Lessons from Courcy Castle
It was the first of July, young Frank Gresham's birthday, and the
London season was not yet over; nevertheless, Lady de Courcy had
managed to get down into the country to grace the coming of age
of the heir, bringing with her all the Ladies Amelia, Rosina,
Margaretta, and Alexandrina, together with such of the Honourable
Johns and Georges as could be collected for the occasion.
The Lady Arabella had contrived this year to spend ten weeks in town,
which, by a little stretching, she made to pass for the season; and
had managed, moreover, at last to refurnish, not ingloriously, the
Portman Square drawing-room. She had gone up to London under the
pretext, imperatively urged, of Augusta's teeth--young ladies' teeth
are not unfrequently of value in this way;--and having received
authority for a new carpet, which was really much wanted, had made
such dexterous use of that sanction as to run up an upholsterer's
bill of six or seven hundred pounds. She had of course had her
carriage and horses; the girls of course had gone out; it had been
positively necessary to have a few friends in Portman Square;
and, altogether, the ten weeks had not been unpleasant, and not
inexpensive.
For a few confidential minutes before dinner, Lady de Courcy and her
sister-in-law sat together in the latter's dressing-room, discussing
the unreasonableness of the squire, who had expressed himself with
more than ordinary bitterness as to the folly--he had probably used
some stronger word--of these London proceedings.
"Heavens!" said the countess, with much eager animation; "what can
the man expect? What does he wish you to do?"
"He would like to sell the house in London, and bury us all here for
ever. Mind, I was there only for ten weeks."
"Barely time for the girls to get their teeth properly looked at! But
Arabella, what does he say?" Lady de Courcy was very anxious to learn
the exact truth of the matter, and ascertain, if she could, whether
Mr Gresham was really as poor as he pretended to be.
"Why, he said yesterday that he would have no more going to town at
all; that he was barely able to pay the claims made on him, and keep
up the house here, and that he would not--"
"Would not what?" asked the countess.
"Why, he said that he would not utterly ruin poor Frank."
"Ruin Frank!"
"That's what he said."
"But, surely, Arabella, it is not so bad as that? What possible
reason can there be for him to be in debt?"
"He is always talking of those elections."
"But, my dear, Boxall Hill paid all that off. Of course Frank will
not have such an income as there was when you married into the
family; we all know that. And whom will he have to thank but his
father? But Boxall Hill paid all those debts, and why should there be
any difficulty now?"
"It was those nasty dogs, Rosina," said the Lady Arabella, almost in
tears.
"Well, I for one never approved of the hounds coming to Greshamsbury.
When a man has once involved his property he should not incur any
expenses that are not absolutely necessary. That is a golden rule
which Mr Gresham ought to have remembered. Indeed, I put it to him
nearly in those very words; but Mr Gresham never did, and never will
receive with common civility anything that comes from me."
"I know, Rosina, he never did; and yet where would he have been
but for the de Courcys?" So exclaimed, in her gratitude, the Lady
Arabella; to speak the truth, however, but for the de Courcys, Mr
Gresham might have been at this moment on the top of Boxall Hill,
monarch of all he surveyed.
"As I was saying," continued the countess, "I never approved of the
hounds coming to Greshamsbury; but yet, my dear, the hounds can't
have eaten up everything. A man with ten thousand a year ought to be
able to keep hounds; particularly as he had a subscription."
"He says the subscription was little or nothing."
"That's nonsense, my dear. Now, Arabella, what does he do with his
money? That's the question. Does he gamble?"
"Well," said Lady Arabella, very slowly, "I don't think he does." If
the squire did gamble he must have done it very slyly, for he rarely
went away from Greshamsbury, and certainly very few men looking like
gamblers were in the habit of coming thither as guests. "I don't
think he does gamble." Lady Arabella put her emphasis on the word
gamble, as though her husband, if he might perhaps be charitably
acquitted of that vice, was certainly guilty of every other known in
the civilised world.
"I know he used," said Lady de Courcy, looking very wise, and rather
suspicious. She certainly had sufficient domestic reasons for
disliking the propensity; "I know he used; and when a man begins, he
is hardly ever cured."
"Well, if he does, I don't know it," said the Lady Arabella.
"The money, my dear, must go somewhere. What excuse does he give when
you tell him you want this and that--all the common necessaries of
life, that you have always been used to?"
"He gives no excuse; sometimes he says the family is so large."
"Nonsense! Girls cost nothing; there's only Frank, and he can't have
cost anything yet. Can he be saving money to buy back Boxall Hill?"
"Oh no!" said the Lady Arabella, quickly. "He is not saving anything;
he never did, and never will save, though he is so stingy to me. He
_is_ hard pushed for money, I know that."
