WHAT TOOK PLACE IN HARLEY STREET.
"Tom, I've come back again," said Mrs. Furnival, as soon as the
dining-room door was closed behind her back.
"I'm very glad to see you; I am indeed," said he, getting up and
putting out his hand to her. "But I really never knew why you went
away."
"Oh yes, you know. I'm sure you know why I went. But--"
"I'll be shot if I did then."
"I went away because I did not like Lady Mason going to your
chambers."
"Psha!"
"Yes; I know I was wrong, Tom. That is I was wrong--about that."
"Of course you were, Kitty."
"Well; don't I say I was? And I've come back again, and I beg your
pardon;--that is about the lady."
"Very well. Then there's an end of it."
"But Tom; you know I've been provoked. Haven't I now? How often have
you been home to dinner since you have been member of parliament for
that place?"
"I shall be more at home now, Kitty."
"Shall you indeed? Then I'll not say another word to vex you. What on
earth can I want, Tom, except just that you should sit at home with
me sometimes on evenings, as you used to do always in the old days?
And as for Martha Biggs--"
"Is she come back too?"
"Oh dear no. She's in Red Lion Square. And I'm sure, Tom, I never had
her here except when you wouldn't dine at home. I wonder whether you
know how lonely it is to sit down to dinner all by oneself!"
"Why; I do it every other day of my life. And I never think of
sending for Martha Biggs; I promise you that."
"She isn't very nice, I know," said Mrs. Furnival--"that is, for
gentlemen."
"I should say not," said Mr. Furnival. Then the reconciliation had
been effected, and Mrs. Furnival went up stairs to prepare for
dinner, knowing that her husband would be present, and that Martha
Biggs would not. And just as she was taking her accustomed place at
the head of the table, almost ashamed to look up lest she should
catch Spooner's eye who was standing behind his master, Rachel went
off in a cab to Orange Street, commissioned to pay what might be due
for the lodgings, to bring back her mistress's boxes, and to convey
the necessary tidings to Miss Biggs.
"Well I never!" said Martha, as she listened to Rachel's story.
"And they're quite loving I can assure you," said Rachel.
"It'll never last," said Miss Biggs triumphantly--"never. It's been
done too sudden to last."
"So I'll say good-night if you please, Miss Biggs," said Rachel, who
was in a hurry to get back to Harley Street.
"I think she might have come here before she went there; especially
as it wasn't anything out of her way. She couldn't have gone shorter
than Bloomsbury Square, and Russell Square, and over Tottenham Court
Road."
"Missus didn't think of that, I dare say."
"She used to know the way about these parts well enough. But give her
my love, Rachel." Then Martha Biggs was again alone, and she sighed
deeply.
It was well that Mrs. Furnival came back so quickly to her own house,
as it saved the scandal of any domestic quarrel before her daughter.
On the following day Sophia returned, and as harmony was at that time
reigning in Harley Street, there was no necessity that she should
be presumed to know anything of what had occurred. That she did
know,--know exactly what her mother had done, and why she had done
it, and how she had come back, leaving Martha Biggs dumfounded by
her return, is very probable, for Sophia Furnival was a clever girl,
and one who professed to understand the ins and outs of her own
family,--and perhaps of some other families. But she behaved very
prettily to her papa and mamma on the occasion, never dropping a word
which could lead either of them to suppose that she had interrogated
Rachel, been confidential with the housemaid, conversed on the
subject--even with Spooner, and made a morning call on Martha Biggs
herself.
There arose not unnaturally some conversation between the mother
and daughter as to Lady Mason;--not as to Lady Mason's visits to
Lincoln's Inn and their impropriety as formerly presumed;--not at
all as to that; but in respect to her present lamentable position
and that engagement which had for a time existed between her and Sir
Peregrine Orme. On this latter subject Mrs. Furnival had of course
heard nothing during her interview with Mrs. Orme at Noningsby. At
that time Lady Mason had formed the sole subject of conversation;
but in explaining to Mrs. Furnival that there certainly could be
no unhallowed feeling between her husband and the lady, Mrs. Orme
had not thought it necessary to allude to Sir Peregrine's past
intentions. Mrs. Furnival, however, had heard the whole matter
discussed in the railway carriage, had since interrogated her
husband,--learning, however, not very much from him,--and now
inquired into all the details from her daughter.
