The profoundest of the many wounds inflicted upon Lord Lindores, at this
terrible period of his life, was that which he thus received at the
hands of Rintoul: it was so altogether unexpected, so unlike anything
that he had imagined of his son, so sudden, that it took away his
breath. For the first moment he could not speak in the bitterness of his
disappointment and outraged expectations. Rintoul had always been the
strictly reasonable member of his family,--he had never given in to any
sentimental nonsense. His reasoning had all been upon substantial data,
and led to distinct conclusions. He had not looked at things in any
visionary way, but as they were contemplated by the world in general.
From the point of view of personal advantage and family progress,
nothing could have been more judicious or sound than his opinions in
respect to Carry and Edith. He had supported the Tinto marriage (which
had on the whole turned out so well, better than could have been
hoped--the man, the only objectionable feature in it, being now dead and
out of the way, and all the substantial advantages secured) quietly but
firmly. He had been very earnest about Millefleurs. It was no fault of
his if that arrangement had proved unsuccessful. In all these concerns,
Lord Lindores had found his son his right hand, supporting him steadily.
He could not help reminding him of this now, after the first outburst of
his wrath and mortification. "You," he said at length, "Rintoul! I have
been prepared for folly on the part of your sisters, but I have always
felt I had a tower of strength in you."
"There is no difference in me," said Rintoul,--"I should be just as
ready to back you up about the girls as ever I was; but if you will
recollect, I never said a word about myself. I consider it as our duty
to look after the girls. For one thing, they are not so well qualified
to judge for themselves. They see things all from one side. They don't
know the world. I wouldn't let them sacrifice their prospects to a bit
of silly sentiment; but I never said a word about myself. That's
different. A man has a right to please himself as to who he's going to
marry, if he marries at all. Most fellows don't marry at all--at least
it's usual to say so; I don't know that it's true. If you'll remember,
when you spoke to me of Lady Reseda, I never said anything one way or
another. I have never committed myself. It has always been my
determination in this respect to take my own way."
Lord Lindores was subdued by this calm speech. He was almost cowed by
it. It was very different from Carry's tears, and even from Edith's
impassioned defiance. Rintoul knew perfectly well what he was about.
There was no excitement to speak of in his steady confidence in his own
power. And his father knew very well that there was nothing to be done.
A family scandal might indeed be made: a breach in their relations,--a
quarrel which would amuse the world. He might withdraw Rintoul's
allowance, or refuse to increase it, but this, though vexatious, was not
in any way final; for the estates were all strictly entailed, and his
heir would have little difficulty in procuring what money he needed. It
was like fighting against a rock to struggle with Rintoul. When their
father worked himself up into a rage, and launched sharp phrases at the
girls, bitter cuts and slashes of satire and fierce denunciations, these
weapons cut into their tender flesh like knives, and they writhed upon
the point of the paternal spear. But Rintoul did not care. A certain
amount of vituperation was inevitable, he knew, and he did not mind it.
His father might "slang" him as much as he pleased; fierce words break
no bones, and he knew exactly how far it could go. Lord Lindores also
knew this, and it had the most curious composing and subduing effect
upon him. What is the use of being angry, when the object of your anger
does not care for it? There is no such conqueror of passion. If nobody
cared, the hastiest temper would learn to amend itself. Lord Lindores
was aware that Rintoul would hear him out to the end,--that he would
never, so to speak, turn a hair,--that he would reply with perfect
coolness, and remain entirely unmoved. It would be like kicking against
a blank wall,--a child's foolish instinctive paroxysm of passion.
Therefore he was not violent with Rintoul, nor sharply satirical, except
by moments. He did not appeal to his feelings, nor stand upon his own
authority. If indeed he could not keep his exasperation out of his
voice, nor conceal his annoyance, he did this only because he could not
help it, not with any idea of influencing Rintoul. But it was indeed a
very serious blow which he had received,--the most telling of all.
"After this," he said, "why should I go on struggling? What advantage
will it be to me to change Lindores into a British peerage? I could not
enjoy it long in the course of nature, nor could I afford to enjoy it.