"Then where has it gone?" said the Countess de Courcy, with a look of
stern decision.
"Heaven only knows! Now, Augusta is to be married. I must of course
have a few hundred pounds. You should have heard how he groaned when
I asked him for it. Heaven only knows where the money goes!" And the
injured wife wiped a piteous tear from her eye with her fine dress
cambric handkerchief. "I have all the sufferings and privations of
a poor man's wife, but I have none of the consolations. He has no
confidence in me; he never tells me anything; he never talks to
me about his affairs. If he talks to any one it is to that horrid
doctor."
"What, Dr Thorne?" Now the Countess de Courcy hated Dr Thorne with a
holy hatred.
"Yes; Dr Thorne. I believe that he knows everything; and advises
everything, too. Whatever difficulties poor Gresham may have, I do
believe Dr Thorne has brought them about. I do believe it, Rosina."
"Well, that is surprising. Mr Gresham, with all his faults, is
a gentleman; and how he can talk about his affairs with a low
apothecary like that, I, for one, cannot imagine. Lord de Courcy has
not always been to me all that he should have been; far from it." And
Lady de Courcy thought over in her mind injuries of a much graver
description than any that her sister-in-law had ever suffered; "but I
have never known anything like that at Courcy Castle. Surely Umbleby
knows all about it, doesn't he?"
"Not half so much as the doctor," said Lady Arabella.
The countess shook her head slowly; the idea of Mr Gresham, a country
gentleman of good estate like him, making a confidant of a country
doctor was too great a shock for her nerves; and for a while she was
constrained to sit silent before she could recover herself.
"One thing at any rate is certain, Arabella," said the countess,
as soon as she found herself again sufficiently composed to offer
counsel in a properly dictatorial manner. "One thing at any rate is
certain; if Mr Gresham be involved so deeply as you say, Frank has
but one duty before him. He must marry money. The heir of fourteen
thousand a year may indulge himself in looking for blood, as Mr
Gresham did, my dear"--it must be understood that there was very
little compliment in this, as the Lady Arabella had always conceived
herself to be a beauty--"or for beauty, as some men do," continued
the countess, thinking of the choice that the present Earl de Courcy
had made; "but Frank must marry money. I hope he will understand this
early; do make him understand this before he makes a fool of himself;
when a man thoroughly understands this, when he knows what his
circumstances require, why, the matter becomes easy to him. I hope
that Frank understands that he has no alternative. In his position he
must marry money."
But, alas! alas! Frank Gresham had already made a fool of himself.
"Well, my boy, I wish you joy with all my heart," said the Honourable
John, slapping his cousin on the back, as he walked round to the
stable-yard with him before dinner, to inspect a setter puppy of
peculiarly fine breed which had been sent to Frank as a birthday
present. "I wish I were an elder son; but we can't all have that
luck."
"Who wouldn't sooner be the younger son of an earl than the eldest
son of a plain squire?" said Frank, wishing to say something civil in
return for his cousin's civility.
"I wouldn't for one," said the Honourable John. "What chance have I?
There's Porlock as strong as a horse; and then George comes next. And
the governor's good for these twenty years." And the young man sighed
as he reflected what small hope there was that all those who were
nearest and dearest to him should die out of his way, and leave him
to the sweet enjoyment of an earl's coronet and fortune. "Now, you're
sure of your game some day; and as you've no brothers, I suppose the
squire'll let you do pretty well what you like. Besides, he's not so
strong as my governor, though he's younger."
Frank had never looked at his fortune in this light before, and was
so slow and green that he was not much delighted at the prospect now
that it was offered to him. He had always, however, been taught to
look to his cousins, the de Courcys, as men with whom it would be
very expedient that he should be intimate; he therefore showed no
offence, but changed the conversation.
"Shall you hunt with the Barsetshire this season, John? I hope you
will; I shall."
"Well, I don't know. It's very slow. It's all tillage here, or else
woodland. I rather fancy I shall go to Leicestershire when the
partridge-shooting is over. What sort of a lot do you mean to come
out with, Frank?"
Frank became a little red as he answered, "Oh, I shall have two," he
said; "that is, the mare I have had these two years, and the horse my
father gave me this morning."
"What! only those two? and the mare is nothing more than a pony."
"She is fifteen hands," said Frank, offended.
"Well, Frank, I certainly would not stand that," said the Honourable
John. "What, go out before the county with one untrained horse and a
pony; and you the heir to Greshamsbury!"
