CYNTHIA MARLOWE
Cynthia Marlowe had come to Lafer Hall when little more than a baby. She
was the only child of the Admiral's only son. His soldier's death in an
Afghan gorge killed his young wife, and then Cynthia was sent to her
grandparents.
Her life was lonely but very happy. She knew no other children, but the
Admiral was always ready for a romp. There was plenty of room for them
to have it without giving Mrs. Marlowe a headache. When grandmamma shook
her head, and feared Cynthy would grow up a dreadful tomboy, grandpapa
declared she was precluded by all facts of nature and grace from being
otherwise than a lady. How could Lennox, Cholmondeley, and Marlowe
in one produce an anomaly? No, no; if she did not romp, stretch her
muscles, and inflate her lungs she would be puny, and he would rather
she could not mark her own name than be puny. He pished at samplers,
and delighted to interrupt the working-lesson. Cynthia, caught by Mrs.
Marlowe, and made to sit on a little stool at her feet, with flushed
cheeks and impatient fingers that tugged and tugged at the silks until
they were tangled among broken threads, listened with strained senses
for the Admiral's step in the corridor. So did Mrs. Marlowe, and was
much the more nervous of the two. It meant release for the one and
defeat for the other.
'What! ho, Cynthy,' the Admiral would say, 'snared again, my pretty
bird? Getting a round back and a narrow chest for a fal-lal? Come,
granny, this'll never do; you don't reason, my dear. The child'll always
have a woman for her fineries; why let her risk her eyesight and her
figure?' Then he would pretend it would grieve Cynthia dreadfully to lay
the tangle aside, and that she far preferred the morning-room to the
park. 'I'm very sorry, Cynthy, but out you must go this fine day. Granny
hasn't seen the sunshine, or your tippet would have been on an hour ago.
Where's your work-box? Now gently; put it in tidily; always be tidy.
Don't burst the hinges. That's a good girl!'
And off she would fly with the always fresh wonder whether grandpapa
really had no idea how delightful it was to go.
Poor Mrs. Marlowe made an equally useless struggle over books. This was
a subject that had greatly exercised the Admiral too, and indecision
engendered irritation. He was still more peremptory.
'Now, Juliana, it's no good, no good at all, bringing out all these
old volumes of yours. _Mangnall's Questions_ might comprise all that
was necessary for a girl to learn in your day, but it's obsolete.
So is _Murray_. Why, good Heavens! a chit of a creature told me
the other night at the Deanery that there isn't an article now in
our English grammar, and all the other parts of speech are playing
puss-in-the-corner--for want of it, I should think. Cynthy must learn to
read and write and cipher, of course; she'll have to sign cheques and
witness deeds one of these days. She can read any book in my library;
there isn't one vicious thing there; and as for allusions in Shakespere,
for instance, well, she'll lay the good to heart and won't understand
the bad. She'll pick up information as she goes along, and then, of
course, she must finish off with masters. But as for _Mangnall_, it's
no good at all. Just leave the child alone. I'll teach her to ride, and
jump, and fence, and play bowls, and we shall have her a fine woman,
and that's all a woman need be.'
But he pulled his moustache ferociously, and his hand trembled so much
in fixing his eye-glass, when he presently took up the _Gentleman's
Magazine_, that Mrs. Marlowe was sure he had misgivings. However, it
was a mercy that she was not expected to lay down the law and take
responsibility.
But this did not exempt her from unhappiness on Cynthia's account. She
had a clear vision of a _via media_ that should not entail mathematics
and classics, but should comprise more than the three R's. It made her
miserable to see Cynthy's fearlessness on her pony; she would ride to
hounds and break her neck; she would sprain her ankle when jumping
and be crippled for life; and when she had learnt dancing who in the
world was to chaperon her to balls? The Admiral was too headstrong; she
would be a tomboy after all, and set every social rule at defiance and
chaperon herself! The skipping-rope was all very well; she liked to see
her spring up and down the length of the corridors on a wet day, and it
was really pretty to watch the Admiral teach her bowls, but was a girl
ever taught to fence? He would be teaching her the tactics of naval
warfare next. Why was he crazy for her to be a fine-looking woman? _she_
had never been so. Just so; and she was delicate. Well, perhaps he was
right. But she sighed and was sure he was wrong.
It was when Cynthia was nine years old that Mrs. Marlowe found a
strong-willed ally. Mrs. Tremenheere, the wife of the Dean of Wonston,
had girls of her own and very clear ideas of the _via media_ in which
health and education go hand in hand. She had the audacity to tilt with
the Admiral on the subject. They were equally self-opinionated, but he
was not only obliged to defer to her as the lady, but she could produce
her own daughters as proofs of her common sense. She also derided the
possibility of health of body being compatible with mental ignorance
in nineteenth-century England, and commiserated the masters who were
to 'finish' unprepared ground. The Admiral, who had long secretly felt
himself in a dilemma, listened and yielded. For her own sake Cynthy must
not be a dunce. Mrs. Tremenheere undertook to find a governess, and she
found Mrs. Hennifer.