And as for my son, he will have enough to do to get bread and butter for
his numerous family. A season in town, and a seat in the House of Lords,
will after this be perfectly out of the question."
"I suppose it's just as likely as not that the House of Lords will be
abolished before my time," said Rintoul calmly,--"at least they say
so."
"They say d----d nonsense, sir," cried the earl, touched at his
tenderest point. "The House of Lords will outlive you and half a hundred
like you. They don't know Englishmen who say so. I had hoped to see my
family advancing in power and influence. Here was poor Torrance's death,
for instance, coming in providentially to make up for Edith's folly
about Millefleurs." Here Lord Lindores made a little pause and looked at
his son. He had, beyond expectation, made, he thought, an impression
upon him. "Ah," he said, "I see, you forgot the Tinto influence. You
thought it was all up with my claims when Millefleurs slipped through
our fingers. On the contrary, I never felt so like attaining my point as
now."
"That is not what I was thinking, father," said Rintoul in a slightly
broken voice. He had risen from his chair and walked to the window, and
stood there, keeping his face averted as he spoke. "I cannot tell you,"
he said more earnestly, "the effect it has upon me when you speak of
getting an advantage from--what has happened. Somehow it makes my blood
run cold. I'd rather lose everything I have than profit by
that--accident. I can't bear the idea. Besides," he added, recovering
himself, "I wouldn't build so upon it if I were you. It's all in
Carry's hand, and Carry will like to have things her own way."
"This exhibition of sentiment in respect to Pat Torrance takes me
altogether by surprise," said Lord Lindores. "I was not aware you had
any such friendship for him. And as to Carry. Pooh! Carry has not got a
way of her own."
This subject, though it was so painful to Rintoul, brought the
conversation to an easier level. But when the young man had left him,
Lord Lindores remained for a long time silent, with his head in his
hands, and a bitterness of disappointment pervading his mind, which, if
it had not a very exalted cause, was still as keen as any tragedy could
require. He had let things go much as they would before he came to his
kingdom; but when Providence, with that strange sweep of all that stood
before him, had cleared his way to greatness, he had sworn to himself
that his children should all be made instrumental in bringing the old
house out of its humble estate--that they should every one add a new
honour to Lindores. Now he said to himself bitterly that it would have
been as well if his brothers had lived,--if he had never known the
thorns that stud a coronet. What had the family gained? His son would
have been quite good enough for Nora Barrington if he had never been
more than Robin Lindores; and John Erskine would have been no great
match for his daughter, even in the old times. It would have been as
well for them if no change had come upon the fortunes of the family,--if
all had remained as when they were born. When he thought of it, there
was a moment when he could have gnashed his teeth with rage and
mortification. To have sworn like a trooper or wept like a woman, would
have been some relief to his feelings; or even to clench his hands and
his teeth, and stamp about the floor like a baffled villain on the
stage. But he did not dare to relieve himself by any of these
safety-valves of nature. He was too much afraid of himself to be
melodramatic or hysterical. He sat and gnawed his nails, and devoured
his own heart. His house seemed to be tumbling about his ears like a
house of cards. Why should he take any further trouble about it? Neither
money nor importance, nothing but love, save the mark! idiocy--the
passing fancy of boys and girls. Probably they would all hate each other
in a year or two, and then they would understand what their folly had
done for them. He thought of this with a vindictive pleasure; but even
of that indifferent satisfaction he could not be sure.
