Lady Mary Palliser
It may as well be said at once that Mrs. Finn knew something of Lady
Mary which was not known to the father, and which she was not yet
prepared to make known to him. The last winter abroad had been passed
at Rome, and there Lady Mary Palliser had become acquainted with a
certain Mr. Tregear,--Francis Oliphant Tregear. The Duchess, who had
been in constant correspondence with her friend, had asked questions
by letter as to Mr. Tregear, of whom she had only known that he
was the younger son of a Cornish gentleman, who had become Lord
Silverbridge's friend at Oxford. In this there had certainly been but
little to recommend him to the intimacy of such a girl as Lady Mary
Palliser. Nor had the Duchess, when writing, ever spoken of him as a
probable suitor for her daughter's hand. She had never connected the
two names together. But Mrs. Finn had been clever enough to perceive
that the Duchess had become fond of Mr. Tregear, and would willingly
have heard something to his advantage. And she did hear something to
his advantage,--something also to his disadvantage. At his mother's
death this young man would inherit a property amounting to about
fifteen hundred a year. "And I am told," said Mrs. Finn, "that he is
quite likely to spend his money before it comes to him." There had
been nothing more written specially about Mr. Tregear; but Mrs. Finn
had feared not only that the young man loved the girl, but that the
young man's love had in some imprudent way been fostered by the
mother.
Then there had been some fitful confidence during those few days
of acute illness. Why should not the girl have the man if he were
lovable? And the Duchess referred to her own early days when she had
loved, and to the great ruin which had come upon her heart when she
had been severed from the man she had loved. "Not but that it has
been all for the best," she had said. "Not but that Plantagenet has
been to me all that a husband should be. Only if she can be spared
what I suffered, let her be spared." Even when these things had been
said to her, Mrs. Finn had found herself unable to ask questions.
She could not bring herself to inquire whether the girl had in truth
given her heart to this young Tregear. The one was nineteen and the
other as yet but two-and-twenty! But though she asked no questions
she almost knew that it must be so. And she knew also that the
father, as yet, was quite in the dark on the matter. How was it
possible that in such circumstances she should assume the part of the
girl's confidential friend and monitress? Were she to do so she must
immediately tell the father everything. In such a position no one
could be a better friend than Lady Cantrip, and Mrs. Finn had already
almost made up her mind that, should Lady Cantrip occupy the place,
she would tell her ladyship all that had passed between herself and
the Duchess on the subject.
Of what hopes she might have, or what fears, about her girl, the
Duchess had said no word to her husband. But when she had believed
that the things of the world were fading away from her, and when he
was sitting by her bedside,--dumb, because at such a moment he knew
not how to express the tenderness of his heart,--holding her hand,
and trying so to listen to her words, that he might collect and
remember every wish, she had murmured something about the ultimate
division of the great wealth with which she herself had been endowed.
"She had never," she said, "even tried to remember what arrangements
had been made by lawyers, but she hoped that Mary might be so
circumstanced, that if her happiness depended on marrying a poor
man, want of money need not prevent it." The Duke suspecting nothing,
believing this to be a not unnatural expression of maternal interest,
had assured her that Mary's fortune would be ample.
Mrs. Finn made the proposition to Lady Mary in respect to Lady
Cantrip's invitation. Lady Mary was very like her mother, especially
in having exactly her mother's tone of voice, her quick manner of
speech, and her sharp intelligence. She had also her mother's eyes,
large and round, and almost blue, full of life and full of courage,
eyes which never seemed to quail, and her mother's dark brown hair,
never long but very copious in its thickness. She was, however,
taller than her mother, and very much more graceful in her movement.
And she could already assume a personal dignity of manner which had
never been within her mother's reach. She had become aware of a
certain brusqueness of speech in her mother, a certain aptitude to
say sharp things without thinking whether the sharpness was becoming
to the position which she held, and, taking advantage of the example,
the girl had already learned that she might gain more than she would
lose by controlling her words.
"Papa wants me to go to Lady Cantrip," she said.
"I think he would like it,--just for the present, Lady Mary."
