FARMS OR UMBRELLAS.
'He tokin into his handis
His londis and his lode.'--CHAUCER.
'Mark! Mark!' A little figure stood on the gravel road leading
through Lescombe Park, and lifted up an eager face, as Mark jumped down
from his horse. 'I made sure you would come over.'
'Yes, but I could not get away earlier. And I have so much to say to
you and your mother, Annaple; there's a great proposition to be
considered.'
'Oh dear! and here is John bearing down upon us. Never mind. We'll
get into the mither's room and be cosy!'
'Well, Mark,' said Sir John's hearty voice, 'I thought you would be
here. Come to luncheon? That's right! And how is poor Egremont? I
thought he looked awful at the funeral.'
'He is fairly well, thank you; but it was a terrible shock.'
'I should think so. To find such a pretty sweet creature just to lose
her again. Child likely to live, eh?'
'Oh yes, he is a fine fellow, and has never had anything amiss with
him.'
'Poor little chap! Doesn't know what he has lost! Well, Nannie,' as
they neared the house, 'do you want a tete-a-tete or to take him in to
your mother? Here, I'll take the horse.'
'Come to her at once,' said Annaple; 'she wants to hear all, and
besides she is expecting me.'
Mark was welcomed by Lady Ronnisglen with inquiries for all concerned,
and especially for that 'poor girl. I do pity a young thing who has to
take a woman's place too soon,' she said. 'It takes too much out of
her!'
'I should think Ursula had plenty of spirit,' said Annaple.
'I don't know whether spirit is what is wanted,' said Mark. 'Her
mother prevailed more without it than I am afraid she is likely to do
with it.'
'Complements answer better than parallels sometimes, but not always,'
said Lady Ronnisglen.
'Which are we?' asked Annaple demurely.
'Not parallels certainly, for then we should never meet,' responded
Mark. 'But here is the proposal. My father and all the rest of us
have been doing our best to get my uncle to smooth Ursula's way by
getting rid of that valet of his.'
'The man with the Mephistopheles face?'
'Exactly. He is a consummate scoundrel, as we all know, and so does my
uncle himself, but he has been about him these twelve or fourteen
years, and has got a sort of hold on him--that--that-- It is no use to
talk of it, but it did not make that dear aunt of mine have an easier
life. In fact I should not be a bit surprised if he had been a
hindrance in the hunting her up. Well, the fellow thought proper to
upset some arrangements my mother had made, and then was more insolent
than I should have thought even he could have been towards her. I
suppose he had got into the habit with poor Aunt Alice. That made a
fulcrum, and my father went at my uncle with a will. I never saw my
father so roused in my life. I don't mean by the behaviour to his
wife, but at what he knew of the fellow, and all the harm he had done
and is doing. And actually my uncle gave in at last, and consented to
tell Gregorio to look out for another situation, if he has not
feathered his nest too well to need one, as I believe he has.'
'Oh, that will make it much easier for Ursula!' cried Annaple.
'If he goes,' put in her mother.
'I think he will. I really had no notion how much these two years have
improved my uncle! To be sure, it would be hard to live with such a
woman as that without being the better for it! But he really seems to
have acquired a certain notion of duty!'
They did not smile at the simple way in which Mark spoke of this vast
advance, and Lady Ronnisglen said, 'I hope so, for the sake of his
daughter and that poor little boy.'
'I think that has something to do with it,' said Mark. 'He feels a
responsibility, and still more, I think he was struck by having a
creature with him to whom evil was like physical pain.'
'It will work,' said Lady Ronnisglen.
'Then,' went on Mark, 'he took us all by surprise by making me this
proposal--to take the management of the estate, and become a kind of
private secretary to him. You know he gets rheumatism on the optic
nerve, and is almost blind at times. He would give me £300 a year, and
do up the house at the home farm, rent free. What do you say to that,
Annaple?'
There was a silence, then Annaple said: 'Give up the umbrellas! Oh!
What do you think, Mark?'
'My father wishes it,' said Mark. 'He would, as he had promised to do,
make over to me my share of my own mother's fortune, and that would, I
have been reckoning, bring us to just what we had thought of starting
upon this spring at Micklethwayte.'
'The same now,' said Lady Ronnisglen, after some reckoning, 'but what
does it lead to?'
