POPENJOY IS BORN--AND CHRISTENED.
At last, not much above a week after the calculations, in all the glory
of the purple of Manor Cross, the new Popenjoy was born. For it was a
Popenjoy. The Fates, who had for some time past been unpropitious to
the house of Brotherton, now smiled; and Fortune, who had been good to
the Dean throughout, remained true to him also in this. The family had
a new heir, a real Popenjoy; and the old Marchioness when the baby was
shown to her for awhile forgot her sorrows and triumphed with the rest.
The Dean's anxiety had been so great that he had insisted on remaining
at the house. It had been found impossible to refuse such a request
made at such a time. And now, at last, the ladies at Manor Cross
gradually forgave the Dean his offences. To the old dowager they did
not mention his name, and she probably forgot his existence; but the
Marquis appeared to live with him on terms of perfect friendship, and
the sisters succumbed to the circumstances and allowed themselves to
talk to him as though he were in truth the father of the reigning
Marchioness.
It will be understood that for forty-eight hours before the birth of
the child and for forty-eight hours afterwards all Manor Cross was
moved in the matter, as though this were the first male child born into
the world since the installation of some new golden age. It was a great
thing that, after all the recent troubles, a Popenjoy,--a proper
Popenjoy,--should be born at Manor Cross of English parents,--a healthy
boy,--a bouncing little lord, as Mrs. Toff called him; and the event
almost justified the prophetic spirit in which his grandmother spoke of
this new advent. "Little angel!" she said. "I know he'll grow up to
bring new honours to the family, and do as much for it as his
great-grandfather." The great-grandfather spoken of had been an earl,
great in borough-mongery, and had been made a marquis by Pitt on the
score of his votes. "George," she went on to say, "I do hope there will
be bells and bonfires, and that the tenants will be allowed to see
him." There were bells and bonfires. But in these days tenants are
perhaps busier men than formerly, and have less in them certainly of
the spirit of heir-worship than their fathers. But Mr. Price, with his
bride, did come down and see the baby; on which occasion the gallant
husband bade his wife remember that although they had been married more
than twelve months after Lord George, their baby would only be three
months younger. Whereupon Mrs. Price boxed her husband's ears,--to the
great delight of Mrs. Toff, who was dispensing sherry and cherry brandy
in her own sitting-room.
The Dean's joy, though less ecstatic in its expression, was quite as
deep and quite as triumphant as that of the Marchioness. When he was
admitted for a moment to his daughter's bedside, the tears rolled down
his face as he prayed for a blessing for her and her baby. Lady Sarah
was in the room, and began to doubt whether she had read the man's
character aright. There was an ineffable tenderness about him, a
sweetness of manners, a low melody of voice, a gracious solemnity in
which piety seemed to be mingled with his love and happiness! That he
was an affectionate father had been always known; but now it had to be
confessed that he bore himself as though he had sprung from some noble
family or been the son and grandson of archbishops. How it would have
been with him on such an occasion had his daughter married some vicar
of Pugsty, as she had herself once suggested, Lady Sarah did not now
stop to enquire. It was reasonable to Lady Sarah that the coming of a
Popenjoy should be hailed with greater joy and receive a warmer welcome
than the birth of any ordinary baby. "You have had a good deal to bear,
Brotherton," he said, holding his noble son-in-law by the hand; "but I
think that this will compensate for it all." The tears were still in
his eyes, and they were true tears,--tears of most unaffected joy. He
had seen the happy day; and as he told himself in words which would
have been profane had they been absolutely uttered, he was now ready
to die in peace. Not that he meant to die, or thought that he should
die. That vision of young Popenjoy, bright as a star, beautiful as a
young Apollo, with all the golden glories of the aristocracy upon his
head, standing up in the House of Commons and speaking to the world at
large with modest but assured eloquence, while he himself occupied some
corner in the gallery, was still before his eyes.
After all, who shall say that the man was selfish? He was contented to
shine with a reflected honour. Though he was wealthy, he never desired
grand doings at the deanery. In his own habits he was simple. The
happiness of his life had been to see his daughter happy. His very soul
had smiled within him when she had smiled in his presence. But he had
been subject to one weakness, which had marred a manliness which would
otherwise have been great. He, who should have been proud of the
lowliness of his birth, and have known that the brightest feather in
his cap was the fact that having been humbly born he had made himself
what he was,--he had never ceased to be ashamed of the stable-yard. And
as he felt himself to be degraded by that from which he had sprung, so
did he think that the only whitewash against such dirt was to be found
in the aggrandisement of his daughter and the nobility of her children.
