MONKHAMS.
[Illustration]
On the 10th of August Nora Rowley left the cottage by the river-side
at Twickenham, and went down to Monkhams. The reader need hardly be
told that Hugh brought her up from Twickenham and sent her off in the
railway carriage. They agreed that no day could be fixed for their
marriage till something further should be known of Trevelyan's state.
While he was in his present condition such a marriage could not have
been other than very sad. Nora, when she left the cottage, was still
very bitter against her brother-in-law, quoting the doctor's opinion
as to his sanity, and expressing her own as to his conduct under that
supposition. She also believed that he would rally in health, and was
therefore, on that account, less inclined to pity him than was his
wife. Emily Trevelyan of course saw more of him than did her sister,
and understood better how possible it was that a man might be in such
a condition as to be neither mad nor sane;--not mad, so that all
power over his own actions need be taken from him; nor sane, so
that he must be held to be accountable for his words and thoughts.
Trevelyan did nothing, and attempted to do nothing, that could injure
his wife and child. He submitted himself to medical advice. He did
not throw away his money. He had no Bozzle now waiting at his heels.
He was generally passive in his wife's hands as to all outward
things. He was not violent in rebuke, nor did he often allude to
their past unhappiness. But he still maintained, by a word spoken
every now and then, that he had been right throughout in his contest
with his wife,--and that his wife had at last acknowledged that it
was so. She never contradicted him, and he became bolder and bolder
in his assertions, endeavouring on various occasions to obtain some
expression of an assent from Nora. But Nora would not assent, and he
would scowl at her, saying words, both in her presence and behind her
back, which implied that she was his enemy. "Why not yield to him?"
her sister said the day before she went. "I have yielded, and your
doing so cannot make it worse."
"I can't do it. It would be false. It is better that I should go
away. I cannot pretend to agree with him, when I know that his mind
is working altogether under a delusion." When the hour for her
departure came, and Hugh was waiting for her, she thought that it
would be better that she should go, without seeing Trevelyan. "There
will only be more anger," she pleaded. But her sister would not be
contented that she should leave the house in this fashion, and urged
at last, with tears running down her cheeks, that this might possibly
be the last interview between them.
"Say a word to him in kindness before you leave us," said Mrs.
Trevelyan. Then Nora went up to her brother-in-law's bed-side, and
told him that she was going, and expressed a hope that he might be
stronger when she returned. And as she did so she put her hand upon
the bed-side, intending to press his in token of affection. But his
face was turned from her, and he seemed to take no notice of her.
"Louis," said his wife, "Nora is going to Monkhams. You will say
good-bye to her before she goes?"
"If she be not my enemy, I will," said he.
"I have never been your enemy, Louis," said Nora, "and certainly I am
not now."
"She had better go," he said. "It is very little more that I expect
of any one in this world;--but I will recognise no one as my friend
who will not acknowledge that I have been sinned against during the
last two years;--sinned against cruelly and utterly." Emily, who
was standing at the bed-head, shuddered as she heard this, but made
no reply. Nor did Nora speak again, but crept silently out of the
room;--and in half a minute her sister followed her.
"I feared how it would be," said Nora.
"We can only do our best. God knows that I try to do mine."
"I do not think you will ever see him again," said Hugh to her in the
train.
"Would you have had me act otherwise? It is not that it would have
been a lie. I would not have minded that to ease the shattered
feelings of one so infirm and suffering as he. In dealing with mad
people I suppose one must be false. But I should have been accusing
her; and it may be that he will get well, and it might be that he
would then remember what I had said."
At the station near Monkhams she was met by Lady Peterborough in the
carriage. A tall footman in livery came on to the platform to shew
her the way and to look after her luggage, and she could not fail to
remember that the man might have been her own servant, instead of
being the servant of her who now sat in Lord Peterborough's carriage.
And when she saw the carriage, and her ladyship's great bay horses,
and the glittering harness, and the respectably responsible coachman,
and the arms on the panel, she smiled to herself at the sight of
these first outward manifestations of the rank and wealth of the man
who had once been her lover. There are men who look as though they
were the owners of bay horses and responsible coachmen and family
blazons,--from whose outward personal appearance, demeanour, and tone
of voice, one would expect a following of liveries and a magnificence
of belongings; but Mr. Glascock had by no means been such a man. It
had suited his taste to keep these things in abeyance, and to place
his pride in the oaks and elms of his park rather than in any of
those appanages of grandeur which a man may carry about with him. He
could talk of his breed of sheep on an occasion, but he never talked
of his horses; and though he knew his position and all its glories as
well as any nobleman in England, he was ever inclined to hang back a
little in going out of a room, and to bear himself as though he were
a small personage in the world. Some perception of all this came
across Nora's mind as she saw the equipage, and tried to reflect, at
a moment's notice, whether the case might have been different with
her, had Mr. Glascock worn a little of his tinsel outside when she
first met him. Of course she told herself that had he worn it all on
the outside, and carried it ever so gracefully, it could have made no
difference.
