Monkshade.
When the first of the new year came round Lady Glencora was not
keeping her appointment at Lady Monk's house. She went to Gatherum
Castle, and let us hope that she enjoyed the magnificent Christmas
hospitality of the Duke; but when the time came for moving on to
Monkshade, she was indisposed, and Mr. Palliser went thither alone.
Lady Glencora returned to Matching and remained at home, while her
husband was away, in company with the two Miss Pallisers.
When the tidings reached Monkshade that Lady Glencora was not to
be expected, Burgo Fitzgerald was already there, armed with such
pecuniary assistance as George Vavasor had been able to wrench out
of the hands of Mr. Magruin. "Burgo," said his aunt, catching him one
morning near his bedroom door as he was about to go down-stairs in
hunting trim, "Burgo, your old flame, Lady Glencora, is not coming
here."
"Lady Glencora not coming!" said Burgo, betraying by his look and the
tone of his voice too clearly that this change in the purpose of a
married lady was to him of more importance than it should have been.
Such betrayal, however, to Lady Monk was not perhaps matter of much
moment.
"No; she is not coming. It can't be matter of any moment to you now."
"But, by heavens, it is," said he, putting his hand up to his
forehead, and leaning back against the wall of the passage as though
in despair. "It is matter of moment to me. I am the most unfortunate
devil that ever lived."
"Fie, Burgo, fie! You must not speak in that way of a married woman.
I begin to think it is better that she should not come." At this
moment another man booted and spurred came down the passage, upon
whom Lady Monk smiled sweetly, speaking some pretty little word as
he passed. Burgo spoke never a word, but still stood leaning against
the wall, with his hand to his forehead, showing that he had heard
something which had moved him greatly. "Come back into your room,
Burgo," said his aunt; and they both went in at the door that was
nearest to them, for Lady Monk had been on the look-out for him, and
had caught him as soon as he appeared in the passage. "If this does
annoy you, you should keep it to yourself! What will people say?"
"How can I help what they say?"
"But you would not wish to injure her, I suppose? I thought it best
to tell you, for fear you should show any special sign of surprise
if you heard of it first in public. It is very weak in you to allow
yourself to feel that sort of regard for a married woman. If you
cannot constrain yourself I shall be afraid to let you meet her in
Brook Street."
Burgo looked for a moment into his aunt's face without answering her,
and then turned away towards the door. "You can do as you please
about that," said he; "but you know as well as I do what I have made
up my mind to do."
"Nonsense, Burgo; I know nothing of the kind. But do you go
down-stairs to breakfast, and don't look like that when you go among
the people there."
Lady Monk was a woman now about fifty years of age, who had been a
great beauty, and who was still handsome in her advanced age. Her
figure was very good. She was tall and of fine proportion, though by
no means verging to that state of body which our excellent American
friend and critic Mr. Hawthorne has described as beefy and has
declared to be the general condition of English ladies of Lady Monk's
age. Lady Monk was not beefy. She was a comely, handsome, upright,
dame,--one of whom, as regards her outward appearance, England might
be proud,--and of whom Sir Cosmo Monk was very proud. She had come of
the family of the Worcestershire Fitzgeralds, of whom it used to be
said that there never was one who was not beautiful and worthless.
Looking at Lady Monk you would hardly think that she could be a
worthless woman; but there were one or two who professed to know her,
and who declared that she was a true scion of the family to which she
belonged;--that even her husband's ample fortune had suffered from
her extravagance, that she had quarrelled with her only son, and
had succeeded in marrying her daughter to the greatest fool in the
peerage. She had striven very hard to bring about a marriage between
her nephew and the great heiress, and was a woman not likely to
pardon those who had foiled her.
At this moment Burgo felt very certain that his aunt was aware of his
purpose, and could not forgive her for pretending to be innocent of
it. In this he was most ungrateful, as well as unreasonable,--and
very indiscreet also. Had he been a man who ever reflected he must
have known that such a woman as his aunt could only assist him as
long as she might be presumed to be ignorant of his intention. But
Burgo never reflected. The Fitzgeralds never reflected till they were
nearer forty than thirty, and then people began to think worse of
them than they had thought before.
