HOW THEY LIVED AT TRAFFORD PARK.
There certainly was no justification for the ill-humour which Lady
Kingsbury displayed to her husband because Hampstead and his sister
had been invited down to Castle Hautboy. The Hautboy people were her
own relations,--not her husband's. If Lady Persiflage had taken upon
herself to think better of all the evil things done by the children
of the first Marchioness, that was not the fault of the Marquis! But
to her thinking this visit had been made in direct opposition to
her wishes and her interests. Had it been possible she would have
sent the naughty young lord and the naughty young lady altogether
to Coventry,--as far as all aristocratic associations were concerned.
This encouragement of them at Castle Hautboy was in direct
contravention of her ideas. But poor Lord Kingsbury had had nothing
to do with it. "They are not fit to go to such a house as Castle
Hautboy," she said. The Marquis, who was sitting alone in his own
morning room at Trafford, frowned angrily. But her ladyship, too, was
very angry. "They have disgraced themselves, and Geraldine should not
have received them."
There were two causes for displeasure in this. In the first place
the Marquis could not endure that such hard things should be said of
his elder children. Then, by the very nature of the accusation made,
there was a certain special honour paid to the Hauteville family
which he did not think at all to be their due. On many occasions his
wife had spoken as though her sister had married into a House of
peculiar nobility,--because, forsooth, Lord Persiflage was in the
Cabinet, and was supposed to have made a figure in politics. The
Marquis was not at all disposed to regard the Earl as in any way
bigger than was he himself. He could have paid all the Earl's
debts,--which the Earl certainly could not do himself,--and never
have felt it. The social gatherings at Castle Hautboy were much more
numerous than any at Trafford, but the guests at Castle Hautboy were
often people whom the Marquis would never have entertained. His wife
pined for the social influence which her sister was supposed to
possess, but he felt no sympathy with his wife in that respect.
"I deny it," said the father, rising from his chair, and scowling at
his wife as he stood leaning upon the table. "They have not disgraced
themselves."
"I say they have." Her ladyship made her assertion boldly, having
come into the room prepared for battle, and determined if possible to
be victor. "Has not Fanny disgraced herself in having engaged herself
to a low fellow, the scum of the earth, without saying anything even
to you about it?"
"No!" shouted the Marquis, who was resolved to contradict his wife in
anything she might say.
"Then I know nothing of what becomes a young woman," continued the
Marchioness. "And does not Hampstead associate with all manner of low
people?"
"No, never."
"Is not this George Roden a low person? Does he ever live with young
men or with ladies of his own rank?"
"And yet you're angry with him because he goes to Castle Hautboy!
Though, no doubt, he may meet people there quite unfit for society."
"That is not true," said the Marchioness. "My brother-in-law
entertains the best company in Europe."
"He did do so when he had my son and my daughter under his roof."
"Hampstead does not belong to a single club in London," said the
step-mother.
"So much the better," said the father, "as far as I know anything
about the clubs. Hautboy lost fourteen hundred pounds the other day
at the Pandemonium; and where did the money come from to save him
from being expelled?"
"That's a very old story," said the Marchioness, who knew that her
husband and Hampstead between them had supplied the money to save the
young lad from disgrace.
"And yet you throw it in my teeth that Hampstead doesn't belong to
any club! There isn't a club in London he couldn't get into
to-morrow, if he were to put his name down."
"I wish he'd try at the Carlton," said her ladyship, whose father
and brother, and all her cousins, belonged to that aristocratic and
exclusive political association.
"I should disown him," said the still Liberal Marquis;--"that is to
say, of course he'll do nothing of the kind. But to declare that a
young man has disgraced himself because he doesn't care for club
life, is absurd;--and coming from you as his stepmother is wicked."
As he said this he bobbed his head at her, looking into her face as
though he should say to her, "Now you have my true opinion about
yourself." At this moment there came a gentle knock at the door, and
Mr. Greenwood put in his head. "I am busy," said the Marquis very
angrily. Then the unhappy chaplain retired abashed to his own rooms,
which were also on the ground floor, beyond that in which his patron
was now sitting.
"My lord," said his wife, towering in her passion, "if you call me
wicked in regard to your children, I will not continue to live under
the same roof with you."
"Then you may go away."
"I have endeavoured to do my duty by your children, and a very
hard time I've had of it. If you think that your daughter is now
conducting herself with propriety, I can only wash my hands of her."
"Wash your hands," he said.
"Very well. Of course I must suffer deeply, because the shadow of the
disgrace must fall more or less upon my own darlings."
"Bother the darlings," said the Marquis.
"They're your own children, my lord; your own children."
"Of course they are. Why shouldn't they be my own children? They are
doing very well, and will get quite as good treatment as younger
brothers ought to have."
"I don't believe you care for them the least in the world," said the
Marchioness.
"That is not true. You know I care for them."
"You said 'bother the darlings' when I spoke of them." Here the poor
mother sobbed, almost overcome by the contumely of the expression
used towards her own offspring.
