WHY SHOULD I NOT?
A day or two after his conversation with Crabwitz, as described in
the last chapter, Mr. Furnival was driven up to the door of Sir
Peregrine Orme's house in a Hamworth fly. He had come over by train
from Alston on purpose to see the baronet, whom he found seated in
his library. At that very moment he was again asking himself those
questions which he had before asked as he was walking up and down his
own dining-room. "Why should I not?" he said to himself,--"unless,
indeed, it will make her unhappy." And then the barrister was shown
into his room, muffled up to his eyes in his winter clothing.
Sir Peregrine and Mr. Furnival were well known to each other, and had
always met as friends. They had been interested on the same side in
the first Orley Farm Case, and possessed a topic of sympathy in their
mutual dislike to Joseph Mason of Groby Park. Sir Peregrine therefore
was courteous, and when he learned the subject on which he was to be
consulted he became almost more than courteous.
"Oh! yes; she's staying here, Mr. Furnival. Would you like to see
her?"
"Before I leave I shall be glad to see her, Sir Peregrine; but if I
am justified in regarding you as specially her friend, it may perhaps
be well that I should first have some conversation with you." Sir
Peregrine in answer to this declared that Mr. Furnival certainly
would be so justified; that he did regard himself as Lady Mason's
special friend, and that he was ready to hear anything that the
barrister might have to say to him.
Many of the points of this case have already been named so often, and
will, I fear, be necessarily named so often again that I will spare
the repetition when it is possible. Mr. Furnival on this occasion
told Sir Peregrine--not all that he had heard, but all that he
thought it necessary to tell, and soon became fully aware that in the
baronet's mind there was not the slightest shadow of suspicion that
Lady Mason could have been in any way to blame. He, the baronet, was
thoroughly convinced that Mr. Mason was the great sinner in this
matter, and that he was prepared to harass an innocent and excellent
lady from motives of disappointed cupidity and long-sustained malice,
which made him seem in Sir Peregrine's eyes a being almost too vile
for humanity. And of Dockwrath he thought almost as badly--only that
Dockwrath was below the level of his thinking. Of Lady Mason he spoke
as an excellent and beautiful woman driven to misery by unworthy
persecution; and so spoke with an enthusiasm that was surprising
to Mr. Furnival. It was very manifest that she would not want for
friendly countenance, if friendly countenance could carry her through
her difficulties.
There was no suspicion against Lady Mason in the mind of Sir
Peregrine, and Mr. Furnival was careful not to arouse any such
feeling. When he found that the baronet spoke of her as being
altogether pure and good, he also spoke of her in the same tone; but
in doing so his game was very difficult. "Let him do his worst, Mr.
Furnival," said Sir Peregrine; "and let her remain tranquil; that is
my advice to Lady Mason. It is not possible that he can really injure
her."
"It is possible that he can do nothing--very probable that he can do
nothing; but nevertheless, Sir Peregrine--"
"I would have no dealing with him or his. I would utterly disregard
them. If he, or they, or any of them choose to take steps to annoy
her, let her attorney manage that in the usual way. I am no lawyer
myself, Mr. Furnival, but that I think is the manner in which things
of this kind should be arranged. I do not know whether they have
still the power of disputing the will, but if so, let them do it."
Gradually, by very slow degrees, Mr. Furnival made Sir Peregrine
understand that the legal doings now threatened were not of that
nature;--that Mr. Mason did not now talk of proceeding at law for
the recovery of the property, but for the punishment of his father's
widow as a criminal; and at last the dreadful word "forgery" dropped
from his lips.
"Who dares to make such a charge as that?" demanded the baronet,
while fire literally flashed from his eyes in his anger. And when he
was told that Mr. Mason did make such a charge he called him "a mean,
unmanly dastard." "I do not believe that he would dare to make it
against a man," said Sir Peregrine.
But there was the fact of the charge--the fact that it had been
placed in the hands of respectable attorneys, with instructions to
them to press it on--and the fact also that the evidence by which
that charge was to be supported possessed at any rate a _primâ facie_
appearance of strength. All that it was necessary to explain to Sir
Peregrine, as it would also be necessary to explain it to Lady Mason.
