MR. KNOX HEARS AGAIN FROM THE MARQUIS.
"Do come, papa," said Mary, jumping up and putting her arm round her
father's shoulders. She was more than willing to meet them all
half-way. She would sit in the arm-chair all the morning and try to
drink porter at lunch if they would receive her father graciously. Of
course she was bound to her husband. She did not wish not to be bound
to him. She was quite sure that she loved her husband with a perfect
love. But her marriage happiness could not be complete unless her
father was to make a part of the intimate home circle of her life. She
was now so animated in her request to him, that her manner told all her
little story,--not only to him, but to Lady Sarah also.
"I will say do come also," said Lady Sarah, smiling.
Mary looked up at her and saw the smile. "If he were your papa," she
said, "you would be as anxious as I am." But she also smiled as she
spoke.
"Even though he is not, I am anxious."
"Who could refuse when so entreated? Of course I shall be delighted to
come," said the Dean. And so it was settled. Her father was to be again
made welcome at Manor Cross, and Mary thought that she could now be
happy.
"It was very good of you," she whispered to Lady Sarah, as soon as he
had left them. "Of course I understand. I was very, very sorry that he
and Lord Brotherton had quarrelled. I won't say anything now about
anybody being wrong or anybody being right. But it would be dreadful to
me if papa couldn't come to see me. I don't think you know what he
is."
"I do know that you love him very dearly."
"Of course I do. There is nothing on earth he wouldn't do for me. He is
always trying to make me happy. And he'd do just as much for George, if
George would let him. You've been very good about it, and I love you
for it." Lady Sarah was quite open to the charm of being loved. She did
not talk much of such things, nor was it compatible with her nature to
make many professions of affection. But it would be a happiness to her
if this young sister-in-law, who would no doubt sooner or later be the
female head of the house, could be taught to love her. So she kissed
Mary, and then walked demurely away, conscious that any great display
of feeling would be antagonistic to her principles.
During the hour that Mary had been closeted with her father there had
been much difficulty among the ladies upstairs about the Dean. The
suggestion that he should be asked to dine had of course come from Lady
Sarah, and it fell like a little thunderbolt among them. In the first
place, what would Brotherton say? Was it not an understood portion of
the agreement under which they were allowed to live in the house, that
the Dean should not be a guest there? Lady Susanna had even shuddered
at his coming to call on his daughter, and they had all thought it to
be improper when a short time since he had personally brought the news
of Popenjoy's death to the house. And then there was their own
resentment as to that affray at Scumberg's. They were probably inclined
to agree with Lady Brabazon that Brotherton was not quite all that he
should be; but still he was Brotherton, and the man who had nearly
murdered him could not surely be a fit guest at Manor Cross. "I don't
think we can do that, Sarah," Lady Susanna had said after a long
silence. "Oh dear! that would be very dreadful!" the Marchioness had
exclaimed. Lady Amelia had clasped her hands together and had trembled
in every limb. But Lady Sarah, who never made any suggestion without
deep thought, was always loth to abandon any that she had made. She
clung to this with many arguments. Seeing how unreasonable Brotherton
was, they could not feel themselves bound to obey him. As to the house,
while their mother lived there it must be regarded as her house. It was
out of the question that they should have their guests dictated to them
by their brother. Perhaps the Dean was not all that a dean ought to
be,--but then, who was perfect? George had married his daughter, and it
could not be right to separate the daughter from the father. Then came
the final, strong, clenching argument. Mary would certainly be
disturbed in her mind if not allowed to see her father. Perfect
tranquillity for Mary was regarded as the chief ingredient in the cup
of prosperity which, after many troubles, was now to be re-brewed for
the Germain family. If she were not allowed to see her father, the
coming Popenjoy would suffer for it. "You'd better let him come,
Susanna," said the Marchioness through her tears. Susanna had looked
as stern as an old sibyl. "I really think it will be best," said Lady
Amelia. "It ought to be done," said Lady Sarah. "I suppose you had
better go to him," said the Marchioness. "I could not see him; indeed I
couldn't. But he won't want to see me." Lady Susanna did not yield, but
Lady Sarah, as we know, went down on her mission of peace.
Mary, as soon as she was alone, sat herself down to write a letter to
her husband. It was then Monday, and her father was to dine there on
Thursday. The triumph would hardly be complete unless George would come
home to receive him. Her letter was full of arguments, full of
entreaties, and full of love. Surely he might come for one night, if he
couldn't stay longer. It would be so much nicer for her father to have
a gentleman there. Such an attention would please him so much! "I am
sure he would go twice the distance if you were coming to his house,"
pleaded Mary.