He had, perhaps, been happier than he deserved. He might have sold her
to some lord who would have scorned her after a while and despised
himself. As it was, the Marquis, who was his son-in-law, was a man whom
upon the whole he could well trust. Lord George had indeed made one
little error in regard to Mrs. Houghton; but that had passed away and
would not probably be repeated.
Of all those closely concerned in the coming of Popenjoy the father
seemed to bear the greatness of the occasion with the most modesty.
When the Dean congratulated him he simply smiled and expressed a hope
that Mary would do well in her troubles. Poor Mary's welfare had
hitherto been almost lost in the solicitude for her son. "She can't but
do well now," said the Dean, who of all men was the most sanguine. "She
is thoroughly healthy, and nothing has been amiss."
"We must be very careful--that's all," said the Marquis. Hitherto he
had not brought his tongue to speak of his son as Popenjoy, and did not
do so for many a day to come. That an heir had been born was very well;
but of late the name of Popenjoy had not been sweet to his ears.
Nothing had gone amiss, and nothing did go amiss. When it was decided
that the young Marchioness was to nurse her own baby,--a matter which
Mary took into her own hands with a very high tone,--the old
Marchioness became again a little troublesome. She had her memories
about it all in her own time; how she had not been able to do as Mary
was doing. She remembered all that, and how unhappy it had made her;
but she remembered also that, had she done so for Popenjoy, Sir Henry
would have insisted on three pints of porter. Then Mary rebelled
altogether, and talked of drinking nothing but tea,--and would not be
brought to consent even to bitter beer without a great deal of trouble.
But, through it all, the mother throve and the baby throve; and when
the bonfires had been all burned and the bells had been all rung, and
the child had been shown to such tenants and adherents and workmen as
desired to see him, the family settled down to a feeling of permanent
satisfaction.
And then came the christening. Now in spite of the permanent
satisfaction there were troubles,--troubles of which the Marquis became
conscious very soon, and which he was bound to communicate to his
sister,--troubles of which the Dean was unfortunately cognisant, and of
which he would speak and with which he would concern him,--much to the
annoyance of the Marquis. The will which the late man had made was a
serious temporary embarrassment. There was no money with which to do
anything. The very bed on which the mother lay with her baby belonged
to Jack De Baron. They were absolutely drinking Jack De Baron's port
wine, and found, when the matter came to be considered, that they were
making butter from Jack De Baron's cows. This could not be long
endured. Jack, who was now bound to have a lawyer of his own, had very
speedily signified his desire that the family should be put to no
inconvenience, and had declared that any suggestion from the Marquis as
to the house in town or that in the country would be a law to him. But
it was necessary that everything should be valued at once, and either
purchased or given up to be sold to those who would purchase it. There
was, however, no money, and the Marquis who hated the idea of borrowing
was told that he must go among the money-lenders. Then the Dean
proposed that he and Miss Tallowax between them might be able to
advance what was needed. The Marquis shook his head and said nothing.
The proposition had been very distasteful to him.
Then there came another proposition. But it will be right in the first
place to explain that the great question of godfather and godmother had
received much attention. His Royal Highness the Duke of Windsor had
signified through young Lord Brabazon that he would stand as one of the
sponsors. The honour had been very great, and had of course been
accepted at the moment. The Dean had hankered much after the office,
but had abstained from asking with a feeling that should the request be
refused a coolness would be engendered which he himself would be unable
to repress. It would have filled him with delight to stand in his own
cathedral as godfather to the little Popenjoy; but he abstained, and
soon heard that the Duke of Dunstable, who was a distant cousin, was to
be the colleague of His Royal Highness. He smiled and said nothing of
himself,--but thought that his liberality might have been more
liberally remembered.
Just at this time Miss Tallowax arrived at the deanery, and on the next
morning the Dean came over to Manor Cross with a proposition from that
lady. She would bestow twenty thousand pounds immediately upon
Popenjoy, and place it for instant use in the father's hands, on
condition that she might be allowed to stand as godmother!
"We could not consent to accept the money," said the Marquis very
gravely.
"Why not? Mary is her nearest living relative in that generation. As a
matter of course, she will leave her money to Mary or her
children,--unless she be offended. Nothing is so common as for old
people with liberal hearts to give away the money which they must soon
leave behind them. A more generous creature than my old aunt doesn't
live."