"And she and Sir Peregrine were really to be married?" Mrs. Furnival,
as she asked the question, thought with confusion of her own unjust
accusations against the poor woman. Under such circumstances as
those Lady Mason must of course have been innocent as touching Mr.
Furnival.
"Yes," said Sophia. "There is no doubt whatsoever that they were
engaged. Sir Peregrine told Lady Staveley so himself."
"And now it's all broken off again?"
"Oh yes; it is all broken off now. I believe the fact to be this.
Lord Alston, who lives near Noningsby, is a very old friend of Sir
Peregrine's. When he heard of it he went to The Cleeve--I know that
for certain;--and I think he talked Sir Peregrine out of it."
"But, my conscience, Sophia--after he had made her the offer!"
"I fancy that Mrs. Orme arranged it all. Whether Lord Alston saw
her or not I don't know. My belief is that Lady Mason behaved very
well all through, though they say very bitter things against her at
Noningsby."
"Poor thing!" said Mrs. Furnival, the feelings of whose heart were
quite changed as regarded Lady Mason.
"I never knew a woman so badly treated." Sophia had her own reasons
for wishing to make the best of Lady Mason's case. "And for myself
I do not see why Sir Peregrine should not have married her if he
pleased."
"He is rather old, my dear."
"People don't think so much about that now-a-days as they used. If he
liked it, and she too, who had a right to say anything? My idea is
that a man with any spirit would have turned Lord Alston out of the
house. What business had he to interfere?"
"But about the trial, Sophia?"
"That will go on. There's no doubt about that. But they all say that
it's the most unjust thing in the world, and that she must be proved
innocent. I heard the judge say so myself."
"But why are they allowed to try her then?"
"Oh, papa will tell you that."
"I never like to bother your papa about law business." Particularly
not, Mrs. Furnival, when he has a pretty woman for his client!
"My wonder is that she should make herself so unhappy about it,"
continued Sophia. "It seems that she is quite broken down."
"But won't she have to go and sit in the court,--with all the people
staring at her?"
"That won't kill her," said Sophia, who felt that she herself would
not perish under any such process. "If I was sure that I was in the
right, I think that I could hold up my head against all that. But
they say that she is crushed to the earth."
"Poor thing!" said Mrs. Furnival. "I wish that I could do anything
for her." And in this way they talked the matter over very
comfortably.
Two or three days after this Sophia Furnival was sitting alone in the
drawing-room in Harley Street, when Spooner answered a double knock
at the door, and Lucius Mason was shown up stairs. Mrs. Furnival had
gone to make her peace in Red Lion Square, and there may perhaps
be ground for supposing that Lucius had cause to expect that Miss
Furnival might be seen at this hour without interruption. Be that
as it may, she was found alone, and he was permitted to declare his
purpose unmolested by father, mother, or family friends.
"You remember how we parted at Noningsby," said he, when their first
greetings were well over.
"Oh, yes; I remember it very well. I do not easily forget words such
as were spoken then."
"You said that you would never turn away from me."
"Nor will I;--that is with reference to the matter as to which we
were speaking."
"Is our friendship then to be confined to one subject?"
"By no means. Friendship cannot be so confined, Mr. Mason. Friendship
between true friends must extend to all the affairs of life. What I
meant to say was this-- But I am quite sure that you understand me
without any explanation."
He did understand her. She meant to say that she had promised to
him her sympathy and friendship, but nothing more. But then he had
asked for nothing more. The matter of doubt within his own heart was
this. Should he or should he not ask for more; and if he resolved
on answering this question in the affirmative, should he ask for it
now? He had determined that morning that he would come to some fixed
purpose on this matter before he reached Harley Street. As he crossed
out of Oxford Street from the omnibus he had determined that the
present was no time for love-making;--walking up Regent Street,
he had told himself that if he had one faithful heart to bear him
company he could bear his troubles better;--as he made his way along
the north side of Cavendish Square he pictured to himself what would
be the wound to his pride if he were rejected;--and in passing the
ten or twelve houses which intervened in Harley Street between the
corner of the square and the abode of his mistress, he told himself
that the question must be answered by circumstances.