"Am I to understand, then, that you also think--?" began Sir
Peregrine.
"You are not to understand that I think anything injurious to the
lady; but I do fear that she is in a position of much jeopardy, and
that great care will be necessary."
"Good heavens! Do you mean to say that an innocent person can under
such circumstances be in danger in this country?"
"An innocent person, Sir Peregrine, may be in danger of very great
annoyance, and also of very great delay in proving that innocence.
Innocent people have died under the weight of such charges. We must
remember that she is a woman, and therefore weaker than you or I."
"Yes, yes; but still--. You do not say that you think she can be in
any real danger?" It seemed, from the tone of the old man's voice, as
though he were almost angry with Mr. Furnival for supposing that such
could be the case. "And you intend to tell her all this?" he asked.
"I fear that, as her friend, neither you nor I will be warranted in
keeping her altogether in the dark. Think what her feelings would be
if she were summoned before a magistrate without any preparation!"
"No magistrate would listen to such a charge," said Sir Peregrine.
"In that he must be guided by the evidence."
"I would sooner throw up my commission than lend myself in any way to
a proceeding so iniquitous."
This was all very well, and the existence of such a feeling showed
great generosity, and perhaps also poetic chivalry on the part of
Sir Peregrine Orme; but it was not the way of the world, and so Mr.
Furnival was obliged to explain. Magistrates would listen to the
charge--would be forced to listen to the charge,--if the evidence
were apparently sound. A refusal on the part of a magistrate to do
so would not be an act of friendship to Lady Mason, as Mr. Furnival
endeavoured to explain. "And you wish to see her?" Sir Peregrine
asked at last.
"I think she should be told; but as she is in your house, I will,
of course, do nothing in which you do not concur." Upon which
Sir Peregrine rang the bell and desired the servant to take his
compliments to Lady Mason and beg her attendance in the library if
it were quite convenient. "Tell her," said Sir Peregrine, "that Mr.
Furnival is here."
When the message was given to her she was seated with Mrs. Orme, and
at the moment she summoned strength to say that she would obey the
invitation, without displaying any special emotion while the servant
was in the room; but when the door was shut, her friend looked at her
and saw that she was as pale as death. She was pale and her limbs
quivered, and that look of agony, which now so often marked her face,
was settled on her brow. Mrs. Orme had never yet seen her with such
manifest signs of suffering as she wore at this instant.
"I suppose I must go to them," she said, slowly rising from her seat;
and it seemed to Mrs. Orme that she was forced to hold by the table
to support herself.
"Mr. Furnival is a friend, is he not?"
"Oh, yes! a kind friend, but--"
"They shall come in here if you like it better, dear."
"Oh, no! I will go to them. It would not do that I should seem so
weak. What must you think of me to see me so?"
"I do not wonder at it, dear," said Mrs. Orme, coming round to her;
"such cruelty would kill me. I wonder at your strength rather than
your weakness." And then she kissed her. What was there about the
woman that had made all those fond of her that came near her?
Mrs. Orme walked with her across the hall, and left her only at the
library door. There she pressed her hand and again kissed her, and
then Lady Mason turned the handle of the door and entered the room.
Mr. Furnival, when he looked at her, was startled by the pallor of
her face, but nevertheless he thought that she had never looked so
beautiful. "Dear Lady Mason," said he, "I hope you are well."
Sir Peregrine advanced to her and handed her over to his own
arm-chair. Had she been a queen in distress she could not have been
treated with more gentle deference. But she never seemed to count
upon this, or in any way to assume it as her right. I should accuse
her of what I regard as a sin against all good taste were I to say
that she was humble in her demeanour; but there was a soft meekness
about her, an air of feminine dependence, a proneness to lean
and almost to cling as she leaned, which might have been felt as
irresistible by any man. She was a woman to know in her deep sorrow
rather than in her joy and happiness; one with whom one would love to
weep rather than to rejoice. And, indeed, the present was a time with
her for weeping, not for rejoicing.
