On Monday I went to see Dr. Fergus about my leg, and did not get a very
good report of it.
We returned from Clarkham on one of the hottest days I ever remember,
and found Mrs. Fielden waiting for us in the hall.
"Every one seems to have come over to hear about your London visit,"
said Mrs. Fielden lightly, "for I found Mr. Ellicomb and Maud Jamieson
here when I came in."
She began pouring out tea for us both as she spoke, and she signalled
something to Palestrina, who replied as she stooped down to cut some
cake, "Another operation--yes, four or five weeks in bed at least."
"I sent Maud and Mr. Ellicomb home together," said Mrs. Fielden,
smiling. "He, poor man, is in a great state of mental perturbation,
for it seems that he has heard that in South Africa pigs are fed upon
arum lilies, and that so delicate is the flesh of the pork thus
produced that some flower-growers in the Channel Isles are cultivating
arum lilies for the purpose of feeding pigs, and to produce the same
delicious pork. He was so agitated that he got up from his chair and
walked up and down the room, repeating over and over again, 'Arum-fed
pork! Monstrous, monstrous!' I really did not know how to comfort
him, so I sent him home with Maud Jamieson, which seemed to please him
very much."
"And you," I said, "following the Jamieson train of thought, have been
saying to yourself ever since, 'Is there anything in it?'"
"She certainly had a soothing effect upon him," said Mrs. Fielden.
"Then," said I, "the second stage has been reached. When all the
Jamiesons are married, I think I shall feel that romance is over."
"I know they have been to tea at the farm," said Mrs. Fielden, "because
Mr. Ellicomb talked so much about his blue china, and Maud said a
woman's hand was needed in the house."
"I wonder," I said, "what will be the special objection that Maud will
raise when she becomes engaged to Mr. Ellicomb? He is not called
Albert; he does not wear a white watered-silk waistcoat; his hair is
certainly his own; and his mother is dead, so it cannot be said that he
too closely resembles her."
One of the objections raised by Maud to a candidate for her hand, was
that he was far too like his mother--a really delightful woman--but
Maud declared, with tears, that she could never really look up to a man
who was so like his mamma.
"At present," said Mrs. Fielden, "the blue china seems to be all in his
favour; but one cannot feel sure that it will not be an obstacle later
on, or Mr. Ellicomb's High Church principles, perhaps, may prove a
deterrent to her ideas of perfect happiness."
"I wish," said Palestrina, "that Margaret's affairs were more settled.
This summer has been a trying one for her."
"Oh, I forgot to tell you," said Mrs. Fielden, "that that was one of
Maud's reasons for coming over to see you. She told me that Mr.
Swinnerton is coming to pay them a visit. He has written, it seems, to
make the offer himself, and Maud says she thinks it will be all right
now."
Mrs. Fielden was in one of her most light-hearted moods. After the
heat of the day there came a delightful coolness, and she stayed
chatting till nearly dinner-time, and then decided that she would
remain to dinner if we should ask her to do so.
"I have three dear old sisters-in-law staying with me," said Mrs.
Fielden, "and they will doubtless drag all the ponds for my body."
"Won't they be anxious about you?" asked Palestrina.
"Perhaps," said Mrs. Fielden, raising her pretty eyebrows in the old
affected way; "but then they will appreciate me so much more when I
come back to them from the grave."
We sat out on the lawn after dinner till it was quite dark, and only
Mrs. Fielden's white dress was visible in the gloom. For some reason
best known to herself she put off her wilful mood out there in the
gloom of the garden. She was not regal, not even amusing, only
charming and full of a lovely kindness. Half the conversation between
her and Palestrina began with the words, "Do you remember?" as they
recalled old jokes and stories. Then her ever-present gaiety broke out
again, and she laughed and said: "I believe I am becoming reminiscent.
Why doesn't some one sit upon me, or tell me they will order the
carriage for me if I really must go? But it is heavenly here in the
cool--and in heaven, you know, we shall probably all be reminiscent."
Ten o'clock struck from the tower of the church down below in the
village, and Mrs. Fielden said that now she really must go, or she
would find the sisters-in-law saying a Requiem Mass for her; and
Palestrina went indoors to order the carriage.
"To-morrow," I said, "I am going to have my last dissipation. I am
going to the Traceys' tea-party."
"I am certainly going too," said Mrs. Fielden. "I believe I am getting
as gay as the Miss Traceys themselves, though I can't help remarking
that no one who goes to these tea-parties ever seems to be amused when
they get there."
"Judging from my own standard of what I find amusing," I said, "I
should be inclined to say that Stowel never enjoys itself
extravagantly. Our neighbours never refuse invitations to even the
smallest party; but the pleasure that they get from them, if it exists
at all, is carefully concealed."