"You drive a man to say anything. Now look here. I will not have
Hampstead and Fanny abused in my presence. If there be anything wrong
I must suffer more than you, because they are my children. You have
made it impossible for her to live here--"
"I haven't made it impossible for her to live here. I have only done
my duty by her. Ask Mr. Greenwood."
"D---- Mr. Greenwood!" said the Marquis. He certainly did say the
word at full length, as far as it can be said to have length, and
with all the emphasis of which it was capable. He certainly did say
it, though when the circumstance was afterwards not unfrequently
thrown in his teeth, he would forget it and deny it. Her ladyship
heard the word very plainly, and at once stalked out of the room,
thereby showing that her feminine feelings had received a wrench
which made it impossible for her any longer to endure the presence of
such a foul-mouthed monster. Up to that moment she had been anything
but the victor; but the vulgarity of the curse had restored to her
much of her prestige, so that she was able to leave the battlefield
as one retiring with all his forces in proper order. He had
"bothered" his own children, and "damned" his own chaplain!
The Marquis sat awhile thinking alone, and then pulled a string by
which communication was made between his room and that in which
the clergyman sat. It was not a vulgar bell, which would have been
injurious to the reverence and dignity of a clerical friend, as
savouring of a menial's task work, nor was it a pipe for oral
communication, which is undignified, as requiring a man to stoop
and put his mouth to it,--but an arrangement by which a light tap
was made against the wall so that the inhabitant of the room might
know that he was wanted without any process derogatory to his
self-respect. The chaplain obeyed the summons, and, lightly knocking
at the door, again stood before the lord. He found the Marquis
standing upon the hearth-rug, by which, as he well knew, it was
signified that he was not intended to sit down. "Mr. Greenwood," said
the Marquis, in a tone of voice which was intended to be peculiarly
mild, but which at the same time was felt to be menacing, "I do not
mean at the present moment to have any conversation with you on the
subject to which it is necessary that I should allude, and as I shall
not ask for your presence for above a minute or two, I will not
detain you by getting you to sit down. If I can induce you to listen
to me without replying to me it will, I think, be better for both of
us."
"Certainly, my lord."
"I will not have you speak to me respecting Lady Frances."
"When have I done so?" asked the chaplain plaintively.
"Nor will I have you speak to Lady Kingsbury about her
step-daughter." Then he was silent, and seemed to imply, by what he
had said before, that the clergyman should now leave the room. The
first order given had been very simple. It was one which the Marquis
certainly had a right to exact, and with which Mr. Greenwood felt
that he would be bound to comply. But the other was altogether of
a different nature. He was in the habit of constant conversation
with Lady Kingsbury as to Lady Frances. Twice, three times, four
times a day her ladyship, who in her present condition had no other
confidant, would open out her sorrow to him on this terrible subject.
Was he to tell her that he had been forbidden by his employer to
continue this practice, or was he to continue it in opposition to
the Marquis's wishes? He would have been willing enough to do as he
was bidden, but that he saw that he would be driven to quarrel with
the lord or the lady. The lord, no doubt, could turn him out of the
house, but the lady could make the house too hot to hold him. The
lord was a just man, though unreasonable, and would probably not turn
him out without compensation; but the lady was a violent woman, who
if she were angered would remember nothing of justice. Thinking of
all this he stood distracted and vacillating before his patron. "I
expect you," said the Marquis, "to comply with my wishes,--or to
leave me."
"To leave Trafford?" asked the poor man.
"Yes; to leave Trafford; to do that or to comply with my wishes on a
matter as to which my wishes are certainly entitled to consideration.
Which is it to be, Mr. Greenwood?"
"Of course, I will do as you bid me." Then the Marquis bowed
graciously as he still stood with his back to the fire, and Mr.
Greenwood left the room.
Mr. Greenwood knew well that this was only the beginning of his
troubles. When he made the promise he was quite sure that he would be
unable to keep it. The only prospect open to him was that of breaking
the promise and keeping the Marquis in ignorance of his doing so.
It would be out of his power not to follow any lead in conversation
which the Marchioness might give him. But it might be possible to
make the Marchioness understand that her husband must be kept in the
dark as to any confidence between them. For, in truth, many secrets
were now discussed between them, as to which it was impossible that
her ladyship should be got to hold her tongue. It had come to be
received as a family doctrine between them that Lord Hampstead's
removal to a better world was a thing devoutly to be wished. It is
astonishing how quickly, though how gradually, ideas of such a nature
will be developed when entertainment has once been given to them. The
Devil makes himself at home with great rapidity when the hall door
has been opened to him. A month or two back, before her ladyship went
to Königsgraaf, she certainly would not have ventured to express
a direct wish for the young man's death, however frequently her
thoughts might have travelled in that direction. And certainly in
those days, though they were yet not many weeks since, Mr. Greenwood
would have been much shocked had any such suggestion been made to
him as that which was now quite commonly entertained between them.
The pity of it, the pity of it, the pity of it! It was thus the
heart-broken mother put the matter, reconciling to herself her own
wishes by that which she thought to be a duty to her own children. It
was not that she and Mr. Greenwood had between them any scheme by
which Lord Hampstead might cease to be in the way. Murder certainly
had not come into their thoughts. But the pity of it; the pity of it!