Though there had been the closest possible intimacy between the
Duchess and Mrs. Finn, this had hardly been so as to the intercourse
between Mrs. Finn and the children. Of Mrs. Finn it must be
acknowledged that she was, perhaps fastidiously, afraid of appearing
to take advantage of her friendship with the Duke's family. She would
tell herself that though circumstances had compelled her to be the
closest and nearest friend of a Duchess, still her natural place was
not among dukes and their children, and therefore in her intercourse
with the girl she did not at first assume the manner and bearing
which her position in the house would have seemed to warrant. Hence
the "Lady Mary."
"Why does he want to send me away, Mrs. Finn?"
"It is not that he wants to send you away, but that he thinks it will
be better for you to be with some friend. Here you must be so much
alone."
"Why don't you stay? But I suppose Mr. Finn wants you to be back in
London."
"It is not that only, or, to speak the truth, not that at all. Mr.
Finn could come here if it were suitable. Or for a week or two he
might do very well without me. But there are other reasons. There is
no one whom your mother respected more highly than Lady Cantrip."
"I never heard her speak a word of Lady Cantrip."
"Both he and she are your father's intimate friends."
"Does papa want to be--alone here?"
"It is you, not himself, of whom he is thinking."
"Therefore I must think of him, Mrs. Finn. I do not wish him to be
alone. I am sure it would be better that I should stay with him."
"He feels that it would not be well that you should live without the
companionship of some lady."
"Then let him find some lady. You would be the best, because he knows
you so well. I, however, am not afraid of being alone. I am sure he
ought not to be here quite by himself. If he bids me go, I must go,
and then of course I shall go where he sends me; but I won't say that
I think it best that I should go, and certainly I do not want to go
to Lady Cantrip." This she said with great decision, as though the
matter was one on which she had altogether made up her mind. Then she
added, in a lower voice: "Why doesn't papa speak to me about it?"
"He is thinking only of what may be best for you."
"It would be best for me to stay near him. Whom else has he got?"
All this Mrs. Finn repeated to the Duke as closely as she could, and
then of course the father was obliged to speak to his daughter.
"Don't send me away, papa," she said at once.
"Your life here, Mary, will be inexpressibly sad."
"It must be sad anywhere. I cannot go to college, like Gerald, or
live anywhere just as I please, like Silverbridge."
"Do you envy them that?"
"Sometimes, papa. Only I shall think more of poor mamma by being
alone, and I should like to be thinking of her always." He shook his
head mournfully. "I do not mean that I shall always be unhappy, as I
am now."
"No, my dear; you are too young for that. It is only the old who
suffer in that way."
"You will suffer less if I am with you; won't you, papa? I do not
want to go to Lady Cantrip. I hardly remember her at all."
"She is very good."
"Oh yes. That is what they used to say to mamma about Lady
Midlothian. Papa, pray do not send me to Lady Cantrip."
Of course it was decided that she should not go to Lady Cantrip at
once, or to Mrs. Jeffrey Palliser, and, after a short interval of
doubt, it was decided also that Mrs. Finn should remain at Matching
for at least a fortnight. The Duke declared that he would be glad
to see Mr. Finn, but she knew that in his present mood the society
of any one man to whom he would feel himself called upon to devote
his time, would be a burden to him, and she plainly said that Mr.
Finn had better not come to Matching at present. "There are old
associations," she said, "which will enable you to bear with me as
you will with your butler or your groom, but you are not as yet quite
able to make yourself happy with company." This he bore with perfect
equanimity, and then, as it were, handed over his daughter to Mrs.
Finn's care.