"I'll have him so trained before November," said Frank, "that
nothing in Barsetshire shall stop him. Peter says"--Peter was
the Greshamsbury stud-groom--"that he tucks up his hind legs
beautifully."
"But who the deuce would think of going to work with one horse; or
two either, if you insist on calling the old pony a huntress? I'll
put you up to a trick, my lad: if you stand that you'll stand
anything; and if you don't mean to go in leading-strings all your
life, now is the time to show it. There's young Baker--Harry Baker,
you know--he came of age last year, and he has as pretty a string of
nags as any one would wish to set eyes on; four hunters and a hack.
Now, if old Baker has four thousand a year it's every shilling he has
got."
This was true, and Frank Gresham, who in the morning had been made so
happy by his father's present of a horse, began to feel that hardly
enough had been done for him. It was true that Mr Baker had only four
thousand a year; but it was also true that he had no other child than
Harry Baker; that he had no great establishment to keep up; that he
owed a shilling to no one; and, also, that he was a great fool in
encouraging a mere boy to ape all the caprices of a man of wealth.
Nevertheless, for a moment, Frank Gresham did feel that, considering
his position, he was being treated rather unworthily.
"Take the matter in your own hands, Frank," said the Honourable John,
seeing the impression that he had made. "Of course the governor knows
very well that you won't put up with such a stable as that. Lord
bless you! I have heard that when he married my aunt, and that was
when he was about your age, he had the best stud in the whole county;
and then he was in Parliament before he was three-and-twenty."
"His father, you know, died when he was very young," said Frank.
"Yes; I know he had a stroke of luck that doesn't fall to everyone;
but--"
Young Frank's face grew dark now instead of red. When his cousin
submitted to him the necessity of having more than two horses for
his own use he could listen to him; but when the same monitor talked
of the chance of a father's death as a stroke of luck, Frank was
too much disgusted to be able to pretend to pass it over with
indifference. What! was he thus to think of his father, whose face
was always lighted up with pleasure when his boy came near to him,
and so rarely bright at any other time? Frank had watched his father
closely enough to be aware of this; he knew how his father delighted
in him; he had had cause to guess that his father had many troubles,
and that he strove hard to banish the memory of them when his son was
with him. He loved his father truly, purely, and thoroughly, liked to
be with him, and would be proud to be his confidant. Could he then
listen quietly while his cousin spoke of the chance of his father's
death as a stroke of luck?
"I shouldn't think it a stroke of luck, John. I should think it the
greatest misfortune in the world."
It is so difficult for a young man to enumerate sententiously a
principle of morality, or even an expression of ordinary good
feeling, without giving himself something of a ridiculous air,
without assuming something of a mock grandeur!
"Oh, of course, my dear fellow," said the Honourable John, laughing;
"that's a matter of course. We all understand that without saying it.
Porlock, of course, would feel exactly the same about the governor;
but if the governor were to walk, I think Porlock would console
himself with the thirty thousand a year."
"I don't know what Porlock would do; he's always quarrelling with my
uncle, I know. I only spoke of myself; I never quarrelled with my
father, and I hope I never shall."
"All right, my lad of wax, all right. I dare say you won't be tried;
but if you are, you'll find before six months are over, that it's a
very nice thing to master of Greshamsbury."
"I'm sure I shouldn't find anything of the kind."
"Very well, so be it. You wouldn't do as young Hatherly did, at
Hatherly Court, in Gloucestershire, when his father kicked the
bucket. You know Hatherly, don't you?"
"No; I never saw him."
"He's Sir Frederick now, and has, or had, one of the finest fortunes
in England, for a commoner; the most of it is gone now. Well, when he
heard of his governor's death, he was in Paris, but he went off to
Hatherly as fast as special train and post-horses would carry him,
and got there just in time for the funeral. As he came back to
Hatherly Court from the church, they were putting up the hatchment
over the door, and Master Fred saw that the undertakers had put at
the bottom 'Resurgam.' You know what that means?"
"Oh, yes," said Frank.
"'I'll come back again,'" said the Honourable John, construing the
Latin for the benefit of his cousin. "'No,' said Fred Hatherly,
looking up at the hatchment; 'I'm blessed if you do, old gentleman.
That would be too much of a joke; I'll take care of that.' So he
got up at night, and he got some fellows with him, and they climbed
up and painted out 'Resurgam,' and they painted into its place,
'Requiescat in pace;' which means, you know, 'you'd a great deal
better stay where you are.' Now I call that good. Fred Hatherly did
that as sure as--as sure as--as sure as anything."
Frank could not help laughing at the story, especially at his
cousin's mode of translating the undertaker's mottoes; and then they
sauntered back from the stables into the house to dress for dinner.
