THE DEAN IS VERY BUSY.
A week had passed away and nothing had as yet been heard from the
Marquis, nor had Mr. Battle's confidential clerk as yet taken his
departure for Italy, when Mrs. Montacute Jones called one day in
Munster Court. Lady George had not seen her new old friend since the
night of the ball to which she had not gone, but had received more than
one note respecting her absence on that occasion, and various other
little matters. Why did not Lady George come and lunch; and why did not
Lady George come and drive? Lady George was a little afraid that there
was a conspiracy about her in reference to Captain De Baron, and that
Mrs. Montacute Jones was one of the conspirators. If so Adelaide
Houghton was certainly another. It had been very pleasant. When she
examined herself about this man, as she endeavoured to do, she declared
that it had been as innocent as pleasant. She did not really believe
that either Adelaide Houghton or Mrs. Montacute Jones had intended to
do mischief. Mischief, such as the alienation of her own affections
from her husband, she regarded as quite out of the question. She would
not even admit to herself that it was possible that she should fall
into such a pit as that. But there were other dangers; and those
friends of hers would indeed be dangerous if they brought her into any
society that made her husband jealous. Therefore, though she liked Mrs.
Montacute Jones very much, she had avoided the old lady lately, knowing
that something would be said about Jack De Baron, and not quite
confident as to her own answers.
And now Mrs. Montacute Jones had come to her. "My dear Lady George,"
she said, "where on earth have you been? Are you going to cut me? If
so, tell me at once."
"Oh, Mrs. Jones," said Lady George, kissing her, "how can you ask such
a question?"
"Because you know it requires two to play at that game, and I'm not
going to be cut." Mrs. Montacute Jones was a stout built but very short
old lady, with grey hair curled in precise rolls down her face, with
streaky cheeks, giving her a look of extreme good health, and very
bright grey eyes. She was always admirably dressed, so well dressed
that her enemies accused her of spending enormous sums on her toilet.
She was very old,--some people said eighty, adding probably not more
than ten years to her age,--very enthusiastic, particularly in
reference to her friends; very fond of gaiety, and very charitable.
"Why didn't you come to my ball?"
"Lord George doesn't care about balls," said Mary, laughing.
"Come, come! Don't try and humbug me. It had been all arranged that you
should come when he went to bed. Hadn't it now?"
"Something had been said about it."
"A good deal had been said about it, and he had agreed. Are you going
to tell me that he won't go out with you, and yet dislikes your going
out without him? Is he such a Bluebeard as that?"
"He's not a Bluebeard at all, Mrs. Jones."
"I hope not. There has been something about that German
Baroness;--hasn't there?"
"Oh dear no."
"I heard that there was. She came and took you and the brougham all
about London. And there was a row with Lady Selina. I heard of it."
"But that had nothing to do with my going to your party."
"Well, no; why should it? She's a nasty woman, that Baroness Banmann.
If we can't get on here in England without German Baronesses and
American she doctors, we are in a bad way. You shouldn't have let them
drag you into that lot. Women's rights! Women are quite able to hold
their own without such trash as that. I'm told she's in debt
everywhere, and can't pay a shilling. I hope they'll lock her up."
"She is nothing to me, Mrs. Jones."
"I hope not. What was it then? I know there was something. He doesn't
object to Captain De Baron; does he?"
"Object to him! Why should he object to Captain De Baron?"
"I don't know why. Men do take such fancies into their heads. You are
not going to give up dancing;--are you?"
"Not altogether. I'm not sure that I care for it very much."
"Oh, Lady George; where do you expect to go to?" Mary could not keep
herself from laughing, though she was at the same time almost inclined
to be angry with the old lady's interference. "I should have said that
I didn't know a young person in the world fonder of dancing than you
are. Perhaps he objects to it."
"He doesn't like my waltzing," said Mary, with a blush. On former
occasions she had almost made up her mind to confide her troubles to
this old woman, and now the occasion seemed so suitable that she could
not keep herself from telling so much as that.