Very quickly there came to be close intimacy between Mrs. Finn
and Lady Mary. For a day or two the elder woman, though the place
she filled was one of absolute confidence, rather resisted than
encouraged the intimacy. She always remembered that the girl was the
daughter of a great duke, and that her position in the house had
sprung from circumstances which would not, perhaps, in the eyes of
the world at large, have recommended her for such friendship. She
knew--the reader may possibly know--that nothing had ever been
purer, nothing more disinterested than her friendship. But she knew
also,--no one knew better,--that the judgment of men and women
does not always run parallel with facts. She entertained, too, a
conviction in regard to herself, that hard words and hard judgments
were to be expected from the world,--were to be accepted by her
without any strong feeling of injustice,--because she had been
elevated by chance to the possession of more good things than she
had merited. She weighed all this with a very fine balance, and even
after the encouragement she had received from the Duke, was intent on
confining herself to some position about the girl inferior to that
which such a friend as Lady Cantrip might have occupied. But the
girl's manner, and the girl's speech about her own mother, overcame
her. It was the unintentional revelation of the Duchess's constant
reference to her,--the way in which Lady Mary would assert that
"Mamma used always to say this of you; mamma always knew that you
would think so and so; mamma used to say that you had told her." It
was the feeling thus conveyed, that the mother who was now dead had
in her daily dealings with her own child spoken of her as her nearest
friend, which mainly served to conquer the deference of manner which
she had assumed.
Then gradually there came confidences,--and at last absolute
confidence. The whole story about Mr. Tregear was told. Yes; she
loved Mr. Tregear. She had given him her heart, and had told him so.
"Then, my dear, your father ought to know it," said Mrs. Finn.
"No; not yet. Mamma knew it."
"Did she know all that you have told me?"
"Yes; all. And Mr. Tregear spoke to her, and she said that papa ought
not to be told quite yet."
Mrs. Finn could not but remember that the friend she had lost was
not, among women, the one best able to give a girl good counsel in
such a crisis.
"Why not yet, dear?"
"Well, because--. It is very hard to explain. In the first place,
because Mr. Tregear himself does not wish it."
"That is a very bad reason; the worst in the world."
"Of course you will say so. Of course everybody would say so. But
when there is one person whom one loves better than all the rest,
for whom one would be ready to die, to whom one is determined that
everything shall be devoted, surely the wishes of a person so dear as
that ought to have weight."
"Not in persuading you to do that which is acknowledged to be wrong."
"What wrong? I am going to do nothing wrong."
"The very concealment of your love is wrong, after that love has been
not only given but declared. A girl's position in such matters is so
delicate, especially that of such a girl as you!"
"I know all about that," said Lady Mary, with something almost
approaching to scorn in her tone. "Of course I have to be--delicate.
I don't quite know what the word means. I am not a bit ashamed of
being in love with Mr. Tregear. He is a gentleman, highly educated,
very clever, of an old family,--older, I believe, than papa's. And he
is manly and handsome; just what a young man ought to be. Only he is
not rich."
"If he be all that you say, ought you not to trust your papa? If he
approve of it, he could give you money."
"Of course he must be told; but not now. He is nearly broken-hearted
about dear mamma. He could not bring himself to care about anything
of that kind at present. And then it is Mr. Tregear that should speak
to him first."
"Not now, Mary."
"How do you mean not now?"
"If you had a mother you would talk to her about it."
"Mamma knew."
"If she were still living she would tell your father."
"But she didn't tell him though she did know. She didn't mean to tell
him quite yet. She wanted to see Mr. Tregear here in England first.
Of course I shall do nothing till papa does know."
"You will not see him?"
"How can I see him here? He will not come here, if you mean that."
"You do not correspond with him?" Here for the first time the girl
blushed. "Oh, Mary, if you are writing to him your father ought to
know it."
"I have not written to him; but when he heard how ill poor mamma was,
then he wrote to me--twice. You may see his letters. It is all about
her. No one worshipped mamma as he did."
