LILY DALE GOES TO LONDON.
One morning towards the end of March the squire rapped at the window
of the drawing-room of the Small House, in which Mrs. Dale and her
daughter were sitting. He had a letter in his hand, and both Lily and
her mother knew that he had come down to speak about the contents of
the letter. It was always a sign of good-humour on the squire's part,
this rapping at the window. When it became necessary to him in his
gloomy moods to see his sister-in-law, he would write a note to her,
and she would go across to him at the Great House. At other times,
if, as Lily would say, he was just then neither sweet nor bitter, he
would go round to the front door and knock, and be admitted after the
manner of ordinary people; but when he was minded to make himself
thoroughly pleasant he would come and rap at the drawing-room window,
as he was doing now.
"I'll let you in, uncle; wait a moment," said Lily, as she unbolted
the window which opened out upon the lawn. "It's dreadfully cold, so
come in as fast as you can."
"It's not cold at all," said the squire. "It's more like spring than
any morning we've had yet. I've been sitting without a fire."
"You won't catch us without one for the next two months; will he,
mamma? You have got a letter, uncle. Is it for us to see?"
"Well,--yes; I've brought it down to show you. Mary, what do you
think is going to happen?"
A terrible idea occurred to Mrs. Dale at that moment, but she was
much too wise to give it expression. Could it be possible that the
squire was going to make a fool of himself and get married? "I am
very bad at guessing," said Mrs. Dale. "You had better tell us."
"Bernard is going to be married," said Lily.
"How did you know?" said the squire.
"I didn't know. I only guessed."
"Then you've guessed right," said the squire, a little annoyed at
having his news thus taken out of his mouth.
"I am so glad," said Mrs. Dale; "and I know from your manner that you
like the match."
"Well,--yes. I don't know the young lady, but I think that upon the
whole I do like it. It's quite time, you know, that he got married."
"He's not thirty yet," said Mrs. Dale.
"He will be, in a month or two."
"And who is it, uncle?"
"Well;--as you're so good at guessing, I suppose you can guess that?"
"It's not that Miss Partridge he used to talk about?"
"No; it's not Miss Partridge,--I'm glad to say. I don't believe that
the Partridges have a shilling among them."
"Then I suppose it's an heiress?" said Mrs. Dale.
"No; not an heiress; but she will have some money of her own. And she
has connexions in Barsetshire, which makes it pleasant."
"Connexions in Barsetshire! Who can it be?" said Lily.
"Her name is Emily Dunstable," said the squire, "and she is the
niece of that Miss Dunstable who married Dr. Thorne and who lives at
Chaldicotes."
"She was the woman who had millions upon millions," said Lily, "all
got by selling ointment."
"Never mind how it was got," said the squire, angrily. "Miss
Dunstable married most respectably, and has always made a most
excellent use of her money."
"And will Bernard's wife have all her fortune?" asked Lily.
"She will have twenty thousand pounds the day she marries, and I
suppose that will be all."
"And quite enough, too," said Mrs. Dale.
"It seems that old Dr. Dunstable, as he was called, who, as Lily
says, sold the ointment, quarrelled with his son or with his son's
widow, and left nothing either to her or her child. The mother is
dead, and the aunt, Dr. Thorne's wife, has always provided for the
child. That's how it is, and Bernard is going to marry her. They are
to be married at Chaldicotes in May."
"I am delighted to hear it," said Mrs. Dale.
"I've known Dr. Thorne for the last forty years;" and the squire now
spoke in a low melancholy tone. "I've written to him to say that the
young people shall have the old place up there to themselves if they
like it."
"What! and turn you out?" said Mrs. Dale.
"That would not matter," said the squire.
"You'd have to come and live with us," said Lily, taking him by the
hand.
"It doesn't matter much now where I live," said the squire.
"Bernard will never consent to that," said Mrs. Dale.
"I wonder whether she'll ask me to be a bridesmaid?" said Lily. "They
say that Chaldicotes is such a pretty place, and I should see all
the Barsetshire people that I've been hearing about from Grace. Poor
Grace! I know that the Grantlys and the Thornes are very intimate.
Fancy Bernard having twenty thousand pounds from the making of
ointment!"
"What does it matter to you where it comes from?" said the squire,
half in anger.
