‘She has not refused him?’
‘Ask your own sagacity.’
‘Accepted?’
‘Wait.’
‘And all the world’s ahead of me! Now, Mrs Mountstuart, you are oracle. Riddles, if you like, only speak. If we can’t have corn, why, give us husks.’
‘Is any one of us able to anticipate events, Lady Busshe?’
‘Yes, I believe that you are. I bow to you. I do sincerely. So it’s another person for Mr Whitford? You nod. And it is our Laetitia for Sir Willoughby? You smile. You would not deceive me? A very little, and I run about crazed and howl at your doors. And Dr Middleton is made to play blind man in the midst? And the other person is – now I see day! An amicable rupture, and a smooth new arrangement. She has money; she was never the match for our hero; never; I saw it yesterday, and before, often; and so he hands her over – tuthe-rum-tum-tum, tuthe-rum-tum-tum,’ Lady Busshe struck a quick march on her knee. ‘Now isn’t that clever guessing? The shadow of a clue for me. And because I know human nature. One peep, and I see the combination in a minute. So he keeps the money in the family, becomes a benefactor to his cousin by getting rid of the girl, and succumbs to his fatality. Rather a pity he let it ebb and flow so long. Time counts the tides, you know. But it improves the story. I defy any other county in the kingdom to produce one fresh and living to equal it. Let me tell you I suspected Mr Whitford, and I hinted it yesterday.’
‘Did you indeed!’ said Mrs Mountstuart, humouring her excessive acuteness.
‘I really did. There is that dear good man on his feet again. And looks agitated again.’
Mr Dale had been compelled both by the lady’s voice and his interest in the subject to listen. He had listened more than enough; he was exceedingly nervous. He held on by his chair, afraid to quit his moorings, and ‘Manners!’ he said to himself unconsciously aloud, as he cogitated on the libertine way with which these chartered great ladies of the district discussed his daughter. He was heard and unnoticed. The supposition, if any, would have been that he was admonishing himself.
At this juncture Sir Willoughby entered the drawing-room by the garden window, and simultaneously Dr Middleton by the door.
CHAPTER 46
The Scene of Sir Willoughby’s Generalship
HISTORY, we may fear, will never know the qualities of leadership inherent in Sir Willoughby Patterne to fit him for the post of Commander of an army, seeing that he avoided the fatigues of the service and preferred the honours bestowed in his country upon the quiet administrators of their own estates: but his possession of particular gifts, which are military, and especially of the proleptic mind, which is the stamp and sign-warrant of the heaven-sent General, was displayed on every urgent occasion when, in the midst of difficulties likely to have extinguished one less alert than he to the threatening aspect of disaster, he had to manoeuvre himself.
He had received no intimation of Mr Dale’s presence in his house, nor of the arrival of the dreaded women Lady Busshe and Lady Culmer: his locked door was too great a terror to his domestics. Having finished with Vernon, after a tedious endeavour to bring the fellow to a sense of the policy of the step urged on him, he walked out on the lawn with the desire to behold the opening of an interview not promising to lead to much, and possibly to profit by its failure. Clara had been prepared, according to his directions, by Mrs Mountstuart Jenkinson, as Vernon had been prepared by him. His wishes, candidly and kindly expressed both to Vernon and Mrs Mountstuart, were, that since the girl appeared disinclined to make him a happy man, she would make one of his cousin. Intimating to Mrs Mountstuart that he would be happier without her, he alluded to the benefit of the girl’s money to poor old Vernon, the general escape from a scandal if old Vernon could manage to catch her as she dropped, the harmonious
arrangement it would be for all parties. And only on the condition of her taking Vernon would he consent to give her up. This he said imperatively, adding that such was the meaning of the news she had received relating to Laetitia Dale. From what quarter had she received it? he asked. She shuffled in her reply, made a gesture to signify that it was in the air, universal, and fell upon the proposed arrangement. He would listen to none of Mrs Mountstuart’s woman-of-the-world instances of the folly of pressing it upon a girl who had shown herself a girl of spirit. She foretold the failure. He would not be advised; he said: ‘It is my scheme’; and perhaps the look of mad benevolence about it induced the lady to try whether there was a chance that it would hit the madness in our nature, and somehow succeed or lead to a pacification. Sir Willoughby condescended to arrange things thus for Clara’s good; he would then proceed to realize his own. Such was the face he put upon it. We can wear what appearance we please before