Meanwhile there was, as may easily be supposed, the greatest excitement
in the house. Rintoul told his mother and sister, and was half angered
by their sympathy. Edith, who was herself in great agitation, received
the intimation with delight; but this delight was quite distasteful to
her brother, who stopped her by a wrathful request to her not to think
this was a nonsensical affair like her own. "I know what I'm about; but
as for you, it is just a piece of idiocy," he said: at which poor Edith,
aghast, retired into herself, wounded beyond description by this
rejection of her sympathy. Having thus snubbed his sister, he defied the
alarmed surprise and tempered disapprobation with which his mother heard
his story. "I know that you were never a very great friend to Nora," he
said. "I suppose when another girl cuts out your own, you can't be
expected to be quite just. But my father and I understand each other,"
said Rintoul. He went out after having thus mowed down the ranks on
either side of him, in a not uncomfortable frame of mind, carrying with
him, in order to post it with his own hand, the letter to Colonel
Barrington, which he had informed his father had been written on the
previous day. And this was quite true; but having written it, Rintoul
had carefully reserved it till after his interview with his father. Had
Lord Lindores been very violent, probably Colonel Barrington would not
have had his letter; not that Rintoul would have given Nora up, but that
he had, like most wise men, a strong faith in postponement. Wait a
little and things will come right, was one of the chief articles of his
creed; but as Lord Lindores--kept down by the certainty that there was
very little to be made of Rintoul except by giving him his own way--had
not been violent, the letter went without delay.
Thus, as it sometimes happens, the worst of the family misfortunes was
the one that was condoned most easily; for certainly, in the matrimonial
way, Rintoul's failure was the worst. Daughters come and daughters
go--sometimes they add to the family prestige, sometimes they do the
reverse; but at all events, they go, and add themselves to other
families, and cease to be of primary importance as concerns their own.
But the eldest son, the heir, is in a very different position. If he
does nothing to enrich the race, or add honour to it, the family stock
itself must suffer. Nora Barrington would bring some beauty with her to
Lindores; but not even beauty of an out-of-the-way kind--honest,
innocent, straightforward, simple beauty, but no more,--and no
connections to speak of; her uncle, the head of her family, being no
more than a Devonshire M.P. This was very sad to think of. Rintoul, in
his matter of fact way, felt it as much as any one. There were moments
even when he seemed to himself to have been unfairly dealt with by
Providence. He had not gone out of his way to seek this girl,--she had
been put down before him; and it was hard that it should have so
happened that one so little eligible should have been the one to catch
his heart. But to do him justice, his heart being caught, he made no
material resistance. He was entirely steadfast and faithful to his own
happiness, which was involved. But it did not occur to him as it might
have done to a feebler mind, that he was in any way disabled from
opposing the unambitious match of his sister in consequence of the
similar character of his own. He held to his formula with all the
solidity of judgment which he had always shown. When his mother pointed
out to him his inconsistency, he refused to see any inconsistency in it.
"I never would, and never did, say anything as to myself. I never meant
to give up my own freedom. The girls--that's quite different. It was
your duty and my duty to do the best we could for the girls. I say now,
a stop should be put to Edith. Erskine's a gentleman, but that's all you
can say. She will never be anybody if she marries him; whereas, if she
had not been a fool, what a far better thing for her to have had
Millefleurs. I should put a stop to it without thinking twice; and I
can't imagine what my father means not to do it." This was Rintoul's
opinion upon his sister's affairs.
"And supposing Colonel Barrington had been of the same opinion in
respect to Nora?" Lady Lindores said.
"In respect to Nora? I consider," said Rintoul, "that Nora is doing very
well for herself. We are not rich, but the title always counts. A
fellow can't shut his eyes. I know very well that there are a good many
places where I--shouldn't have been turned away: though you don't think
very much of me, mother. Colonel Barrington is not a fool; he knows Nora
couldn't have been expected to do better. You see cleverness is not
everything, mamma."
"I think you are very clever, Robin," his mother said, with a smile and
a sigh--a sigh of wonder that _her_ son (always such a mystery to a
woman) should feel and talk and think so unlike herself; a smile that he
should be so much justified in doing so, so successful in it. Both the
smile and the sigh were full of wonder and of pain. But she was
comforted to think that Rintoul at least was capable of something
heavenly--of true love and disinterested affection. That was something,
that was much, in the dearth of fame.
