Things without all remedy
Should be without regard: what's done is
done.
_Macbeth_.
And thus it came about that Eugenia returned home to Wareborough the
week before her sister's marriage, a very picture of radiant happiness.
"How little we imagined what was to be the end of my visit to Nunswell!
Do you remember how dreadfully unwilling I was to go?" she said to
Sydney, when they were alone together for the first time the evening she
came home.
And Sydney smiled back to her, and tried her best to be sympathising in
joy as in sorrow, and Eugenia was too intensely happy to discover that
there was any effort required on her sister's part, or that it was not
entirely successful.
Contrary to the usual course of true love at the critical stage when
fathers are applied to, and ways and means have to be considered, there
occurred no difficulties threatening to overthrow Eugenia's new-found
happiness; or rather perhaps, such as there were, were smoothed away by
her friends' kindness. Her father, at all times indulgent in intention,
had had his somewhat undemonstrative affection quickened into activity
by his anxiety during her illness, and was too delighted to see the
change in her to lay much stress on the fact of Captain Chancellor's
very limited means. And Beauchamp on his side was somewhat agreeably
disappointed by Mr Laurence's generosity.
"I am not a rich man," said Eugenia's father, "and now that my children
are grown up I sometimes take blame to myself that I am not a richer, I
might have been so perhaps, but though nearly all my life has been spent
in this place where money-making is the great object, I never caught the
fever," here he smiled, and Captain Chancellor wondered in his own mind
what on earth any one could find of interest in Wareborough, setting
aside "the great object" to which his future father-in-law alluded thus
contemptuously. "I am not ambitious," continued Mr Laurence, "either
for myself or my children," Beauchamp stared a little, "but I am very
anxious to see them happy, and nothing but very grave objections would
make me interfere with their wishes. I am perfectly satisfied with
Sydney's choice, and, though of course I have had much less opportunity
of knowing you than has been the case as regards Frank Thurston, I
trust, I think I may say I believe, I shall feel the same with
Eugenia's."
He looked at Captain Chancellor with a half-inquiry. The young man,
though not feeling particularly flattered, bowed silently. But catching
sight again of Mr Laurence's eyes, the sort of appeal, of wistful
anxiety in their expression, came home to him and awoke his better
nature. It was impossible to take offence at the plain speaking of so
straightforward and single-minded a man as Eugenia's father, eccentric
though he might be, so Beauchamp answered gently and respectfully--
"I hope with all my heart, my dear sir, that you will indeed feel so. I
think I can answer for myself that I shall do my best, my very best, to
make her happy."
He held out his hand to Mr Laurence as he spoke, as if in ratification
of the treaty. The older man took it and shook it, after the manner of
Englishmen in moments of strong feeling, vigorously. Then they both
looked at each other again.
"He's by no means an unpresentable father-in-law, Wareborough-bred
though he is," thought Beauchamp, feeling sufficiently pleased with
himself to see other people in a rose-coloured light.
And "I do not wonder at Eugenia," was the reflection that passed through
her father's mind.
For Beauchamp looked his very best just now. There was a kindly light
in his blue eyes, which added greatly to their attractiveness, a slight
air of deference had replaced his usual calm, somewhat supercilious
self-possession; he looked altogether younger and brighter and heartier.
He felt rewarded for the amiability and tact (a quality on the
possession of which he rather prided himself) he had shown, when Mr
Laurence proceeded to touch upon practical matters. The sum he named as
the yearly allowance he intended to settle on Eugenia exceeded Captain
Chancellor's expectations, if indeed he may be said to have had any; for
when habitually calculating, self-considering persons act upon impulse,
throwing prudence to the winds, their recklessness is apt to exceed that
of more impetuous natures--a certain mortification at having disregarded
their accepted rule of conduct renders the remembrance of the
inconsistency unpalatable; for the time being they bury all practical
considerations out of sight. So Beauchamp was perfectly sincere, and
Mr Laurence could see that he was so, when he exclaimed--
"You are very generous, very generous indeed. I had no idea of anything
so liberal. Indeed, to tell the truth, I fear I gave little thought to
this part of the matter at all," (for now that his rashness had not
turned out so badly, after all, he began to be rather proud of it). "I
suppose," with a smile, "I thought only of Eugenia herself. But of
course--for _her_ sake--I don't hesitate to say I am very glad of what
you tell me--very glad indeed."
And the interview ended with mutual satisfaction.
"Yes," thought Beauchamp, as he returned to the drawing-room, where
Eugenia was awaiting the result of the tete-a-tete in "papa's study,"
not, it must be confessed, with any great amount of anxiety, for her
faith in her father was great, her ignorance of money matters
unlimited--"Yes," thought Captain Chancellor, "we shall be able to scrub
on. After all of course it will be only what Gertrude calls `genteel
starvation.' How she used to ring the changes on that for Roma's
benefit! But Eugenia will have quite as much as _she_ would have had,
and with much less expensive tastes. And in the old days, when I was
determined to marry Roma, I used to make out it would not be so very
bad. Of course there is the difference in other ways, position and
connection and all that, to be taken into account, but after all--"
"After all" things looked well enough for him to respond very cheerfully
to Eugenia's, eager inquiries, to add a few more drops of bliss to her
already brimming-over cup, by his praises of her father's generosity.