the world until we are found out, nor is the world’s praise knocking upon hollowness always hollow music; but Mrs Mountstuart’s laudation of his kindness and simplicity disturbed him; for though he had recovered from his rebuff enough to imagine that Laetitia could not refuse him under reiterated pressure, he had let it be supposed that she was a submissive handmaiden throbbing for her elevation; and Mrs Mountstuart’s belief in it afflicted his recent bitter experience; his footing was not perfectly secure. Besides, assuming it to be so, he considered the sort of prize he had won; and a spasm of downright hatred of a world for which we make mighty sacrifices to be repaid in a worn, thin, comparatively valueless coin, troubled his counting of his gains. Laetitia, it was true, had not passed through other hands in coming to him, as Vernon would know it to be Clara’s case: time only had worn her: but the comfort of the reflection was annoyed by the physical contrast of the two. Hence an unusual melancholy in his tone that Mrs Mountstuart thought touching. It had the scenic effect on her which greatly contributes to delude the
wits. She talked of him to Clara as being a man who had revealed an unsuspected depth.
Vernon took the communication curiously. He seemed readier to be in love with his benevolent relative than with the lady. He was confused, undisguisedly moved, said the plan was impossible, out of the question, but thanked Willoughby for the best of intentions, thanked him warmly. After saying that the plan was impossible, the comical fellow allowed himself to be pushed forth on the lawn to see how Miss Middleton might have come out of her interview with Mrs Mountstuart. Willoughby observed Mrs Mountstuart meet him, usher him to the place she had quitted among the shrubs, and return to the open turf-spaces. He sprang to her.
‘She will listen,’ Mrs Mountstuart said: ‘She likes him, respects him, thinks he is a very sincere friend, clever, a scholar, and a good mountaineer; and thinks you mean very kindly. So much I have impressed on her, but I have not done much for Mr Whitford.’
‘She consents to listen,’ said Willoughby, snatching at that as the death-blow to his friend Horace.
‘She consents to listen, because you have arranged it so that if she declined she would be rather a savage.’
‘You think it will have no result?’
‘None at all.’
‘Her listening will do.’
‘And you must be satisfied with it.’
‘We shall see.’
‘ “Anything for peace”, she says: and I don’t say that a gentleman with a tongue would not have a chance. She wishes to please you.’
‘Old Vernon has no tongue for women, poor fellow! You will have us be spider or fly, and if a man can’t spin a web all he can hope is not to be caught in one. She knows his history, too, and that won’t be in his favour. How did she look when you left them?’
‘Not so bright: like a bit of china that wants dusting. She looked a trifle gauche, it struck me; more like a country girl with the hoyden taming in her than the well-bred creature she is. I did not suspect her to have feeling. You must remember, Sir Willoughby, that she has obeyed your wishes, done her utmost: I do think we may say she has made some amends; and if she is to blame she repents, and you will not insist too far.’
‘I do insist,’ said he.
‘Beneficent,
but a tyrant!’
‘Well, well.’ He did not dislike the character.
They perceived Dr Middleton wandering over the lawn, and Willoughby went to him to put him on the wrong track: Mrs Mountstuart swept into the drawing-room. Willoughby quitted the Rev. Doctor, and hung about the bower where he supposed his pair of dupes had by this time ceased to stutter mutually: – or what if they had found the word of harmony? He could bear that, just bear it. He rounded the shrubs, and, behold, both had vanished. The trellis decorated emptiness. His idea was, that they had soon discovered their inability to be turtles: and desiring not to lose a moment while Clara was fretted by the scene, he rushed to the drawing-room with the hope of lighting on her there, getting her to himself, and finally, urgently, passionately offering her the sole alternative of what she had immediately rejected. Why had he not used passion before, instead of limping crippled between temper and policy? He was capable of it: as soon as imagination in him conceived his personal feelings unwounded and unim-periled, the might of it inspired him with heroical confidence, and Clara grateful, Clara softly moved, led him to think of Clara melted. Thus anticipating her he burst into the room.