"I have felt that myself," said Mrs. Fielden. "I really don't begin to
enjoy them till I get home."
"I believe you always enjoy yourself," I said resentfully.
After a little time Mrs. Fielden said wistfully, "You don't think there
is only a certain amount of happiness in the world, do you, Hugo? And
that if one person gets a great deal, it means that another will get
less?"
She asks one questions in this way sometimes, as though one were a
superior being who could dispel her perplexities for her.
"Probably," I said, "you know ten thousand times more about the subject
than I do. You are happy, and I philosophize about it. Tell me which
of us is most fitted to give a lecture on the subject?"
I thought Mrs. Fielden was going to say something after that, for she
stretched out her hand in a certain impulsive way she has got, and gave
mine just one moment's friendly pressure in the dark. And then
Palestrina came back to say the carriage was at the door, and Mrs.
Fielden said "Good-night."
I remember two things about the Miss Traceys' party--first, that Mrs.
Fielden was not there, for one of the old sisters-in-law was ill
suddenly, and she could not leave her; and the other thing I remember
about it is that it was the last occasion on which I ever saw Margaret
Jamieson look pretty.
There have been some strange innovations in tea-parties ever since Mrs.
Taylor gave hers to meet The Uncle, and sent out visiting-cards instead
of notes. Instead of having tea in the dining-room, all sitting round
the table, as used to be the custom, it seems that dressing-tables are
often brought down from upstairs and extended across the window. These
are covered with white tablecloths, and behind them two maids stand and
wait. The dressing-tables are called the "buffet," and both tea and
coffee are provided, suggesting the elegance and savour of London
refreshments. This is distinctly pleasing, though it is felt that a
single cup of tea drunk while standing has not got the comfort of
former old-fashioned days. Miss Belinda lives on at the little cottage
with the green gate; and through the kindness of the General a lady has
been found to wait upon her, and take her out to these small gaieties
which she loves, and she sits shaking her poor, weak head, and
muttering, "Glory, glory, glory!" It does not occur to her to stay at
home during her period of mourning, and it is acknowledged on all sides
that she does not miss Lydia much. The General has not come to stay
with the Taylors again. In a long letter which he wrote to me after he
left he said he would probably never come back to the place, and at the
same time he thanked me in courteous, old-fashioned phraseology for
being with him through what he called "one of the dark days that come
sometimes." He would never see Miss Belinda, in spite of the many kind
things he did for her; and I always feel that he resented the poor
creature's long illness and weak, silly ways--which was only natural,
no doubt.
The Vicar was present at his sisters' tea-party, "although," as Miss
Ruby explained to me, "it is not as though this were an evening
entertainment. My sister and I often give these little routs without
him. Still, a gentleman is always something of an ornament at a party."
There were seven Jamiesons present, and two of them, Margaret and Maud,
offered, in their usual friendly way, to walk home with Palestrina and
me. Maud, one feels sure, engaged Palestrina in confidences directly;
and Margaret whispered in a shy way to me, "Do you mind coming round by
the post-office? I am expecting a letter." So we walked round by the
High Street, and Margaret told me that Tudor had had to give up his
visit to them, but that he was writing.
So we went into the post-office, and Margaret had her letter handed to
her across the counter by the post-mistress, upon whom she bestowed a
radiant smile. When we got outside she opened it and read it without a
word; and then, quite suddenly, she gave a cry as though some one had
struck her, and she handed the letter to me, and said, "Oh, Hugo, read
it!" And I read:--
"I am sure you will be surprised when I tell you that I am going to be
married; it will explain to you why it was that I was unable to fulfil
my promise to come to see you. But sudden though my engagement to Miss
Lloyd has been--very sudden, much more sudden indeed than I ever felt
that such a serious step as marriage would be undertaken by me--I
cannot but feel that it is for my happiness. Some day I hope you will
make Miss Lloyd's acquaintance; she is staying with my mother just now,
and she is already a great favourite. I cannot but feel that having
seen so much of you and of your family last summer, and during your
stay in London, that I may have raised expectations which I find myself
unable to fulfil; but I am quite sure that a man's first duty is to
himself in these matters, and that he should not undertake matrimony
until he is thoroughly convinced it is for his happiness. Had I not
met Miss Lloyd, I may say that my intentions to you were of the most
serious nature, and I know that I have the power in me to make any girl
happy. We shall live with my mother for the first year, and then I
hope to settle somewhere near London, where it will be nice for me to
get into the fresh air after my work in the City.
"Yours very truly,
"TUDOR SWINNERTON.
"_P.S._--Miss Lloyd and I are to be married next month in St. Luke's
Church, quite near here."
I handed the letter back to Margaret, and we never spoke the whole way
home. And that was the last day I ever saw Margaret Jamieson look
pretty.