THE STANHOPES AT HOME
We must now return to the Stanhopes, and see how they behaved
themselves on their return from Ullathorne.
Charlotte, who came back in the first homeward journey with her
sister, waited in palpitating expectation till the carriage drove
up to the door a second time. She did not run down or stand at the
window, or show in any outward manner that she looked for anything
wonderful to occur; but, when she heard the carriage-wheels, she
stood up with erect ears, listening for Eleanor's footfall on the
pavement or the cheery sound of Bertie's voice welcoming her in.
Had she heard either, she would have felt that all was right; but
neither sound was there for her to hear. She heard only her
father's slow step, as he ponderously let himself down from the
carriage, and slowly walked along the hall, till he got into his
own private room on the ground floor. 'Send Miss Stanhope to me,'
he said to the servant.
'There's something wrong now,' said Madeline, who was lying on her
sofa in the back drawing-room.
'It's all up with Bertie,' replied Charlotte. 'I know, I know,' she
said to the servant, as he brought up the message. 'Tell my father
I will be with him immediately.'
'Bertie's wooing gone astray,' said Madeline. 'I knew it would.'
'It has been his own fault then. She was ready enough. I am quite
sure,' said Charlotte, with that sort of ill-nature which is not
uncommon when one woman speaks of another.
'What will you say to him now?' By 'him' the signora meant their
father.
'That will be as I find him. He was ready to pay two hundred pounds
for Bertie, to stave off the worst of his creditors, if this
marriage had gone on. Bertie must now have the money instead, and
go and take his chances.'
'Where is he now?'
'Heaven knows! Smoking at the bottom of Mr Thorne's ha-ha, or
philandering with some of those Miss Chadwicks. Nothing will ever
make an impression on him. But he'll be furious if I don't go
down.'
'No; nothing ever will. But don't be long, Charlotte, for I want my
tea.'
And so Charlotte went down to her father. There was a very black
cloud on the old man's brow; blacker than his daughter could ever
remember to have seen there. He was sitting in his own arm-chair,
not comfortably over the fire, but in the middle of the room,
waiting till she should come and listen to him.
'What has become of your brother?' he said, as soon as the door was
shut.
'I should rather ask you,' said Charlotte. 'I left you both at
Ullathorne, when I came away. What have you done with Mrs Bold?'
'Mrs Bold! nonsense. The woman has gone home as she ought to do.
And heartily glad I am that she should not be sacrificed to so
heartless a reprobate.'
'Oh, papa!'
'A heartless reprobate! Tell me now where he is, and what he is
going to do. I have allowed myself to be fooled between you.
Marriage indeed! Who on earth that has money, or credit, or respect
in the world to lose, would marry him?'
'It is no use your scolding me, papa. I have done the best I could
for him and you.'
'And Madeline is nearly as bad,' said the prebendary, who was in
truth, very, very angry.
'Oh, I suppose we are all bad,' replied Charlotte.
The old man emitted a huge leonine sigh. If they were all bad, who
had made them so? If they were unprincipled, selfish, and
disreputable, who was to be blamed for the education which had had
so injurious an effect.
'I know you'll ruin me among you,' said he.
'Why, papa, what nonsense that is. You are living within your
income this minute, and if there are any new debts, I don't know of
them. I am sure there ought to be none, for we are dull enough
here.'
'Are those bills of Madeline's paid?'
'No, they are not. Who was to pay them?'
'Her husband may pay them.'
'Her husband! Would you wish me to tell her you say so? Do you wish
to turn her out of your home?'
'I wish she would know how to behave herself.'
'Why, what on earth has she done now? Poor Madeline! To-day is only
the second time she has gone out since we came to this vile town.'
He then sat silent for a time, thinking in what shape he would
declare his resolve. 'Well, papa,' said Charlotte, 'shall I stay
here, or may I go up-stairs and give mamma her tea?'
'You are in your brother's confidence. Tell me what he is going to
do?'
'Nothing, that I am aware of.'
'Nothing--nothing! Nothing but eat and drink, and spend every
shilling of my money he can lay his hands upon. I have made up my
mind, Charlotte. He shall eat and drink no more in this house.'
'Very well. Then I suppose he must go back to Italy.'
'He may go where he pleases.'
'That's easily said, papa; but what does it mean? You can't let him
live--'
'It means this,' said the doctor, speaking more loudly than was his
wont, and with wrath flashing from his eyes; 'that as sure as God
rules in heaven, I will not maintain him any longer in idleness.'
