The Last Chronicle of Barset

by Anthony Trollope

  CHAPTER LX.

  THE END OF JAEL AND SISERA.

  There was to be one more sitting for the picture, as the reader willremember, and the day for that sitting had arrived. Conway Dalrymplehad in the meantime called at Mrs. Van Siever's house, hoping that hemight be able to see Clara, and make his offer to her there. But hehad failed in his attempt to reach her. He had found it impossibleto say all that he had to say in the painting-room, during the veryshort intervals which Mrs. Broughton left to him. A man should beallowed to be alone more than fifteen minutes with a young lady onthe occasion in which he offers to her his hand and his heart; buthitherto he had never had more than fifteen minutes at his command;and then there had been the turban! He had also in the meantimecalled on Mrs. Broughton, with the intention of explaining to herthat if she really intended to favour his views in respect toMiss Van Siever, she ought to give him a little more liberty forexpressing himself. On this occasion he had seen his friend, but hadnot been able to go as minutely as he had wished into the matter thatwas so important to himself. Mrs. Broughton had found it necessaryduring this meeting to talk almost exclusively about herself and herown affairs. "Conway," she had said, directly she saw him, "I am soglad you have come. I think I should have gone mad if I had not seensome one who cares for me." This was early in the morning, not muchafter eleven, and Mrs. Broughton, hearing first his knock at thedoor, and then his voice, had met him in the hall and taken him intothe dining-room.

  "Is anything the matter?" he asked.

  "Oh, Conway!"

  "What is it? Has anything gone wrong with Dobbs?"

  "Everything has gone wrong with him. He is ruined."

  "Heaven and earth! What do you mean?"

  "Simply what I say. But you must not speak a word of it. I do notknow it from himself."

  "How do you know it?"

  "Wait a moment. Sit down there, will you?--and I will sit by you. No,Conway; do not take my hand. It is not right. There;--so. YesterdayMrs. Van Siever was here. I need not tell you all that she said tome, even if I could. She was very harsh and cruel, saying all mannerof things about Dobbs. How can I help it, if he drinks? I have notencouraged him. And as for expensive living, I have been as ignorantas a child. I have never asked for anything. When we were marriedsomebody told me how much we should have to spend. It was either twothousand, or three thousand, or four thousand, or something likethat. You know, Conway, how ignorant I am about money;--that I amlike a child. Is it not true?" She waited for an answer and Dalrymplewas obliged to acknowledge that it was true. And yet he had knownthe times in which his dear friend had been very sharp in her memorywith reference to a few pounds. "And now she says that Dobbs owes hermoney which he cannot pay her, and that everything must be sold. Shesays that Musselboro must have the business, and that Dobbs mustshift for himself elsewhere."

  "Do you believe that she has the power to decide that things shall gothis way or that,--as she pleases?"

  "How am I to know? She says so, and she says it is because he drinks.He does drink. That at least is true; but how can I help it? Oh,Conway, what am I to do? Dobbs did not come home at all last night,but sent for his things,--saying that he must stay in the City. Whatam I to do if they come and take the house, and sell the furniture,and turn me out into the street?" Then the poor creature began to cryin earnest, and Dalrymple had to console her as best he might. "HowI wish I had known you first," she said. To this Dalrymple was ableto make no direct answer. He was wise enough to know that a directanswer might possibly lead him into terrible trouble. He was by nomeans anxious to find himself "protecting" Mrs. Dobbs Broughton fromthe ruin which her husband had brought upon her.