Thus Rintoul's marriage was consented to, while Edith's was first
peremptorily denied, then grudgingly entertained, and made the subject
of delays and procrastinations enough to have wearied out any pair of
lovers. But they had various consolations and helps to support them, the
chief of which was that they lived so near each other, and were able to
meet often, and talk over in infinite detail every step that was taken,
and all the objections seen by others, and all the exquisite reasons in
favour of their love which were known to themselves. And Lady Lindores
was from the first upon their side, though she respected her husband's
unwillingness to bestow his daughter so humbly. Carry was to her mother
a standing admonition against any further weakness on this point. In
every word and step by which the young widow showed her thankfulness for
her deliverance, she struck with horror the fine sense of fitness and
reverence which was in her mother's mind. Lady Lindores had not been
false in the sentiments of pity and remorseful regret with which she had
heard of the death of Torrance. There are some souls which are so finely
poised that they cannot but answer to every natural claim, even when
against themselves. Had she been Torrance's wife, all the privileges of
freedom would not have emancipated her from that compassion for the man
struck down in the midst of his life, which took almost the shape of
tenderness and sorrow. And when Carry exulted, it gave her mother a pang
with which her whole being shivered. God forbid that she should ever be
instrumental in placing another creature in such a position as Carry's!
She stood very gently but very firmly against her husband on Edith's
behalf. She would not consent to interfere with the love and choice of
her child.
Carry adopted her sister's cause with a still warmer devotion. She
promised her support, her help in every possible manner, would have
sanctioned an instant rebellious marriage, and settled half of her own
large jointure upon Edith to justify the step, if she could have had her
own way, and would scarcely listen to the suggestions of prudence. This
nervous partisanship was not of any great advantage to the lovers, but
still it gave them the consolation of sympathy. And by-and-by the whole
county became aware of the struggle, and took sides with the warmest
feeling. Old Sir James Montgomery, as everybody knows, had entertained
other views; but when he heard of Nora's promotion, and of the position
of affairs in general, his kind old heart was greatly moved. He went off
instantly to talk over the matter with Miss Barbara Erskine at Dunearn,
from whose house Nora had just departed. "To think that this should have
been going on all the time, and you and me never the wiser," the old
General said,--"the little cutty! But no doubt they were left in great
tribulation as to what my lord the Earl's majesty would say."
"Young persons have a great notion of themselves nowadays," said Miss
Barbara; "they will not hear of advice from the like of you or me. Yet I
think Nora might have said a word to an old friend. I am getting blind
and doited. I never suspected anything. What my heart was set on was to
get her for my nephew John."
"Just that," said Sir James, nodding his head; "that was my own idea.
But you see John, he has chosen for himself--and a bonnie creature too,
if she is as good as she is bonny."
"I am not very fond of the family. What are they but strangers? My heart
is most warm to them that I know," said Miss Barbara. But this was a
very mild statement, and uttered with little vehemence, for Miss Barbara
was not insensible to the pleasure of having an earl's daughter in the
family. "There is no doubt about the beauty," she added, "and there's a
great deal of good in her, from all I hear."
"With those eyes ye may be sure there's no harm," said Sir James,
growing enthusiastic. "And I like the lad that had the sense to see what
was in my little Nora. She'll make a bonny countess, and I wish she was
here that I might give her a kiss and tell her so. But this Lady Edith
is a bonny creature too; and as for Lord Lindores himself, he's no
stranger, you know--he's just little Robby Lindores that both you and me
mind. The one that has raised a prejudice, I make no doubt, is just that
foreign wife of his----"
"She is not foreign that ever I heard----"
"Well, well--maybe not according to the letter; but she has foreign
ways, and without doubt it is her influence that has kept the family
from settling down as we had a right to expect. My Lady Rintoul will
set that right again. Bless me, who would have thought that little
Nora----But we must let by-gones be by-gones, Miss Barbara. We must just
stand up for the young couple, and defeat the machinations of the
foreign wife."
