Notwithstanding Miss Grey’s testimony and all that had happened to make
her quite sure of her position, it cannot be denied that Lady William
awaited the lawyers’ reply to her letter with some anxiety. How does an
uninstructed woman know what lawyers may do? They may find the clearest
evidence wanting in something, some formality which may invalidate the
whole. Had she not heard a hundred times of the difference between moral
certainty and legal evidence? They might allege something of this sort,
and perhaps, for anything she could tell, insist upon a trial, and the
public appearance of witnesses, and the discussion of her marriage in
the papers, a possibility which made Lady William’s heart sick. I am not
at all sure (but then I know little more about law than Lady William
did) that had Messrs. Fox and Round been pettifogging lawyers, and their
clients petty and unknown people, they might not have attempted
something of the kind; but, as a matter of fact, they had never advised
their clients to do anything in the matter, and Lord Portcullis, who
remembered his sister-in-law very well, and all the circumstances of
Lord William’s death, had never entertained a doubt on the subject.
‘Certificates?’ he said, ‘why, I have seen the woman!’ as if that was
more than certificates; and Lord Portcullis was not a man who was
ignorant of the evil that exists in the world, or who was at all in a
general way an optimist about women. It had been the Marchioness, more
hasty, and more disposed to think that by a bold coup anything could be
done, who hoped to secure the whole of Lord John’s fortune in that way.
When she found that this was impossible (though she always retained a
secret conviction that Lady William was ‘just as much Lady William as my
old housekeeper is!’) my Lady Portcullis thought of another way--a way,
indeed, which had been one of the two things she had thought of in
sending her son Will to see into the affair.
‘If we can’t have it in any other way we might at least marry it’, she
said to her husband. ‘If Will got it in the end it would not be
altogether lost.’ And this was how it happened that the gay Guardsman,
cursing his luck, was sent down again to Watcham to pay a visit ‘at that
hole of an old Hall, with that dreadful witch of an old woman,’ as he
expressed it to his friends, in the first burst of the opening season,
when everything had a special zest, and all was delightful, fresh, and
new. Lord Will’s petition to be received so soon again was the first
thing which revealed, to the Swinfords at least, that against Lady
William there was now no further word to say.
‘Why don’t you come up to town?’ that young gentleman said at dinner,
where Mrs. Swinford was not present. ‘What good can it do, Swinford, to
bury yourself down here? Why, man alive! it’s not even the country; it’s
not much better than a suburban villa. Fine place, I allow, and all
that; curious old relic of grandpapa, don’t you know; but grandpapa is
such a very recent relation, it is not much worth your while keeping
this up.’
‘Thanks for your kindness,’ said Leo; ‘I may say, also, if that is not
too much, that, had I not been here, it would, my dear Will, have been
less convenient for you.’
‘Ah yes,’ said the young man, ‘less convenient, but much nicer, if the
truth must be told; for to come down here a-fortune-hunting, don’t you
know, is about the last thing in the world to please me.’
‘Oh, that is it!’ said Leo.
‘That’s it, to be sure,’ said the other. ‘A cousin, too; and it is not
such a heavy price to put oneself up for. There’s half-a-dozen little
Americans about town, or Australians, or whatever you like to call them,
that are much better worth than that, if a man is to make a sacrifice of
himself,’ said poor Lord Will.
‘But so long as your brother Pontoon is well and strong, the Americans
don’t care much, do they, for a courtesy title?’
‘They’re getting awfully well up,’ confessed the other in a doleful
tone, ‘got their peerage at their fingers’ ends, and care nothing for
younger brothers, that’s the truth; and I’m sure I don’t want to marry
any of them, nor any girl that I know of. I say, Swinford, you don’t
know how well off you are, you lucky beggar, to be all there is of your
family. I don’t mean to say that I’m not a bore to Pontoon, and all
that, having to be provided for somehow--as much as he is to me,
standing in my way.’
‘You think it would be a better arrangement having only one son?’
‘One child, that’s what I should recommend; like the French do,’ said
this victim of English prejudices. He was not aware that his grammar was
bad, and would not have cared had he known. There are some people who
are above grammar, just as there are many who are below it. He sighed,
and added, as if that was a dreadful fact that needed no comment: ‘There
are four girls, and none of them married.’ A second sigh after he had
made this announcement was something like a groan.
‘They are almost too young for that, as yet,’ said Leo, with good
nature.
‘Too young! This will be Addie’s third season, and not so much as a
nibble. If you don’t think that serious, by Jove, I do--and Betty
treading on her heels, and the little ones beginning to perk their heads
out of the schoolroom. The poor old mother, it’s enough to turn her
gray. And when she bids me up and do something for myself, I can’t turn
on her, Swinford, I can’t indeed, though it’s hard on a fellow all the
same. It ought all to have come to us, it ought indeed--without any
encumbrance, the advertisements say.’
‘The encumbrance,’ said Leo, who was half angry and half amused, ‘is not
a thing you will find it so easy to reckon with, my poor Will. She has
her own ways of thinking, and a will of her own.’
