At Richmond
The pity of it! The pity of it! It was thus that Lady Cantrip looked
at it. From what the girl's father had said to her she was disposed
to believe that the malady had gone deep with her. "All things go
deep with her," he had said. And she too from other sources had heard
something of this girl. She was afraid that it would go deep. It was
a thousand pities! Then she asked herself whether the marriage ought
to be regarded as impossible. The Duke had been very positive,--had
declared again and again that it was quite impossible, had so
expressed himself as to make her aware that he intended her to
understand that he would not yield whatever the sufferings of the
girl might be. But Lady Cantrip knew the world well and was aware
that in such matters daughters are apt to be stronger than their
fathers. He had declared Tregear to be a young man with very small
means, and intent on such pleasures as require great means for their
enjoyment. No worse character could be given to a gentleman who
had proposed himself as a son-in-law. But Lady Cantrip thought it
possible that the Duke might be mistaken in this. She had never seen
Mr. Tregear, but she fancied that she had heard his name, and that
the name had been connected with a character different from that
which the Duke had given him.
Lady Cantrip, who at this time was a young-looking woman, not much
above forty, had two daughters, both of whom were married. The
younger about a year since had become the wife of Lord Nidderdale, a
middle-aged young man who had been long about town, a cousin of the
late Duchess, the heir to a marquisate, and a Member of Parliament.
The marriage had not been considered to be very brilliant; but the
husband was himself good-natured and pleasant, and Lady Cantrip was
fond of him. In the first place she went to him for information.
"Oh yes, I know him. He's one of our set at the Beargarden."
"Not your set, now, I hope," she said laughing.
"Well;--I don't see so much of them as I used to do. Tregear is not a
bad fellow at all. He's always with Silverbridge. When Silverbridge
does what Tregear tells him, he goes along pretty straight. But
unfortunately there's another man called Tifto, and when Tifto is in
the ascendant then Silverbridge is apt to get a little astray."
"He's not in debt, then?"
"Who?--Tregear? I should think he's the last man in the world to owe
a penny to any one."
"Is he a betting man?"
"Oh dear no; quite the other way up. He's a severe, sarcastic,
bookish sort of fellow,--a chap who knows everything and turns up his
nose at people who know nothing."
"Has he got anything of his own?"
"Not much, I should say. If he had had any money he would have
married Lady Mab Grex last year."
Lady Cantrip was inclined from what she now learned to think that the
Duke must be wrong about the young man. But before Lady Mary joined
her she made further inquiry. She too knew Lady Mabel, and knowing
Lady Mabel, she knew Miss Cassewary. She contrived to find herself
alone with Miss Cassewary, and asked some further questions about Mr.
Tregear. "He is a cousin of my Lord's," said Miss Cass.
"So I thought. I wonder what sort of a young man he is. He is a good
deal with Lord Silverbridge."
Then Miss Cassewary spoke her opinion very plainly. "If Lord
Silverbridge had nobody worse about him than Mr. Tregear he would not
come to much harm."
"I suppose he's not very well off."
"No;--certainly not. He will have a property of some kind, I believe,
when his mother dies. I think very well of Mr. Tregear;--only I wish
that he had a profession. But why are you asking about him, Lady
Cantrip?"
"Nidderdale was talking to me about him and saying that he was
so much with Lord Silverbridge. Lord Silverbridge is going into
Parliament now, and, as it were, beginning the world, and it would
be a thousand pities that he should get into bad hands." It may,
however, be doubted whether Miss Cassewary was hoodwinked by this
little story.
Early in the second week in May the Duke brought his daughter up to
The Horns, and at the same time expressed his intention of remaining
in London. When he did so Lady Mary at once asked whether she might
not be with him,--but he would not permit it. The house in London
would, he said, be more gloomy even than Matching.
"I am quite ashamed of giving you so much trouble," Lady Mary said to
her new friend.
"We are delighted to have you, my dear."
"But I know that you have been obliged to leave London because I am
with you."
"There is nothing I like so much as this place, which your father has
been kind enough to lend us. As for London, there is nothing now to
make me like being there. Both my girls are married, and therefore I
regard myself as an old woman who has done her work. Don't you think
this place very much nicer than London at this time of the year?"
"I don't know London at all. I had only just been brought out when
poor mamma went abroad."