"Very generous; but I am afraid we cannot accept it."
"After all, it is only an empty honour. I would not ask it for myself
because I knew how you might be situated. But I really think you might
gratify the old lady. Twenty thousand pounds is an important sum, and
would be so useful just at present!"
This was true, but the father at the moment declined. The Dean,
however, who knew his man, determined that the money should not be
lost, and communicated with Mr. Knox. Mr. Knox came down to Manor Cross
and held a long consultation at which both the Dean and Lady Sarah were
present. "Let it be granted," said the Dean, "that it is a foolish
request; but are you justified in refusing twenty thousand pounds
offered to Popenjoy?"
"Certainly," said Lady Sarah, "if the twenty thousand pounds is a
bribe."
"But it is no bribe, Lady Sarah," said Mr. Knox. "It is not
unreasonable that Miss Tallowax should give her money to her
great-nephew, nor is it unreasonable that she should ask for this
honour, seeing that she is the child's great-aunt." There was a strong
opposition to Miss Tallowax's liberal offer,--but in the end it was
accepted. The twenty thousand pounds was important, and, after all, the
godmother could do no lasting injury to the child. Then it was
discovered that the offer was clogged with a further stipulation. The
boy must be christened Tallowax! To this father and mother and aunts
all objected, swearing that they would not subject their young Popenjoy
to so great an injury,--till it was ascertained that the old lady did
not insist on Tallowax as a first name, or even as a second. It would
suffice that Tallowax should be inserted among others. It was at last
decided that the boy should be christened Frederic Augustus Tallowax.
Thus he became Frederic Augustus Tallowax Germain,--commonly to be
called, by the Queen's courtesy, Lord Popenjoy. The christening itself
was not very august, as neither the Royal Duke nor his fellow attended
in person. The Dean stood proxy for the one, and Canon Holdenough for
the other.
Mary by this time was able to leave her room, and was urgent with her
husband to take her up to London. Had she not been very good, and done
all that she was told,--except in regard to the porter? And was it not
manifest to everybody that she would be able to travel to St.
Petersburg and back if such a journey were required? Her husband
assured her that she would be knocked up before she got half-way. "But
London isn't a tenth part of the distance," said Mary, with a woman's
logic. Then it was settled that on May 20th she should be taken with
her baby to Munster Court. The following are a few of the letters of
congratulation which she received during the period of her
convalescence.
"GROSVENOR PLACE.
"MY DEAR MARCHIONESS,--Of course I have heard all about you from
time to time, and of course I have been delighted. In the first
place, we none of us could grieve very much for that unfortunate
brother of yours. Really it was so very much better for everybody
that Lord George should have the title and property,--not to talk
of all the advantage which the world expects from a young and
fascinating Lady Brotherton. I am told that the scaffolding is
already up in St. James' Square. I drove through the place the
other day, and bethought myself how long it might be before I
should receive the honour of a card telling me that on such and
such a day the Marchioness of Brotherton would be at home. I
should not suggest such a thing but for a dearly kind expression
in your last letter.
"But the baby of course is the first object. Pray tell me what
sort of a baby it is. Two arms and two legs, I know, for even a
young Lord Popenjoy is not allowed to have more; but of his
special graces you might send me a catalogue, if you have as yet
been allowed pen and paper. I can believe that a good deal of mild
tyranny would go on with those estimable sisters, and that Lord
George would be anxious. I beg his pardon,--the Marquis. Don't you
find this second change in your name very
perplexing,--particularly in regard to your linen? All your nice
wedding things will have become wrong so soon!
"And now I can impart a secret. There are promises of a little
Giblet. Of course it is premature to speak with certainty; but why
shouldn't there be a little Giblet as well as a little Popenjoy?
Only it won't be a Giblet as long as dear old Lord Gossling can
keep the gout out of his stomach. They say that in anger at his
son's marriage he has forsworn champagne and confines himself to
two bottles of claret a-day. But Giblet, who is the happiest young
man of my acquaintance, says that his wife is worth it all.
"And so our friend the Captain is a millionaire! What will he do?
Wasn't it an odd will? I couldn't be altogether sorry, for I have
a little corner in my heart for the Captain, and would have left
him something myself if I had anything to leave. I really think he
had better marry his old love. I like justice, and that would be
just. He would do it to-morrow if you told him. It might take me a
month of hard work. How much is it he gets? I hear such various
sums,--from a hundred thousand down to as many hundreds.
Nevertheless, the will proves the man to have been mad,--as I
always said he was.