'Well--nothing, I am afraid,' said Mark; 'as you know, this is all I
have to reckon upon. The younger children will have hardly anything
from their mother, so that my father's means must chiefly go to them.'
'And this agency is entirely dependent on your satisfying Mr. Egremont?'
'True, but that's a thing only too easily done. However, as you say,
this agency has no future, and if that came to an end, I should only
have to look out for another or take to farming.'
'And ask poor John if that is a good speculation nowadays!' said
Annaple.
'Fortunes are and have been made on the umbrellas,' said Mark.
'Greenleaf has a place almost equal to Monks Horton, and Dutton, though
he makes no show, has realised a considerable amount.'
'Oh yes, let us stick to the umbrellas!' cried Annaple; 'you've made
the plunge, so it does not signify now, and we should be so much more
independent out of the way of everybody.'
'You would lose in society,' said Mark, 'excepting, of course, as to
the Monks Horton people; but they are often away.'
'Begging your pardon, Mark, is there much to lose in this same
neighbourhood?' laughed Annaple, 'now May will go.'
'It is not so much a question of liking,' added her mother, 'as of what
is for the best, and where you may wish to be--say ten years hence.'
Looked at in this way, there could be no question but that the umbrella
company promised to make Mark a richer man in ten years' time than did
the agency at Bridgefield Egremont. He had a salary from the office
already, and if he purchased shares in the partnership with the portion
his father would resign to him, his income would already equal what he
would have at Bridgefield, and there was every prospect of its
increase, both as he became more valuable, and as the business
continued to prosper. If the descent in life had been a grievance to
the ladies, the agency would have been an infinite boon, but having
swallowed so much, as Annaple said, they might as well do it in
earnest, and to some purpose. Perhaps, too, it might be detected that
under the circumstances Annaple would prefer the living in a small way
out of reach of her sister's visible compassion.
So the matter was settled, but there was an undercurrent in Mark's mind
on which he had not entered, namely, that his presence at home might
make all the difference in that reformation in his uncle's habits which
Alice had inaugurated, and left in the hands of others. With him at
hand, there was much more chance of Gregorio's being dispensed with,
Ursula's authority maintained, little Alwyn well brought up, and the
estate, tenants, and household properly cared for, and then he smiled
at his notion of supposing himself of so much importance. Had he only
had himself to consider, Mark would have thought his duty plain; but
when he found Miss Ruthven and her mother so entirely averse, he did
not deem it right to sacrifice them to the doubtful good of his uncle,
nor indeed to put the question before them as so much a matter of
conscience that they should feel bound to consider it in that light.
He did indeed say, 'Well, that settles it,' in a tone that led Annaple
to exclaim: 'I do believe you want to drop the umbrellas!'
'No,' he answered, 'it is not that, but my father wished it, and
thought it would be good for my uncle.'
'No doubt,' said Annaple, 'but he has got a daughter, also a son, and a
brother, and agents are plentiful, so I can't see why all the family
should dance attendance on him.'
Lady Ronnisglen, much misdoubting Mr. Egremont's style of society, and
dreading that Mark might be dragged into it, added her word, feeling on
her side that it was desirable and just to hinder the family from
sacrificing Mark's occupation and worldly interest to a capricious old
roue, who might very possibly throw him over when it would be almost
impossible to find anything else to do. Moreover, both she and Annaple
believed that the real wish was to rescue the name of Egremont from
association with umbrellas, and they held themselves bound to combat
what they despised and thought a piece of worldly folly.
So Mark rode home, more glad that the decision was actually made than
at the course it had taken. His father was disappointed, but could not
but allow that it was the more prudent arrangement; and Mr. Egremont
showed all the annoyance of a man whose good offer has been rejected.
''Tis that little giggling Scotch girl!' he said. 'Well, we are quit
of her, anyway. 'Tis a pity that Mark entangled himself with her, and
a mother-in-law into the bargain! I was a fool to expect to get any
good out of him!'
This was said to his daughter, with whom he was left alone; for Miss
Headworth could not bear to accept his hospitality a moment longer than
needful, and besides had been so much shaken in nerves as to suspect
that an illness was coming on, and hurried home to be nursed by Mary
Nugent. Canon Egremont was obliged to go back to Redcastle to finish
his residence, and his wife, who had been absent nearly a month from
her family, thought it really wisest to let the father and daughter be
thrown upon one another at once, so that Ursula might have the benefit
of her father's softened mood.