When Burgo reached the dining-room there were many men there, but no
ladies. Sir Cosmo Monk, a fine bald-headed hale man of about sixty,
was standing up at the sideboard, cutting a huge game pie. He was a
man also who did not reflect much, but who contrived to keep straight
in his course through the world without much reflection. "Palliser
is coming without her," he said in his loud clear voice, thinking
nothing of his wife's nephew. "She's ill, she says."
"I'm sorry for it," said one man. "She's a deal the better fellow of
the two."
"She has twice more go in her than Planty Pall," said another.
"Planty is no fool, I can tell you," said Sir Cosmo, coming to the
table with his plate full of pie. "We think he's about the most
rising man we have." Sir Cosmo was the member for his county, and
was a Liberal. He had once, when a much younger man, been at the
Treasury, and had since always spoken of the Whig Government as
though he himself were in some sort a part of it.
"Burgo, do you hear that Palliser is coming without his wife?"
said one man,--a very young man, who hardly knew what had been the
circumstances of the case. The others, when they saw Burgo enter, had
been silent on the subject of Lady Glencora.
"I have heard,--and be d----d to him," said Burgo. Then there was
suddenly a silence in the room, and everyone seemed to attend
assiduously to his breakfast. It was very terrible, this clear
expression of a guilty meaning with reference to the wife of another
man! Burgo regarded neither his plate nor his cup, but thrusting
his hands into his breeches pockets, sat back in his chair with the
blackness as of a thunder cloud upon his brow.
[Illustration: "I have heard," said Burgo.]
"Burgo, you had better eat your breakfast," said Sir Cosmo.
"I don't want any breakfast." He took, however, a bit of toast,
and crumbling it up in his hand as he put a morsel into his mouth,
went away to the sideboard and filled for himself a glass of cherry
brandy.
"If you don't eat any breakfast the less of that you take the
better," said Sir Cosmo.
"I'm all right now," said he, and coming back to the table, went
through some form of making a meal with a roll and a cup of tea.
They who were then present used afterwards to say that they should
never forget that breakfast. There had been something, they declared,
in the tone of Burgo's voice when he uttered his curse against Mr.
Palliser, which had struck them all with dread. There had, too, they
said, been a blackness in his face, so terrible to be seen, that it
had taken from them all the power of conversation. Sir Cosmo, when he
had broken the ominous silence, had done so with a manifest struggle.
The loud clatter of glasses with which Burgo had swallowed his dram,
as though resolved to show that he was regardless who might know that
he was drinking, added to the feeling. It may easily be understood
that there was no further word spoken at that breakfast-table about
Planty Pall or his wife.
On that day Burgo Fitzgerald startled all those who saw him by the
mad way in which he rode. Early in the day there was no excuse for
any such rashness. The hounds went from wood to wood, and men went in
troops along the forest sides as they do on such occasions. But Burgo
was seen to cram his horse at impracticable places, and to ride at
gates and rails as though resolved to do himself and his uncle's
steed a mischief. This was so apparent that some friend spoke to Sir
Cosmo Monk about it. "I can do nothing," said Sir Cosmo. "He is a
man whom no one's words will control. Something has ruffled him this
morning, and he must run his chance till he becomes quiet." In the
afternoon there was a good run, and Burgo again rode as hard as he
could make his horse carry him;--but then there was the usual excuse
for hard riding; and such riding in a straight run is not dangerous,
as it is when the circumstances of the occasion do not warrant it.
