Marion Fay: A Novel

by Anthony Trollope

  CHAPTER XVIII.

  HOW THEY LIVED AT TRAFFORD PARK.

  There certainly was no justification for the ill-humour which LadyKingsbury displayed to her husband because Hampstead and his sisterhad been invited down to Castle Hautboy. The Hautboy people were herown relations,--not her husband's. If Lady Persiflage had taken uponherself to think better of all the evil things done by the childrenof the first Marchioness, that was not the fault of the Marquis! Butto her thinking this visit had been made in direct opposition toher wishes and her interests. Had it been possible she would havesent the naughty young lord and the naughty young lady altogetherto Coventry,--as far as all aristocratic associations were concerned.This encouragement of them at Castle Hautboy was in directcontravention of her ideas. But poor Lord Kingsbury had had nothingto do with it. "They are not fit to go to such a house as CastleHautboy," she said. The Marquis, who was sitting alone in his ownmorning room at Trafford, frowned angrily. But her ladyship, too, wasvery angry. "They have disgraced themselves, and Geraldine should nothave received them."

  There were two causes for displeasure in this. In the first placethe Marquis could not endure that such hard things should be said ofhis elder children. Then, by the very nature of the accusation made,there was a certain special honour paid to the Hauteville familywhich he did not think at all to be their due. On many occasions hiswife had spoken as though her sister had married into a House ofpeculiar nobility,--because, forsooth, Lord Persiflage was in theCabinet, and was supposed to have made a figure in politics. TheMarquis was not at all disposed to regard the Earl as in any waybigger than was he himself. He could have paid all the Earl'sdebts,--which the Earl certainly could not do himself,--and neverhave felt it. The social gatherings at Castle Hautboy were much morenumerous than any at Trafford, but the guests at Castle Hautboy wereoften people whom the Marquis would never have entertained. His wifepined for the social influence which her sister was supposed topossess, but he felt no sympathy with his wife in that respect.

  "I deny it," said the father, rising from his chair, and scowling athis wife as he stood leaning upon the table. "They have not disgracedthemselves."

  "I say they have." Her ladyship made her assertion boldly, havingcome into the room prepared for battle, and determined if possible tobe victor. "Has not Fanny disgraced herself in having engaged herselfto a low fellow, the scum of the earth, without saying anything evento you about it?"

  "No!" shouted the Marquis, who was resolved to contradict his wife inanything she might say.

  "Then I know nothing of what becomes a young woman," continued theMarchioness. "And does not Hampstead associate with all manner of lowpeople?"

  "No, never."

  "Is not this George Roden a low person? Does he ever live with youngmen 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-lawentertains 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 thestep-mother.

  "So much the better," said the father, "as far as I know anythingabout the clubs. Hautboy lost fourteen hundred pounds the other dayat the Pandemonium; and where did the money come from to save himfrom being expelled?"

  "That's a very old story," said the Marchioness, who knew that herhusband and Hampstead between them had supplied the money to save theyoung lad from disgrace.

  "And yet you throw it in my teeth that Hampstead doesn't belong toany club! There isn't a club in London he couldn't get intoto-morrow, if he were to put his name down."

  "I wish he'd try at the Carlton," said her ladyship, whose fatherand brother, and all her cousins, belonged to that aristocratic andexclusive political association.

  "I should disown him," said the still Liberal Marquis;--"that is tosay, of course he'll do nothing of the kind. But to declare that ayoung man has disgraced himself because he doesn't care for clublife, 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 asthough he should say to her, "Now you have my true opinion aboutyourself." At this moment there came a gentle knock at the door, andMr. Greenwood put in his head. "I am busy," said the Marquis veryangrily. Then the unhappy chaplain retired abashed to his own rooms,which were also on the ground floor, beyond that in which his patronwas now sitting.

  "My lord," said his wife, towering in her passion, "if you call mewicked in regard to your children, I will not continue to live underthe same roof with you."

  "Then you may go away."

  "I have endeavoured to do my duty by your children, and a veryhard time I've had of it. If you think that your daughter is nowconducting 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 thedisgrace 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 aredoing very well, and will get quite as good treatment as youngerbrothers ought to have."

  "I don't believe you care for them the least in the world," said theMarchioness.

  "That is not true. You know I care for them."

