_Chapter XXXVIII_
Life with most people is little more than a succession of high and lowtides. There are times when the stream runs low, and when there isnothing to be seen but the dull sandbanks, or even mud-banks, formonths, or even years together; and then all at once the waters swell,and come rushing twice a day like the sea, carrying life and movementwith them. Miss Marjoribanks had been subject to the _eaux mortes_ for along time: but now the spring-tides had rushed back. A day or two afterMr Ashburton had been revealed to her as the predestined member,something occurred, not in itself exciting, but which was not withoutits ultimate weight upon the course of affairs. It was the day when AuntJemima was expected in Grange Lane. She was Aunt Jemima to Lucilla; butthe Doctor called her Mrs John, and was never known to address her byany more familiar title. She was, as she herself described it, a widowlady, and wore the dress of her order, and was the mother of TomMarjoribanks. She was not a frequent visitor at Carlingford, for she andher brother-in-law had various points on which they were not of accord.The Doctor, for his part, could not but feel perennially injured thatthe boy had fallen to the lot of Mrs John, while he had only agirl--even though that girl was Lucilla; and Aunt Jemima could notforgive him for the rude way in which he treated her health, which wasso delicate, and his want of sympathy for many other people who weredelicate too. Even when she arrived, and was being entertained with theusual cup of tea, fears of her brother-in-law's robustness andunsympathetic ways had begun to overpower her. "I hope your papa doesnot ask too much from you, Lucilla," she said, as she sat in hereasy-chair, and took her tea by the fire in the cosy room which had beenprepared for her. "I hope he does not make you do too much, for I amsure you are not strong, my dear. Your poor mamma, you know----" and MrsJohn looked with a certain pathos at her niece, as though she saw signsof evil in Lucilla's fresh complexion and substantial frame.
"I am pretty well, thank you, Aunt Jemima," said Miss Marjoribanks,"and papa lets me do pretty much what I like: I am too old now, youknow, to be told what to do."
"Don't call yourself old, my dear," said Aunt Jemima, with a passinggleam of worldly wisdom--"one gets old quite soon enough. Are yousubject to headaches, Lucilla, or pains in the limbs? Your poormamma----"
"Dear Aunt Jemima, I am as well as ever I can be," said MissMarjoribanks. "Tell me when you heard from Tom, and what he is doing.Let me see, it is ten years since he went away. I used to write to him,but he did not answer my letters--not as he ought, you know. I supposehe has found friends among the Calcutta ladies," said Lucilla, with aslight but not unapparent sigh.
"He never says anything to me about Calcutta ladies," said Tom's mother;"to tell the truth, I always thought before he went away that he wasfond of _you_--I must have been mistaken, as he never said anything; and_that_ was very fortunate at all events."
"I am sure I am very thankful he was not fond of me," said Lucilla, witha little natural irritation, "for I never could have returned it. But Ishould like to know why that was so fortunate. I can't see that it wouldhave been such a very bad thing for him, for my part."
"Yes, my dear," said Aunt Jemima, placidly, "it would have been a verybad thing; for you know, Lucilla, though you get on very nicely here,you never could have done for a poor man's wife."
Miss Marjoribanks's bosom swelled when she heard these words--it swelledwith that profound sense of being unappreciated and misunderstood, whichis one of the hardest trials in the way of genius; but naturally she wasnot going to let her aunt see her mortification. "I don't mean to be anyman's wife just now," she said, making a gulp of it--"I am too busyelectioneering; we are going to have a new member in dear old MrChiltern's place. Perhaps he will come in this evening to talk thingsover, and you shall see him," Lucilla added, graciously. She was alittle excited about the candidate, as was not unnatural--more excited,perhaps, than she would have been ten years ago, when life was young;and then it was not to be expected that she could be pleased with AuntJemima for thinking it was so fortunate; though even that touch ofwounded pride did not lead Miss Marjoribanks to glorify herself bybetraying Tom.
"My brother-in-law used to be a dreadful Radical," said Aunt Jemima; "Ihope it is not one of those revolutionary men; I have seen your pooruncle sit up arguing with him till I thought they never would be done.If that is the kind of thing, I hope you will not associate yourselfwith it, Lucilla. Your papa should have more sense than to let you. Ishould never have permitted it if you had been _my_ daughter," added MrsJohn, with a little heat--for, to tell the truth, she too felt a slightvexation on her part that the Doctor had the girl--even though not fortwenty girls would she have given up Tom.
