DISINTEGRATION
From the moment that train steamed away from Dwygyfy there was no more
decent weather. Day after day it thundered and lightened, it hailed and
it blew; day after day it poured in torrents. For a whole week Cheriton
endured this distemper of the Welsh climate, which according to Borrow
is, in the most favorable circumstances, of a very fickle character.
His man Johnson then packed up his traps, and the pair of them were
spirited away upon an extremely inclement morning by the eleven-o’clock
train. Scotland was their destination. In that land of cakes and
heather were some old friends who set apart September for playing
bridge for moderate stakes and for the shooting of grouse.
Of course before Cheriton went up to Scotland he freely discussed his
proposed matrimonial adventure with the sagacious Caroline. She had
not hesitated to affirm that the man Lascelles had behaved like a
gentleman. It was only in extreme instances that she felt called upon
to make a statement of that kind. It was a testimonial she did not
give willingly, because in her opinion it was the highest there was to
bestow upon the members of the sex to which the man Lascelles belonged.
As became a man of leisure, Cheriton was very leisurely in his methods.
He did not propose to marry Miss Perry until the spring. Caroline was
inclined to demur. She did not care to let the grass grow under her
feet. Cheriton might change his mind, or a hundred things might happen.
Stability at any rate was not his _forte_.
“No, my dear Caroline,” said a sagacity that was in nowise less than
her own, “the creature is a little undeveloped at present to my mind.
A few months more of the great world in order that she may acquire a
deeper sense of the responsibilities of the position will do her no
harm. Besides spring, my dear Caroline, is the time for marriage. It is
the vernal season. It is nature’s own appointed wedding-day.”
Caroline did not concur, of course. It only remained for her, however,
to acquiesce ungraciously. Yet there was one thing she could do, and
this she did. She sent for her lawyer to have the terms of the nuptial
contract set out in form. Her old and trusted legal adviser, Mr. Giles
Grabham, of Messrs. Pettigrew, Grabham, Grabham, and Horrobin, of Old
Square, Lincoln’s Inn, spent two nights and a day at Pen-y-Gros Castle,
and placed the matter on a comprehensive basis. Cheriton appeared to
derive a great deal of amusement from the whole proceeding. However,
he was prevailed upon to attach what Mr. Grabham called “a provisional
signature to the memorandum.”
Divers copies were engrossed of what Mr. Grabham called “the
instrument,” by the clerical staff of Messrs. Pettigrew, Grabham,
Grabham, and Horrobin, one of which was duly forwarded to Lord Cheriton
at Pen-y-Gros Castle, North Wales, two days after his lordship’s
departure from the Principality. It was accompanied by two others
addressed to the Countess of Crewkerne.
Upon the receipt of these documents Miss Perry was commanded by Aunt
Caroline to write to her papa to explain the signal honor that had been
conferred upon her; and to inclose a copy of the deed of settlement for
his inspection, sanction, and signature. In obedience to this command,
with infinite labor and difficulty and many tears, Miss Perry composed
the following:--
PAPA DEAREST,--_Aunt Caroline desires me to write to inform you that
her old friend the Earl of Cheriton has done me the honor of wishing
to marry me--that is, Papa Dearest, if you have no objection. Aunt
Caroline desires me to say that in her judgment there can be no
possible objection to Lord Cheriton, as he is very rich, his life has
been worthy, and she has known him herself personally for more than
sixty years. Aunt Caroline desires me to enclose this copy of the
deed of settlement, which she hopes you will approve and return to
her with your signature. With fondest love, Papa Dearest, and twelve
kisses, which I enclose_ xxxxxxxxxxxx, _Believe me to remain your
most Dutiful and Affectionate Daughter_
ARAMINTA.
_P.S. Have you any objection to Muffin marrying Jim Lascelles, who
used to live at the Red House at Widdiford? It would be too sweet._
The more formal part of this production had been written to Aunt
Caroline’s dictation. She inspected the finished performance grimly.
The writing was large and round and as transparently simple as Miss
Perry’s own countenance, and it was blotted freely with tears. In the
fullest sense of the term it was a human document, and as such Aunt
Caroline decided that it should be sent. Miss Perry was not the first
Wargrave who had been consigned to the scaffold, and doubtless she
would not be the last.
A week elapsed before a reply was received at Pen-y-Gros Castle, and
even then the copy of the deed was not returned indorsed with the
signature of the Reverend Aloysius Perry. His communication upon the
subject was as follows:--
MY DEAR DAUGHTER,--_Your letter came to me as a great surprise.
Firstly, I should like to express to your Aunt Caroline the deep
sense of obligation we all feel under in regard to her, not only in
the matter of her very great kindness to you personally, but also for
the great kindness and consideration she extended to Elizabeth during
her month’s sojourn at Pen-y-Gros Castle. Elizabeth cannot find
enough to say in her praise._
_Now in regard to yourself, my dear Araminta, while I recognize to
the full the dazzling nature of your prospects, and I do not know in
what manner to thank your Aunt for her princely suggestion, I want
you to believe, and I want her to believe also, that I have no other
thought and no other desire than that whatever line of action you
embark upon shall lead to your ultimate and permanent happiness. That
above everything is what I desire. I have refrained from attaching my
signature to the deed of settlement which your Aunt has been so kind
as to send to me, for while recognizing to the full her large-hearted
generosity and her really princely munificence, I shall like to have
your own assurance, my dear Daughter, that you are consulting your
own highest welfare and happiness irrespective of that of anyone
else. I trust your Aunt will not consider me lacking in gratitude or
in practical common sense. Please write to me again upon the subject,
and believe me to remain your affectionate father_,
ALOYSIUS PERRY.