"Not in the least; only it sounds so odd. I do hope she's a nice
girl."
Then the squire produced a photograph of Emily Dunstable which his
nephew had sent to him, and they all pronounced her to be very
pretty, to be very much like a lady, and to be very good-humoured.
The squire was evidently pleased with the match, and therefore the
ladies were pleased also. Bernard Dale was the heir to the estate,
and his marriage was of course a matter of moment; and as on such
properties as that of Allington money is always wanted, the squire
may be forgiven for the great importance which he attached to the
young lady's fortune. "Bernard could hardly have married prudently
without any money," he said,--"unless he had chosen to wait till I
am gone."
[Illustration: They pronounced her to be very much like a Lady.]
"And then he would have been too old to marry at all," said Lily.
But the squire's budget of news had not yet been emptied. He told
them soon afterwards that he himself had been summoned up to London.
Bernard had written to him, begging him to come and see the young
lady; and the family lawyer had written also, saying that his
presence in town would be very desirable. "It is very troublesome,
of course; but I shall go," said the squire. "It will do you all the
good in the world," said Mrs. Dale; "and of course you ought to know
her personally before the marriage." And then the squire made a clean
breast of it and declared his full purpose. "I was thinking that,
perhaps, Lily would not object to go up to London with me."
"Oh, uncle Christopher, I should so like it," said Lily.
"If your mamma does not object."
"Mamma never objects to anything. I should like to see her objecting
to that!" And Lily shook her head at her mother.
"Bernard says that Miss Dunstable particularly wants to see you."
"Does she, indeed? And I particularly want to see Miss Dunstable.
How nice! Mamma, I don't think I've ever been in London since I wore
short frocks. Do you remember taking us to the pantomime? Only think
how many years ago that is. I'm quite sure it's time that Bernard
should get married. Uncle, I hope you're prepared to take me to the
play."
"We must see about that!"
"And the opera, and Madame Tussaud, and the Horticultural Gardens,
and the new conjuror who makes a woman lie upon nothing. The idea
of my going to London! And then I suppose I shall be one of the
bridesmaids. I declare a new vista of life is opening out to me!
Mamma, you mustn't be dull while I'm away. It won't be very long,
I suppose, uncle?"
"About a month, probably," said the squire.
"Oh, mamma; what will you do?"
"Never mind me, Lily."
"You must get Bell and the children to come. But I cannot imagine
living away from home a month. I was never away from home a month in
my life."
And Lily did go up to town with her uncle, two days only having been
allowed to her for her preparations. There was very much for her to
think of in such a journey. It was not only that she would see Emily
Dunstable who was to be her cousin's wife, and that she would go to
the play and visit the new conjuror's entertainment, but that she
would be in the same city both with Adolphus Crosbie and with John
Eames. Not having personal experience of the wideness of London, and
of the wilderness which it is;--of the distance which is set there
between persons who are not purposely brought together--it seemed
to her fancy as though for this month of her absence from home she
would be brought into close contiguity with both her lovers. She
had hitherto felt herself to be at any rate safe in her fortress at
Allington. When Crosbie had written to her mother, making a renewed
offer which had been rejected, Lily had felt that she certainly need
not see him unless it pleased her to do so. He could hardly force
himself upon her at Allington. And as to John Eames, though he would,
of course, be welcome at Allington as often as he pleased to show
himself, still there was a security in the place. She was so much at
home there that she could always be mistress of the occasion. She
knew that she could talk to him at Allington as though from ground
higher than that on which he stood himself; but she felt that this
would hardly be the case if she should chance to meet him in London.
Crosbie probably would not come in her way. Crosbie she thought,--and
she blushed for the man she loved, as the idea came across her
mind,--would be afraid of meeting her uncle. But John Eames would
certainly find her; and she was led by the experience of latter days
to imagine that John would never cross her path without renewing his
attempts.
But she said no word of all this, even to her mother. She was
contented to confine her outspoken expectations to Emily Dunstable,
and the play, and the conjuror. "The chances are ten to one against
my liking her, mamma," she said.
"I don't see that, my dear."
"I feel to be too old to think that I shall ever like any more new
people. Three years ago I should have been quite sure that I should
love a new cousin. It would have been like having a new dress. But
I've come to think that an old dress is the most comfortable, and an
old cousin certainly the best."