After this every one had an uneasy time at Lafer Hall until Mrs.
Hennifer arrived. The Admiral had yielded, but he was not at all sure
that Mrs. Tremenheere knew what sort of a governess he wanted.
'She may have got us something Jesuitical, Juliana,' he said. 'I know
Mrs. Tremenheere pretty well, she's a worldly woman and a schemer.
She's done well for her girls so far, and she'll marry 'em well; and
there's Anthony, you know, her only boy, and depend upon it she'll want
a masterpiece for him; and she knows, every one does, that Cynthy's an
heiress. Very nice to land Anthony at Lafer Hall, eh? Now what I say is,
she may be sending us a creature of her own.'
'Oh Simon, and Cynthy only nine years old!'
'Well, well, I don't say she is, but she's a schemer, depend upon it she
is, Juliana. She'd twist you round her little finger, and maybe she's
twisted me too, God knows.'
But Mrs. Hennifer was not a 'creature,' and when the Admiral found that
she had never seen Mrs. Tremenheere until she was introduced to her in
Mrs. Marlowe's drawing-room, his qualms were set at rest. It was soon
evident too that Cynthia's happiness was doubled. Forces in her that
had been running to waste were now directed into wholesome grooves of
work. Her spirit and enterprise devoted themselves to becoming as clever
as Theo and Julia Tremenheere. She still romped with the Admiral, and
then she rushed into the schoolroom, sat down, threw back her golden
hair, planted her elbows on the table, and mastered her difficulties in
grammar and arithmetic. As she could not help laughing when the Admiral
would walk past the window, looking forlorn and signalling to her to be
quick, she remonstrated and said if he still would do it she must change
her seat. To change her seat, she added, would be a great trouble,
for it did help her to look at the sky. Her fervent seriousness quite
abashed him, and he resisted the inclination to laugh at her quaintness.
He did not understand, but Mrs. Hennifer did and gave her a book called
_Look up, or Girls and Flowers_. Mrs. Hennifer had a wonderful knack at
choosing pretty books, and sometimes when they read them aloud together
Cynthia found that they brought tears to those keen eyes.
'My darling Mrs. Henny,' she said once, 'don't cry. It's only a story,
and a very very little bit of the story too.'
She did not know, and Mrs. Hennifer prayed she never would, that the
'very very little bit' is often that round which the whole of life
centres, tinging its joys and sorrows, hopes and fears, thenceforth.
Nor would this be sad if it were realisable at the time. But it is
afterwards, by added experience and unexpected sequence, that the
incident becomes the event.
One day when Cynthia was no longer a child the Admiral happened to join
his wife and Mrs. Hennifer on the terrace. Beyond the broad reach of
gravel and the stone balustrades in whose vases geraniums glowed, the
ground fell abruptly into the finely-wooded undulations of the park. A
group of red deer lay in the shadow of a line of chestnuts which swept
a slope, at whose base the lake gleamed. In the distance, over the dark
shoulders of the woods, Wonston was visible. Its red tiles and yellow
gables lay in a haze of smoke, above which rose the Minster towers.
Admiral Marlowe was Lord of the Manor as far as they could see in every
direction.
As they strolled up and down, their talk wandered from small details
of social pleasures and duties to more important ones connected with
the estate. No allusion was made to the dead son. Mrs. Marlowe had not
named him since the day she heard of his death. But the Admiral felt
her hand tremble on his arm as he speculated on the amount of Cynthia's
knowledge of her heiress-ship. He looked down at her tenderly. She had
been a beauty in her youth, and sorrow had chiselled her features into
increased delicacy by giving her an air of plaintive melancholy.
'Let us tell Cynthy the truth and hear what she will say,' he said.
'Yes, by all means,' said Mrs. Marlowe.
'My good Mrs. Hennifer, will you bring her here? She's on the
bowling-green, or was. Heaven knows where she may have been spirited off
to by this time, Heaven or the fairies. I think they're her nearest of
kin.'
Mrs. Hennifer went in search, disappearing behind a group of cedars
whose shadow, thrown at noon on the drawing-room windows, kept it cool
on the hottest day. They heard her calling 'Cynthia!' as she passed in
and out among the trees or crossed the lawns. Presently a man's tones
answered 'Here we are!' Then came a girl's light laugh. A few moments
more and Cynthia appeared alone upon the terrace.
