THE JOURNEY HOME.
In absolute silence Lord Lovel and Lady Anna walked back to the inn.
He had been dumbfoundered,--nearly so by her first abrupt statement,
and then altogether by the arguments with which she had defended
herself. She had nothing further to say. She had, indeed, said all,
and had marvelled at her own eloquence while she was speaking. Nor
was there absent from her a certain pride in that she had done the
thing that was right, and had dared to defend herself. She was full
of regrets,--almost of remorse; but, nevertheless, she was proud. He
knew it all now, and one of her great difficulties had been overcome.
And she was fully resolved that as she had dared to tell him, and
to face his anger, his reproaches, his scorn, she would not falter
before the scorn and the reproaches, or the anger, of the other
Lovels,--of any of the Lovels of Yoxham. Her mother's reproaches
would be dreadful to her; her mother's anger would well-nigh kill
her; her mother's scorn would scorch her very soul. But sufficient
for the day was the evil thereof. At the present moment she could be
strong with the strength she had assumed. So she walked in at the
sitting-room window with a bold front, and the Earl followed her. The
two aunts were there, and it was plain to them both that something
was astray between the lovers. They had said among themselves that
Lady Anna would accept the offer the moment that it was in form
made to her. To their eyes the manner of their guest had been the
manner of a girl eager to be wooed; but they had both imagined that
their delicately nurtured and fastidious nephew might too probably
be offended by some solecism in conduct, some falling away from
feminine grace, such as might too readily be shown by one whose early
life had been subjected to rough associates. Even now it occurred to
each of them that it had been so. The Earl seated himself in a chair,
and took up a book, which they had brought with them. Lady Anna stood
at the open window, looking across at the broad field and the river
bank beyond; but neither of them spoke a word. There had certainly
been some quarrel. Then aunt Julia, in the cause of wisdom, asked a
question;--
"Where is Minnie? Did not Minnie go with you?"
"No," said the Earl. "She went in some other direction at my bidding.
Mr. Cross is with her, I suppose." It was evident from the tone of
his voice that the displeasure of the head of all the Lovels was very
great.
"We start soon, I suppose?" said Lady Anna.
"After lunch, my dear; it is hardly one yet."
"I will go up all the same, and see about my things."
"Shall I help you, my dear?" asked Mrs. Lovel.
"Oh, no! I would sooner do it alone." Then she hurried into her room
and burst into a flood of tears, as soon as the door was closed
behind her.
"Frederic, what ails her?" asked Aunt Julia.
"If anything ails her she must tell you herself," said the lord.
"Something is amiss. You cannot wonder that we should be anxious,
knowing that we know how great is the importance of all this."
"I cannot help your anxiety just at present, aunt Julia; but you
should always remember that there will be slips between the cup and
the lip."
"Then there has been a slip? I knew it would be so. I always said so,
and so did my brother."
"I wish you would all remember that about such an affair as this, the
less said the better." So saying, the lord walked out through the
window and sauntered down to the river side.
"It's all over," said aunt Julia.
"I don't see why we should suppose that at present," said aunt Jane.
"It's all over. I knew it as soon as I saw her face when she came in.
She has said something, or done something, and it's all off. It will
be a matter of over twenty thousand pounds a year!"
"He'll be sure to marry somebody with money," said aunt Jane. "What
with his title and his being so handsome, he is certain to do well,
you know."
"Nothing like that will come in his way. I heard Mr. Flick say that
it was equal to half a million of money. And then it would have been
at once. If he goes up to London, and about, just as he is, he'll
be head over ears in debt before anybody knows what he is doing. I
wonder what it is. He likes pretty girls, and there's no denying that
she's handsome."
"Perhaps she wouldn't have him."
"That's impossible, Jane. She came down here on purpose to have him.
She went out with him this morning to be made love to. They were
together three times longer yesterday, and he came home as sweet
as sugar to her. I wonder whether she can have wanted to make some
condition about the money."
"What condition?"
"That she and her mother should have it in their own keeping."
"She doesn't seem to be that sort of a young woman," said aunt Jane.
"There's no knowing what that Mr. Goffe, Serjeant Bluestone, and her
mother may have put her up to. Frederic wouldn't stand that kind of
thing for a minute, and he would be quite right. Better anything than
that a man shouldn't be his own master. I think you'd better go up to
her, Jane. She'll be more comfortable with you than with me." Then
aunt Jane, obedient as usual, went up to her young cousin's bedroom.
