SOMETHING ABOUT “MILADY.”
On the 23d of July, in the year 186--, the day remarkable as that on
which Arthur Vavasour reached his twenty-first birthday, crowds of
people of every degree, and all, as it seemed, on pleasure bent, were
assembled in the park, and along the roads that led towards the
beautiful “seat” known as belonging to the Earl of Guernsey. It was a
pretty place--not “princely,” like Fairleigh, or frowning proudly in
baronial grandeur, after the fashion of noble and time-honoured
Gillingham; but, though inferior in magnificence to its more imposing
neighbours, Danescourt was, after all, a mansion and estate not wholly
unworthy the rank of its owners.
Lady Guernsey, who was country born and bred (albeit one of the most
popular women in England, and perfectly “at home” everywhere), was
greatly attached to Danescourt. She was never so happy--so said those
who knew her best, for Lady Guernsey was a person who talked very
little about herself--as when, the London season being over, she could
devote herself at “dear” Danescourt to her garden, her children, and her
poor.
The Lacys were a large family, there were seven of them--“the curate’s
half-dozen,” Lord Guernsey used often to say, with a cheery laugh, which
would have sounded pleasant from any lips, but was, of course, doubly
exhilarating from a lord’s. He was a capital person altogether, that
“belted earl,” whose girdle was capable of encircling the slender waists
of two modern guardsmen, and whose face beamed so pleasantly with
genuine good-nature, to say nothing of the good things of this life,
that the man must have been morose indeed, and ingrained with mental
jaundice, whose spirits were not lightened by the glow of his genial
companionship.
Between the Vavasour family and that of the Lacys, who were
comparatively new settlers in the county (_their_ coming dating as
lately as the Restoration), there had never existed any of those ties,
either of friendship or family connection, which near neighbourhood is
sometimes known to cement. Though, as it is only natural to conclude,
many brave sons and fair daughters must, in the course of centuries,
have sprung from the respective marriage-beds of those highly
distinguished families, no intermarriages had taken place between them.
The hereditary politics also of the two races were, and always had been,
diametrically opposed--one reason probably, among many, why no closer
bonds than the cold ones of acquaintanceship had hitherto linked
together the members of two of the most ancient, as well as most
respected “houses” in the county.
The Earl and Countess of Guernsey, who, as I before said, were genial,
warm-hearted people, would gladly (not for the sake of Lady Millicent,
whom they did not like, but for that of the young people at the Castle,
whom they did) have established warmer and cordial relations with their
neighbours at Gillingham Castle. They were unfeignedly sorry for the
poor girls, whose youth was blighted by Lady Millicent’s selfish
adherence to a system of seclusion--a system introduced and persevered
in, as Lord Guernsey, who was an outspoken man, did not hesitate to say,
far more from the promptings of a parsimonious spirit than from any deep
and lingering sorrow for “poor Cecil’s” death.
“Don’t tell me,” he would say, speaking almost bitterly for one so
habitually good-tempered,--“don’t tell me about Lady Mill’s being a
‘pattern widow.’ She is no more a pattern widow than she was, at any
time since I have known anything about her, a pattern wife or a pattern
mother. I never had any patience with all that flunkeyish humbug about
Lady Millicent’s perfections. Whatever good was done in that family--and
a great deal _was_ done, that we all know--is to be attributed solely to
Cecil Vavasour. As for Lady Mill--”
“Well, well,” put in Lady Guernsey good-humouredly, “I think there is
something to be said for her. That Will of her father’s must be terribly
trying to a person of her domineering temper.”
“So are a great many wills--all wills, in short, that are antagonistic
to our own. It doesn’t follow, though, that we are justified in trying
to set them on one side. In my opinion--but then I have never been
tried,” he added, laughing, “by a similar aggravation--in my opinion,
the will of a dead man, like his last injunctions, ought to be held
sacred. A curse is more likely than a blessing to follow on its being
set aside.”
“And they do say that Lady Millicent is going to try the case--against
her own son, too! It looks unnatural; but I still say, although I am
anything but fond of her, that there is some good in Lady Mill. She is
fond of her children, after a fashion; she is anxious about them when
they are ill, which isn’t often, for there never were more healthy
creatures; and I really think that but for this clause in the will--I
mean, if it had been left to her to manage that great fortune in her own
way--Lady Millicent would have given no cause for the world to say that
she is neither a good mother nor a faithful stewardess.”
“Perhaps not. You women know one another’s characters and motives best.
