IT ISN'T LAW.
On the next morning Lady Anna was ill, and would not leave her bed.
When her mother spoke to her, she declared that her head ached
wretchedly, and she could not be persuaded to dress herself.
"Is it what I said to you last night?" asked the Countess.
"Oh, mamma, that is impossible," she said.
It seemed to the mother that the mention of the young lord's name
had produced a horror in the daughter's mind which nothing could for
the present subdue. Before the day was over, however, the girl had
acknowledged that she was bound in duty, at any rate, to meet her
cousin; and the Countess, forced to satisfy herself with so much of
concession, and acting upon that, fixed herself in her purpose to
go on with the project. The lawyers on both sides would assist her.
It was for the advantage of them all that there should be such a
marriage. She determined, therefore, that she would at once see Mr.
Goffe, her own attorney, and give him to understand in general terms
that the case might be proceeded with on this new matrimonial basis.
But there was a grievous doubt on her mind,--a fear, a spark of
suspicion, of which she had unintentionally given notice to Thomas
Thwaite when she asked him whether he had as yet spoken of the
proposed marriage to his son. He had understood what was passing in
her mind when she exacted from him a promise that nothing should as
yet be said to Daniel Thwaite upon the matter. And yet she assured
herself over and over again that her girl could not be so weak, so
vain, so foolish, so wicked as that! It could not be that, after all
the struggles of her life,--when at last success, perfect success,
was within their grasp, when all had been done and all well done,
when the great reward was then coming up to their very lips with a
full tide,--it could not be that in the very moment of victory all
should be lost through the base weakness of a young girl! Was it
possible that her daughter,--the daughter of one who had spent the
very marrow of her life in fighting for the position that was due to
her,--should spoil all by preferring a journeyman tailor to a young
nobleman of high rank, of ancient lineage, and one, too, who by his
marriage with herself would endow her with wealth sufficient to make
that rank splendid as well as illustrious? But if it were not so,
what had the girl meant by saying that it was impossible? That the
word should have been used once or twice in maidenly scruple, the
Countess could understand; but it had been repeated with a vehemence
beyond that which such natural timidity might have produced. And now
the girl professed herself to be ill in bed, and when the subject was
broached would only weep, and repeat the one word with which she had
expressed her repugnance to the match.
Hitherto she had not been like this. She had, in her own quiet way,
shared her mother's aspirations, and had always sympathised with
her mother's sufferings; and she had been dutiful through it all,
carrying herself as one who was bound to special obedience by the
peculiarity of her parent's position. She had been keenly alive to
the wrongs that her mother endured, and had in every respect been a
loving child. But now she protested that she would not do the one
thing necessary to complete their triumph, and would give no reason
for not doing so. As the Countess thought of all this, she swore
to herself that she would prefer to divest her bosom of all soft
motherly feeling than be vanquished in this matter by her own child.
Her daughter should find that she could be stern and rough enough if
she were really thwarted. What would her life be worth to her if her
child, Lady Anna Lovel, the heiress and only legitimate offspring of
the late Earl Lovel, were to marry a--tailor?
And then, again, she told herself that there was no sufficient excuse
for such alarm. Her daughter's demeanour had ever been modest. She
had never been given to easy friendship, or to that propensity to
men's acquaintance which the world calls flirting. It might be that
the very absence of such propensity,--the very fact that hitherto she
had never been thrust into society among her equals,--had produced
that feeling almost of horror which she had expressed. But she had
been driven, at any rate, to say that she would meet the young man;
and the Countess, acting upon that, called on Mr. Goffe in his
chambers, and explained to that gentleman that she proposed to settle
the whole question in dispute by giving her daughter to the young
Earl in marriage. Mr. Goffe, who had been present at the conference
among the lawyers, understood it all in a moment. The overture had
been made from the other side to his client.
"Indeed, my lady!" said Mr. Goffe.
"Do you not think it will be an excellent arrangement?"
In his heart of hearts Mr. Goffe thought that it would be an
excellent arrangement; but he could not commit himself to such an
opinion. Serjeant Bluestone thought that the matter should be fought
out, and Mr. Goffe was not prepared to separate himself from his
legal adviser. As Serjeant Bluestone had said after the conference,
with much argumentative vehemence,--"If we were to agree to this,
how would it be if the marriage should not come off? The court can't
agree to a marriage. The court must direct to whom the property
belongs. They profess that they can prove that our marriage was no
marriage. They must do so, or else they must withdraw the allegation.
Suppose the Italian woman were to come forward afterwards with her
claim as the widow, where then would be my client's position, and her
title as dowager countess, and her claim upon her husband's personal
estate? I never heard anything more irregular in my life. It is
just like Patterson, who always thinks he can make laws according
to the light of his own reason." So Serjeant Bluestone had said to
the lawyers who were acting with him; and Mr. Goffe, though he did
himself think that this marriage would be the best thing in the
world, could not differ from the Serjeant.
No doubt there might even yet be very great difficulties, even though
the young Earl and Lady Anna Lovel should agree to be married. Mr.
Goffe on that occasion said very little to the Countess, and she
left him with a feeling that a certain quantity of cold water had
been thrown upon the scheme. But she would not allow herself to be
disturbed by that. The marriage could go on without any consent on
the part of the lawyers, and the Countess was quite satisfied that,
should the marriage be once completed, the money and the titles would
all go as she desired. She had already begun to have more faith in
the Solicitor-General than in Mr. Goffe or in Serjeant Bluestone.