'Oh, ruling in heaven!' said Charlotte. 'It is no use talking about
that. You must rule him here on earth; and the question is, how you
can do it. You can't turn him out of the house penniless, to beg
about the street.'
'He may beg where he likes.'
'He must go back to Carrara. That is the cheapest place he can live
at, and nobody there will give him credit for above two or three
hundred pauls. But you must let him have the means of going.'
'As sure as--'
'Oh papa, don't swear. You know you must do it. You were ready to
pay two hundred pounds for him if the marriage came off. Half that
will start him to Carrara.'
'What? Give him a hundred pounds!'
'You know we are all in the dark, papa,' said she, thinking it
expedient to change the conversation. 'For anything we know, he may
be at this moment engaged to Mrs Bold.'
'Fiddlestick,' said the father, who had seen the way in which Mrs
Bold had got into the carriage, while his son stood apart without
even offering her his hand.
'Well, then, he must go to Carrara.' said Charlotte.
Just at this moment the lock of the front door was heard, and
Charlotte's quick care detected her brother's cat-like step in the
hall. She said nothing, feeling that for the present Bertie had
better keep out of her father's way. But Dr Stanhope also heard the
sound of the lock.
'Who's that?' he demanded. Charlotte made no reply, and he asked
again. 'Who is that that has just come in? Open the door. Who is
it?'
'I suppose it is Bertie.'
'Bid him to come here,' said the father. But Bertie, who was close
to the door and heard the call, required no further bidding, but
walked in with a perfectly unconcerned and cheerful air. It was
this peculiar insouciance which angered Dr Stanhope, even more than
his son's extravagance.
'Well, sir,' said the doctor.
'And how did you get home, sir, with your fair companion?' said
Bertie. 'I suppose she is not up-stairs, Charlotte?'
'Bertie,' said Charlotte, 'papa is in no humour for joking. He is
very angry with you.'
'Angry!' said Bertie, raising his eyebrows, as though he had never
yet given his parent cause for a single moment's uneasiness.
'Sit down, if you please, sir,' said Dr Stanhope very sternly, but
not now very loudly. 'And I'll trouble you to sit down, too,
Charlotte. Your mother can wait for her tea a few minutes.'
Charlotte sat down on the chair nearest the door, in somewhat of a
perverse sort of manner; as much as though she would say--Well,
here I am; you shan't say I don't do as I am bid; but I'll be
whipped if I give way to you. And she was determined not to give
way. She too was angry with Bertie; but she was not the less ready
on that account to defend him from his father. Bertie also sat
down. He drew his chair close to the library table, upon which he
put his elbow, and then resting his face comfortably on one hand,
he began drawing little pictures on a sheet of paper with the
other. Before the scene was over had had completed admirable
figures of Miss Thorne, Mrs Proudie, and Lady De Courcy, and began
a family piece to comprise the whole set of Lookalofts.
'Would it suit you, sir,' said the father, 'to give me some idea as
to what your present intentions are?--what way of living you
propose to yourself?'
'I'll do anything you suggest, sir,' said Bertie.
'No, I shall suggest nothing further. My time for suggesting has
gone by. I have only one order to give, and that is, that you leave
my house.'
'To-night?' said Bertie; and the simple tone of the question left
the doctor without any adequately dignified method of reply.
'Papa does not quite mean to-night,' said Charlotte, 'at least I
suppose not.'
'To-morrow perhaps,' suggested Bertie.
'Yes sir, to-morrow,' said the doctor. 'You shall leave this to-morrow.'
'Very well, sir. Will the 4.30 P.M. train be soon enough?' said
Bertie, as he asked, put the finishing touch to Miss Thorne's
high-heeled boots.
'You may go how and when and where you please, so that you leave my
house to-morrow. You have disgraced me, sir; you have disgraced
yourself, and me, and your sisters.'
'I am glad at least sir, that I have not disgraced my mother,' said
Bertie.
Charlotte could hardly keep her countenance; but the doctor's brow
grew still blacker than ever. Bertie was executing his chef d'ouvre
in the delineation of Mrs Proudie's nose and mouth.
'You are a heartless reprobate, sir; a heartless, thankless,
good-for-nothing reprobate. I have done with you. You are my
son--that I cannot help; but you shall have no more part or parcel
in me as my child, nor I in you as your father.'
'Oh, papa, papa! You must not, shall not say so,' said Charlotte.
'I will say so, and do say so,' said the father, rising from his
chair. 'And now leave the room, sir.'
'Stop, stop,' said Charlotte; 'why don't you speak, Bertie? Why
don't you look up and speak? It is your manner that makes him so
angry.'