The life they led was very quiet, and must probably have been felt
to be dull by Lady Cantrip, in spite of her old age and desire
for retirement. But the place itself was very lovely. May of all
the months of the year is in England the most insidious, the most
dangerous, and the most inclement. A greatcoat cannot be endured,
and without a greatcoat who can endure a May wind and live? But of
all months it is the prettiest. The grasses are then the greenest,
and the young foliage of the trees, while it has all the glory and
all the colour of spring vegetation, does not hide the form of the
branches as do the heavy masses of the larger leaves which come in
the advancing summer. And of all villas near London The Horns was the
sweetest. The broad green lawn swept down to the very margin of the
Thames, which absolutely washed the fringe of grass when the tide
was high. And here, along the bank, was a row of flowering ashes,
the drooping boughs of which in places touched the water. It was
one of those spots which when they are first seen make the beholder
feel that to be able to live there and look at it always would be
happiness enough for life.
At the end of the week there came a visitor to see Lady Mary. A very
pretty carriage was driven up to the door of The Horns, and the
servant asked for Lady Mary Palliser. The owner of that carriage was
Mrs. Finn. Now it must be explained to the reader that there had
never been any friendship between Mrs. Finn and Lady Cantrip, though
the ladies had met each other. The great political intimacy which had
existed between the Duke and Lord Cantrip had created some intimacy
also between their wives. The Duchess and Lady Cantrip had been
friends,--after a fashion. But Mrs. Finn had never been cordially
accepted by those among whom Lady Cantrip chiefly lived. When
therefore the name was announced, the servant expressly stating that
the visitor had asked for Lady Mary, Lady Cantrip, who was with her
guest, had to bethink herself what she would do. The Duke, who was at
this time very full of wrath against Mrs. Finn, had not mentioned
this lady's name when delivering up the charge of his daughter to
Lady Cantrip. At this moment it occurred to her that not improbably
Mrs. Finn would cease to be included in the intimacies of the
Palliser family from the time of the death of the Duchess,--that the
Duke would not care to maintain the old relations, and that he would
be as little anxious to do it for his daughter as for himself. If so,
could it be right that Mrs. Finn should come down here, to a house
which was now in the occupation of a lady with whom she was not on
inviting terms, in order that she might thus force herself on the
Duke's daughter? Mrs. Finn had not left her carriage, but had sent in
to ask if Lady Mary could see her. In all this there was considerable
embarrassment. She looked round at her guest, who had at once risen
from her chair. "Would you wish to see her?" asked Lady Cantrip.
"Oh yes; certainly."
"Have you seen her since,--since you came home from Italy?"
"Oh dear, yes! She was down at Matching when poor mamma died. And
papa persuaded her to remain afterwards. Of course I will see her."
Then the servant was desired to ask Mrs. Finn to come in;--and while
this was being done Lady Cantrip retired.
Mrs. Finn embraced her young friend, and asked after her welfare, and
after the welfare of the house in which she was staying,--a house
with which Mrs. Finn herself had been well acquainted,--and said
half-a-dozen pretty little things in her own quiet pretty way, before
she spoke of the matter which had really brought her to The Horns on
that day.
"I have had a correspondence with your father, Mary."
"Indeed."
"And unfortunately one that has been far from agreeable to me."
"I am sorry for that, Mrs. Finn."
"So am I, very sorry. I may say with perfect truth that there is no
man in the world, except my own husband, for whom I feel so perfect
an esteem as I do for your father. If it were not that I do not like
to be carried away by strong language I would speak of more than
esteem. Through your dear mother I have watched his conduct closely,
and have come to think that there is perhaps no other man at the same
time so just and so patriotic. Now he is very angry with me,--and
most unjustly angry."
"Is it about me?"
"Yes;--it is about you. Had it not been altogether about you I would
not have troubled you."
"And about--?"
"Yes;--about Mr. Tregear also. When I tell you that there has been a
correspondence I must explain that I have written one long letter to
the Duke, and that in answer I have received a very short one. That
has been the whole correspondence. Here is your father's letter to
me." Then she brought out of her pocket a note, which Lady Mary
read,--covered with blushes as she did so. The note was as follows:
The Duke of Omnium understands from Mrs. Finn's letter
that Mrs. Finn, while she was the Duke's guest at
Matching, was aware of a certain circumstance affecting
the Duke's honour and happiness,--which circumstance she
certainly did not communicate to the Duke. The Duke thinks
that the trust which had been placed in Mrs. Finn should
have made such a communication imperative. The Duke feels
that no further correspondence between himself and Mrs.
Finn on the matter could lead to any good result.