Dr Thorne had come to the house somewhat before dinner-time, at Mr
Gresham's request, and was now sitting with the squire in his own
book-room--so called--while Mary was talking to some of the girls
upstairs.
"I must have ten or twelve thousand pounds; ten at the very least,"
said the squire, who was sitting in his usual arm-chair, close to his
littered table, with his head supported on his hand, looking very
unlike the father of an heir of a noble property, who had that day
come of age.
It was the first of July, and of course there was no fire in the
grate; but, nevertheless, the doctor was standing with his back to
the fireplace, with his coat-tails over his arms, as though he were
engaged, now in summer as he so often was in winter, in talking, and
roasting his hinder person at the same time.
"Twelve thousand pounds! It's a very large sum of money."
"I said ten," said the squire.
"Ten thousand pounds is a very large sum of money. There is no doubt
he'll let you have it. Scatcherd will let you have it; but I know
he'll expect to have the title deeds."
"What! for ten thousand pounds?" said the squire. "There is not a
registered debt against the property but his own and Armstrong's."
"But his own is very large already."
"Armstrong's is nothing; about four-and-twenty thousand pounds."
"Yes; but he comes first, Mr Gresham."
"Well, what of that? To hear you talk, one would think that there was
nothing left of Greshamsbury. What's four-and-twenty thousand pounds?
Does Scatcherd know what rent-roll is?"
"Oh, yes, he knows it well enough: I wish he did not."
"Well, then, why does he make such a bother about a few thousand
pounds? The title-deeds, indeed!"
"What he means is, that he must have ample security to cover what he
has already advanced before he goes on. I wish to goodness you had
no further need to borrow. I did think that things were settled last
year."
"Oh if there's any difficulty, Umbleby will get it for me."
"Yes; and what will you have to pay for it?"
"I'd sooner pay double than be talked to in this way," said the
squire, angrily, and, as he spoke, he got up hurriedly from his
chair, thrust his hands into his trousers-pockets, walked quickly to
the window, and immediately walking back again, threw himself once
more into his chair.
"There are some things a man cannot bear, doctor," said he, beating
the devil's tattoo on the floor with one of his feet, "though God
knows I ought to be patient now, for I am made to bear a good many
things. You had better tell Scatcherd that I am obliged to him for
his offer, but that I will not trouble him."
The doctor during this little outburst had stood quite silent with
his back to the fireplace and his coat-tails hanging over his arms;
but though his voice said nothing, his face said much. He was very
unhappy; he was greatly grieved to find that the squire was so soon
again in want of money, and greatly grieved also to find that this
want had made him so bitter and unjust. Mr Gresham had attacked him;
but as he was determined not to quarrel with Mr Gresham, he refrained
from answering.
The squire also remained silent for a few minutes; but he was not
endowed with the gift of silence, and was soon, as it were, compelled
to speak again.
"Poor Frank!" said he. "I could yet be easy about everything if it
were not for the injury I have done him. Poor Frank!"
The doctor advanced a few paces from off the rug, and taking his hand
out of his pocket, he laid it gently on the squire's shoulder. "Frank
will do very well yet," said the he. "It is not absolutely necessary
that a man should have fourteen thousand pounds a year to be happy."
"My father left me the property entire, and I should leave it entire
to my son;--but you don't understand this."
The doctor did understand the feeling fully. The fact, on the other
hand, was that, long as he had known him, the squire did not
understand the doctor.
"I would you could, Mr Gresham," said the doctor, "so that your mind
might be happier; but that cannot be, and, therefore, I say again,
that Frank will do very well yet, although he will not inherit
fourteen thousand pounds a year; and I would have you say the same
thing to yourself."
"Ah! you don't understand it," persisted the squire. "You don't know
how a man feels when he--Ah, well! it's no use my troubling you with
what cannot be mended. I wonder whether Umbleby is about the place
anywhere?"
The doctor was again standing with his back against the
chimney-piece, and with his hands in his pockets.
"You did not see Umbleby as you came in?" again asked the squire.
"No, I did not; and if you will take my advice you will not see him
now; at any rate with reference to this money."
"I tell you I must get it from someone; you say Scatcherd won't let
me have it."
"No, Mr Gresham; I did not say that."
"Well, you said what was as bad. Augusta is to be married in
September, and the money must be had. I have agreed to give Moffat
six thousand pounds, and he is to have the money down in hard cash."
"Six thousand pounds," said the doctor. "Well, I suppose that is not
more than your daughter should have. But then, five times six are
thirty; thirty thousand pounds will be a large sum to make up."
The father thought to himself that his younger girls were but
children, and that the trouble of arranging their marriage portions
might well be postponed a while. Sufficient for the day is the evil
thereof.