As Lord Hampstead was in all respects unfit for that high position
which, if he lived, he would be called upon to fill, so was her
boy, her Lord Frederic, made to adorn it by all good gifts. He was
noble-looking, gracious, and aristocratic from the crown of his
little head to the soles of his little feet. No more glorious heir to
a title made happy the heart of any British mother,--if only he were
the heir. And why should it be denied to her, a noble scion of the
great House of Montressor, to be the mother of none but younger sons?
The more her mind dwelt upon it, the more completely did the iniquity
of her wishes fade out of sight, and her ambition appear to be
no more than the natural anxiety of a mother for her child. Mr.
Greenwood had no such excuses to offer to himself; but with him,
too, the Devil having once made his entrance soon found himself
comfortably at home. Of meditating Lord Hampstead's murder he
declared to himself that he had no idea. His conscience was quite
clear to him in that respect. What was it to him who might inherit
the title and the property of the Traffords? He was simply discussing
with a silly woman a circumstance which no words of theirs could do
aught either to cause or to prevent. It soon seemed to him to be
natural that she should wish it, and natural also that he should
seem to sympathize with her who was his best friend. The Marquis,
he was sure, was gradually dropping him. Where was he to look for
maintenance, but to his own remaining friend? The Marquis would
probably give him something were he dismissed;--but that something
would go but a short way towards supporting him comfortably for the
rest of his life. There was a certain living in the gift of the
Marquis, the Rectory of Appleslocombe in Somersetshire, which would
exactly suit Mr. Greenwood's needs. The incumbent was a very old man,
now known to be bed-ridden. It was £800 a year. There would be ample
for himself and for a curate. Mr. Greenwood had spoken to the Marquis
on the subject;--but had been told, with some expression of civil
regret, that he was considered to be too old for new duties. The
Marchioness had talked to him frequently of Appleslocombe;--but what
was the use of that? If the Marquis himself were to die, and then
the Rector, there would be a chance for him,--on condition that Lord
Hampstead were also out of the way. But Mr. Greenwood, as he thought
of it, shook his head at the barren prospect. His sympathies no doubt
were on the side of the lady. The Marquis was treating him ill. Lord
Hampstead was a disgrace to his order. Lady Frances was worse even
than her brother. It would be a good thing that Lord Frederic should
be the heir. But all this had nothing to do with murder,--or even
with meditation of murder. If the Lord should choose to take the
young man it would be well; that was all.
On the same afternoon, an hour or two after he had made his promise
to the Marquis, Lady Kingsbury sent for him. She always did send for
him to drink tea with her at five o'clock. It was so regular that the
servant would simply announce that tea was ready in her ladyship's
room up-stairs. "Have you seen his lordship to-day?" she asked.
"Yes;--I have seen him."
"Since he told you in that rude way to leave the room?"
"Yes, he called me after that."
"Well?"
"He bade me not talk about Lady Frances."
"I dare say not. He does not wish to hear her name spoken. I can
understand that."
"He does not wish me to mention her to you."
"Not to me? Is my mouth to be stopped? I shall say respecting her
whatever I think fit. I dare say, indeed!"
"It was to my talking that he referred."
"He cannot stop people's mouths. It is all nonsense. He should have
kept her at Königsgraaf, and locked her up till she had changed her
mind."
"He wanted me to promise that I would not speak of her to your
ladyship."
"And what did you say?" He shrugged his shoulders, and drank his tea.
She shook her head and bit her lips. She would not hold her tongue,
be he ever so angry. "I almost wish that she would marry the man,
so that the matter might be settled. I don't suppose he would ever
mention her name then himself. Has she gone back to Hendon yet?"
"I don't know, my lady."
"This is his punishment for having run counter to his uncle's wishes
and his uncle's principles. You cannot touch pitch and not be
defiled." The pitch, as Mr. Greenwood very well understood, was the
first Marchioness. "Did he say anything about Hampstead?"
"Not a word."
"I suppose we are not to talk about him either! Unfortunate young
man! I wonder whether he feels himself how thoroughly he is
destroying the family."
"I should think he must."
"Those sort of men are so selfish that they never think of any one
else. It does not occur to him what Frederic might be if he were not
in the way. Nothing annoys me so much as when he pretends to be fond
of the children."
"I suppose he won't come any more now."
"Nothing will keep him away,--unless he were to die." Mr. Greenwood
shook his head sadly. "They say he rides hard."
"I don't know." There was something in the suggestion which at the
moment made the clergyman almost monosyllabic.
"Or his yacht might go down with him."
"He never yachts at this time of the year," said the clergyman,
feeling comfort in the security thus assured.
"I suppose not. Bad weeds never get cut off. But yet it is
astonishing how many elder sons have been--taken away, during the
last quarter of a century."
"A great many."
"There never could have been one who could be better spared," said
the stepmother.
"Yes;--he might be spared."
"If you only think of the advantage to the family! It will be ruined
if he comes to the title. And my Fred would be such an honour to the
name! There is nothing to be done, of course." That was the first
word that had ever been spoken in that direction, and that word was
allowed to pass without any reply having been made to it, though it
had been uttered almost in a question.