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IS HE POPENJOY?
by
ANTHONY TROLLOPE,
Author of "Doctor Thorne," "The Prime Minister," "Orley Farm," &c., &c.
Third Edition.
London:
Chapman & Hall, 193, Piccadilly. 1879.
[_All Rights Reserved._]
London: Bradbury, Agnew, & Co., Printers, Whitefriars
CONTENTS
CHAPTER I. PAGE
INTRODUCTORY.--NUMBER ONE 1
CHAPTER II.
INTRODUCTORY.--NUMBER TWO 7
CHAPTER III.
LIFE AT MANOR CROSS 13
CHAPTER IV.
AT THE DEANERY 20
CHAPTER V.
MISS TALLOWAX IS SHOWN THE HOUSE 26
CHAPTER VI.
BAD TIDINGS 34
CHAPTER VII.
CROSS HALL GATE 41
CHAPTER VIII.
PUGSBY BROOK 47
CHAPTER IX.
MRS. HOUGHTON 52
CHAPTER X.
THE DEAN AS A SPORTING MAN 61
CHAPTER XI.
LORD AND LADY GEORGE GO UP TO TOWN 66
CHAPTER XII.
MISS MILDMAY AND JACK DE BARON 72
CHAPTER XIII.
MORE NEWS FROM ITALY 79
CHAPTER XIV.
"ARE WE TO CALL HIM POPENJOY?" 85
CHAPTER XV.
"DROP IT" 93
CHAPTER XVI.
ALL IS FISH THAT COMES TO HIS NET 100
CHAPTER XVII.
THE DISABILITIES 106
CHAPTER XVIII.
LORD GEORGE UP IN LONDON 112
CHAPTER XIX.
RATHER "BOISTEROUS" 119
CHAPTER XX.
BETWEEN TWO STOOLS 126
CHAPTER XXI.
THE MARQUIS COMES HOME 132
CHAPTER XXII.
THE MARQUIS AMONG HIS FRIENDS 139
CHAPTER XXIII.
THE MARQUIS SEES HIS BROTHER 146
CHAPTER XXIV.
THE MARQUIS GOES INTO BROTHERTON 153
CHAPTER XXV.
LADY SUSANNA IN LONDON 159
CHAPTER XXVI.
THE DEAN RETURNS TO TOWN 166
CHAPTER XXVII.
THE BARONESS BANMANN AGAIN 173
CHAPTER XXVIII.
"WHAT MATTER IF SHE DOES?" 180
CHAPTER XXIX.
MR. HOUGHTON WANTS A GLASS OF SHERRY 186
CHAPTER XXX.
THE DEAN IS VERY BUSY 193
CHAPTER XXXI.
THE MARQUIS MIGRATES TO LONDON 198
CHAPTER XXXII.
LORD GEORGE IS TROUBLED 205
CHAPTER XXXIII.
CAPTAIN DE BARON 213
CHAPTER XXXIV.
A DREADFUL COMMUNICATION 220
CHAPTER XXXV.
"I DENY IT" 226
CHAPTER XXXVI.
POPENJOY IS POPENJOY 235
CHAPTER XXXVII.
PREPARATIONS FOR THE BALL 241
CHAPTER XXXVIII.
THE KAPPA-KAPPA 248
CHAPTER XXXIX.
REBELLION 254
CHAPTER XL.
AS TO BLUEBEARD 260
CHAPTER XLI.
SCUMBERG'S 268
CHAPTER XLII.
"NOT GO!" 276
CHAPTER XLIII.
REAL LOVE 284
CHAPTER XLIV.
WHAT THE BROTHERTON CLERGYMEN SAID ABOUT IT 288
CHAPTER XLV.
LADY GEORGE AT THE DEANERY 293
CHAPTER XLVI.
LADY SARAH'S MISSION 298
CHAPTER XLVII.
THAT YOUNG FELLOW IN THERE 307
CHAPTER XLVIII.
THE MARQUIS MAKES A PROPOSITION 312
CHAPTER XLIX.
"WOULDN'T YOU COME HERE;--FOR A WEEK?" 320
CHAPTER L.
RUDHAM PARK 325
CHAPTER LI.