Miss Marjoribanks looked upon the weak woman who thus ventured toaddress her with indescribable feelings; but after all she was not somuch angry as amused and compassionate. She could not help thinking toherself, if she had been Mrs John's daughter, how perfectly docile AuntJemima would have been by this time, and how little she would havereally ventured to interfere. "It would have been very nice," she said,with a meditative realisation of the possibility--"though it is very oddto think how one could have been one's own cousin--I should have takenvery good care of you, I am sure."
"You would have done no such thing," said Mrs John; "you would have goneoff and married; I know how girls do. You have not married now, becauseyou have been too comfortable, Lucilla. You have had everything your ownway, and all that you wanted, without any of the bother. It is verystrange how differently people's lots are ordered. I was married atseventeen--and I am sure I have not known what it was to have a day'shealth----"
"Dear Aunt Jemima!" said her affectionate niece, kissing her, "but papashall see if he cannot give you something, and we will take such care ofyou while you are here."
Mrs John was softened in spite of herself; but still she shook her head."It is very nice of you to say so, my dear," she said, "and it'spleasant to feel that one has somebody belonging to one; but I have notmuch confidence in your papa. He never understood my complaints. I usedto be very sorry for your poor mamma. He never showed that sympathy--butI did not mean to blame him to you, Lucilla. I am sure he is a very goodfather to you."
"He has been a perfect old angel," said Miss Marjoribanks; and then theconversation came to a pause, as it was time to dress for dinner. MrsJohn Marjoribanks had a very nice room, and everything that was adaptedto make her comfortable; but she too had something to think of when thedoor closed upon Lucilla, and she was left with her maid and her hotwater and her black velvet gown. Perhaps it was a little inconsistent towear a black velvet gown with her widow's cap; it was a question whichshe had long debated in her mind before she resigned herself to thetemptation--but then it always looked so well, and was so veryprofitable! and Mrs John felt that it was incumbent upon her to keep upa respectable appearance for Tom's sake. Tom was very much in her mindat that moment, as indeed he always was; for though it was a long timeago, she could not get the idea out of her head that he must have saidsomething to Lucilla before he went off to India; and he had a way ofasking about his cousin in his letters; and though she would have doneanything to secure her boy's happiness, and was on the whole rather fondof her niece, yet the idea of the objections her brother-in-law wouldhave to such a match, excited to the uttermost the smouldering pridewhich existed in Aunt Jemima's heart. He was better off, and had alwaysbeen better off, than her poor John--and he had robust health and anawful scorn of the coddling, to which, as he said, she had subjected hisbrother; and he had money enough to keep _his_ child luxuriously, andmake her the leader of Carlingford society, while _her_ poor boy had togo to India and put himself in the way of all kinds of unknown diseasesand troubles. Mrs John was profoundly anxious to promote her son'shappiness, and would gladly have given every penny she had to get himmarried to Lucilla, "if that was what he wanted," as she justly said;but to have her brother-in-law object to him, and suggest that he wasnot good enough, was the one thing she could not bear. She was thinkingabout this, and whether Tom really had
not said anything, and whetherLucilla cared for him, and what amid all these perplexities she shoulddo, while she dressed for dinner; and, at the same time, she felt herpalpitation worse than usual, and knew Dr Marjoribanks would smile hisgrim smile if she complained, so that her visit to Grange Lane, thoughLucilla meant to take good care of her, was not altogether unmingleddelight to Mrs John.
But, nevertheless, Dr Marjoribanks's dinner-table was always a cheerfulsight, even when it was only a dinner-party of three; for then naturallythey used the round table, and were as snug as possible. Lucilla woreher knot of green and violet ribbons on her white dress, to her aunt'sgreat amazement, and the Doctor had all the air of a man who had beenout in the world all day and returned in the evening with something totell--which is a thing which gives great animation to a family party.Mrs John Marjoribanks had been out of all that sort of thing for a longtime. She had been living quite alone in a widowed, forlorn way, and hadhalf forgotten how pleasant it was to have somebody coming in with abreath of fresh air about him and the day's budget of news--and it hadan animating effect upon her, even though she was not fond of herbrother-in-law. Dr Marjoribanks inquired about Tom in the most fatherlyway, and what he was about, and how things were looking for him, andwhether he intended to come home. "Much better not," the Doctorsaid,--"I should certainly advise him not, if he asked me. He has gotover all the worst of it, and now is his time to do something worthwhile."
