Marion Fay: A Novel

  CHAPTER IV.

  LADY FRANCES.

  There is something so sad in the condition of a girl who is known tobe in love, and has to undergo the process of being made ashamed ofit by her friends, that one wonders that any young woman can bear it.Most young women cannot bear it, and either give up their love or saythat they do. A young man who has got into debt, or been plucked,--oreven when he has declared himself to be engaged to a penniless younglady, which is worse,--is supposed merely to have gone after hiskind, and done what was to be expected of him. The mother neverlooks at him with that enduring anger by which she intends to wearout the daughter's constancy. The father frets and fumes, pays thedebts, prepares the way for a new campaign, and merely shrugs hisshoulders about the proposed marriage, which he regards simply asan impossibility. But the girl is held to have disgraced herself.Though it is expected of her, or at any rate hoped, that she will getmarried in due time, yet the falling in love with a man,--which is,we must suppose, a preliminary step to marriage,--is a wickedness.Even among the ordinary Joneses and Browns of the world we see thatit is so. When we are intimate enough with the Browns to be awareof Jane Brown's passion, we understand the father's manner and themother's look. The very servants about the house are aware thatshe has given way to her feelings, and treat her accordingly. Herbrothers are ashamed of her. Whereas she, if her brother be in lovewith Jemima Jones, applauds him, sympathizes with him, and encourageshim.

  There are heroines who live through it all, and are true to the end.There are many pseudo-heroines who intend to do so, but break down.The pseudo-heroine generally breaks down when young Smith,--not sovery young,--has been taken in as a partner by Messrs. Smith andWalker, and comes in her way, in want of a wife. The persecution is,at any rate, so often efficacious as to make fathers and mothers feelit to be their duty to use it. It need not be said here how highabove the ways of the Browns soared the ideas of the Marchioness ofKingsbury. But she felt that it would be her duty to resort to themeasures which they would have adopted, and she was determined thatthe Marquis should do the same. A terrible evil, an incurable evil,had already been inflicted. Many people, alas, would know that LadyFrances had disgraced herself. She, the Marchioness, had been unableto keep the secret from her own sister, Lady Persiflage, and LadyPersiflage would undoubtedly tell it to others. Her own lady'smaid knew it. The Marquis himself was the most indiscreet of men.Hampstead would see no cause for secrecy. Roden would, of course,boast of it all through the Post Office. The letter-carriers whoattended upon Park Lane would have talked the matter over with thefootmen at the area gate. There could be no hope of secrecy. All theyoung marquises and unmarried earls would know that Lady FrancesTrafford was in love with the "postman." But time, and care, andstrict precaution might prevent the final misery of a marriage.Then, if the Marquis would be generous, some young Earl, or at leasta Baron, might be induced to forget the "postman," and to takethe noble lily, soiled, indeed, but made gracious by gilding. Herdarlings must suffer. Any excess of money given would be at theircost. But anything would be better than a Post Office clerk for abrother-in-law.

  Such were the views as to their future life with which theMarchioness intended to accompany her stepdaughter to their Saxonresidence. The Marquis, with less of a fixed purpose, was inclined inthe same way. "I quite agree that they should be separated;--quite,"he said. "It mustn't be heard of;--certainly not; certainly not. Nota shilling,--unless she behaves herself properly. Of course she willhave her fortune, but not to bestow it in such a manner as that."

  His own idea was to see them all settled in the chateau, and then, ifpossible, to hurry back to London before the season was quite at anend. His wife laid strong injunctions on him as to absolute secrecy,having forgotten, probably, that she herself had told the wholestory to Lady Persiflage. The Marquis quite agreed. Secrecy wasindispensable. As for him, was it likely that he should speak of amatter so painful and so near to his heart! Nevertheless he toldit all to Mr. Greenwood, the gentleman who acted as tutor, privatesecretary, and chaplain in the house.

  Lady Frances had her own ideas, as to this going away and livingabroad, very strongly developed in her mind. They intended topersecute her till she should change her purpose. She intended topersecute them till they should change theirs. She knew herself toowell, she thought, to have any fear as to her own persistency. Thatthe Marchioness should persuade, or even persecute, her out of anengagement to which she had assented, she felt to be quite out of thequestion. In her heart she despised the Marchioness,--bearing withher till the time should come in which she would be delivered fromthe nuisance of surveillance under such a woman. In her father shetrusted much, knowing him to be affectionate, believing him to bestill opposed to those aristocratic dogmas which were a religion tothe Marchioness,--feeling probably that in his very weakness shewould find her best strength. If her stepmother should in truthbecome cruel, then her father would take her part against his wife.There must be a period of discomfort,--say, six months; and thenwould come the time in which she would be able to say, "I have triedmyself, and know my own mind, and I intend to go home and get myselfmarried." She would take care that her declaration to this effectshould not come as a sudden blow. The six months should be employedin preparing for it. The Marchioness might be persistent in preachingher views during the six months, but so would Lady Frances bepersistent in preaching hers.