'He is perfectly indifferent to all decency, to all propriety,'
said the doctor; and then he shouted out, 'Leave the room, sir! Do
you hear what I say?'
'Papa, papa, I will not let you part so. I know you will be sorry
for it.' And then she added, getting up and whispering into his
ear. 'Is he only to blame? Think of that. We have made our own bed,
and, such as it is, we must lie on it. It is no use for us to
quarrel among ourselves,' and as she finished her whisper, Bertie
finished off the countess's bustle, which was so well done that it
absolutely seemed to be swaying to and fro on the paper with its
usual lateral motion.
'My father is angry at the present time,' said Bertie, looking up
for a moment from his sketches, 'because I am not going to marry
Mrs Bold. What can I say on the matter? It is true that I am not
going to marry her. In the first place--'
'That is not true, sir,' said Dr Stanhope; 'but I will not argue
with you.'
'You were angry just this moment because I would not speak,' said
Bertie, going on with a young Lookaloft.
'Give over drawing,' said Charlotte, going up to him and taking the
paper from under his hand. The caricature, however, she preserved,
and showed them afterwards to the friends of the Thornes, the
Proudies, and De Courcys. Bertie, deprived of his occupation, threw
himself back in his chair and waited further orders.
'I think it will certainly be for the best that Bertie should leave
this at once, perhaps to-morrow,' said Charlotte; 'but pray, papa,
let us arrange some scheme together.'
'If he will leave to-morrow, I will give him L 10, and he shall be
paid L 5 a month by the banker at Carrara as long as he stays
permanently in that place.'
'Well, sir! it won't be long,' said Bertie; 'for I shall be starved
to death in about three months.'
'He must have marble to work with,' said Charlotte.
'I have plenty there in the studio to last me three months,' said
Bertie. 'It will be no use attempting anything large in so limited
a time; unless I do my own tombstone.'
Terms, however, were ultimately come to, somewhat more liberal than
those proposed, and the doctor was induced to shake hands with his
son, and bid him good-night. Dr Stanhope would not go up to tea,
but had it brought to him in his study by his daughter.
But Bertie went up-stairs and spent a pleasant evening. He finished
the Lookalofts, greatly to the delight of his sisters, though the
manner of portraying their decollete dresses was not the most
refined. Finding how matters were going, he by degrees allowed it
to escape from him that he had not pressed his suit upon the widow
in a very urgent way.
'I suppose, in point of fact, you never proposed at all?' said
Charlotte.
'Oh, she understood that she might have me if she wished,' said he.
'And she didn't wish,' said the signora.
'You have thrown me over in the most shameful manner,' said
Charlotte. 'I suppose you told her all about my little plan?'
'Well, it came out somehow; at least the most of it.'
'There's an end of that alliance,' said Charlotte; 'but it doesn't
matter much. I suppose we shall all be back in Como soon.'
'I am sure I hope so,' said the signora; 'I'm sick of the sight of
black coats. If that Mr Slope comes here any more, he'll be the
death of me.'
'You've been the ruin of him, I think,' said Charlotte.
'And as for a second black-coated lover of mine, I am going to make
a present to him of another lady with most singular
disinterestedness.'
The next day, true to his promise, Bertie packed up and went of by
the 4.30 P.M. train, with L 20 in his pocket, bound for the marble
quarries of Carrara. And so he disappears from our scene.
At twelve o'clock on the day following that on which Bertie went,
Mrs Bold, true also to her word, knocked at Dr Stanhope's door with
a timid hand and palpitating heart. She was at once shown up to the
back drawing-room, the folding doors of which were closed, so that
in visiting the signora, Eleanor was not necessarily thrown into
any communication with those in the front room. As she went up the
stairs, she none of the family, and was so far saved much of the
annoyance which she had dreaded.
'This is very kind of you, Mrs Bold; very kind, after what has
happened,' said the lady on the sofa with her sweetest smile.
'You wrote in such a strain that I could not but come to you.'
'I did, I did; I wanted to force you to see me.'
'Well, signora; I am here.'
'How cold you are to me. But I suppose I must put up with that. I
know you think you have reason to be displeased with us all. Poor
Bertie! if you knew all, you would not be angry with him.'
'I am not angry with your brother--not in the least. But I hope you
did not send for me to talk about him.'
'If you are angry with Charlotte, that is worse; for you have no
warmer friend in all Barchester. But I did not send for you to talk
about this--pray bring your chair nearer, Mrs Bold, so that I may
look at you. It is so unnatural to see you keeping so far off from
me.'