"Tom is not one to think merely of worldly advantages," said his mother,with a fine instinct of opposition. "I don't think he would care towaste all the best part of his life making money. I'd rather see himcome home and be happy, for my part, even if he were not so rich----"
"If all men were happy that came home," said the Doctor, and then hegave a rather grim chuckle. "Somebody has come home that you did notreckon on, Lucilla. I am sorry to spoil sport; but I don't see how youare to get out of it. There is another address on the walls to-daybesides that one of yours----"
"Oh, I hope there will be six addresses!" cried Miss Marjoribanks; "ifwe had it all our own way it would be no fun;--a Tory, and a Whig, anda--did you say Radical, Aunt Jemima? And then, what is a Conservative?"asked Lucilla, though certainly she had a very much better notion ofpolitical matters than Aunt Jemima had, to say the least.
"I wonder how you can encourage any poor man to go into Parliament,"said Mrs John; "so trying for the health as it must be, and an end toeverything like domestic life. If it was my Tom I would almost rather hestayed in India. He looks strong, but there is never any confidence tobe put in young men looking strong. Oh, I know you do not agree with me,Doctor; but I have had sad reason for my way of thinking," said the poorlady. As for the Doctor, he did not accept the challenge thus thrown tohim. Tom Marjoribanks was not the foremost figure in the world in hiseyes, as the absent wanderer was in that of his mother; and he had notyet unburdened himself of what he had to say.
"I am not saying anything in favour of going into Parliament," said theDoctor. "I'd sooner be a barge-man on the canal, if it was me. I am onlytelling Lucilla what she has before her. I don't know when I have beenmore surprised. Of course you were not looking for _that_," said DrMarjoribanks. He had kept back until the things were taken off thetable, for he had a benevolent disinclination to spoil anybody's dinner.Now, when all the serious part of the meal was over, he tossed the_Carlingford Gazette_ across the table, folded so that she could notmiss what he wanted her to see. Lucilla took it up lightly between herfinger and thumb; for the Carlingford papers were inky and badlyprinted, and soiled a lady's hand. She took it up delicately withouteither alarm or surprise, knowing very well that the Blues and theYellows were not likely without a struggle to give up to the newstandard, which was violet and green. But what she saw on that inkybroadsheet overwhelmed in an instant Miss Marjoribanks'sself-possession. She turned pale, though her complexion was, ifpossible, fresher than ever, and even shivered in her chair, though hernerves were so steady. Could it be a trick to thwart and startle her? orcould it be true? She lifted her eyes to her father with a look ofhorror-stricken inquiry, but all that she met in return was a certainair of amusement and triumph, which struck her at the tenderest point.He was not sorry nor sympathetic, nor did he care at all for the suddenshock she had sustained. On the contrary, he was laughing within himselfat the utterly unexpected complication. It was cruel, but it wassalutary, and restored her self-command in a moment. She might havegiven way under kindness, but this look of satisfaction over herdiscomfiture brought Lucilla to herself.
"Yes, I thought you would be surprised," said Dr Marjoribanks dryly; andhe took his first glass of claret with a slow relish and enjoyment,which roused every sentiment of self-respect and spark of temperexisting in his daughter's mind. "If you had kept your own place itwould not have mattered; but I don't see how you are to get out of it.You see young ladies should let these sort of things alone, Lucilla."This was all the feeling he showed for her in her unexpected dilemma.Miss Marjoribanks's heart gave one throb, which made the green andviolet ribbons jump and thrill; and then she came to herself, andrecognised, as she had so often done before, that she had to fight herway by herself, and had nobody to look to. Such a thought is drearyenough sometimes, and there are minds that sink under it; but at othertimes it is like the touch of the mother earth which gave the giant backits strength; and Lucilla was of the latter class of intelligence. Whenshe saw the triumph with which her embarrassment was received and thatshe had no sympathy nor aid to look for, she recovered herself as if bymagic. Let what would come in the way, nothing could alter her certaintythat Mr Ashburton was the man for Carlingford; and that determinationnot to be beaten, which is the soul of British valour, sprang up in aninstant in Miss Marjoribanks's mind. There was not even the alternativeof victory or Westminster Abbey for Lucilla. If she was ever to hold upher head again, or have any real respect for herself, she must win. Allthis passed through her head in the one bewildering moment, while herfather's words were still making her ears tingle, and _that name_,printed in big inky letters, seemed to flutter in all the air round her.It was hard to believe the intelligence thus conveyed, and harder stillto go on in the face of old friendships and the traditions of her youth;but still duty was dearer than tradition, and it was now a necessity tofight the battle to the last, and at all risks to win.