Lord George came, and in a quiet way the dinner was a success. The Dean
made himself very agreeable. The Marchioness did not appear, but her
absence was attributed to the condition of her health. Lady Sarah, as
the great promoter of the festival, was bound to be on her good
behaviour, and Lady Amelia endeavoured to copy her elder sister. It was
not to be expected that Lady Susanna should be cordially hospitable;
but it was known that Lady Susanna was habitually silent in company.
Mary could forgive her second sister-in-law's sullenness,
understanding, as she did quite well, that she was at this moment
triumphing over Lady Susanna. Mr. Groschut was not a favourite with any
of the party at Manor Cross, and the Dean made himself pleasant by
describing the nature of the late chaplain's promotion. "He begged the
Bishop to let him off," said the Dean, "but his Lordship was
peremptory. It was Pugsty or leave the diocese."
"What had he done, papa?" asked Mary.
"He had promised to marry Hawkins' daughter." Hawkins was the
Brotherton bookseller on the Low Church side. "And then he denied the
promise. Unfortunately he had written letters, and Hawkins took them to
the Bishop. I should have thought Groschut would have been too sharp to
write letters."
"But what was all that to the Bishop?" asked Lord George.
"The Bishop was, I think, just a little tired of him. The Bishop is old
and meek, and Mr. Groschut thought that he could domineer. He did not
quite know his man. The Bishop is old and meek, and would have borne
much. When Mr. Groschut scolded him, I fancy that he said nothing. But
he bided his time; and when Mr. Hawkins came, then there was a decision
pronounced. It was Pugsty, or nothing."
"Is Pugsty very nasty, papa?"
"It isn't very nice, I fancy. It just borders on the Potteries, and
the population is heavy. As he must marry the bookseller's daughter
also, the union, I fear, won't be very grateful."
"I don't see why a bishop should send a bad man to any parish,"
suggested Lady Sarah.
"What is he to do with a Groschut, when he has unfortunately got hold
of one? He couldn't be turned out to starve. The Bishop would never
have been rid of him. A small living--some such thing as Pugsty--was
almost a necessity."
"But the people," said Lady Sarah. "What is to become of the poor
people?"
"Let us hope they may like him. At any rate, he will be better at
Pugsty than at Brotherton." In this way the evening passed off; and
when at ten o'clock the Dean took his departure, it was felt by every
one except Lady Susanna that the proper thing had been done.
Lord George, having thus come back to Manor Cross, remained there. He
was not altogether happy in his mind; but his banishment seemed to be
so absurd a thing that he did not return to London. At Manor Cross
there was something for him to do. In London there was nothing. And,
after all, there was a question whether, as a pure matter of right, the
Marquis had the power to pronounce such a sentence. Manor Cross no
doubt belonged to him, but then so also did Cross Hall belong for the
time to his mother; and he was receiving the rent of Cross Hall while
his mother was living at Manor Cross. Lady Sarah was quite clear that
for the present they were justified in regarding Manor Cross as
belonging to them. "And who'll tell him when he's all the way out
there?" asked Mary. "I never did hear of such a thing in all my life.
What harm can you do to the house, George?"
So they went on in peace and quietness for the next three months,
during which not a single word was heard from the Marquis. They did not
even know where he was, and under the present circumstances did not
care to ask any questions of Mr. Knox. Lord George had worn out his
scruples, and was able to go about his old duties in his old fashion.
The Dean had dined there once or twice, and Lord George on one occasion
had consented to stay with his wife for a night or two at the deanery.
Things seemed to have fallen back quietly into the old way,--as they
were before the Marquis with his wife and child had come to disturb
them. Of course there was a great difference in Mary's position. It was
not only that she was about to become a mother, but that she would do
so in a very peculiar manner. Had not the Marquis taken a wife to
himself, there would always have been the probability that he would
some day do so. Had there not been an Italian Marchioness and a little
Italian Popenjoy, the ladies at Manor Cross would still have given him
credit for presenting them with a future marchioness and a future
Popenjoy at some future day. Now his turn had, as it were, gone.
Another Popenjoy from that side was not to be expected. In consequence
of all this Mary was very much exalted. They none of them now wished
for another Popenjoy from the elder branch. All their hopes were
centred in Mary. To Mary herself this importance had its drawbacks.
There was the great porter question still unsettled. The arm-chair with
the footstool still was there. And she did not like being told that a
mile and a half on the sunny side of the trees was the daily amount of
exercise which Sir Henry, nearly half a century ago, had prescribed for
ladies in her condition. But she had her husband with her, and could,
with him, be gently rebellious and affectionately disobedient. It is a
great thing, at any rate, to be somebody. In her early married days she
had felt herself to be snubbed as being merely the Dean's daughter. Her
present troubles brought a certain balm with them. No one snubbed her
now. If she had a mind for arrowroot, Mrs. Toff would make it herself
and suggest a thimbleful of brandy in it with her most coaxing words.