Eleanor did as she was bid, and brought her chair closer to the
sofa.
'And now, Mrs Bold, I am going to tell you something which you may
think indelicate; but yet I know that I am right in doing so.'
Hereupon Mrs Bold said nothing, but felt inclined to shake in her
chair. The signora, she knew, was not very particular, and that
which to her appeared to be indelicate might to Mrs Bold appear to
be extremely indecent.
'I believe you know Mr Arabin?'
Mrs Bold would have given the world not to blush, but her blood was
not at her own command. She did blush up to her forehead, and the
signora, who had made her sit in a special light in order that she
might watch her, saw that she did so.
'Yes--I am acquainted with him. That is, slightly. He is an
intimate friend of Dr Grantly, and Dr Grantly is my
brother-in-law.'
'Well; if you know Mr Arabin, I am sure you must like him. I know
and like him much. Everybody that knows him must like him.'
Mrs Bold felt it quite impossible to say anything in reply to this.
Her blood was rushing about her body she knew not how or why. She
felt as though she were swinging in her chair; and she knew that
she was not only red in the face, but also almost suffocated with
heat. However, she sat still and said nothing.
'How stiff you are with me, Mrs Bold,' said the signora; 'and I the
while am doing for you all that one woman can do to serve another.'
A kind of thought came over the widow's mind that perhaps the
signora's friendship was real; and that at any rate it could not
hurt her; and another kind of thought, a glimmering of a thought,
came to her also,--that Mr Arabin was to precious to be lost. She
despised the signora; but might she not stoop to conquer? It should
be but the smallest fraction of a stoop!
'I don't want to be stiff,' she said, 'but your questions are so
very singular.'
'Well, then, I will ask you one more singular still,' said Madeline
Neroni, raising herself on her elbow and turning her own face full
upon her companion's. 'Do you love him, love him with all your
heart and soul, with all the love your bosom can feel? For I can
tell you that he loves you, worships you, thinks of you and nothing
else, is now thinking of you as he attempts to write his sermon for
next Sunday's preaching. What would I not give to be loved in such
a way by such a man, that is, if I were an object for any man to
love!'
Mrs Bold got up from her seat and stood speechless before the woman
who was now addressing her in this impassioned way. When the
signora thus alluded to herself, the widow's heart was softened,
and she put her own hand, as though caressingly, on that of her
companion which was resting on the table. The signora grasped it
and went on speaking.
'What I tell you is God's own truth; and it is for you to use it as
may be best for your own happiness. But you must not betray me. He
knows nothing of this. He knows nothing of my knowing his inmost
heart. He is simple as a child in these matters. He told me his
secret in a thousand ways because he could not dissemble; but he
does not dream that has told it. You know it now, and I advise you
to use it.'
Eleanor returned the pressure of the other's hand with an
infinitesimal soupcon of a squeeze.
'And remember,' said the signora, 'he is not like other men.
You must not expect him to come to you with vows and oaths and
pretty presents, to kneel at your feet, and kiss your shoe-strings.
If you want that, there are plenty to do it; but he won't be one of
them.' Eleanor's bosom nearly burst with a sigh; but Madeline, not
heeding her, went on. 'With him, yea will stand for yea, and nay
for nay. Though his heart should break for it, the woman who shall
reject him once, will have rejected him once and for all. Remember
that. And now, Mrs Bold, I will not keep you, for you are
flattered. I partly guess what use you will make of what I have
said to you. If ever you are a happy wife in that man's house, we
shall be far away; but I shall expect you to write me one line to
say that you have forgiven the sins of the family.'
Eleanor half whispered that she would, and then without uttering
another word, crept out of the room, and down the stairs, opened
the front door for herself without hearing or seeing any one, and
found herself in the close.
It would be difficult to analyse Eleanor's feelings as she walked
home. She was nearly stupefied by the things that had been said to
her. She felt sore that her heart should have been so searched and
riddled by a comparative stranger, by a woman whom she had never
liked and never could like. She was mortified that the man whom she
owned to herself that she loved should have concealed his love from
her and shown it to another. There was much to vex her proud
spirit. But there was, nevertheless, an under-stratum of joy in all
this which buoyed her up wondrously. She tried if she could
disbelieve what Madame Neroni had said to her; but she found that
she could not. It was true; it must be true. She could not, would
not, did not doubt it.
On one point she fully resolved to follow the advice given her. If
it should ever please Mr Arabin to put such a question to her as
suggested, her 'yea' should be 'yea'. Would not all her miseries be
at an end, if she could talk of them to him openly, with her hand
resting on his shoulder?