LADY SARAH'S MISSION.
Towards the end of June the family at Cross Hall were in great
perturbation. In the first place it had been now settled that they were
to go back to the great house early in July. This might have been a
source of unalloyed gratification. The old Marchioness had been made
very unhappy by the change to Cross Hall, and had persisted in calling
her new home a wretched farmhouse. Both Lady Susanna and Lady Amelia
were quite alive to the advantages of the great mansion. Lord George
had felt that his position in the county had been very much injured by
recent events. This might partly have come from his residence in
London; but had, no doubt, been chiefly owing to the loss of influence
arising from the late migration. He was glad enough to go back again.
But Lady Sarah was strongly opposed to the new movement. "I don't think
that mamma should be made liable to be turned out again," she had said
to her brother and sisters.
"But mamma is particularly anxious to go," Amelia had replied.
"You can't expect mamma to think correctly about Brotherton," said Lady
Sarah. "He is vicious and fickle, and I do not like to feel that any of
us should be in his power." But Lady Sarah, who had never been on good
terms with her elder brother, was overruled, and everybody knew that in
July the family was to return to Manor Cross.
Then there came tidings from London,--unauthorised tidings, and, one
may say, undignified tidings,--but still tidings which were received
with interest. Mrs. Toff had connections with Scumberg's, and heard
through these connections that things at Scumberg's were not going on
in a happy way. Mrs. Toff's correspondent declared that the Marquis had
hardly been out of his bed since he had been knocked into the
fireplace. Mrs. Toff, who had never loved the Dean and had never
approved of that alliance, perhaps made the most of this. But the
report, which was first made to the Dowager herself, caused very great
uneasiness. The old lady said that she must go up to London herself to
nurse her son. Then a letter was written by Lady Amelia to her brother,
asking for true information. This was the answer which Lady Amelia
received;--
"DEAR A.,--I'm pretty well, thank you. Don't trouble yourselves.
Yours, B."
"I'm sure he's dying," said the Marchioness, "and he's too
noble-hearted to speak of his sufferings." Nevertheless she felt that
she did not dare to go up to Scumberg's just at present.
Then there came further tidings. Mrs. Toff was told that the Italian
Marchioness had gone away, and had taken Popenjoy with her. There was
not anything necessarily singular in this. When a gentleman is going
abroad with his family, he and his family need not as a matter of
course travel together. Lord Brotherton had declared his purpose of
returning to Italy, and there could be no reason why his wife, with the
nurses and the august Popenjoy, should not go before him. It was just
such an arrangement as such a man as Lord Brotherton would certainly
make. But Mrs. Toff was sure that there was more in it than this. The
Italian Marchioness had gone off very suddenly. There had been no grand
packing up;--but there had been some very angry words. And Popenjoy,
when he was taken away, was supposed to be in a very poor condition of
health. All this created renewed doubts in the mind of Lord George, or
rather, perhaps, renewed hopes. Perhaps, after all, Popenjoy was not
Popenjoy. And even if he were, it seemed that everyone concurred in
thinking that the poor boy would die. Surely the Marquis would not have
allowed a sick child to be carried away by an indiscreet Italian mother
if he cared much for the sick child. But then Lord George had no real
knowledge of these transactions. All this had come through Mrs. Toff,
and he was hardly able to rely upon Mrs. Toff. Could he have
communicated with the Dean, the Dean would soon have found out the
truth. The Dean would have flown up to London and have known all about
it in a couple of hours; but Lord George was not active and clever as
the Dean.
Then he wrote a letter to his brother;--as follows;--
"MY DEAR BROTHERTON,--We have heard through Mr. Knox that you wish
us to move to Manor Cross at once, and we are preparing to do so.
It is very kind of you to let us have the house, as Cross Hall is
not all that my mother likes, and as there would hardly be room
for us should my wife have children. I ought perhaps to have told
you sooner that she is in the family way. We hear too that you are
thinking of starting for Italy very soon, and that the Marchioness
and Popenjoy have already gone. Would it suit you to tell us
something of your future plans? It is not that I want to be
inquisitive, but that I should like to know with reference to your
comfort and our own whether you think that you will be back at
Manor Cross next year. Of course we should be very sorry to be in
your way, but we should not like to give up Cross Hall till we
know that it will not be wanted again.
"I hope you are getting better. I could of course come up to town
at a moment's notice, if you wished to see me.
"Yours affectionately,
"GEORGE GERMAIN."