"Thank you all the same, papa, for bringing me the paper," said Lucilla."It would have been a great deal worse if I had not known of it before Isaw him. I am sure I am very glad for one thing. He can't be married ordead, as people used to say. I am quite ashamed to keep you so longdownstairs, Aunt Jemima, when I know you must be longing for a cup oftea--but it is somebody come back whom nobody expected. Tell him I shallbe _so_ glad to see him, papa; though I have no reason to be glad, forhe was one of my _young_ friends, you know, and he is sure to think Ihave gone off." As she spoke, Lucilla turned Aunt Jemima, to whom shehad given her arm, quite round, that she might look into the great glassover the mantelpiece: "I don't think I _am_ quite so much gone off as Iexpected to be," said Miss Marjoribanks, with candid impartiality;"though of course he will think me stouter--but it does not make anydifference about Mr Ashburton being the right man for Carlingford." Shesaid the words with a certain solemnity, and turned Mrs John, who was somuch surprised as to be speechless, round again, and led her upstairs.It was as if they were walking in a procession of those martyrs andrenouncers of self, who build up the foundations of society; and itwould not be too much to say that under her present circumstances, andin the excitement of this singular and unexpected event, such was thepainful but sublime consciousness which animated Lucilla's breast.
As for Dr Marjoribanks, his triumph was taken out of him by thatspectacle. He closed the door after the ladies had gone, and came backto his easy-chair by the side of the fire, and could not but feel thathe had had the worst of it. It was actually Mr Cavendish who had comehome, and whose address to the electors of Carlingford, dated from Doveron his return to England, the Doctor had just put
into his daughter'shand. But wonderful and unlooked-for as was the event, Lucilla, thoughtaken unawares, had not given in, nor shown any signs of weakness. Andthe effect upon her father of her last utterance and confession was suchthat he took up the paper again and read both addresses, which wereprinted side by side. In other days Mr Cavendish had been the chosencandidate of Grange Lane; and the views which he expressed (and heexpressed his views very freely) were precisely those of DrMarjoribanks. Yet when the Doctor turned to Mr Ashburton's expression ofhis conviction that he was the right man for Carlingford, it cannot bedenied that the force of that simple statement had a wonderful effectupon his mind--an effect all the greater, perhaps, in comparison withthe political exposition made by the other unexpected candidate. TheDoctor's meditations possibly took a slumbrous tone from the place andthe moment at which he pursued them; for the fact was that the words hehad just been hearing ran in his head all through the reading of the twoaddresses. Mr Cavendish would think Lucilla had gone off; but yet shehad not gone off so much as might have been expected, and Mr Ashburtonwas the man for Carlingford. Dr Marjoribanks laughed quietly by himselfin his easy-chair, and then went back to Mr Cavendish's opinions; andended again, without knowing it, in a kind of odd incipient agreementwith Lucilla. The new candidate was right in politics; but, after all,Mr Ashburton was a more satisfactory sort of person. He was a man whompeople knew everything about, and a descendant of old Penrhyn, and hadthe Firs, and lived in it, and spent about so much money every yearhonestly in the face of the world. When a man conducts himself in thisway, his neighbours can afford to be less exacting as to his politicalopinions. This comparison went on in the Doctor's thoughts until thedistinction between the two grew confused and faint in that ruddy andgenial glow of firelight and lamplight and personal well-being which isapt to engross a man's mind after he has come in out of the air, aspeople say, and has eaten a good dinner, and feels himself comfortable;and at last all that remained in Dr Marjoribanks's mind was that MrCavendish would think Lucilla had gone off, though she had not gone offnearly so much as might have been expected; at which he laughed with anodd sound, which roused him, and might have induced some people to thinkhe had been sleeping--if, indeed, anybody had been near to hear.
