Framley Parsonage
Page 35
‘Not to be pitied, perhaps,’ said Mrs Grantly. ‘But, you see, archdeacon, Lady Lufton, of course, has her own views.’
‘Her own views?’
‘It is hardly any secret that she is very anxious to make a match between Lord Lufton and Griselda. And though that might be a very proper arrangement if it were fixed –’
‘Lord Lufton marry Griselda!’ said the archdeacon, speaking quick and raising his eyebrows. His mind had as yet been troubled by but few thoughts respecting his child’s future establishment. ‘I had never dreamt of such a thing.’
‘But other people have done more than dream of it, archdeacon. As regards the match itself, it would, I think, be unobjectionable. Lord Lufton will not be a very rich man, but his property is respectable, and as far as I can learn his character is on the whole good. If they like each other, I should be contented with such a marriage. But, I must own, I am not quite satisfied at the idea of leaving her all alone with Lady Lufton. People will look on it as a settled thing, when it is not settled – and very probably may not be settled; and that will do the poor girl harm. She is very much admired; there can be no doubt of that; and Lord Dumbello –’
The archdeacon opened his eyes still wider. He had had no idea that such a choice of sons-in-law was being prepared for him; and, to tell the truth, was almost bewildered by the height of his wife’s ambition. Lord Lufton, with his barony and twenty thousand a year, might be accepted as just good enough; but failing him there was an embryo marquis, whose fortune would be more than ten times as great, all ready to accept his child! And then he thought, as husbands sometimes will think, of Susan Harding as she was when he had gone a-courting to her under the elms before the house in the warden’s garden at Barchester, and of dear old Mr Harding, his wife’s father, who still lived in humble lodgings in that city; and as he thought, he wondered at and admired the greatness of that lady’s mind.
‘I never can forgive Lord De Terrier,’ said the lady, connecting various points together in her own mind.
‘That’s nonsense,’ said the archdeacon. ‘You must forgive him.’
‘And I must confess that it annoys me to leave London at present.’
‘It can’t be helped,’ said the archdeacon, somewhat gruffly; for he was a man who, on certain points, chose to have his own way – and had it.
‘Oh, no: I know it can’t be helped,’ said Mrs Grantly, in a tone which implied a deep injury. ‘I know it can’t be helped. Poor Griselda!’ And then they went to bed.
On the next morning Griselda came to her, and in an interview that was strictly private, her mother said more to her than she had ever yet spoken, as to the prospects of her future life. Hitherto, on this subject, Mrs Grantly had said little or nothing. She would have been well pleased that her daughter should have received the incense of Lord Lufton’s vows – or, perhaps, as well pleased had it been the incense of Lord Dumbello’s vows – without any interference on her part. In such case her child, she knew, would have told her with quite sufficient eagerness, and the matter in either case would have been arranged as a very pretty love match. She had no fear of any impropriety or of any rashness on Griselda’s part. She had thoroughly known her daughter when she boasted that Griselda would never indulge in an unauthorized passion. But as matters now stood, with those two strings to her bow, and with that Lufton-Grantly alliance treaty in existence – of which she, Griselda herself, knew nothing – might it not be possible that the poor child should stumble through want of adequate direction? Guided by these thoughts, Mrs Grantly had resolved to say a few words before she left London. So she wrote a line to her daughter, and Griselda reached Mount Street at two o’clock in Lady Lufton’s carriage, which, during the interview, waited for her at the beer-shop round the corner.
‘And papa won’t be Bishop of Westminster?’ said the young lady, when the doings of the giants had been sufficiently explained to make her understand that all those hopes were over.
‘No, my dear; at any rate not now.’
‘What a shame! I thought it was all settled. What’s the good, mamma, of Lord De Terrier being prime minister, if he can’t make whom he likes a bishop?’
‘I don’t think that Lord De Terrier has behaved at all well to your father. However that’s a long question, and we can’t go into it now.’
