Miss Marjoribanks

by Mrs. Oliphant

  _Chapter XLVIII_

  It is probable that Mr Cavendish considered the indulgence aboverecorded all the more excusable in that it was Saturday night. Thenomination was to take place on Monday, and if a man was not to besupposed to be done with his work on the Saturday evening, when could hebe expected to have a moment of repose? He had thought as he wenthome--for naturally, while putting himself so skilfully in the way oftemptation, such questions had not entered into his mind--that the factof to-morrow being Sunday would effectually neutralise any harm he couldhave been supposed to have done by a visit so simple and natural, andthat neither his sister nor his committee, the two powers of which hestood in a certain awe, could so much as hear of it until the electionwas over, and all decided for good or for evil. This had been a comfortto his mind, but it was the very falsest and most deceitful consolation.That intervening Sunday was a severer calamity for Mr Cavendish thanhalf a dozen ordinary days. The general excitement had risen so high,and all the chances on both sides had been so often discussed anddebated, that something new was as water in the desert to the thirstingconstituency. The story was all through Grange Lane that very night, butCarlingford itself, from St Roque's to the wilderness of the North End,tingled with it next morning. It is true, the Rector made no specialallusion to it in his sermon, though the tone of all his services was sosad, and his own fine countenance looked so melancholy, that Mr Bury'sdevoted followers could all see that he had something on his mind. ButMr Tufton at Salem Chapel was not so reticent. He was a man quite famousfor his extempore gifts, and who rather liked to preach about any veryrecent public event, which it was evident to all his hearers could nothave found place in a "prepared" discourse; and his sermon that morningwas upon wickedness in high places, upon men who sought the confidenceof their fellows only to betray it, and offered to the poor man a handred with his sister's (metaphorical) blood.

  But it would be wrong to say that this was the general tone of publicopinion in Grove Street; most people, on the contrary, thought of MrCavendish not as a wolf thirsting for the lamb's blood, but ratherhimself as a kind of lamb caught in the thicket, and about to be offeredup in sacrifice. Such was the impression of a great many influentialpersons who had been wavering hitherto, and inclining on the whole to MrCavendish's liberal principles and supposed Low-Church views. A manwhose hand is red metaphorically with your sister's blood is no doubt ahighly objectionable personage; but it is doubtful whether, under thecircumstances, an enlightened constituency might not consider the manwho had given a perfectly unstained hand to so thoroughly unsatisfactorya sister as more objectionable still; and the indignation of Grange Laneat Barbara's reappearance was nothing to the fury of George Street, andeven of Wharfside, where the bargees began to scoff openly. Society hadnothing worse to say than to quote Mrs Chiley, and assert that "theseartist people were all adventurers"; and then Grange Lane in generalcould not forget that it "had met" Barbara, nor dismiss from itsconsideration her black eyes, her level brows, and her magnificentcontralto; whereas in the other region the idea of the Member forCarlingford marrying "that sort!" cast all the world into temporarydelirium. It was a still more deadly offence to the small people than tothe great. And the exceptional standing which poor Mr Lake and hisdaughter Rose used to lay claim to--the "rank of their own" which theypossessed as artists--was a pretension much more disagreeable to theshopkeepers than to society in general. Thus in every sense Mr Cavendishhad done the very worst for himself by his ill-timed indulgence; and hisguilt was about the same with most of his critics whether he meantperfectly well and innocently, or entertained the most guilty intentionsever conceived by man.

