VACILLATION.
When the spring-time came, Sir Harry Hotspur with his wife and
daughter, went up to London. During the last season the house in
Bruton Street had been empty. He and his wife were then mourning
their lost son, and there was no place for the gaiety of London in
their lives. Sir Harry was still thinking of his great loss. He was
always thinking of the boy who was gone, who had been the apple of
his eye, his one great treasure, the only human being in the world
whose superior importance to his own he had been ready, in his heart
of hearts, to admit; but it was needful that the outer signs of
sorrow should be laid aside, and Emily Hotspur was taken up to
London, in order that she might be suited with a husband. That, in
truth, was the reason of their going. Neither Sir Harry nor Lady
Elizabeth would have cared to leave Cumberland had there been no such
cause. They would have been altogether content to remain at home had
Emily been obedient enough in the winter to accept the hand of the
suitor proposed for her.
The house was opened in Bruton Street, and Lord Alfred came to see
them. So also did Cousin George. There was no reason why Cousin
George should not come. Indeed, had he not done so, he must have been
the most ungracious of cousins. He came, and found Lady Elizabeth and
Emily at home. Emily told him that they were always there to receive
visitors on Sundays after morning church, and then he came again. She
had made no such communication to Lord Alfred, but then perhaps it
would have been hardly natural that she should have done so. Lady
Elizabeth, in a note which she had occasion to write to Lord Alfred,
did tell him of her custom on a Sunday afternoon; but Lord Alfred
took no such immediate advantage of the offer as did Cousin George.
As regarded the outward appearance of their life, the Hotspurs were
gayer this May than they had been heretofore when living in London.
There were dinner-parties, whereas in previous times there had only
been dinners at which a few friends might join them;--and there was
to be a ball. There was a box at the Opera, and there were horses
for the Park, and there was an understanding that the dealings with
Madame Milvodi, the milliner, were to be as unlimited as the occasion
demanded. It was perceived by every one that Miss Hotspur was to
be settled in life. Not a few knew the story of Lord Alfred. Every
one knew the facts of the property and Emily's position as heiress,
though every one probably did not know that it was still in Sir
Harry's power to leave every acre of the property to whom he pleased.
Emily understood it all herself. There lay upon her that terrible
responsibility of doing her best with the Hotspur interests. To
her the death of her brother had at the time been the blackest of
misfortunes, and it was not the less so now as she thought of her
own position. She had been steady enough as to the refusal of Lord
Alfred, knowing well enough that she cared nothing for him. But there
had since come upon her moments almost of regret that she should have
been unable to accept him. It would have been so easy a way of escape
from all her troubles without the assistance of Madame Milvodi, and
the opera-box, and the Park horses! At the time she had her own ideas
about another man, but her ideas were not such as to make her think
that any further work with Madame Milvodi and the opera-box would be
unnecessary.
Then came the question of asking Cousin George to the house. He had
already been told to come on Sundays, and on the very next Sunday had
been there. He had given no cause of offence at Humblethwaite, and
Lady Elizabeth was of opinion that he should be asked to dinner.
If he were not asked, the very omission would show that they were
afraid of him. Lady Elizabeth did not exactly explain this to her
husband,--did not accurately know that such was her fear; but Sir
Harry understood her feelings, and yielded. Let Cousin George be
asked to dinner.
Sir Harry at this time was vacillating with more of weakness than
would have been expected from a man who had generally been so firm
in the affairs of his life. He had been quite clear about George
Hotspur, when those inquiries of his were first made, and when his
mind had first accepted the notion of Lord Alfred as his chosen
son-in-law. But now he was again at sea. He was so conscious of the
importance of his daughter's case, that he could not bring himself to
be at ease, and to allow himself to expect that the girl would, in
the ordinary course of nature, dispose of her young heart not to her
own injury, as might reasonably be hoped from her temperament, her
character, and her education. He could not protect himself from daily
and hourly thought about it. Her marriage was not as the marriage of
other girls. The house of Hotspur, which had lived and prospered for
so many centuries, was to live and prosper through her; or rather
mainly through the man whom she should choose as her husband. The
girl was all-important now, but when she should have once disposed of
herself her importance would be almost at an end. Sir Harry had in
the recess of his mind almost a conviction that, although the thing
was of such utmost moment, it would be better for him, better for
them all, better for the Hotspurs, that the matter should be allowed
to arrange itself than that there should be any special judgment used
in selection. He almost believed that his girl should be left to
herself, as are other girls. But the thing was of such moment that he
could not save himself from having it always before his eyes.
