MRS BOLD CONFIDES HER SORROW TO HER FRIEND MISS STANHOPE
When Mrs Bold came to the end of the walk and faced the lawn, she
began to bethink herself what she should do. Was she to wait there
till Mr Slope caught her, or was she to go in among the crowd with
tears in her eyes and passion in her face? She might in truth have
stood there long enough without any reasonable fear of further
immediate persecution from Mr Slope; but we are all inclined to
magnify the bugbears which frighten us. In her present state of
dread she did not know of what atrocity he might venture to be
guilty. Had any one told her a week ago that he would have put his
arm around her waist at the party of Miss Thorne's she would have
been utterly incredulous. Had she been informed that he would be
seen on the following Sunday walking down the High Street in a
scarlet coat and top-boots, she would not have thought such a
phenomenon more improbable.
But this improbable iniquity he had committed; and now there was
nothing she could not believe of him. In the first place it was
quite manifest that he was tipsy; in the next place, it was to be
taken as proved that all his religion was sheer hypocrisy; and
finally the man was utterly shameless. She therefore stood watching
for the sound of his footfall, not without some fear that he might
creep out at her suddenly from among the bushes.
As she thus stood, she saw Charlotte Stanhope at a little distance
from her walking quickly across the grass. Eleanor's handkerchief
was in her hand, and putting it to her face so as to conceal her
tears, she ran across the lawn and joined her friend.
'Oh, Charlotte,' she said, almost too much out of breath to speak
very plainly; 'I am so glad I have found you.'
'Glad you have found me!' said Charlotte, laughing, 'that's a good
joke. Why Bertie and I have been looking for you everywhere. He
swears that you have gone off with Mr Slope, and is now on the
point of hanging himself.'
'Oh, Charlotte, don't,' said Mrs Bold.
'Why, my child, what on earth is the matter with you!' said Miss
Stanhope, perceiving that Eleanor's hand trembled on her own arm,
and finding also that her companion was still half choked with
tears. 'Goodness heaven! Something has distressed you. What is it?
What can I do for you?'
Eleanor answered her only by a sort of spasmodic gurgle in her
throat. She was a good deal upset, as people say, and could not at
the moment collect herself.
'Come here, this way, Mrs Bold; come this way, and we shall not be
seen. What has happened to vex you so? What can I do for you? Can
Bertie do anything?'
'On, no, no, no, no,' said Eleanor. 'There is nothing to be done.
Only that horrid man--'
'What horrid man?' asked Charlotte.
There are some moments in life in which both men and women feel
themselves called on to make a confidence; in which not to do so
requires a disagreeable resolution and also a disagreeable
suspicion. There are people of both sexes who never make
confidences; who are never tempted by momentary circumstances to
disclose their secrets. But such are generally dull, close,
unimpassioned spirits, 'gloomy gnomes who live in cold dark mines.'
There was nothing of the gnome about Eleanor; and she therefore
resolved to tell Charlotte Stanhope the whole story about Mr Slope.
'That horrid man; that Mr Slope,' said she, 'did you not see that
he followed me out of the dining-room?'
'Of course I did and was sorry enough; but I could not help it. I
knew you would be annoyed. But you and Bertie managed it badly
between you.'
'It was not his fault nor mine either. You know how I dislike the
idea of coming in the carriage with that man.'
'I am sure I am very sorry if that has led to it.'
'I don't know what has led to it,' said Eleanor, almost crying
again. 'But it has not been my fault.'
'But what has he done, my dear?'
'He's an abominable, horrid, hypocritical man, and it would serve
him right to tell the bishop about it.'
'Believe me, if you want to do him an injury, you had far better
tell Mrs Proudie. But what did he do, Mrs Bold?'
'Ugh!' exclaimed Eleanor.
'Well, I must confess he's not very nice,' said Charlotte Stanhope.
'Nice!' said Eleanor. 'He is the most fulsome, fawning, abominable
man I ever saw. What business had he to come to me?--I that never
gave him the slightest tittle of encouragement--I that always hated
him, though I did take his part when others ran him down.'
'That's just where it is, my dear. He has heard that, and therefore
fancied that of course you were in love with him.'
This was wormwood to Eleanor. It was in fact the very thing which
all her friends had been saying for the last month past; and which
experience now proved to be true. Eleanor resolved within herself
that she would never again take any man's part. The world with all
its villainy, and all its ill-nature, might wag as it like; she
would not again attempt to set crooked things straight.
'But what did he do, my dear?' said Charlotte, who was really
rather interested in the subject.
'He--he--he--'
'Well--come, it can't have been anything so very horrid, for the
man was not tipsy.'
'Oh, I am sure he was,' said Eleanor. 'I am sure he must have been
tipsy.'
'Well, I declare I didn't observe it. But what was it, my love?'