It was very plain, however, that, though Mr. Glascock did not like
bright feathers for himself, he chose that his wife should wear them.
Nothing could be prettier than the way in which Caroline Spalding,
whom we first saw as she was about to be stuck into the interior
of the diligence, at St. Michel, now filled her carriage as Lady
Peterborough. The greeting between them was very affectionate, and
there was a kiss in the carriage, even though the two pretty hats,
perhaps, suffered something. "We are so glad to have you at last,"
said Lady Peterborough. "Of course we are very quiet; but you won't
mind that." Nora declared that no house could be too quiet for her,
and then said something of the melancholy scene which she had just
left. "And no time is fixed for your own marriage? But of course it
has not been possible. And why should you be in a hurry? We quite
understand that this is to be your home till everything has arranged
itself." There was a drive of four or five miles before they reached
the park gates, and nothing could be kinder or more friendly than was
the new peeress; but Nora told herself that there was no forgetting
that her friend was a peeress. She would not be so ill-conditioned as
to suggest to herself that her friend patronised her;--and, indeed,
had she done so, the suggestion would have been false;--but she could
not rid herself of a certain sensation of external inferiority, and
of a feeling that the superiority ought to be on her side, as all
this might have been hers,--only that she had not thought it worth
her while to accept it. As these ideas came into her mind, she hated
herself for entertaining them; and yet, come they would. While she
was talking about her emblematic beef-steak with Hugh, she had no
regret, no uneasiness, no conception that any state of life could be
better for her than that state in which an emblematic beef-steak was
of vital importance; but she could not bring her mind to the same
condition of unalloyed purity while sitting with Lady Peterborough in
Lord Peterborough's carriage. And for her default in this respect she
hated herself.
"This is the beginning of the park," said her friend.
"And where is the house?"
"You can't see the house for ever so far yet; it is two miles off.
There is about a mile before you come to the gates, and over a mile
afterwards. One has a sort of feeling when one is in that one can't
get out,--it is so big." In so speaking, it was Lady Peterborough's
special endeavour to state without a boast facts which were
indifferent, but which must be stated.
"It is very magnificent," said Nora. There was in her voice the
slightest touch of sarcasm, which she would have given the world not
to have uttered; but it had been irrepressible.
Lady Peterborough understood it instantly, and forgave it, not
attributing to it more than its true meaning, acknowledging to
herself that it was natural. "Dear Nora," she said,--not knowing what
to say, blushing as she spoke,--"the magnificence is nothing; but the
man's love is everything."
Nora shook herself, and determined that she would behave well. The
effort should be made, and the required result should be produced by
it. "The magnificence, as an adjunct, is a great deal," she said;
"and for his sake, I hope that you enjoy it."
"Of course I enjoy it."
"Wallachia's teachings and preachings have all been thrown to the
wind, I hope."
"Not quite all. Poor dear Wally! I got a letter from her the
other day, which she began by saying that she would attune her
correspondence to my changed condition in life. I understood the
reproach so thoroughly! And, when she told me little details of
individual men and women, and of things she had seen, and said not a
word about the rights of women, or even of politics generally, I felt
that I was a degraded creature in her sight. But, though you laugh at
her, she did me good,--and will do good to others. Here we are inside
Monkhams, and now you must look at the avenue."
Nora was now rather proud of herself. She had made the effort, and
it had been successful; and she felt that she could speak naturally,
and express her thoughts honestly. "I remember his telling me about
the avenue the first time I ever saw him;--and here it is. I did not
think then that I should ever live to see the glories of Monkhams.
Does it go all the way like this to the house?"
"Not quite;--where you see the light at the end the road turns to the
right, and the house is just before you. There are great iron gates,
and terraces, and wondrous paraphernalia before you get up to the
door. I can tell you Monkhams is quite a wonder. I have to shut
myself up every Wednesday morning, and hand the house over to Mrs.
Crutch, the housekeeper, who comes out in a miraculous brown silk
gown, to shew it to visitors. On other days, you'll find Mrs. Crutch
quite civil and useful;--but on Wednesdays, she is majestic. Charles
always goes off among his sheep on that day, and I shut myself up
with a pile of books in a little room. You will have to be imprisoned
with me. I do so long to peep at the visitors."
"And I dare say they want to peep at you."
"I proposed at first to shew them round myself;--but Charles wouldn't
let me."
"It would have broken Mrs. Crutch's heart."
"That's what Charles said. He thinks that Mrs. Crutch tells them
that I'm locked up somewhere, and that that gives a zest to the
search. Some people from Nottingham once did break into old Lady
Peterborough's room, and the shew was stopped for a year. There was
such a row about it! It prevented Charles coming up for the county.
