MARY'S SUCCESS.
IN this last chapter of our short story I will venture to run rapidly over
a few months so as to explain how the affairs of Bowick arranged
themselves up to the end of the current year. I cannot pretend that the
reader shall know, as he ought to be made to know, the future fate and
fortunes of our personages. They must be left still struggling. But then
is not such always in truth the case, even when the happy marriage has
been celebrated?--even when, in the course of two rapid years, two normal
children make their appearance to gladden the hearts of their parents?
Mr. and Mrs. Peacocke fell into their accustomed duties in the diminished
school, apparently without difficulty. As the Doctor had not sent those
ill-judged letters he of course received no replies, and was neither
troubled by further criticism nor consoled by praise as to his conduct.
Indeed, it almost seemed to him as though the thing, now that it was done,
excited less observation than it deserved. He heard no more of the
metropolitan press, and was surprised to find that the 'Broughton Gazette'
inserted only a very short paragraph, in which it stated that "they had
been given to understand that Mr. and Mrs. Peacocke had resumed their
usual duties at the Bowick School, after the performance of an interesting
ceremony in London, at which Dr. Wortle and Mr. Puddicombe had assisted."
The press, as far as the Doctor was aware, said nothing more on the
subject. And if remarks injurious to his conduct were made by the
Stantiloups and the Momsons, they did not reach his ears. Very soon after
the return of the Peacockes there was a grand dinner-party at the palace,
to which the Doctor and his wife were invited. It was not a clerical
dinner-party, and so the honour was the greater. The aristocracy of the
neighbourhood were there, including Lady Anne Clifford, who was devoted,
with almost repentant affection, to her old friend. And Lady Margaret
Momson was there, the only clergyman's wife besides his own, who declared
to him with unblushing audacity that she had never regretted anything so
much in her life as that Augustus should have been taken away from the
school. It was evident that there had been an intention at the palace to
make what amends the palace could for the injuries it had done.
"Did Lady Anne say anything about the boys?" asked Mrs. Wortle, as they
were going home.
"She was going to, but I would not let her. I managed to show her that I
did not wish it, and she was clever enough to stop."
"I shouldn't wonder if she sent them back," said Mrs. Wortle.
"She won't do that. Indeed, I doubt whether I should take them. But if
it should come to pass that she should wish to send them back, you may be
sure that others will come. In such a matter she is very good as a
weathercock, showing how the wind blows." In this way the dinner-party at
the palace was in a degree comforting and consolatory.
But an incident which of all was most comforting and most consolatory to
one of the inhabitants of the parsonage took place two or three days after
the dinner-party. On going out of his own hall-door one Saturday
afternoon, immediately after lunch, whom should the Doctor see driving
himself into the yard in a hired gig from Broughton--but young Lord
Carstairs. There had been no promise, or absolute compact made, but it
certainly had seemed to be understood by all of them that Carstairs was
not to show himself at Bowick till at some long distant period, when he
should have finished all the trouble of his education. It was understood
even that he was not to be at Carstairs during Mary's visit,--so
imperative was it that the young people should not meet. And now here he
was getting out of a gig in the Rectory yard! "Halloa! Carstairs, is
that you?"
"Yes, Dr. Wortle,--here I am."
"We hardly expected to see you, my boy."
"No,--I suppose not. But when I heard that Mr. Peacocke had come back,
and all about his marriage, you know, I could not but come over to see
him. He and I have always been such great friends."
"Oh,--to see Mr. Peacocke?"
"I thought he'd think it unkind if I didn't look him up. He has made it
all right; hasn't he?"
"Yes;--he has made it all right, I think. A finer fellow never lived.
But he'll tell you all about it. He travelled with a pistol in his
pocket, and seemed to want it too. I suppose you must come in and see the
ladies after we have been to Peacocke?"
"I suppose I can just see them," said the young lord, as though moved by
equal anxiety as to the mother and as to the daughter.
"I'll leave word that you are here, and then we'll go into the school."
So the Doctor found a servant, and sent what message he thought fit
into the house.