  Before he left her she had told him a long story, partly of mattersof which he had known something before, and partly made up ofthat which she had heard from the old woman. It was settled, Mrs.Broughton said, that Mr. Musselboro was to marry Clara Van Siever.But it appeared, as far as Dalrymple could learn, that this was asettlement made simply between Mrs. Van Siever and Musselboro. Clara,as he thought, was not a girl likely to fall into such a settlementwithout having an opinion of her own. Musselboro was to have thebusiness, and Dobbs Broughton was to be "sold up," and then look foremployment in the City. From her husband the wife had not heard aword on this matter, and the above story was simply what had beentold to Mrs. Broughton by Mrs. Van Siever. "For myself it seems thatthere can be but one fate," said Mrs. Broughton. Dalrymple, in histenderest voice, asked what that one fate must be. "Never mind," saidMrs. Broughton. "There are some things which one cannot tell evento such a friend as you." He was sitting near her and had all butgot his arm behind her waist. He was, however, able to be prudent."Maria," he said, getting up on his feet, "if it should really comeabout that you should want anything, you will send to me. You willpromise me that, at any rate?" She rubbed a tear from her eye andsaid that she did not know. "There are moments in which a man mustspeak plainly," said Conway Dalrymple;--"in which it would be unmanlynot to do so, however prosaic it may seem. I need hardly tell youthat my purse shall be yours if you want it." But just at that momentshe did not want his purse, nor must it be supposed that she wantedto run away with him and to leave her husband to fight the battlealone with Mrs. Van Siever. The truth was that she did not knowwhat she wanted, over and beyond an assurance from Conway Dalrymplethat she was the most ill-used, the most interesting, and the mostbeautiful woman ever heard of, either in history or romance. Had heproposed to her to pack up a bundle and go off with him in a cabto the London, Chatham, and Dover railway station, en route forBoulogne, I do not for a moment think that she would have packed upher bundle. She would have received intense gratification from theoffer,--so much so that she would have been almost consoled for herhusband's ruin; but she would have scolded her lover, and would haveexplained to him the great iniquity of which he was guilty.

  It was clear to him that at this present time he could not make anyspecial terms with her as to Clara Van Siever. At such a moment asthis he could hardly ask her to keep out of the way, in order thathe might have his opportunity. But when he suggested that probablyit might be better, in the present emergency, to give up the ideaof any further sitting in her room, and proposed to send for hiscanvas, colour-box, and easel, she told him that, as far as she wasconcerned, he was welcome to have that one other sitting for whichthey had all bargained. "You had better come to-morrow, as we hadagreed," she said; "and unless I shall have been turned out into thestreet by the creditors, you may have the room as you did before. Andyou must remember, Conway, that though Mrs. Van says that Musselborois to have Clara, it doesn't follow that Clara should give way." Whenwe consider everything, we must acknowledge that this was, at anyrate, good-natured. Then there was a tender parting, with many tears,and Conway Dalrymple escaped from the house.

  He did not for a moment doubt the truth of the story which Mrs.Broughton had told, as far, at least, as it referred to the ruin ofDobbs Broughton. He had heard something of this before, and for someweeks had expected that a crash was coming. Broughton's rise had beenvery sudden, and Dalrymple had never regarded his friend as firmlyplaced in the commercial world. Dobbs was one of those men who seemborn to surprise the world by a spurt of prosperity, and might,perhaps, have had a second spurt, or even a third, could he have kepthimself from drinking in the morning. But Dalrymple, though he washardly astonished by the story, as it regarded Broughton, was put outby that part of it which had reference to Musselboro. He had knownthat Musselboro had been introduced to Broughton by Mrs. Van Siever,but, nevertheless, he had regarded the man as being no more thanBroughton's clerk. And now he was told that Musselboro was to marryClara Van Siever, and have all Mrs. Van Siever's money. He resolved,at last, that he would run his risk about the money, and take Claraeither with or without it, if she would have him. And as for thatdifficulty in asking her, if Mrs. Broughton would give him noopportunity of putting the question behind her back, he would put itbefore her face. He had not much leisure for consideration on thesepoints, a
s the next day was the day for the last sitting.

  On the following morning he found Miss Van Siever already seated inMrs. Broughton's room when he reached it. And at the moment Mrs.Broughton was not there. As he took Clara's hand, he could notprevent himself from asking her whether she had heard anything?"Heard what?" said Clara. "Then you have not," said he. "Never mindnow, as Mrs. Broughton is here." Then Mrs. Broughton had enteredthe room. She seemed to be quite cheerful, but Dalrymple perfectlyunderstood, from a special glance which she gave to him, that he wasto perceive that her cheerfulness was assumed for Clara's benefit.Mrs. Broughton was showing how great a heroine she could be on behalfof her friends. "Now, my dear," she said, "do remember that this isthe last day. It may be all very well, Conway, and, of course, youknow best; but as far as I can see, you have not made half as muchprogress as you ought to have done." "We shall do excellently well,"said Dalrymple. "So much the better," said Mrs. Broughton "and now,Clara, I'll place you." And so Clara was placed on her knees, withthe turban on her head.