"That Moffat is a griping, hungry fellow," said the squire. "I
suppose Augusta likes him; and, as regards money, it is a good
match."
"If Miss Gresham loves him, that is everything. I am not in love with
him myself; but then, I am not a young lady."
"The de Courcys are very fond of him. Lady de Courcy says that he is
a perfect gentleman, and thought very much of in London."
"Oh! if Lady de Courcy says that, of course, it's all right," said
the doctor, with a quiet sarcasm, that was altogether thrown away on
the squire.
The squire did not like any of the de Courcys; especially, he did not
like Lady de Courcy; but still he was accessible to a certain amount
of gratification in the near connexion which he had with the earl and
countess; and when he wanted to support his family greatness, would
sometimes weakly fall back upon the grandeur of Courcy Castle. It
was only when talking to his wife that he invariably snubbed the
pretensions of his noble relatives.
The two men after this remained silent for a while; and then the
doctor, renewing the subject for which he had been summoned into the
book-room, remarked, that as Scatcherd was now in the country--he
did not say, was now at Boxall Hill, as he did not wish to wound the
squire's ears--perhaps he had better go and see him, and ascertain
in what way this affair of the money might be arranged. There was
no doubt, he said, that Scatcherd would supply the sum required at
a lower rate of interest than that at which it could be procured
through Umbleby's means.
"Very well," said the squire. "I'll leave it in your hands, then. I
think ten thousand pounds will do. And now I'll dress for dinner."
And then the doctor left him.
Perhaps the reader will suppose after this that the doctor had some
pecuniary interest of his own in arranging the squire's loans; or, at
any rate, he will think that the squire must have so thought. Not in
the least; neither had he any such interest, nor did the squire think
that he had any. What Dr Thorne did in this matter the squire well
knew was done for love. But the squire of Greshamsbury was a great
man at Greshamsbury; and it behoved him to maintain the greatness of
his squirehood when discussing his affairs with the village doctor.
So much he had at any rate learnt from his contact with the de
Courcys.
And the doctor--proud, arrogant, contradictory, headstrong as he
was--why did he bear to be thus snubbed? Because he knew that the
squire of Greshamsbury, when struggling with debt and poverty,
required an indulgence for his weakness. Had Mr Gresham been in easy
circumstances, the doctor would by no means have stood so placidly
with his hands in his pockets, and have had Mr Umbleby thus thrown in
his teeth. The doctor loved the squire, loved him as his own oldest
friend; but he loved him ten times better as being in adversity than
he could ever have done had things gone well at Greshamsbury in his
time.
While this was going on downstairs, Mary was sitting upstairs with
Beatrice Gresham in the schoolroom. The old schoolroom, so called,
was now a sitting-room, devoted to the use of the grown-up young
ladies of the family, whereas one of the old nurseries was now the
modern schoolroom. Mary well knew her way to the sanctum, and,
without asking any questions, walked up to it when her uncle went to
the squire. On entering the room she found that Augusta and the Lady
Alexandrina were also there, and she hesitated for a moment at the
door.
"Come in, Mary," said Beatrice, "you know my cousin Alexandrina."
Mary came in, and having shaken hands with her two friends, was
bowing to the lady, when the lady condescended, put out her noble
hand, and touched Miss Thorne's fingers.
Beatrice was Mary's friend, and many heart-burnings and much mental
solicitude did that young lady give to her mother by indulging in
such a friendship. But Beatrice, with some faults, was true at heart,
and she persisted in loving Mary Thorne in spite of the hints which
her mother so frequently gave as to the impropriety of such an
affection.
Nor had Augusta any objection to the society of Miss Thorne. Augusta
was a strong-minded girl, with much of the de Courcy arrogance, but
quite as well inclined to show it in opposition to her mother as in
any other form. To her alone in the house did Lady Arabella show much
deference. She was now going to make a suitable match with a man of
large fortune, who had been procured for her as an eligible _parti_
by her aunt, the countess. She did not pretend, had never pretended,
that she loved Mr Moffat, but she knew, she said, that in the present
state of her father's affairs such a match was expedient. Mr Moffat
was a young man of very large fortune, in Parliament, inclined to
business, and in every way recommendable. He was not a man of birth,
to be sure; that was to be lamented;--in confessing that Mr Moffat
was not a man of birth, Augusta did not go so far as to admit that he
was the son of a tailor; such, however, was the rigid truth in this
matter--he was not a man of birth, that was to be lamented; but in
the present state of affairs at Greshamsbury, she understood well
that it was her duty to postpone her own feelings in some respect. Mr
Moffat would bring fortune; she would bring blood and connexion. And
as she so said, her bosom glowed with strong pride to think that she
would be able to contribute so much more towards the proposed future
partnership than her husband would do.