‘Ah!’ said Lord Will, with much calm. He was not afraid, it would
appear, of Mab. He thought of the little roundabout thing whom he had
seen on his previous visit, not, certainly, with much alarm, but with a
sense that if she resisted his advances (which was so very unlikely) he
would not be inconsolable. Anyhow, he would have done what duty and his
parents required of him. It was very satisfactory to him that Mrs.
Swinford did not come downstairs that evening, for the recollection of
his last interview with her was not agreeable to him in the present
changed circumstances. How he was to explain to her the _motif_ of his
conduct now, and how the failure of all her information--her hints and
prophecies of evil--was to be got over, did there ever again ensue a
_tête-à-tête_ between the hostess and her visitor, he could not tell.
Mrs. Swinford was much more alarming to Lord Will than the little cousin
whom he came to woo.
The first assurance received by Lady William that all was well was thus
conveyed to her by the second visit of the young man who bore her
husband’s name, who came stalking into the cottage alone on the morning
after his arrival as if he had been one of the intimates there, and
addressed her as Aunt William, to her great surprise and agitation. Not
a word did Lord Will say of his uncle’s money or the proceedings of
Messrs. Fox and Round. Watcham was so handy for town, was what the young
man said. It was so easy to run down for a breath of fresh air: and
boxed up in town, as it was his hard fate to be, nobody could think what
a pleasure it was to get into the country from time to time.
‘I had no idea that you were such a lover of the country,’ Lady William
said.
‘Not the country in the abstract,’ said Lord Will; ‘but a pleasant
little place like this within an hour’s ride--with such a pleasant
fellow as Swinford always throwing open his doors--a man with really a
nice place, and the best _chef_ I’ve met with, out of the very best
houses, don’t you know.’
‘Yes, I see,’ said Lady William; ‘I should not think of asking you to
meet _my_ cook after that.’
‘Oh, delighted,’ said Lord Will. ‘I don’t demand a _chef_ like
Swinford’s everywhere; besides, there’s not a dozen of his quality in
the world--brought him from Paris with them, don’t you know. Women don’t
often care much for what they eat--but when they do----!’
‘Yes,’ said Lady William, with great gravity, ‘when women are bad, as
people say, they are worse than men; which is a compliment or not,
according as we receive it.’
‘There is nothing bad, my dear aunt, in being particular about what you
eat.’
‘Nothing in the world, or I should be a great sinner. We both like nice
things, both Mab and I.’
‘Oh,’ said Lord Will--‘but I am not surprised,’ he added--‘not even that
my cousin should show so much sense: for when she has had the advantage
of being trained by such a mother----’
Lady William burst into a laugh. His compliments pleased her, as showing
how complete was her own victory; but he amused her still more.
‘Let us hope that Mab will continue to show that she has profited by
that training,’ she said.
‘Oh, ah,’ said Lord Will; ‘now, of course, you will take her to town. My
mother, indeed, wanted to know if she could do anything for you about
that--look out for a house, or see after rooms, or that sort of thing?’
‘Lady Portcullis is very kind. I am not sure if I shall make any move
this year. Mab is only seventeen; there is plenty of time.’
‘That is just what my mother thought,’ said Lord Will.
Lady William could not restrain another laugh. The kindness of Lady
Portcullis, and her desire to be useful, were profoundly amusing to her.
‘Your mother is too kind to take my plans into consideration,’ she said.
‘Well, you see, the mother has girls of her own, and knows all the fuss
about introducing them and all that. A girl is ever so much more trouble
than sons. We are tossed into the world to sink or swim; but there’s all
sorts of fuss about invitations and things for them--the right sort of
invitations, don’t you know, to meet the right sort of people. My
mother’s deeply up in all that. She could give you a great many
wrinkles. That’s one reason, I suppose, why women are so pleased when
they get their girls off their hands.’
‘Is it the result of your personal observation, my dear Lord Will, that
women are so pleased to get their girls, as you say, off their hands?’
‘Oh, Lord, yes,’ cried the Guardsman, with warm conviction; ‘to marry
them off in their first season is the very best thing that can happen,
especially if there’s money in the case. You get a lot of fellows
dangling about that think of nothing else; and the poor things get
ticketed, you know, with their values, and if a man thinks he can let
himself go at that price----’
‘What a terrible prospect for the girls with money--and their mothers!’
‘So it is. And if a decent fellow turns up beforehand who can take care
of the girl, don’t you know----’
‘I see,’ said Lady William. ‘How good you are to come and give me these
hints--to be a guide to my ignorance!’
He gave her a doubtful look; but seeing her perfect gravity was
encouraged.
‘Well,’ said Lord Will, ‘some people would think it wasn’t my place; but
when I see a nice woman like you, Aunt William----’
‘Thank you, Lord Will.’
‘Oh, you need not thank me; it is a pleasure. When I see you just
starting out of this nice quiet place upon the world, and think what a
horrid wicked deceitful place it is----’
‘My dear Lord Will, you almost make me cry over you in the character of
youthful prophet, and myself in that of the inexperienced novice. You
are a Daniel come to judgment; but surely you have too bad an opinion of
the poor world.’