"Oh!" said Mrs. Montacute Jones. "That's it! I knew there was
something. My dear, he's a goose, and you ought to tell him so."
"Couldn't you tell him," said Mary, laughing.
"Would do it in half a minute, and think nothing of it!"
"Pray, don't. He wouldn't like it at all."
"My dear, you shouldn't be afraid of him. I'm not going to preach up
rebellion against husbands. I'm the last woman in London to do that. I
know the comfort of a quiet house as well as any one, and that two
people can't get along easy together unless there is a good deal of
give and take. But it doesn't do to give up everything. What does he
say about it?"
"He says he doesn't like it."
"What would he say if you told him you didn't like his going to his
club."
"He wouldn't go."
"Nonsense! It's being a dog in the manger, because he doesn't care for
it himself. I should have it out with him,--nicely and pleasantly. Just
tell him that you're fond of it, and ask him to change his mind. I
can't bear anybody interfering to put down the innocent pleasures of
young people. A man like that just opens his mouth and speaks a word,
and takes away the whole pleasure of a young woman's season! You've got
my card for the 10th of June?"
"Oh yes,--I've got it."
"And I shall expect you to come. It's only going to be a small affair.
Get him to bring you if you can, and you do as I bid you. Just have it
out with him,--nicely and quietly. Nobody hates a row so much as I do,
but people oughtn't to be trampled on."
All this had considerable effect upon Lady George. She quite agreed
with Mrs. Jones that people ought not to be trampled on. Her father had
never trampled on her. From him there had been very little positive
ordering as to what she might and what she might not do. And yet she
had been only a child when living with her father. Now she was a
married woman, and the mistress of her own house. She was quite sure
that were she to ask her father, the Dean would say that such a
prohibition as this was absurd. Of course she could not ask her father.
She would not appeal from her husband to him. But it was a hardship,
and she almost made up her mind that she would request him to revoke
the order.
Then she was very much troubled by a long letter from the Baroness
Banmann. The Baroness was going to bring an action jointly against Lady
Selina Protest and Miss Mildmay, whom the reader will know as Aunt Ju;
and informed Lady George that she was to be summoned as a witness.
This was for a while a grievous affliction to her. "I know nothing
about it," she said to her husband, "I only just went there once
because Miss Mildmay asked me."
"It was a very foolish thing for her to do."
"And I was foolish, perhaps; but what can I say about it? I don't know
anything."
"You shouldn't have bought those other tickets."
"How could I refuse when the woman asked for such a trifle?"
"Then you took her to Miss Mildmay's."
"She would get into the brougham, and I couldn't get rid of her. Hadn't
I better write and tell her that I know nothing about it?" But to this
Lord George objected, requesting her altogether to hold her peace on
the subject, and never even to speak about it to anyone. He was not
good humoured with her, and this was clearly no occasion for asking him
about the waltzing. Indeed, just at present he rarely was in a good
humour, being much troubled in his mind on the great Popenjoy question.
At this time the Dean was constantly up in town, running backwards and
forwards between London and Brotherton, prosecuting his enquiry and
spending a good deal of his time at Mr. Battle's offices. In doing all
this he by no means acted in perfect concert with Lord George, nor did
he often stay or even dine at the house in Munster Court. There had
been no quarrel, but he found that Lord George was not cordial with
him, and therefore placed himself at the hotel in Suffolk Street. "Why
doesn't papa come here as he is in town?" Mary said to her husband.
"I don't know why he comes to town at all," replied her husband.
"I suppose he comes because he has business, or because he likes it. I
shouldn't think of asking why he comes; but as he is here, I wish he
wouldn't stay at a nasty dull hotel after all that was arranged."
"You may be sure he knows what he likes best," said Lord George
sulkily. That allusion to "an arrangement" had not served to put him in
a good humour.