Sir James laughed at this fine sentence of his; but yet he meant it. And
even Miss Barbara agreed that this stranger woman was no doubt at the
bottom of the mischief. When Sir James departed, the old lady felt
herself nerved to a great exertion. By this time it was winter, and she
went out but seldom, the pony-chaise being a cold conveyance. But that
night she electrified her household by ordering the "carriage"--the old
carriage, never produced but on occasions of great solemnity--for the
next day. "Where will ye be going?" Janet asked, open-mouthed, after she
had got over the shock of the announcement. But her mistress did not
condescend to give her any answer. It was through Agnes, at a later
hour, that information descended upon the household. "Sae far as I can
make out, she is just going to Lindores to settle a' about thae two
marriages," Agnes said in great excitement. "What two marriages? Ye
think of nothing but marriages," said Janet. But nevertheless that
excellent person was as much excited as any one when the huge vehicle
drew up at the door next morning, and stood out in the rain to hear the
orders which were given to the coachman. Agnes, seated within in
attendance on her mistress, gave her a little nod with her eyelids, as
much as to say, Who's in the right now? "To Lindores." "Bless me!" said
Janet, "single women are aye so keen on that subject. They would ken
better if they had ever had a man o' their ain."
And indeed Miss Barbara's magnificent intention was to make a proposal
to Lord Lindores, which must, she could not doubt, make everything
smooth. Lord Lindores was a gentleman, and took pains not to show the
old lady, to whom the credit of the house of Dalrulzian was so dear,
that he did not think the Erskines good enough to mate with his family:
which was also a laudable exercise of discretion; for Miss Barbara was
very strong in dates, and knew when the earldom of Lindores was founded,
and who was the first of the family, as well as the exact period when
the Erskines were settled at Dalrulzian. Lord Lindores forbore, partly
out of good feeling, partly from alarm, and partly because Miss
Barbara's offer was not one to be refused. If it should so happen that
he might be compelled to give in, then the settlement upon Edith of Miss
Barbara's fortune would make a very distinct difference in the case. He
did not intend to give in, but still----The proposal was received with
great politeness at least. "There are many things to be taken into
consideration," he said. "I had other plans----You will excuse me if I
cannot give up my intentions in a moment, because two young people have
chosen to fall in love with each other----" "It is what we all have to
do, my lord," said Miss Barbara, who was old-fashioned, and gave every
man his title. "It is the only thing, in my experience, that it is
useless to fight against." Then Lord Lindores made her a fine bow, and
declared that this was a most appropriate sentiment from a lady's lips;
but a man must be excused if he took a graver view. There was a sharp
accent in his voice which not all his politeness could quite disguise.
"For my part," Miss Barbara said, "I have just had to swallow my own
disappointment, and think nothing of it; for what I had set my heart
upon was to wed my nephew John to Nora Barrington, that now it appears,
in the arrangements of Providence, is to be your lordship's
daughter-in-law, my Lady Rintoul." Lord Lindores jumped up at this as if
a knife had been put into him. He could scarcely trust himself to speak.
"I can't allow it to be an arrangement of Providence," he cried
bitterly, but recovered himself, and forced a smile upon his angry
countenance, and assured Miss Barbara that her proposal was most
generous. He gave her his arm to the drawing-room, in which Lady
Lindores and Edith were sitting, and withdrew, with his face drawn into
a certain wolfish expression which his wife was aware meant mischief,
but without betraying himself in speech. When he got back to his
library, he launched a private anathema at the "old witch" who had taken
it upon herself to interfere. But nevertheless, in Lord Lindores' mind
there arose the conviction that though he never would consent, yet if he
did----why, that Miss Barbara and her proposal were worth making a note
of: and he did so accordingly. Miss Barbara, on her part, left the
Castle half affronted, half mollified. She was angry that her proposal
did not settle everything in a moment; but she was touched by the
sweetness of Edith, and a little moved out of her prejudices in respect
to Lady Lindores. "She has no foreign accent," she said suddenly, in the
midst of the drive, to the astonishment of Agnes--"no more than any of
us. And she has none of that sneering way,--my lord yonder, he just
cannot contain himself for spite and illwill--but I cannot see it in
her. No doubt she's one of them that is everybody's body, and puts on a
fine show--but nothing from the heart."