  And all his misfortunes were increased by the fact that the interveningday was a Sunday. Barbara Lake herself, who did not know what peoplewere saying, and who, if she had known, would not have cared, came tochurch, as was natural, in the morning; and under pretence that thefamily pew was full, had the assurance, as people remarked, to come tothe middle aisle, in that same silk dress which rustled like tin, andmade more demonstration than the richest draperies. The pew-openerdisapproved of her as much as everybody else did, but she could not turnthe intruder out; and though Barbara had a long time to wait, and wascuriously inspected by all the eyes near her while she did so, the endwas that she got a seat in her rustling silk not very far from whereLucilla sat in deep mourning, a model of every righteous observance. Asfor poor Barbara, she too was very exemplary in church. She meant nobodyany harm, poor soul. She could not help the flashing of those big blackeyes, to which the level line above them gave such a curious appearanceof obliqueness--nor was it to be expected that she should deny herselfthe use of her advantages, or omit to "take the second" in all thecanticles with such melodious liquid tones as made everybody stop andlook round. She had a perfect right to do it; indeed it was her duty, asit is everybody's duty, to aid to the best of their ability in thechurch-music of their parish, which was what Lucilla Marjoribankspersisted in saying in answer to all objections. But the effect wasgreat in the congregation, and even the Rector himself was seen tochange colour as his eye fell upon the unlucky young woman. MrCavendish, for his part, knew her voice the moment he heard it, and gavea little start, and received such a look from his sister, who wasstanding by him, as turned him to stone. Mrs Woodburn looked at him, andso did her husband, and Mr Centum turned a solemnly inquiringreproachful gaze upon him from the other side of the aisle. "Oh, Harry,you will kill me with vexation! why, for goodness' sake, did you let hercome?" his sister whispered when they had all sat down again. "Goodheavens! how could I help it?" cried poor Mr Cavendish, almost loudenough to be heard. And then by the slight, almost imperceptible, humaround him, he felt that not only his sister and his committee, but theRector and all Carlingford, had their eyes upon him, and was thankful tolook up the lesson, poor man, and bury his face in it. It was a hardpunishment for the indiscretion of an hour.

  But perhaps of all the people concerned it was the Rector who was themost to be pitied. He had staked his honour upon Mr Cavendish'srepentance, and here was he going back, publicly to wallow in themire--and it was Sunday when such a worldly subject ought not to bepermitted to enter a good man's mind, much less to be discussed andacted upon as it ought to be if anything was to be done; for there waslittle more than this sacred day remaining in which to undo the mischiefwhich a too great confidence in human nature had wrought. And then, totell the truth, the Rector did not know how to turn back. It would havebeen hard, very hard, to have told all the people who confided in himthat he had never had any stronger evidence for Mr Cavendish'srepentance than he now had for his backsliding; and to give in, and letthe other side have it all their own way, and throw over the candidatewith whom he had identified himself, was as painful to Mr Bury as if,instead of being very Low-Church, he had been the most muscular ofChristians. Being in this state of mind, it may be supposed that hissister's mild wonder and trembling speculations at lunch, when they werealone together, were well qualified to raise some sparks of that oldAdam, who, though well kept under, still existed in the Rector's, as inmost other human breasts.

  "But, dear Edward, I would not quite condemn him," Miss Bury said. "Hehas been the cause of a good deal of remark, you know, and the poor girlhas been talked about. He may think it is his duty to make her amends.For anything we can tell, he may have the most honourableintentions----"

  "Oh, bother his honourable intentions!" said the Rector. Such anexclamation from him was as bad as the most dreadful oath from anordinary man, and very nearly made Miss Bury drop from her chair inamazement. Things must have gone very far indeed when the Rector himselfdisregarded all proprieties and the sacredness of the day in such awildly-daring fashion. For, to tell the truth, in his secret heart MrBury was himself a little of the way of thinking of the people in GroveStreet. Strictly speaking, if a man has done anything to make a youngwoman be talked about, every well-principled person ought to desire thathe should make her amends; but at the same time, at such a crisis therewas little consol
ation in the fact that the candidate one was supportingand doing daily battle for had honourable intentions in respect toBarbara Lake. If it had been Rose Lake, it would still have been a blow;but Rose was unspeakably respectable, and nobody could have said asyllable on the subject: while Barbara, who came to church in a tingown, and rustled up the middle aisle in it, attracting all eyes, andtook such a second in the canticles that she overwhelmed the choiritself--Barbara, who had made people talk at Lucilla's parties, and hadbeen ten years away, wandering over the face of the earth, nobody couldtell where--governessing, singing, play-acting, perhaps, for anythingthat anybody could tell! A clergyman, it is true, dared not have saidsuch a thing, and Mr Bury's remorse would have been bitter could he havereally believed himself capable even of thinking it; but still it iscertain that the unconscious, unexpressed idea in his mind was, that thehonourable intentions were the worst of it--that a candidate might be afool, or even an unrepentant sinner, and after all it would be chieflyhis own concern; but that so much as to dream of making Barbara Lake theMember's wife, was the deepest insult that could be offered toCarlingford. The Rector carried his burden silently all day, andscarcely opened his lips, as all his sympathetic following remarked; butbefore he went to bed he made a singular statement, the completeaccuracy of which an impartial observer might be disposed to doubt, butwhich Mr Bury uttered with profound sincerity, and with a sigh ofself-compassion. "_Now_ I understand Lucilla Marjoribanks," was what thegood man said, and he all but puffed out the candle he had just lighted,with that sigh.