In the meantime the young lord was standing on the river's brink,
thinking what he would do. He had, in truth, very much of which
to think, and points of most vital importance as to which he must
resolve what should be his action. Must this announcement which he
had heard from his cousin dissolve for ever the prospect of his
marriage with her; or was it open to him still, as a nobleman, a
gentleman, and a man of honour, to make use of all those influences
which he might command with the view of getting rid of that
impediment of a previous engagement? Being very ignorant of the world
at large, and altogether ignorant of this man in particular, he did
not doubt that the tailor might be bought off. Then he was sure that
all who would have access to Lady Anna would help him in such a
cause, and that her own mother would be the most forward to do so.
The girl would hardly hold to such a purpose if all the world,--all
her own world, were against her. She certainly would be beaten from
it if a bribe sufficient were offered to the tailor. That this must
be done for the sake of the Lovel family, so that Lady Anna Lovel
might not be known to have married a tailor, was beyond a doubt;
but it was not so clear to him that he could take to himself as his
Countess her who with her own lips had told him that she intended
to be the bride of a working artisan. As he thought of this, as his
imagination went to work on all the abominable circumstances of such
a betrothal, he threw from his hand into the stream with all the
vehemence of passion a little twig which he held. It was too, too
frightful, too disgusting; and then so absolutely unexpected, so
unlike her personal demeanour, so contrary to the look of her eyes,
to the tone of her voice, to every motion of her body! She had been
sweet, and gentle, and gracious, till he had almost come to think
that her natural feminine gifts of ladyship were more even than
her wealth, of better savour than her rank, were equal even to her
beauty, which he had sworn to himself during the past night to be
unsurpassed. And this sweet one had told him,--this one so soft and
gracious,--not that she was doomed by some hard fate to undergo the
degrading thraldom, but that she herself had willingly given herself
to a working tailor from love, and gratitude, and free selection! It
was a marvel to him that a thing so delicate should have so little
sense of her own delicacy! He did not think that he could condescend
to take the tailor's place.
But if not,--if he would not take it, or if, as might still be
possible, the tailor's place could not be made vacant for him,--what
then? He had pledged his belief in the justice of his cousin's
claim; and had told her that, believing his own claim to be
unjust, in no case would he prosecute it. Was he now bound by that
assurance,--bound to it even to the making of the tailor's fortune;
or might he absent himself from any further action in the matter,
leaving it entirely in the hands of the lawyers? Might it not be best
for her happiness that he should do so? He had been told that even
though he should not succeed, there might arise almost interminable
delay. The tailor would want his money before he married, and thus
she might be rescued from her degradation till she should be old
enough to understand it. And yet how could he claim that of which he
had said, now a score of times, that he knew that it was not his own?
Could he cease to call this girl by the name which all his people had
acknowledged as her own, because she had refused to be his wife; and
declare his conviction that she was base-born only because she had
preferred to his own the addresses of a low-born man, reeking with
the sweat of a tailor's board? No, he could not do that. Let her
marry but the sweeper of a crossing, and he must still call her Lady
Anna,--if he called her anything.
Something must be done, however. He had been told by the lawyers how
the matter might be made to right itself, if he and the young lady
could at once agree to be man and wife; but he had not been told what
would follow, should she decline to accept his offer. Mr. Flick and
the Solicitor-General must know how to shape their course before
November came round,--and would no doubt want all the time to shape
it that he could give them. What was he to say to Mr. Flick and to
the Solicitor-General? Was he at liberty to tell to them the secret
which the girl had told to him? That he was at liberty to say that
she had rejected his offer must be a matter of course; but might
he go beyond that, and tell them the whole story? It would be most
expedient for many reasons that they should know it. On her behalf
even it might be most salutary,--with that view of liberating her
from the grasp of her humiliating lover. But she had told it him,
against her own interests, at her own peril, to her own infinite
sorrow,--in order that she might thus allay hopes in which he would
otherwise have persevered. He knew enough of the little schemes and
by-ways of love, of the generosity and self-sacrifice of lovers, to
feel that he was bound to confidence. She had told him that if needs
were he might repeat her tale;--but she had told him at the same time
that her tale was a secret. He could not go with her secret to a
lawyer's chambers, and there divulge in the course of business that
which had been extracted from her by the necessity to which she had
submitted of setting him free. He could write to Mr. Flick,--if that
at last was his resolve,--that a marriage was altogether out of the
question, but he could not tell him why it was so.
He wandered slowly on along the river, having decided only on
this,--only on this as a certainty,--that he must tell her secret
neither to the lawyers, nor to his own people. Then, as he walked, a
little hand touched his behind, and when he turned Minnie Lovel took
him by the arm. "Why are you all alone, Fred?"
"I am meditating how wicked the world is,--and girls in particular."
"Where is cousin Anna?"