"Lord Carstairs here?"
"Yes, indeed, Miss! He's with your papa, going across to the school. He
told me to take word in to Missus that he supposes his lordship will stay
to dinner." The maid who carried the tidings, and who had received no
commission to convey them to Miss Mary, was, no doubt, too much interested
in an affair of love, not to take them first to the one that would be most
concerned with them.
That very morning Mary had been bemoaning herself as to her hard
condition. Of what use was it to her to have a lover, if she was never to
see him, never to hear from him,--only to be told about him,--that she was
not to think of him more than she could help? She was already beginning
to think that a long engagement carried on after this fashion would have
more of suffering in it than she had anticipated. It seemed to her that
while she was, and always would be, thinking of him, he never, never would
continue to think of her. If it could be only a word once a month it
would be something,--just one or two written words under an
envelope,--even that would have sufficed to keep her hope alive! But
never to see him;--never to hear from him! Her mother had told her that
very morning that there was to be no meeting,--probably for three years,
till he should have done with Oxford. And here he was in the house,--and
her papa had sent in word to say that he was to eat his dinner there! It
so astonished her that she felt that she would be afraid to meet him.
Before she had had a minute to think of it all, her mother was with her.
"Carstairs, love, is here!"
"Oh mamma, what has brought him?"
"He has gone into the school with your papa to see Mr. Peacocke. He
always was very fond of Mr. Peacocke." For a moment something of a feeling
of jealousy crossed her heart,--but only for a moment. He would not
surely have come to Bowick if he had begun to be indifferent to her
already! "Papa says that he will probably stay to dinner."
"Then I am to see him?"
"Yes;--of course you must see him."
"I didn't know, mamma."
"Don't you wish to see him?"
"Oh yes, mamma. If he were to come and go, and we were not to meet at
all, I should think it was all over then. Only,--I don't know what to say
to him."
"You must take that as it comes, my dear."
Two hours afterwards they were walking, the two of them alone together,
out in the Bowick woods. When once the law,--which had been rather
understood than spoken,--had been infringed and set at naught, there was
no longer any use in endeavouring to maintain a semblance of its
restriction. The two young people had met in the presence both of the
father and mother, and the lover had had her in his arms before either of
them could interfere. There had been a little scream from Mary, but it
may probably be said of her that she was at the moment the happiest young
lady in the diocese.
"Does your father know you are here?" said the Doctor, as he led the young
lord back from the school into the house.
"He knows I'm coming, for I wrote and told my mother. I always tell
everything; but it's sometimes best to make up your mind before you get an
answer." Then the Doctor made up his mind that Lord Carstairs would have
his own way in anything that he wished to accomplish.
"Won't the Earl be angry?" Mrs. Wortle asked.
"No;--not angry. He knows the world too well not to be quite sure that
something of the kind would happen. And he is too fond of his son not to
think well of anything that he does. It wasn't to be supposed that they
should never meet. After all that has passed I am bound to make him
welcome if he chooses to come here, and as Mary's lover to give him the
best welcome that I can. He won't stay, I suppose, because he has got no
clothes."
"But he has;--John brought in a portmanteau and a dressing-bag out of the
gig." So that was settled.
In the mean time Lord Carstairs had taken Mary out for a walk into the
wood, and she, as she walked beside him, hardly knew whether she was going
on her head or her heels. This, indeed, it was to have a lover. In the
morning she was thinking that when three years were past he would hardly
care to see her ever again. And now they were together among the falling
leaves, and sitting about under the branches as though there was nothing
in the world to separate them. Up to that day there had never been a word
between them but such as is common to mere acquaintances, and now he was
calling her every instant by her Christian name, and telling her all his
secrets.
"We have such jolly woods at Carstairs," he said; "but we shan't be able
to sit down when we're there, because it will be winter. We shall be
hunting, and you must come out and see us."
"But you won't be there when I am," she said, timidly.
"Won't I? That's all you know about it. I can manage better than that."
"You'll be at Oxford."
