Mrs. Northcott, thus deprived of congenial companionship on all fronts, had no choice but to ruminate continuously on her own thoughts, and found them bitter indeed. Scorning to seek oblivion in slumber, she faced the journey with a backbone supported by the strength of her feelings, and a gaze fixed straight ahead--which attitude necessitating the steady contemplation of her daughter, only resulted in the worsening of her temper with every milestone. Relief did not come until after the first stage, when Ann was ill-advised enough to break her silence with a comment on the antiquity of the postboy. Some might have found a slight difficulty in moving from such a subject, to the one that pressed upon her own heart, but Mrs. Northcott experienced none. They had not departed from the inn yard, before she had been ten minutes enumerating the injustices committed against her.
She did not claim to be wholly blameless in the affair. Not at all. Her folly in attributing Ann’s deficiencies, even in part, to an inadequate performance of her own duties, was roundly condemned; as was her simplicity in imagining, that, at this late date, there was any thing to be done about them. Having spent nigh on a month in the girl’s company, there was no question in her mind, that Ann was irremediable. Distillation would probably discover, that she was no more than one part Northcott to three parts Parry, and that one part in so weak a form as almost to disguise the superiority of the vintage. The Parrys, Mrs. Northcott declared, had rendered her daughter unpalatable to all but themselves, without sparing a thought for any one who would later have the thankless task of seeing her properly established.
Now Ann could support with equanimity the comparison of herself to a kind of second-rate punch, but she could not hear the Parrys abused, even so frivolously, without attempting some defense. In the slight pause between the ending of one grievance and the beginning of another, she ventured her assurance, that had they any intention of introducing Julia into Society, they would readily have engaged to introduce her (Ann) as well. But, said she, one could scarcely expect them to do for a neighbor’s daughter, what they had no desire to do for their own. She spoke without any expectation of being attended to, and was exceedingly surprised when she was.
Attendance, however, is not agreement; and though Mrs. Northcott heard Ann’s words, she heard them after her own fashion. Ann believed herself to be arguing that her friends could not be censured for failing to advance her in a society of which they themselves had no opinion; Mrs. Northcott derived, that they must be made to do so. It struck her at once, that Justice demanded it: demanded, that those guilty of diluting the punch, should be made to see to its disposal. True, the juxtaposition of Ann and Julia must inevitably dim the former’s prospects, but this disadvantage was greatly countermanded by the possibility that one of Miss Parry’s rejected suitors might very well turn to the more attainable Miss Northcott, as solace for his granulated hopes.
If, at this point, anyone is visited by the suspicion, that in reasoning so, Mrs. Northcott was influenced by any sordid pecuniary considerations, then I have failed to properly delineate her character. Although she had for some years had no thought of presenting Ann herself, it was not because she begrudged the expense. Indeed, she would gladly have done so, had there been the slightest probability of the girl justifying the expenditure. Two circumstances, however, bespoke the futility of it, both of them to be found in Ann’s person. It was not that Ann was plain--she was not, compared to anyone other than a Parry--but pleasantly undistinguished features, unlike beauty, must needs be accompanied by a desire to please; and spend she never so wisely, no fashion or furbelow purchased by Mrs. Northcott could force success on one determined to resist it. What incentive had Ann to make herself agreeable to a strange gentleman, however eligible, when his proposals could only result in that which she dreaded above all things, her removal from the vicinity of Merriweather?
But Ann’s reluctance, while irksome, was by no means decisive, and you may be sure that had there not existed a second and more potent objection to the scheme, a continual application of reproaches would eventually have worn away such foolishness. The second objection, however, was not to be overcome by such tactics. One could impose on a will, and weaken a resolution, but a distorted limb could not be gainsaid. Miss Northcott, in the guise of either tolerably pretty crippled daughter, or whey-faced crippled friend, could not be anything but a painful embarrassment to those who accompanied her. Mrs. Northcott’s pride, with that tenderness for its own comfort at which pride ever excels, had from the beginning warned her of how it must be for anyone seen in her daughter’s company. The trip to Bath, fixed upon in an hour when pride’s credit was low, had cruelly demonstrated the accuracy of its warnings, and restored it to its former place of honor.
However, as long as Mrs. Northcott’s pride remained inviolate, as long as she did not herself have to witness the inevitable comparisons, to receive the looks, either pitying or disdainful, there could be no objection to Ann’s Presentation; that Ann would have to do so did not bother Mrs. Northcott at all--almost the thought pleased her. Not that she wished her daughter ill, no indeed! Did she not plan and maneuver for the girl? Did she not diligently seek out the most fashionable patterns, the most innovative hairstyles for the improvement of Ann--and as regularly despair? Had she not been sincerely gratified when the news reached them of William Merrion’s decease? (And that, of course, must all have been for Ann, since he had not been in a position to inconvenience her by his continued existence.) Was she not, even now, doing her utmost to insure that the tiresome girl might be comfortably settled in life?
