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AN OLD MAN'S LOVE
by
ANTHONY TROLLOPE
In Two Volumes
William Blackwood and Sons
Edinburgh and London
MDCCCLXXXIV
NOTE.
This story, "An Old Man's Love," is the last
of my father's novels. As I have stated in the
preface to his Autobiography, "The Landleaguers"
was written after this book, but was never fully
completed.
HENRY M. TROLLOPE.
CONTENTS OF VOLUME I
I. MRS BAGGETT
II. MR WHITTLESTAFF
III. MARY LAWRIE
IV. MARY LAWRIE ACCEPTS MR WHITTLESTAFF
V. "I SUPPOSE IT WAS A DREAM"
VI. JOHN GORDON
VII. JOHN GORDON AND MR WHITTLESTAFF
VIII. JOHN GORDON AND MARY LAWRIE
IX. THE REV MONTAGU BLAKE
X. JOHN GORDON AGAIN GOES TO CROKER'S HALL
XI. MRS BAGGETT TRUSTS ONLY IN THE FUNDS
XII. MR BLAKE'S GOOD NEWS
CONTENTS OF VOLUME II
XIII. AT LITTLE ALRESFORD
XIV. MR WHITTLESTAFF IS GOING OUT TO DINNER
XV. MR WHITTLESTAFF GOES OUT TO DINNER
XVI. MRS BAGGETT'S PHILOSOPHY
XVII. MR WHITTLESTAFF MEDITATES A JOURNEY
XVIII. MR AND MRS TOOKEY
XIX. MR WHITTLESTAFF'S JOURNEY DISCUSSED
XX. MR WHITTLESTAFF TAKES HIS JOURNEY
XXI. THE GREEN PARK
XXII. JOHN GORDON WRITES A LETTER
XXIII. AGAIN AT CROKER'S HALL
XXIV. CONCLUSION
VOLUME I.
CHAPTER I.
MRS BAGGETT.
Mr William Whittlestaff was strolling very slowly up and down the
long walk at his country seat in Hampshire, thinking of the contents
of a letter which he held crushed up within his trousers' pocket. He
always breakfasted exactly at nine, and the letters were supposed to
be brought to him at a quarter past. The postman was really due at
his hall-door at a quarter before nine; but though he had lived in
the same house for above fifteen years, and though he was a man very
anxious to get his letters, he had never yet learned the truth about
them. He was satisfied in his ignorance with 9.15 A.M., but on this
occasion the post-boy, as usual, was ten minutes after that time. Mr
Whittlestaff had got through his second cup of tea, and was stranded
in his chair, having nothing to do, with the empty cup and plates
before him for the space of two minutes; and, consequently, when he
had sent some terrible message out to the post-boy, and then had read
the one epistle which had arrived on this morning, he thus liberated
his mind: "I'll be whipped if I will have anything to do with her."
But this must not be taken as indicating the actual state of his
mind; but simply the condition of anger to which he had been reduced
by the post-boy. If any one were to explain to him afterwards that he
had so expressed himself on a subject of such importance, he would
have declared of himself that he certainly deserved to be whipped
himself. In order that he might in truth make up his mind on the
subject, he went out with his hat and stick into the long walk, and
there thought out the matter to its conclusion. The letter which he
held in his pocket ran as follows:--
ST. TAWELL'S, NORWICH, February 18--.
MY DEAR MR WHITTLESTAFF,--Poor Mrs Lawrie has gone at
last. She died this morning at seven o'clock, and poor
Mary is altogether alone in the world. I have asked her
to come in among us for a few days at any rate, till the
funeral shall be over. But she has refused, knowing, I
suppose, how crowded and how small our house is. What is
she to do? You know all the circumstances much better than
I do. She says herself that she had always been intended
for a governess, and that she will, of course, follow out
the intention which had been fixed on between her and her
father before his death. But it is a most weary prospect,
especially for one who has received no direct education
for the purpose. She has devoted herself for the last
twelve months to Mrs Lawrie, as though she had been her
mother. You did not like Mrs Lawrie, nor did I; nor,
indeed, did poor Mary love her very dearly. But she, at
any rate, did her duty by her step-mother. I know that in
regard to actual money you will be generous enough; but do
turn the matter over in your mind, and endeavour to think
of some future for the poor girl.--Yours very faithfully,
EMMA KING.
