Nora had not shown her letter to Miss Willis, nor did she show Henry’s
answer.
“It is hard,” she sighed, as she read it. However, something had been
done, and she felt she ought to be satisfied. And after the first
disappointment in the style of the answer was over, she _was_ satisfied.
To Miss Willis she only told the fact of the acceptance of the offer.
“You see you were right,” she said, smiling. “Mr. Fanshawe can do
anything.”
Her next task was to write to Mr. Powderham, and she set about it. Not,
indeed, that she felt much difficulty. Her care for him was too little
for her to study his character, her confidence in herself too great to
allow herself to be in his hands; and the difficulty arose more from the
wording of her letter, the wording of the description of office she
intended Henry to hold, than from any fear of his opinion, or desire for
his approbation.
Hence the style of her letter was authoritative, not suggestive. Not
authoritative with any unmannerly assumption, but speaking of the thing
as done, of the affair as settled, leaving no loop-hole to the man who
loved to advise and govern, to take that office upon himself. Hence,
also as usual, Mr. Powderham was disgusted with her; nay, more, so
angry was he at a young woman daring to take such affairs into her own
hands, that he lost his calmness, and entered into opposition.
He wrote a formal letter, telling her he was sorry to say the thing was
impossible. It would have been better had she communicated with him
before she made arrangements. He must inform her that he had already
engaged a clerk of the works, an efficient man of over thirty, and his
supervision would be sufficient. His style was as peremptory as hers,
and he left her, also, as he thought, no loop-hole for insubordination.
Nora’s eyes flashed as she read the letter, and she replied to it not
only authoritatively, but with haughtiness. She said the arrangement had
been made after due consideration, and she intended to hold to it.
These were not the words, but this was the sense of her letter.
Had Mr. Powderham been a very clever man, he would have known how to
make Nora, with a will, as docile a client as one who had no particular
will. But he was a clever man, not a _very_ clever man, and he made a
mistake. It so happened that never before had an employer acted quite
without consulting him. “I’ll talk to Powderham,” was, even with men,
the common phrase; and when the day came when he was not talked to he
did not know how to act. He made a mistake and rebelled.
Instead of answering by letter, he made a circuit on his road to London
and called on her. She received him courteously; wilful but placable. He
came to her wilful and gloomy, a kind of cold thunder, thunder-clouds,
but no lightning, in his air and looks.
Nora would not enter on grievances, and, taking his visit as a visit,
began to fear he had had a cold journey.
“It was cold, madam; but I was forced to lengthen it and to travel all
night, that I might call upon you. The thing is impossible; no sane
person could propose it; and I thought it more courteous to tell you
this by word than by letter.”
Nora was astounded--not abashed, but astounded--at his presuming to
dispute her will.
“I am sorry to say, Mr. Powderham, that it is done,” she said, as calmly
as she was able.
“Impossible, madam! I should not be doing my duty if I allowed it.
What! place a young man, without education, without experience, and, as
I understand, of very doubtful character, in a position of such
importance! It is madness!”
“He is my cousin,” she said, with flashing eyes and crimson cheeks.
“Were he twenty times your cousin, madam, that relationship could not
make him fit. As I understand, also, the cousinship is not of that
degree which gives him a claim upon you. You have a cousin nearer than
that.”
He paused for a moment, and though not a bad-hearted man, so irritated
was he, that he watched with malicious hope to see her wince. Instead of
wincing, however, she simply stared.
“You must be aware of the many cousins you have on your mother’s side,”
he went on. “One of these, a man over thirty, with his wits about him,
and considerable experience, applied to me for employment, and I had
selected him, thinking to give you pleasure, for the very office you
have designed for young Mr. Devereux.”
“What is his name?” Nora asked, for a moment her thoughts entirely
diverted from the subject in hand. Of her mother’s relations she had
heard. Monsieur d’Alberg had taken care of that; but he was little
informed about them; nor, having accomplished his object, had he cared
to know more. Her mother hated to talk of them; and Nora being, as has
been said, without any good reason, as proud as a princess, had hitherto
swept them from her thoughts, as things belonging to her mother, with
which she had nothing to do. Nor had they yet found her out; they were
only just beginning to do so. They had supposed her to be still under
her mother’s wing.
She asked her question, therefore, with unfeigned curiosity.
“Mr. Field--Mr. James Field. His birth was nothing, I believe, that a
man cares to talk about, but he has raised himself, and is now a man of
education and experience--a gentleman, I may say. I am not personally
acquainted with him--I shall see him during my stay in London; but I
form my judgment from his letters, and from report.”
Now, the little history of the transaction was this. James Field,
hearing from Letitia Devereux of Henry’s adventure, began to consider
what profit he could make out of his relationship to the heiress. He met
Letitia but seldom; and having heard the tale, he said no more to her,
trusting to his own wits to help him.
He made inquiries regarding Nora’s plans. It took him some little time,
but he discovered all, and wrote to Mr. Powderham, asking for
employment; mentioning, in short, the very office of clerk of the works.
But there was nothing remarkable in the letter; and though he stated he
was related to Miss Smith, that relationship gave him no claim.
Mr. Powderham left the letter unnoticed, as was his custom with useless
applications.
But when a few days afterwards he received Nora’s letter, his mind
reverted to it; he sought it out, and before he answered her, answered
it. He said if on inquiry he found he was up to _his_ mark (for he was
conscientious) he would employ Mr. Field.