There was nothing in this letter which ought to have made any brother
angry, but the answer which came to it certainly implied that the
Marquis had received it with dudgeon.
"MY DEAR GEORGE," the Marquis said,
"I can give you no guarantee that I shall not want Manor Cross
again, and you ought not to expect it. If you and the family go
there of course I must have rent for Cross Hall. I don't suppose
I shall ever recover altogether from the injury that cursed brute
did me.
"Yours, 'B.'
"As to your coming family of course I can say nothing. You won't
expect me to be very full of joy. Nevertheless, for the honour of
the family, I hope it is all right."
There was a brutality about this which for a time made the expectant
father almost mad. He tore the letter at once into fragments, so that
he might be ready with an answer if asked to show it to his sisters.
Lady Sarah had known of his writing, and did ask as to her brother's
answer. "Of course he told me nothing," said Lord George. "He is not
like any other brother that ever lived."
"May I see his letter?"
"I have destroyed it. It was not fit to be seen. He will not say
whether he means to come back next year or not."
"I would not stir, if it were for me to determine," said Lady Sarah.
"Nobody ever ought to live in another person's house as long as he has
one of his own;--and of all men certainly not in Brotherton's."
Nevertheless, the migration went on, and early in July the Marchioness
was once more in possession of her own room at Manor Cross, and Mrs.
Toff was once again in the ascendant.
But what was to be done about Mary? Had Popenjoy been reported to enjoy
robust health, and had Mary been as Mary was a month or two since, the
Marchioness and Lady Susanna would have been contented that the present
separation should have been permanent. They would at any rate have
taken no steps to put an end to it which would not have implied abject
submission on Mary's part. But now things were so altered! If this
Popenjoy should die, and if Mary should have a son, Mary's position
would be one which they could not afford to overlook. Though Mary
should be living in absolute rebellion with that horrid Dean, still her
Popenjoy would in course of time be the Popenjoy, and nothing that any
Germain could do would stand in her way. Her Popenjoy would be Popenjoy
as soon as the present Marquis should die, and the family estates would
all in due time be his! Her position had been becoming daily more
honourable as these rumours were received. Everyone at Manor Cross,
down to the boy in the kitchen, felt that her dignity had been
immeasurably increased. Her child should now certainly be born at Manor
Cross,--though the deanery would have been quite good enough had the
present Popenjoy been robust. Something must be done. The Marchioness
was clear that Mary should be taken into favour and made much of,--even
hinted that she should not be asked to make shirts and petticoats,--if
only she could be separated from the pestilential Dean. She spoke in
private to her son, who declared that nothing would separate Mary from
her father. "I don't think I could entertain him after what he did to
Brotherton," said the Marchioness, bursting into tears.
There were great consultations at Manor Cross, in which the wisdom of
Lady Sarah and Lady Susanna, and sometimes the good offices of Lady
Alice Holdenough were taxed to the utmost. Lady Sarah had since the
beginning of these latter troubles been Mary's best friend, though
neither Mary nor the Dean had known of her good services. She had
pretty nearly understood the full horror of the accusation brought by
the Marquis, and had in her heart acquitted the Dean. Though she was
hard she was very just. She believed no worse evil of Mary than that
she had waltzed when her husband had wished her not to do so. To Lady
Sarah all waltzing was an abomination, and disobedience to legitimate
authority was abominable also. But then Mary had been taken to London,
and had been thrown into temptation, and was very young. Lady Sarah
knew that her own life was colourless, and was contented. But she could
understand that women differently situated should not like a colourless
existence. She had seen Adelaide Houghton and her sister-in-law
together, and had known that her brother's lot had fallen in much the
better place, and, to her, any separation between those whom God had
bound together was shocking and wicked. Lady Susanna was louder and
less just. She did not believe that Mary had done anything to merit
expulsion from the family; but she did think that her return to it
should be accompanied by sackcloth and ashes. Mary had been pert to
her, and she was not prone to forgive. Lady Alice had no
opinion,--could say nothing about it; but would be happy if, by her
services, she could assuage matters.
"Does she ever talk of him," Lady Susanna asked.
"Not to me; I don't think she dares. But whenever he goes there she is
delighted to see him."
"He has not been for the last ten days," said Lady Sarah.
"I don't think he will ever go again,--unless it be to fetch her," said
Lady Susanna. "I don't see how he can keep on going there, when she
won't do as he bids her. I never heard of such a thing! Why should she
choose to live with her father when she is his wife? I can't understand
it at all."
"There has been some provocation," said Lady Sarah.