  Lucilla, however, in her own person took no part in it at all, one wayor other. She shook hands very kindly with Barbara, and hoped she wouldcome and see her, and made it clearly apparent that _she_ at least boreno malice. "I am very glad I told Thomas to say nothing about it," shesaid to Aunt Jemima, who, however, did not know the circumstances, andwas very little the wiser, as may be supposed.

  And then the two ladies walked home together, and Miss Marjoribanksdevoted herself to her good books. It was almost the first moment ofrepose that Lucilla had ever had in her busy life, and it was a reposenot only permitted but enjoined. Society, which had all along expectedso much from her, expected now that she should not find herself able forany exertion; and Miss Marjoribanks responded nobly, as she had alwaysdone, to the requirements of society. To a mind less perfectlyregulated, the fact that the election which had been so interesting toher was now about, as may be said, to take place without her, would havebeen of itself a severe trial; and the sweet composure with which shebore it was not one of the least remarkable phenomena of the presentcrisis. But the fact was that this Sunday was on the whole an oppressiveday. Mr Ashburton came in for a moment, it is true, between services;but he himself, though generally so steady, was unsettled and agitated.He had been bearing the excitement well until this last almostincredible accident occurred, which made it possible that he might notonly win, but win by a large majority. "The Dissenters have all held outtill now, and would not pledge themselves," he said to Lucilla, actuallywith a tremble in his voice; and then he told her about Mr Tufton'ssermon and the wickedness in high places, and the hand imbruedmetaphorically in his sister's blood.

  "I wonder how he could say so," said Lucilla, with indignation. "It isjust like those Dissenters. What harm was there in going to see her? Iheard of it last night, but even for your interest I would never havespread such mere gossip as that."

  "No--certainly it is mere gossip," said Mr Ashburton; "but it will dohim a great deal of harm all the same," and then once more he gotrestless and abstracted. "I suppose it is of no use asking you if youwould join Lady Richmond's party at the Blue Boar? You could have awindow almost to yourself, you know, and would be quite quiet."

  Lucilla shook her head, and the movement was more expressive than words."I did not think you would," said Mr Ashburton; and then he took herhand, and his looks too became full of meaning. "Then I must say adieu,"he said--"adieu until it is all over. I shall not have a moment that Ican call my own--this will be an eventful week for me."

  "You mean an eventful day," said Lucilla; for Mr Ashburton was not sucha novice as to be afraid of the appearance he would have to make at thenomination. He did not contradict her, but he pressed her hand with alook which was equivalent to kissing it, though he was not romanticenough to go quite that length. When he was gone, Miss Marjoribankscould not but wonder a little what he could mean by looking forward toan eventful week. For her own part, she could not but feel that after somuch excitement things would feel rather flat for the rest of the week,and that it was almost wrong to have an election on a Tuesday. Could itbe that Mr Ashburton had some other contest or candidateship in storefor himself which he had not told her about? Such a thing was quitepossible; but what had Lucilla in her mourning to do with worldlycontingencies? She went back to her seat in the corner of the sofa andher book of sermons, and read fifty pages before tea-time; she knew howmuch, because she had put a mark in her book when Mr Ashburton came in.Marks are very necessary things generally in sermon-books; and Lucillacould not but feel pleased to think that since her visitor went away shehad got over so much ground.