As must be expected, however, in all human affairs, there came by-and-by
tiny clouds to temper the brilliance of Eugenia's sky, slight pricks of
disappointment to make themselves felt amidst the luxuriance and
fragrance of the flowers she had grasped so eagerly. The first of these
that she perceived was the want of cordiality in Gerald Thurston's
manner when he, as he could not avoid, congratulated her on her
engagement. She had looked forward with some eagerness to seeing him,
had counted upon his sympathy, had even rehearsed a little girlish
speech referring gratefully to his kindness to her in her trouble, her
hope that he would extend his friendship to Beauchamp as well as
continue it to herself. But when she met him, and heard his few formal
words of good wishes, her pretty expressions died upon her lips; she
felt herself blushing painfully, and demeaned herself--at least so she
afterwards declared to Sydney--as if she had done something she was
ashamed of and that he was reproaching her. And Sydney did not smooth
her ruffled plumage. Eugenia's complete misapprehension of Gerald
irritated her sometimes almost unreasonably, and just now the irritation
was increased by pity for the new disappointment she imagined him to be
enduring. So when Eugenia complained of Mr Thurston's "brusqueness"
and coldness, Sydney answered stiffly and unsympathisingly that she
thought it a pity Eugenia judged people so much by "mere outside
manner."
"You have known Gerald long enough to know how good and true he is, and
how interested in our happiness. I don't see that one's friends are
obliged to go into ecstasies over the news of one's engagement.
Marrying, in nine cases out of ten, is the death of all previous
friendships and connections."
"But it should not be, it need not be," interposed Eugenia, eagerly.
"It will not be so with me, you will see, Sydney," and had it been any
other day in the world than the one it was--the eve of Sydney's
marriage, the last, the very last of the sisterly life together in the
old home--she would have felt inclined to reproach her for her want of
faith, her commonplace axioms. As if marriages in general could furnish
grounds for prophecy as to the probable influence of marriage on the
wife of a Beauchamp Chancellor!
The next morning's post brought disappointment Number 2, in the shape of
a letter from the hero himself.
He had left Wareborough a few days before, being obliged to report
himself at Bridgenorth, but had done so with the promise of returning
for Sydney's marriage. Between his future sister-in-law and himself
there was no great congeniality; circumstances had from the outset of
their acquaintance prejudiced her against him, and he, even had he known
this to be the case, would hardly have thought it worth his while to try
to win her liking. In his own mind he set her down as a nice little
thing, well fitted to be a clergyman's wife, and "not bad looking;" and
had he received the very undesirable "giftie" of seeing himself with
Sydney's eyes, his astonishment at her presumption would have been
extreme. He had agreed to make one of the wedding guests, therefore,
out of no special regard for the bride, but because it seemed to be
expected by Eugenia and the others; not being, to do him justice, of the
aggressively cross-grained order of individuals who, when pleasing
people or doing what seems expected of them comes in their way, are
forthwith seized with a desire, at whatever inconvenience to themselves,
to avoid the suspicion of amiability by taking another road.
Nevertheless, when Beauchamp found himself prevented making one at the
feast, he by no means took it greatly to heart or felt any inclination
to "beat his breast" with chagrin. That he did not do so, which was
pretty evident from the tone of his letter, was what added the sting to
Eugenia's sharp disappointment; for that the obstacle in the way of his
joining them was insurmountable there could be no doubt.
A more inexorable power than even the Ancient Mariner, with the "long
grey beard and glittering eye," had forbidden the presence of Eugenia's
lover at the wedding. He had intended leaving Bridgenorth late the
previous evening, sleeping at an hotel in Wareborough, and presenting
himself at Mr Laurence's house the following morning in time to see his
beautiful Eugenia in her bridesmaid's bravery and to accompany the
wedding party to the church. But two hours before he was to leave the
barracks he received a letter which completely changed his plans. It
was from his sister, in answer merely, he thought on first seeing the
address, to the one he had sent her announcing his engagement to Miss
Laurence. He had awaited it with some anxiety; he opened it with
considerable misgiving. First of all he came upon a smaller envelope
enclosed in the larger. The letter it contained proved, to his
surprise, to be from Roma.
"My dear Beauchamp," it began--
"Gertrude has told me the news about you. I am surprised, and yet I am
not. Miss Laurence is beautiful and clever and good. What more can I
say in the way of congratulation? Perhaps even this much is more than
you will care to receive from me, but we are very old friends,
Beauchamp, and I am completely in earnest in saying I hope you will both
be very happy. If Miss Laurence remembers me, or if you care to tell
her who I am, will you tell her, too, that I shall look forward to
knowing her, and to really `making friends,' if she will let me?--
Believe me,--
"Yours affectionately,--
"Roma Alice Eyrecourt."