Sir Peregrine looked as though he were her father as he took her
hand, and the barrister immediately comforted himself with the
remembrance of the baronet's great age. It was natural, too, that
Lady Mason should hang on him in his own house. So Mr. Furnival
contented himself at the first moment with touching her hand and
hoping that she was well. She answered hardly a word to either of
them, but she attempted to smile as she sat down, and murmured
something about the trouble she was giving them.
"Mr. Furnival thinks it best that you should be made aware of the
steps which are being taken by Mr. Mason of Groby Park," began Sir
Peregrine. "I am no lawyer myself, and therefore of course I cannot
put my advice against his."
"I am sure that both of you will tell me for the best," she said.
"In such a matter as this it is right that you should be guided by
him. That he is as firmly your friend as I am there can be no doubt."
"I believe Lady Mason trusts me in that," said the lawyer.
"Indeed I do; I would trust you both in anything," she said.
"And there can be no doubt that he must be able to direct you for
the best. I say so much at the first, because I myself so thoroughly
despise that man in Yorkshire,--I am so convinced that anything which
his malice may prompt him to do must be futile, that I could not
myself have thought it needful to pain you by what must now be said."
This was a dreadful commencement, but she bore it, and even was
relieved by it. Indeed, no tale that Mr. Furnival could have to tell
after such an exordium would be so bad as that which she had feared
as the possible result of his visit. He might have come there to let
her know that she was at once to be carried away--immediately to be
taken to her trial--perhaps to be locked up in gaol. In her ignorance
of the law she could only imagine what might or might not happen to
her at any moment, and therefore the words which Sir Peregrine had
spoken relieved her rather than added to her fears.
And then Mr. Furnival began his tale, and gradually put before her
the facts of the matter. This he did with a choice of language and a
delicacy of phraseology which were admirable, for he made her clearly
understand the nature of the accusation which was brought against her
without using any word which was in itself harsh in its bearing. He
said nothing about fraud, or forgery, or false evidence, but he made
it manifest to her that Joseph Mason had now instructed his lawyer
to institute a criminal proceeding against her for having forged a
codicil to her husband's will.
"I must bear it as best I may," she said. "May the Lord give me
strength to bear it!"
"It is terrible to think of," said Sir Peregrine; "but nobody can
doubt how it will end. You are not to suppose that Mr. Furnival
intends to express any doubt as to your ultimate triumph. What we
fear for you is the pain you must endure before this triumph comes."
Ah, if that were all! As the baronet finished speaking she looked
furtively into the lawyer's face to see how far the meaning of these
smooth words would be supported by what she might read there. Would
he also think that a final triumph did certainly await her? Sir
Peregrine's real opinion was easily to be learned, either from his
countenance or from his words; but it was not so with Mr. Furnival.
In Mr. Furnival's face, and from Mr. Furnival's words, could be
learned only that which Mr. Furnival wished to declare. He saw that
glance, and fully understood it; and he knew instinctively, on the
spur of the moment, that he must now either assure her by a lie, or
break down all her hopes by the truth. That final triumph was not
certain to her--was very far from certain! Should he now be honest to
his friend, or dishonest? One great object with him was to secure the
support which Sir Peregrine could give by his weight in the county;
and therefore, as Sir Peregrine was present, it was needful that he
should be dishonest. Arguing thus he looked the lie, and Lady Mason
derived more comfort from that look than from all Sir Peregrine's
words.
And then those various details were explained to her which Mr.
Furnival understood that Mr. Dockwrath had picked up. They went into
that matter of the partnership deed, and questions were asked as to
the man Kenneby and the woman Bolster. They might both, Lady Mason
said, have been witnesses to half a dozen deeds on that same day, for
aught she knew to the contrary. She had been present with Sir Joseph,
as far as she could now remember, during the whole of that morning,
"in and out, Sir Peregrine, as you can understand." Sir Peregrine
said that he did understand perfectly. She did know that Mr. Usbech
had been there for many hours that day, probably from ten to two
or three, and no doubt therefore much business was transacted. She
herself remembered nothing but the affair of the will; but then that
was natural, seeing that there was no other affair in which she had
specially interested herself.
