THE MARQUIS AMONG HIS FRIENDS.
There was, of course, much perturbation of mind at Brotherton as to
what should be done on this occasion of the Marquis's return. Mr. Knox
had been consulted by persons in the town, and had given it as his
opinion that nothing should be done. Some of the tradesmen and a few of
the tenants living nearest to the town had suggested a triumphal
entry,--green boughs, a bonfire, and fire works. This idea, however,
did not prevail long. The Marquis of Brotherton was clearly not a man
to be received with green boughs and bonfires. All that soon died away.
But there remained what may be called the private difficulty. Many in
Brotherton and around Brotherton had of course known the man when he
was young, and could hardly bring themselves to take no notice of his
return. One or two drove over and simply left their cards. The bishop
asked to see him, and was told that he was out. Dr. Pountner did see
him, catching him at his own hall door, but the interview was very
short, and not particularly pleasant. "Dr. Pountner. Well; I do
remember you, certainly. But we have all grown older, you know."
"I came," said the doctor, with a face redder than ever, "to pay my
respects to your Lordship, and to leave my card on your wife."
"We are much obliged to you,--very much obliged. Unfortunately we are
both invalids." Then the doctor, who had not got out of his carriage,
was driven home again. The doctor had been a great many years at
Brotherton, and had known the old Marquis well. "I don't know what you
and Holdenough will make of him," the doctor said to the Dean. "I
suppose you will both be driven into some communion with him. I shan't
try it again."
The Dean and Canon Holdenough had been in consultation on the subject,
and had agreed that they would each of them act as though the Marquis
had been like any other gentleman, and his wife like any other newly
married lady. They were both now connected with the family, and even
bound to act on the presumption that there would be family friendship.
The Dean went on his errand first, and the Dean was admitted into his
sitting-room. This happened a day or two after the scene at Cross Hall.
"I don't know that I should have troubled you so soon," said the Dean,
"had not your brother married my daughter." The Dean had thought over
the matter carefully, making up his mind how far he would be courteous
to the man, and where he would make a stand if it were necessary that
he should make a stand at all. And he had determined that he would ask
after the new Lady Brotherton, and speak of the child as Lord Popenjoy,
the presumption being that a man is married when he says so himself,
and that his child is legitimate when declared to be so. His present
acknowledgment would not bar any future proceedings.
"There has been a good deal of marrying and giving in marriage since I
have been away," replied the Marquis.
"Yes, indeed. There has been your brother, your sister, and last, not
least, yourself."
"I was not thinking of myself. I meant among you here. The church seems
to carry everything before it."
It seemed to the Dean, who was sufficiently mindful of his daughter's
fortune, and who knew to a penny what was the very liberal income of
Canon Holdenough, that in these marriages the church had at least given
as much as it had got. "The church holds its own," said the Dean, "and
I hope that it always will. May I venture to express a hope that the
Marchioness is well."
"Not very well."
"I am sorry for that. Shall I not have the pleasure of seeing her
to-day?"
The Marquis looked as though he were almost astounded at the impudence
of the proposition; but he replied to it by the excuse that he had made
before. "Unless you speak Italian I'm afraid you would not get on very
well with her."
"She will not find that I have the Tuscan tongue or the Roman mouth,
but I have enough of the language to make myself perhaps intelligible
to her ladyship."
"We will postpone it for the present, if you please, Mr. Dean."
There was an insolence declared in the man's manner and almost declared
in his words, which made the Dean at once determine that he would never
again ask after the new Marchioness, and that he would make no allusion
whatever to the son. A man may say that his wife is too unwell to
receive strangers without implying that the wish to see her should not
have been expressed. The visitor bowed, and then the two men both sat
silent for some moments. "You have not seen your brother since you have
been back?" the Dean said at last.
"I have not seen him. I don't know where he is, or anything about him."
"They live in London,--in Munster Court."
"Very likely. He didn't consult me about his marriage, and I don't know
anything about his concerns."
"He told you of it,--before it took place."
"Very likely,--though I do not exactly see how that concerns you and
me."
"You must be aware that he is married to--my daughter."
"Quite so."
"That would, generally, be supposed to give a common interest."
"Ah! I dare say. You feel it so, no doubt. I am glad that you are
satisfied by an alliance with my family. You are anxious for me to
profess that it is reciprocal."
"I am anxious for nothing of the kind," said the Dean, jumping up from
his chair. "I have nothing to get and nothing to lose by the alliance.
The usual courtesies of life are pleasant to me."
"I wish that you would use them then on the present occasion by being a
little quieter."
"Your brother has married a lady, and my daughter has married a
gentleman."
"Yes; George is a great ass; in some respects the greatest ass I know;
but he is a gentleman. Perhaps if you have anything else that you wish
to say you will do me the honour of sitting down."
The Dean was so angry that he did not know how to contain himself. The
Marquis had snubbed him for coming. He had then justified his visit by
an allusion to the connection between them, and the Marquis had replied
to this by hinting that though a Dean might think it a very fine thing
to have his daughter married into the family of a Marquis, the Marquis
probably would not look at it in the same light. And yet what was the
truth? Whence had come the money which had made the marriage possible?