‘How glad those Proudies will be!’
Griselda would have talked by the hour on this subject had her mother allowed her, but it was necessary that Mrs Grantly should go to other matters. She began about Lady Lufton, saying what a dear woman her ladyship was; and then went on to say that Griselda was to remain in London as long as it suited her friend and hostess to stay there with her; but added, that this might probably not be very long, as it was notorious that Lady Lufton, when in London, was always in a hurry to get back to Framley.
‘But I don’t think she is in such a hurry this year, mamma,’ said Griselda, who in the month of May preferred Bruton Street to Plumstead, and had no objection whatever to the coronet on the panels of Lady Lufton’s coach.
And then Mrs Grantly commenced her explanation – very cautiously. ‘No, my dear, I daresay she is not in such a hurry this year, – that is, as long as you remain with her.’
‘I am sure she is very kind.’
‘She is very kind, and you ought to love her very much. I know I do. I have no friend in the world for whom I have a greater regard than for Lady Lufton. It is that which makes me so happy to leave you with her.’
‘All the same I wish that you and papa had remained up; that is, if they had made papa a bishop.’
‘It’s no good thinking of that now, my dear. What I particularly wanted to say to you was this: I think you should know what are the ideas which Lady Lufton entertains.’
‘Her ideas!’ said Griselda, who had never troubled herself much in thinking about other people’s thoughts.
‘Yes, Griselda. While you were staying down at Framley Court, and also, I suppose, since you have been up here in Bruton Street, you must have seen a good deal of – Lord Lufton.’
‘He doesn’t come very often to Bruton Street, – that is to say, not very often.’
‘H-m,’ ejaculated Mrs Grantly, very gently. She would willingly have repressed the sound altogether, but it had been too much for her. If she found reason to think that Lady Lufton was playing her false, she would immediately take her daughter away, break up the treaty, and prepare for the Hartletop alliance. Such were the thoughts that ran through her mind. But she knew all the while that Lady Lufton was not false. The fault was not with Lady Lufton; nor, perhaps, altogether with Lord Lufton. Mrs Grantly had understood the full force of the complaint which Lady Lufton had made against her daughter; and though she had of course defended her child, and on the whole had defended her successfully, yet she confessed to herself that Griselda’s chance of a first-rate establishment would be better if she were a little more impulsive. A man does not wish to marry a statue, let the statue be ever so statuesque. She could not teach her daughter to be impulsive, any more than she could teach her to be six feet high; but might it not be possible to teach her to seem so? The task was a very delicate one, even for a mother’s hand.
‘Of course he cannot be at home now as much as he was down in the country, when he was living in the same house,’ said Mrs Grantly, whose business it was to take Lord Lufton’s part at the present moment. ‘He must be at his club, and at the House of Lords, and in twenty places.’
‘He is very fond of going to parties, and he dances beautifully.’
‘I am sure he does. I have seen as much as that myself, and I think I know some one with whom he likes to dance.’ And the mother gave her daughter a loving little squeeze.
‘Do you mean me, mamma?’
‘Yes, I do mean you, my dear. And is it not true? Lady Lufton says that he likes dancing with you better than with any one else in London.’
‘I don’t know,’ said Griselda, looking down upon the ground.
‘Lady Lufton says so, at any rate,’ continued Mrs Grantly, ever so cautiously. ‘She thinks that Lord Lufton likes no partner better. What do you think yourself, Griselda?’
‘I don’t know, mamma.’
‘But young ladies must think of such things, must they not?’
‘Must they, mamma?’
‘I suppose they do, don’t they? The truth is, Griselda, that Lady Lufton thinks that if –. Can you guess what it is she thinks?’
‘No, mamma.’ But that was a fib on Griselda’s part.
‘She thinks that my Griselda would make the best possible wife in the world for her son; and I think so too. I think that her son will be a very fortunate man if he can get such a wife. And now what do you think, Griselda?’