"You must stay over Christmas, Mary; that's what you must do. You musn't
think of going till January."
"But Lady Bracy won't want me."
"Yes, she will. We must make her want you. At any rate they'll
understand this; if you don't stay for me, I shall come home even if it's
in the middle of term. I'll arrange that. You don't suppose I'm not
going to be there when you make your first visit to the old place."
All this was being in Paradise. She felt when she walked home with him,
and when she was alone afterwards in her own room, that, in truth, she had
only liked him before. Now she loved him. Now she was beginning to know
him, and to feel that she would really,--really die of a broken heart if
anything were to rob her of him. But she could let him go now, without a
feeling of discomfort, if she thought that she was to see him again when
she was at Carstairs.
But this was not the last walk in the woods, even on this occasion. He
remained two days at Bowick, so necessary was it for him to renew his
intimacy with Mr. Peacocke. He explained that he had got two days' leave
from the tutor of his College, and that two days, in College parlance,
always meant three. He would be back on the third day, in time for
"gates"; and that was all which the strictest college discipline would
require of him. It need hardly be said of him that the most of his time
he spent with Mary; but he did manage to devote an hour or two to his old
friend, the school-assistant.
Mr. Peacocke told his whole story, and Carstairs, whose morals were
perhaps not quite so strict as those of Mr. Puddicombe, gave him all his
sympathy. "To think that a man can be such a brute as that," he said,
when he heard that Ferdinand Lefroy had shown himself to his wife at St.
Louis,--"only on a spree."
"There is no knowing to what depth utter ruin may reduce a man who has
been born to better things. He falls into idleness, and then comforts
himself with drink. So it seems to have been with him."
"And that other fellow;--do you think he meant to shoot you?"
"Never. But he meant to frighten me. And when he brought out his knife
in the bedroom at Leavenworth he did. My pistol was not loaded."
"Why not?"
"Because little as I wish to be murdered, I should prefer that to
murdering any one else. But he didn't mean it. His only object was to
get as much out of me as he could. As for me, I couldn't give him more
because I hadn't got it." After that they made a league of friendship, and
Mr. Peacocke promised that he would, on some distant occasion, take his
wife with him on a visit to Carstairs.
It was about a month after this that Mary was packed up and sent on her
journey to Carstairs. When that took place, the Doctor was in supreme
good-humour. There had come a letter from the father of the two Mowbrays,
saying that he had again changed his mind. He had, he said, heard a story
told two ways. He trusted Dr. Wortle would understand him and forgive
him, when he declared that he had believed both the stories. If after
this the Doctor chose to refuse to take his boys back again, he would
have, he acknowledged, no ground for offence. But if the Doctor would
take them, he would intrust them to the Doctor's care with the greatest
satisfaction in the world,--as he had done before.
For a while the Doctor had hesitated; but here, perhaps for the first time
in her life, his wife was allowed to persuade him. "They are such leading
people," she said.
"Who cares for that? I have never gone in for that." This, however, was
hardly true. "When I have been sure that a man is a gentleman, I have
taken his son without inquiring much farther. It was mean of him to
withdraw after I had acceded to his request."
"But he withdraws his withdrawal in such a flattering way!" Then the
Doctor assented, and the two boys were allowed to come. Lady Anne
Clifford hearing this, learning that the Doctor was so far willing to
relent, became very piteous and implored forgiveness. The noble relatives
were all willing now. It had not been her fault. As far as she was
concerned herself she had always been anxious that her boys should remain
at Bowick. And so the two Cliffords came back to their old beds in the
old room.
Mary, when she first arrived at Carstairs, hardly knew how to carry
herself. Lady Bracy was very cordial and the Earl friendly, but for the
first two days nothing was said about Carstairs. There was no open
acknowledgment of her position. But then she had expected none; and
though her tongue was burning to talk, of course she did not say a word.
But before a week was over Lady Bracy had begun, and by the end of the
fortnight Lord Bracy had given her a beautiful brooch. "That means," said
Lady Bracy in the confidence of her own little sitting-room up-stairs,
"that he looks upon you as his daughter."