But--and be it ever so nebulous, a but existed--the fact remained that Ann never seemed to feel things as she ought. Mrs. Northcott was far from suspecting her of deliberately casting herself off that disastrous wall; but on the other hand her response to the surgeon’s declaration that her leg would never be completely straight again, nor her gait without awkwardness, was not at all the sort to allay the chagrined feelings in a mother’s bosom. Ann had neither wept nor stormed; she had merely said “Oh,” as if informed that there was no marmalade to be had for breakfast, and turned her head on the pillow to look out the window, toward Merriweather (it could not be seen, for a number of reasons, most of them trees, but she knew it was there). Remorse for having carelessly hazarded her future upon crumbling stone, bitter regret for might-have-beens, the realization of hopes, already frail, now slain beyond redemption---all these reflections, the suitable companions of her convalescence, appeared never to have touched her. Even when Mrs. Northcott had gone to her bedside, and stayed for some time, endeavoring, in calm and uncensorious language, to bring her to a suitable estimation of her situation, the impression had not been lasting: Mrs. Northcott admitted to doubts that it had been made at all. For this, and more, could not a mother be forgiven for wishing that, painful though it might prove, such a daughter would be at last brought to a true understanding of her past selfishness and folly? And that in its present consequences she would find a daily reminder to mend her undutiful ways?
In short, no sooner had the solution come to mind, than Mrs. Northcott approved it. It only remained for her to decide how best it might be effected, and this she set herself to do. The rest of the journey to Hellwick Hall was singularly peaceful.
Ann knew nothing of this at the time; she knew only, that her words had unaccountably brought about her mother’s silence, and caused that lady to place her hands á la Gloriana--a position which always denoted reflections of an uncommonly pleasing nature. It was many months before Ann was to discover the disservice she had done her friends by her ill-conceived defense; and by then, of course, there was nothing at all to be done about it.
**
Chapter V
Lord Meravon’s sister, Lady Thomasin St. Bees, once said of him, that he was of that class of men, who reject advice on principle if it comes from the lips of a female, and most especially if she happens to be of his house or blood. “If,” she added, “Julian had been Joab at the walls of Abel, the tow
n would have been leveled to the ground, and heigh-ho for a Mother in Israel.”
A shrewd woman, but entirely without tact, she had further limned her brother’s character, by declaring his ardent political convictions, to be based on nothing more than the fact that “he abominated change of any sort until he had thought about it for forty years and had it brought before a committee.”
Surely a daunting collection of traits to confront, when one is a female plotting certain upheaval, seeking to recruit a confederate in an enemy camp. A confederate, however, Mrs. Northcott must have--for she had no illusions, of her ability to carry the day on her own. In Lady Frances and Mr. Parry, she faced adversaries who were curiously impervious to both cajolery and contempt; and it was rumored, that the phenomenon known as a London Season, was one of the few subjects on which Lady Frances had ever been roused to speak with something approaching discourtesy; going so far as to inquire of one lady, “what had ever led her to suppose, that several months of being primped, paraded and praised, was an exercise designed to improve a girl’s temper, and strengthen her character?” Mr. Parry’s objections, being more general, were of a more temperate nature: he merely rated it an utter waste of time, monies and energies.
With preconceptions such as these, it was clearly useless to reason, and Mrs. Northcott wisely made no attempt to do so. Instead, she approached the Earl, for he, unlike his son-in-law, had so high an opinion of himself and his own judgement, that a well-turned piece of flattery was always received by him with sincere gratification, as nothing more than a respectful articulation of the truth.
Ann was not privileged to be witness to her mother’s strategy; nor, since Mrs. Northcott chose her opportunities with as much care as she chose her words, were any of the Parrys. No doubt she adopted the advice of her noble preceptor:
“Some people are to be reasoned, some flattered, some intimidated, and some teased into a thing; but, in general, all are to be brought into it at last, if skillfully applied to, properly managed, and indefatigably attacked in their several weak places. The time should likewise be judiciously chosen. Every man has his mollia tempora….”
In any event, there is no need for an actual witness to the scene, as the methods employed can be easily deduced from the results obtained. By October of that same year, the Earl was entirely persuaded; 1. that there had never been a young lady born in England as beautiful and charming as Julia, nor ever would be again; 2. that he was a paragon of modesty and self-denial to have endured for eighteen years, the indifference of thick-headed neighbors, inured by time and familiarity to the wonder that was his granddaughter; 3. that true appreciation for such attributes as hers, was to be found only at Court; 4. that every young lady longed for the excitement and gaiety of a London season, and Julia would thank him forever should he bestow such a treat on her; 5. that these were his own conclusions from beginning to end, and Northcott’s wife (a handsome woman for her years, and perspicacious as well) had done no more than compliment him on his granddaughter’s fine appearance.
Fostering a series of misconceptions as precise and disparate as these is no small feat, and Mrs. Northcott was justly pleased with her accomplishment; the more so, as she was prey to a misconception of her own, but one common to the whole circle of the Earl’s acquaintance, and that was, that his lordship had anything at all to say concerning Julia’s future, or indeed that of any Parry.
