KING COPHETUA’S CORRESPONDENCE
‘FORDYCE CASTLE,
‘LANARK.
‘_June_ 26, 1801.
‘MY DEAR SON,
‘Your letter, with the very important matter it contains, took me
somewhat by surprise, for although you had mentioned the name of the
young lady and that of Lady Eliza Lamont, I was hardly prepared to hear
that you intended to do her the honour you contemplate. A father’s
approval is not to be lightly asked or rashly bestowed, and I have
taken time to consider my reply. You tell me that Miss Raeburn is
peculiarly fitted, both in mind and person, to fill the position she
will, as your wife, be called upon to occupy. With regard to her birth
I am satisfied. She is, we know, connected with families whose names
are familiar to all whose approval is of any value. I may say, without
undue pride, that my son’s exceptional prospects might have led him to
form a more brilliant alliance, and I have no doubt that Miss Cecilia
Raeburn, possessing such qualities of mind as you describe, will
understand how high a compliment you pay to her charms in overlooking
the fact. Your statement that she is dowerless is one upon which we
need not dwell; it would be hard indeed were the family you represent
dependent upon the purses of those who have the distinction of entering
it. I am happy to say that my eldest son need be hampered by no such
considerations, and that Mrs. Crauford Fordyce will lack nothing
suitable to her station, and to the interest that she must inevitably
create in the society of this county. It now only remains for me to add
that, having expressed my feelings upon your choice, I am prepared to
consent.
‘Your mother is, I understand, writing to you, though I have only your
sister’s authority for saying so, for I have been so much occupied
during the last day or two as to be obliged to lock the door of my
study. I am afraid, my dear Crauford (between ourselves), that, though
she knows my decision, your mother is a little disappointed--upset, I
should say. I think that she had allowed herself to believe, from the
pleasure you one day expressed in the society of Lady Maria Milwright
when she was with us, that you were interested in that direction.
Personally, though Lord Milborough is an old friend of the family, and
his daughter’s connection with it would have been eminently suitable,
her appearance would lead me to hesitate, were I in your place and
contemplating marriage. But that is an objection, perhaps, that your
mother hardly understands.
‘I am, my dear Crauford,
‘Your affectionate father,
‘THOMAS FORDYCE.’
‘P.S.--Agneta and Mary desire their fond love to their brother.’
Fordyce was sitting in his room at Fullarton with his correspondence in
front of him; he had received two letters and undergone a purgatory of
suspense, for, by the time he reached Morphie, his uncle had been kept
waiting for him some time. Finding nothing for himself in his private
mail-bag, Fullarton had it put under the driving-seat, and the
suggestion hazarded by his nephew that it should be brought out only
resulted in a curt refusal. The elder man hated to be kept waiting, and
the culprit had been forced to get through the homeward drive with what
patience he might summon.
Lady Fordyce’s letter lay unopened by that of Sir Thomas, and Crauford,
in spite of his satisfaction with the one he had just read, eyed it
rather apprehensively. But, after all, the main point was gained, or
what he looked upon as the main point, for to the rest of the affair
there could be but one issue. He broke the seal of his mother’s
envelope, and found a second communication inside it from one of his
sisters.
‘MY DEAR CRAUFORD (began Lady Fordyce),
‘As your father is writing to you I will add a few words to convey my
good wishes to my son upon the _decided step_ he is about to take. Had
I been consulted I should have advised a little more reflection, but as
you are _bent on pleasing yourself_, and your father (_whether rightly
or wrongly_ I cannot pretend to say) is upholding you, I have no choice
left but to express my _cordial good wishes_, and to hope that you _may
never live to regret it_. Miss Cecilia Raeburn may be all you say, _or
she may not_, and I should fail in my duty if I did not remind you that
a young lady brought up in a provincial neighbourhood is not likely to
step into _such a position as that of the wife of Sir Thomas Fordyce’s
eldest son_ without the risk of having her head turned, or, _worse
still_, of being incapable of maintaining her dignity. As I have not
had the privilege of speaking to your father alone for two days, and as
he has _found it convenient_ to sit up till all hours, I do not know
whether the consent he has (apparently) given is an unwilling one, but
I should be acting _against my conscience_ were I to hide from you that
I suspect it most strongly. With _heartfelt wishes_ for your truest
welfare,
‘I remain, my dear Crauford,
‘Your affectionate mother,
‘LOUISA CHARLOTTE FORDYCE.’
‘P.S.--Would it not be _wise_ to delay your plans until you have been
once more at home, and had every opportunity of thinking it over? You
might return here in a few days, and conclude your visit to your uncle
_later on_--say, at the end of September.’
Crauford laid down the sheet of paper; he was not apt to seize on
hidden things, but the little touch of nature which cropped up, like a
daisy from a rubbish-heap, in the end of his father’s letter gave him
sympathy to imagine what the atmosphere of Fordyce Castle must have
been when it was written. He respected his mother, not by nature, but
from habit, and the experiences he had sometimes undergone had never
shaken his feelings, but only produced a sort of distressed
bewilderment. He was almost bewildered now. He turned again to Sir
Thomas’s letter, and re-read it for comfort.