In the bargain between them which party had had the best of it? He was
conscious that it would not become him to allude to the money, but his
feeling on the subject was very strong. "My lord," he said, "I do not
know that there is anything to be gained by my sitting down again."
"Perhaps not. I dare say you know best."
"I came here intent on what I considered to be a courtesy due to your
lordship. I am sorry that my visit has been mistaken."
"I don't see that there is anything to make a fuss about."
"It shall not be repeated, my lord." And so he left the room.
Why on earth had the man come back to England, bringing a foreign woman
and an Italian brat home with him, if he intended to make the place too
hot to hold him by insulting everybody around him? This was the first
question the Dean asked himself, when he found himself outside the
house. And what could the man hope to gain by such insolence? Instead
of taking the road through the park back to Brotherton, he went on to
Cross Hall. He was desirous of learning what were the impressions, and
what the intentions, of the ladies there. Did this madman mean to
quarrel with his mother and sisters as well as with his other
neighbours? He did not as yet know what intercourse there had been
between the two houses, since the Marquis had been at Manor Cross. And
in going to Cross Hall in the midst of all these troubles, he was no
doubt actuated in part by a determination to show himself to be one of
the family. If they would accept his aid, no one would be more loyal
than he to these ladies. But he would not be laid aside. If anything
unjust were intended, if any fraud was to be executed, the person most
to be injured would be that hitherto unborn grandson of his for whose
advent he was so anxious. He had been very free with his money, but he
meant to have his money's worth.
At Cross Hall he found Canon Holdenough's wife and the Canon. At the
moment of his entrance old Lady Brotherton was talking to the
clergyman, and Lady Alice was closeted in a corner with her sister
Sarah. "I would advise you to go just as though you had heard nothing
from us," Lady Sarah had said. "Of course he would be readier to
quarrel with me than with any one. For mamma's sake I would go away for
a time if I had anywhere to go to."
"Come to us," Lady Alice had said. But Lady Sarah had declared that she
would be as much in the way at Brotherton as at Cross Hall, and had
then gone on to explain that it was Lady Alice's duty to call on her
sister-in-law, and that she must do so,--facing the consequences
whatever they might be. "Of course mamma could not go till he had been
here," Lady Sarah added; "and now he has told mamma not to go at all.
But that is nothing to you."
"I have just come from the house," said the Dean.
"Did you see him?" asked the old woman with awe.
"Yes; I saw him."
"Well!"
"I must say that he was not very civil to me, and that I suppose I have
seen all of him that I shall see."
"It is only his manner," said her ladyship.
"An unfortunate manner, surely."
"Poor Brotherton!"
Then the Canon said a word. "Of course no one wants to trouble him. I
can speak at least for myself. I do not,--certainly. I have requested
her ladyship to ask him whether he would wish me to call or not. If he
says that he does, I shall expect him to receive me cordially. If he
does not--there's an end of it."
"I hope you won't all of you turn against him," said the Marchioness.
"Turn against him!" repeated the Dean. "I do not suppose that there is
any one who would not be both kind and courteous to him, if he would
accept kindness and courtesy. It grieves me to make you unhappy,
Marchioness, but I am bound to let you know that he treated me very
badly." From that moment the Marchioness made up her mind that the Dean
was no friend of the family, and that he was, after all, vulgar and
disagreeable. She undertook, however, to enquire from her son on next
Sunday whether he would wish to be called upon by his brother-in-law,
the Canon.
On the following day Lady Alice went alone to Manor Cross,--being the
first lady who had gone to the door since the new arrivals,--and asked
for Lady Brotherton. The courier came to the door and said "not at
home," in a foreign accent, just as the words might have been said to
any chance caller in London. Then Lady Alice asked the man to tell her
brother that she was there. "Not at home, miladi," said the man, in the
same tone. At that moment Mrs. Toff came running through the long hall
to the carriage door. The house was built round a quadrangle, and all
the ground floor of the front and of one of the sides consisted of
halls, passages, and a billiard-room. Mrs. Toff must have been watching
very closely or she could hardly have known that Lady Alice was there.
She came out and stood beside the carriage, and leaning in, whispered
her fears and unhappinesses. "Oh! my lady, I'm afraid it's very bad. I
haven't set eyes on the--the--his wife, my lady, yet; nor the little
boy."
"Are they in now, Mrs. Toff?"
"Of course they're in. They never go out. He goes about all the
afternoon in a dressing-gown, smoking bits of paper, and she lies in
bed or gets up and doesn't do,--nothing at all, as far as I can see,
Lady Alice. But as for being in, of course they're in; they're always
in." Lady Alice, however, feeling that she had done her duty, and not
wishing to take the place by storm, had herself driven back to
Brotherton.
