The Chronicles of Barsetshire

by Anthony Trollope

  “You’re too difficult to please about your stable,” Robarts began.

  “Never mind the stable now,” said Lord Lufton. “The truth is, I am not thinking about it. Mark,” he then said, very abruptly, “I want you to be frank with me. Has your sister ever spoken to you about me?”

  “My sister; Lucy?”

  “Yes; your sister Lucy.”

  “No, never; at least nothing especial; nothing that I can remember at this moment.”

  “Nor your wife?”

  “Spoken about you!—Fanny? Of course she has, in an ordinary way. It would be impossible that she should not. But what do you mean?”

  “Have either of them told you that I made an offer to your sister?”

  “That you made an offer to Lucy?”

  “Yes, that I made an offer to Lucy.”

  “No; nobody has told me so. I have never dreamed of such a thing; nor, as far as I believe, have they. If anybody has spread such a report, or said that either of them have hinted at such a thing, it is a base lie. Good heavens! Lufton, for what do you take them?”

  “But I did,” said his lordship.

  “Did what?” said the parson.

  “I did make your sister an offer.”

  “You made Lucy an offer of marriage!”

  “Yes, I did—in as plain language as a gentleman could use to a lady.”

  “And what answer did she make?

  “She refused me. And now, Mark, I have come down here with the express purpose of making that offer again. Nothing could be more decided than your sister’s answer. It struck me as being almost uncourteously decided. But still it is possible that circumstances may have weighed with her which ought not to weigh with her. If her love be not given to any one else, I may still have a chance of it. It’s the old story of faint heart, you know: at any rate, I mean to try my luck again; and thinking over it with deliberate purpose, I have come to the conclusion that I ought to tell you before I see her.”

  Lord Lufton in love with Lucy! As these words repeated themselves over and over again within Mark Robarts’s mind, his mind added to them notes of surprise without end. How had it possibly come about—and why? In his estimation his sister Lucy was a very simple girl—not plain indeed, but by no means beautiful; certainly not stupid, but by no means brilliant. And then, he would have said, that of all men whom he knew, Lord Lufton would have been the last to fall in love with such a girl as his sister. And now, what was he to say or do? What views was he bound to hold? In what direction should he act? There was Lady Lufton on the one side, to whom he owed everything. How would life be possible to him in that parsonage—within a few yards of her elbow—if he consented to receive Lord Lufton as the acknowledged suitor of his sister? It would be a great match for Lucy, doubtless; but— Indeed, he could not bring himself to believe that Lucy could in truth become the absolute reigning queen of Framley Court.

  “Do you think that Fanny knows anything of all this?” he said after a moment or two.

  “I cannot possibly tell. If she does it is not with my knowledge. I should have thought that you could best answer that.”

  “I cannot answer it at all,” said Mark. “I, at least, have had no remotest idea of such a thing.”

  “Your ideas of it now need not be at all remote,” said Lord Lufton, with a faint smile; “and you may know it as a fact. I did make her an offer of marriage; I was refused; I am going to repeat it; and I am now taking you into my confidence, in order that, as her brother, and as my friend, you may give me such assistance as you can.” They then walked on in silence for some yards, after which Lord Lufton added: “And now I’ll dine with you to-day if you wish it.”

  Mr. Robarts did not know what to say; he could not bethink himself what answer duty required of him. He had no right to interfere between his sister and such a marriage, if she herself should wish it; but still there was something terrible in the thought of it! He had a vague conception that it must come to evil; that the project was a dangerous one; and that it could not finally result happily for any of them. What would Lady Lufton say? That undoubtedly was the chief source of his dismay.

  “Have you spoken to your mother about this?” he said.

  “My mother? no; why speak to her till I know my fate? A man does not like to speak much of such matters if there be a probability of his being rejected. I tell you because I do not like to make my way into your house under a false pretence.”

  “But what would Lady Lufton say?”

  “I think it probable that she would be displeased on the first hearing it; that in four-and-twenty hours she would be reconciled; and that after a week or so Lucy would be her dearest favourite and the Prime Minister of all her machinations. You don’t know my mother as well as I do. She would give her head off her shoulders to do me a pleasure.”