But, be that as it may, Burgo went on to the end of the day without
accident, and as he went home, assured Sir Cosmo, in a voice which
was almost cheery, that his mare Spinster was by far the best thing
in the Monkshade stables. Indeed Spinster made quite a character that
day, and was sold at the end of the season for three hundred guineas
on the strength of it. I am, however, inclined to believe that there
was nothing particular about the mare. Horses always catch the
temperament of their riders, and when a man wishes to break his neck,
he will generally find a horse willing to assist him in appearance,
but able to save him in the performance. Burgo, at any rate, did not
break his neck, and appeared at the dinner-table in a better humour
than that which he had displayed in the morning.
On the day appointed Mr. Palliser reached Monkshade. He was, in a
manner, canvassing for the support of the Liberal party, and it would
not have suited him to show any indifference to the invitation of
so influential a man as Sir Cosmo. Sir Cosmo had a little party of
his own in the House, consisting of four or five other respectable
country gentlemen, who troubled themselves little with thinking, and
who mostly had bald heads. Sir Cosmo was a man with whom it was quite
necessary that such an aspirant as Mr. Palliser should stand well, and
therefore Mr. Palliser came to Monkshade, although Lady Glencora was
unable to accompany him.
"We are so sorry," said Lady Monk. "We have been looking forward to
having Lady Glencora with us beyond everything."
Mr. Palliser declared that Lady Glencora herself was overwhelmed with
grief in that she should have been debarred from making this special
visit. She had, however, been so unwell at Gatherum, the anxious
husband declared, as to make it unsafe for her to go again away from
home.
"I hope it is nothing serious," said Lady Monk, with a look of grief
so well arranged that any stranger would have thought that all the
Pallisers must have been very dear to her heart. Then Mr. Palliser
went on to explain that Lady Glencora had unfortunately been foolish.
During one of those nights of hard frost she had gone out among the
ruins at Matching, to show them by moonlight to a friend. The friend
had thoughtlessly, foolishly, and in a manner which Mr. Palliser
declared to be very reprehensible, allowed Lady Glencora to remain
among the ruins till she had caught cold.
"How very wrong!" said Lady Monk with considerable emphasis.
"It was very wrong," said Mr. Palliser, speaking of poor Alice almost
maliciously. "However, she caught a cold which, unfortunately, has
become worse at my uncle's, and so I was obliged to take her home."
Lady Monk perceived that Mr. Palliser had in truth left his wife
behind because he believed her to be ill, and not because he was
afraid of Burgo Fitzgerald. So accomplished a woman as Lady Monk felt
no doubt that the wife's absence was caused by fear of the lover, and
not by any cold caught in viewing ruins by moonlight. She was not to
be deceived in such a matter. But she became aware that Mr. Palliser
had been deceived. As she was right in this we must go back for a
moment, and say a word of things as they went on at Matching after
Alice Vavasor had left that place.
Alice had told Miss Palliser that steps ought to be taken, whatever
might be their cost, to save Lady Glencora from the peril of a visit
to Monkshade. To this Miss Palliser had assented, and, when she left
Alice, was determined to tell Mr. Palliser the whole story. But when
the time for doing so had come, her courage failed her. She could not
find words in which to warn the husband that his wife would not be
safe in the company of her old lover. The task with Lady Glencora
herself, bad as that would be, might be easier, and this task she at
last undertook,--not without success.
"Glencora," she said, when she found a fitting opportunity, "you
won't be angry, I hope, if I say a word to you?"
"That depends very much upon what the word is," said Lady Glencora.
And here it must be acknowledged that Mr. Palliser's wife had not done
much to ingratiate herself with Mr. Palliser's cousins;--not perhaps
so much as she should have done, seeing that she found them in her
husband's house. She had taught herself to think that they were hard,
stiff, and too proud of bearing the name of Palliser. Perhaps some
little attempt may have been made by one or both of them to teach her
something, and it need hardly be said that such an attempt on the
part of a husband's unmarried female relations would not be forgiven
by a young bride. She had undoubtedly been ungracious, and of this
Miss Palliser was well aware.
"Well,--the word shall be as little unpleasant as I can make it,"
said Miss Palliser, already appreciating fully the difficulty of her
task.