One step there warned him that he was in the jaws of the world. We have the phrase, that a man is himself under certain trying circumstances. There is no need to say it of Sir Willoughby: he was thrice himself when danger menaced, himself inspired him. He could read at a single glance the Polyphemus eye in the general head of a company. Lady Busshe, Lady Culmer, Mrs Mountstuart, Mr Dale, had a similarity in the variety of their expressions that made up one giant eye for him perfectly, if awfully, legible. He discerned the fact that his demon secret was abroad, universal. He ascribed it to fate. He was in the jaws of the world, on the world’s teeth. This time he thought Laetitia must have betrayed him, and bowing to Lady Busshe and Lady Culmer, gallantly pressing their fingers and responding to their becks and archnesses, he ruminated on his defences before he should accost her father. He did not want to be alone with the man, and he considered how his presence might be made useful.
‘I am glad to see you, Mr Dale. Pray, be seated. Is it nature asserting her strength? or the efficacy of medicine? I fancy it can’t be both. You have brought us back your daughter?’
Mr Dale sank into a chair, unable to resist the hand forcing him.
‘No, Sir Willoughby, no. I have not; I have not seen her since she came home this morning from Patterne.’
‘Indeed? She is unwell?’
‘I cannot say. She secludes herself.’
‘Has locked herself in,’ said Lady Busshe.
Willoughby threw her a smile. It made them intimate.
This was an advantage against the world, but an exposure of himself to the abominable woman.
Dr Middleton came up to Mr Dale to apologize for not presenting his daughter Clara, whom he could find neither in nor out of the house.
‘We have in Mr Dale, as I suspected,’ he said to Willoughby, ‘a stout ally.’
‘If I may beg two minutes with you, Sir Willoughby,’ said Mr Dale.
‘Your visits are too rare for me to allow of your numbering the minutes,’ Willoughby replied. ‘We cannot let Mr Dale escape us now that we have him, I think, Dr Middleton.’
‘Not without ransom,’ said the Rev. Doctor.
Mr Dale shook his head. ‘My strength, Sir Willoughby, will not sustain me long.’
‘You are at home, Mr Dale.’
‘Not far from home, in truth, but too far for an invalid beginning to grow sensible of weakness.’
‘You will regard Patterne as your home, Mr Dale,’ Willoughby repeated for the world to hear.
‘Unconditionally?’ Dr Middleton inquired, with a humourous air of dissenting.
Willoughby gave him a look that was coldly courteous, and then he looked at Lady Busshe. She nodded imperceptibly. Her eyebrows rose, and Willoughby returned a similar nod.
Translated, the signs ran thus:
‘– Pestered by the Rev. gentleman: – I see you are. Is the story I have heard correct? Possibly it may err in a few details.’
This was fettering himself in loose manacles.
But Lady Busshe would not be satisfied with the compliment of the intimate looks and nods. She thought she might still be behind Mrs Mountstuart; and she was a bold woman, and anxious about him, half-crazed by the riddle of the pot she was boiling in, and having very few minutes to spare.
Not extremely reticent by nature, privileged by station, and made intimate with him by his covert looks, she stood up to him. ‘One word to an old friend. Which is the father of the fortunate creature? I don’t know how to behave to them.’
No time was afforded him to be disgusted with her vulgarity and audacity.
He replied, feeling her rivet his gyves: ‘The house will be empty to-morrow.’
‘I see. A decent withdrawal, and very well cloaked. We had a tale here of her running off to decline the honour, afraid, or on her dignity or something.’
How was it that the woman was ready to accept the altered posture of affairs in his house – if she had received a hint of them? He forgot that he had prepared her in self-defence.
‘From whom did you have that?’ he asked.
‘Her father. And the lady aunts declare it was the cousin she refused!’
Willoughby’s brain turned over. He righted it for action, and crossed the room to the ladies Eleanor and Isabel. His ears tingled. He and his whole story discussed in public! Himself unroofed! And the marvel that he of all men should be in such a tangle, naked and blown on, condemned to use his cunningest arts to unwind and cover himself, struck him as though the lord of his kind were running the gantlet of a legion of imps. He felt their lashes.