  “And for that reason,” said Mark Robarts, “you ought, if possible, to do her pleasure.”

  “I cannot absolutely marry a wife of her choosing, if you mean that,” said Lord Lufton.

  They went on walking about the garden for an hour, but they hardly got any farther than the point to which we have now brought them. Mark Robarts could not make up his mind on the spur of the moment; nor, as he said more than once to Lord Lufton, could he be at all sure that Lucy would in any way be guided by him. It was, therefore, at last settled between them that Lord Lufton should come to the parsonage immediately after breakfast on the following morning. It was agreed also that the dinner had better not come off, and Robarts promised that he would, if possible, have determined by the morning as to what advice he would give his sister.

  He went direct home to the parsonage from Framley Court, feeling that he was altogether in the dark till he should have consulted his wife. How would he feel if Lucy were to become Lady Lufton? and how would he look Lady Lufton in the face in telling her that such was to be his sister’s destiny? On returning home he immediately found his wife, and had not been closeted with her five minutes before he knew, at any rate, all that she knew.

  “And you mean to say that she does love him?” said Mark.

  “Indeed she does; and is it not natural that she should? When I saw them so much together I feared that she would. But I never thought that he would care for her.”

  Even Fanny did not as yet give Lucy credit for half her attractiveness. After an hour’s talking the interview between the husband and wife ended in a message to Lucy, begging her to join them both in the book-room.

  “Aunt Lucy,” said a chubby little darling, who was taken up into his aunt’s arms as he spoke, “papa and mamma ‘ant ‘oo in te tuddy, and I musn’t go wis ‘oo.”

  Lucy, as she kissed the boy and pressed his face against her own, felt that her blood was running quick to her heart.

  “Musn’t ‘oo go wis me, my own one?” she said as she put her playfellow down; but she played with the child only because she did not wish to betray, even to him, that she was hardly mistress of herself. She knew that Lord Lufton was at Framley; she knew that her brother had been to him; she knew that a proposal had been made that he should come there that day to dinner. Must it not, therefore, be the case that this call to a meeting in the study had arisen out of Lord Lufton’s arrival at Framley? and yet, how could it have done so? Had Fanny betrayed her in order to prevent the dinner invitation? It could not be possible that Lord Lufton himself should have spoken on the subject! And then she again stooped to kiss the child, rubbed her hands across her forehead to smooth her hair, and erase, if that might be possible, the look of care which she wore, and then descended slowly to her brother’s sitting-room.

  Her hand paused for a second on the door ere she opened it, but she had resolved that, come what might, she would be brave. She pushed it open and walked in with a bold front, with eyes wide open, and a slow step.

  “Frank says that you want me,” she said.

  Mr. Robarts and Fanny were both standing up by the fireplace, and each waited a second for the other to speak, whe
n Lucy entered the room, and then Fanny began—”Lord Lufton is here, Lucy.”

  “Here! Where? At the parsonage?”

  “No, not at the parsonage; but over at Framley Court,” said Mark.

  “And he promises to call here after breakfast to-morrow,” said Fanny. And then again there was a pause. Mrs. Robarts hardly dared to look Lucy in the face. She had not betrayed her trust, seeing that the secret had been told to Mark, not by her, but by Lord Lufton; but she could not but feel that Lucy would think that she had betrayed it.

  “Very well,” said Lucy, trying to smile; “I have no objection in life.”

  “But, Lucy, dear,”—and now Mrs. Roberts put her arm round her sister-in-law’s waist—”he is coming here especially to see you.”

  “Oh; that makes a difference. I am afraid that I shall be—engaged.”

  “He has told everything to Mark,” said Mrs. Roberts.

  Lucy now felt that her bravery was almost deserting her. She hardly knew which way to look or how to stand. Had Fanny told everything also? There was so much that Fanny knew that Lord Lufton could not have known. But, in truth, Fanny had told all—the whole story of Lucy’s love, and had described the reasons which had induced her to reject her suitor; and had done so in words which, had Lord Lufton heard them, would have made him twice as passionate in his love.