  Dalrymple began his work assiduously, knowing that Mrs. Broughtonwould not leave the room for some minutes. It was certain that shewould remain for a quarter of an hour, and it might be as well thathe should really use that time on his picture. The peculiar positionin which he was placed probably made his work difficult to him. Therewas something perplexing in the necessity which bound him to lookupon the young lady before him both as Jael and as the future Mrs.Conway Dalrymple, knowing as he did that she was at present simplyClara Van Siever. A double personification was not difficult to him.He had encountered it with every model that had sat to him, and withevery young lady he had attempted to win,--if he had ever made suchan attempt with one before. But the triple character, joined to thenecessity of the double work, was distressing to him. "The hand alittle further back, if you don't mind," he said, "and the wristmore turned towards me. That is just it. Lean a little more overhim. There--that will do exactly." If Mrs. Broughton did not go veryquickly, he must begin to address his model on a totally differentsubject, even while she was in the act of slaying Sisera.

  "Have you made up your mind who is to be Sisera?" asked Mrs.Broughton.

  "I think I shall put in my own face," said Dalrymple; "if Miss VanSiever does not object."

  "Not in the least," said Clara, speaking without moving herface--almost without moving her lips.

  "That will be excellent," said Mrs. Broughton. She was still quitecheerful, and really laughed as she spoke. "Shall you like the idea,Clara, of striking the nail right through his head?"

  "Oh, yes; as well his head as another's. I shall seem to be having myrevenge for all the trouble he has given me."

  There was a slight pause, and then Dalrymple spoke. "You have hadthat already, in striking me right through the heart."

  "What a very pretty speech! Was it not, my dear?" said Mrs.Broughton. And then Mrs. Broughton laughed. There was somethingslightly hysterical in her laugh which grated on Dalrymple'sears,--something which seemed to tell him that at the present momenthis dear friend was not going to assist him honestly in his effort.

  "Only that I should put him out, I would get up and make a curtsey,"said Clara. No young lady could ever talk of making a curtsey forsuch a speech if she supposed it to have been made in earnestness.And Clara, no doubt, understood that a man might make a hundred suchspeeches in the presence of a third person without any danger thatthey would be taken as meaning anything. All this Dalrymple knew, andbegan to think that he had better put down his palette and brush,and do the work which he had before him in the most prosaic languagethat he could use. He could, at any rate, succeed in making Claraacknowledge his intention in this way. He waited still for a minuteor two, and it seemed to him that Mrs. Broughton had no intentionof piling her fagots on the present occasion. It might be that theremembrance of her husband's ruin prevented her from sacrificingherself in the other direction also.

  "I am not very good at pretty speeches, but I am good at telling thetruth," said Dalrymple.

  "Ha, ha, ha!" laughed Mrs. Broughton, still with a touch ofhysterical action in her throat. "Upon my word, Conway, you know howto praise yourself."

  "He dispraises himself most unnecessarily in denying the prettinessof his language," said Clara. As she spoke she hardly moved her lips,and Dalrymple went on painting from the model. It was clear that MissVan Siever understood that the painting, and not the pretty speeches,was the important business on hand.

  Mrs. Broughton had now tucked her feet up on the sofa, and was gazingat the artist as he stood at his work. Dalrymple, remembering how hehad offered her his purse,--an offer which, in the existing crisis ofher affairs, might mean a great deal,--felt that she was ill-natured.Had she intended to do him a good turn, she would have gone now;but there she lay, with her feet tucked up, clearly purposing tobe present through the whole of that morning's sitting. His angeragainst her added something to his spirit, and made him determinethat he would carry out his purpose. Suddenly, therefore, he preparedhimself for action.

  He was in the habit of working with a Turkish cap on his head, andwith a short apron tied round him. There was something picturesqueabout the cap, which might not have been incongruous withlove-making. It is easy to suppose that Juan wore a Turkish cap whenhe sat with Haidee in Lambro's island. But we may be quite sure thathe did not wear an apron. Now Dalrymple had thought of all this,and had made up his mind to work to-day without his apron but whenarranging his easel and his brushes, he had put it on from force ofhabit, and was now disgusted with himself as he remembered it. He putdown his brush, divested his thumb of his palette, then took off hiscap, and after that untied the apron.