It was a pleasant little letter to receive, pleasant in a special sense
to Beauchamp, for it was evident to him that Roma had exerted herself--
her tact and discrimination--to render it so, and the reflection soothed
his still sore feeling towards her. He felt, too, that she really meant
what she said and expressed, and he was right in thinking so. Roma was
very sincere in her good wishes.
"So this is the end of it," she had said to herself, after doing her
best to pour oil on the waters of Mrs Eyrecourt's extreme disgust and
unreasonable indignation. "Well, certainly, though I think it one of
the most foolish marriages I ever heard of, which is saying a good deal;
though I think them in every particular, except good looks, utterly
unsuited to each other--and the chances are it will not take them long
to find that out for themselves--yet I must say I never liked Beauchamp
as much, or thought as well of him, as just now that he has done this
most, foolish thing. And, though I am perfectly certain there is not
the ghost of a chance that it will be so, I really do earnestly hope
they may be happy."
Then another remembrance occurred to her--"That infatuatedly faithful
Mr Thurston, how will he take this, poor man, I wonder?" she thought,
smiling slightly as she recalled him, for it is a curious fact that
women can never pity Corydon's woes--"He would love, and she would not,"
without laughing at him a little too, even though he be, apart from
Phillida, by no means a ludicrous or contemptible personage.
Beauchamp smiled as he read Roma's sisterly little letter. Then, not
without reluctance, he put it aside and took up Mrs Eyrecourt's. The
first part was pretty much what he had expected, or at least feared.
She began by saying that the news of his engagement had so completely
taken her by surprise that she really did not know what to say--perhaps,
as he had so entirely avoided consulting her in this most important
step, the less she said the better--after which preamble, as might have
been expected, she went on to say a great deal. She did not write
unkindly or coldly, she was most careful in the few allusions she could
not avoid making to his fiancee, to say nothing exaggerated or in bad
taste--nothing which could arouse his masculine spirit of contradiction
or defiance. Such _as_ it was, and judged "according to the lights" of
the woman who had written it and the man to whom it was written, it was
by no means a bad letter, hardly even a selfish or one-sided or "wholly
worldly" production. The first vehemence of Gertrude's wrath had been
expended on poor Roma, a convenient safety-valve, and, thanks to her
sympathy and patience, had considerably subsided before Mrs Eyrecourt
had arrived at pen and paper. So her brother was fain to confess "there
was a good deal of truth in what Gertrude said," and he sighed quite
pathetically as he came to this conclusion. Only, and he brightened up
again at this, she had not yet seen Eugenia; no doubt once she did so it
would be all right. Miss Laurence had but to show herself, and the
victory would be achieved; she would find no resistance--it would be a
case of simply "walking over the ground" of Mrs Eyrecourt's prejudices.
For Gertrude was not a small woman in the sense of any petty jealousy
of another's attractions. She was nearly as sensitive as Beauchamp
himself to beauty, and upon this he determined to trade.
"I shall not attempt defending myself or the wisdom of what I have
done," he reflected. "I shall say nothing at all but that she must wait
till she sees Eugenia. Then if she takes a fancy to her she will make a
pet of her, enjoy taking her out and all that sort of thing, and it will
all be as smooth sailing as possible. Of course Eugenia will throw
herself completely into my side of the house, and not bother about
Wareborough. That is the beauty of marrying a girl who has seen nothing
and is better than her surroundings."
So, sanguinely mused Captain Chancellor, and all the while there was
news at the end of his sister's letter which had escaped his
observation, news which was to alter the whole colour of his future,
which, so far as regarded Mrs Eyrecourt's friendly feelings to Eugenia,
could not possibly have come at a worse time. He thought he had read it
all, but, taking it up again, he saw that there was a lengthy
postscript, written hurriedly, and here and there almost illegibly.
"I was just closing this for the bag," ran the postscript, "when the
afternoon letters came. I am so thankful I did not go out; I was very
nearly doing so, and then I should have missed the post. There is most
distressing news from Halswood. You will hardly believe it, Beauchamp,
it seems so frightfully sudden, but it is really true--Herbert
Chancellor is dead. My letter is from Addie, poor darling! They are in
a terrible state of course. It was some sort of fit or stroke, and he
such a young man! But you remember how stout he was growing when they
were here. They had only gone to Halswood for a few days to see about
re-furnishing it, and poor Addie says her mother will never be able to
endure the place again. They want you to go there _at once_, to help
them in all sorts of ways. They have no one to look to but that poor
sickly boy, Roger, and of course you are the natural person. I must say
I feel gratified at their remembering this. They would have written or
telegraphed to you direct, but did not know your address, and Addie said
she tried to telegraph to me but could not explain. The funeral is to
be on Friday, so you have no time to lose. I am going, too, to poor
dear Mrs Chancellor as soon as I can, so we shall meet at Halswood
to-morrow or the day after."