And yet he knew not what to do; nor was there any aid forthcoming
from Lady Elizabeth. He had tried his hand at the choice of a proper
husband, and his daughter would have none of the man so chosen. So
he had brought her up to London, and thrown her as it were upon the
market. Let Madame Milvodi and the opera-box and the Park horses
do what they could for her. Of course a watch should be kept on
her;--not from doubt of her excellence, but because the thing to be
disposed of was so all-important, and the girl's mode of disposing
of it might, without disgrace or fault on her part, be so vitally
prejudicial to the family!
For, let it be remembered, no curled darling of an eldest son would
suit the exigencies of the case, unless such eldest son were willing
altogether to merge the claims of his own family, and to make himself
by name and purpose a Hotspur. Were his child to present to him as
his son-in-law some heir to a noble house, some future earl, say even
a duke in embryo, all that would be as nothing to Sir Harry. It was
not his ambition to see his daughter a duchess. He wanted no name,
or place, or dominion for any Hotspur greater or higher or more
noble than those which the Hotspurs claimed and could maintain for
themselves. To have Humblethwaite and Scarrowby lost amidst the vast
appanages and domains of some titled family, whose gorgeous glories
were new and paltry in comparison with the mellow honours of his own
house, would to him have been a ruin to all his hopes. There might,
indeed, be some arrangement as to the second son proceeding from such
a marriage,--as to a future chance Hotspur; but the claims of the
Hotspurs were, he thought, too high and too holy for such future
chance; and in such case, for one generation at least, the Hotspurs
would be in abeyance. No: it was not that which he desired. That
would not suffice for him. The son-in-law that he desired should be
well born, a perfect gentleman, with belongings of whom he and his
child might be proud; but he should be one who should be content to
rest his claims to material prosperity and personal position on the
name and wealth that he would obtain with his wife. Lord Alfred had
been the very man; but then his girl would have none of Lord Alfred!
Eldest sons there might be in plenty ready to take such a bride; and
were some eldest son to come to him and ask for his daughter's hand,
some eldest son who would do so almost with a right to claim it if
the girl's consent were gained, how could he refuse? And yet to leave
a Hotspur behind him living at Humblethwaite, and Hotspurs who should
follow that Hotspur, was all in all to him.
Might he venture to think once again of Cousin George? Cousin George
was there, coming to the house, and his wife was telling him that
it was incumbent on them to ask the young man to dinner. It was
incumbent on them, unless they meant to let him know that he was to
be regarded absolutely as a stranger,--as one whom they had taken
up for a while, and now chose to drop again. A very ugly story had
reached Sir Harry's ears about Cousin George. It was said that he
had twice borrowed money from the money-lenders on his commission,
passing some document for security of its value which was no
security, and that he had barely escaped detection, the two Jews
knowing that the commission would be forfeited altogether if the
fraud were brought to light. The commission had been sold, and the
proceeds divided between the Jews, with certain remaining claims to
them on Cousin George's personal estate. Such had been the story
which in a vague way had reached Sir Harry's ears. It is not easily
that such a man as Sir Harry can learn the details of a disreputable
cousin's life. Among all his old friends he had none more dear to him
than Lord Milnthorp; and among his younger friends none more intimate
than Lord Burton, the eldest son of Lord Milnthorp, Lord Alfred's
brother. Lord Burton had told him the story, telling him at the same
time that he could not vouch for its truth. "Upon my word, I don't
know," said Lord Burton, when interrogated again. "I think if I were
you I would regard it as though I had never heard it. Of course, he
was in debt."
