The girl was counselled by the tremor of her instincts to forbear to
speak of the minor circumstance, that her mistress had, besides a good
stick, a good companion on the road to Croridge: and she rejoiced to
think her mistress had him, because it seemed an intimation of justice
returning upon earth. She was combative, a born rebel against tyranny.
She weighed the powers, she felt to the worth of the persons coming
into her range of touch: she set her mistress and my lord fronting for
a wrestle, and my lord’s wealth went to thin vapour, and her mistress’s
character threw him. More dimly, my lord and the Welsh gentleman were
put to the trial: a tough one for these two men. She did not proclaim
the winner, but a momentary flutter of pity in the direction of Lord
Fleetwood did as much. She pitied him; for his presence at Esslemont
betrayed an inclination; he was ignorant of his lady’s character, of how
firm she could be to defy him and all the world, in her gratitude to
the gentleman she thought of as her true friend, smiled at for his open
nature,--called by his Christian name.
The idea of a piece of information stinging Lord Fleetwood, the desire
to sting, so as to be an instrument of retribution (one of female human
nature’s ecstasies); and her, abstaining, that she, might not pain
the lord who had been generous to her sister Sally, made the force in
Madge’s breast which urges to the gambling for the undeveloped, entitled
prophecy. She kept it low and felt it thrill.
Lord Fleetwood, chatted; Madge had him wincing. He might pull the cover
off the child’s face carelessly--he looked at the child. His look at the
child was a thought of the mother. If he thought of the mother, he would
be wanting to see her. If he heard her call a gentleman by his Christian
name, and heard the gentleman say ‘Carinthia’ my lord would begin to
shiver at changes. Women have to do unusual things when they would
bring that outer set to human behaviour. Perhaps my lord would mount the
coach-box and whip his horses away, adieu forever. His lady would
not weep. He might, perhaps, command her to keep her mouth shut from
gentlemen’s Christian names, all except his own. His lady would not
obey. He had to learn something of changes that had come to others as
well as to himself. Ah, and then would he dare hint, as base men will?
He may blow foul smoke on her, she will shine out of it. He has to learn
what she is, that is his lesson; and let him pray all night and work
hard all day for it not to be too late. Let him try to be a little
like Mr. Woodseer, who worships the countess, and is hearty with the
gentleman she treats as her best of friends. There is the real nobleman.
Fleetwood chatted on airily. His instincts were duller than those of the
black-browed girl, at whom he gazed for idle satisfaction of eye from
time to time while she replied demurely and maintained her drama of, the
featureless but well-distinguished actors within her bosom,--a round,
plump bust, good wharfage and harbourage, he was thinking. Excellent
harbourage, supposing the arms out in pure good-will. A girl to hold her
voyager fast and safe! Men of her class had really a capital choice in
a girl like this. Men of another class as well, possibly, for temporary
anchorage out midchannel. No?--possibly not. Here and there a girl is
a Tartar. Ines talked of her as if she were a kind of religious edifice
and a doubt were sacrilege. She could impress the rascal: girls have
their arts for reaching the holy end, and still they may have a welcome
for a foreign ship.
The earl said humorously: ‘You will grant me permission to lunch at
your mistress’s table in her absence?’ And she said: ‘My lord!’ And he
resumed, to waken her interest with a personal question: ‘You like our
quiet country round Esslemont?’ She said: ‘I do,’ and gave him plain
look for look. Her eye was undefended: he went into it, finding neither
shallow nor depth, simply the look, always the look; whereby he knew
that no story of man was there, and not the shyest of remote responsive
invitations from Nature’s wakened and detected rogue. The bed of an
unmarried young woman’s eye yields her secret of past and present to the
intrepid diver, if he can get his plunge; he holds her for the tenth of
a minute, that is the revealment. Jewel or oyster-shell, it is ours. She
cannot withhold it, he knew right well. This girl, then, was, he could
believe, one of the rarely exampled innocent in knowledge. He was
practised to judge.
Invitation or challenge or response from the handsomest he would have
scorned just then. His native devilry suffered a stir at sight of
an innocent in knowledge and spotless after experiences. By a sudden
singular twist, rather unfairly, naturally, as it happened, he
attributed it to an influence issuing from her mistress, to whom the
girl was devoted, whom consequently she copied; might physically, and
also morally, at a distance, resemble.
‘Well, you’ve been a faithful servant to your lady, my dear; I hope
you’ll be comfortable here,’ he said. ‘She likes the mountains.’
‘My lady would be quite contented if she could pass two months of the
year in the mountains,’ Madge answered.
‘Look at me. They say people living together get a likeness to one
another. What’s your opinion? Upon my word, your eyebrows remind me,
though they’re not the colour--they have a bend!’
‘You’ve seen my lady in danger, my lord.’
‘Yes; well, there ‘s no one to resemble her there, she has her
mark--kind of superhuman business. We’re none of us “fifty feet high,
with phosphorus heads,” as your friend Mr. Gower Woodseer says of the
prodigiosities. Lady Fleetwood is back--when?’
‘Before dark, she should be.’
He ran up the steps to the house.
At Lekkatts beneath Croridge a lean midday meal was being finished hard
on the commencement by a silent company of three. When eating is choking
to the younger members of the repast, bread and cold mutton-bone serve
the turn as conclusively as the Frenchman’s buffet-dishes. Carinthia’s
face of unshed tears dashed what small appetite Chillon had. Lord
Levellier plied his fork in his right hand ruminating, his back an arch
across his plate.