  And then it certainly did occur to Lucy to think why Lord Lufton should have come to Framley and told all this history to her brother. She attempted for a moment to make herself believe that she was angry with him for doing so. But she was not angry. She had not time to argue much about it, but there came upon her a gratified sensation of having been remembered, and thought of, and—loved. Must it not be so? Could it be possible that he himself would have told this tale to her brother, if he did not still love her? Fifty times she had said to herself that his offer had been an affair of the moment, and fifty times she had been unhappy in so saying. But this new coming of his could not be an affair of the moment. She had been the dupe, she had thought, of an absurd passion on her own part; but now—how was it now? She did not bring herself to think that she should ever be Lady Lufton. She had still, in some perversely obstinate manner, made up her mind against that result. But yet, nevertheless, it did in some unaccountable manner satisfy her to feel that Lord Lufton had himself come down to Framley and himself told this story.

  “He has told everything to Mark,” said Mrs. Roberts; and then again there was a pause for a moment, during which these thoughts passed through Lucy’s mind.

  “Yes,” said Mark, “he has told me all, and he is coming here to-morrow morning that he may receive an answer from yourself.”

  “What answer?” said Lucy, trembling.

  “Nay, dearest; who can say that but yourself?” and her sister-in-law, as she spoke, pressed close against her. “You must say that yourself.”

  Mrs. Robarts, in her long conversation with her husband, had pleaded strongly on Lucy’s behalf, taking as it were a part against Lady Lufton. She had said that if Lord Lufton persevered in his suit, they at the parsonage could not be justified in robbing Lucy of all that she had won for herself, in order to do Lady Lufton’s pleasure.

  “But she will think,” said Mark, “that we have plotted and intrigued for this. She will call us ungrateful, and will make Lucy’s life wretched.” To which the wife bad answered, that all that must be left in God’s hands. They had not plotted or intrigued. Lucy, though loving the man in her heart of hearts, had already once refused him, because she would not be thought to have snatched at so great a prize. But if Lord Lufton loved her so warmly that he had come down there in this manner, on purpose, as he himself had put it, that he might learn his fate, then—so argued Mrs. Robarts—they two, let their loyalty to Lady Lufton be ever so strong, could not justify it to their consciences to stand between Lucy and her lover. Mark had still somewhat demurred to this, suggesting how terrible would be their plight if they should now encourage Lord Lufton, and if he, after such encouragement, when they should have quarrelled with Lady Lufton, should allow himself to be led away from his engagement by his mother. To which Fanny had answered that justice was justice, and that right was right. Everything must be told to Lucy, and she must judge for herself.

  “But I do not know what Lord Lufton wants,” said Lucy, with her eyes fixed upon the ground, and now trembling more than ever. “He did come to me, and I did give him an answer.”

  “And is that answer to be final?” said Mark—somewhat cruelly, for Lucy had not yet been told that her lover had made any repetition of his proposal. Fanny, however, determined that no injustice should be done, and therefore she at last continued the story.

  “We know that you did give him an answer, dearest; but gentlemen sometimes will not put up with one answer on such a subject. Lord Lufton has declared to Mark that he means to ask again. He has come down here on purpose to do so.”

  “And Lady Lufton—” said Lucy, speaking hardly above a whisper, and still hiding her face as she leaned against her sister’s shoulder.

  “Lord Lufton has not spoken to his mother about it,” said Mark; and it immediately became clear to Lucy, from the tone of her brother’s voice, that he, at least, would not be pleased, should she accept her lover’s vow.

  “You must decide out of your own heart, dear,” said Fanny, generously. “Mark and I know how well you have behaved, for I have told him everything.” Lucy shuddered and leaned closer against her sister as this was said to her. “I had no alternative, dearest, but to tell him. It was best so; was it not? But nothing has been told to Lord Lufton. Mark would not let him come here to-day, because it would have flurried you, and he wished to give you time to think. But you can see him to-morrow morning—can you not? and then answer him.”