‘I don’t think anything, mamma.’
But that would not do. It was absolutely necessary that she should think, and absolutely necessary that her mother should tell her so. Such a degree of unimpulsiveness as this would lead to – heaven knows what results! Lufton-Grantly treaties and Hartletop interests would be all thrown away upon a young lady who would not think anything of a noble suitor sighing for her smiles. Besides, it was not natural. Griselda, as her mother knew, had never been a girl of headlong feeling; but still she had had her likes and her dislikes. In that matter of the bishopric she was keen enough; and no one could evince a deeper interest in the subject of a well-made new dress than Griselda Grantly. It was not possible that she should be indifferent as to her future prospects, and she must know that those prospects depended mainly on her marriage. Her mother was almost angry with her, but nevertheless she went on very gently;
‘You don’t think anything! But, my darling, you must think. You must make up your mind what would be your answer if Lord Lufton were to propose to you. That is what Lady Lufton wishes him to do.’
‘But he never will, mamma.’
‘And if he did?’
‘But I’m sure he never will. He doesn’t think of such a thing at all – and – and –’
‘And what, my dear?’
‘I don’t know, mamma.’
‘Surely you can speak out to me, dearest! All I care about is your happiness. Both Lady Lufton and I think that it would be a happy marriage if you both cared for each other enough. She thinks that he is fond of you. But if he were ten times Lord Lufton I would not tease you about it if I thought that you could not learn to care about him. What was it you were going to say, my dear?’
‘Lord Lufton thinks a great deal more of Lucy Robarts than he does of– of– of any one else, I believe,’ said Griselda, showing now some little animation by her manner, ‘dumpy little black thing that she is.’
‘Lucy Robarts!’ said Mrs Grantly, taken by surprise at finding that her daughter was moved by such a passion as jealousy, and feeling also perfectly assured that there could not be any possible ground for jealousy in such a direction as that. ‘Lucy Robarts, my dear! I don’t suppose Lord Lufton ever thought of speaking to her, except in the way of civility.’
‘Yes, he did, mamma! Don’t you remember at Framley?’
Mrs Grantly began to look back in her mind, and she thought she did remember having once observed Lord Lufton talking in rather a confidential manner with the parson’s sister. But she was sure that there was nothing in it. If that was the reason why Griselda was so cold to her proposed lover, it would be a thousand pities that it should not be removed.
‘Now you mention her, I do remember the young lady,’ said Mrs Grantly, ‘a dark girl, very low, and without much figure. She seemed to me to keep very much in the background.’
‘I don’t know much about that, mamma.’
‘As far as I saw her, she did. But, my dear Griselda, you should not allow yourself to think of such a thing. Lord Lufton, of course, is bound to be civil to any young lady in his mother’s house, and I am quite sure that he has no other idea whatever with regard to Miss Robarts. I certainly cannot speak as to her intellect, for I do not think she opened her mouth in my presence; but –’
‘Oh! she has plenty to say for herself, when she pleases. She’s a sly little thing.’
‘But, at any rate, my dear, she has no personal attractions whatever, and I do not at all think that Lord Lufton is a man to be taken by – by – by anything that Miss Robarts might do or say.’
As those words ‘personal attractions’ were uttered, Griselda managed so to turn her neck as to catch a side view of herself in one of the mirrors on the wall, and then she bridled herself up, and made a little play with her eyes, and looked, as her mother thought, very well. ‘It is all nothing to me, mamma, of course,’ she said.
‘Well, my dear, perhaps not. I don’t say that it is. I do not wish to put the slightest constraint upon your feelings. If I did not have the most thorough dependence on your good sense and high principles, I should not speak to you in this way. But as I have, I thought it best to tell you that both Lady Lufton and I should be well pleased if we thought that you and Lord Lufton were fond of each other.’
‘I am sure he never thinks of such a thing, mamma.’
‘And as for Lucy Robarts, pray get that idea out of your head; if not for your sake, then for his. You should give him credit for better taste.’