The squire had had taken for them a gloomy lodging in Sackville
Street. Lodgings in London are always gloomy. Gloomy colours wear
better than bright ones for curtains and carpets, and the keepers
of lodgings in London seem to think that a certain dinginess of
appearance is respectable. I never saw a London lodging in which
any attempt at cheerfulness had been made, and I do not think that
any such attempt, if made, would pay. The lodging-seeker would be
frightened and dismayed, and would unconsciously be led to fancy
that something was wrong. Ideas of burglars and improper persons
would present themselves. This is so certainly the case that I doubt
whether any well-conditioned lodging-house matron could be induced to
show rooms that were prettily draped or pleasantly coloured. The big
drawing-room and two large bedrooms which the squire took, were all
that was proper, and were as brown, and as gloomy, and as ill-suited
for the comforts of ordinary life as though they had been prepared
for two prisoners. But Lily was not so ignorant as to expect cheerful
lodgings in London, and was satisfied. "And what are we to do now?"
said Lily, as soon as they found themselves settled. It was still
March, and whatever may have been the nature of the weather at
Allington, it was very cold in London. They reached Sackville
Street about five in the evening, and an hour was taken up in
unpacking their trunks and making themselves as comfortable as their
circumstances allowed. "And now what are we to do?" said Lily.
"I told them to have dinner for us at half-past six."
"And what after that? Won't Bernard come to us to-night? I expected
him to be standing on the door-steps waiting for us with his bride in
his hand."
"I don't suppose Bernard will be here to-night," said the squire. "He
did not say that he would, and as for Miss Dunstable, I promised to
take you to her aunt's house to-morrow."
"But I wanted to see her to-night. Well;--of course bridesmaids
must wait upon brides. And ladies with twenty thousand pounds can't
be expected to run about like common people. As for Bernard,--but
Bernard never was in a hurry." Then they dined, and when the squire
had very nearly fallen asleep over a bottle of port wine which had
been sent in for him from some neighbouring public-house, Lily began
to feel that it was very dull. And she looked round the room, and
she thought that it was very ugly. And she calculated that thirty
evenings so spent would seem to be very long. And she reflected that
the hours were probably going much more quickly with Emily Dunstable,
who, no doubt, at this moment had Bernard Dale by her side. And then
she told herself that the hours were not tedious with her at home,
while sitting with her mother, with all her daily occupations within
her reach. But in so telling herself she took herself to task,
inquiring of herself whether such an assurance was altogether true.
Were not the hours sometimes tedious even at home? And in this way
her mind wandered off to thoughts upon life in general, and she
repeated to herself over and over again the two words which she had
told John Eames that she would write in her journal. The reader will
remember those two words;--Old Maid. And she had written them in her
book, making each letter a capital, and round them she had drawn a
scroll, ornamented after her own fashion, and she had added the date
in quaintly formed figures,--for in such matters Lily had some little
skill and a dash of fun to direct it; and she had inscribed below it
an Italian motto,--"Who goes softly, goes safely;" and above her work
of art she had put a heading--"As arranged by Fate for L. D." Now she
thought of all this, and reflected whether Emily Dunstable was in
truth very happy. Presently the tears came into her eyes, and she got
up and went to the window, as though she were afraid that her uncle
might wake and see them. And as she looked out on the blank street,
she muttered a word or two--"Dear mother! Dearest mother!" Then the
door was opened, and her cousin Bernard announced himself. She had
not heard his knock at the door as she had been thinking of the two
words in her book.
"What; Bernard!--ah, yes, of course," said the squire, rubbing his
eyes as he strove to wake himself. "I wasn't sure you would come, but
I'm delighted to see you. I wish you joy with all my heart,--with all
my heart."
"Of course, I should come," said Bernard. "Dear Lily, this is so good
of you. Emily is so delighted." Then Lily spoke her congratulations
warmly, and there was no trace of a tear in her eyes, and she was
thoroughly happy as she sat by her cousin's side and listened to
his raptures about Emily Dunstable. "And you will be so fond of her
aunt," he said.
"But is she not awfully rich?" said Lily.