Some time after this another incident, which had no small bearing upon
the story of one of these young pairs, occurred at Dalrulzian. Rintoul
had never concealed his opposition, but neither had it ever become a
subject of personal conflict between John Erskine and himself. He had
gone away after his own explanation, for time did not stand still while
these events were going on, and even a Guardsman has periods of duty.
Shortly after he returned to Lindores, some question about the
boundaries of the estates made it expedient that there should be formal
communications between the two houses. Rintoul undertook to be the
messenger. He had been with his regiment for the last two months, and he
had not inquired into local events. He was, therefore, not in the least
prepared for the sight that encountered him when he knocked at John
Erskine's door. It was opened to him by Rolls, in all the glory of
shining "blacks" and snowy neckcloth, as composed, as authoritative, as
fully in command of himself and everything about him, as he had ever
been. Rintoul, though he was a lord and a soldier and a fine fellow,
gave a jump backwards, which scattered the gravel on the path. "Good
lord, Rolls!" he cried. It was not an agreeable surprise. He had done
his best to forget Rolls, and he had succeeded. To have so many painful
associations thus recalled was unpleasant; and the sight of him, so
suddenly, without warning, an undeniable shock.
"Ay, my lord, it's just Rolls," said the butler, barring, as it were,
his entrance. Rolls regarded the young man with a stern air; and even
when Rintoul, recovering himself, began to express pleasure at his
return, and great interest in hearing how it was, the face of Rolls
remained unmoved. He changed his mind, however, about barring the
entrance, and slowly showed Rintoul into the vacant dining-room, which
he entered after him, shutting the door.
"I'll easy tell your lordship how I got out," he said; "but there's mair
pressing matter in hand. They tell me, my lord, that ye will not yield
to have my maister, John Erskine of Dalrulzian, for Lady Edith's man. I
would like to hear if that's true."
"It's a curious sort of question to ask," said Rintoul. "I might ask
what's that to you, Rolls?"
"Ay, so ye might--it would be just like you, my lord; but I do not think
it would be politic in all the circumstances. What for are you opposing
it? Ye're to marry Miss Nora, and get your ain will and pleasure. I wish
her much joy, poor thing, and strength of mind to bear a' that's before
her. What is your lordship's objection to my maister, if I may make so
bold as to ask?"
"You are not very complimentary," said Rintoul, growing red.
"No, I'm no' complimentary, my lord; it's no' my line. Will you tell me
what's set you against this marriage? for that is what I would like to
ken."
Rintoul tried to laugh, though it would have pleased him better to knock
his monitor down. "You must see, Rolls, that a thing like this is my
own concern," he said.
"It's my concern as well," said Rolls. "There's mair between you and me,
my lord, than I'm wanting to tell; but if I was in your lordship's
place, I would not rin counter to them that has proved themselves your
best friend----"
"Rolls! what are you doing here?" cried John Erskine, with amazement,
suddenly opening the door.
The countenance of Rolls was quite impassive. "I was giving my Lord
Rintoul an account of my marvellous deliverance out o' my prison, sir,"
he said, "and how it was thought I had suffered enough in my long wait
for the trial. And that was true. Much have I suffered, and many a
thought has gone through my head. I'm real ripened in my judgment, and
awfu' well acquaint with points o' law. But I hope I may never have
anything more ado with such subjects--if it be not upon very urgent
occasion," Rolls said. And he withdrew with a solemn bow to Rintoul, in
his usual methodical and important way.
Rintoul had come to see John Erskine upon a matter of business; but they
had never ceased to be friends--as good friends, that is, as they ever
had been. And the similarity of their situation no doubt awakened new
sympathies in their minds. At least, whatever was the cause, this
meeting did much to draw them together. It was now that Rintoul showed
to John the real good feeling that was in him. "I have not been on your
side, I confess," he said. "I have thought Edith might do better. I
don't hide it from you. But you need not fear that I will stand in your
way. I'm in the same box myself. My lord likes my affair just as little
as he likes yours. But of course if she sticks fast to you, as she'll
certainly do, what can he make of it? Everything must come right in the
end."