  Lucy now stood perfectly silent, feeling that she dearly loved her sister-in-law for her sisterly kindness—for that sisterly wish to promote a sister’s love; but still there was in her mind a strong resolve not to allow Lord Lufton to come there under the idea that he would be received as a favoured lover. Her love was powerful, but so also was her pride; and she could not bring herself to bear the scorn which would lay in Lady Lufton’s eyes. “His mother will despise me, and then he will despise me too,” she said to herself; and with a strong gulp of disappointed love and ambition she determined to persist.

  “Shall we leave you now, dear; and speak of it again to-morrow morning before he comes?” said Fanny.

  “That will be the best,” said Mark. “Turn it in your mind every way to-night. Think of it when you have said your prayers—and, Lucy, come here to me;”—then, taking her in his arms, he kissed her with a tenderness that was not customary with him towards her. “It is fair,” said he, “that I should tell you this: that I have perfect confidence in your judgement and feeling; and that I will stand by you as your brother in whatever decision you may come to. Fanny and I both think that you have behaved excellently, and are both of us sure that you will do what is best. Whatever you do I will stick to you—and so will Fanny.”

  “Dearest, dearest Mark!”

  “And now we will say nothing more about it till to-morrow morning,” said Fanny.

  But Lucy felt that this saying nothing more about it till to-morrow morning would be tantamount to an acceptance on her part of Lord Lufton’s offer. Mrs. Robarts knew, and Mr. Robarts also now knew, the secret of her heart; and if, such being the case, she allowed Lord Lufton to come there with the acknowledged purpose of pleading his own suit, it would be impossible for her not to yield. If she were resolved that she would not yield, now was the time for her to stand her ground and make her fight.

  “Do not go, Fanny; at least not quite yet,” she said.

  “Well, dear?”

  “I want you to stay while I tell Mark. He must not let Lord Lufton come here to-morrow.”

  “Not let him!” said Mrs. Robarts.

  Mr. Robarts said nothing, but he felt that his sister was rising in his esteem from
minute to minute.

  “No; Mark must bid him not come. He will not wish to pain me when it can do no good. Look here, Mark;” and she walked over to her brother, and put both her hands upon his arm. “I do love Lord Lufton. I had no such meaning or thought when I first knew him. But I do love him—I love him dearly—almost as well as Fanny loves you, I suppose. You may tell him so if you think proper—nay, you must tell him so, or he will not understand me. But tell him this, as coming from me: that I will never marry him, unless his mother asks me.”

  “She will not do that, I fear,” said Mark, sorrowfully.

  “No; I suppose not,” said Lucy, now regaining all her courage. “If I thought it probable that she should wish me to be her daughter-in-law, it would not be necessary that I should make such a stipulation. It is because she will not wish it; because she would regard me as unfit to—to—to mate with her son. She would hate me, and scorn me; and then he would begin to scorn me, and perhaps would cease to love me. I could not bear her eye upon me, if she thought that I had injured her son. Mark, you will go to him now; will you not? and explain this to him—as much of it as is necessary. Tell him, that if his mother asks me I will—consent. But that as I know that she never will, he is to look upon all that he has said as forgotten. With me it shall be the same as though it were forgotten.”

  Such was her verdict, and so confident were they both of her firmness—of her obstinacy Mark would have called it on any other occasion—that they neither of them sought to make her alter it.

  “You will go to him now—this afternoon; will you not?” she said; and Mark promised that he would. He could not but feel that he himself was greatly relieved. Lady Lufton might, probably, hear that her son had been fool enough to fall in love with the parson’s sister; but under existing circumstances she could not consider herself aggrieved either by the parson or by his sister. Lucy was behaving well, and Mark was proud of her. Lucy was behaving with fierce spirit, and Fanny was grieving for her.

  “I’d rather be by myself till dinner-time,” said Lucy, as Mrs. Robarts prepared to go with her out of the room. “Dear Fanny, don’t look unhappy; there’s nothing to make us unhappy. I told you I should want goat’s milk, and that will be all.”