Whilst making his way back to the ball-room after supper, Mr Howard was
stopped by Tom Musgrave, who told him that Lady Osborne desired his
presence in her own room. He was received with even more than the usual
gracious condescension.
“Pray be seated. Yes, in the settee here, so that I may talk with more
ease.”
There was a pause during which her Ladyship took stock of her situation.
“My good Mr Howard,” she went on, “there can be little doubt that
in the next few years I must be deprived of my children, which will
make a considerable difference in my way of life, a very considerable
difference, Mr Howard. This renders it the more fitting that I should
myself consider, nay, I will go further and say _seek_, yes, seek a
change. You may probably have had no thought of my interest in you
being other than the interest of the patron in the clergyman----”
Mr Howard half rose, and made as though to speak, but, with an
impatient gesture, she motioned him to remain seated.
“Pray permit me to say what I desire you to hear. In short, my dear Mr
Howard, my wish is that we unite,--I will not say our fortunes, for I
am well aware that on your side there is none,--but our lives.--My
rank will bring consequence to your situation, and neither your
profession nor person can disgrace mine.”
Mr Howard, in a state of much agitation from more than one emotion, was
now permitted to rise, and, speaking very rapidly, replied:
“I am much obliged for your--I regret that this should be impossible.
I am very grateful for your kind--for all your kindness--My
affections--engaged elsewhere.”
With a hasty bow he was gone. Lady Osborne was left, also much
disturbed by a variety of feelings. Fortunately the consideration of
the evil of so unequal a match was soon predominant.
We might draw a moving picture of the rejected mother and son weeping
in each other’s arms, but have to confess that Lady Osborne went
to bed, and that Lord Osborne made the discovery that emotion is
exhausting, and felt the better for cake and a glass of wine.
Once outside the park gates, Emma found that the sympathetic
pressure of Elizabeth’s hand, or some other cause, was restoring her
composure with surprising rapidity, and she experienced some shame
on this account. Nevertheless, thoughts, exciting and not altogether
unpleasant, continued to present themselves. She had had an offer,
at a ball, and the ball at a Castle, and the suitor the Lord of the
Castle. What would any one think if they knew? What would Mr Howard
think? Her thoughts ran on, and, knowing that such thoughts were unwise
and a danger to her peace of mind, she continued to think them till
interrupted by Margaret.
“Why would not Lady Osborne let you stay?”
Emma replied that she had wished to be at home.
“You mean that Lady Osborne desired you to go home?”
Emma assured her that this was not so.
“Well, who was it that would not have you?”
Emma explained that no one had objected to her presence, but that she
herself had experienced a sudden desire not to be separated from her
family.
“Have you told the truth to Elizabeth? Do you ever expect to be asked
to the Castle again? Just as we are taking you into high life, you
disgrace us all. Do not suppose but that I shall find out the truth.”
Emma was thankful when they reached Stanton, but here trouble awaited
them. Nanny met them with the information that Mr Watson had been
taken very unwell soon after their departure, that he had had her send
for the apothecary, who had said little and shaken his head much, and
forgotten to leave any physic, till she ran out after him for it.
The sight of their father, quiet and free from pain, gave some
reassurance, and as he firmly declined to have any one sit in his room,
all were glad to retire.
Several days passed, the apothecary calling each morning, and each
afternoon shortly before dark. The house was strangely quiet: it had
indeed never been very lively, but there had been the possibility at
any moment of the thump of Mr Watson’s stick on the floor overhead to
be attended to, and his demands satisfied. Now he lay in bed, growing
quieter and still quieter as the hours passed.
On the fourth day after the memorable dance at the Castle, Nanny going
early to his room, found him so very quiet that her ministrations were
no longer needed, and it remained only for her to carry the sad tidings
to Elizabeth and Emma.
Word was sent to Croydon and Chichester, and Mr Robert Watson arrived
the following morning, and Penelope before nightfall. The sisters were
really glad of their brother’s support in the necessary arrangements.
