appleslocombe. Now when he had left thebed-room of the Marquis he went out of the front door, and proceededon his walk at a somewhat quicker pace than usual. He was full ofwrath, and his passion gave some alacrity to his movements. He wasof course incensed against the Marquis; but his anger burnt hottestagainst Lord Hampstead. In this he was altogether unreasonable, forLord Hampstead had said nothing and done nothing that could injurehis position. Lord Hampstead disliked him and, perhaps, despisedhim, but had been anxious that the Marquis should be liberal in themode of severing a connection which had lasted so long. But to Mr.Greenwood himself it was manifest that all his troubles came from theiniquities of his patron's two elder children; and he remembered atevery moment that Lord Hampstead had insulted him when they were bothtogether. He was certainly not a man to forgive an enemy, or to loseany opportunity for revenge which might come in his way.

  Certainly it would be good if the young man could be got to breakhis neck out hunting;--or good if the yacht could be made to founder,or go to pieces on a rock, or come to any other fatal maritimemisfortune. But these were accidents which he personally could haveno power to produce. Such wishing was infantine, and fit only fora weak woman, such as the Marchioness. If anything were to be doneit must be done by some great endeavour; and the endeavour mustcome from himself. Then he reflected how far the Marchioness wouldcertainly be in his power, if both the Marquis and his eldest sonwere dead. He did believe that he had obtained great influence overher. That she should rebel against him was of course on the cards.But he was aware that within the las
t month, since the date, indeed,at which the Marquis had threatened to turn him out of the house,he had made considerable progress in imposing himself upon her as amaster. He gave himself in this respect much more credit than wasin truth due to him. Lady Kingsbury, though she had learnt to fearhim, had not so subjected herself to his influence as not to be ableto throw him off should a time come at which it might be essentialto her comfort to do so. But he had misread the symptoms, and hadmisread also the fretfulness of her impatience. He now assuredhimself that if anything could be done he might rely entirely on hersupport. After all that she had said to him, it would be impossiblethat she should throw him over. Thinking of all this, and thinkingalso how expedient it was that something should be done, he returnedto the house when he had taken the exact amount of exercise which hesupposed necessary for his health.