Aunt Caroline snorted a good deal when she read this letter. She
declared it was so like a parson to say a great deal more than he need
in order to express a great deal less than he ought. However, she was
perfectly ruthless upon the subject. Araminta was ordered to allay the
scruples of her father; and this the unhappy Goose Girl did, with many
private tears, to her aunt’s dictation.
In due course the document was returned with her father’s signature.
Then she felt that indeed her doom was sealed. She was a most docile
and duteous creature, and even Aunt Caroline admitted it; but her
appetite declined, her laughter lost its gayety, her youth its cheerful
irresponsibility, and life became for her a heavy and listless routine.
Poor Jim Lascelles had his bad time too. He returned to the Acacias
with his mother, fully determined to maintain his tripartite _rôle_
of a Lascelles, a hero, and a gentleman. He determined to take the
superhuman course of acting as though the Goose Girl had no place in
his life whatever.
Alas for the vanity of human resolves! The first thing he did upon his
return home was to take the key of his studio off the sitting-room
chimney-piece in order to bestow a few final touches upon a work which
by now was hardly in need of them. He deluded himself with the idea
that the task was imposed in cold blood in order that he might prove to
himself how strong he was, and that by the mere exercise of the will
the image of the peerless original could be cut away from the living
tissue of his thoughts.
Alas! it could not be done. Jim Lascelles failed dismally to assert the
mind’s dominion. A strange excitement overtook him, and for several
days he worked in quite a frenzy of enthusiasm, modifying this,
painting out that, enhancing the other. It was a dangerous kind of
solace. He performed surprising feats, it is true; his color grew more
and more audacious, only to be harmonized marvelously, but he could
not sleep at night. He came down to breakfast haggard and wild-eyed,
and looking a degree more unstable than when he had retired in the
small hours of the morning.
He had determined to withhold from his mother the true state of the
case. But he had hopelessly underrated the _flair_ of the genus.
Very soon she had the truth out of him; and, without letting Jim see
her concern, she grew alarmed for him. Yet she could confess to no
surprise. From the first she had foreseen that this was a turn the
thing must take almost inevitably. Had it not been Lord Cheriton,
it must have been another. For the Goose, notwithstanding her
limited capacity, was an absurdly regal creature; one of those oddly
compounded, solemn, unaspiring masterpieces designed by nature for a
gorgeous frame, who by a kind of inalienable right command a splendid
destiny.
Jim’s mother blamed herself, as mothers are so apt to do, although she
really had no part in Jim’s misfortune. She had merely lent a kind
of whimsical countenance to the young fellow’s ambitions, in order
primarily to give him a zest in his work. The consequences entailed by
the acquisition of that zest bade fair to become melancholy; but in any
case the responsibility for laying the mine was not hers, any more than
it was Cheriton’s for applying the match.
“If it had not been one, laddie,” said Mrs. Lascelles, philosophically,
“it would have been the other. Had I prophesied, I should have said
that destiny would have made her a duchess. But either way, I don’t
think it matters. I feel sure that Lord Cheriton will be very good to
her, although there is little consolation in that.”
Precious little consolation, in Jim’s opinion. By the time October came
he was worn to a shade, and the masterpiece was finally completed. His
mother was alarmed for him then. She suggested a voyage to Spain and a
visit to the Prado, in order that he might pay homage at the shrine of
the great Velasquez. The suggestion was a good one, but unfortunately
it did not come within the range of practical politics. They had
both spent all their money. Mrs. Lascelles had overdrawn her meager
allowance, and Jim was in debt.
“Tell Lord Cheriton his picture is complete, and dun him for the price
of it.”
“No, old lady,” said Jim, with a sad shake of the head; “we have to
look to what we can raise on that little work to keep a roof over our
heads during the winter.”
His mother showed a most resolute optimism.
“Lay out every penny of the money on a visit to Spain,” said she.
“Velasquez will inspire you. You will return with a cubit added to your
stature; you will finish The Naiad triumphantly, and, once you have
done that, you will have convinced the world you can paint.”
“And in the meantime, old lady, what about the _rint?_” said Jim.
“Oh, that,” said his mother, airily--“that can take care of itself.
Besides, I dreamt last night that the publishers had accepted ‘The Fair
Immortal.’”
“That is not quite the same thing, señora, as receiving a check for
it,” said Jim, gloomily.
It would seem, however, that Providence was keeping its eye on
the Acacias. For the very next morning brought a solution of the
difficulty. The marquis wrote from Yorkshire to suggest that during the
following week, if convenient to himself, Mr. Lascelles should come to
Barne Moor, as previously arranged, to paint the fair Priscilla.
It appeared that in the stress of circumstance both Jim and his mother
had forgotten the Yorkshire marquis and the fair Priscilla.
“And it means a cool five hundred, too,” said Jim, with a little
pardonable exultation. “The terms are already arranged, thanks to that
old sportsman who is the oddest mixture of a human being I have ever
met.”
And then Jim gave a groan, for he remembered that it was upon the
strength of this important commission he had made up his mind to take
the plunge with the Goose Girl. The next moment he was cursing himself
because his upper lip was so flabby.
“You will never be the least use in this world, James Lascelles, my
son,” was the burden of his reflections, “if you can’t learn to take a
facer or two. Every time they knock you down you have got to come up
smiling, or you will certainly never be a Velasquez.”
Mrs. Lascelles was overjoyed by the providential letter from
Yorkshire. She blessed the marquis and all his acres. She insisted that
Jim should write by the next post to announce his intention of coming
to Barne Moor on the following Monday. And, in order that there should
be no possible doubt about the matter, she put on her hat, although
it was raining hard, and sallied forth to the stationer’s shop at the
corner of Chestnut Road and invested one of her few remaining sixpences
in Bradshaw’s Guide.