Cloaks and petticoats she never saw, and she was quite at liberty to
stay away from afternoon church if she pleased.
It had been decided, after many discussions on the subject, that she
and her husband should go up to town for a couple of months after
Christmas, Lady Amelia going with them to look after the porter and
arrowroot, and that in March she should be brought back to Manor Cross
with a view to her confinement. This had not been conceded to her
easily, but it had at last been conceded. She had learned in secret
from her father that he would come up to town for a part of the time,
and after that she never let the question rest till she had carried her
point. The Marchioness had been obliged to confess that, in
anticipation of her Popenjoy, Sir Henry had recommended a change from
the country to town. She did not probably remember that Sir Henry had
done so because she had been very cross at the idea of being kept
running down to the country all through May. Mary pleaded that it was
no use having a house if she were not allowed to see it, that all her
things were in London, and at last declared that it would be very
convenient to have the baby born in London. Then the Marchioness saw
that a compromise was necessary. It was not to be endured that the
future Popenjoy, the future Brotherton, should be born in a little
house in Munster Court. With many misgivings it was at last arranged
that Mary should go to London on the 18th of January, and be brought
back on the 10th of March. After many consultations, computations, and
calculations, it was considered that the baby would be born somewhere
about the 1st of April.
It may be said that things at Manor Cross were quite in a halcyon
condition, when suddenly a thunderbolt fell among them. Mr. Knox
appeared one day at the house and showed to Lord George a letter from
the Marquis. It was written with his usual contempt of all ordinary
courtesy of correspondence, but with more than his usual bitterness.
It declared the writer's opinion that his brother was a mean fellow,
and deserving of no trust in that he had continued to live at the house
after having been desired to leave it by its owner; and it went on to
give peremptory orders to Mr. Knox to take steps for letting the house
at once. This took place at the end of the first week in December. Then
there was a postscript to the letter in which the Marquis suggested
that Mr. Knox had better take a house for the Marchioness, and apply
Mr. Price's rent in the payment for such house. "Of course you will
consult my mother," said the postscript; "but it should not be anywhere
near Brotherton."
There was an impudence as well as a cruelty about this which almost
shook the belief which Lord George still held in the position of an
elder brother. Mr. Knox was to take a house;--as though his mother and
sisters had no rights, no freedom of their own! "Of course I will go,"
said he, almost pale with anger.
Then Mr. Knox explained his views. It was his intention to write back
to the Marquis and to decline to execute the task imposed upon him. The
care of the Marquis's property was no doubt his chief mainstay; but
there were things, he said, which he could not do. Of course the
Marquis would employ someone else, and he must look for his bread
elsewhere. But he could not, he said, bring himself to take steps for
the letting of Manor Cross as long as the Marchioness was living there.
Of course there was a terrible disturbance in the house. There arose a
great question whether the old lady should or should not be told of
this new trouble, and it was decided at last that she should for the
present be kept in the dark. Mr. Knox was of opinion that the house
never would be let, and that it would not be in his Lordship's power to
turn them out without procuring for them the use of Cross Hall;--in
which Mr. Price's newly married bride had made herself comfortable on a
lease of three years. And he was also of opinion that the attempt made
by the Marquis to banish his brother was a piece of monstrous tyranny
to which no attention should be paid. This he said before all the
younger ladies;--but to Lord George himself he said even more. He
expressed a doubt whether the Marquis could be in his right mind, and
added a whisper that the accounts of the Marquis's health were very bad
indeed. "Of course he could let the house?" asked Lord George.
"Yes;--if he can get anybody to let it for him, and anybody else to
take it. But I don't think it ever will be let. He won't quite know
what to do when he gets my letter. He can hardly change his agent
without coming to London, and he won't like to do that in the winter.
He'll write me a very savage letter, and then in a week or two I shall
answer him. I don't think I'd disturb the Marchioness if I were you, my
lord."
The Marchioness was not disturbed, but Lord George again went up to
London, on this occasion occupying the house in Munster Court in
solitude. His scruples were all renewed, and it was in vain that Lady
Sarah repeated to him all Mr. Knox's arguments. He had been called a
mean fellow, and the word rankled with him. He walked about alone
thinking of the absolute obedience with which in early days he had
complied with all the behests of his elder brother, and the perfect
faith with which in latter days he had regarded that brother's
interests. He went away swearing to himself that he would never again
put his foot within the domain of Manor Cross as long as it was his
brother's property. A day might come when he would return there; but
Lord George was not a man to anticipate his own prosperity. Mary wished
to accompany him; but this was not allowed. The Marchioness inquired a
dozen times why he should go away; but there was no one who could tell
her.