"Does it?"
"Yes, my dear, yes." Then they fell to kissing each other, and did nothing
but talk about Carstairs and all his perfections, and his unalterable
love, and how these three years could be made to wear themselves away,
till the conversation,--simmering over as such conversation is wont to
do,--gave the whole household to understand that Miss Wortle was staying
there as Lord Carstairs's future bride.
Of course she stayed over the Christmas, or went back to Bowick for a
week, and then returned to Carstairs, so that she might tell her mother
everything, and hear of the six new boys who were to come after the
holidays. "Papa couldn't take both the Buncombes," said Mrs. Wortle in
her triumph, "and one must remain till midsummer. Sir George did say that
it must be two or none, but he had to give way. I wanted papa to have
another bed in the east room, but he wouldn't hear of it."
Mary went back for the Christmas and Carstairs came; and the house was
full, and everybody knew of the engagement. She walked with him, and rode
with him, and danced with him, and talked secrets with him,--as though
there were no Oxford, no degree before him. No doubt it was very
imprudent, but the Earl and the Countess knew all about it. What might
be, or would be, or was the end of such folly, it is not my purpose here
to tell. I fear that there was trouble before them. It may, however, be
possible that the degree should be given up on the score of love, and Lord
Carstairs should marry his bride,--at any rate when he came of age.
As to the school, it certainly suffered nothing by the Doctor's
generosity, and when last I heard of Mr. Peacocke, the Bishop had offered
to grant him a licence for the curacy. Whether he accepted it I have not
yet heard, but I am inclined to think that in this matter he will adhere
to his old determination.
* * * * *
Textual emendations and noteworthy items
1 Alterations
1 1 Word changes
1 1 1 Additions
1 1 1 1 Added "l" to "crue"
Vol. I--Page 146, line 8
did sit down. "He has made you out to be a perjured, wilful,
cruel* bigamist."
1 1 1 2 Added "b" to "Puddicome's"
Vol. II--Page 15, line 1
he must hold his peace. That reference to Mr. Puddicomb*e's
dirty boot had
1 1 1 3 Added "e" to "Ann"
Vol. II--Page 215, line 6
hand in order that he might send them to the Bishop and to
Lady Anne*
1 1 2 Deletions
1 1 2 1 Deleted repeated word "not"
Vol. II--Page 15, line 10
been a grain of tenderness there, he could not* have spoken
so often as he
1 1 2 2 Deleted repeated "i" in "hiim"
Vol. II--Page 87, line 9
not leave the man to triumph over hi*m. If nothing further
were done in
1 1 3 Substitutions
1 1 3 1 Changed lowercase "de" to uppercase "De" to conform
to majority usage (11 out of 14 times with uppercase)
Vol. I--Page 34, line 7
Lawle, who had in early years been a dear friend to Mrs.
Wortle. Lady *De Lawle was the widow
Vol. I--Page 48, line 9
Bishop,--before Mrs. Wortle or the Hon. Mrs. Stantiloup, or
Lady *De Lawle.
Vol. I--Page 82, line 17
to you; different in not accepting Lady *De Lawle's
hospitality; different
1 1 3 2 Changed "out" to "our"
Vol. I--Page 88, line 22
and me, can have no effect but to increase our* troubles.
You are a woman,
1 1 3 3 Changed lowercase "junction" to uppercase "Junction"
to conform to majority usage (3 out of 4 times with uppercase)
Vol. II--Page 147, line 6
been written at the Ogden *Junction, at which Mr. Peacocke had
stopped for
1 2 Punctuation changes
1 2 1 Additions
1 2 1 1 Added quotation marks
1 2 1 1 1 ...opening double quotation mark
Vol. I--Page 146, line 7
did sit down. *"He has made you out to be a perjured, wilful,
cruel
Vol. II--Page 102, line 3
kind feelings which have hitherto existed between us.--Yours
very faithfully,
*"C. BROUGHTON."