It was in answer to such a letter as this, that Mr Whittlestaff had
declared that "He'd be whipped if he'd have anything to do with her."
But that expression, which must not in truth be accepted as meaning
anything, must not be supposed to have had even that dim shadow of a
meaning which the words may be supposed to bear. He had during the
last three months been asking himself the question as to what should
be Mary Lawrie's fate in life when her step-mother should have gone,
and had never quite solved the question whether he could or would not
bring into his own house, almost as a daughter, a young woman who
was in no way related to him. He had always begun these exercises
of thought, by telling himself that the world was a censorious old
fool, and that he might do just as he pleased as to making any girl
his daughter. But then, before dinner he had generally come to the
conclusion that Mrs Baggett would not approve. Mrs Baggett was his
housekeeper, and was to him certainly a person of importance. He had
not even suggested the idea to Mrs Baggett, and was sure that Mrs
Baggett would not approve. As to sending Mary Lawrie out into the
world as a governess;--that plan he was quite sure would not answer.
Two years ago had died his best beloved friend, Captain Patrick
Lawrie. With him we have not anything to do, except to say that of
all men he was the most impecunious. Late in life he had married
a second wife,--a woman who was hard, sharp, and possessed of an
annuity. The future condition of his only daughter had been a
terrible grief to him; but from Mr Whittlestaff he had received
assurances which had somewhat comforted him. "She shan't want. I
can't say anything further." Such had been the comfort given by Mr
Whittlestaff. And since his friend's death Mr Whittlestaff had been
liberal with presents,--which Mary had taken most unwillingly under
her step-mother's guidance. Such had been the state of things when
Mr Whittlestaff received the letter. When he had been walking up
and down the long walk for an extra hour, Mr Whittlestaff expressed
aloud the conclusion to which he had come. "I don't care one straw
for Mrs Baggett." It should be understood as having been uttered in
direct opposition to the first assurance made by him, that "He'd be
whipped if he'd have anything to do with her." In that hour he had
resolved that Mary Lawrie should come to him, and be made, with all
possible honours of ownership, with all its privileges and all its
responsibilities, the mistress of his house. And he made up his mind
also that such had ever been his determination. He was fifty and Mary
Lawrie was twenty-five. "I can do just what I please with her," he
said to himself, "as though she were my own girl." By this he meant
to imply that he would not be expected to fall in love with her, and
that it was quite out of the question that she should fall in love
with him. "Go and tell Mrs Baggett that I'll be much obliged to her
if she'll put on her bonnet and come out to me here." This he said to
a gardener's boy, and the order was not at all an unusual one. When
he wanted to learn what Mrs Baggett intended to give him for dinner,
he would send for the old housekeeper and take a walk with her for
twenty minutes. Habit had made Mrs Baggett quite accustomed to the
proceeding, which upon the whole she enjoyed. She now appeared with
a bonnet, and a wadded cloak which her master had given her. "It's
about that letter, sir," said Mrs Baggett.
"How do you know?"
"Didn't I see the handwriting, and the black edges? Mrs Lawrie ain't
no more."
"Mrs Lawrie has gone to her long account."
"I'm afeared, sir, she won't find it easy to settle the bill,"
said Mrs Baggett, who had a sharp, cynical way of expressing her
disapprobation.
"Mrs Baggett, judge not, lest you be judged." Mrs Baggett turned up
her nose and snuffed the air. "The woman has gone, and nothing shall
be said against her here. The girl remains. Now, I'll tell you what I
mean to do."
"She isn't to come here, Mr Whittlestaff?"
"Here she is to come, and here she is to remain, and here she is to
have her part of everything as though she were my own daughter. And,
as not the smallest portion of the good things that is to come to
her, she is to have her share in your heart, Mrs Baggett."