‘I hope you will think so when you come to try it,’ he said. And then
looking up suddenly he was caught by the gleam of fun in Lady William’s
eye.
‘I believe,’ he said, ‘you are laughing at me and my advice all the
time.’
‘I shall not perhaps require to take advantage of it,’ she said
evasively, ‘till next year: and one can never tell what wonderful things
may happen before that time.’
It was Lord Will’s decision as he went away that his dear aunt was much
‘deeper’ than he had given her credit for being, and that perhaps to be
chary of advice might be better on the whole. But he came back in the
afternoon, and also next morning before he went away, and was very
anxious to be permitted to be of use to the ladies when they came to
town--if they should come.
‘I suppose you’ll come up--for the pictures or something,’ he said, ‘or
to go to the opera, or that sort of thing?--when a fellow that knows his
way about might be of use. Drop me a line, Aunt William. There is
nothing I like so much as being of use.’
‘I like a day in town,’ said Mab, who this time was present. ‘Don’t you
think, mother, it’s a good idea? There are a number of things I want to
see. I should like to go to the Row with somebody who could tell me who
everybody was. And if Cousin Will can spare the time----’
‘I shall take care to spare the time, Cousin Mab.’
‘And you can tell me who everybody is?’
‘Oh! I know a few of the swells,’ the young man responded modestly; and
an appointment was accordingly made. But in the evening, when they were
alone together, Mab made inquiries into the sudden cordiality of her
cousin. ‘Why should he have come back again so soon? I am sure you did
not wish him to come back: and why should he be so kind? He was not kind
like this when he was here before. And you look either as if you were
very happy about it, or as if it were a capital joke.’
‘It is a capital joke--as it has turned out, Mab; but I don’t know what
it might have been if Lucy Grey, devoured by curiosity, had not gone to
my marriage without being asked, as she told us the other day.’
Mab opened her eyes very wide.
‘What could it matter whether Miss Grey was there or not?’
‘I will tell you, Mab--I can’t keep secrets. I was married in a great
hurry, and got no--certificates, or things of that sort. The church has
been burnt down; the clergyman is dead--accidents which your uncle James
thinks have been partly my fault for being married there--and I might
have had difficulty in proving my marriage----’
‘Why, mother?’
‘Well, Mab---- Why, because I had no evidence, don’t you see?’
‘You had me,’ said Mab calmly; ‘surely I am evidence. If you had not
been married how could you account for me?’
Lady William kept an expression of perfect gravity, though not without
some trouble.
‘That is an unquestionable proof, to be sure,’ she said, bending her
head; ‘but,’ she added, in a lighter tone, ‘I could not send you by post
to show the lawyers, as I could have done a certificate.’
‘A certificate!’ cried Mab, with mild disdain, ‘as if people would ever
ask for certificates from you! But that,’ she added, ‘anyhow has nothing
to do with Cousin Will. Why should he have come back so soon? and why
should he be so kind? and why are we asked to lunch with the
Marchioness, and all that? I think there must be more in this than meets
the eye.’
‘You know that you have just come into a fortune----’
‘Oh, mother, don’t say it is for that,’ Mab said, in tones of disgust.
‘No, it’s not exactly for that. But perhaps your cousin thinks that he
might help you--to spend it, or take care of it----’
‘Oh!’ said Mab. She did not blush, nor was she excited, but a faint
movement swept over her round face which indicated that she knew what
his visit meant. And not only did she know what it meant, but it gave
her a certain satisfaction as clearing up for her a question which had
been very puzzling to her little sober brain.
‘Oh,’ she said again, ‘is that what it means?’
‘No one can speak quite certainly on such a subject,’ said Lady William,
‘but I think that is what it means.’
It was some time before Mab spoke again.
‘Is it then,’ she said, ‘a very large fortune, mother?’
‘It is fifty thousand pounds.’
‘And how much does that mean a year?’
Lady William had a woman’s limited understanding of interest, that is, a
woman’s view who has never had money to invest. She thought it meant
something about five per cent, a little more or a little less, and
replied accordingly that it meant a little more than two thousand pounds
a year.
‘That’s not so much, is it, for a man like Cousin Will?’
‘No, it is not so very much----’
‘And a cousin--that would be no fun. If I were to marry a cousin, I
think I would much rather have Jim----’
‘Jim!’ cried Lady William, with a start. ‘Not for the world, Mab! an
idle young man, with bad habits--you would never be so mad as that!’
‘Everybody is not made exactly alike, mother,’ said Mab gravely. ‘Jim is
idle, it is true, and he always will be idle, should all the Rectory
people go on at him till doomsday. The more reason that he should be
married (if he is ever married) to some one who is very steady, and has
money enough to live on, and can keep him straight.’
‘But, Mab,’ her mother said, with a gasp, ‘what reasoning is this? To
put a premium on idleness, and save a man from himself.’
‘Well, mother, I’ve heard you say what a pity it was that people were so
afraid of responsibility. I am not afraid of it. If I were to marry my
cousin--which would be no fun at all, in the first place--I should
certainly rather have Cousin Jim, whom I could be of most use to, than
Cousin Will.’