The nuptial couch is not always a bed of roses, and so the young
incumbent of Hartwood found out after a time. Not that it was all the
fault of his newly-married spouse. Laura loved him in her languid way,
and would have endeavoured to make his home happy if she had been left
to herself; but the old campaigner stood in the gap: she had became
Herbert Pringle's _bete noir_.
Shortly after the happy pair came back from their honeymoon to the
parsonage, Lady Inskip made a proposition, which by dint of judicious
manoeuvring she managed to carry into operation. Now that her eldest
daughter was married, and Carry, "the bold, ungrateful girl," had left
her in that scandalous manner, there was no need for her to keep up any
longer a special establishment as she had formerly done. She only had
her darling boy, Mortimer, now to care for, and Laburnum Cottage would
be too big for herself and him only. She suggested to her dear, kind,
clever son-in-law what she would do. She would give up the cottage--her
time would be out on Lady-day, and it did not want such a very long time
now to that date, and come and live at the parsonage with her
affectionate children. Nothing could be better! Of course she would
insist on paying her share of the housekeeping expenses; but then she
did eat so very little; that would be of little count. Would not her
dear Herbert and Laura--she put it to them--welcome her? She was such a
good manager, and they were so ignorant of the world.
"Of course, dear ma!" said Laura. "That will be so nice; and then I
should not have any trouble with the house and that horrid cookery book.
I hate it! I wish Soyer had never been born. I'm sure I cannot make
head or tail of all his `economical dishes,' as he calls them."
"Certainly, my love!" responded the campaigner with alacrity. It was
wonderful how very sweet and affectionate she could be when she had any
point to gain. "I should take charge of all that off your hands, my
dear! It _would_ be hard if I could not be of use to my own children,
whom I only have left to care for."
"That'll be all right, ma, then?" said Laura, considering the matter
settled; but the campaigner was not so sure, for her son-in-law had not
made any response yet to the offer.
"What does Herbert say, my pet?" exclaimed the old general, playfully,
and looked the Rev. Herbert full in the face. "Will he turn his old
mother into the street, or--?"
"Oh! certainly, Lady Inskip, certainly!" promptly answered up the young
divine, confused at being appealed to. "That is, of course we'll be
glad to have you here for a time, and--"
"Oh! I see," interposed the campaigner, with a capital assumption of
offended pride and wounded feeling, "I should be intruding when I only
offered to come here and help my darling child. Oh! that I have lived
to hear this."
"Oh! ma," said Laura, "don't go on so. Herbert didn't mean anything of
the kind."
"That I have lived to see this day!" repeated the campaigner, with
solemn emphasis, and looking as if she were going to cry; however as she
was seldom given to lachrymals, tears did not come so readily as would
have now suited her purpose, but she twisted up her eyes, nevertheless,
and sniffed ominously.
"Pray don't say so, ma! Don't say so! Say something, Herbert, to her,
and don't be so unfeeling!" eagerly ejaculated Laura, turning to her
husband, who did not know what to say. He certainly had hoped that he
and his wife could have lived together without the services of his
honoured mother-in-law, the lady in her own right; but what could he do?
Here was she asking, and Laura urging it; and he was a single man
against two energetic females. He was helpless, although he wished to
do battle on his sister Lizzie's behalf, being certain that she and the
campaigner would not get on well together. He was driven to the wall,
however, for Laura had called on him to say something, and he must
speak!
"Certainly, Lady Inskip, certainly!" he began. "That is, I mean to say,
we will be most happy, Laura, and myself, to have you to live with us.
Delighted, I'm sure; and Laura can make all the arrangements; but if
there's anything you want me to see to, you have only to ask. That's
all, and--and--"
"You dear, impulsive creature," interrupted the campaigner; "you are so
good. I thought you did not mean to be unkind; but my feelings have
been so lacerated of late that a very little affects me now." The
campaigner spoke of a very little affecting her as if she were alluding
to the imbibition of gin, or some other stimulant. "And so _that's_ all
arranged, and I can give up the cottage at once. It will be delightful
to live here altogether; just like the happy family, won't it?"