1 2 1 1 2 ...closing double quotation mark
Vol. II--Page 35, line 16
were given. "It is not enough to be innocent," said the Bishop,
"but men must know that we are so."*
1 2 1 1 3 ...opening single quotation mark
Vol. II--Page 103, line 11
Mrs. Wortle. So much had been effected by *'Everybody's
Business,' and its
1 2 1 1 4 ...closing single quotation mark
Vol. I--Page 48, line 21
'Black Dwarf'* be if every one knew from the beginning that he
was a rich
1 2 1 1 5 ...single quotation marks
Vol. II--Page 95, line 15
beforehand whom he was about to smite. "*'Amo' in the cool of
the
1 2 1 2 Added apostrophe
Vol. I--Page 120, line 19
ricketiest little buggy that ever a man trusted his life to.
Them'*s
1 2 1 3 Added full stop
1 2 1 3 1 ...after "more"
Vol. II--Page 83, line 11
very nice boy; and so he was still; that;--that, and nothing
more.* Then
1 2 1 3 2 ...after "St"
Vol. II--Page 109, line 7
round by St.* Louis. Lefroy was anxious to go to St. Louis,--and
on that
1 2 1 3 3 ...after "engagement"
Vol. II--Page 163, line 21
not known that she was very much afraid of a long engagement.*
She would,
1 2 1 3 4 ...after "Wortle"
Vol. II--Page 231, line 2
"I shouldn't wonder if she sent them back," said Mrs. Wortle.*
1 2 2 Deletions
1 2 2 1 Deleted quotation marks
1 2 2 1 1 ...opening double quotation mark
Vol. II--Page 222, line 18
*On this there was another consultation between Mrs. Wortle
and the Doctor,
1 2 2 1 2 ...closing double quotation mark
Vol. I--Page 146, line 11
"I have not been such," said Peacocke, rising from his chair.*
Vol. II--Page 221, line 14
Wortle,--had known nothing. All that he had done was not to
condemn the other man when he did know!*
1 2 2 1 3 ...opening single quotation mark
Vol. II--Page 238, line 12
between them but such as is common *to mere acquaintances, and
now he was
1 2 2 2 Deleted extra space after opening double quotation mark
Vol. I--Page 81, line 14
at his feet, buried her face in his lap. "*Ella," he said, "the
only
1 2 3 Substitutions
1 2 3 1 Changed single closing quotation mark to double closing
quotation mark
Vol. II--Page 105, line 18
"My taking you across to the States."*
1 2 3 2 Changed full stop to comma
Vol. I--Page 185, line 18
facts were known to the entire diocese." After this there was a
pause,*
2 Items of note
2 1 Spelling
2 1 1 Verbs in "-ize" normally in "-ise"
2 1 1 1 sympathize
Vol. I--Page 156, line 4
only say this, as between man and man, that no man ever
sympathized* with
2 1 1 2 apologize
Vol. II--Page 14, line 17
found himself obliged to apologize* before he left the house!
And, too, he
2 1 2 Variation in hyphenation
2 1 2 1 weather(-)cock
Vol. II--Page 196, line 2
"And of fine generous feeling. He would not change like a
weather-*cock."
Vol. II--Page 231, line 8
weathercock*, showing how the wind blows." In this way the
dinner-party at
2 1 2 2 a(-)verb-ing
Vol. II--Page 119, line 1
"Not a foot; I ain't a-*going out of this room to-morrow."
Vol. II--Page 182, lines 5 & 6
"We are *alooking at 'em," said Lefroy.
"If you're *agoing to do anything of that kind you'd better
go and do it
2 2 Punctuation
2 2 1 Full stop changed to question mark
Vol. I--Page 134, line 3
longer I shall send for the policeman to remove you."
"You will?*"
2 2 2 Full stop used instead of question mark
Vol. II--Page 47, line 16
building staring him in the face every moment of his life.*
Vol. II--Page 63, line 17
"I may tell them that the action is withdrawn.*"
2 2 3 Exclamation point used instead of question mark
Vol. II--Page 75, line 8
"Of course he did. Had he anything particular to say!*"