GUSS MILDMAY'S SUCCESS 333
CHAPTER LII.
ANOTHER LOVER 341
CHAPTER LIII.
POOR POPENJOY! 346
CHAPTER LIV.
JACK DE BARON'S VIRTUE 352
CHAPTER LV.
HOW COULD HE HELP IT? 357
CHAPTER LVI.
SIR HENRY SAID IT WAS THE ONLY THING 365
CHAPTER LVII.
MR. KNOX HEARS AGAIN FROM THE MARQUIS 372
CHAPTER LVIII.
MRS. JONES' LETTER 378
CHAPTER LIX.
BACK IN LONDON 384
CHAPTER LX.
THE LAST OF THE BARONESS 391
CHAPTER LXI.
THE NEWS COMES HOME 397
CHAPTER LXII.
THE WILL 405
CHAPTER LXIII.
POPENJOY IS BORN AND CHRISTENED 410
CHAPTER LXIV.
CONCLUSION 418
IS HE POPENJOY?
CHAPTER I.
INTRODUCTORY.--NUMBER ONE.
I would that it were possible so to tell a story that a reader should
beforehand know every detail of it up to a certain point, or be so
circumstanced that he might be supposed to know. In telling the little
novelettes of our life, we commence our narrations with the presumption
that these details are borne in mind, and though they be all forgotten,
the stories come out intelligible at last. "You remember Mary Walker.
Oh yes, you do;--that pretty girl, but such a queer temper! And how she
was engaged to marry Harry Jones, and said she wouldn't at the
church-door, till her father threatened her with bread and water; and
how they have been living ever since as happy as two turtle-doves down
in Devonshire,--till that scoundrel, Lieutenant Smith, went to
Bideford! Smith has been found dead at the bottom of a saw-pit.
Nobody's sorry for him. She's in a madhouse at Exeter; and Jones has
disappeared, and couldn't have had more than thirty shillings in his
pocket." This is quite as much as anybody ought to want to know
previous to the unravelling of the tragedy of the Jones's. But such
stories as those I have to tell cannot be written after that fashion.
We novelists are constantly twitted with being long; and to the
gentlemen who condescend to review us, and who take up our volumes with
a view to business rather than pleasure, we must be infinite in length
and tedium. But the story must be made intelligible from the beginning,
or the real novel readers will not like it. The plan of jumping at once
into the middle has been often tried, and sometimes seductively enough
for a chapter or two; but the writer still has to hark back, and to
begin again from the beginning,--not always very comfortably after the
abnormal brightness of his few opening pages; and the reader who is
then involved in some ancient family history, or long local
explanation, feels himself to have been defrauded. It is as though one
were asked to eat boiled mutton after woodcocks, caviare, or maccaroni
cheese. I hold that it is better to have the boiled mutton first, if
boiled mutton there must be.
The story which I have to tell is something in its nature akin to that
of poor Mrs. Jones, who was happy enough down in Devonshire till that
wicked Lieutenant Smith came and persecuted her; not quite so tragic,
perhaps, as it is stained neither by murder nor madness. But before I
can hope to interest readers in the perplexed details of the life of a
not unworthy lady, I must do more than remind them that they do know,
or might have known, or should have known the antecedents of my
personages. I must let them understand how it came to pass that so
pretty, so pert, so gay, so good a girl as Mary Lovelace, without any
great fault on her part, married a man so grim, so gaunt, so sombre,
and so old as Lord George Germain. It will not suffice to say that she
had done so. A hundred and twenty little incidents must be dribbled
into the reader's intelligence, many of them, let me hope, in such
manner that he shall himself be insensible to the process. But unless I
make each one of them understood and appreciated by my ingenious,
open-hearted, rapid reader,--by my reader who will always have his
fingers impatiently ready to turn the page,--he will, I know, begin to
masticate the real kernel of my story with infinite prejudices against
Mary Lovelace.
Mary Lovelace was born in a country parsonage; but at the age of
fourteen, when her life was in truth beginning, was transferred by her
father to the deanery of Brotherton. Dean Lovelace had been a fortunate
man in life. When a poor curate, a man of very humble origin, with none
of what we commonly call Church interest, with nothing to recommend him
but a handsome person, moderate education, and a quick intellect, he
had married a lady with a considerable fortune, whose family had bought
for him a living. Here he preached himself into fame. It is not at all
to be implied from this that he had not deserved the fame he acquired.
