LIFE AT MANOR CROSS.
The married couple passed their honeymoon in Ireland, Lady Brotherton
having a brother, an Irish peer, who lent them for a few months his
house on the Blackwater. The marriage, of course, was celebrated in the
cathedral, and equally of course, the officiating clergymen were the
Dean and Canon Holdenough. On the day before the marriage Lord George
was astonished to find how rich a man was his father-in-law.
"Mary's fortune is her own," he said; "but I should like to give her
something. Perhaps I had better give it to you on her behalf."
Then he shuffled a cheque for a thousand pounds into Lord George's
hands. He moreover gave his daughter a hundred pounds in notes on the
morning of the wedding, and thus acted the part of the benevolent
father and father-in-law to a miracle. It may be acknowledged here that
the receipt of the money removed a heavy weight from Lord George's
heart. He was himself so poor, and at the same time so scrupulous, that
he had lacked funds sufficient for the usual brightness of a wedding
tour. He would not take his mother's money, nor lessen his own small
patrimony; but now it seemed that wealth was showered on him from the
deanery.
Perhaps a sojourn in Ireland did as well as anything could towards
assisting the young wife in her object of falling in love with her
husband. He would hardly have been a sympathetic companion in
Switzerland or Italy, as he did not care for lakes or mountains. But
Ireland was new to him and new to her, and he was glad to have an
opportunity of seeing something of a people as to whom so little is
really known in England. And at Ballycondra, on the Blackwater, they
were justified in feeling a certain interest in the welfare of the
tenants around them. There was something to be done, and something of
which they could talk. Lord George, who couldn't hunt, and wouldn't
dance, and didn't care for mountains, could enquire with some zeal how
much wages a peasant might earn, and what he would do with it when
earned. It interested him to learn that whereas an English labourer
will certainly eat and drink his wages from week to week,--so that he
could not be trusted to pay any sum half-yearly,--an Irish peasant,
though he be half starving, will save his money for the rent. And Mary,
at his instance, also cared for these things. It was her gift, as with
many women, to be able to care for everything. It was, perhaps, her
misfortune that she was apt to care too much for many things. The
honeymoon in Ireland answered its purpose, and Lady George, when she
came back to Manor Cross, almost thought that she had succeeded. She
was at any rate able to assure her father that she had been as happy as
the day was long, and that he was absolutely--"perfect."
This assurance of perfection the Dean no doubt took at its proper
value. He patted his daughter's cheek as she made it, and kissed her,
and told her that he did not doubt but that with a little care she
might make herself a happy woman. The house in town had already been
taken under his auspices, but of course was not to be inhabited yet.
It was a very small but a very pretty little house, in a quaint little
street called Munster Court, near Storey's Gate, with a couple of
windows looking into St. James's Park. It was now September, and London
for the present was out of the question. Indeed, it had been arranged
that Lord George and his wife should remain at Manor Cross till after
Christmas. But the house had to be furnished, and the Dean evinced his
full understanding of the duties of a father-in-law in such an
emergency. This, indeed, was so much the case that Lord George became a
little uneasy. He had the greater part of the thousand pounds left,
which he insisted on expending,--and thought that that should have
sufficed. But the Dean explained in his most cordial manner,--and no
man's manner could be more cordial than the Dean's,--that Mary's
fortune from Mr. Tallowax had been unexpected, that having had but one
child he intended to do well by her, and that, therefore, he could now
assist in starting her well in life without doing himself a damage. The
house in this way was decorated and furnished, and sundry journeys up
to London served to brighten the autumn which might otherwise have been
dull and tedious.
At this period of her life two things acting together, and both acting
in opposition to her anticipations of life, surprised the young bride
not a little. The one was her father's manner of conversation with her,
and the other was her husband's. The Dean had never been a stern
parent; but he had been a clergyman, and as a clergyman he had
inculcated a certain strictness of life,--a very modified strictness,
indeed, but something more rigid than might have come from him had he
been a lawyer or a country gentleman. Mary had learned that he wished
her to attend the cathedral services, and to interest herself
respecting them, and she had always done so. He had explained to her
that, although he kept a horse for her to ride, he, as the Dean of
Brotherton, did not wish her to be seen in the hunting field. In her
dress, her ornaments, her books, her parties, there had been always
something to mark slightly her clerical belongings. She had never
chafed against this because she loved her father and was naturally
obedient; but she had felt something perhaps of a soft regret. Now her
father, whom she saw very frequently, never spoke to her of any duties.
How should her house be furnished? In what way would she lay herself
out for London society? What enjoyments of life could she best secure?
These seemed to be the matters on which he was most intent. It occurred
to her that when speaking to her of the house in London he never once
asked her what church she would attend; and that when she spoke with
pleasure of being so near the Abbey, he paid little or no attention to
her remark. And then, too, she felt, rather than perceived, that in his
counsels to her he almost intimated that she must have a plan of life
different from her husband's. There were no such instructions given,
but it almost seemed as though this were implied. He took it for
granted that her life was to be gay and bright, though he seemed to
take it also for granted that Lord George did not wish to be gay and
bright.