"Yes, I understand you," he said. "And believe me in this--I would
not for worlds encroach on your kindness. I knew that when I pressed
your hand that night, I pressed the hand of a friend,--and nothing
more."
"Quite so," said Sophia. Sophia's wit was usually ready enough, but
at that moment she could not resolve with what words she might make
the most appropriate reply to her--friend. What she did say was
rather lame, but it was not dangerous.
"Since that I have suffered a great deal," said Lucius. "Of course
you know that my mother has been staying at The Cleeve?"
"Oh yes. I believe she left it only a day or two since."
"And you heard perhaps of her--. I hardly know how to tell you, if
you have not heard it."
"If you mean about Sir Peregrine, I have heard of that."
"Of course you have. All the world has heard of it." And Lucius Mason
got up and walked about the room holding his hand to his brow. "All
the world are talking about it. Miss Furnival, you have never known
what it is to blush for a parent."
Miss Furnival at the moment felt a sincere hope that Mr. Mason might
never hear of Mrs. Furnival's visit to the neighbourhood of Orange
Street and of the causes which led to it, and by no means thought
it necessary to ask for her friend's sympathy on that subject. "No,"
said she, "I never have; nor need you do so for yours. Why should not
Lady Mason have married Sir Peregrine Orme, if they both thought such
a marriage fitting?"
"What; at such a time as this; with these dreadful accusations
running in her ears? Surely this was no time for marrying! And what
has come of it? People now say that he has rejected her and sent her
away."
"Oh no. They cannot say that."
"But they do. It is reported that Sir Peregrine has sent her away
because he thinks her to be guilty. That I do not believe. No honest
man, no gentleman, could think her guilty. But is it not dreadful
that such things should be said?"
"Will not the trial take place very shortly now? When that is once
over all these troubles will be at an end."
"Miss Furnival, I sometimes think that my mother will hardly have
strength to sustain the trial. She is so depressed that I almost fear
her mind will give way; and the worst of it is that I am altogether
unable to comfort her."
"Surely that at present should specially be your task."
"I cannot do it. What should I say to her? I think that she is wrong
in what she is doing; thoroughly, absolutely wrong. She has got about
her a parcel of lawyers. I beg your pardon, Miss Furnival, but you
know I do not mean such as your father."
"But has not he advised it?"
"If so I cannot but think he is wrong. They are the very scum of
the gaols; men who live by rescuing felons from the punishment they
deserve. What can my mother require of such services as theirs? It is
they that frighten her and make her dread all manner of evils. Why
should a woman who knows herself to be good and just fear anything
that the law can do to her?"
"I can easily understand that such a position as hers must be very
dreadful. You must not be hard upon her, Mr. Mason, because she is
not as strong as you might be."
"Hard upon her! Ah, Miss Furnival, you do not know me. If she would
only accept my love I would wait upon her as a mother does upon her
infant. No labour would be too much for me; no care would be too
close. But her desire is that this affair should never be mentioned
between us. We are living now in the same house, and though I see
that this is killing her yet I may not speak of it." Then he got
up from his chair, and as he walked about the room he took his
handkerchief from his pocket and wiped his eyes.
"I wish I could comfort you," said she. And in saying so she spoke
the truth. By nature she was not tender hearted, but now she did
sympathise with him. By nature, too, she was not given to any deep
affection, but she did feel some spark of love for Lucius Mason. "I
wish I could comfort you." And as she spoke she also got up from her
chair.
"And you can," said he, suddenly stopping himself and coming close to
her. "You can comfort me,--in some degree. You and you only can do
so. I know this is no time for declarations of love. Were it not that
we are already so much to each other, I would not indulge myself at
such a moment with such a wish. But I have no one whom I can love;
and--it is very hard to bear." And then he stood, waiting for her
answer, as though he conceived that he had offered her his hand.
But Miss Furnival well knew that she had received no offer. "If my
warmest sympathy can be of service to you--"
"It is your love I want," he said, taking her hand as he spoke. "Your
love, so that I may look on you as my wife;--your acceptance of my
love, so that we may be all in all to each other. There is my hand.