"I don't know nothing about my heart, Mr Whittlestaff. Them as finds
their way to my heart has to work their way there. Who's Miss Lawrie,
that I'm to be knocked about for a new comer?"
"She is just Mary Lawrie."
"I'm that old that I don't feel like having a young missus put over
me. And it ain't for your good, Mr Whittlestaff. You ain't a young
man--nor you ain't an old un; and she ain't no relations to you.
That's the worst part of it. As sure as my name is Dorothy Baggett,
you'll be falling in love with her." Then Mrs Baggett, with the
sense of the audacity of what she had said, looked him full in the
face and violently shook her head.
"Now go in," he said, "and pack my things up for three nights. I'm
going to Norwich, and I shan't want any dinner. Tell John I shall
want the cart, and he must be ready to go with me to the station at
2.15."
"I ought to be ready to cut the tongue out of my head," said Mrs
Baggett as she returned to the house, "for I might have known it was
the way to make him start at once."
Not in three days, but before the end of the week, Mr Whittlestaff
returned home, bringing with him a dark-featured tall girl, clothed,
of course, in deepest mourning from head to foot. To Mrs Baggett she
was an object of intense interest; because, although she had by no
means assented to her master's proposal, made on behalf of the young
lady, and did tell herself again and again during Mr Whittlestaff's
absence that she was quite sure that Mary Lawrie was a baggage, yet
in her heart she knew it to be impossible that she could go on living
in the house without loving one whom her master loved. With regard
to most of those concerned in the household, she had her own way.
Unless she would favour the groom, and the gardener, and the boy,
and the girls who served below her, Mr Whittlestaff would hardly be
contented with those subordinates. He was the easiest master under
whom a servant could live. But his favour had to be won through Mrs
Baggett's smiles. During the last two years, however, there had been
enough of discussion about Mary Lawrie to convince Mrs Baggett that,
in regard to this "interloper," as Mrs Baggett had once called her,
Mr Whittlestaff intended to have his own way. Such being the case,
Mrs Baggett was most anxious to know whether the young lady was such
as she could love.
Strangely enough, when the young lady had come, Mrs Baggett, for
twelve months, could not quite make up her mind. The young lady was
very different from what she had expected. Of interference in the
house there was almost literally none. Mary had evidently heard
much of Mrs Baggett's virtues,--and infirmities,--and seemed to
understand that she also had in many things to place herself under
Mrs Baggett's orders. "Lord love you, Miss Mary," she was heard
to say; "as if we did not all understand that you was to be missus
of everything at Croker's Hall,"--for such was the name of Mr
Whittlestaff's house. But those who heard it knew that the words
were spoken in supreme good humour, and judged from that, that Mrs
Baggett's heart had been won. But Mrs Baggett still had her fears;
and was not yet resolved but that it might be her duty to turn
against Mary Lawrie with all the violence in her power. For the first
month or two after the young lady's arrival, she had almost made
up her mind that Mary Lawrie would never consent to become Mrs
Whittlestaff. An old gentleman will seldom fall in love without some
encouragement; or at any rate, will not tell his love. Mary Lawrie
was as cold to him as though he had been seventy-five instead of
fifty. And she was also as dutiful,--by which she showed Mrs Baggett
more strongly even than by her coldness, that any idea of marriage
was on her part out of the question.
This, strange to say, Mrs Baggett resented. For though she certainly
felt, as would do any ordinary Mrs Baggett in her position, that a
wife would be altogether detrimental to her interest in life, yet she
could not endure to think that "a little stuck-up minx, taken in from
charity," should run counter to any of her master's wishes. On one or
two occasions she had spoken to Mr Whittlestaff respecting the young
lady and had been cruelly snubbed. This certainly did not create
good humour on her part, and she began to fancy herself angry in that
the young lady was so ceremonious with her master. But as months ran
by she felt that Mary was thawing, and that Mr Whittlestaff was
becoming more affectionate. Of course there were periods in which her
mind veered round. But at the end of the year Mrs Baggett certainly
did wish that the young lady should marry her old master. "I can
go down to Portsmouth," she said to the baker, who was a most
respectable old man, and was nearer to Mrs Baggett's confidence
than any one else except her master, "and weary out the rest on 'em
there." When she spoke of "wearying out the rest on 'em," her friend
perfectly understood that she alluded to what years she might still
have to live, and to the abject misery of her latter days, which
would be the consequence of her resigning her present mode of life.