"Quite so, Lady Inskip, quite so!" responded the Reverend Herbert; but
he did not speak cheerfully, and I fear he had other views in his own
mind of what a "happy family" arrangement might be.
"Charming, ma!" chorused Laura. "We'll see about making the
arrangements at once, in order to prevent you from changing your mind."
The incumbent's wife need not, however, have been under any anxiety on
that score: the campaigner knew very well when she had made a bargain,
and she was not going to back out of it.
"I must send the darling boy Mortimer to school, however. It will be so
sad parting with him, but it must be done. It would never do to have
him here, would it?"
And she looked inquiringly at her son-in-law.
Pringle had sundry experiences of the darling boy's tractable
disposition, and was rather disinclined in being so intimately
associated with the young hopeful, so he combatted the point.
"You're quite right, Lady Inskip. He'd better be sent to school; not
that I'd have any objections to his coming here, but then--"
"Yes," sighed the campaigner, "I suppose he must go; it would be too
much to ask."
"Oh! have him here, ma. Don't send him to school, poor little fellow!
Herbert won't mind, will you?" struck in Laura.
The incumbent was again doomed to defeat. He could refuse his young
wife nothing when she was so judiciously "backed up" by the campaigner.
"Oh! certainly not, Lady Inskip. Have him here by all means."
He gave in. He thought as the campaigner was coming the mischief was
done; and he would be equally willing now to receive all the rest of the
family; even Carry and her military husband, if it was suggested that
they should all be invited; and the green parrot, too, the Persian cats,
and all the other pets of My Lady's. He succumbed hopelessly, and was
thenceforth a pecked man.
I remember once coming across a little Oriental anecdote which lays
particular stress on the relations of connubial folk. Pity that Pringle
was not acquainted with it before he committed himself. The story runs
as follows:--Once upon a time a gay young fellow married the widow of a
great Khan--the scene is laid in Persia. On the wedding night the lady
determined to assert her authority, and show who was the real lord and
master. She accordingly treated her spouse with great contempt when he
entered the ante-room, where she was seated on rose-leaf cushions
caressing a large white cat, of which she pretended to be very fond
indeed. She appeared very much annoyed at her husband's entrance, and
looked at him out of the corners of her eyes with cold disdain as he
came in.
"I hate cats," observed the young husband, blandly, as if he were only
making a casual observation; "they offend my sight."
If his wife had looked at him with glances of cold disdain before, her
eyes now wore an expression of anger and contempt, such as no words can
express. She did not even deign to answer him, but took the cat to her
bosom and fondled it passionately: her whole heart seemed to be in the
cat, and cold was the shoulder that she turned to her husband.
"When any one offends me," continued her gallant, gaily, "I cut off his
head. It is a peculiarity of mine which I am sure will only make me
dearer to you."
Then, drawing his sword, he took the cat gently but firmly from her
arms, cut off its head, wiped the blade, sheathed it, and sitting down
continued to talk affectionately to his wife as if nothing had happened.
After which, says tradition, she became the best and most submissive
wife in the world.
A hen-pecked fellow, meeting him the next day as he rode with a gallant
train through the market place, began to condole with him.
"Ah!" said the hen-pecked one with deep feeling, "you, too, have taken a
wife, and got a tyrant. You had better have remained the poor soldier
that you were. I pity you from my very heart!"
"Not so," replied the other, jollily; "keep your sighs to cool yourself
next summer."
He then related the events of his wedding night with their satisfactory
results.
The hen-pecked man listened attentively, and pondered long.
"I also have a sword," said he, "though it is rusty, and my wife is
likewise fond of cats. I will cut off the head of my wife's favourite
cat at once."
He did so, and received a sound beating. His wife, moreover, made him
go down upon his knees and tell her what djinn, or evil spirit, had
prompted him to do the bloody deed.
"Fool!" said the lady, when she had possessed herself of the
hen-pecked's secret, with a vixenish vinegar smile on her sallow lips,
"you should have done it the first night!"