"No doubt these people did witness both the deeds," said Sir
Peregrine. "For myself, I cannot conceive how that wretched man can
be so silly as to spend his money on such a case as this."
"He would do anything for revenge," said Mr. Furnival.
And then Lady Mason was allowed to go back to the drawing-room, and
what remained to be said was said between the two gentlemen alone.
Sir Peregrine was very anxious that his own attorneys should be
employed, and he named Messrs. Slow and Bideawhile, than whom there
were no more respectable men in the whole profession. But then Mr.
Furnival feared that they were too respectable. They might look at
the matter in so straightforward a light as to fancy their client
really guilty; and what might happen then? Old Slow would not conceal
the truth for all the baronets in England--no, nor for all the pretty
women. The touch of Lady Mason's hand and the tear in her eye would
be nothing to old Slow. Mr. Furnival, therefore, was obliged to
explain that Slow and Bideawhile did not undertake that sort of
business.
"But I should wish it to be taken up through them. There must be
some expenditure, Mr. Furnival, and I should prefer that they should
arrange about that."
Mr. Furnival made no further immediate objection, and consented at
last to having an interview with one of the firm on the subject,
provided, of course, that that member of the firm came to him at his
chambers. And then he took his leave. Nothing positive had been done,
or even settled to be done, on this morning; but the persons most
interested in the matter had been made to understand that the affair
was taking an absolute palpable substance, and that steps must be
taken--indeed would be taken almost immediately. Mr. Furnival, as he
left the house, resolved to employ the attorneys whom he might think
best adapted for the purpose. He would settle that matter with Slow
and Bideawhile afterwards.
And then, as he returned to Noningsby, he wondered at his persistence
in the matter. He believed that his client had been guilty; he
believed that this codicil was no real instrument made by Sir Joseph
Mason. And so believing, would it not be better for him to wash his
hands of the whole affair? Others did not think so, and would it not
be better that such others should be her advisers? Was he not taking
up for himself endless trouble and annoyance that could have no
useful purpose? So he argued with himself, and yet by the time that
he had reached Noningsby he had determined that he would stand by
Lady Mason to the last. He hated that man Mason, as he declared to
himself when providing himself with reasons for his resolve, and
regarded his bitter, malicious justice as more criminal than any
crime of which Lady Mason might have been guilty. And then as he
leaned back in the railway carriage he still saw her pale face before
him, still heard the soft tone of her voice, and was still melted by
the tear in her eye. Young man, young friend of mine, who art now
filled to the overflowing of thy brain with poetry, with chivalry,
and love, thou seest seated opposite to thee there that grim old man,
with long snuffy nose, with sharp piercing eyes, with scanty frizzled
hairs. He is rich and cross, has been three times married, and has
often quarrelled with his children. He is fond of his wine, and
snores dreadfully after dinner. To thy seeming he is a dry, withered
stick, from which all the sap of sentiment has been squeezed by the
rubbing and friction of years. Poetry, the feeling if not the words
of poetry,--is he not dead to it, even as the pavement is dead over
which his wheels trundle? Oh, my young friend! thou art ignorant in
this--as in most other things. He may not twitter of sentiment, as
thou doest; nor may I trundle my hoop along the high road as do the
little boys. The fitness of things forbids it. But that old man's
heart is as soft as thine, if thou couldst but read it. The body
dries up and withers away, and the bones grow old; the brain, too,
becomes decrepit, as do the sight, the hearing, and the soul. But the
heart that is tender once remains tender to the last.
Lady Mason, when she left the library, walked across the hall towards
the drawing-room, and then she paused. She would fain remain alone
for a while if it were possible, and therefore she turned aside into
a small breakfast parlour, which was used every morning, but which
was rarely visited afterwards during the day. Here she sat, leaving
the door slightly open, so that she might know when Mr. Furnival left
the baronet. Here she sat for a full hour, waiting--waiting--waiting.