The enclosure he had found from his sister was much shorter.
‘MY DEAR BROTHER,
‘Mary and I wish to send you our very kind love, and we hope that you
will be happy. Is Miss Raeburn dark or fair? We hope she is fond of
tambour-work. We have some new patterns from Edinburgh which are very
pretty. We shall be very glad when you return. Our mother is not very
well. There is no interesting news. Mrs. Fitz-Allen is to give a
fête-champêtre with illuminations next week, but we do not know whether
we shall be allowed to go as she behaved _most unbecomingly_ to our
mother, trying to take precedence of her at the prize-giving in the
Lanark flower show. Lady Maria Milwright is coming to visit us in
September. We shall be very pleased.
‘Your affectionate sister,
‘AGNETA FORDYCE.’
Fullarton’s good-humour was quite restored as uncle and nephew paced up
and down the twilit avenue that evening. A long silence followed the
announcement which the young man had just made.
‘Do you think I am doing wisely, sir?’ he said at last.
Fullarton smiled faintly before he replied; Crauford sometimes amused
him.
‘In proposing to Cecilia? One can hardly tell,’ he replied; ‘that is a
thing that remains to be seen.’
Perplexity was written in Crauford’s face.
‘But surely--surely--’ he began, ‘have you not a very high opinion of
Miss Raeburn?’
‘The highest,’ said the other dryly.
‘But then----’
‘What I mean is, do you care enough to court a possible rebuff? You are
not doing wisely if you don’t consider that. I say, a _possible_
rebuff,’ continued his uncle.
‘Then you think she will refuse me?’
‘Heaven knows,’ responded Robert. ‘I can only tell you that to-day,
when Miss Robertson inquired where you were, and I said that you were
walking home from Morphie kirk with Cecilia, Speid was standing by
looking as black as thunder.’
To those whose ill-fortune it is never to have been crossed in
anything, a rival is another name for a rogue. Fordyce felt vindictive;
he breathed heavily.
‘Do you think that Miss Raeburn is likely to--notice Speid?’
Robert’s mouth twitched. ‘It is difficult not to notice Gilbert Speid,’
he replied.
‘I really fail to see why everyone seems so much attracted by him.’
‘I am not sure that he attracts me,’ said the elder man.
‘He looks extremely ill-tempered--most unlikely to please a young lady.’
‘There I do not altogether agree with you. We are always being told
that women are strange things,’ said Fullarton.
‘I am astonished at the view you take, uncle. After all, I am unable
to see why my proposal should be less welcome than his--that is, if he
intends to make one.’
‘You certainly have solid advantages. After all, that is the main point
with women,’ said the man for whose sake one woman, at least, had lost
all. The habit of bitterness had grown strong.
‘I shall go to Morphie to-morrow, and ride one of your horses, sir, if
you have no objection.’
‘Take one, by all means; you will make all the more favourable
impression. It is a very wise way of approaching your goddess--if you
have a good seat, of course. Speid looks mighty well in the saddle.’
He could not resist tormenting his nephew.
The very sound of Gilbert’s name was beginning to annoy Fordyce, and he
changed the subject. It was not until the two men parted for the night
that it was mentioned again.
‘I am going out early to-morrow,’ said Robert, ‘so I may not see you
before you start. Good luck, Crauford.’
Fordyce rode well, and looked his best on horseback, but Cecilia having
gone into the garden, the only eye which witnessed his approach to
Morphie next day was that of a housemaid, for Lady Eliza sat writing in
the long room.
She received him immediately.
‘I am interrupting your ladyship,’ he remarked apologetically.
‘Not at all, sir, not at all,’ said she, pushing her chair back from
the table with a gesture which had in it something masculine; ‘you are
always welcome, as you know very well.’
‘That is a pleasant hearing,’ replied he, ‘but to-day it is doubly so.
I have come on business of a--I may say--peculiar nature. Lady Eliza, I
trust you are my friend?’
‘I shall be happy to serve you in any way I can, Mr. Fordyce.’
‘Then I may count on your good offices? My uncle is so old a friend
of your ladyship’s that I am encouraged to----’
‘You are not in any difficulty with him, I hope,’ said Lady Eliza,
interrupting him rather shortly.
‘Far from it; indeed, I have his expressed good wishes for the success
of my errand.’
‘Well, sir?’ she said, setting her face and folding her beautiful hands
together. She was beginning to see light.
‘You may have rightly interpreted the frequency of my visits here. In
fact, I feel sure that you have attributed them--and truly--to my
admiration for Miss Raeburn.’
‘I have hardly attributed them to admiration for myself,’ she remarked,
with a certain grim humour.
Crauford looked rather shocked.
‘Have you said anything to my niece?’ she inquired, after a moment.
‘I have waited for your approval.’
‘That is proper enough.’
Her eyes fixed themselves, seeing beyond Crauford’s clean, solemn face,
beyond the panelled walls, into the dull future when Cecilia should
have gone out from her daily life. How often her spirits had flagged
during the months she had been absent in Edinburgh!
‘Cecilia shall do as she likes. I will not influence her in any way,’
she said at last.