"Do you understand it?" asked Mrs. Finn.
"I think so."
"It simply means this,--that when at Matching he had thought me
worthy of having for a time the charge of you and of your welfare,
that he had trusted me, who was the friend of your dear mother,
to take for a time in regard to you the place which had been so
unhappily left vacant by her death; and it means also that I deceived
him and betrayed that trust by being privy to an engagement on your
part, of which he disapproves, and of which he was not then aware."
"I suppose he does mean that."
"Yes, Lady Mary; that is what he means. And he means further to let
me know that as I did so foully betray the trust which he had placed
in me,--that as I had consented to play the part of assistant to you
in that secret engagement,--therefore he casts me off as altogether
unworthy of his esteem and acquaintance. It is as though he had told
me in so many words that among women he had known none more vile or
more false than I."
"Not that, Mrs. Finn."
"Yes, that;--all of that. He tells me that, and then says that there
shall be no more words spoken or written about it. I can hardly
submit to so stern a judgment. You know the truth, Lady Mary."
"Do not call me Lady Mary. Do not quarrel with me."
"If your father has quarrelled with me, it would not be fit that you
and I should be friends. Your duty to him would forbid it. I should
not have come to you now did I not feel that I am bound to justify
myself. The thing of which I am accused is so repugnant to me, that
I am obliged to do something and to say something, even though the
subject itself be one on which I would so willingly be silent."
"What can I do, Mrs. Finn?"
"It was Mr. Tregear who first told me that your father was angry with
me. He knew what I had done and why, and he was bound to tell me in
order that I might have an opportunity of setting myself right with
the Duke. Then I wrote and explained everything,--how you had told
me of the engagement, and how I had then urged Mr. Tregear that he
should not keep such a matter secret from your father. In answer to
my letter I have received--that."
"Shall I write and tell papa?"
"He should be made to understand that from the moment in which I
heard of the engagement I was urgent with you and with Mr. Tregear
that he should be informed of it. You will remember what passed."
"I remember it all."
"I did not conceive it to be my duty to tell the Duke myself, but I
did conceive it to be my duty to see he should be told. Now he writes
as though I had known the secret from the first, and as though I had
been concealing it from him at the very moment in which he was asking
me to remain at Matching on your behalf. That I consider to be
hard,--and unjust. I cannot deny what he says. I did know of it while
I was at Matching, for it was at Matching that you told me. But he
implies that I knew it before. When you told me your story I did feel
that it was my duty to see that the matter was not kept longer from
him;--and I did my duty. Now your father takes upon himself to rebuke
me,--and takes upon himself at the same time to forbid me to write to
him again!"
"I will tell him all, Mrs. Finn."
"Let him understand this. I do not wish to write to him again. After
what has passed I cannot say I wish to see him again. But I think he
should acknowledge to me that he has been mistaken. He need not then
fear that I shall trouble him with any reply. But I shall know that
he has acquitted me of a fault of which I cannot bear to think I
should be accused." Then she took a somewhat formal though still an
affectionate farewell of the girl.
"I want to see papa as soon as possible," said Lady Mary when she was
again with Lady Cantrip. The reason for her wish was soon given, and
then the whole story told. "You do not think that she should have
gone to papa at once?" Lady Mary asked. It was a point of moral law
on which the elder woman, who had had girls of her own, found it hard
to give an immediate answer. It certainly is expedient that parents
should know at once of any engagement by which their daughters may
seek to contract themselves. It is expedient that they should be able
to prevent any secret contracts. Lady Cantrip felt strongly that
Mrs. Finn having accepted the confidential charge of the daughter
could not, without gross betrayal of trust, allow herself to be the
depositary of such a secret. "But she did not allow herself," said
Lady Mary, pleading for her friend.
"But she left the house without telling him, my dear."
"But it was because of what she did that he was told."
"That is true; but I doubt whether she should have left him an hour
in ignorance."
"But it was I who told her. She would have betrayed me."
"She was not a fit recipient for your confidence, Mary. But I do not
wish to accuse her. She seems to be a high-minded woman, and I think
that your papa has been hard upon her."
"And mamma knew it always," said Mary. To this Lady Cantrip could
give no answer. Whatever cause for anger the Duke might have against
Mrs. Finn, there had been cause for much more against his wife. But
she had freed herself from all accusation by death.
Lady Mary wrote to her father, declaring that she was most
particularly anxious to see him and talk to him about Mrs. Finn.