  To compare Carlingford to a volcano that night (and indeed all the nextday, which was the day of nomination) would be a stale similitude; andyet in some respects it was like a volcano. It was not the same kind ofexcitement which arises in a town where politics run very high--if thereare any towns nowadays in such a state of unsophisticated nature.Neither was it a place where simple corruption could carry the day; forthe freemen of Wharfside were, after all, but a small portion of thepopulation. It was in reality a quite ideal sort of contest--a contestfor the best man, such as would have pleased the purest-mindedphilosopher. It was the man most fit to represent Carlingford for whomeverybody was looking, not a man to be baited about parish-rates andReform Bills and the Irish Church;--a man who lived in, or near thetown, and "dealt regular" at all the best shops; a man who would notdisgrace his constituency by any unlawful or injudicious sort oflove-making--who would attend to the town's interests and subscribe toits charities, and take the lead in a general way. This was whatCarlingford was looking for, as Miss Marjoribanks, with that intuitiverapidity which was characteristic of her genius, had at once remarked;and when everybody went home from church and chapel, though it wasSunday, the whole town thrilled and throbbed with this great question.People might have found it possible to condone a sin or wink at a merebacksliding; but there were few so bigoted in their faith as to believethat the man who was capable of marrying Barbara Lake could ever be theman for Carlingford; and thus it was that Mr Cavendish, who had beenflourishing like a green bay-tree, withered away, as it were, in amoment, and the place that had known him knew him no more.

  The hustings were erected at that central spot, just under the windowsof the Blue Boar, where Grange Lane and George Street meet, the mostcentral point in Carlingford. It was so near that Lucilla could hear theshouts and the music and all the divers noises of the election, butcould not, even when she went into the very corner of the window andstrained her eyes to the utmost, see what was going on, which was a verytrying position. We will not linger upon the proceedings or excitementof Monday, when the nomination and the speeches were made, and when theshow of hands was certainly thought to be in Mr Cavendish's favour. Butit was the next day that was the real trial. Lady Richmond and her partydrove past at a very early hour, and looked up at Miss Marjoribanks'swindows, and congratulated themselves that they were so early, and thatpoor dear Lucilla would not have the additional pain of seeing them gopast. But Lucilla did see them, though, with her usual good sense, shekept behind the blind. She never did anything absurd in the way of earlyrising on ordinary occasions; but this morning it was impossible torestrain a certain excitement, and though it did her no good, still shegot up an hour earlier than usual, and listened to the music, and heardthe cabs rattling about, and could not help it if her heart beatquicker. It was perhaps a more important crisis for Miss Marjoribanksthan for any othe
r person, save one, in Carlingford; for of course itwould be foolish to attempt to assert that she did not understand bythis time what Mr Ashburton meant; and it may be imagined how hard itwas upon Lucilla to be thus, as it were, in the very outside row of theassembly--to hear all the distant shouts and sounds, everything that wasnoisy and inarticulate, and conveyed no meaning, and to be out of reachof all that could really inform her as to what was going on.

  She saw from her window the cabs rushing past, now with her ownviolet-and-green colours, now with the blue-and-yellow. And sometimes itseemed to Lucilla that the blue-and-yellow predominated, and that thecarriages which mounted the hostile standard carried voters in largernumbers and more enthusiastic condition. The first load of bargemen thatcame up Grange Lane from the farther end of Wharf side were all Blues;and when a spectator is thus held on the very edge of the event in asuspense which grows every moment more intolerable, especially when heor she is disposed to believe that things in general go on all the worsefor his or her absence, it is no wonder if that spectator becomesnervous, and sees all the dangers at their darkest. What if, after all,old liking and friendship had prevailed over that beautiful optimismwhich Lucilla had done so much to instil into the minds of hertownsfolk? What if something more mercenary and less elevating than theideal search for the best man, in which she had hoped Carlingford wasengaged, should have swayed the popular mind to the other side? Allthese painful questions went through Lucilla's mind as the day crept on;and her suspense was much aggravated by Aunt Jemima, who took no realinterest in the election, but who kept saying every ten minutes--"Iwonder how the poll is going on--I wonder what that is they areshouting--is it 'Ashburton for ever!' or 'Cavendish for ever!' Lucilla?Your ears should be sharper than mine; but I think it is Cavendish."Lucilla thought so too, and her heart quaked within her, and she wentand squeezed herself into the corner of the window, to try whether itwas not possible to catch a glimpse of the field of battle; and herperseverance was finally rewarded by the sight of the extremity of thewooden planks which formed the polling-booth; but there was littlesatisfaction to be got out of that. And then the continual dropping ofAunt Jemima's questions drove her wild. "My dear aunt," she said atlast, "I can see nothing and hear nothing, and you know as much aboutwhat is going on as I do"--which, it will be acknowledged, was not ananswer such as one would have expected from Lucilla's perfect temper andwonderful self-control.