Mary had known well why her father was so much in London, and had in
truth known also why he did not come to Munster Court. She could
perceive that her father and husband were drifting into unfriendly
relations, and greatly regretted it. In her heart she took her father's
part. She was not keen as he was in this matter of the little Popenjoy,
being restrained by a feeling that it would not become her to be over
anxious for her own elevation or for the fall of others; but she had
always sympathised with her father in everything, and therefore she
sympathised with him in this. And then there was gradually growing upon
her a conviction that her father was the stronger man of the two, the
more reasonable, and certainly the kinder. She had thoroughly
understood when the house was furnished, very much at the Dean's
expense, that he was to be a joint occupant in it when it might suit
him to be in London. He himself had thought less about this, having
rather submitted to the suggestion as an excuse for his own liberality
than contemplated any such final arrangement. But Lord George
remembered it. The house would certainly be open to him should he
choose to come;--but Lord George would not press it.
Mr. Stokes had thought it proper to go in person to Manor Cross, in
order that he might receive instructions from the Marquis. "Upon my
word, Mr. Stokes," said the Marquis, "only that I would not seem to be
uncourteous to you I should feel disposed to say that this interview
can do no good."
"It is a very serious matter, my Lord."
"It is a very serious annoyance, certainly, that my own brother and
sisters should turn against me, and give me all this trouble because I
have chosen to marry a foreigner. It is simply an instance of that
pigheaded English blindness which makes us think that everything
outside our own country is or ought to be given up to the devil. My
sisters are very religious, and, I daresay, very good women. But they
are quite willing to think that I and my wife ought to be damned
because we talk Italian, and that my son ought to be disinherited
because he was not baptised in an English church. They have got this
stupid story into their heads, and they must do as they please about
it. I will have no hand in it. I will take care that there shall be no
difficulty in my son's way when I die."
"That will be right, of course, my Lord."
"I know where all this comes from. My brother, who is an idiot, has
married the daughter of a vulgar clergyman, who thinks in his ignorance
that he can make his grandson, if he has one, an English nobleman.
He'll spend his money and he'll burn his fingers, and I don't care how
much money he spends or how much he burns his hands. I don't suppose
his purse is so very long but that he may come to the bottom of it."
This was nearly all that passed between Mr. Stokes and the Marquis. Mr.
Stokes then went back to town and gave Mr. Battle to understand that
nothing was to be done on their side.
The Dean was very anxious that the confidential clerk should be
dispatched, and at one time almost thought that he would go himself.
"Better not, Mr. Dean. Everybody would know," said Mr. Battle.
"And I should intend everybody to know," said the Dean. "Do you suppose
that I am doing anything that I'm ashamed of."
"But being a dignitary----" began Mr. Battle.
"What has that to do with it? A dignitary, as you call it, is not to
see his child robbed of her rights. I only want to find the truth, and
I should never take shame to myself in looking for that by honest
means." But Mr. Battle prevailed, persuading the Dean that the
confidential clerk, even though he confined himself to honest means,
would reach his point more certainly than a Dean of the Church of
England.
But still there was delay. Mr. Stokes did not take his journey down to
Brotherton quite as quickly as he perhaps might have done, and then
there was a prolonged correspondence carried on through an English
lawyer settled at Leghorn. But at last the man was sent. "I think we
know this," said Mr. Battle to the Dean on the day before the man
started, "there were certainly two marriages. One of them took place as
much as five years ago, and the other after his lordship had written to
his brother."
"Then the first marriage must have been nothing," said the Dean.
"It does not follow. It may have been a legal marriage, although the
parties chose to confirm it by a second ceremony."
"But when did the man Luigi die?"
"And where and how? That is what we have got to find out. I shouldn't
wonder if we found that he had been for years a lunatic."
Almost all this the Dean communicated to Lord George, being determined
that his son-in-law should be seen to act in co-operation with him.
They met occasionally in Mr. Battle's chambers, and sometimes by
appointment in Munster Court. "It is essentially necessary that you
should know what is being done," said the Dean to his son-in-law. Lord
George fretted and fumed, and expressed an opinion that as the matter
had been put into a lawyer's hands it had better be left there. But the
Dean had very much his own way.