LADY USHANT AT BRAGTON.
On the Sunday Larry came into Dillsborough and had "his gossip with
the girls" according to order;--but it was not very successful. Mrs.
Masters who opened the door for him instructed him in a special
whisper "to talk away just as though he did not care a fig for Mary."
He made the attempt manfully,--but with slight effect. His love was
too genuine, too absorbing, to leave with him the power which Mrs.
Masters assumed him to have when she gave him such advice. A man
cannot walk when he has broken his ankle-bone, let him be ever so
brave in the attempt. Larry's heart was so weighed that he could not
hide the weight. Dolly and Kate had also received hints and struggled
hard to be merry. In the afternoon a walk was suggested, and Mary
complied; but when an attempt was made by the younger girls to leave
the lover and Mary together, she resented it by clinging closely to
Dolly;--and then all Larry's courage deserted him. Very little good
was done on the occasion by Mrs. Masters' manoeuvres.
On the Monday morning, in compliance with a request made by Lady
Ushant, Mary walked over to Bragton to see her old friend. Mrs.
Masters had declared the request to be very unreasonable. "Who is to
walk five miles and back to see an old woman like that?" To this Mary
had replied that the distance across the fields to Bragton was only
four miles and that she had often walked it with her sisters for
the very pleasure of the walk. "Not in weather like this," said Mrs.
Masters. But the day was well enough. Roads in February are often a
little wet, but there was no rain falling. "I say it's unreasonable,"
said Mrs. Masters. "If she can't send a carriage she oughtn't to
expect it." This coming from Mrs. Masters, whose great doctrine it
was that young women ought not to be afraid of work, was so clearly
the effect of sheer opposition that Mary disdained to answer it. Then
she was accused of treating her stepmother with contempt.
She did walk to Bragton, taking the path by the fields and over the
bridge, and loitering for a few minutes as she leant upon the rail.
It was there and there only that she had seen together the two men
who between them seemed to cloud all her life,--the man whom she
loved and the man who loved her. She knew now,--she thought that she
knew quite well,--that her feelings for Reginald Morton were of such
a nature that she could not possibly become the wife of any one else.
But had she not seen him for those few minutes on this spot, had he
not fired her imagination by telling her of his desire to go back
with her over the sites which they had seen together when she was
a child, she would not, she thought, have been driven to make to
herself so grievous a confession. In that case it might have been
that she would have brought herself to give her hand to the suitor of
whom all her friends approved.
And then with infinite tenderness she thought of all Larry's
virtues,--and especially of that great virtue in a woman's eyes, the
constancy of his devotion to herself. She did love him,--but with a
varied love,--a love which was most earnest in wishing his happiness,
which would have been desirous of the closest friendship if only
nothing more were required. She swore to herself a thousand times
that she did not look down upon him because he was only a farmer,
that she did not think herself in any way superior to him. But it
was impossible that she should consent to be his wife. And then she
thought of the other man,--with feelings much less kind. Why had he
thrust himself upon her life and disturbed her? Why had he taught her
to think herself unfit to mate with this lover who was her equal? Why
had he assured her that were she to do so her old friends would be
revolted? Why had he exacted from her a promise,--a promise which was
sacred to her,--that she would not so give herself away? Yes;--the
promise was certainly sacred; but he had been cold and cruel in
forcing it from her lips. What business was it of his? Why should he
have meddled with her? In the shallow streamlet of her lowly life the
waters might have glided on, slow but smoothly, had he not taught
them to be ambitious of a rapider, grander course. Now they were
disturbed by mud, and there could be no pleasure in them.
She went on over the bridge, and round by the shrubbery to the hall
door which was opened to her by Mrs. Hopkins. Yes, Lady Ushant was
there;--but the young Squire was very ill and his aunt was then with
him. Mr. Reginald was in the library. Would Miss Masters be shown in
there, or would she go up to Lady Ushant's own room? Of course she
replied that she would go up-stairs and there wait for Lady Ushant.
When she was found by her friend she was told at length the story
of all the circumstances which had brought Lady Ushant to Bragton.
When John Morton had first been taken ill,--before any fixed idea of
danger had occurred to himself or to others,--his grandmother had
come to him. Then, as he gradually became weaker he made various
propositions which were all of them terribly distasteful to the
old woman. In the first place he had insisted on sending for Miss
Trefoil. Up to this period Mary Masters had hardly heard the name of
Miss Trefoil, and almost shuddered as she was at once immersed in
all these family secrets. "She is to be here to-morrow," said Lady
Ushant.
"Oh dear,--how sad!"
"He insists upon it, and she is coming. She was here before, and it
now turns out that all the world knew that they were engaged. That
was no secret, for everybody had heard it."
"And where is Mrs. Morton now?" Then Lady Ushant went on with her
story. The sick man had insisted on making his will and had declared
his purpose of leaving the property to his cousin Reginald. As Lady
Ushant said, there was no one else to whom he could leave it with any
propriety;--but this had become matter for bitter contention between
the old woman and her grandson.