There could be no doubt that he was softened, and that he had derived
some improvement from the year and a half that his wife had been with
him. It might not have lifted him up a step, but it had arrested him
in his downward course. Selfish and indolent he was as ever, but there
had been a restraint on his amusements, and a withdrawal from his worst
associates, such as the state of his health might continue, above all
if Gregorio could be dispensed with. The man himself had become aware
of the combination against him, and, though reckoning on his master's
inertness and dependence upon him, knew that a fresh offence might
complete his overthrow, and therefore took care to be on his good
behaviour.
Thus Nuttie's task might be somewhat smoothed; but the poor girl felt
unspeakably desolate as she ate her breakfast all alone with a dull
post-bag, and still more so when, having seen the housekeeper, who,
happily for her, was a good and capable woman, and very sorry for her,
she had to bethink herself what to do in that dreary sitting-room
during the hour when she had always been most sure of her
sister-mother's dear company. How often she had grumbled at being
called on to practise duets for her father's evening lullaby! She
supposed she ought to get something up, and she proceeded to turn over
and arrange the music with a sort of sick loathing for whatever was
connected with those days of impatient murmurs, which she would so
gladly have recalled. Everything had fallen into disorder, as Blanche
and May had left it the last time they had played there; and the
overlooking it, and putting aside the pieces which she could never use
alone, occupied her till Gregorio, very meek and polite, came with a
message that Mr. Egremont would be glad if she would come to his room.
In some dread, some distaste, and yet some pity and some honest
resolution, she made her way thither.
There he sat, in dressing-gown, smoking-cap, and blue spectacles, with
the glittering February sunshine carefully excluded. He looked worse
and more haggard than when she had seen him at dinner in the evening,
made up for company, and her compassion increased, especially as he not
only held out his hand, but seemed to expect her to kiss him, a thing
she had never done since their first recognition. It was not pleasant
in itself, but it betokened full forgiveness, and indeed he had never
spoken to her in his sneering, exasperating voice since her mournful
return home.
'Have you seen the boy?' he asked.
'Yes; they are walking him up and down under the south wall,' said
Nuttie, thankful that she had peeped under the many wraps as he was
carried across the hall.
'Here! I want you to read this letter to me. A man ought to be
indicted for writing such a hand!'
It was really distinct penmanship, though minute; but, as Nuttie found,
her father did not like to avow how little available were his eyes. He
could write better than he could read, but he kept her over his
correspondence for the rest of the morning, answering some of the
letters of condolence for him in her own name, writing those of
business, and folding and addressing what he himself contrived to
write. Her native quickness stood her in good stead, and, being rather
nervous, she took great pains, and seldom stumbled; indeed, she only
once incurred an exclamation of impatience at her stupidity or slowness.
She guessed rightly that this forbearance was owing to tender
persuasions of her mother, and did not guess that a certain fear of
herself was mingled with other motives. Her father had grown used to
woman's ministrations; he needed them for his precious little heir, and
he knew his daughter moreover for a severe judge, and did not want to
alienate her and lose her services; so they got on fairly well
together, and she shared his luncheon, during which a message came up
about the carriage; and as there had been an application for some
nursery needment, and moreover black-edged envelopes had run short,
there was just purpose enough for a drive to the little town.
Then Nuttie read her father to sleep with the newspaper; rushed round
the garden in the twilight to stretch her young limbs; tried to read a
little, dressed, dined with her father; finished what he had missed in
the paper, then offered him music, and was told 'if she pleased,' and
as she played she mused whether this was to be her life. It looked
very dull and desolate, and what was the good of it all? But there
were her mother's words, 'Love him!' How fulfil them? She could pity
him now, but oh! how could she love one from whom her whole nature
recoiled, when she thought of her mother's ruined life? Mr. Dutton too
had held her new duties up to her as capable of being ennobled. Noble!
To read aloud a sporting paper she did not want to understand, to be
ready to play at cards or billiards, to take that dawdling drive day by
day, to devote herself to the selfish exactions of burnt-out
dissipation. Was this noble? Her mother had done all this, and never
even felt it a cross, because of her great love. It must be Nuttie's
cross if it was her duty; but could the love and honour possibly come
though she tried to pray in faith?