'Twas thus that Miss Gresham spoke of her match to her dear friends,
her cousins the de Courcys for instance, to Miss Oriel, her sister
Beatrice, and even to Mary Thorne. She had no enthusiasm, she
admitted, but she thought she had good judgment. She thought she
had shown good judgment in accepting Mr Moffat's offer, though she
did not pretend to any romance of affection. And, having so said,
she went to work with considerable mental satisfaction, choosing
furniture, carriages, and clothes, not extravagantly as her mother
would have done, not in deference to sterner dictates of the latest
fashion as her aunt would have done, with none of the girlish glee
in new purchases which Beatrice would have felt, but with sound
judgment. She bought things that were rich, for her husband was to be
rich, and she meant to avail herself of his wealth; she bought things
that were fashionable, for she meant to live in the fashionable
world; but she bought what was good, and strong, and lasting, and
worth its money.
Augusta Gresham had perceived early in life that she could not obtain
success either as an heiress, or as a beauty, nor could she shine
as a wit; she therefore fell back on such qualities as she had, and
determined to win the world as a strong-minded, useful woman. That
which she had of her own was blood; having that, she would in all
ways do what in her lay to enhance its value. Had she not possessed
it, it would to her mind have been the vainest of pretences.
When Mary came in, the wedding preparations were being discussed. The
number and names of the bridesmaids were being settled, the dresses
were on the tapis, the invitations to be given were talked over.
Sensible as Augusta was, she was not above such feminine cares; she
was, indeed, rather anxious that the wedding should go off well. She
was a little ashamed of her tailor's son, and therefore anxious that
things should be as brilliant as possible.
The bridesmaid's names had just been written on a card as Mary
entered the room. There were the Ladies Amelia, Rosina, Margaretta,
and Alexandrina of course at the head of it; then came Beatrice and
the twins; then Miss Oriel, who, though only a parson's sister, was
a person of note, birth, and fortune. After this there had been here
a great discussion whether or not there should be any more. If there
were to be one more there must be two. Now Miss Moffat had expressed
a direct wish, and Augusta, though she would much rather have done
without her, hardly knew how to refuse. Alexandrina--we hope we
may be allowed to drop the "lady" for the sake of brevity, for the
present scene only--was dead against such an unreasonable request.
"We none of us know her, you know; and it would not be comfortable."
Beatrice strongly advocated the future sister-in-law's acceptance
into the bevy; she had her own reasons; she was pained that Mary
Thorne should not be among the number, and if Miss Moffat were
accepted, perhaps Mary might be brought in as her colleague.
"If you have Miss Moffat," said Alexandrina, "you must have dear
Pussy too; and I really think that Pussy is too young; it will be
troublesome." Pussy was the youngest Miss Gresham, who was now only
eight years old, and whose real name was Nina.
"Augusta," said Beatrice, speaking with some slight hesitation, some
soupçon of doubt, before the high authority of her noble cousin, "if
you do have Miss Moffat would you mind asking Mary Thorne to join
her? I think Mary would like it, because, you see, Patience Oriel
is to be one; and we have known Mary much longer than we have known
Patience."
Then out and spake the Lady Alexandrina.
"Beatrice, dear, if you think of what you are asking, I am sure you
will see that it would not do; would not do at all. Miss Thorne is a
very nice girl, I am sure; and, indeed, what little I have seen of
her I highly approve. But, after all, who is she? Mamma, I know,
thinks that Aunt Arabella has been wrong to let her be here so much,
but--"
Beatrice became rather red in the face, and, in spite of the dignity
of her cousin, was preparing to defend her friend.
"Mind, I am not saying a word against Miss Thorne."
"If I am married before her, she shall be one of my bridesmaids,"
said Beatrice.
"That will probably depend on circumstances," said the Lady
Alexandrina; I find that I cannot bring my courteous pen to drop the
title. "But Augusta is very peculiarly situated. Mr Moffat is, you
see, not of the very highest birth; and, therefore, she should take
care that on her side every one about her is well born."
"Then you cannot have Miss Moffat," said Beatrice.
"No; I would not if I could help it," said the cousin.
"But the Thornes are as good a family as the Greshams," said
Beatrice. She had not quite the courage to say, as good as the de
Courcys.
"I dare say they are; and if this was Miss Thorne of Ullathorne,
Augusta probably would not object to her. But can you tell me who
Miss Mary Thorne is?"
"She is Dr Thorne's niece."