  "You said 'bother the darlings' when I spoke of them." Here the poormother sobbed, almost overcome by the contumely of the expressionused towards her own offspring.

  "You drive a man to say anything. Now look here. I will not haveHampstead and Fanny abused in my presence. If there be anything wrongI must suffer more than you, because they are my children. You havemade it impossible for her to live here--"

  "I haven't made it impossible for her to live here. I have only donemy duty by her. Ask Mr. Greenwood."

  "D---- Mr. Greenwood!" said the Marquis. He certainly did say theword at full length, as far as it can be said to have length, andwith all the emphasis of which it was capable. He certainly did sayit, though when the circumstance was afterwards not unfrequentlythrown in his teeth, he would forget it and deny it. Her ladyshipheard the word very plainly, and at once stalked out of the room,thereby showing that her feminine feelings had received a wrenchwhich made it impossible for her any longer to endure the presence ofsuch a foul-mouthed monster. Up to that moment she had been anythingbut the victor; but the vulgarity of the curse had restored to hermuch of her prestige, so that she was able to leave the battlefieldas 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 bywhich communication was made between his room and that in whichthe clergyman sat. It was not a vulgar bell, which would have beeninjurious to the reverence and dignity of a clerical friend, assavouring of a menial's task work, nor was it a pipe for oralcommunication, which is undignified, as requiring a man to stoopand put his mouth to it,--but an arrangement by which a light tapwas made against the wall so that the inhabitant of the room mightknow that he was wanted without any process derogatory to hisself-respect. The chaplain obeyed the summons, and, lightly knockingat the door, again stood before the lord. He found the Marquisstanding upon the hearth-rug, by which, as he well knew, it wassignified that he was not intended to sit down. "Mr. Greenwood," saidthe Marquis, in a tone of voice which was intended to be peculiarlymild, but which at the same time was felt to be menacing, "I do notmean at the present moment to have any conversation with you on thesubject to which it is necessary that I should allude, and as I shallnot ask for your presence for above a minute or two, I will notdetain you by getting you to sit down. If I can induce you to listento me without replying to me it will, I think, be better for both ofus."

  "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 herstep-daughter." Then he was silent, and seemed to imply, by what hehad said before, that the clergyman should now leave the room. Thefirst order given had been very simple. It was one which the Marquiscertainly had a right to exact, and with which Mr. Greenwood feltthat he would be bound to comply. But the other was altogether ofa different nature. He was in the habit of constant conversationwith Lady Kingsbury as to Lady Frances. Twice, three times, fourtimes a day her ladyship, who in her present condition had no otherconfidant, would open out her sorrow to him on this terrible subject.Was he to tell her that he had been forbidden by his employer tocontinue this practice, or was he to continue it in opposition tothe Marquis's wishes? He would have been willing enough to do as hewas bidden, but that he saw that he would be driven to quarrel withthe lord or the lady. The lord, no doubt, could turn him out of thehouse, but the lady could make the house too hot to hold him. Thelord was a just man, though unreasonable, and would probably not turnhim out without compensation; but the lady was a violent woman, whoif she were angered would remember nothing of justice. Thinking ofall this he stood distracted and vacillating before his patron. "Iexpect you," said the Marquis, "to comply with my wishes,--or toleave me."

  "To leave Trafford?" asked the poor man.