'Why, I believe I can hardly tell you. He talked such horrid stuff
that you never heard the like; about religion, and heaven, and
love--Oh dear,--he is such a nasty man.'
'I can really imagine the sort of stuff he would talk. Well--and
then?'
'And then--he took hold of me.'
'Took hold of you?'
'Yes--he somehow got close to me, and took hold of me--'
'By the waist?'
'Yes,' said Eleanor shuddering.
'And then--'
'Then I jumped away from him, and gave him a slap on the face; and
ran away along the path, till I saw you.'
'Ha, ha, ha!' Charlotte Stanhope laughed heartily at the finale of
the tragedy. It was delightful to her to think that Mr Slope had
had his ears boxed. She did not quite appreciate the feeling which
made her friend so unhappy at the result of the interview. To her
thinking, the matter had ended happily enough as regarded the
widow, who indeed was entitled to some sort of triumph among her
friends. Whereas Mr Slope would be due all those jibes and jeers
which would naturally follow such an affair. His friends would ask
him whether his ears tingled whenever he saw a widow; and he would
be cautioned that beautiful things were made to be looked at, and
not to be touched.
Such were Charlotte Stanhope's views on such matters; but she did
not at the present moment clearly explain them to Mrs Bold. Her
object was to endear herself to her friend; and therefore, having
had her laugh, she was ready enough to offer sympathy. Could Bertie
do anything? Should Bertie speak to the man, and warn him that in
future he must behave with more decorum? Bertie, indeed, she
declared, would be more angry than any one else when he heard to
what insult Mrs Bold had been subjected.
'But you won't tell him?' said Mrs Bold with a look of horror.
'Not if you don't like it,' said Charlotte; 'but considering
everything, I would strongly advise it. If you had a brother, you
know, it would be unnecessary. But it is very right that Mr Slope
should know that you have somebody by you that will, and can
protect you.'
'But my father is here.'
'Yes, but it is so disagreeable for clergymen to have to quarrel
with each other; and circumstanced as your father is just at this
moment, it would be very inexpedient that there should be anything
unpleasant between him and Mr Slope. Surely you and Bertie are
intimate enough for you to permit him to take your part.'
Charlotte Stanhope was very anxious that her brother should at once
on that very day settle matters with his future wife.
Things had now come to that point between him and his father, and
between him and his creditors, that he must either do so, or leave
Barchester; either do that, or go back to his unwashed associates,
dirty lodgings, and poor living at Carrara. Unless he could provide
himself with an income, he must go to Carrara or to -. His father
the prebendary had not said this in so many words, but had he done
so, he could not have signified it more plainly.
Such being the state of the case, it was very necessary that no
more time should be lost. Charlotte had seen her brother's apathy,
when he neglected to follow Mrs Bold out of the room, with anger
which she could hardly suppress. It was grievous to think that Mr
Slope should have so distanced him.
Charlotte felt that she had played her part with sufficient skill.
She had brought them together and induced such a degree of
intimacy, that her brother was really relieved from all trouble and
labour in the matter. And moreover, it was quite plain that Mrs
Bold was very fond of Bertie. And now it was plain enough also that
he had nothing to fear from his rival Mr Slope.
There was certainly an awkwardness in subjecting Mrs Bold to a
second offer on the same day. It would have been well, perhaps, to
have put the matter off for a week, could a week have been spared.
But circumstances are frequently too peremptory to be arranged as
we would wish to arrange them; and such was the case now. This
being so, could not this affair of Mr Slope's be turned to
advantage? Could it not be made the excuse for bringing Bertie and
Mrs Bold into still closer connection; into such close connection
that they could not fail to throw themselves into each other's
arms? Such was the game which Miss Stanhope now at a moment's
notice resolved to play.
And very well she played it. In the first place, it was arranged
that Mr Slope should not return in the Stanhope's carriage to
Barchester. It so happened that Mr Slope was already gone, but of
that of course they knew nothing. The signora should be induced to
go first, with only the servants and her sister, and Bertie should
take Mr Slope's place in the second journey. Bertie was to be told
in confidence of the whole affair, and when the carriage was gone
off with the first load, Eleanor was to be left under Bertie's
special protection, so as to insure her from any further aggression
from Mr Slope. While the carriage was getting ready, Bertie was to
seek out that gentleman and make him understand that he must
provide himself with another conveyance back to Barchester. Their
immediate object should be to walk about together in search of
Bertie. Bertie, in short, was to be the Pegasus on whose wings they
were to ride out of their present dilemma.