Lady Mill _may_ have _hidden_ excellences in her nature (very securely
hidden, too, I must say), which it requires a woman’s penetration to
discover. My experience of life tells me that if there be anything
estimable in a tremendously rich person like Milady Millicent, that same
estimable quality increases and magnifies itself a hundredfold in going
from mouth to mouth; while, on the contrary, the praiseworthiness of the
poor is a very unfructifying and unprofitable article indeed. For my
part (mind, I expect to be abused), now that the fashion is gone by of
glorifying my Lady Millicent--not that it would have gone by if poor
Cecil had lived--for my part, and I say it without fear of being
contradicted, what I think is (and I repeat it again), that all the talk
there used to be about her being faultless, and all that kind of thing,
was totally undeserved. Like thousands of other prosperous people, she
never did anything openly bad. She was not, I daresay, much given to
breaking the ten Commandments; but then, I should be glad to ask, where
were her temptations? Ladies are not much in the habit of swearing; she
had neither father nor mother to honour or dishonour; there was nothing
for her to covet; and, God knows, no man in his senses would covet her!”
“You are not very charitable to poor Lady Mill,” said the Countess,
laughing in spite of herself at this _résumé_ of their neighbour’s
“gifts.”
“Charitable? I should think not! Who with any Christian feeling would be
charitable to one who has gained for herself such a name for hardness of
heart, while she professes to respect God’s holy law and commandments,
as Lady Millicent Vavasour? I am not, I hope, either a humbug or a prig;
but I like to see people act up to what they profess, and I should have
a better opinion than I have of our neighbour at the Castle if she
talked about religion less, and acted up to its dictates more.”
“In my opinion,” said Lady Guernsey thoughtfully, “more than half of her
pretended love of seclusion and country life, which people have said so
much about, arises from selfishness and indolence!”
“Bravo!” said his lordship in delight. “I knew it would come! Let a
woman alone, if she’s a sensible one, for arriving at the right
conclusion. Now, I’ll tell you what it is, Gertrude,” he added more
seriously, and placing his wife’s hand within his arm, as they strolled
together under the branching chestnuts of the grand old avenue leading
to the house; “I’ll tell you exactly what it is. There _may_ be, as you
say, no real harm in Lady Millicent; but she is neither tender, nor
open, nor womanly. Gad, what should I do, and what would the children
do, with such a mother as that? As for the poor things at the Castle up
there, I declare it’s a shame to see her muddle away their existence as
she does. Those two fine young men--Arthur, particularly, who, between
you and me, is a little soft, and who required no end of judgment in his
raising--are utterly ruined.”
“I hope not, poor things,” said Lady Guernsey, who was given to look,
even more than was her lord, at the bright side of every shield, “I hope
not; one never can tell how boys will turn out. I’m often really quite
uneasy about Ernest; and yet--”
“You needn’t trouble yourself, my dear Gertrude, about him. Ernest is
one of your quiet, lymphatic sort, but both those young fellows at the
Castle are of another kind of constitution; and I’m as certain that
Arthur, at least, will come to grief, as I am glad that his poor father
didn’t live to see it.”
“I often thought that Mr. Vavasour wasn’t pursuing the wisest plan in
the world about his boys,” remarked Lady Guernsey pensively. “The
Vavasour children never seemed to be allowed to find their own pleasures
like other boys and girls. They were very good, I daresay, and were
always well-behaved; but I used often to fancy it would have been more
natural if they had been naughty sometimes like their neighbours.”
“Much more natural! And then the plan of sending Arthur to travel with
that kind of half-and-half gentleman tutor was very bad. For my part, I
don’t believe Lady Mill knows a gentleman when she sees him. All she
thinks of is Power, and all she dreads is the time when Arthur will be
twenty-five, and the hour for her despotism will have sounded. My own
idea is--and many people, I fancy, suspect the same--that she is making
up a purse against the evil day of dowagerhood. One thing, however, is
certain, namely, that all this--this unfortunate state of things at
Gillingham--is a sad business for the poor on the estate. Already the
appearance of the cottages, and, above all, the state of moral feeling
among the labourers on the Gillingham estate, has undergone a serious
change for the worse. The lower orders--I hate the name, but it says
what I want to express--were secure of Cecil Vavasour’s sympathy. Ay,
even of his friendship, while as for his widow--But enough of this; for
our own motes, my dear Gertrude, are, after all, not so completely
eradicated that we can afford to lay so much stress upon the beams that
we may happen to discover in our neighbour’s eyes.” He spoke only half
seriously, for Lord Guernsey was one of those who take a cheerful view
of all things and subjects; but the conversation just narrated was not
without its effect, inasmuch as his wife obtained in consequence free
leave and permission that on the occasion of Arthur’s twenty-first
birthday Danescourt should be as gay as a full bevy of summer guests
could make it. Nominally, the festive week at the Court had nothing to
do with Arthur’s coming of age. The good-natured host and hostess were
too desirous of giving pleasure to each and all of the young Vavasours,
for any hint of the truth to have designedly passed their lips. But for
all their caution, it did, of course, come to be noised abroad that the
Guernseys were teaching Lady Millicent her duty, and that for once in
their lives her young daughters were to be indulged in the opportunity
of enjoying themselves.