All this surprised her. But it did not perhaps surprise her so much as
the serious view of life which her husband from day to day impressed
upon her. That hero of her early dreams, that man with the light hair
and the dimpled chin, whom she had not as yet quite forgotten, had
never scolded her, had never spoken a serious word to her, and had
always been ready to provide her with amusements that never palled. But
Lord George made out a course of reading for her,--so much for the two
hours after breakfast, so much for the hour before dressing,--so much
for the evening; and also a table of results to be acquired in three
months,--in six months,--and so much by the close of the first year;
and even laid down the sum total of achievements to be produced by a
dozen years of such work! Of course she determined to do as he would
have her do. The great object of her life was to love him; and, of
course, if she really loved him, she would comply with his wishes. She
began her daily hour of Gibbon after breakfast with great zeal. But
there was present to her an idea that if the Gibbon had come from her
father, and the instigations to amuse herself from her husband, it
would have been better.
These things surprised her; but there was another matter that vexed
her. Before she had been six weeks at Manor Cross she found that the
ladies set themselves up as her tutors. It was not the Marchioness who
offended her so much as her three sisters-in-law. The one of the family
whom she had always liked best had been also liked best by Mr.
Holdenough, and had gone to live next door to her father in the Close.
Lady Alice, though perhaps a little tiresome, was always gentle and
good-natured. Her mother-in-law was too much in awe of her own eldest
daughter ever to scold anyone. But Lady Sarah could be very severe; and
Lady Susanna could be very stiff; and Lady Amelia always re-echoed what
her elder sisters said.
Lady Sarah was by far the worst. She was forty years old, and looked as
though she were fifty and wished to be thought sixty. That she was, in
truth, very good, no one either at Manor Cross or in Brotherton or any
of the parishes around ever doubted. She knew every poor woman on the
estate, and had a finger in the making of almost every petticoat worn.
She spent next to nothing on herself, giving away almost all her own
little income. She went to church whatever was the weather. She was
never idle and never wanted to be amused. The place in the carriage
which would naturally have been hers she had always surrendered to one
of her sisters when there had been five ladies at Manor Cross, and now
she surrendered again to her brother's wife. She spent hours daily in
the parish school. She was doctor and surgeon to the poor
people,--never sparing herself. But she was harsh-looking, had a harsh
voice, and was dictatorial. The poor people had become used to her and
liked her ways. The women knew that her stitches never gave way, and
the men had a wholesome confidence in her medicines, her plasters, and
her cookery. But Lady George Germain did not see by what right she was
to be made subject to her sister-in-law's jurisdiction.
Church matters did not go quite on all fours at Manor Cross. The
ladies, as has before been said, were all high, the Marchioness being
the least exigeant in that particular, and Lady Amelia the most so.
Ritual, indeed, was the one point of interest in Lady Amelia's life.
Among them there was assent enough for daily comfort; but Lord George
was in this respect, and in this respect only, a trouble to them. He
never declared himself openly, but it seemed to them that he did not
care much about church at all. He would generally go of a Sunday
morning; but there was a conviction that he did so chiefly to oblige
his mother. Nothing was ever said of this. There was probably present
to the ladies some feeling, not uncommon, that religion is not so
necessary for men as for women. But Lady George was a woman.
And Lady George was also the daughter of a clergyman. There was now a
double connexion between Manor Cross and the Close at Brotherton. Mr.
Canon Holdenough, who was an older man than the Dean, and had been
longer known in the diocese, was a most unexceptional clergyman, rather
high, leaning towards the high and dry, very dignified, and quite as
big a man in Brotherton as the Dean himself. The Dean was, indeed, the
Dean; but Mr. Holdenough was uncle to a baronet, and the Holdenoughs
had been Holdenoughs when the Conqueror came. And then he also had a
private income of his own. Now all this gave to the ladies at Manor
Cross a peculiar right to be great in church matters,--so that Lady
Sarah was able to speak with much authority to Mary when she found that
the bride, though a Dean's daughter, would only go to two services a
week, and would shirk one of them if the weather gave the slightest
colouring of excuse.
"You used to like the cathedral services," Lady Sarah said to her, one
day, when Mary had declined to go to the parish church, to sing the
praises of St. Processus.
"That was because they were cathedral services," said Mary.
"You mean to say that you attended the House of God because the music
was good!" Mary had not thought the subject over sufficiently to be
enabled to say that good music is supplied with the object of drawing
large congregations, so she only shrugged her shoulders. "I, too, like
good music, dear; but I do not think the want of it should keep me from
church." Mary again shrugged her shoulders, remembering, as she did so,
that her sister-in-law did not know one tune from another. Lady Alice
was the only one of the family who had ever studied music.