But he wouldn't have got in; and therefore it was lucky, and saved
money."
By this time Nora was quite at her ease; but still there was before
her the other difficulty, of meeting Lord Peterborough. They were
driven out of the avenue, and round to the right, and through the
iron gate, and up to the huge front door. There, upon the top step,
was standing Lord Peterborough, with a billycock hat and a very old
shooting coat, and nankeen trousers, which were considerably too
short for him. It was one of the happinesses of his life to dress
just as he pleased as he went about his own place; and it certainly
was his pleasure to wear older clothes than any one else in his
establishment. "Miss Rowley," he said, coming forward to give her
a hand out of the carriage, "I am delighted that you should see
Monkhams at last."
"You see I have kept you to your promise. Caroline has been telling
me everything about it; but she is not quite a complete guide as yet.
She does not know where the seven oaks are. Do you remember telling
me of the seven oaks?"
"Of course I do. They are five miles off;--at Clatton farm, Carry.
I don't think you have been near Clatton yet. We will ride there
to-morrow." And thus Nora Rowley was made at home at Monkhams.
She was made at home, and after a week or two she was very happy. She
soon perceived that her host was a perfect gentleman, and as such,
a man to be much loved. She had probably never questioned the fact,
whether Mr. Glascock was a gentleman or not, and now she did not
analyse it. It probably never occurred to her, even at the present
time, to say to herself that he was certainly that thing, so
impossible of definition, and so capable of recognition; but she knew
that she had to do with one whose presence was always pleasant to
her, whose words and acts towards her extorted her approbation, whose
thoughts seemed to her to be always good and manly. Of course she
had not loved him, because she had previously known Hugh Stanbury.
There could be no comparison between the two men. There was a
brightness about Hugh which Lord Peterborough could not rival.
Otherwise,--except for this reason,--it seemed to her to be
impossible that any young woman should fail to love Lord Peterborough
when asked to do so.
About the middle of September there came a very happy time for her,
when Hugh was asked down to shoot partridges,--in the doing of which,
however, all his brightness did not bring him near in excellence to
his host. Lord Peterborough had been shooting partridges all his
life, and shot them with a precision which excited Hugh's envy. To
own the truth, Stanbury did not shoot well, and was treated rather
with scorn by the gamekeeper; but in other respects he spent three or
four of the happiest days of his life. He had his work to do, and
after the second day over the stubbles, declared that the exigencies
of the D. R. were too severe to enable him to go out with his gun
again; but those rambles about the park with Nora, for which, among
the exigencies of the D. R., he did find opportunity, were never to
be forgotten.
"Of course I remember that it might have been mine," she said,
sitting with him under an old, hollow, withered sloping stump of an
oak, which still, however, had sufficient of a head growing from one
edge of the trunk to give them the shade they wanted; "and if you
wish me to own to regrets,--I will."
"It would kill me, I think, if you did; and yet I cannot get it out
of my head that if it had not been for me your rank and position in
life might have been so--so suitable to you."
"No, Hugh; there you're wrong. I have thought about it a good deal,
too; and I know very well that the cold beef-steak in the cupboard is
the thing for me. Caroline will do very well here. She looks like a
peeress, and bears her honours grandly; but they will never harden
her. I, too, could have been magnificent with fine feathers. Most
birds are equal to so much as that. I fancy that I could have
looked the part of the fine English lady, and could have patronised
clergymen's wives in the country, could have held my own among my
peers in London, and could have kept Mrs. Crutch in order; but it
would have hardened me, and I should have learned to think that to be
a lady of fashion was everything."
"I do not believe a bit of it."
"It is better as it is, Hugh;--for me at least. I had always a sort
of conviction that it would be better, though I had a longing to play
the other part. Then you came, and you have saved me. Nevertheless,
it is very nice, Hugh, to have the oaks to sit under." Stanbury
declared that it was very nice.
[Illustration: Monkhams.]
But still nothing was settled about the wedding. Trevelyan's
condition was so uncertain that it was very difficult to settle
anything. Though nothing was said on the subject between Stanbury
and Mrs. Trevelyan, and nothing written between Nora and her sister,
it could not but be remembered that should Trevelyan die, his widow
would require a home with them. They were deterred from choosing a
house by this reflection, and were deterred from naming a day also by
the consideration that were they to do so, Trevelyan's state might
still probably prevent it. But this was arranged, that if Trevelyan
lived through the winter, or even if he should not live, their
marriage should not be postponed beyond the end of March. Till
that time Lord Peterborough would remain at Monkhams, and it was
understood that Nora's invitation extended to that period.
"If my wife does not get tired of you, I shall not," Lord
Peterborough said to Nora. "The thing is that when you do go we shall
miss you so terribly." In September, too, there happened another
event which took Stanbury to Exeter, and all needful particulars as
to that event shall be narrated in the next chapter.