"What provocation? I don't know of any. Just to please her fancy,
George had to take a house in London, and live there against his own
wishes."
"It was natural that she should go to the deanery for a few days; but
when she was there no one went to see her."
"Why did she not come here first?" said Lady Susanna. "Why did she take
upon herself to say where she would go, instead of leaving it to her
husband. Of course it was the Dean. How can any man be expected to
endure that his wife should be governed by her father instead of by
himself? I think George has been very forbearing."
"You have hardly told the whole story," said Lady Sarah. "Nor do I wish
to tell it. Things were said which never should have been spoken. If
you will have me, Alice, I will go to Brotherton for a day or two, and
I will then go and see her."
And so it was arranged. No one in the house was told of the new plan,
Lady Susanna having with difficulty been brought to promise silence.
Lady Sarah's visit was of course announced, and that alone created
great surprise, as Lady Sarah very rarely left home. The Marchioness
had two or three floods of tears over it, and suggested that the
carriage would be wanted for the entire day. This evil, however, was
altogether escaped, as Lady Alice had a carriage of her own. "I'm sure
I don't know who is to look after Mrs. Green," said the Marchioness.
Mrs. Green was an old woman of ninety who was supported by Germain
charity and was visited almost daily by Lady Sarah. But Lady Amelia
promised that she would undertake Mrs. Green. "Of course I'm nobody,"
said the Marchioness. Mrs. Toff and all who knew the family were sure
that the Marchioness would, in truth, enjoy her temporary freedom from
her elder daughter's control.
Whatever might have been Lord George's suspicion, he said nothing about
it. It had not been by agreement with him that the ladies of the family
had abstained from calling on his wife. He had expressed himself in
very angry terms as to the Dean's misconduct in keeping her in
Brotherton, and in his wrath had said more than once that he would
never speak to the Dean again. He had not asked any one to go there;
but neither had he asked them not to do so. In certain of his moods he
was indignant with his sisters for their treatment of his wife; and
then again he would say to himself that it was impossible that they
should go into the Dean's house after what the Dean had done. Now, when
he heard that his eldest sister was going to the Close, he said not a
word.
On the day of her arrival Lady Sarah knocked at the deanery door alone.
Up to this moment she had never put her foot in the house. Before the
marriage she had known the Dean but slightly, and the visiting to be
done by the family very rarely fell to her share. The streets of
Brotherton were almost strange to her, so little was she given to leave
the sphere of her own duties. In the hall, at the door of his study,
she met the Dean. He was so surprised that he hardly knew how to greet
her. "I am come to call upon Mary," said Lady Sarah, very brusquely.
"Better late than never," said the Dean, with a smile.
"I hope so," said Lady Sarah, very solemnly. "I hope that I am not
doing that which ought not to be done. May I see her?"
"Of course you can see her. I dare say she will be delighted. Is your
carriage here?"
"I am staying with my sister. Shall I go upstairs?"
Mary was in the garden, and Lady Sarah was alone for a few minutes in
the drawing-room. Of course she thought that this time was spent in
conference by the father and daughter; but the Dean did not even see
his child. He was anxious enough himself that the quarrel should be
brought to an end, if only that end could be reached by some steps to
be taken first by the other side. Mary, as she entered the room, was
almost frightened, for Lady Sarah had certainly been the greatest of
the bugbears when she was living at Manor Cross, "I am come to
congratulate you," said Lady Sarah, putting her hand out straight
before her.
Better late than never. Mary did not say so, as her father had done,
but only thought it. "Thank you," she said, in a very low voice. "Has
any one else come?"
"No,--no one else. I am with Alice, and as I have very very much to
say, I have come alone. Oh! Mary,--dear Mary, is not this sad?" Mary
was not at all disposed to yield, or to acknowledge that the sadness
was, in any degree, her fault, but she remembered, at the moment, that
Lady Sarah had never called her "dear Mary" before. "Don't you wish
that you were back with George?"
"Of course I do. How can I wish anything else?"
"Why don't you go back to him?"
"Let him come here and fetch me, and be friends with papa. He promised
that he would come and stay here. Is he well, Sarah?"
"Yes; he is well."
"Quite well? Give him my love,--my best love. Tell him that in spite of
everything I love him better than all the world."
"I am sure you do."
"Yes;--of course I do. I could be so happy now if he would come to me."
"You can go to him. I will take you if you wish it."
"You don't understand," said Mary.
"What don't I understand?"
"About papa."
"Will he not let you go to your husband?"
"I suppose he would let me go;--but if I were gone what would become of
him?"