But it was not so easy to take anything out of Griselda’s head that she had once taken into it. ‘As for tastes, mamma, there is no accounting for them,’ she said; and then the colloquy on that subject was over. The result of it on Mrs Grantly’s mind was a feeling amounting almost to a conviction in favour of the Dumbello interest.
CHAPTER 26
Impulsive
I TRUST my readers will all remember how Puck the pony was beaten during that drive to Hogglestock. It may be presumed that Puck himself on that occasion did not suffer much. His skin was not so soft as Mrs Robarts’ heart. The little beast was full of oats and all the good things of this world, and therefore, when the whip touched him, he would dance about and shake his little ears, and run on at a tremendous pace for twenty yards, making his mistress think that he had endured terrible things. But, in truth, during those whippings Puck was not the chief sufferer.
Lucy had been forced to declare – forced by the strength of her own feelings, and by the impossibility of assenting to the propriety of a marriage between Lord Lufton and Miss Grantly –, she had been forced to declare that she did care about Lord Lufton as much as though he were her brother. She had said all this to herself, – nay, much more than this – very often. But now she had said it out loud to her sister-in-law; and she knew that what she had said was remembered, considered, and had, to a certain extent, become the cause of altered conduct. Fanny alluded very seldom to the Luftons in casual conversation, and never spoke about Lord Lufton, unless when her husband made it impossible that she should not speak of him. Lucy had attempted on more than one occasion to remedy this, by talking about the young lord in a laughing and, perhaps, half jeering way; she had been sarcastic as to his hunting and shooting, and had boldly attempted to say a word in joke about his love for Griselda. But she felt that she had failed; that she had failed altogether as regarded Fanny; and that as to her brother, she would more probably be the means of opening his eyes, than have any effect in keeping them closed. So she gave up her efforts and spoke no further word about Lord Lufton. Her secret had been told, and she knew that it had been told.
At this time the two ladies were left a great deal alone together in the drawing-room at the parsonage; more, perhaps, than had ever yet been the case since Lucy had been there. Lady Lufton was away, and therefore the almost daily visit to Framley Co
urt was not made; and Mark in these days was a great deal at Bar-chester, having, no doubt, very onerous duties to perform before he could be admitted as one of that chapter. He went into, what he was pleased to call residence, almost at once. That is, he took his month of preaching, aiding also in some slight and very dignified way, in the general Sunday morning services. He did not exactly live at Barchester, because the house was not ready. That at least was the assumed reason. The chattels of Dr Stanhope, the late prebendary,1 had not been as yet removed, and there was likely to be some little delay, creditors asserting their right to them. This might have been very inconvenient to a gentleman anxiously expecting the excellent house which the liberality of past ages had provided for his use; but it was not so felt by Mr Robarts. If Dr Stanhope’s family or creditors would keep the house for the next twelve months, he would be well pleased. And by this arrangement he was enabled to get through his first month of absence from the church of Framley without any notice from Lady Lufton, seeing that Lady Lufton was in London all the time. This also was convenient, and taught our young prebendary to look on his new preferment more favourably than he had hitherto done.
Fanny and Lucy were thus left much alone: and as out of the full head the mouth speaks,2 so is the full heart more prone to speak at such periods of confidence as these. Lucy, when she first thought of her own state, determined to endow herself with a powerful gift of reticence. She would never tell her love, certainly; but neither would she let concealment feed on her damask cheek, nor would she ever be found for a moment sitting like Patience on a monument.3 She would fight her own fight bravely within her own bosom, and conquer her enemy altogether. She would either preach, or starve, or weary her love into subjection, and no one should be a bit the wiser. She would teach herself to shake hands with Lord Lufton without a quiver, and would be prepared to like his wife amazingly – unless indeed that wife should be Griselda Grantly. Such were her resolutions; but at the end of the first week they were broken into shivers and scattered to the winds.