"But why say anything that is unpleasant? However, if it is to be
said, let us have it over at once."
"You are going to Monkshade, I believe, with Plantagenet."
"Well;--and what of that?"
"Dear Glencora, I think you had better not go. Do you not think so
yourself?"
"Who has been talking to you?" said Lady Glencora, turning upon her
very sharply.
"Nobody has been talking to me;--not in the sense you mean."
"Plantagenet has spoken to you?"
"Not a word," said Miss Palliser. "You may be sure that he would not
utter a word on such a subject to anyone unless it were to yourself.
But, dear Glencora, you should not go there;--I mean it in all
kindness and love,--I do indeed." Saying this she offered her hand to
Glencora, and Glencora took it.
"Perhaps you do," said she in a low voice.
"Indeed I do. The world is so hard and cruel in what it says."
"I do not care two straws for what the world says."
"But he might care."
"It is not my fault. I do not want to go to Monkshade. Lady Monk was
my friend once, but I do not care if I never see her again. I did not
arrange this visit. It was Plantagenet who did it."
"But he will not take you there if you say you do not wish it."
"I have said so, and he told me that I must go. You will hardly
believe me,--but I condescended even to tell him why I thought it
better to remain away. He told me, in answer, that it was a silly
folly which I must live down, and that it did not become me to be
afraid of any man."
"Of course you are not afraid, but--"
"I am afraid. That is just the truth. I am afraid;--but what can I do
more than I have done?"
This was very terrible to Miss Palliser. She had not thought that
Lady Glencora would say so much, and she felt a true regret in having
been made to hear words which so nearly amounted to a confession.
But for this there was no help now. There were not many more words
between them, and we already know the result of the conversation.
Lady Glencora became so ill from the effects of her imprudent
lingering among the ruins that she was unable to go to Monkshade.
Mr. Palliser remained three days at Monkshade, and cemented his
political alliance with Sir Cosmo much in the same way as he had
before done with the Duke of St. Bungay. There was little or nothing
said about politics, and certainly not a word that could be taken as
any definite party understanding between the men; but they sat at
dinner together at the same table, drank a glass of wine or two out
of the same decanters, and dropped a chance word now and again about
the next session of Parliament. I do not know that anything more had
been expected either by Mr. Palliser or by Sir Cosmo; but it seemed
to be understood when Mr. Palliser went away that Sir Cosmo was of
opinion that that young scion of a ducal house ought to become the
future Chancellor of the Exchequer in the Whig Government.
"I can't see that there's so much in him," said one young member of
Parliament to Sir Cosmo.
"I rather think that there is, all the same," said the baronet.
"There's a good deal in him, I believe! I dare say he's not very
bright, but I don't know that we want brightness. A bright financier
is the most dangerous man in the world. We've had enough of that
already. Give me sound common sense, with just enough of the gab in
a man to enable him to say what he's got to say! We don't want more
than that nowadays." From which it became evident that Sir Cosmo was
satisfied with the new political candidate for high place.
Lady Monk took an occasion to introduce Mr. Palliser to Burgo
Fitzgerald; with what object it is difficult to say, unless she was
anxious to make mischief between the men. Burgo scowled at him; but
Mr. Palliser did not notice the scowl, and put out his hand to his
late rival most affably. Burgo was forced to take it, and as he did
so made a little speech. "I'm sorry that we have not the pleasure of
seeing Lady Glencora with you," said he.
"She is unfortunately indisposed," said Mr. Palliser.
"I am sorry for it," said Burgo--"very sorry indeed." Then he turned
his back and walked away. The few words he had spoken, and the manner
in which he had carried himself, had been such as to make all those
around them notice it. Each of them knew that Lady Glencora's name
should not have been in Burgo's mouth, and all felt a fear not
easily to be defined that something terrible would come of it. But
Mr. Palliser himself did not seem to notice anything, or to fear
anything; and nothing terrible did come of it during that visit of
his to Monkshade.