Lady Sarah did not, in truth, understand this. "When he gave you to be
married," she said, "of course he knew that you must go away from him
and live with your husband. A father does not expect a married daughter
to stay in his own house."
"But he expects to be able to go to hers. He does not expect to be
quarrelled with by everybody. If I were to go to Manor Cross, papa
couldn't even come and see me."
"I think he could."
"You don't know papa if you fancy he would go into any house in which
he was not welcome. Of course I know that you have all quarrelled with
him. You think because he beat the Marquis up in London that he
oughtn't ever to be spoken to again. But I love him for what he did
more dearly than ever. He did it for my sake. He was defending me, and
defending George. I have done nothing wrong. If it is only for George's
sake, I will never admit that I have deserved to be treated in this
way. None of you have come to see me before, since I came back from
London, and now George doesn't come."
"We should all have been kind to you if you had come to us first."
"Yes; and then I should never have been allowed to be here at all. Let
George come and stay here, if it is only for two days, and be kind to
papa, and then I will go with him to Manor Cross."
Lady Sarah was much surprised by the courage and persistence of the
young wife's plea. The girl had become a woman, and was altered even in
appearance. She certainly looked older, but then she was certainly much
more beautiful than before. She was dressed, not richly, but with care,
and looked like a woman of high family. Lady Sarah, who never changed
either the colour or the material of her brown morning gown, liked to
look at her, telling herself that should it ever be this woman's fate
to be Marchioness of Brotherton, she would not in appearance disgrace
the position. "I hope you can understand that we are very anxious about
you," she said.
"I don't know."
"You might know, then. Your baby will be a Germain."
"Ah,--yes,--for that! You can't think I am happy without George. I am
longing all day long, from morning to night, that he will come back to
me. But after all that has happened, I must do what papa advises. If I
were just to go to Manor Cross now, and allow myself to be carried
there alone, you would all feel that I had been--forgiven. Isn't that
true?"
"You would be very welcome."
"Susanna would forgive me, and your mother. And I should be like a girl
who has been punished, and who is expected to remember ever so long
that she has been naughty. I won't be forgiven, except by George,--and
he has nothing to forgive. You would all think me wicked if I were
there, because I would not live in your ways."
"We should not think you wicked, Mary."
"Yes, you would. You thought me wicked before."
"Don't you believe we love you, Mary?"
She considered a moment before she made a reply, but then made it very
clearly: "No," she said, "I don't think you do. George loves me. Oh, I
hope he loves me."
"You may be quite sure of that. And I love you."
"Yes;--just as you love all people, because the Bible tells you. That
is not enough."
"I will love you like a sister, Mary, if you will come back to us."
She liked being asked. She was longing to be once more with her
husband. She desired of all things to be able to talk to him of her
coming hopes. There was something in the tone of Lady Sarah's voice,
different from the tones of old, which had its effect. She would
promise to go if only some slightest concession could be made, which
should imply that neither she nor her father had given just cause of
offence. And she did feel,--she was always feeling,--that her husband
ought to remember that she had never brought counter-charges against
him. She had told no one of Mrs. Houghton's letter. She was far too
proud to give the slightest hint that she too had her grievance. But
surely he should remember it. "I should like to go," she said.
"Then come back with me to-morrow." Lady Sarah had come only on this
business, and if the business were completed there would be no
legitimate reason for her prolonged sojourn at Brotherton.
"Would George come here for one night."
"Surely, Mary, you would not drive a bargain with your husband."
"But papa!"
"Your father can only be anxious for your happiness."
"Therefore I must be anxious for his. I can't say that I'll go without
asking him."
"Then ask him and come in and see me at Alice's house this afternoon.
And tell your father that I say you shall be received with all
affection."
Mary made no promise that she would do even this as Lady Sarah took her
leave; but she did at once consult her father. "Of course you can go if
you like it, dearest."
"But you!"
"Never mind me. I am thinking only of you. They will be different to
you now that they think you will be the mother of the heir."
"Would you take me, and stay there, for one night?"
"I don't think I could do that, dear. I do not consider that I have
been exactly asked."
"But if they will ask you?"
"I cannot ask to be asked. To tell the truth I am not at all anxious to
be entertained at Manor Cross. They would always be thinking of that
fireplace into which the Marquis fell."
The difficulty was very great and Mary could not see her way through
it. She did not go to Dr. Holdenough's house that afternoon, but wrote
a very short note to Lady Sarah begging that George might come over and
talk to her.