"Frightfully rich," said Bernard; "but really you would hardly find
it out if nobody told you. Of course she lives in a big house, and
has a heap of servants; but she can't help that."
"I hate a heap of servants," said Lily.
Then there came another knock at the door, and who should enter the
room but John Eames. Lily for a moment was taken aback, but it was
only for a moment. She had been thinking so much of him that his
presence disturbed her for an instant. "He probably will not know
that I am here," she had said to herself; but she had not yet been
three hours in London, and he was already with her! At first he
hardly spoke to her, addressing himself to the squire. "Lady Julia
told me you were to be here, and as I start for the Continent early
to-morrow morning, I thought you would let me come and see you before
I went."
"I'm always glad to see you, John," said the squire,--"very glad. And
so you're going abroad, are you?"
Then Johnny congratulated his old acquaintance, Bernard Dale, as to
his coming marriage, and explained to them how Lady Julia in one
of her letters had told him all about it, and had even given him
the number in Sackville Street. "I suppose she learned it from you,
Lily," said the squire. "Yes, uncle, she did." And then there came
questions as to John's projected journey to the Continent, and
he explained that he was going on law-business, on behalf of Mr.
Crawley, to catch the dean and Mrs. Arabin, if it might be possible.
"You see, sir, Mr. Toogood, who is Mr. Crawley's cousin, and also his
lawyer, is my cousin, too; and that's why I'm going." And still there
had been hardly a word spoken between him and Lily.
"But you're not a lawyer, John; are you?" said the squire.
"No. I'm not a lawyer myself."
"Nor a lawyer's clerk?"
"Certainly not a lawyer's clerk," said Johnny, laughing.
"Then why should you go?" asked Bernard Dale.
Then Johnny had to explain; and in doing so he became very eloquent
as to the hardships of Mr. Crawley's case. "You see, sir, nobody can
possibly believe that such a man as that stole twenty pounds."
"I do not for one," said Lily.
"God forbid that I should say he did," said the squire.
"I'm quite sure he didn't," said Johnny, warming to his subject. "It
couldn't be that such a man as that should become a thief all at
once. It's not human nature, sir; is it?"
"It is very hard to know what is human nature," said the squire.
"It's the general opinion down in Barsetshire that he did steal it,"
said Bernard. "Dr. Thorne was one of the magistrates who committed
him, and I know he thinks so."
"I don't blame the magistrates in the least," said Johnny.
"That's kind of you," said the squire.
"Of course you'll laugh at me, sir; but you'll see that we shall come
out right. There's some mystery in it of which we haven't got at the
bottom as yet; and if there is anybody that can help us it's the
dean."
"If the dean knows anything, why has he not written and told what he
knows?" said the squire.
"That's what I can't say. The dean has not had an opportunity of
writing since he heard,--even if he has yet heard,--that Mr. Crawley
is to be tried. And then he and Mrs. Arabin are not together. It's
a long story, and I will not trouble you with it all; but at any
rate I'm going off to-morrow. Lily, can I do anything for you in
Florence?"
"In Florence?" said Lily; "and are you really going to Florence? How
I envy you."
"And who pays your expenses?" said the squire.
"Well;--as to my expenses, they are to be paid by a person who won't
raise any unpleasant questions about the amount."
"I don't know what you mean," said the squire.
"He means himself," said Lily.
"Is he going to do it out of his own pocket?"
"He is," said Lily, looking at her lover.
"I'm going to have a trip for my own fun," said Johnny, "and I shall
pick up evidence on the road, as I'm going;--that's all."
Then Lily began to take an active part in the conversation, and a
great deal was said about Mr. Crawley, and about Grace, and Lily
declared that she would be very anxious to hear any news which John
Eames might be able to send. "You know, John, how fond we are of your
cousin Grace, at Allington? Are we not, uncle?"
"Yes, indeed," said the squire. "I thought her a very nice girl."
"If you should be able to learn anything that may be of use, John,
how happy you will be."
"Yes, I shall," said Johnny.
"And I think it so good of you to go, John. But it is just like you.
You were always generous." Soon after that he got up and went. It
was very clear to him that he would have no moment in which to say
a word alone to Lily; and if he could find such a moment, what good
would such a word do him? It was as yet but a few weeks since she had
positively refused him. And he too remembered very well those two
words which she had told him that she would write in her book. As
he had been coming to the house he had told himself that his coming
would be,--could be of no use. And yet he was disappointed with the
result of his visit, although she had spoken to him so sweetly.