I stand before you now as sad a man as there is in all London. But
there is my hand--will you take it and give me yours in pledge of
your love."
I should be unjust to Lucius Mason were I to omit to say that he
played his part with a becoming air. Unhappiness and a melancholy
mood suited him perhaps better than the world's ordinary good-humour.
He was a man who looked his best when under a cloud, and shone the
brightest when everything about him was dark. And Sophia also was not
unequal to the occasion. There was, however, this difference between
them. Lucius was quite honest in all that he said and did upon the
occasion; whereas Miss Furnival was only half honest. Perhaps she was
not capable of a higher pitch of honesty than that.
"There is my hand," said she; and they stood holding each other, palm
to palm.
"And with it your heart?" said Lucius.
"And with it my heart," answered Sophia. Nor as she spoke did she
hesitate for a moment, or become embarrassed, or lose her command
of feature. Had Augustus Staveley gone through the same ceremony at
Noningsby in the same way I am inclined to think that she would have
made the same answer. Had neither done so, she would not on that
account have been unhappy. What a blessed woman would Lady Staveley
have been had she known what was being done in Harley Street at this
moment!
In some short rhapsody of love it may be presumed that Lucius
indulged himself when he found that the affair which he had in hand
had so far satisfactorily arranged itself. But he was in truth
too wretched at heart for any true enjoyment of the delights of
a favoured suitor. They were soon engaged again on that terrible
subject, seated side by side indeed and somewhat close, but the tone
of their voices and their very words were hardly different from what
they might have been had no troth been plighted between them. His
present plan was that Sophia should visit Orley Farm for a time, and
take that place of dear and bosom friend which a woman circumstanced
as was his mother must so urgently need. We, my readers, know well
who was now that loving friend, and we know also which was best
fitted for such a task, Sophia Furnival or Mrs. Orme. But we have
had, I trust, better means of reading the characters of those ladies
than had fallen to the lot of Lucius Mason, and should not be angry
with him because his eyes were dark.
Sophia hesitated a moment before she answered this proposition,--not
as though she were slack in her love, or begrudged her services to
his mother; but it behoved her to look carefully at the circumstances
before she would pledge herself to such an arrangement as that. If
she went to Orley Farm on such a mission would it not be necessary
to tell her father and mother,--nay, to tell all the world that she
was engaged to Lucius Mason; and would it be wise to make such a
communication at the present moment? Lucius said a word to her of
going into court with his mother, and sitting with her, hand in hand,
while that ordeal was passing by. In the publicity of such sympathy
there was something that suited the bearings of Miss Furnival's mind,
The idea that Lady Mason was guilty had never entered her head, and
therefore, on this she thought there could be no disgrace in such a
proceeding. But nevertheless--might it not be prudent to wait till
that trial were over?
"If you are my wife you must be her daughter; and how can you better
take a daughter's part?" pleaded Lucius.
"No, no; and I would do it with my whole heart. But, Lucius, does she
know me well enough? It is of her that we must think. After all that
you have told me, can we think that she would wish me to be there?"
It was his desire that his mother should learn to have such a wish,
and this he explained to her. He himself could do but little at home
because he could not yield his opinion on those matters of importance
as to which he and his mother differed so vitally; but if she had a
woman with her in the house,--such a woman as his own Sophia,--then
he thought her heart would be softened and part of her sorrow might
be assuaged.
Sophia at last said that she would think about it. It would be
improper, she said, to pledge herself to anything rashly. It might be
that as her father was to defend Lady Mason, he might on that account
object to his daughter being in the court. Lucius declared that this
would be unreasonable,--unless indeed Mr. Furnival should object to
his daughter's engagement. And might he not do so? Sophia thought
it very probable that he might. It would make no difference in her,
she said. Her engagement would be equally binding,--as permanently
binding, let who would object to it. And as she made this
declaration, there was of course a little love scene. But, for the
present, it might be best that in this matter she should obey her
father. And then she pointed out how fatal it might be to avert her
father from the cause while the trial was still pending. Upon the
whole she acted her part very prudently, and when Lucius left her
she was pledged to nothing but that one simple fact of a marriage
engagement.