"Up at the house, I suppose."
"Is she wicked?"
"Don't you know that everybody is wicked, because Eve ate the apple?"
"Adam ate it too."
"Who bade him?"
"The devil," said the child whispering.
"But he spoke by a woman's mouth. Why don't you go in and get ready
to go?"
"So I will. Tell me one thing, Fred. May I be a bridesmaid when you
are married?"
"I don't think you can."
"I have set my heart upon it. Why not?"
"Because you'll be married first."
"That's nonsense, Fred; and you know it's nonsense. Isn't cousin Anna
to be your wife?"
"Look here, my darling. I'm awfully fond of you, and think you the
prettiest little girl in the world. But if you ask impertinent
questions I'll never speak to you again. Do you understand?" She
looked up into his face, and did understand that he was in earnest,
and, leaving him, walked slowly across the meadow back to the house
alone. "Tell them not to wait lunch for me," he hollowed after
her;--and she told her aunt Julia that cousin Frederic was very sulky
down by the river, and that they were not to wait for him.
When Mrs. Lovel went up-stairs into Lady Anna's room not a word was
said about the occurrence of the morning. The elder lady was afraid
to ask a question, and the younger was fully determined to tell
nothing even had a question been asked her. Lord Lovel might say
what he pleased. Her secret was with him, and he could tell it if he
chose. She had given him permission to do so, of which no doubt he
would avail himself. But, on her own account, she would say nothing;
and when questioned she would merely admit the fact. She would
neither defend her engagement, nor would she submit to have it
censured. If they pleased she would return to her mother in London at
any shortest possible notice.
The party lunched almost in silence, and when the horses were ready
Lord Lovel came in to help them into the carriage. When he had placed
the three ladies he desired Minnie to take the fourth seat, saying
that he would sit with Mr. Cross on the box. Minnie looked at his
face, but there was still the frown there, and she obeyed him without
any remonstrance. During the whole of the long journey home there was
hardly a word spoken. Lady Anna knew that she was in disgrace, and
was ignorant how much of her story had been told to the two elder
ladies. She sat almost motionless looking out upon the fields, and
accepting her position as one that was no longer thought worthy of
notice. Of course she must go back to London. She could not continue
to live at Yoxham, neither spoken to nor speaking. Minnie went to
sleep, and Minnie's mother and aunt now and then addressed a few
words to each other. Anna felt sure that to the latest day of her
existence she would remember that journey. On their arrival at the
Rectory door Mr. Cross helped the ladies out of the carriage, while
the lord affected to make himself busy with the shawls and luggage.
Then he vanished, and was seen no more till he appeared at dinner.
"What sort of a trip have you had?" asked the rector, addressing
himself to the three ladies indifferently.
For a moment nobody answered him, and then aunt Julia spoke. "It
was very pretty, as it always is at Bolton in summer. We were told
that the duke has not been there this year at all. The inn was
comfortable, and I think that the young people enjoyed themselves
yesterday very much." The subject was too important, too solemn, too
great, to allow of even a word to be said about it without proper
consideration.
"Did Frederic like it?"
"I think he did yesterday," said Mrs. Lovel. "I think we were all a
little tired coming home to-day."
"Anna sprained her ankle, jumping over the Stryd," said Minnie.
"Not seriously, I hope."
"Oh dear no;--nothing at all to signify." It was the only word which
Anna spoke till it was suggested that she should go up to her room.
The girl obeyed, as a child might have done, and went up-stairs,
followed by Mrs. Lovel. "My dear," she said, "we cannot go on like
this. What is the matter?"
"You must ask Lord Lovel."
"Have you quarrelled with him?"
"I have not quarrelled, Mrs. Lovel. If he has quarrelled with me, I
cannot help it."
"You know what we have all wished."
"It can never be so."
"Have you said so to Frederic?"
"I have."
"Have you given him any reason, Anna?"
"I have," she said after a pause.
"What reason, dear?"
She thought for a moment before she replied. "I was obliged to tell
him the reason, Mrs. Lovel; but I don't think that I need tell
anybody else. Of course I must tell mamma."
"Does your mamma know it?"
"Not yet."
"And is it a reason that must last for ever?"
"Yes;--for ever. But I do not know why everybody is to be angry with
me. Other girls may do as they please. If you are angry with me I had
better go back to London at once."
"I do not know that anybody has been angry with you. We may be
disappointed without being angry." That was all that was said, and
then Lady Anna was left to dress for dinner. At dinner Lord Lovel had
so far composed himself as to be able to speak to his cousin, and an
effort at courtesy was made by them all,--except by the rector. But
the evening passed away in a manner very different from any that had
gone before it.