He had been active and resolute in his work, holding opinions which, if
not peculiar, were at any rate advanced, and never being afraid of the
opinions which he held. His bishop had not loved him, nor had he made
himself dear to the bench of bishops generally. He had the reputation
of having been in early life a sporting parson. He had written a book
which had been characterised as tending to infidelity, and had more
than once been invited to state dogmatically what was his own belief.
He had never quite done so, and had then been made a dean. Brotherton,
as all the world knows, is a most interesting little city, neither a
Manchester nor a Salisbury; full of architectural excellencies, given
to literature, and fond of hospitality. The Bishop of Brotherton,--who
did not love the dean,--was not a general favourite, being strict,
ascetic, and utterly hostile to all compromises. At first there were
certain hostile passages between him and the new dean. But the Dean,
who was and is urbanity itself, won the day, and soon became certainly
the most popular man in Brotherton. His wife's fortune doubled his
clerical income, and he lived in all respects as a dean ought to live.
His wife had died very shortly after his promotion, and he had been
left with one only daughter on whom to lavish his cares and his
affection.
Now we must turn for a few lines to the family of Lord George Germain.
Lord George was the brother of the Marquis of Brotherton, whose family
residence was at Manor Cross, about nine miles from the city. The
wealth of the family of the Germains was not equal to their rank, and
the circumstances of the family were not made more comfortable by the
peculiarities of the present marquis. He was an idle, self-indulgent,
ill-conditioned man, who found that it suited his tastes better to live
in Italy, where his means were ample, than on his own property, where
he would have been comparatively a poor man. And he had a mother and
four sisters, and a brother with whom he would hardly have known how to
deal had he remained at Manor Cross. As it was, he allowed them to keep
the house, while he simply took the revenue of the estate. With the
marquis I do not know that it will be necessary to trouble the reader
much at present. The old marchioness and her daughters lived always at
Manor Cross in possession of a fine old house in which they could have
entertained half the county, and a magnificent park,--which, however,
was let for grazing up to the garden-gates,--and a modest income
unequal to the splendour which should have been displayed by the
inhabitants of Manor Cross.
And here also lived Lord George Germain, to whom at a very early period
of his life had been entrusted the difficult task of living as the head
of his family with little or no means for the purpose. When the old
Marquis died,--very suddenly, and soon after the Dean's coming to
Brotherton,--the widow had her jointure, some two thousand a year, out
of the property, and the younger children had each a small settled sum.
That the four ladies,--Sarah, Alice, Susanna, and Amelia,--should have
sixteen thousand pounds among them, did not seem to be so very much
amiss to those who knew how poor was the Germain family; but what was
Lord George to do with four thousand pounds, and no means of earning a
shilling? He had been at Eton, and had taken a degree at Oxford with
credit, but had gone into no profession. There was a living in the
family, and both father and mother had hoped that he would consent to
take orders; but he had declined to do so, and there had seemed to be
nothing for him but to come and live at Manor Cross. Then the old
Marquis had died, and the elder brother, who had long been abroad,
remained abroad. Lord George, who was the youngest of the family, and
at that time about five-and-twenty, remained at Manor Cross, and became
not only ostensibly but in very truth the managing head of the family.
He was a man whom no one could despise, and in whom few could find much
to blame. In the first place he looked his poverty in the face, and
told himself that he was a very poor man. His bread he might earn by
looking after his mother and sisters, and he knew no other way in
which he could do so. He was a just steward, spending nothing to
gratify his own whims, acknowledging on all sides that he had nothing
of his own, till some began to think that he was almost proud of his
poverty. Among the ladies of the family, his mother and sisters, it was
of course said that George must marry money. In such a position there
is nothing else that the younger son of a marquis can do. But Lord
George was a person somewhat difficult of instruction in such a matter.