But this news was naturally much more serious to Miss Marjoribanks whenshe got upstairs, and had time to think of it. She would not have beenhuman if she had heard without emotion of the return of the man whom shehad once dreamed of as member for Carlingford, with the addition ofother dreams which had not been altogether without their sweetness. Hehad returned now and then for a few days, but Lucilla knew that he hadnever held up his head in Grange Lane since the day when she advised himto marry Barbara Lake. And now when he had bethought himself of his oldambition, had he possibly bethought himself of other hopes as well? Andthe horrible thing was, that she had pledged herself to another, and puther seal upon it that Mr Ashburton was the man for Carlingford! It maybe supposed that, with such a complication in her mind, MissMarjoribanks was very little capable of supporting Aunt Jemima'squestions as to what it was about, and who was Mr Cavendish, and why washis return of consequence to Lucilla? Mrs John was considerably alarmedand startled, and began to think in earnest that Tom was fond of hiscousin, and would never forgive his mother for letting Lucilla perhapsmarry some one else, and settle down before her very eyes.
"If it is a very particular friend, I can understand it," Mrs John said,with a little asperity; but that was after she had made a great manyattempts, which were only partially successful, to find it all out.
"Dear Aunt Jemima," said Lucilla, "we are all particular friends inCarlingford--society is so limited, you know;--and Mr Cavendish has beena very long time away. He used to be of such use to me, and I am so fondof him," Miss Marjoribanks said, with a sigh; and it may be supposedthat Mrs John's curiosity was not lessened by such a response.
"If you are engaged to any one, Lucilla, I must say I think I ought tohave been told," said Tom's mother, with natural indignation. "Though Iought not to blame _you_ for it, perhaps. It is a sad thing when a girlis deprived of a mother's care; but still I am your nearestrelation----"
"My dear aunt, it is something about the election," said MissMarjoribanks. "How could I be engaged to a man who has been away tenyears?"
"Tom has been away ten years," said Mrs John impetuously; and then sheblushed, though she was past the age of blushing, and made haste tocover her imprudence. "I don't see what you can have to do with theelection," she said, with suspicion, but some justice; "and I don'tfeel, Lucilla, as if you were telling me all."
"I have the favours to make, Aunt Jemima," said Lucilla--"green andviolet. You used to be so clever at making bows, and I hope you willhelp me;--papa, you know, will have to be on Mr Ashburton's committee,"Miss Marjoribanks added; and then, in spite of herself, a sigh of doubtand anxiety escaped her bosom. It was easy to say that "papa would be onMr Ashburton's committee, you know," but nobody had known that MrCavendish was coming to drive everything topsy-turvy; and Lucilla,though she professed to know only who was the man for Carlingford, hadat the same time sufficient political information to be aware that thesentiments propounded in Mr Cavendish's address were also DrMarjoribanks's sentiments; and she did not know the tricks which somegreen-and-violet spirit in the dining-room was playing with the Doctor'sfancy. Perhaps it might turn out to be Mr Cavendish's committee whichher father would be on; and after she had pledged herself that the otherman was the man for Carlingford! Lucilla felt that she could not bedisloyal and go back from her word, neither could she forget theintimation which had so plainly indicated to her that Mr Ashburton wasthe man; and yet, at the same time, she could not but sigh as shethought of Mr Cavendish. Perhaps he had grown coarse, as men do at thatage, just as Lucilla herself was conscious that he would find herstouter. Perhaps he had ceased to flirt, or be of any particular use ofan evening; possibly even he might have forgotten Miss Marjoribanks--butnaturally that was a thing that seemed unlikely to Lucilla. And oh! ifhe had but come a little earlier, or for ever stayed away!
But while all these thoughts were going through her mind, her fingerswere still busy with the violet-and-green cockades which Aunt Jemima,after making sure that Mr Ashburton was not a Radical, had begun to helpher with. And they sat and talked about Mrs John's breathing, which wasso bad, and about her headaches, while Lucilla by snatches discussed thesituation in her mind. Perhaps, on the whole, embarrassment andperplexity are a kind of natural accompaniment to life and movement; andit is better to be driven out of your senses with thinking which of twothings you ought to do than to do nothing whatever, and be utterlyuninteresting to all the world. This at least was how Lucilla reasonedto herself in her dilemma; and while she reasoned she used up yard uponyard of her green ribbon (for naturally the violet bore but a smallproportion to the green). Whatever she might have to do or tosuffer--however her thoughts might be disturbed or her heartdistracted--it is unnecessary to add that it was impossible to Lucillaeither to betray or to yield.
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