Could he have remained thus importantly busy he might have continued
to accumulate gratitude, and might even have been missed after his
departure, when some further matter had to be decided. It was not to
be. Affairs were settled all too soon, and entering the parlour, having
warmed himself up to his subject at the fire, he began:
“Well, I must say this is most unfortunate,” sitting down in his
father’s chair, “most unfortunate for me indeed. I had calculated my
father could have lived ten years: I had certainly reckoned on ten
years, and you see how I am taken in. Heavens knows what is to become
of you girls; there will not be more than two thousand pounds to divide
between you, and you will expect me to give you a home.”
“Do not count on me,” cried Penelope, “I shall not live at Croydon, I
promise you.”
“So much the better, if you have some other plan; three on one’s hand
is quite enough. There has been some great mismanagement, or some of
you would certainly have got husbands.”
“Well, to relieve your mind,” continued Pen, “I will inform you that I
am engaged to be married, and expect to be a wife in about a month.”
“Are you indeed, my dear sister? I congratulate you. What settlements
are you to have? If the papers pass through our office, I promise you I
will pay every attention to see all advantageously arranged for you.”
“Your liberality, my dear Robert, is most exemplary, and far beyond
what I had ventured to expect from you. But I shall not trouble you.
The settlements are preparing at Chichester.”
“It is a very delicate matter to make known,” said Margaret, “one from
which a young woman of sensibility naturally shrinks; but I will so far
overcome my feelings as to inform you, Robert, that I, too, am engaged
to be married and, therefore, delighted as I should be to reside with
my dear Jane, I hope before long to be able to receive you in my
own house, and as Mrs Tom Musgrave, to return the kindness shown to
Margaret Watson.”
“What!” said Robert, staring at her with undisguised amazement, “are
you mad, Margaret?”
“Indeed, I hope not,” replied she simpering. “I am engaged to my dear
Tom Musgrave, as any one might expect, and no doubt we shall be married
in time.”
Her brother looked doubtfully at her, but, after a moment’s
consideration, replied:
“Well, Margaret, if that is the case, you deserve more credit than I
had ever thought possible, for I would not have given much for your
chance with Tom; but since you say he is engaged to you, I am heartily
glad to hear it. As times go, it is a good match.”
“A good match! I should think so,” cried Margaret. “I only wish my
sisters may make half so good a one. Tom Musgrave is a man every woman
may envy me.”
“I doubt if his income was ever a clear thousand a year, Margaret,”
replied Robert, “but, provided he is not in debt, you may do very well.
If only Elizabeth and Emma were in a like case we might all be very
comfortable.”
This was worse than Emma had feared.
“Jane was of the opinion that there must have been a great want of
management on your part, Emma,” he continued, “during your visit to
the Howards and the Castle, or you might certainly have turned them to
better account.”
“I regret that Jane should disapprove of me,” replied Emma.
“I warned her that it was beyond what might be hoped for, but she
would have it that, with proper attention, you could have secured the
young lord. I understand that you had excellent opportunities; it was
certainly your duty to make every effort for such an establishment. In
such a position, you would have been of service to your family; you
might even have been useful to me, but as I said to Jane, it was beyond
what could be hoped.”
Emma, though distressed, was able to feel that she had gained much by
keeping her own counsel. What would have been the anger and reproach
had the true state of the case been known!
Robert had more to say on the subject, and was only checked by the
arrival of Mr Watson’s lawyer, which enabled Emma to escape.
On the first opportunity Elizabeth confided to Emma her satisfaction at
the prospect of Penelope’s coming marriage.
“Dr Harding is old and asthmatic,” she allowed, “but he has a
sufficient income, and that is what Pen is resolved on.”
Emma expressed the opinion that old age and ill-health could not be
ignored, and that Penelope was to be pitied in making so mercenary a
marriage.
“If any one is to be pitied, it is Dr Harding,” was Elizabeth’s
rejoinder, “but about Margaret, what is your opinion? I cannot feel
secure that all is as Margaret states.”
“My dear sister,” replied Emma, “how can you doubt that it is as
Margaret says? What possible reason could she have to deceive us, even
were she so unprincipled?”
Elizabeth hesitated.
“I do not know. You do not know Tom as I do; it is all very odd, and I
can only hope that you are right. You and I can manage together till
one of your young lords comes to take you away. My poor father, it is
all very strange and difficult.”