"You mean that she is called so; but do you know who her father
was, or who her mother was? I, for one, must own I do not. Mamma, I
believe, does, but--"
At this moment the door opened gently and Mary Thorne entered the
room.
It may easily be conceived, that while Mary was making her
salutations the three other young ladies were a little cast aback.
The Lady Alexandrina, however, quickly recovered herself, and, by her
inimitable presence of mind and facile grace of manner, soon put the
matter on a proper footing.
"We were discussing Miss Gresham's marriage," said she; "I am sure I
may mention to an acquaintance of so long standing as Miss Thorne,
that the first of September has been now fixed for the wedding."
Miss Gresham! Acquaintance of so long standing! Why, Mary and Augusta
Gresham had for years, we will hardly say now for how many, passed
their mornings together in the same schoolroom; had quarrelled, and
squabbled, and caressed and kissed, and been all but as sisters to
each other. Acquaintance indeed! Beatrice felt that her ears were
tingling, and even Augusta was a little ashamed. Mary, however,
knew that the cold words had come from a de Courcy, and not from a
Gresham, and did not, therefore, resent them.
"So it's settled, Augusta, is it?" said she; "the first of September.
I wish you joy with all my heart," and, coming round, she put her arm
over Augusta's shoulder and kissed her. The Lady Alexandrina could
not but think that the doctor's niece uttered her congratulations
very much as though she were speaking to an equal; very much as
though she had a father and mother of her own.
"You will have delicious weather," continued Mary. "September, and
the beginning of October, is the nicest time of the year. If I were
going honeymooning it is just the time of year I would choose."
"I wish you were, Mary," said Beatrice.
"So do not I, dear, till I have found some decent sort of a body to
honeymoon along with me. I won't stir out of Greshamsbury till I have
sent you off before me, at any rate. And where will you go, Augusta?"
"We have not settled that," said Augusta. "Mr Moffat talks of Paris."
"Who ever heard of going to Paris in September?" said the Lady
Alexandrina.
"Or who ever heard of the gentleman having anything to say on the
matter?" said the doctor's niece. "Of course Mr Moffat will go
wherever you are pleased to take him."
The Lady Alexandrina was not pleased to find how completely the
doctor's niece took upon herself to talk, and sit, and act at
Greshamsbury as though she was on a par with the young ladies of
the family. That Beatrice should have allowed this would not have
surprised her; but it was to be expected that Augusta would have
shown better judgment.
"These things require some tact in their management; some delicacy
when high interests are at stake," said she; "I agree with Miss
Thorne in thinking that, in ordinary circumstances, with ordinary
people, perhaps, the lady should have her way. Rank, however, has its
drawbacks, Miss Thorne, as well as its privileges."
"I should not object to the drawbacks," said the doctor's niece,
"presuming them to be of some use; but I fear I might fail in getting
on so well with the privileges."
The Lady Alexandrina looked at her as though not fully aware whether
she intended to be pert. In truth, the Lady Alexandrina was rather in
the dark on the subject. It was almost impossible, it was incredible,
that a fatherless, motherless, doctor's niece should be pert to an
earl's daughter at Greshamsbury, seeing that that earl's daughter was
the cousin of the Miss Greshams. And yet the Lady Alexandrina hardly
knew what other construction to put on the words she had just heard.
It was at any rate clear to her that it was not becoming that she
should just then stay any longer in that room. Whether she intended
to be pert or not, Miss Mary Thorne was, to say the least, very free.
The de Courcy ladies knew what was due to them--no ladies better;
and, therefore, the Lady Alexandrina made up her mind at once to go
to her own bedroom.
"Augusta," she said, rising slowly from her chair with much stately
composure, "it is nearly time to dress; will you come with me? We
have a great deal to settle, you know."
So she swam out of the room, and Augusta, telling Mary that she would
see her again at dinner, swam--no, tried to swim--after her. Miss
Gresham had had great advantages; but she had not been absolutely
brought up at Courcy Castle, and could not as yet quite assume the
Courcy style of swimming.
"There," said Mary, as the door closed behind the rustling muslins
of the ladies. "There, I have made an enemy for ever, perhaps two;
that's satisfactory."
"And why have you done it, Mary? When I am fighting your battles
behind your back, why do you come and upset it all by making the
whole family of the de Courcys dislike you? In such a matter as that,
they'll all go together."
"I am sure they will," said Mary; "whether they would be equally
unanimous in a case of love and charity, that, indeed, is another
question."
"But why should you try to make my cousin angry; you that ought to
have so much sense? Don't you remember what you were saying yourself
the other day, of the absurdity of combatting pretences which the
world sanctions?"