‘But you are willing, Lady Eliza?’
‘----Yes.’
There was not the enthusiasm he expected in her voice, and this ruffled
him; a certain amount was due to him, he felt.
‘You are aware that I can offer Miss Raeburn a very suitable
establishment,’ he said. ‘I should not have taken this step otherwise.’
‘Have you private means, sir?’ asked Lady Eliza, drumming her fingers
upon the table, and looking over his head.
‘No; but that is of little importance, for I wrote to my father a
short time ago, and yesterday, after leaving you, I received his reply.
He has consented, and he assures me of his intention to be
liberal--especially liberal, I may say.’
She was growing a little weary of his long words and his unvaried air
of being official. She was disposed to like him personally, mainly from
the fact that he was the nephew of his uncle, but the prospect of
losing Cecilia hung heavily over any satisfaction she felt at seeing
her settled. Many and many a time had she lain awake, distressed and
wondering, how to solve the problem of the girl’s future, were she
herself to die leaving her unmarried; it had been her waking nightmare.
Now there might be an end to all that. She knew that she ought to be
glad and grateful to fate--perhaps even grateful to Crauford Fordyce.
Tears were near her eyes, and her hot heart ached in advance to think
of the days to come. The little share of companionship and affection,
the wreckage she had gathered laboriously on the sands of life, would
soon slip from her. Her companion could not understand the pain in her
look; he was smoothing out a letter on the table before her.
She gathered herself together, sharp words coming to her tongue, as
they generally did when she was moved.
‘I suppose my niece and I ought to be greatly flattered,’ she said; ‘I
had forgotten that part of it.’
‘Pray do not imagine such a thing. If you will read this letter you
will understand the view my father takes. The second sheet contains
private matters; this is the first one.’
‘Sit down, Mr. Fordyce; the writing is so close that I must carry it to
the light.’
She took the letter to one of the windows at the end of the room, and
stood by the curtain, her back turned.
A smothered exclamation came to him from the embrasure, and he was
wondering what part of the epistle could have caused it when she faced
him suddenly, looking at him with shining eyes, and with a flush of red
blood mounting to her forehead.
‘In all my life I have never met with such an outrageous piece of
impertinence!’ she exclaimed, tossing the paper to him. ‘How you have
had the effrontery to show me such a thing passes my understanding!
Take it, sir! Take it, and be obliging enough to leave me. You are
never likely to “live to regret” your marriage with Miss Raeburn, for,
while I have any influence with her, you will never have the chance of
making it. You may tell Lady Fordyce, from me, that the fact that she
is a member of your family is sufficient reason for my forbidding my
niece to enter it!’
Crauford stood aghast, almost ready to clutch at his coat like a man in
a gale of wind, and with scarcely wits left to tell him that he had
given Lady Eliza the wrong letter. The oblique attacks he had
occasionally suffered from his mother when vexed were quite unlike this
direct onslaught. He went towards her, opening his mouth to speak. She
waved him back.
‘Not a word, sir! not a word! I will ring the bell and order your horse
to be brought.’
‘Lady Eliza, I beg of you, I implore you, to hear what I have got to
say!’
He was almost breathless.
‘I have heard enough. Do me the favour to go, Mr. Fordyce.’
‘It is not my fault! I do assure you it is not my fault! I gave you the
wrong letter, ma’am. I had never dreamed of your seeing that.’
‘What do I care which letter it is? That such impertinence should have
been written is enough for me. Cecilia “unable to support the dignity
of being your wife”! Faugh!’
‘If you would only read my father’s letter,’ exclaimed Crauford,
drawing it out of his pocket, ‘you would see how very different it is.
He is prepared to do everything--anything.’
‘Then he may be prepared to find you a wife elsewhere,’ said Lady
Eliza.
At this moment Cecilia’s voice was heard in the passage. He took up his
hat.
‘I will go,’ he said, foreseeing further disaster. ‘I entreat you, Lady
Eliza, do not say anything to Miss Raeburn. I really do not know what I
should do if she were to hear of this horrible mistake!’
He looked such a picture of dismay that, for a moment, she pitied him.
‘I should scarcely do such a thing,’ she replied.
‘You have not allowed me to express my deep regret--Lady Eliza, I hardly
know what to say.’
‘Say nothing, Mr. Fordyce. That, at least, is a safe course.’
‘But what can I do? How can I induce you or Miss Raeburn to receive me?
If she were to know of what has happened, I should have no hope of her
ever listening to me! Oh, Lady Eliza--pray, pray tell me that this need
not destroy everything!’
The storm of her anger was abating a little, and she began to realize
that the unfortunate Crauford was deserving of some pity. And he was
Robert’s nephew.
‘I know nothing of my niece’s feelings,’ she said, ‘but you may be
assured that I shall not mention your name to her. And you may be
assured of this also: until Lady Fordyce writes such a letter as I
shall approve when you show it to me, you will never approach her with
my consent.’
‘She will! she shall!’ cried Crauford, in the heat of his thankfulness.
But it was a promise which, when he thought of it in cold blood as he
trotted back to Fullarton, made his heart sink.