There was no sofa or lounging-chair in the room, reclining in which
she could remain there half sleeping, sitting comfortably at her
ease; but she placed herself near the table, and leaning there with
her face upon her hand, she waited patiently till Mr. Furnival had
gone. That her mind was full of thoughts I need hardly say, but yet
the hour seemed very long to her. At last she heard the library door
open, she heard Sir Peregrine's voice as he stood in the hall and
shook hands with his departing visitor, she heard the sound of the
wheels as the fly moved upon the gravel, and then she heard Sir
Peregrine again shut the library door behind him.
She did not immediately get up from her chair; she still waited
awhile, perhaps for another period of ten minutes, and then she
noiselessly left the room, and moving quickly and silently across the
hall she knocked at Sir Peregrine's door. This she did so gently that
at first no answer was made to her. Then she knocked again, hardly
louder but with a repeated rap, and Sir Peregrine summoned her to
come in. "May I trouble you once more--for one moment?" she said.
"Certainly, certainly; it is no trouble. I am glad that you are here
in the house at this time, that you may see me at any moment that you
may wish."
"I do not know why you should be so good to me."
"Because you are in great grief, in undeserved grief, because--. Lady
Mason, my services are at your command. I will act for you as I would
for a--daughter."
"You hear now of what it is that they accuse me."
"Yes, he said; I do hear;" and as he spoke he came round so that he
was standing near to her, but with his back to the fireplace. "I do
hear, and I blush to think that there is a man in England, holding
the position of a county magistrate, who can so forget all that is
due to honesty, to humanity, and to self-respect."
"You do not then think that I have been guilty of this thing?"
"Guilty--I think you guilty! No, nor does he think so. It is
impossible that he should think so. I am no more sure of my own
innocence than of yours;" and as he spoke he took both her hands and
looked into her face, and his eyes also were full of tears. "You
may be sure of this, that neither I nor Edith will ever think you
guilty."
"Dearest Edith," she said; she had never before called Sir
Peregrine's daughter-in-law by her Christian name, and as she now did
so she almost felt that she had sinned. But Sir Peregrine took it in
good part. "She is dearest," he said; "and be sure of this, that she
will be true to you through it all."
And so they stood for a while without further speech. He still held
both her hands, and the tears still stood in his eyes. Her eyes were
turned to the ground, and from them the tears were running fast. At
first they ran silently, without audible sobbing, and Sir Peregrine,
with his own old eyes full of salt water, hardly knew that she was
weeping. But gradually the drops fell upon his hand, one by one at
first, and then faster and faster; and soon there came a low sob, a
sob all but suppressed, but which at last forced itself forth, and
then her head fell upon his shoulder. "My dear," he said, himself
hardly able to speak; "my poor dear, my ill-used dear!" and as she
withdrew one hand from his, that she might press a handkerchief to
her face, his vacant arm passed itself round her waist. "My poor,
ill-used dear!" he said again, as he pressed her to his old heart,
and leaning over her he kissed her lips.
So she stood for some few seconds, feeling that she was pressed
close by the feeble pressure of his arm, and then she gradually sank
through from his embrace, and fell upon her knees at his feet. She
knelt at his feet, supporting herself with one arm upon the table,
and with the other hand she still held his hand over which her head
was bowed. "My friend," she said, still sobbing, and sobbing loudly
now; "my friend, that God has sent me in my trouble." And then, with
words that were wholly inaudible, she murmured some prayer on his
behalf.
"I am better now," she said, raising herself quickly to her feet when
a few seconds had passed. "I am better now," and she stood erect
before him. "By God's mercy I will endure it; I think I can endure it
now."
"If I can lighten the load--"
"You have lightened it--of half its weight; but, Sir Peregrine, I
will leave this--"
"Leave this! go away from The Cleeve!"
"Yes; I will not destroy the comfort of your home by the wretchedness
of my position. I will not--"
"Lady Mason, my house is altogether at your service. If you will be
led by me in this matter, you will not leave it till this cloud shall
have passed by you. You will be better to be alone now;" and then
before she could answer him further, he led her to the door. She
felt that it was better for her to be alone, and she hastened up the
stairs to her own chamber.
"And why should I not?" said Sir Peregrine to himself, as he again
walked the length of the library.