  She had not accepted the man's love when he had offered it, withoutthinking much about it. The lesson which she had heard in her earlieryears from her mother had sunk deep into her very soul,--much moredeeply than the teacher of those lessons had supposed. That teacherhad never intended to inculcate as a doctrine that rank is a mistake.No one had thought more than she of the incentives provided by rankto high duty. "Noblesse oblige." The lesson had been engraved on herheart, and might have been read in all the doings of her life. Butshe had endeavoured to make it understood by her children that theyshould not be over-quick to claim the privileges of rank. Too manysuch would be showered on them,--too many for their own welfare.Let them never be greedy to take with outstretched hands those goodthings of which Chance had provided for them so much more than theirfair share. Let them remember that after all there was no virtue inhaving been born a child to a Marquis. Let them remember how muchmore it was to be a useful man, or a kind woman. So the lessons hadbeen given,--and had gone for more than had been intended. Then allthe renown of their father's old politics assisted,--the re-electionof the drunken tailor,--the jeerings of friends who were high enoughand near enough to dare to jeer,--the convictions of childhoodthat it was a fine thing, because peculiar for a Marquis and hisbelongings, to be Radical;--and, added to this, there was contemptfor the specially noble graces of their stepmother. Thus it was thatLord Hampstead was brought to his present condition of thinking,--andLady Frances.

  Her convictions were quite as strong as his, though they didnot assume the same form. With a girl, at an early age, all heroutlookings into the world have something to do with love and itsconsequences. When a young man takes his leaning either towardsLiberalism or Conservatism he is not at all actuated by any feelingas to how some possible future young woman may think on the subject.But the girl, if she entertains such ideas at all, dreams of them asbefitting the man whom she may some day hope to love. Should she, aProtestant, become a Roman Catholic and then a nun, she feels thatin giving up her hope for a man's love she is making the greatestsacrifice in her power for the Saviour she is taking to her heart.If she devotes herself to music, or the pencil, or to languages,the effect which her accomplishments may have on some beau idealof manhood is present to her mind. From the very first she isdressing herself unconsciously in the mirror of a man's eyes. Quiteunconsciously, all this had been present to Lady Frances as monthafter month and year after year she had formed her strong opinions.She had thought of no man's love,--had thought but little of lovingany man,--but in her meditations as to the weaknesses and vanity ofrank there had always been present that idea,--how would i
t be withher if such a one should ask for her hand, such a one as she mightfind among those of whom she dreamed as being more noble than Dukes,even though they were numbered among the world's proletaries? Thenshe had told herself that if any such a one should come,--if atany time any should be allowed by herself to come,--he should beestimated by his merits, whether Duke or proletary. With her mindin such a state she had of course been prone to receive kindly theovertures of her brother's friend.

  What was there missing in him that a girl should require? It wasso that she had asked herself the question. As far as manners wereconcerned, this man was a gentleman. She was quite sure of that.Whether proletary or not, there was nothing about him to offend thetaste of the best-born of ladies. That he was better educated thanany of the highly-bred young men she saw around her, she was quitesure. He had more to talk about than others. Of his birth and familyshe knew nothing, but rather prided herself in knowing nothing,because of that doctrine of hers that a man is to be estimated onlyby what he is himself, and not at all by what he may derive fromothers. Of his personal appearance, which went far with her, she wasvery proud. He was certainly a handsome young man, and endowed withall outward gifts of manliness: easy in his gait, but not mindful ofit, with motions of his body naturally graceful but never studied,with his head erect, with a laugh in his eye, well-made as to hishands and feet. Neither his intellect nor his political convictionswould have recommended a man to her heart, unless there had beensomething in the outside to please her eye, and from the first momentin which she had met him he had never been afraid of her,--hadventured when he disagreed from her to laugh at her, and even toscold her. There is no barrier in a girl's heart so strong againstlove as the feeling that the man in question stands in awe of her.

  She had taken some time before she had given him her answer, and hadthought much of the perils before her. She had known that she couldnot divest herself of her rank. She had acknowledged to herself that,whether it was for good or bad, a Marquis's daughter could not belike another girl. She owed much to her father, much to her brothers,something even to her stepmother. But was the thing she proposed todo of such a nature as to be regarded as an evil to her family? Shecould see that there had been changes in the ways of the world duringthe last century,--changes continued from year to year. Rank was notso high as it used to be,--and in consequence those without rank notso low. The Queen's daughter had married a subject. Lords John andLords Thomas were every day going into this and the other business.There were instances enough of ladies of title doing the very thingwhich she proposed to herself. Why should a Post Office clerk belower than another?