Riddles to the thwarted young, these old people will not consent to be
read by sensations. Carinthia watched his jaws at their work of eating
under his victim’s eye-knowing Chillon to be no longer an officer in
the English service; knowing that her beloved had sold out for the mere
money to pay debts and support his Henrietta; knowing, as he must know,
that Chillon’s act struck a knife to pierce his mother’s breast through
her coffin-boards! This old man could eat, and he could withhold the
means due to his dead sister’s son. Could he look on Chillon and not
feel that the mother’s heart was beating in her son’s fortunes? Half the
money due to Chillon would have saved him from ruin.
Lord Levellier laid his fork on the plate. He munched his grievance with
his bit of meat. The nephew and niece here present feeding on him were
not so considerate as the Welsh gentleman, a total stranger, who had
walked up to Lekkatts with the Countess of Fleetwood, and expressed the
preference to feed at an inn. Relatives are cormorants.
His fork on his plate released the couple. Barely half a dozen words,
before the sitting to that niggard restoration, had informed Carinthia
of the step taken by her brother. She beckoned him to follow her.
‘The worst is done now, Chillon. I am silent. Uncle is a rock. You say
we must not offend. I have given him my whole mind. Say where Riette is
to live.’
‘Her headquarters will be here, at a furnished house. She’s, with her
cousin, the Dowager.’
‘Yes. She should be with me.’
‘She wants music. She wants--poor girl! let her have what comes to her.’
Their thoughts beneath their speech were like fish darting under shadow
of the traffic bridge.
‘She loves music,’ said Carinthia; ‘it is almost life to her, like fresh
air to me. Next month I am in London; Lady Arpington is kind. She will
give me as much of their polish as I can take. I dare say I should feel
the need of it if I were an enlightened person.’
‘For instance, did I hear “Owain,” when your Welsh friend was leaving?’
Chillon asked.
‘It was his dying wife’s wish, brother.’
‘Keep to the rules, dear.’
‘They have been broken, Chillon.’
‘Mend them.’
‘That would be a step backward.’
‘“The right one for defence!” father says.’
‘Father says, “The habit of the defensive paralyzes will.”’
‘“Womanizes,” he says, Carin. You quote him falsely, to shield the sex.
Quite right. But my sister must not be tricky. Keep to the rules. You’re
an exceptional woman, and it would be a good argument, if you were not
in an exceptional position.’
‘Owain is the exceptional man, brother.’
‘My dear, after all, you have a husband.’
‘I have a brother, I have a friend, I have no--I am a man’s wife and the
mother of his child; I am free, or husband would mean dungeon. Does my
brother want an oath from me? That I can give him.’
‘Conduct, yes; I couldn’t doubt you,’ said Chillon. ‘But “the world’s a
flood at a dyke for women, and they must keep watch,” you’ve read.’
‘But Owain is not our enemy,’ said Carinthia, in her deeper tones,
expressive of conviction, and not thereby assuring to hear. ‘He is a man
with men, a child with women. His Rebecca could describe him; I laugh
now at some of her sayings of him; I see her mouth, so tenderly comical
over her big “simpleton,” she called him, and loved him so.’
The gentleman appeared on the waste land above the house. His very loose
black suit and a peculiar roll of his gait likened him to a mourning
boatswain who was jolly. In Lord Levellier’s workshop his remarks were
to the point. Chillon’s powders for guns and blasting interested him,
and he proposed to ride over from Barlings to witness a test of them.
‘You are staying at Barlings?’ Chillon said.
‘Yes; now Carinthia is at Esslemont,’ he replied, astoundingly the
simpleton.
His conversation was practical and shrewd on the walk with Chillon
and Carinthia down to Esslemont evidently he was a man well armed to
encounter the world; social usages might be taught him. Chillon gained
a round view of the worthy simple fellow, unlikely to turn out
impracticable, for he talked such good sense upon matters of business.
Carinthia saw her brother tickled and interested. A feather moved her.
Full of tears though she was, her, heart lay open to the heavens and
their kind, small, wholesome gifts. Her happiness in the walk with her
brother and her friend--the pair of them united by her companionship,
both of them showing they counted her their comrade--was the nearest to
the radiant day before she landed on an island, and imagined happiness
grew here, and found it to be gilt thorns, loud mockery. A shaving
North-easter tore the scream from hedges and the roar from copses under
a faceless breadth of sky, and she said, as they turned into Esslemont
Park lane: ‘We have had one of our old walks to-day, Chillon!’
‘You used to walk together long walks over in your own country,’ said
Mr. Wythan.
‘Yes, Owain, we did, and my brother never knew me tired.’
‘Never knew you confess to it,’ said Chillon, as he swallowed the name
on her lips.
‘Walking was flying over there, brother.’
‘Say once or twice in Wales, too,’ Mr. Wythan begged of her.
‘Wales reminded. Yes,.. Owain, I shall not forget Wales, Welsh people.
Mr. Woodseer says they have the three-stringed harp in their breasts,
and one string is always humming, whether you pull it or no.’
‘That ‘s love of country! that ‘s their love of wild Wales, Carinthia.’
There was a quiet interrogation in Chillon’s turn of the head at this
fervent simpleton.
‘I love them for that hum,’ said she. ‘It joins one in me.’
‘Call to them any day, they are up, ready to march!’
‘Oh, dear souls!’ Carinthia said.
Her breath drew in.
The three were dumb. They saw Lord Fleetwood standing in the park
gateway.