There was a warmth of friendship and cordial kindness in all this,
that was very soothing to the widow; but yet, though she gave way
to it, she was hardly reconciled to doing so. It never occurred to
her, that now that she had killed one dragon, another was about to
spring up in her path; she had no remote idea that she would have
to encounter another suitor in her proposed protector, but she
hardly liked the idea of putting herself so much into the hands of
young Stanhope. She felt that if she wanted protection, she should
go to her father. She felt that she should ask him to provide a
carriage for her back to Barchester. Mrs Clantantram she knew would
give her a seat. She knew that she should not throw herself
entirely upon friends whose friendship dated as it were but from
yesterday. But yet she could not say, 'no,' to one who was so
sisterly in her kindness, so eager in her good nature, so
comfortably sympathetic as Charlotte Stanhope.
They first went into the dining-room, looking for their champion,
and from thence to the drawing-room. Here they found Mr Arabin,
still hanging over the signora's sofa; or, rather, they found him
sitting near her head, as a physician might have sat, had the lady
been his patient. There was no other person in the room. The guests
were some in the tent, some few still in the dining-room, some at
the bows and arrows, but most of them walking with Miss Thorne
through the park, and looking at the games that were going on.
All that had passed, and was passing between Mr Arabin and the
lady, it is unnecessary to give in detail. She was doing with him
as she did with all others. It was her mission to make fools of
men, and she was pursuing her mission with Mr Arabin. She had
almost got him to own his love for Mrs Bold, and had subsequently
almost induced him to acknowledge a passion for herself. He, poor
man, was hardly aware what he was doing or saying, hardly conscious
whether he was in heaven or hell. So little had he known of female
attractions of that peculiar class which the signora owned, that he
became affected with a temporary delirium, when first subjected to
its power. He lost his head rather than his heart, and toppled
about mentally, reeling in his ideas as a drunken man does on his
legs. She had whispered to him words that really meant nothing, but
which coming from such beautiful lips, and accompanied by such
lustrous glances, seemed to have a mysterious significance, which
he felt though he could not understand.
In being thus be-sirened, Mr Arabin behaved himself very
differently from Mr Slope. The signora had said truly, that the two
men were the contrasts of each other; that the one was all for
action, the other all for thought. Mr Slope, when this lady laid
upon his senses the overpowering breath of her charms, immediately
attempted to obtain some fruition, to achieve some mighty triumph.
He began by catching at her hand, and progressed by kissing it. He
made vows of love, and asked for vows in return. He promised
everlasting devotion, knelt before her, and swore that had she been
on Mount Ida, Juno would have no cause to hate the offspring of
Venus. But Mr Arabin uttered no oaths, kept his hand mostly in his
trousers pocket, and had no more thought of kissing Madam Neroni
than of kissing the Countess De Courcy.
As soon as Mr Arabin saw Mrs Bold enter the room, he blushed and
rose from his chair; then he sat down again, and then again got up.
The signora saw the blush at once, and smiled at the poor victim,
but Eleanor was too much confused to see anything.
'Oh, Madeline,' said Charlotte, 'I want to speak to you
particularly; we must arrange about the carriage, you know,' and
she stooped down to whisper to her sister. Mr Arabin immediately
withdrew to a little distance, and as Charlotte had in fact much to
explain before she could make the new arrangement intelligible, he
had nothing to do but to talk to Mrs Bold.
'We have had a very pleasant party,' said he, using the tone he
would have used had he declared that the sun was shining very
brightly, or the rain was falling very fast.
'Very,' said Eleanor, who never in her life had passed a more
unpleasant day.
'I hope Mr Harding has enjoyed himself.'
'Oh, yes, very much,' said Eleanor, who had not seen her father
since she parted from him soon after her arrival.
'He returns to Barchester to-night, I suppose.'
'Yes, I believe so; that is, I think he is staying at Plumstead.'
'Oh, staying at Plumstead,' said Mr Arabin.
'He came from there this morning. I believe he is going back; he
didn't exactly say, however.'
'I hope Mrs Grantly is quite well.'
'She seemed to be quite well. She is here; that is, unless she has
gone away.'
'Oh, yes, to be sure. I was talking to her. Looking very well
indeed.' Then there was a considerable pause: for Charlotte could
not at once make Madeline understand why she was to be sent home in
a hurry without her brother.
'Are you returning to Plumstead, Mrs Bold?' Mr Arabin merely asked
this by way of making conversation, but he immediately perceived
that he was approaching dangerous ground.
'No,' said Mrs Bold, very quietly; 'I am going home to Barchester.'
'Oh, ah, yes. I had forgotten that you had returned.' And then Mr
Arabin, finding it impossible to say anything further, stood silent
till Charlotte had completed her plans, and Mrs Bold stood equally
silent, intently occupied as it appeared in the arrangement of her
rings.
And yet these two people were thoroughly in love with each other;
and though one was a middle-aged clergyman, and the other a lady at
any rate past the wishy-washy bread-and-butter period of life, they
were as unable to tell their own minds to each other as any Damon
and Phillis, whose united ages would not make up that to which Mr
Arabin had already attained.
Madeline Neroni consented to her sister's proposal, and then the
two ladies again went off in quest of Bertie Stanhope.