  Then came the great question, whether it behoved her to ask herfather. Girls in general ask their mother, and send the lover to thefather. She had no mother. She was quite sure that she would notleave her happiness in the hands of the present Marchioness. Were sheto ask her father she knew that the matter would be at once settledagainst her. Her father was too much under the dominion of his wifeto be allowed to have an opinion of his own on such a matter. So shedeclared to herself, and then determined that she would act on herown responsibility. She would accept the man, and then take the firstopportunity of telling her stepmother what she had done. And so itwas. It was only early on that morning that she had given her answerto George Roden,--and early on that morning she had summoned up hercourage, and told her whole story.

  The station to which she was taken was a large German schloss, verycomfortably arranged, with the mountain as a background and the RiverElbe running close beneath its terraces, on which the Marquis hadspent some money, and made it a residence to be envied by the eyesof all passers-by. It had been bought for its beauty in a freak, buthad never been occupied for more than a week at a time till thisoccasion. Under other circumstances Lady Frances would have been ashappy here as the day was long, and had often expressed a desire tobe allowed to stay for a while at Koenigsgraaf. But now, though shemade an attempt to regard their sojourn in the place as one of thenatural events of their life, she could not shake off the idea ofa prison. The Marchioness was determined that the idea of a prisonshould not be shaken off. In the first few days she said not a wordabout the objectionable lover, nor did the Marquis. That had beensettled between them. But neither was anything said on any othersubject. There was a sternness in every motion, and a grim silenceseemed to preside in the chateau, except when the boys werepresent,--and an attempt was made to separate her from her brothersas much as possible, which she was more inclined to resent thanany other ill usage which was adopted towards her. After abouta fortnight it was announced that the Marquis was to return toLondon. He had received letters from "the party" which made it quitenecessary that he should be there. When this was told to Lady Francesnot a word was said as to the probable duration of their own stay atthe chateau.

  "Papa," she said, "you are going back to London?"

  "Yes, my dear. My presence in town is imperatively necessary."

  "How long are we to stay here?"

  "How long?"

  "Yes, papa. I like Koenigsgraaf very much. I always thought it theprettiest place I know. But I do not like looking forward to stayinghere without knowing when I am to go away."

  "You had better ask your mamma, my dear."

  "Mamma never says anything to me. It would be no good my asking her.Papa, you ought to tell me something before you go away."

  "Tell you what?"

  "Or let me tell you something."

  "What do you want to tell me, Frances?" In saying this he assumedhis most angry tone and sternest countenance,--which, however, werenot very angry or very stern, and had no effect in frightening hisdaughter. He did not, in truth, wish to say a word about the PostOffice clerk before he made his escape, and would have been very gladto frighten her enough to make her silent had that been possible.

  "Papa, I want you to know that it will do no good shutting me upthere."

  "Nobody shuts you up."

  "I mean here in Saxony. Of course I shall stay for some time, but youcannot expect that I shall remain here always."

  "Who has talked about always?"

  "I understand that I am brought here to be--out of Mr. Roden's way."

  "I would rather not speak of that young man."

  "But, papa,--if he is to be my husband--"

  "He is not to be your husband."

  "It will be so, papa, though I should be kept here ever so long. Thatis what I want you to understand. Having given my word,--and so muchmore than my word,--I certainly shall not go back from it. I canunderstand that you should carry me off here so as to try and wean mefrom it--"

  "It is quite out of the question; impossible!"

  "No, papa. If he choose,--and I choose,--no one can prevent us." Asshe said this she looked him full in the face.

  "Do you mean to say that you owe no obedience to your parents?"

  "To you, papa, of course I owe obedience,--to a certain extent. Theredoes come a time, I suppose, in which a daughter may use her ownjudgment as to her own happiness."

  "And disgrace all her family?"

  "I do not think that I shall disgrace mine. What I want you tounderstand, papa, is this,--that you will not ensure my obedience bykeeping me here. I think I should be more likely to be submissive athome. There is an idea in enforced control which is hardly compatiblewith obedience. I don't suppose you will lock me up."

  "You have no right to talk to me in that way."

  "I want to explain that our being here can do no good. When you aregone mamma and I will only be very unhappy together. She won't talkto me, and will look at me as though I were a poor lost creature. Idon't think that I am a lost creature at all, but I shall be just asmuch lost here as though I were at home in England."

  "When you come to talking you are as bad as your brother," said theMarquis as he left her. Only that the expression was considered to beunfit for female ears, he would have accused her of "talking the hindlegs off a dog."

  When he was gone the life at Koenigs
graaf became very sombre indeed.Mr. George Roden's name was never mentioned by either of the ladies.There was the Post Office, no doubt, and the Post Office was atfirst left open to her; but there soon came a time in which shewas deprived of this consolation. With such a guardian as theMarchioness, it was not likely that free correspondence should beleft open to her.