  "Conway, what are you going to do?" said Mrs. Broughton.

  "I am going to ask Clara Van Siever to be my wife," said Dalrymple.At that moment the door was opened, and Mrs. Van Siever entered theroom.

  Clara had not risen from her kneeling posture when Dalrymple began toput off his trappings. She had not seen what he was doing as plainlyas Mrs. Broughton had done, having her attention naturally drawntowards her Sisera; and, besides this, she understood that she wasto remain as she was placed till orders to move were given to her.Dalrymple would occasionally step aside from his easel to look ather in some altered light, and on such occasions she would simplyhold her hammer somewhat more tightly than before. When, therefore,Mrs. Van Siever entered the room Clara was still slaying Sisera, inspite of the artist's speech. The speech, indeed, and her mother bothseemed to come to her at the same time. The old woman stood for amoment holding the open door in her hand. "You fool!" she said, "whatare you doing there, dressed up in that way like a guy?" Then Claragot up from her feet and stood before her mother in Jael's dress andJael's turban. Dalrymple thought that the dress and turban did notbecome her badly. Mrs. Van Siever apparently thought otherwise. "Willyou have the goodness to tell me, miss, why you are dressed up afterthat Mad Bess of Bedlam fashion?"

  The reader will no doubt bear in mind that Clara had other wordsof which to think besides those which were addressed to her by hermother. Dalrymple had asked her to be his wife in the plainestpossible language, and she thought that the very plainness of thelanguage became him well. The very taking off of his apron, almostas he said the words, though to himself the action had been sodistressing as almost to overcome his purpose, had in it somethingto her of direct simple determination which pleased her. When he hadspoken of having had a nail driven by her right through his heart,she had not been in the least gratified; but the taking off of theapron, and the putting down of the palette, and the downright way inwhich he had called her Clara Van Siever,--attempting to be neithersentimental with Clara, nor polite with Miss Van Siever,--did pleaseher. She had often said to herself that she would never give a plainanswer to a man who did not ask her a plain question--to a man who,in asking this question, did not say plainly to her, "Clara VanSiever, will you become Mrs. Jones?"--or Mrs. Smith, or Mrs. Tomkins,as the case might be. Now Conway Dalrymple had asked her to become
Mrs. Dalrymple very much after this fashion. In spite of theapparition of her mother, all this had passed through her mind. Notthe less, however, was she obliged to answer her mother, before shecould give any reply to the other questioner. In the meantime Mrs.Dobbs Broughton had untucked her feet.

  "Mamma," said Clara, "who ever expected to see you here?"

  "I daresay nobody did," said Mrs. Van Siever; "but here I am,nevertheless."

  "Madam," said Mrs. Dobbs Broughton, "you might at any rate have gonethrough the ceremony of having yourself announced by the servant."

  "Madam," said the old woman, attempting to mimic the tone of theother, "I thought that on such a very particular occasion as this Imight be allowed to announce myself. You tomfool, you, why don't youtake that turban off?" Then Clara, with slow and graceful motion,unwound the turban. If Dalrymple really meant what he had said, andwould stick to it, she need not mind being called a tomfool by hermother.

  "Conway, I am afraid that our last sitting is disturbed," said Mrs.Broughton, with her little laugh.

  "Conway's last sitting certainly is disturbed," said Mrs. Van Siever,and then she mimicked the laugh. "And you'll all be disturbed,--I cantell you that. What an ass you must be to go on with this kind ofthing, after what I said to you yesterday! Do you know that he gotbeastly drunk in the City last night, and that he is drunk now, whileyou are going on with your tomfooleries?" Upon hearing this, Mrs.Dobbs Broughton fainted into Dalrymple's arms.

  Hitherto the artist had not said a word, and had hardly known whatpart it would best become him now to play. If he intended to marryClara,--and he certainly did intend to marry her if she would havehim,--it might be as well not to quarrel with Mrs. Van Siever. At anyrate there was nothing in Mrs. Van Siever's intrusion, disagreeableas it was, which need make him take up his sword to do battle withher. But now, as he held Mrs. Broughton in his arms, and as thehorrid words which the old woman had spoken rung in his ears, hecould not refrain himself from uttering reproach. "You ought not tohave told her in this way, before other people, even if it be true,"said Conway.