"I suppose you'll come to Munster Court till the house in the
square be finished. Or will you take some furnished place for a
month or two? Munster Court is small; but it was very pretty, and
I hope I may see it again.
"Kiss the little Popenjoy for me, and believe me to be,
"Dear Lady Brotherton,
"Your affectionate old friend,
"G. MONTACUTE JONES."
The next was from their friend the Captain himself.
"DEAR LADY BROTHERTON,--I hope it won't be wrong in me to
congratulate you on the birth of your baby. I do so with all my
heart. I hope that some day, when I am an old fogy, I may be
allowed to know him and remind him that in old days I used to know
his mother. I was down at Manor Cross the other day; but of course
on such an occasion I could not see you. I was sent for because of
that strange will; but it was more strange to me that I should so
soon find myself in your house. It was not very bright on that
occasion.
"I wonder who was surprised most by the will,--you or I?" Mary,
when she read this, declared to herself that she ought not to have
been surprised at all. How could anyone be surprised by what such
a man as that might do?
"He had never seen me, as far as I know, till he met me at Rudham.
I did not want his money,--though I was poor enough. I don't know
what I shall do now; but I shan't go to Perim.
"Mrs. Jones says you will soon be in town. I hope I may be allowed
to call.
"Believe me always,
"Most sincerely yours,
"JOHN DE BARON."
Both those letters gave her pleasure, and both she answered. To all
Mrs. Jones' enquiries she gave very full replies, and enjoyed her jokes
with her old friend. She hinted that she did not at all intend to hurry
the men at St. James' Square, and that certainly she would be found in
Munster Court till the men had completed their work. As to what their
young friend would do with his money she could say nothing. She could
not undertake the commission,--though perhaps that might be best,--and
so on. Her note to Jack was very short. She thanked him heartily for
his good wishes, and told him the day on which she would be in Munster
Court. Then in a postscript she said that she was "_very, very glad_"
that he had inherited the late lord's money.
The other letter offended her as much as those two had pleased her. It
offended her so much that when she saw the handwriting she would not
have read it but that curiosity forbade her to put it on one side. It
was from Adelaide Houghton, and as she opened it there was a sparkle of
anger in her eyes which perhaps none of her friends had ever seen
there. This letter was as follows;--
"DEAR LADY BROTHERTON,--Will you not at length allow bygones to be
bygones? What can a poor woman do more than beg pardon and promise
never to be naughty again. Is it worth while that we who have
known each other so long should quarrel about what really amounted
to nothing? It was but a little foolish romance, the echo of a
past feeling,--a folly if you will, but innocent. I own my fault
and put on the sackcloth and ashes of confession, and, after that,
surely you will give me absolution.
"And now, having made my apology, which I trust will be accepted,
pray let me congratulate you on all your happiness. The death of
your poor brother-in-law of course we have all expected. Mr.
Houghton had heard a month before that it was impossible that he
should live. Of course, we all feel that the property has fallen
into much better hands. And I am so glad that you have a boy. Dear
little Popenjoy! Do, do forgive me, so that I may have an
opportunity of kissing him. I am, at any rate,
"Your affectionate old friend,
"ADELAIDE HOUGHTON."
Affectionate old friend! Serpent! Toad! Nasty degraded painted Jezebel!
Forgive her! No,--never; not though she were on her knees! She was
contemptible before, but doubly contemptible in that she could humble
herself to make an apology so false, so feeble, and so fawning. It was
thus that she regarded her correspondent's letter. Could any woman who
knew that love-letters had been written to her husband by another woman
forgive that other? We are all conscious of trespassers against
ourselves whom we especially bar when we say our prayers. Forgive us
our trespasses, as we forgive them who trespass against us,--excepting
Jones who has committed the one sin that we will not forgive, that we
ought not to forgive. Is there not that sin against the Holy Ghost to
justify us? This was the sin that Mary could not forgive. The
disgusting woman,--for to Mary the woman was now absolutely
disgusting,--had attempted to take from her the heart of her husband!
There was a good deal of evidence also against her husband, but that
she had quite forgotten. She did not in the least believe that Adelaide
was preferred to herself. Her husband had eyes, and could see,--a
heart, and could feel,--an understanding, and could perceive. She was
not in the least afraid as to her husband. But nothing on earth should
induce her to forgive Mrs. Houghton. She thought for a moment whether
it was worth her while to show the letter to the Marquis, and then tore
it into fragments and threw the pieces away.