  The election went on with all its usual commotion while MissMarjoribanks watched and waited. Mr Cavendish's committee brought theirsupporters very well up in the morning--no doubt by way of making sureof them, as somebody suggested on the other side; and for some time MrsWoodburn's party at Masters's windows (which Masters had given ratherreluctantly, by way of pleasing the Rector) looked in better spirits andless anxious than Lady Richmond's party, which was at the Blue Boar.Towards noon Mr Cavendish himself went up to his female supporters withthe bulletin of the poll--the same bulletin which Mr Ashburton had justsent down to Lucilla. These were the numbers; and they made Masters'striumphant, while silence and anxiety fell upon the Blue Boar:--

  Cavendish 283 Ashburton 275

  When Miss Marjoribanks received this disastrous intelligence, she putthe note in her pocket without saying a word to Aunt Jemima, and lefther window, and went back to her worsted-work; but as for Mrs Woodburn,she gave her brother a hug, and laughed, and cried, and believed in it,like a silly woman as she was.

  "It is something quite unlooked-for, and which I never could havecalculated upon," she said, thrusting her hand into an imaginarywaistcoat with Mr Ashburton's very look and tone, which was beyondmeasure amusing to all the party. They laughed so long, and were so gay,that Lady Richmond solemnly levelled her opera-glass at them with theair of a woman who was used to elections, but knew how such _parvenus_have their heads turned by a prominent position. "That woman is takingsome of us off," she said, "but if it is me, I can bear it. There isnothing so vulgar as that sort of thing, and I hope you never encourageit in your presence, my dears."

  Just at that moment, however, an incident occurred which took up theattention of the ladies at the windows, and eclipsed even the interestof the election. Poor Barbara Lake was interested, too, to know if herfriend would win. She was not entertaining any particular hopes or plansabout him. Years and hard experiences had humbled Barbara. The Brusselsveil which she used to dream of had faded as much from her memory aspoor Rose's Honiton design, for which she had got the prize. At thepresent moment, instead of nourishing the ambitious designs whicheverybody laid to her charge, she would have been content with the veryinnocent privilege of talking a little to her next employers about MrCavendish, the member for Carlingford, and his visits to her father'shouse. But at the same time, she had once been fond of him, and she tooka great interest in him, and was very anxious that he should win. Andshe was in the habit, like so many other women, of finding out, as faras she could, what was going on, and going to see everything that theremight be to see. She had brought one of her young brothers with her,whose anxiety to see the fun was quite as great as her own; and she wasarrayed in the tin dress--her best available garment--which was madelong, according to the fashion, and which, as Barbara scorned to tuck itup, was continually getting trodden on, and talked about, and reviledat, on that crowded pavement. The two parties of ladies saw, and even itmight be said heard, the sweep of the metallic garment, which wasundergoing such rough usage, and which was her best, poor soul. LadyRichmond had alighted from her carriage carefully tucked up, thoughthere were only a few steps to make, and there was no _lady_ inCarlingford who would have swept "a good gown" over the stones in sucha way; but then poor Barbara was not precisely a lady, and thought itright to look as if it did not matter. She went up to read the numbersof the poll--in the sight of everybody; and she clasped her handstogether with ecstatic satisfaction as she read; and young Carmine, herbrother, dashed into the midst of the fray, and shouted "Cavendish forever! hurrah for Cavendish!" and could scarcely be drawn back again totake his sister home. Even when she withdrew, she did not go home, butwent slowly up and down Grange Lane with her rustling train behind her,with the intention of coming back for further information. Lady Richmondand Mrs Woodburn both lost all thought of the election as they watched;and lo! when their wandering thoughts came back again, the tide hadturned.