  "Leave me to be my own judge of what I ought to do, if you please,sir. If she had any feeling at all, what I told her yesterday wouldhave kept her from all this. But some people have no feeling, andwill go on being tomfools though the house is on fire." As thesewords were spoken, Mrs. Broughton fainted more persistently thanever,--so that Dalrymple was convinced that whether she felt or not,at any rate she heard. He had now dragged her across the room, andlaid her upon the sofa, and Clara had come to her assistance. "Idaresay you think me very hard because I speak plainly, but there arethings much harder than plain speaking. How much do you expect to bepaid, sir, for this picture of my girl?"

  "I do not expect to be paid for it at all," said Dalrymple.

  "And who is it to belong to?"

  "It belongs to me at present."

  "Then, sir, it mustn't belong to you any longer. It won't do for youto have a picture of my girl to hang up in your painting-room for allyour friends to come and make their jokes about, nor yet to make ashow of it in any of your exhibitions. My daughter has been a fool,and I can't help it. If you'll tell me what's the cost, I'll pay you;then I'll have the picture home, and I'll treat it as it deserves."

  Dalrymple thought for a moment about his picture and about Mrs. VanSiever. What had he better do? He wanted to behave well, and he feltthat the old woman had something of justice on her side. "Madam," hesaid, "I will not sell this picture; but it shall be destroyed, ifyou wish it."

  "I certainly do wish it, but I won't trust to you. If it's not sentto my house at once you'll hear from me through my lawyers."

  Then Dalrymple deliberately opened his penknife and slit the canvasacross, through the middle of the picture each way. Clara, as shesaw him do it, felt that in truth she loved him. "There, Mrs. VanSiever," he said; "now you can take the bits home with you in yourbasket if you wish it." At this moment, as the rent canvas fell andfluttered upon the stretcher, there came a loud voice of lamentationfrom the sofa, a groan of despair and a shriek of wrath. "Very fineindeed," said Mrs. Van Siever. "When ladies faint they always oughtto have their eyes about them. I see that Mrs. Broughton understandsthat."

  "Take her away, Conway--for God's sake take her away," said Mrs.Broughton.

  "I shall take myself away very shortly," said Mrs. Van Siever, "soyou needn't trouble Mr. Conway about that. Not but what I thought thegentleman's name was Mr. something else."

  "My name is Conway Dalrymple," said the artist.

  "Then I suppose you must be her brother, or her cousin, or somethingof that sort?" said Mrs. Van Siever.

  "Take her away," screamed Mrs. Dobbs Broughton.

  "Wait a moment, madam. As you've chopped up your handiwork there, Mr.Conway Dalrymple, and as I suppose my daughter has been more to blamethan anybody else--"

  "She has not been to blame at all," said Dalrymple.

  "That's my affair, and not yours," said Mrs. Van Siever, verysharply. "But as you've been at all this trouble, and have nowchopped it up, I don't mind paying you for your time and paints; onlyI shall be glad to know how much it will come to?"

  "There will be nothing to pay, Mrs. Van Siever."

  "How long has he been at it, Clara?"

  "Mamma, indeed you had better not say anything about paying him."

  "I shall say whatever I please, miss. Will ten pounds do it, sir?"

  "If you choose to buy the picture, the price will be seven hundredand fifty," said Dalrymple, with a smile, pointing to the fragments.

  "Seven hundred and fifty pounds?" said the old woman.

  "But I strongly advise you not to make the purchase," said Dalrymple.

  "Seven hundred and fifty pounds! I certainly shall not give you sevenhundred and fifty pounds, sir."

  "I certainly think you could invest your money better, Mrs. VanSiever. But if the thing is to be sold at all, that is my price. I'vethought that there was some justice in your demand that it should bedestroyed,--and therefore I have destroyed it."

  Mrs. Van Siever had been standing on the same spot ever since she hadentered the room, and now she turned round to leave the room.

  "If you have any demand to make, I beg that you will send in youraccount for work done to Mr. Musselboro. He is my man of business.Clara, are you ready to come home? The cab is waiting at thedoor,--at sixpence the quarter of an hour, if you will be pleased toremember."

  "Mrs. Broughton," said Clara, thoughtful of her raiment, andremembering that it might not be well that she should return home,even in a cab, dressed as Jael; "if you will allow me, I will go intoyour room for a minute or two."