In the past, various attempts to interfere in Mr. Parry’s arrangements for his household had brought Lord Meravon the unwelcome understanding, that his son-in-law was at any time more than half inclined to return to an establishment of his own, and that the least amount of pressure from the direction of Merriweather, would probably tumble him right over. As landlord, father and grandfather to his family, the Earl commanded Mr. Parry’s entire respect and consideration--but there it ended. And his lordship, having no real wish to alienate the few descendants who still spoke of him with affection, had learned to hold his tongue, and placate his thwarted will by visiting unnecessary improvements on his hapless tenants. But for her ignorance of this state of affairs Mrs. Northcott had every excuse, as the true impotence of his situation was a thing the Earl took care to conceal, even from himself, whenever he was able.
And if he could not command, he could certainly expound, and, like any new convert, he expounded with such zeal and tenacity, that Lady Frances, calling to confer on a letter received from her brother Thomas, was considerably taken aback at having The Advantages Of A Season For Julia preached at her head for more than an hour--with all six points, and practical applications--and left in some perturbation, to find her husband, and discuss what must be done to check her father’s nonsense before it could do any mischief.
As befitted a man who had survived nineteen years of India, and fifteen years of his son Clive, Mr. Parry was not easily alarmed, and only wondered aloud, “who had introduced this latest sandfly into Meravon’s brainbox?” It was decided, however, that Lady Frances should first return to the Hall, to remind her father of their reasons for disliking the notion, and if that did not succeed, Mr. Parry was to take the matter up, and slay it without further ado. This graduated course was decided upon because Lady Frances was a charitable woman, and continued to cherish some slender hope of her father being one day disposed to concede the possible validity of some view other than his own. Mr. Parry, being without such a hope, was not at all inclined to bother, but bowed to the wishes of his wife. And as it happened, the Earl fully justified his son-in-law’s every confidence.
Lord Meravon was not, of course, ignorant of the Parrys’ objections to the “Season,” as perpetrated by London society; on the contrary, in former years, having no particular feeling either way, he had even taken them up as his own, and spiritedly poured scorn on those who presumed to think differently. But one could really not expect him to see the slightest virtue in them once they interfered with any definite plans of his own. He listened to Lady Frances with a show of that patience which had been hard-won for him by his late wife, and altered his opinion not a whit; smilingly dismissing her every expostulation, as arising from the ready apprehensions of a mother’s heart. Julia was not some silly miss, said he, to be led astray by every flattering wind. Her good sense, combined with the good principles taught her by her parents, would preserve her from all danger of having her head turned, or her affections corrupted.
Lady Frances replied that this seemed to her very like the argument of a man, who sends his child off in a carriage having loose wheels, and driven by a drunkard, being confident, that because the child’s coat is neatly buttoned, it cannot possibly come to any harm.
In the end, they parted with mutual feelings of resignation toward the incurable stubbornness of the other, the Earl to resume his grand stratagems for Julia’s success, and Lady Frances to let loose her husband. She was really rather vexed with her father, and declared, that she was glad she had talked the matter over with him, as he had enabled her to see “that there can be no question--to exchange air for smoke, comfort for la mode, rest for fatigue, peace for discord, conversation for ‘insipid chat’, true friends for smirking acquaintances, is just what is most to be desired for an untried young girl. Nothing could be plainer.”
“I believe the word you want is ‘unseasoned,’ my dear,” Mr. Parry is reported to have replied.
However, whilst he made puns, and calmed his wife, and attended to other business, his father-in-law was displaying a turn for subtlety so unlike himself, that one is almost moved to suspect Mrs. Northcott of having a hand in it. In general no great advocate of walking, that day he perambulated in a persistently aimless fashion about the park for more than an hour, striding from path to path as if testing them for durability, mystifying the gardeners, and startling Julia and Ann, by his suddenly appearing before them from around a bend, and looking, with his dark cloak and even darker scowl, like a figure from a tragic opera.
But the sight of Julia banished his frown, and greeting them
genially, he turned back, and fell into step between them, as if his doing so was a commonplace, and not an occurrence so unusual, as to cause the girls to exchange wondering looks across him--a secret exchange easily accomplished, as he was very tall, and, having found them, proceeded to address them as though rehearsing for a parliamentary speech, with significant pauses, and his eyes fixed somewhere on the tree tops. He began his oration with a series of unconnected comments and questions, but it was not long before, tiring of even this slight concession to tact, he tossed it aside with relief, and began to talk of Julia’s Presentation, as if it were a settled matter, with nothing more to be decided on, than the number of feathers to adorn her head.
Julia’s astonishment was plainly seen; her eyes fixed on his face, her lips parted on what must have been an exclamation of surprise and doubt; but she closed them again without speaking. Her grandfather may have jettisoned the memory of her parents’ objections--she could not. She knew him too well, however, to think of reminding him, and after one swift glance, expressive of her complete incredulity--which the Earl, perorating energetically down the path, entirely failed to notice--she listened to his plans and prognostications with an air of most respectful attention.
They came eventually to that branch of the walk, that leads directly to the Dower House; and perhaps, at this evidence of his son-in-law’s proximity, the Earl was visited by unpleasant shades of reality, for he certainly ended his discourse most abruptly, and with a hasty, “We will talk of this later, my dear,” left them as precipitously as he had joined them.
Friendship and Folly: The Merriweather Chronicles Book I Page 3