  The tide had turned. Whether it was Barbara, or whether it was fate, orwhether it was the deadly unanimity of those Dissenters, who, after alltheir wavering, had at last decided for the man who "dealt" in GeorgeStreet--no one could tell; but by two o'clock Mr Ashburton was so farahead that he felt himself justified in sending another bulletin toLucilla--so far that there was no reasonable hope of the oppositecandidate ever making up his lost ground. Mrs Woodburn was not a womanto be content when reasonable hope was over--she clung to the lastpossibility desperately, with a pertinacity beyond all reason, and sworein her heart that it was Barbara that had done it, and cursed her withher best energies; which, however, as these are not melodramatic days,was a thing which did the culprit no possible harm. When Barbara herselfcame back from her promenade in Grange Lane, and saw the alterednumbers, she again clasped her hands together for a moment, and lookedas if she were going to faint; and it was at that moment that MrCavendish's eyes fell upon her, as ill fortune would have it. They wereall looking at him as if it was his fault; and the sight of thatsympathetic face was consoling to the defeated candidate. He took offhis hat before everybody; probably, as his sister afterwards said, hewould have gone and offered her his arm had he been near enough. Howcould anybody wonder, after that, that things had gone against him, andthat, notwithstanding all his advantages, he was the loser in the fight?

  As for Lucilla, she had gone back to her worsted-work when she got MrAshburton's first note, in which his rival's name stood above his own.She looked quite composed, and Aunt Jemima went on teasing with hersenseless questions. But Miss Marjoribanks put up with it all; thoughthe lingering progress of these hours from
one o'clock to four, thesound of cabs furiously driven by, the distant shouts, the hum ofindefinite din that filled the air, exciting every moment a keenercuriosity, and giving no satisfaction or information, would have beenenough to have driven a less large intelligence out of its wits. Lucillabore it, doing as much as she could of her worsted-work, and sayingnothing to nobody, except, indeed, an occasional word to Aunt Jemima,who would have an answer. She was not walking about Grange Lanerepeating a kind of prayer for the success of her candidate, as BarbaraLake was doing; but perhaps, on the whole, Barbara had the easiest timeof it at that moment of uncertainty. When the next report came,Lucilla's fingers trembled as she opened it, so great was her emotion;but after that she recovered herself as if by magic. She grew pale, andthen gave a kind of sob, and then a kind of laugh, and finally put herworsted-work back into her basket, and threw Mr Ashburton's note intothe fire.

  "It is all right," said Lucilla. "Mr Ashburton is a hundred ahead, andthey can never make up that. I am so sorry for poor Mr Cavendish. If heonly had not been so imprudent on Saturday night!"

  "I am sure I don't understand you," said Aunt Jemima. "After being soanxious about one candidate, how can you be so sorry for the other? Isuppose you did not want them both to win?"

  "Yes, I think that _was_ what I wanted," said Lucilla, drying her eyes;and then she awoke to the practical exigencies of the position. "Therewill be quantities of people coming to have a cup of tea, and I mustspeak to Nancy," she said, and went downstairs with a cheerful heart. Itmight be said to be as good as decided, so far as regarded Mr Ashburton;and when it came for her final judgment, what was it that she ought tosay?

  It was very well that Miss Marjoribanks's unfailing foresight led her tospeak to Nancy; for the fact was, that after four o'clock, when thepolling was over, everybody came in to tea. All Lady Richmond's partycame, as a matter of course, and Mr Ashburton himself, for a fewminutes, bearing meekly his new honours; and so many more peoplebesides, that but for knowing it was a special occasion, and that "ourgentleman" was elected, Nancy's mind never could have borne the strain.And the tea that was used was something frightful. As for Aunt Jemima,who had just then a good many thoughts of her own to occupy her, and didnot care so much as the rest for all the chatter that was going on, norfor all those details about poor Barbara and Mr Cavendish's looks, whichLucilla received with such interest, she could not but make acalculation in passing as to this new item of fashionable expenditureinto which her niece was plunging so wildly. To be sure, it was anoccasion that never might occur again, and everybody was so excited asto forget even that Lucilla was in mourning, and that such a number ofpeople in the house so soon might be more than she could bear. And shewas excited herself, and forgot that she was not able for it. But stillAunt Jemima, sitting by, could not help thinking, that even five-o'clockteas of good quality and unlimited amount would very soon prove to beimpracticable upon two hundred a year.