The ladies were talking to Mrs Mountstuart and Lady Culmer of Vernon and the suitableness of Laetitia to a scholar. He made sign to them, and both rose.
‘It is the hour for your drive. To the cottage! Mr Dale is ill. She must come. Her sick father! No delay, going or returning. Bring her here at once.’
‘Poor man!’ they sighed; and ‘Willoughby,’ said one, and the other said: ‘There is a strange misconception you will do well to correct.’
They were about to murmur what it was. He swept his hand round, and excusing themselves to their guests, obediently they retired.
Lady Busshe at his entreaty remained, and took a seat beside Lady Culmer and Mrs Mountstuart.
She said to the latter: ‘You have tried scholars. What do you think?’
‘Excellent, but hard to mix,’ was the reply.
‘I never make experiments,’ said Lady Culmer.
‘Some one must!’ Mrs Mountstuart groaned over her dull dinner-party.
Lady Busshe consoled her. ‘At any rate, the loss of a scholar is no loss to the county.’
‘They are well enough in towns,’ Lady Culmer said.
‘And then I am sure you must have them by themselves.’
‘We have nothing to regret.’
‘My opinion.’
The voice of Dr Middleton in colloquy with Mr Dale swelled on a melodious thunder: ‘For whom else should I plead as the passionate advocate I proclaimed myself to you, sir? There is but one man known to me who would move me to back him upon such an adventure. Willoughby, join me. I am informing Mr Dale…’
Willoughby stretched his hands out to Mr Dale to support him on his legs, though he had shown no sign of a wish to rise.
‘You are feeling unwell, Mr Dale.’
‘Do I look very ill, Sir Willoughby?’
‘It will pass. Laetitia will be with us in twenty minutes.’
Mr Dale struck his hands in a clasp. He looked alarmingly ill, and satisfactorily revealed to his host how he could be made to look so.
‘I was informing Mr Dale that the petitioner enjoys our concurrent good wishes: and mine in no degree less than yours, Willoughby,’ observed Dr Middleton, whose billows grew the bigger for a check. He supposed himself speaking confidentially. ‘Lad
ies have the trick, they have, I may say, the natural disposition for playing enigma now and again. Pressure is often a sovereign specific. Let it be tried upon her all round from every radiating line of the circle. You she refuses. Then I venture to propose myself to appeal to her. My daughter has assuredly an esteem for the applicant that will animate a woman’s tongue in such a case. The ladies of the house will not be backward. Lastly, if necessary, we trust the lady’s father to add his instances. My prescription is, to fatigue her negatives; and where no rooted objection exists, I maintain it to be the unfailing receipt for the conduct of the siege. No woman can say No forever. The defence has not such resources against even a single assailant, and we shall have solved the problem of continuous motion before she will have learned to deny in perpetuity. That I stand on.’
Willoughby glanced at Mrs Mountstuart.
‘What is that?’ she said. ‘Treason to our sex, Dr Middleton?’
‘I think I heard that no woman can say No forever!’ remarked Lady Busshe.
‘To a loyal gentleman, ma’am: assuming the field of the recurring request to be not unholy ground; consecrated to affirmatives rather.’
Dr Middleton was attacked by three angry bees. They made him say yes and no alternately so many times that he had to admit in men a shiftier yieldingness than women were charged with.
Willoughby gesticulated, as mute chorus on the side of the ladies; and a little show of party spirit like that, coming upon their excitement under the topic, inclined them to him genially.
He drew Mr Dale away while the conflict subsided in sharp snaps of rifles and an interval rejoinder of a cannon.
Mr Dale had shown by signs that he was growing fretfully restive under his burden of doubt.
‘Sir Willoughby, I have a question. I beg you to lead me where I may ask it. I know my head is weak.’
‘Mr Dale, it is answered when I say that my house is your home, and that Laetitia will soon be with us.’
‘Then this report is true?’
‘I know nothing of reports. You are answered.’
The Egoist Page 56