On the following Sunday afternoon the Marquis came, according to his
promise, and found his mother alone. "The fact is, mother," he said,
"you have got a regular church set around you during the last year or
two, and I will have nothing to do with them. I never cared much for
Brotherton Close, and now I like it less than ever." The Marchioness
moaned and looked up into his face imploringly. She was anxious to say
something in defence, at any rate, of her daughter's marriage, but
specially anxious to say nothing that should not anger him. Of course
he was unreasonable, but, according to her lights, he, being the
Marquis, had a right to be unreasonable. "The Dean came to me the other
day," continued he, "and I could see at a glance that he meant to be
quite at home in the house, if I didn't put him down."
"You'll see Mr. Holdenough, won't you? Mr. Holdenough is a very
gentlemanlike man, and the Holdenoughs were always quite county people.
You used to like Alice."
"If you ask me, I think she has been a fool at her age to go and marry
an old parson. As for receiving him, I shan't receive anybody,--in the
way of entertaining them. I haven't come home for that purpose. My
child will have to live here when he is a man."
"God bless him!" said the Marchioness.
"Or at any rate his property will be here. They tell me that it will be
well that he should be used to this damnable climate early in life. He
will have to go to school here, and all that. So I have brought him,
though I hate the place."
"It is so nice to have you back, Brotherton."
"I don't know about its being nice. I don't find much niceness in it.
Had I not got myself married I should never have come back. But it's as
well that you all should know that there is an heir."
"God bless him!" said the Marchioness, again. "But don't you think that
we ought to see him?"
"See him! Why?" He asked the question sharply, and looked at her with
that savageness in his eyes which all the family remembered so well,
and which she specially feared.
That question of the legitimacy of the boy had never been distinctly
discussed at Cross Hall, and the suspicious hints on the subject which
had passed between the sisters, the allusions to this and the other
possibility which had escaped them, had been kept as far as possible
from their mother. They had remarked among themselves that it was very
odd that the marriage should have been concealed, and almost more than
odd that an heir to the title should have been born without any
announcement of such a birth. A dread of some evil mystery had filled
their thoughts, and shown itself in their words and looks to each
other. And, though they had been very anxious to keep this from their
mother, something had crept through which had revealed a suspicion of
the suspicion even to her. She, dear old lady, had resolved upon no
line of conduct in the matter. She had conceived no project of
rebelling against her eldest daughter, or of being untrue to her
youngest son. But now that she was alone with her eldest son, with the
real undoubted Marquis, with him who would certainly be to her more
than all the world beside if he would only allow it, there did come
into her head an idea that she would put him on his guard.
"Because,--because----"
"Because what? Speak out, mother."
"Because, perhaps they'll say that--that----"
"What will they say?"
"If they don't see him, they may think he isn't Popenjoy at all."
"Oh! they'll think that, will they? How will seeing help them?"
"It would be so nice to have him here, if it's only for a little," said
the Marchioness.
"So that's it," he said, after a long pause. "That's George's game, and
the Dean's; I can understand."
"No, no, no; not George," said the unhappy mother.
"And Sarah, I dare say, is in a boat with them. I don't wonder that
they should choose to remain here and watch me."
"I am sure George has never thought of such a thing."
"George will think as his father-in-law bids him. George was never very
good at thinking for himself. So you fancy they'll be more likely to
accept the boy if they see him."
"Seeing is believing, Brotherton."
"There's something in that, to be sure. Perhaps they don't think I've
got a wife at all, because they haven't seen her."
"Oh, yes; they believe that."
"How kind of them. Well, mother, you've let the cat out of the bag."
"Don't tell them that I said so."
"No; I won't tell. Nor am I very much surprised. I thought how it would
be when I didn't announce it all in the old-fashioned way. It's lucky
that I have the certificated proof of the date of my marriage, isn't
it?"
"It's all right, of course. I never doubted it, Brotherton."
"But all the others did. I knew there was something up when George
wasn't at home to meet me."
"He is coming."
"He may stay away if he likes it. I don't want him. He won't have the
courage to tell me up to my face that he doesn't intend to acknowledge
my boy. He's too great a coward for that."
"I'm sure it's not George, Brotherton."
"Who is it, then?"
"Perhaps it's the Dean."
"D---- his impudence. How on earth among you could you let George marry
the daughter of a low-bred ruffian like that,--a man that never ought
to have been allowed to put his foot inside the house?"
"She had such a very nice fortune! And then he wanted to marry that
scheming girl, Adelaide De Baron,--without a penny."
"The De Barons, at any rate, are gentlefolk. If the Dean meddles with
me, he shall find that he has got the wrong sow by the ear. If he puts
his foot in the park again I'll have him warned off as a trespasser."
"But you'll see Mr. Holdenough?"
"I don't want to see anybody. I mean to hold my own, and do as I please
with my own, and live as I like, and toady no one. What can I have in
common with an old parson like that?"
"You'll let me see Popenjoy, Brotherton?"
"Yes," he said, pausing a moment before he answered her. "He shall be
brought here, and you shall see him. But mind, mother, I shall expect
you to tell me all that you hear."
"Indeed, I will."
"You will not rebel against me, I suppose."
"Oh, no;--my son, my son!" Then she fell upon his neck, and he suffered
it for a minute, thinking it wise to make sure of one ally in that
house.