Mrs Baggett was supposed to have been born at Portsmouth, and,
therefore, to allude to that one place which she knew in the world
over and beyond the residences in which her master and her master's
family had resided.
Before I go on to describe the characters of Mr Whittlestaff and
Miss Lawrie, I must devote a few words to the early life of Mrs
Baggett. Dorothy Tedcaster had been born in the house of Admiral
Whittlestaff, the officer in command at the Portsmouth dockyard.
There her father or her mother had family connections, to visit whom
Dorothy, when a young woman, had returned from the then abode of her
loving mistress, Mrs Whittlestaff. With Mrs Whittlestaff she had
lived absolutely from the hour of her birth, and of Mrs Whittlestaff
her mind was so full, that she did conceive her to be superior, if
not absolutely in rank, at any rate in all the graces and favours of
life, to her Majesty and all the royal family. Dorothy in an evil
hour went back to Portsmouth, and there encountered that worst of
military heroes, Sergeant Baggett. With many lamentations, and
confessions as to her own weakness, she wrote to her mistress,
acknowledging that she did intend to marry "B." Mrs Whittlestaff
could do nothing to prevent it, and Dorothy did marry "B." Of the
misery and ill-usage, of the dirt and poverty, which poor Dorothy
Baggett endured during that year, it needs not here to tell. That
something had passed between her and her old mistress when she
returned to her, must, I suppose, have been necessary. But of her
married life, in subsequent years, Mrs Baggett never spoke at all.
Even the baker only knew dimly that there had been a Sergeant Baggett
in existence. Years had passed since that bad quarter of an hour
in her life, before Mrs Baggett had been made over to her present
master. And he, though he probably knew something of the abominable
Sergeant, never found it necessary to mention his name. For this Mrs
Baggett was duly thankful, and would declare among all persons, the
baker included, that "for a gentleman to be a gentleman, no gentleman
was such a gentleman" as her master.
It was now five-and-twenty years since the Admiral had died, and
fifteen since his widow had followed him. During the latter period
Mrs Baggett had lived at Croker's Hall with Mr Whittlestaff, and
within that period something had leaked out as to the Sergeant. How
it had come to pass that Mr Whittlestaff's establishment had been
mounted with less of the paraphernalia of wealth than that of his
parents, shall be told in the next chapter; but it was the case that
Mrs Baggett, in her very heart of hearts, was deeply grieved at what
she considered to be the poverty of her master. "You're a stupid
old fool, Mrs Baggett," her master would say, when in some private
moments her regrets would be expressed. "Haven't you got enough
to eat, and a bed to lie on, and an old stocking full of money
somewhere? What more do you want?"
"A stocking full of money!" she would say, wiping her eyes; "there
ain't no such thing. And as for eating, of course, I eats as much as
I wants. I eats more than I wants, if you come to that."
"Then you're very greedy."
"But to think that you shouldn't have a man in a black coat to pour
out a glass of wine for you, sir!"
"I never drink wine, Mrs Baggett."
"Well, whisky. I suppose a fellow like that wouldn't be above pouring
out a glass of whisky for a gentleman;--though there's no knowing now
what those fellows won't turn up their noses at. But it's a come-down
in the world, Mr Whittlestaff."
"If you think I've come down in the world, you'd better keep it to
yourself, and not tell me. I don't think that I've come down."
"You bear up against it finely like a man, sir; but for a poor woman
like me, I do feel it." Such was Mrs Baggett and the record of her
life. But this little conversation took place before the coming of
Mary Lawrie.