  "Certainly, Clara," said Mrs. Broughton, preparing to accompany her.

  "But before you go, Mrs. Broughton," said Mrs. Van Siever, "it may beas well that I should tell you that my daughter is going to becomethe wife of Mr. Musselboro. It may simplify matters that you shouldknow this." And Mrs. Van Siever, as she spoke, looked hard at ConwayDalrymple.

  "Mamma!" exclaimed Clara.

  "My dear," said Mrs. Van Siever, "you had better change your dressand come away with me."

  "Not till I have protested against what you have said, mamma."

  "You had better leave your protesting alone, I can tell you."

  "Mrs. Broughton," continued Clara, "I must beg you to understand thatmamma has not the slightest right in the world to tell you what shejust now said about me. Nothing on earth would induce me to becomethe wife of Mr. Broughton's partner."

  There was something which made Clara unwilling even to name the manwhom her mother had publicly proposed as her future husband.

  "He isn't Mr. Broughton's partner," said Mrs. Van Siever. "Mr.Broughton has not got a partner. Mr. Musselboro is the head of thefirm. And as to your marrying him, of course, I can't make you."

  "No, mamma; you cannot."

  "Mrs. Broughton understands that, no doubt;--and so, probably, doesMr. Dalrymple. I only tell them what are my ideas. If you choose tomarry
the sweep at the crossing, I can't help it. Only I don't seewhat good you would do the sweep, when he would have to sweep forhimself and you too. At any rate, I suppose you mean to go home withme now?" Then Mrs. Broughton and Clara left the room, and Mrs. VanSiever was left with Conway Dalrymple. "Mr. Dalrymple," said Mrs.Van Siever, "do not deceive yourself. What I told you just now willcertainly come to pass."

  "It seems to me that that must depend on the young lady," saidDalrymple.

  "I'll tell you what certainly will not depend on the young lady,"said Mrs. Van Siever, "and that is whether the man who marries herwill have more with her than the clothes she stands up in. You willunderstand that argument, I suppose?"

  "I'm not quite sure that I do," said Dalrymple.

  "Then you'd better try to understand it. Good-morning, sir. I'm sorryyou've had to slit your picture." Then she curtseyed low, and walkedout on to the landing-place. "Clara," she cried, "I'm waiting foryou--sixpence a quarter of an hour,--remember that." In a minute ortwo Clara came out to her, and then Mrs. Van Siever and Miss VanSiever took their departure.

  "Oh, Conway, what am I to do? what am I to do?" said Mrs. DobbsBroughton. Dalrymple stood perplexed for a few minutes, and could nottell her what she was to do. She was in such a position that it wasvery hard to tell her what to do. "Do you believe, Conway, that he isreally ruined?"

  "What am I to say? How am I to know?"

  "I see that you believe it," said the wretched woman.

  "I cannot but believe that there is something of truth in what thiswoman says. Why else should she come here with such a story?" Thenthere was a pause, during which Mrs. Broughton was burying her faceon the arm of the sofa. "I'll tell you what I'll do," continued he."I'll go into the City, and make inquiry. It can hardly be but whatI shall learn the truth there."

  Then there was another pause, at the end of which Mrs. Broughton gotup from the sofa.

  "Tell me," said she;--"what do you mean to do about that girl?"

  "You heard me ask her to be my wife?"

  "I did. I did!"

  "Is it not what you intended?"

  "Do not ask me. My mind is bewildered. My brain is on fire! Oh,Conway!"

  "Shall I go into the City as I proposed?" said Dalrymple, who feltthat he might at any rate improve the position of circumstances byleaving the house.

  "Yes;--yes; go into the City! Go anywhere. Go. But stay! Oh, Conway!"There was a sudden change in her voice as she spoke. "Hark,--there heis, as sure as life." Then Conway listened, and heard a footstep onthe stairs, as to which he had then but little doubt that it was thefootstep of Dobbs Broughton. "O heavens! he is tipsy!" exclaimed Mrs.Broughton "and what shall we do?" Then Dalrymple took her hand andpressed it, and left the room, so that he might meet the husband onthe stairs. In the one moment that he had for reflection he thoughtit was better that there should be no concealment.