"I do, Trichy, I do; don't scold me now. It is so much easier to
preach than to practise. I do so wish I was a clergyman."
"But you have done so much harm, Mary."
"Have I?" said Mary, kneeling down on the ground at her friend's
feet. "If I humble myself very low; if I kneel through the whole
evening in a corner; if I put my neck down and let all your cousins
trample on it, and then your aunt, would not that make atonement? I
would not object to wearing sackcloth, either; and I'd eat a little
ashes--or, at any rate, I'd try."
"I know you're clever, Mary; but still I think you're a fool. I do,
indeed."
"I am a fool, Trichy, I do confess it; and am not a bit clever; but
don't scold me; you see how humble I am; not only humble but umble,
which I look upon to be the comparative, or, indeed, superlative
degree. Or perhaps there are four degrees; humble, umble, stumble,
tumble; and then, when one is absolutely in the dirt at their feet,
perhaps these big people won't wish one to stoop any further."
"Oh, Mary!"
"And, oh, Trichy! you don't mean to say I mayn't speak out before
you. There, perhaps you'd like to put your foot on my neck." And then
she put her head down to the footstool and kissed Beatrice's feet.
"I'd like, if I dared, to put my hand on your cheek and give you a
good slap for being such a goose."
"Do; do, Trichy: you shall tread on me, or slap me, or kiss me;
whichever you like."
"I can't tell you how vexed I am," said Beatrice; "I wanted to
arrange something."
"Arrange something! What? arrange what? I love arranging. I fancy
myself qualified to be an arranger-general in female matters. I
mean pots and pans, and such like. Of course I don't allude to
extraordinary people and extraordinary circumstances that require
tact, and delicacy, and drawbacks, and that sort of thing."
"Very well, Mary."
"But it's not very well; it's very bad if you look like that. Well,
my pet, there I won't. I won't allude to the noble blood of your
noble relatives either in joke or in earnest. What is it you want to
arrange, Trichy?"
"I want you to be one of Augusta's bridesmaids."
"Good heavens, Beatrice! Are you mad? What! Put me, even for a
morning, into the same category of finery as the noble blood from
Courcy Castle!"
"Patience is to be one."
"But that is no reason why Impatience should be another, and I should
be very impatient under such honours. No, Trichy; joking apart, do
not think of it. Even if Augusta wished it I should refuse. I should
be obliged to refuse. I, too, suffer from pride; a pride quite as
unpardonable as that of others: I could not stand with your four
lady-cousins behind your sister at the altar. In such a galaxy they
would be the stars and I--"
"Why, Mary, all the world knows that you are prettier than any of
them!"
"I am all the world's very humble servant. But, Trichy, I should
not object if I were as ugly as the veiled prophet and they all as
beautiful as Zuleika. The glory of that galaxy will be held to depend
not on its beauty, but on its birth. You know how they would look at
me; how they would scorn me; and there, in church, at the altar, with
all that is solemn round us, I could not return their scorn as I
might do elsewhere. In a room I'm not a bit afraid of them all." And
Mary was again allowing herself to be absorbed by that feeling of
indomitable pride, of antagonism to the pride of others, which she
herself in her cooler moments was the first to blame.
"You often say, Mary, that that sort of arrogance should be despised
and passed over without notice."
"So it should, Trichy. I tell you that as a clergyman tells you to
hate riches. But though the clergyman tells you so, he is not the
less anxious to be rich himself."
"I particularly wish you to be one of Augusta's bridesmaids."
"And I particularly wish to decline the honour; which honour has
not been, and will not be, offered to me. No, Trichy. I will not be
Augusta's bridesmaid, but--but--but--"
"But what, dearest?"
"But, Trichy, when some one else is married, when the new wing has
been built to a house that you know of--"
"Now, Mary, hold your tongue, or you know you'll make me angry."
"I do so like to see you angry. And when that time comes, when that
wedding does take place, then I will be a bridesmaid, Trichy. Yes!
even though I am not invited. Yes! though all the de Courcys in
Barsetshire should tread upon me and obliterate me. Though I should
be as dust among the stars, though I should creep up in calico among
their satins and lace, I will nevertheless be there; close, close to
the bride; to hold something for her, to touch her dress, to feel
that I am near to her, to--to--to--" and she threw her arms round her
companion, and kissed her over and over again. "No, Trichy; I won't
be Augusta's bridesmaid; I'll bide my time for bridesmaiding."
What protestations Beatrice made against the probability of such an
event as foreshadowed in her friend's promise we will not repeat. The
afternoon was advancing, and the ladies also had to dress for dinner,
to do honour to the young heir.