"Even your papa goes on Saints' days," continued Lady Sarah, conveying
a sneer against the Dean by that word "even."
"Papa is Dean. I suppose he has to go."
"He would not go to church, I suppose, unless he approved of going."
The subject then dropped. Lady George had not yet arrived at that sort
of snarling home intimacy, which would have justified her in telling
Lady Sarah that if she wanted a lesson at all, she would prefer to take
it from her husband.
The poor women's petticoats was another source of trouble. Before the
autumn was over,--by the end of October,--when Mary had been two months
at Manor Cross, she had been got to acknowledge that ladies living in
the country should employ a part of their time in making clothes for
the poor people; and she very soon learned to regret the
acknowledgment. She was quickly driven into a corner by an assertion
from Lady Sarah that, such being the case, the time to be so employed
should be defined. She had intended to make something,--perhaps an
entire petticoat,--at some future time. But Lady Sarah was not going to
put up with conduct such as that. Mary had acknowledged her duty. Did
she mean to perform it, or to neglect it? She made one petticoat, and
then gently appealed to her husband. Did not he think that petticoats
could be bought cheaper than they could be made? He figured it out, and
found that his wife could earn three-halfpence a day by two hours'
work; and even Lady Sarah did not require from her more than two hours
daily. Was it worth while that she should be made miserable for
ninepence a week,--less than L2 a-year? Lady George figured it out
also, and offered the exact sum, L1 19_s._, to Lady Sarah, in order
that she might be let off for the first twelve months. Then Lady Sarah
was full of wrath. Was that the spirit in which offerings were to be
made to the Lord? Mary was asked, with stern indignation, whether in
bestowing the work of her hands upon the people, whether in the very
fact that she was doing for the poor that which was distasteful to
herself, she did not recognise the performance of a duty? Mary
considered a while, and then said that she thought a petticoat was a
petticoat, and that perhaps the one made by the regular petticoat-maker
would be the best. She did not allude to the grand doctrine of the
division of labour, nor did she hint that she might be doing more harm
than good by interfering with regular trade, because she had not
studied those matters. But that was the line of her argument. Lady
Sarah told her that her heart in that matter was as hard as a nether
millstone. The young wife, not liking this, withdrew; and again
appealed to her husband. His mind was divided on the subject. He was
clearly of opinion that the petticoat should be obtained in the
cheapest market, but he doubted much about that three-halfpence in two
hours. It might be that his wife could not do better at present; but
experience would come, and in that case, she would be obtaining
experience as well as earning three-halfpence. And, moreover,
petticoats made at Manor Cross would, he thought, undoubtedly be better
than any that could be bought. He came, however, to no final decision;
and Mary, finding herself every morning sitting in a great petticoat
conclave, hardly had an alternative but to join it.
It was not in any spirit of complaint that she spoke on the subject to
her father as the winter came on. A certain old Miss Tallowax had come
to the deanery, and it had been thought proper that Lady George should
spend a day or two there. Miss Tallowax, also, had money of her own,
and even still owned a share in the business; and the Dean had pointed
out, both to Lord George and his wife, that it would be well that they
should be civil to her. Lord George was to come on the last day, and
dine and sleep at the deanery. On this occasion, when the Dean and his
daughter were alone together, she said something in a playful way about
the great petticoat contest.
"Don't you let those old ladies sit upon you," said the Dean. He smiled
as he spoke, but his daughter well knew, from his tone, that he meant
his advice to be taken seriously.
"Of course, papa, I should like to accommodate myself to them as much
as I can."
"But you can't, my dear. Your manner of life can't be their manner, nor
theirs yours. I should have thought George would see that."
"He didn't take their part, you know."
"Of course he didn't. As a married woman you are entitled to have your
own way, unless he should wish it otherwise. I don't want to make this
matter serious; but if it is pressed, tell them that you do not care to
spend your time in that way. They cling to old fashions. That is
natural enough; but it is absurd to suppose that they should make you
as old-fashioned as themselves."
He had taken the matter up quite seriously, and had given his daughter
advice evidently with the intention that she should profit by it. That
which he had said as to her being a married woman struck her forcibly.
No doubt these ladies at Manor Cross were her superiors in birth; but
she was their brother's wife, and as a married woman had rights of her
own. A little spirit of rebellion already began to kindle itself within
her bosom; but in it there was nothing of mutiny against her husband.
If he were to desire her to make petticoats all day, of course she
would make them; but in this contest he had been, as it were, neutral,
and had certainly given her no orders. She thought a good deal about it
while at the deanery, and made up her mind that she would sit in the
petticoat conclave no longer. It could not be her duty to pass her time
in an employment in which a poor woman might with difficulty earn
sixpence a day. Surely she might do better with her time than that,
even though she should spend it all in reading Gibbon.