"That is altogether another thing," said Sir Harry.
"Altogether! I think that probably he did pawn his commission. That
is bad, but it isn't so very bad. As for the other charge against
him, I doubt it." So said Lord Burton, and Sir Harry determined that
the accusation should go for nothing.
But his own child, his only child, the transmitter of all the great
things that fortune had given to him; she, in whose hands were to lie
the glories of Humblethwaite and Scarrowby; she, who had the giving
away of the honour of their ancient family,--could she be trusted
to one of whom it must be admitted that all his early life had been
disreputable, even if the world's lenient judgment in such matters
should fail to stigmatize it as dishonourable? In other respects,
however, he was so manifestly the man to whom his daughter ought to
be given in marriage! By such arrangement would the title and the
property be kept together,--and by no other which Sir Harry could
now make, for his word had been given to his daughter that she was
to be his heiress. Let him make what arrangements he might, this
Cousin George, at his death, would be the head of the family. Every
"Peerage" that was printed would tell the old story to all the world.
By certain courtesies of the law of descent his future heirs would be
Hotspurs were his daughter married to Lord Alfred or the like; but
the children of such a marriage would not be Hotspurs in very truth,
nor by any courtesy of law, or even by any kindness of the Minister
or Sovereign, could the child of such a union become the baronet,
the Sir Harry of the day, the head of the family. The position was
one which no Sovereign and no Minister could achieve, or touch, or
bestow. It was his, beyond the power of any earthly potentate to
deprive him of it, and would have been transmitted by him to a son
with as absolute security. But--alas! alas!
Sir Harry gave no indication that he thought it expedient to change
his mind on the subject. When Lady Elizabeth proposed that Cousin
George should be asked to dinner, he frowned and looked black as he
acceded; but, in truth, he vacillated. The allurements on that side
were so great that he could not altogether force upon himself the
duty of throwing them from him. He knew that Cousin George was no
fitting husband for his girl, that he was a man to whom he would not
have thought of giving her, had her happiness been his only object.
And he did not think of so bestowing her now. He became uneasy
when he remembered the danger. He was unhappy as he remembered
how amusing, how handsome, how attractive was Cousin George. He
feared that Emily might like him!--by no means hoped it. And yet he
vacillated, and allowed Cousin George to come to the house, only
because Cousin George must become, on his death, the head of the
Hotspurs.
Cousin George came on one Sunday, came on another Sunday, dined at
the house, and was of course asked to the ball. But Lady Elizabeth
had so arranged her little affairs that when Cousin George left
Bruton Street on the evening of the dinner party he and Emily had
never been for two minutes alone together since the family had come
up to London. Lady Elizabeth herself liked Cousin George, and, had an
edict to that effect been pronounced by her husband, would have left
them alone together with great maternal satisfaction. But she had
been told that it was not to be so, and therefore the young people
had never been allowed to have opportunities. Lady Elizabeth in her
very quiet way knew how to do the work of the world that was allotted
to her. There had been other balls, and there had been ridings in
the Park, and all the chances of life which young men, and sometimes
young women also, know so well how to use; but hitherto Cousin George
had kept, or had been constrained to keep, his distance.
"I want to know, Mamma," said Emily Hotspur, the day before the ball,
"whether Cousin George is a black sheep or a white sheep?"
"What do you mean, my dear, by asking such a question as that?"
"I don't like black sheep. I don't see why young men are to be
allowed to be black sheep; but yet you know they are."
"How can it be helped?"
"People should not notice them, Mamma."
"My dear, it is a most difficult question,--quite beyond me, and I am
sure beyond you. A sheep needn't be black always because he has not
always been quite white; and then you know the black lambs are just
as dear to their mother as the white."
"Dearer, I think."
"I quite agree with you, Emily, that in general society black sheep
should be avoided."
"Then they shouldn't be allowed to come in," said Emily. Lady
Elizabeth knew from this that there was danger, but the danger was
not of a kind which enabled her specially to consult Sir Harry.