She was very lovely. It was prophesied that she would be the beauty
of Riding and county. She had been in town this spring for the sake
of masters, and her portrait had been painted by one of the greatest
artists of the day. He generally spiritualised his subjects, but
when he saw Cynthia Marlowe he knew that if he added to nature's
spiritualisation he must add wings. It went from his studio to Lafer.
The Admiral would allow no 'vulgar herd' to criticise it at Burlington
House. His pride in her was the chivalrous pride which guards against
publicity for women, and recognises even beauty's 'noblest station' as
'retreat.' The portrait was hung at one end of the long drawing-room.
In walking towards it, it seemed that Cynthia herself was standing to
greet the comer. She was already tall, and as slight and straight as the
natural gymnasium of judicious liberty, fresh air, and pure influences
could make her. She was dressed in white, and her golden hair hung in
curls to her waist. Her fair skin readily showed a flush. Her brows were
level, her lips firm yet sensitive. There was an exquisite transparency
in her eyes, which were large and of a warm hazel colour. She looked at
every one with a frank and fearless confidence that was unwittingly
fascinating.
'Cynthy,' said the Admiral, smiling upon her as every one did, 'there's
a question we want to ask you. Have you ever wondered to whom Lafer will
go when we die?'
'Yes,' she said; 'but I have not liked to know you will die.'
'We must in the course of nature. Nature sometimes fails to keep her
courses, though, as in our case, where a generation is gone between us
and you for some wise purpose of the Almighty's. The fact gives you
great responsibilities. My dear, Lafer will belong to you.'
'I have sometimes thought it would,' she said.
As she spoke she rested one hand on the balustrade and with the other
shaded her eyes and looked at Wonston. He followed her gaze.
'You will be Lady of the Manor as far as the most southernly house in
Wonston Earth and to Great Whernside on the north. Do you realise it,
you a slim girl in your teens?'
'I was not trying to realise it. Just at the moment I was sure I saw the
Deanery, Anthony has often assured me he could from beside this vase.
I shall not be a "slim girl in my teens" when I am Lady of the Manor,
grandpapa. Don't let us think of it. It won't be for a very long time,
and we will forget it unless you want to tell me something I must do.'
'My dear, when the time comes you'll do all that's good, even to
rebuilding the old bridge, eh? But there's one thing you must get, a
good husband. You mustn't be left alone in the world.'
'He must get her, my dear,' said Mrs. Marlowe.
'Of course, of course. There, there, Cynthy, no need to colour up.
Plenty of time and no rocks ahead, choice in your own hands, et cetera.
Now kiss us and you can go back to Anthony. He'll stay and dine, and
then you'll sing to us.'
She did as she was bidden like a child. They watched her out of sight.
Then the Admiral went to the vase near which she had stood and, fixing
his eye-glass with a nervousness so unusual that it resisted many
efforts before it was steady, stared at Wonston.
'We certainly ought to see the Deanery,' he said in a tone so
dissatisfied that it was certain he did not.
'Certainly we should.'
'Well, if we don't the best thing is for him to persuade her that we do.'
'I think he has.'
'I have no doubt he is convinced he sees her room from his room.'
'Don't say so to Cynthy.'
'Juliana! as though I should be such a fool as to say anything about
it--the very thing to upset our schemes!'
'Do you remember, Simon, how frightened you once were lest Mrs.
Tremenheere should scheme for us?'
The Admiral puffed out his cheeks to hide a little embarrassment. But
Mrs. Marlowe looked so inoffensive that this could not be maliciousness.
'I am yet,' he said. 'It's out of a woman's province to scheme, quite
beyond it, she'll only make a mess. Now, she's a worldly woman, she'd
want Cynthy's money, but we want Anthony because he's a good fellow,
and 'll make her happy. No good could come of her scheme, but ours is
moral to the marrow. A world of difference, my dear Juliana, a world of
difference.'
When Cynthia came out, it was under Mrs. Tremenheere's chaperonage.
Since she must come out, it was safest for her to do so with Anthony's
mother. She went through two seasons of the conventional routine,
refused many offers of marriage, and each time returned happily to
Lafer and her friendship with the Tremenheeres. Never for a moment did
the Admiral fear for the success of his plan.
It was on the day of his ordination to deacon's orders that Anthony
asked her to be his wife. She promised that she would. It seemed the one
natural sequence.
Yet she shrank from accepting his ring. He was going to the Holy Land,
need they be openly engaged until his return? He smiled and insisted,
and she gave way. But the first seed of self-distrust was springing
up in her heart. During his absence she became gradually restless and
dissatisfied. Every one about her noticed the change. The Admiral,
purblind, attributed it to want of Anthony; but Cynthia realised each
day more clearly that it rose from the dread of his return, for upon
it their marriage must quickly follow. She longed for the old time
of friendship, and at last confessed to herself that she had made
a mistake, she did not love him. When he returned it was to a great
sorrow, for she broke off her engagement.