He told Nora he had hoped to give her pleasure. This was an embroidery
on the truth; what he wished was to oppose his cousin to her cousin; but
at the moment of selection he had no reason for supposing it would be
disagreeable to her. When he began to make inquiries, and heard
something of James Field’s history, this truth dawned upon him; and
after her second letter, it became a truth that was sweet to him.
Nora listened to his reply to her question regarding this cousin, and
sat for some moments reflecting on it. When she spoke it was with
perfect composure. If the discovery of this cousin annoyed her, she did
not allow him to see it.
“I do not know Mr. Field,” she said, “nor can I remember to have heard
the name; but I know I have relations with whom I have no acquaintance.
As he is a cousin, and as you say he is fit, I shall be glad to have him
employed; but it need not interfere with what I have already settled.
Mr. Field may be the working clerk. I shall wish Mr. Devereux to be
something of a different kind--to watch the building in my stead, to see
that all things are well-conducted, and especially to see that the
workmen are cared for during the time of the building, mentally and
bodily.”
Mr. Powderham indulged in a slight laugh of contempt at this last
suggestion, but he knew he was conquered, and his mind, with natural
quickness, was seizing on a ground for honourable retreat.
“Well, madam, since such are your views, and since you are willing to
throw away five hundred a year on a fancy situation, I have no more to
say. All I have to do is to see that your work is well done, that is my
duty,”--with pompous dignity--“and it shall be done, come what may. Mr.
Devereux may possibly be fitted for such duties as you now propose. I
hope so. I have no more to say on the subject. May I ask for a glass of
wine?”
“If you had not been so very hasty in attacking me,” Nora said,
smiling--for, having had her own way, she had no bitterness on the
subject of Mr. Powderham’s opposition--“I should not have been so
uncivil as to forget to offer you luncheon. You must have some after
your journey.”
She left the room, and he presently sat down to an excellent luncheon.
But creature comforts, though they were certainly appreciated, could not
make up for wounded dignity; nor could Nora’s smiles and kind words
soften him. Had he been able to put her down in any way, had she spoken
with less self-possession, he might still have taken her to his heart;
but he could not help seeing that she had a certain amount of brains,
and he was disgusted. He left her, sincerely hoping that she would have
to repent of her wilfulness.
When he was gone, Nora sat for an hour with her feet on the fender, and
a frown on her brow, unoccupied and brooding. At last she said,
“As usual, I have behaved very badly, Miss Willis.”
“Indeed I do not think so. I hardly think I should have answered Mr.
Powderham as calmly as you did.”
“I don’t mean to him,” and she shook her head. “I mean to my relations.
The fact is, Miss Willis, my grandmother, my mother’s mother, was the
daughter of an innkeeper, and I have always hated the idea; and I have
never thought about them as relations, much less made any inquiries
about them. But as they are my relations, I suppose I ought to do it.”
“I suppose you ought,” said Miss Willis, who was no flatterer.
“Then it shall be done,” Nora said; and she rose up, and sat down to
write to her guardian.
She made no secret of her distaste, but very resolutely said she was
now determined to overcome her feelings, and acknowledge them as her
own relations, as well as her mother’s. Mr. Fanshawe took her letter to
Mr. Conway. It was a case in which he wished to fortify himself with his
authority. It was, indeed, a case in which a young woman required the
assistance and experience of older men.
“Chain her up somehow,” said Mr. Conway, lifting his eyebrows after he
had read, “or she will soon be without a tack on her back.”
As this was Mr. Fanshawe’s own opinion, he wrote her in return a very
sensible letter. He begged her to leave her relations alone for the
present, promising, meanwhile, to get a faithful report of the
circumstances of each.
“If, as I believe,” he went on, “they are well-to-do people, I would do
nothing beyond an occasional present, if such should be required. Should
any be in want, I agree with you that it is your duty to relieve them,
and depend upon it I will not prevent you. You speak of acknowledging
them. The word expresses too much. There is no doubt there is a tie of
blood between you; but when your grandfather married your grandmother,
he raised her into a different position of life. She was wise enough to
know this; she was, I believe, very kind, but she never attempted to
associate with her relations again. Do not unsettle their minds by
filling them with thoughts and hopes which are idle. You could not make
all rich; but you might very easily make all discontented.
“As to James Field, his position is different. He has profited by your
father’s kindness to him, and has educated and raised himself in life. I
have a bad opinion of him, and so I will tell Mr. Powderham; but if he
employs him, you will have done all that is necessary on your part
towards him. Should he do well, it will be time enough then to
distinguish him.”
Nora was satisfied with this letter, and was still more disposed to be
guided by her guardian’s advice, when, a month afterwards, he wrote to
tell her that a miller’s daughter, a great-niece of her grandmother’s,
was going to make a very respectable marriage to a young farmer, and he
thought a present of a handsome silk gown would be acceptable.
She was delighted, and a handsome gown, shawl, and bonnet, for the
wedding dress, were despatched, with a kind letter to the young girl in
question. In her letter she touched but lightly on the connection with
herself, but putting her mother forward, said she was sure it would give
_her_ pleasure if this present was accepted for her mother’s sake.
Indeed, if Mr. Powderham had seen the letter, he would have been forced
to own the sense it showed, and would have said, “that foolish woman,”
with more zest than ever.
The girl belonged to one of the most respectable families of the
connection; one who rarely thought of their rich relations, and cared
still less to think about them. Nevertheless the young girl and all her
family were enchanted at the kind note and present, and a grateful,
unassuming letter was written, conveying the thanks and good wishes of
the whole family. Nora had never yet felt so quiet a sense of pleasure
in her riches as this little incident caused her.