"Who did she think should have it?" asked Mary.
"Ah;--that I don't know. That he has never told me. But she has had
the wickedness to say,--oh,--such things of Reginald. I knew all that
before;--but that she should repeat them now is terrible. I suppose
she wanted it for some of her own people. But it was so horrible you
know,--when he was so ill! Then he said that he should send for me,
so that what is left of the family might be together. After that she
went away in anger. Mrs. Hopkins says that she did not even see him
the morning she left Bragton."
"She was always high-tempered," said Mary.
"And dictatorial beyond measure. She nearly broke my poor dear
father's heart. And then she left the house because he would not shut
his doors against Reginald's mother. And now I hardly know what I
am to do here, or what I must say to this young lady when she comes
to-morrow."
"Is she coming alone?"
"We don't know. She has a mother, Lady Augustus Trefoil,--but whether
Lady Augustus will accompany her daughter we have not heard. Reginald
says certainly not, or they would have told us so. You have seen
Reginald?"
"No, Lady Ushant."
"You must see him. He is here now. Think what a difference it will
make to him."
"But Lady Ushant,--is he so bad?"
"Dr. Fanning almost says that there is no hope. This poor young woman
that is coming;--what am I to say to her? He has made his will. That
was done before I came. I don't know why he shouldn't have sent for
your father, but he had a gentleman down from town. I suppose he will
leave her something; but it is a great thing that Bragton should
remain in the family. Oh dear, oh dear,--if any one but a Morton were
to be here it would break my heart. Reginald is the only one left now
of the old branch. He's getting old and he ought to marry. It is so
serious when there's an old family property."
"I suppose he will--only--"
"Yes; exactly. One can't even think about it while this poor young
man is lying so ill. Mrs. Morton has been almost like his mother, and
has lived upon the Bragton property,--absolutely lived upon it,--and
now she is away from him because he chooses to do what he likes with
his own. Is it not awful? And she would not put her foot in the house
if she knew that Reginald was here. She told Mrs. Hopkins as much,
and she said that she wouldn't so much as write a line to me. Poor
fellow; he wrote it himself. And now he thinks so much about it.
When Dr. Fanning went back to London yesterday I think he took some
message to her."
Mary remained there till lunch was announced but refused to go down
into the parlour, urging that she was expected home for dinner. "And
there is no chance for Mr. Twentyman?" asked Lady Ushant. Mary shook
her head. "Poor man! I do feel sorry for him as everybody speaks
so well of him. Of course, my dear, I have nothing to say about it.
I don't think girls should ever be in a hurry to marry, and if you
can't love him--"
"Dear Lady Ushant, it is quite settled."
"Poor young man! But you must go and see Reginald." Then she was
taken into the library and did see Reginald. Were she to avoid
him,--specially,--she would tell her tale almost as plainly as
though she were to run after him. He greeted her kindly, almost
affectionately, expressing his extreme regret that his visit to
Cheltenham should have been postponed and a hope that she would be
much at Bragton. "The distance is so great, Reginald," said Lady
Ushant.
"I can drive her over. It is a long walk, and I had made up my mind
to get Runciman's little phaeton. I shall order it for to-morrow if
Miss Masters will come." But Miss Masters would not agree to this.
She would walk over again some day as she liked the walk, but no
doubt she would only be in the way if she were to come often.
"I have told her about Miss Trefoil," said Lady Ushant. "You know, my
dear, I look upon you almost as one of ourselves because you lived
here so long. But perhaps you had better postpone coming again till
she has gone."
"Certainly, Lady Ushant."
"It might be difficult to explain. I don't suppose she will stay
long. Perhaps she will go back the same day. I am sure I shan't know
what to say to her. But when anything is fixed I will send you in
word by the postman."
Reginald would have walked back with her across the bridge but that
he had promised to go to his cousin immediately after lunch. As it
was he offered to accompany her a part of the way, but was stopped by
his aunt, greatly to Mary's comfort. He was now more beyond her reach
than ever,--more utterly removed from her. He would probably become
Squire of Bragton, and she, in her earliest days, had heard the
late Squire spoken of as though he were one of the potentates of
the earth. She had never thought it possible; but now it was less
possible than ever. There was something in his manner to her almost
protective, almost fatherly,--as though he had some authority over
her. Lady Ushant had authority once, but he had none. In every tone
of his voice she felt that she heard an expression of interest in her
welfare,--but it was the interest which a grown-up person takes in a
child, or a superior in an inferior. Of course he was her superior,
but yet the tone of his voice was distasteful to her. As she walked
back to Dillsborough she told herself that she would not go again to
Bragton without assuring herself that he was not there.
When she reached home many questions were asked of her, but she told
nothing of the secrets of the Morton family which had been so openly
confided to her. She would only say that she was afraid that Mr. John
Morton was very ill.