His mother was greatly afraid of him. Among his sisters Lady Sarah
alone dared to say much to him; and even to her teaching on this
subject he turned a very deaf ear. "Quite so, George," she said; "quite
so. No man with a spark of spirit would marry a woman for her
money,"--and she laid a great stress on the word "for,"--"but I do not
see why a lady who has money should be less fit to be loved than one
who has none. Miss Barm is a most charming young woman, of excellent
manners, admirably educated, if not absolutely handsome, quite of
distinguished appearance, and she has forty thousand pounds. We all
liked her when she was here." But there came a very black frown upon
Lord George's brow, and then even Lady Sarah did not dare to speak
again in favour of Miss Barm.
Then there came a terrible blow. Lord George Germain was in love with
his cousin, Miss De Baron! It would be long to tell, and perhaps
unnecessary, how that young lady had made herself feared by the ladies
of Manor Cross. Her father, a man of birth and fortune, but not perhaps
with the best reputation in the world, had married a Germain of the
last generation, and lived, when in the country, about twenty miles
from Brotherton. He was a good deal on the turf, spent much of his time
at card-playing clubs, and was generally known as a fast man. But he
paid his way, had never put himself beyond the pale of society, and
was, of course, a gentleman. As to Adelaide de Baron, no one doubted
her dash, her wit, her grace, or her toilet. Some also gave her credit
for beauty; but there were those who said that, though she would behave
herself decently at Manor Cross and houses of that class, she could be
loud elsewhere. Such was the lady whom Lord George loved, and it may be
conceived that this passion was distressing to the ladies of Manor
Cross. In the first place, Miss De Baron's fortune was doubtful and
could not be large; and then--she certainly was not such a wife as Lady
Brotherton and her daughters desired for the one male hope of the
family.
But Lord George was very resolute, and for a time it seemed to them all
that Miss de Baron,--of whom the reader will see much if he go through
with our story,--was not unwilling to share the poverty of her noble
lover. Of Lord George personally something must be said. He was a tall,
handsome, dark-browed man, silent generally and almost gloomy, looking,
as such men do, as though he were always revolving deep things in his
mind, but revolving in truth things not very deep,--how far the money
would go, and whether it would be possible to get a new pair of
carriage-horses for his mother. Birth and culture had given to him a
look of intellect greater than he possessed; but I would not have it
thought that he traded on this or endeavoured to seem other than he
was. He was simple, conscientious, absolutely truthful, full of
prejudices, and weak-minded. Early in life he had been taught to
entertain certain ideas as to religion by those with whom he had lived
at college, and had therefore refused to become a clergyman. The bishop
of the diocese had attacked him; but, though weak, he was obstinate.
The Dean and he had become friends, and so he had learned to think
himself in advance of the world. But yet he knew himself to be a
backward, slow, unappreciative man. He was one who could bear reproach
from no one else, but who never praised himself even to himself.
But we must return to his love, which is that which now concerns us.
His mother and sisters altogether failed to persuade him. Week after
week he went over to Baronscourt, and at last threw himself at
Adelaide's feet. This was five years after his father's death, when he
was already thirty years old. Miss De Baron, though never a favourite
at Manor Cross, knew intimately the history of the family. The present
marquis was over forty, and as yet unmarried;--but then Lord George was
absolutely a pauper. In that way she might probably become a
marchioness; but then of what use would life be to her, should she be
doomed for the next twenty years to live simply as one of the ladies of
Manor Cross? She consulted her father, but he seemed to be quite
indifferent, merely reminding her that though he would be ready to do
everything handsomely for her wedding, she would have no fortune till
after his death. She consulted her glass, and told herself that,
without self-praise, she must regard herself as the most beautiful
woman of her own acquaintance. She consulted her heart, and found that
in that direction she need not trouble herself. It would be very nice
to be a marchioness, but she certainly was not in love with Lord
George. He was handsome, no doubt--very handsome; but she was not sure
that she cared much for men being handsome. She liked men that "had
some go in them," who were perhaps a little fast, and who sympathised
with her own desire for amusement. She could not bring herself to fall
in love with Lord George. But then, the rank of a marquis is very high!
She told Lord George that she must take time to consider.