"I suppose you'll be gone when I come back?" he said.
"We shall be here a month," said the squire.
"I shall be back long before that, I hope," said Johnny. "Good-by,
sir. Good-by, Dale. Good-by, Lily." And he put out his hand to her.
"Good-by, John." And then she added, almost in a whisper, "I think
you are very, very right to go." How could he fail after that to hope
as he walked home that she might still relent. And she also thought
much of him, but her thoughts of him made her cling more firmly than
ever to the two words. She could not bring herself to marry him; but,
at least, she would not break his heart by becoming the wife of any
one else. Soon after this Bernard Dale went also. I am not sure that
he had been well pleased at seeing John Eames become suddenly the
hero of the hour. When a young man is going to perform so important
an act as that of marriage, he is apt to think that he ought to be
the hero of the hour himself--at any rate among his own family.
Early on the next morning Lily was taken by her uncle to call upon
Mrs. Thorne, and to see Emily Dunstable. Bernard was to meet them
there, but it had been arranged that they should reach the house
first. "There is nothing so absurd as these introductions," Bernard
had said. "You go and look at her, and when you've had time to look
at her, then I'll come!" So the squire and Lily went off to look at
Emily Dunstable.
"You don't mean to say that she lives in that house?" said Lily, when
the cab was stopped before an enormous mansion in one of the most
fashionable of the London squares.
"I believe she does," said the squire.
"I never shall be able to speak to anybody living in such a house as
that," said Lily. "A duke couldn't have anything grander."
"Mrs. Thorne is richer than half the dukes," said the squire. Then
the door was opened by a porter, and Lily found herself within the
hall. Everything was very great, and very magnificent, and, as she
thought, very uncomfortable. Presently she heard a loud jovial voice
on the stairs. "Mr. Dale, I'm delighted to see you. And this is your
niece Lily. Come up, my dear. There is a young woman upstairs, dying
to embrace you. Never mind the umbrella. Put it down anywhere. I want
to have a look at you, because Bernard swears that you're so pretty."
This was Mrs. Thorne, once Miss Dunstable, the richest woman in
England, and the aunt of Bernard's bride. The reader may perhaps
remember the advice which she once gave to Major Grantly, and her
enthusiasm on that occasion. "There she is, Mr. Dale; what do you
think of her?" said Mrs. Thorne, as she opened the door of a small
sitting-room wedged in between two large saloons, in which Emily
Dunstable was sitting.
"Aunt Martha, how can you be so ridiculous?" said the young lady.
"I suppose it is ridiculous to ask the question to which one really
wants to have an answer," said Mrs. Thorne. "But Mr. Dale has, in
truth, come to inspect you, and to form an opinion; and, in honest
truth, I shall be very anxious to know what he thinks,--though, of
course, he won't tell me."
The old man took the girl in his arms, and kissed her on both cheeks.
"I have no doubt you'll find out what I think," he said, "though I
should never tell you."
"I generally do find out what people think," she said. "And so you're
Lily Dale?"
"Yes, I'm Lily Dale."
"I have so often heard of you, particularly of late; for you must
know that a certain Major Grantly is a friend of mine. We must take
care that that affair comes off all right, must we not?"
"I hope it will." Then Lily turned to Emily Dunstable, and, taking
her hand, went up and sat beside her, while Mrs. Thorne and the
squire talked of the coming marriage. "How long have you been
engaged?" said Lily.
"Really engaged, about three weeks. I think it is not more than three
weeks ago."
"How very discreet Bernard has been. He never told us a word about it
while it was going on."
"Men never do tell, I suppose," said Emily Dunstable.
"Of course you love him very dearly?" said Lily, not knowing what
else to say.
"Of course I do."
"So do we. You know he's almost a brother to us; that is, to me and
my sister. We never had a brother of our own." And so the morning was
passed till Lily was told by her uncle to come away, and was told
also by Mrs. Thorne that she was to dine with them in the square on
that day. "You must not be surprised that my husband is not here,"
she said. "He is a very odd sort of man, and he never comes to London
if he can help it."