The succeeding months were unutterably bitter. For the first time in her
life she was brought face to face with unhappiness. For herself she did
not care, but to know that she had wounded and disappointed those she
loved cost her many a tear. And Anthony worshipped her; he would never
marry if not her; he was a noble-hearted man, and she missed him. He
had made her understand it must be all or nothing; if not her husband
he could only be her steadfast friend at a distance. The old familiar
intercourse was all done away. A miserable year passed; he asked her
again but she refused; yet as she loved no one else he still hoped.
She found another chaperon, and went up to town as usual, returning to
entertain the Admiral's shooting-parties and glide into a dull winter.
But it was not quite so bad as the previous one. Mrs. Hennifer, who was
the friend of both, persuaded Anthony to go away. He threw up his curacy
and went out to Delhi on a commission for the translation of the Bible
into some of the Hindoo dialects; he was more scholar than priest, and
the work was congenial. In his absence the Admiral ceased to harass
Cynthia, and by degrees Mrs. Hennifer, more even than the winsome and
disarming patience into which his harshness disciplined Cynthia herself,
managed to narrow the breach and restore to the Hall its old atmosphere
of affection.
During Anthony's absence of some years the Dean died and he returned
to the inheritance of entailed property. But he did not live on it. If
in England he must be near Cynthia. He took a house near the Minster,
accepted an honorary canonry to please his mother by keeping up a link
with the ecclesiastical prestige of the place, and devoted his time to
study. His library was upstairs, and Cynthia knew he had made interest
with one of the woodmen for the felling of a tree and the lopping of
some branches that hid his view of the Hall.
One day he showed her it, explaining how cleverly it had been managed.
His manner proved to her as well as words could have done that time had
quenched none of his affection. It had taught him to endure, and still
to be happy and useful. He had not prayed for more. She stood in the
window silently for a long time. He had never touched her so much. There
was such a noble and simple courage about him that the pathos of it all
nearly overcame her. At last she turned and smiled tremblingly.
'Anthony,' she said, 'I would have given all that will one day be mine
to have been able to be your wife.'
There was no uncertainty in his smile. It was quick and bright.
'I know you would, Cynthia. Nothing is your fault, it is our joint
misfortune. You may still find a perfect happiness. As for me I shall be
faithful, as you would have been had you cared. That is my happiness,
and to be able to be so near to you, I can enjoy that now--"so near and
yet so far,"' he added after a moment's pause.
His tone was more wistful than he knew. Cynthia felt herself on the very
verge of yielding to a sudden strong impulse which she was impelled to
trust. She put out her hand. But he was not looking. He had looked and
been unnerved. He had thought himself stronger. With a hasty movement
he turned to the table and took up a pamphlet, furling its edges with
fingers that might at that moment have closed over Cynthia Marlowe's
in lifelong possession. Her courage failed. She went to the other side
of the table and surveyed the accumulation of books and papers; most
of them were, she knew, in Hindostānee and Sanskrit. The sight did not
abash her. On the contrary it renewed her courage.
'Anthony, you know that line--
"I do not understand, I love,"'
she said; 'now, in how many languages can you conjugate those verbs?'
But he did not look up, and nervousness made her tones too buoyant. He
never saw the light in her eyes which would at last have answered the
question in his.
'In nine languages and a dozen dialects,' he said lightly.
She had failed to convey her meaning. Her lips closed. She shut her
eyes, feeling for a moment faint and tired. When she wished him
good-bye, he thought she looked at him strangely. But he did not guess
the truth or know that he had failed to take the tide 'at the flood.' In
a few days she ceased to wonder what was truth.
Shortly afterwards, Tremenheere's sister, Theodosia Kerr, with whom
she corresponded regularly, perceiving listlessness in her letters and
an exasperating resignation in his, threw herself into the breach by
proposing that she should travel with her and her husband. Kerr was
delicate, and after a yachting cruise in the Mediterranean, was going
to winter in Jersey. The plan took Cynthia's fancy. She had never
travelled, discovered she had a great wish to do so, and was speedily
on her way to join their yacht in Southampton Water. Mrs. Kerr, in her
superior wisdom of married woman, meant to give her what she spoke of to
her husband as 'a good shaking-up,' and then have Tremenheere quietly
out to Jersey in autumn; the result was to be all that everybody could
wish!
Three months later news reached Lafer Hall which struck consternation
into Mrs. Hennifer's soul, and sent her over to Old Lafer to see Mrs.
Severn at once. The consequence was that a few hours after Mrs. Severn
was again at the Mires.