But Serjeant Bluestone was not a man to bear such treatment and be
quiet under it. He heard that very day from Mr. Goffe what had been
done, and was loud in the expression of his displeasure. It was the
most irregular thing that he had ever known. No other man except
Patterson in the whole profession would have done it! The counsel on
the other side--probably Patterson himself--had been to his client,
and given advice to his client, and had done so after her own counsel
had decided that no such advice should be given! He would see the
Attorney-General, and ask the Attorney-General what he thought about
it. Now, it was supposed in legal circles, just at this period, that
the Attorney-General and the Solicitor-General were not the best
friends in the world; and the latter was wont to call the former an
old fogey, and the former to say of the latter that he might be a
very clever philosopher, but certainly no lawyer. And so by degrees
the thing got much talked about in the profession; and there was
perhaps a balance of opinion that the Solicitor-General had done
wrong.
But this was certain,--that no one could be put into possession of
the property till the court had decided to whom it belonged. If the
Earl withdrew from his claim, the widow would simply be called on to
prove her own marriage,--which had in truth been proved more than
once already,--and the right of her legitimate child would follow as
a matter of course. It was by no means probable that the woman over
in Italy would make any claim on her own behalf,--and even, should
she do so, she could not find the means of supporting it. "They must
be asses," said the Solicitor-General, "not to see that I am fighting
their battle for them, and that I am doing so because I can best
secure my own client's interests by securing theirs also." But even
he became nervous after a day or two, and was anxious to learn that
the marriage scheme was progressing. He told his client, Lord Lovel,
that it would be well that the marriage should take place before the
court sat in November. "In that case settlements will, of course,
have been made, and we shall simply withdraw. We shall state the fact
of this new marriage, and assert ourselves to be convinced that the
old marriage was good and valid. But you should lose no time in the
wooing, my lord." At this time the Earl had not seen his cousin, and
it had not yet been decided when they should meet.
"It is my duty to explain to you, Lady Lovel, as my client," said
Serjeant Bluestone to the Countess, "that this arrangement cannot
afford a satisfactory mode to you of establishing your own position."
"It would be so happy for the whole family!"
"As to that I can know nothing, Lady Lovel. If your daughter and the
Earl are attached to each other, there can be no reason on earth why
they should not be married. But it should be a separate thing. Your
position should not be made to depend upon hers."
"But they will withdraw, Serjeant Bluestone."
"How do you know that they will withdraw? Supposing at the last
moment Lady Anna were to decline the alliance, would they withdraw
then? Not a bit of it. The matter would be further delayed, and
referred over to next year. You and your daughter would be kept out
of your money, and there would still be danger."
"I should not care for that;--if they were married."
"And they have set up this Italian countess,--who never was a
countess,--any more than I am. Now they have put her up, they are
bound to dispose of her. If she came forward afterwards, on her own
behalf, where would you all be then?"
"My daughter would, at any rate, be safe."
The Serjeant did not like it at all. He felt that he was being thrown
over, not only by his client the Countess,--as to which he might
have been indifferent, knowing that the world at large, the laity as
distinguished from the lawyers, the children of the world as all who
were not lawyers seemed to him to be, will do and must be expected to
do, foolish things continually. They cannot be persuaded to subject
themselves to lawyers in all their doings, and, of course, go wrong
when they do not do so. The infinite simplicity and silliness of
mankind and womankind at large were too well known to the Serjeant to
cause him dismay, let them be shown in ever so egregious a fashion.
But in this case the fault came from another lawyer, who had tampered
with his clients, and who seemed to be himself as ignorant as
though he belonged to the outside world. And this man had been made
Solicitor-General,--over the heads of half the profession,--simply
because he could make a speech in Parliament!
But the Solicitor-General was himself becoming uneasy when at the end
of a fortnight he learned that the young people,--as he had come to
call them on all occasions,--had not as yet seen each other. He would
not like to have it said of him that he had thrown over his client.
And there were some who still believed that the Italian marriage
had been a real marriage, and the Italian wife alive at the time of
the Cumberland marriage,--though the Italian woman now living had
never been the countess. Mr. Hardy so believed, and, in his private
opinion, thought that the Solicitor-General had been very indiscreet.
"I don't think that we could ever dare to face a jury," said Sir
William to Mr. Hardy when they discussed the matter, about a
fortnight after the proposition had been made.
"Why did the Earl always say that the Italian woman was his wife?"
"Because the Earl was a very devil."
"Mr. Flick does not think so."
"Yes, he does; but Mr. Flick, like all attorneys with a bad case,
does not choose to say quite what he thinks, even to his own counsel.
Mr. Flick does not like to throw his client over, nor do I, nor
do you. But with such a case we have no right to create increased
expenses, and all the agony of prolonged fallacious hope. The girl is
her father's heir. Do you suppose I would not stick to my brief if I
did not feel sure that it is so?"
"Then let the Earl be told, and let the girl have her rights."
"Ah! there you have me. It may be that such would be the juster
course; but then, Hardy, cannot you understand that though I am sure,
I am not quite sure; that though the case is a bad one, it may not
be quite bad enough to be thrown up? It is just the case in which
a compromise is expedient. If but a quarter, or but an eighth of a
probability be with you, take your proportion of the thing at stake.
But here is a compromise that gives all to each. Who would wish to
rob the girl of her noble name and great inheritance if she be the
heiress? Not I, though the Earl be my client. And yet how sad would
it be to have to tell that young man that there was nothing for him
but to submit to lose all the wealth belonging to the family of which
he has been born the head! If we can bring them together there will
be nothing to make sore the hearts of any of us."
Mr. Hardy acknowledged to himself that the Solicitor-General pleaded
his own case very well; but yet he felt that it wasn't law.