  "Yes; to leave Trafford; to do that or to comply with my wishes on amatter 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 bowedgraciously 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 histroubles. When he made the promise he was quite sure that he would beunable to keep it. The only prospect open to him was that of breakingthe promise and keeping the Marquis in ignorance of his doing so.It would be out of his power not to follow any lead in conversationwhich the Marchioness might give him. But it might be possible tomake the Marchioness understand that her husband must be kept in thedark as to any confidence between them. For, in truth, many secretswere now discussed between them, as to which it was impossible thather ladyship should be got to hold her tongue. It had come to bereceived as a family doctrine between them that Lord Hampstead'sremoval to a better world was a thing devoutly to be wished. It isastonishing how quickly, though how gradually, ideas of such a naturewill be developed when entertainment has once been given to them. TheDevil makes himself at home with great rapidity when the hall doorhas been opened to him. A month or two back, before her ladyship wentto Koenigsgraaf, she certainly would not have ventured to expressa direct wish for the young man's death, however frequently herthoughts might have travelled in that direction. And certainly inthose days, though they were yet not many weeks since, Mr. Greenwoodwould have been much shocked had any such suggestion been made tohim 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 theheart-broken mother put the matter, reconciling to herself her ownwishes by that which she thought to be a duty to her own children. Itwas not that she and Mr. Greenwood had between them any scheme bywhich Lord Hampstead might cease to be in the way. Murder certainlyhad 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 positionwhich, if he lived, he would be called upon to fill, so was herboy, her Lord Frederic, made to adorn it by all good gifts. He wasnoble-looking, gracious, and aristocratic from the crown of hislittle head to the soles of his little feet. No more glorious heir toa title made happy the heart of any British mother,--if only he werethe heir. And why should it be denied to her, a noble scion of thegreat House of Montressor, to be the mother of none but younger sons?The more her mind dwelt upon it, the more completely did the iniquityof her wishes fade out of sight, and her ambition appear to beno 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 himselfcomfortably at home. Of meditating Lord Hampstead's murder hedeclared to himself that he had no idea. His conscience was quiteclear to him in that respect. What was it to him who might inheritthe title and the property of the Traffords? He was simply discussingwith a silly woman a circumstance which no words of theirs could doaught either to cause or to prevent. It soon seemed to him to benatural that she should wish it, and natural also that he shouldseem to sympathize with her who was his best friend. The Marquis,he was sure, was gradually dropping him. Where was he to look formaintenance, but to his own remaining friend? The Marquis wouldprobably give him something were he dismissed;--but that somethingwould go but a short way towards supporting him comfortably for therest of his life. There was a certain living in the gift of theMarquis, the Rectory of Appleslocombe in Somersetshire, which wouldexactly suit Mr. Greenwood's needs. The incumbent was a very old man,now known to be bed-ridden. It was L800 a year. There would be amplefor himself and for a curate. Mr. Greenwood had spoken to the Marquison the subject;--but had been told, with some expression of civilregret, that he was considered to be too old for new duties. TheMarchioness had talked to him frequently of Appleslocombe;--but whatwas the use of that? If the Marquis himself were to die, and thenthe Rector, there would be a chance for him,--on condition that LordHampstead were also out of the way. But Mr. Greenwood, as he thoughtof it, shook his head at the barren prospect. His sympathies no doubtwere on the side of the lady. The Marquis was treating him ill. LordHampstead was a disgrace to his order. Lady Frances was worse eventhan her brother. It would be a good thing that Lord Frederic shouldbe the heir. But all this had nothing to do with murder,--or evenwith meditation of murder. If the Lord should choose to take theyoung man it would be well; that was all.

  On the same afternoon, an hour or two after he had made his promiseto the Marquis, Lady Kingsbury sent for him. She always did send forhim to drink tea with her at five o'clock. It was so regular that theservant would simply announce that tea was ready in her ladyship'sroom 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 canunderstand that."

  "He does not wish me to mention her to you."

  "Not to me? Is my mouth to be stopped? I shall say respecting herwhatever 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 havekept her at Koenigsgraaf, and locked her up till she had changed hermind."

  "He wanted me to promise that I would not speak of her to yourladyship."

  "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 evermention 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 wishesand his uncle's principles. You cannot touch pitch and not bedefiled." The pitch, as Mr. Greenwood very well understood, was thefirst Marchioness. "Did he say anything about Hampstead?"

  "Not a word."

  "I suppose we are not to talk about him either! Unfortunate youngman! I wonder whether he feels himself how thoroughly he isdestroying the family."

  "I should think he must."

  "Those sort of men are so selfish that they never think of any oneelse. It does not occur to him what Frederic might be if he were notin the way. Nothing annoys me so much as when he
pretends to be fondof the children."

  "I suppose he won't come any more now."

  "Nothing will keep him away,--unless he were to die." Mr. Greenwoodshook his head sadly. "They say he rides hard."

  "I don't know." There was something in the suggestion which at themoment 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 isastonishing how many elder sons have been--taken away, during thelast quarter of a century."

  "A great many."

  "There never could have been one who could be better spared," saidthe stepmother.

  "Yes;--he might be spared."

  "If you only think of the advantage to the family! It will be ruinedif he comes to the title. And my Fred would be such an honour to thename! There is nothing to be done, of course." That was the firstword that had ever been spoken in that direction, and that word wasallowed to pass without any reply having been made to it, though ithad been uttered almost in a question.