Gradually the whole story was told. These two young persons
considered themselves to be engaged, but had agreed that their
engagement should not be made known to the Duke till something had
occurred, or some time had arrived, as to which Mr. Tregear was to be
the judge. In Mrs. Finn's opinion nothing could be more unwise, and
she said much to induce the girl to confess everything to her father
at once. But in all her arguments she was opposed by the girl's
reference to her mother. "Mamma knew it." And it did certainly seem
to Mrs. Finn as though the mother had assented to this imprudent
concealment. When she endeavoured, in her own mind, to make excuse
for her friend, she felt almost sure that the Duchess, with all
her courage, had been afraid to propose to her husband that their
daughter should marry a commoner without an income. But in thinking
of all that, there could now be nothing gained. What ought she to
do--at once? The girl, in telling her, had exacted no promise of
secrecy, nor would she have given any such promise; but yet she did
not like the idea of telling the tale behind the girl's back. It was
evident that Lady Mary had considered herself to be safe in confiding
her story to her mother's old friend. Lady Mary no doubt had had her
confidences with her mother,--confidences from which it had been
intended by both that the father should be excluded; and now she
seemed naturally to expect that this new ally should look at this
great question as her mother had looked at it. The father had been
regarded as a great outside power, which could hardly be overcome,
but which might be evaded, or made inoperative by stratagem. It was
not that the daughter did not love him. She loved him and venerated
him highly,--the veneration perhaps being stronger than the love. The
Duchess, too, had loved him dearly,--more dearly in late years than
in her early life. But her husband to her had always been an outside
power which had in many cases to be evaded. Lady Mary, though she did
not express all this, evidently thought that in this new friend she
had found a woman whose wishes and aspirations for her would be those
which her mother had entertained.
But Mrs. Finn was much troubled in her mind, thinking that it was her
duty to tell the story to the Duke. It was not only the daughter who
had trusted her, but the father also; and the father's confidence had
been not only the first but by far the holier of the two. And the
question was one so important to the girl's future happiness! There
could be no doubt that the peril of her present position was very
great.
"Mary," she said one morning, when the fortnight was nearly at an
end, "your father ought to know all this. I should feel that I had
betrayed him were I to go away leaving him in ignorance."
"You do not mean to say that you will tell?" said the girl, horrified
at the idea of such treachery.
"I wish that I could induce you to do so. Every day that he is kept
in the dark is an injury to you."
"I am doing nothing. What harm can come? It is not as though I were
seeing him every day."
"This harm will come; your father of course will know that you became
engaged to Mr. Tregear in Italy, and that a fact so important to him
has been kept back from him."
"If there is anything in that, the evil has been done already. Of
course poor mamma did mean to tell him."
"She cannot tell him now, and therefore you ought to do what she
would have done."
"I cannot break my promise to him." "Him" always meant Mr. Tregear.
"I have told him that I would not do so till I had his consent, and I
will not."
This was very dreadful to Mrs. Finn, and yet she was most unwilling
to take upon herself the part of a stern elder, and declare that
under the circumstances she must tell the tale. The story had been
told to her under the supposition that she was not a stern elder,
that she was regarded as the special friend of the dear mother who
was gone, that she might be trusted to assist against the terrible
weight of parental authority. She could not endure to be regarded at
once as a traitor by this young friend who had sweetly inherited the
affection with which the Duchess had regarded her. And yet if she
were to be silent how could she forgive herself? "The Duke certainly
ought to know at once," said she, repeating her words merely that she
might gain some time for thinking, and pluck up courage to declare
her purpose, should she resolve on betraying the secret.
"If you tell him now, I will never forgive you," said Lady Mary.
"I am bound in honour to see that your father knows a thing which is
of such vital importance to him and to you. Having heard all this
I have no right to keep it from him. If Mr. Tregear really loves
you"--Lady Mary smiled at the doubt implied by this suggestion--"he
ought to feel that for your sake there should be no secret from your
father." Then she paused a moment to think. "Will you let me see Mr.
Tregear myself, and talk to him about it?"
To this Lady Mary at first demurred, but when she found that in no
other way could she prevent Mrs. Finn from going at once to the
Duke and telling him everything, she consented. Under Mrs. Finn's
directions she wrote a note to her lover, which Mrs. Finn saw,
and then undertook to send it, with a letter from herself, to Mr.
Tregear's address in London. The note was very short, and was indeed
dictated by the elder lady, with some dispute, however, as to certain
terms, in which the younger lady had her way. It was as follows:
DEAREST FRANK,
I wish you to see Mrs. Finn, who, as you know, was dear
mamma's most particular friend. Please go to her, as she
will ask you to do. When you hear what she says I think
you ought to do what she advises.
Yours for ever and always,
M. P.
This Mrs. Finn sent enclosed in an envelope, with a few words from
herself, asking the gentleman to call upon her in Park Lane, on a day
and at an hour fixed.