When a young lady takes time to consider she has, as a rule, given way,
Lord George felt it to be so, and was triumphant. The ladies at Manor
Cross thought that they saw what was coming, and were despondent. The
whole county declared that Lord George was about to marry Miss De
Baron. The county feared that they would be very poor; but the
recompence would come at last, as the present marquis was known not to
be a marrying man. Lady Sarah was mute with despair. Lady Alice had
declared that there was nothing for them but to make the best of it.
Lady Susanna, who had high ideas of aristocratic duty, thought that
George was forgetting himself. Lady Amelia, who had been snubbed by
Miss De Baron, shut herself up and wept. The Marchioness took to her
bed. Then, exactly at the same time, two things happened, both of which
were felt to be of vital importance at Manor Cross. Miss De Baron wrote
a most determined refusal to her lover, and old Mr. Tallowax died. Now
old Mr. Tallowax had been Dean Lovelace's father-in-law, and had never
had a child but she who had been the Dean's wife.
Lord George did in truth suffer dreadfully. There are men to whom such
a disappointment as this causes enduring physical pain,--as though they
had become suddenly affected with some acute and yet lasting disease.
And there are men, too, who suffer the more because they cannot conceal
the pain. Such a man was Lord George. He shut himself up for months at
Manor Cross, and would see no one. At first it was his intention to try
again, but very shortly after the letter to himself came one from Miss
De Baron to Lady Alice, declaring that she was about to be married
immediately to one Mr. Houghton; and that closed the matter. Mr.
Houghton's history was well known to the Manor Cross family. He was a
friend of Mr. De Baron, very rich, almost old enough to be the girl's
father, and a great gambler. But he had a house in Berkeley Square,
kept a stud of horses in Northamptonshire, and was much thought of at
Newmarket. Adelaide De Baron explained to Lady Alice that the marriage
had been made up by her father, whose advice she had thought it her
duty to take. The news was told to Lord George, and then it was found
expedient never to mention further the name of Miss De Baron within the
walls of Manor Cross.
But the death of Mr. Tallowax was also very important. Of late the Dean
of Brotherton had become very intimate at Manor Cross. For some years
the ladies had been a little afraid of him, as they were by no means
given to free opinions. But he made his way. They were decidedly high;
the bishop was notoriously low; and thus, in a mild manner, without
malignity on either side, Manor Cross and the Palace fell out. Their
own excellent young clergyman was snubbed in reference to his church
postures, and Lady Sarah was offended. But the Dean's manners were
perfect. He never trod on any one's toes. He was rich, and as far as
birth went, nobody,--but he knew how much was due to the rank of the
Germains. In all matters he obliged them, and had lately made the
deanery very pleasant to Lady Alice,--to whom a widowed canon at
Brotherton was supposed to be partial. The interest between the deanery
and Manor Cross was quite close; and now Mr. Tallowax had died leaving
the greater part of his money to the Dean's daughter.
When a man suffers from disappointed love he requires consolation.
Lady Sarah boldly declared her opinion,--in female conclave of
course,--that one pretty girl is as good to a man as another, and might
be a great deal better if she were at the same time better mannered and
better dowered than the other. Mary Lovelace, when her grandfather
died, was only seventeen. Lord George was at that time over thirty. But
a man of thirty is still a young man, and a girl of seventeen may be a
young woman. If the man be not more than fifteen years older than the
woman the difference of age can hardly be regarded as an obstacle. And
then Mary was much loved at Manor Cross. She had been a most engaging
child, was clever, well-educated, very pretty, with a nice sparkling
way, fond of pleasure no doubt, but not as yet instructed to be fast.
And now she would have at once thirty thousand pounds, and in course of
time would be her father's heiress.
All the ladies at Manor Cross put their heads together,--as did also
Mr. Canon Holdenough, who, while these things had been going on, had
been accepted by Lady Alice. They fooled Lord George to the top of his
bent, smoothing him down softly amidst the pangs of his love, not
suggesting Mary Lovelace at first, but still in all things acting in
that direction. And they so far succeeded that within twelve months of
the marriage of Adelaide De Baron to Mr. Houghton, when Mary Lovelace
was not yet nineteen and Lord George was thirty-three, with some few
grey hairs on his handsome head, Lord George did go over to the deanery
and offer himself as a husband to Mary Lovelace.