‘And will you go to Guestwick yourself?’ asked Mrs Dale.
‘I will take the note,’ said the squire, ‘and will let you know tomorrow. The earl behaved so kindly that every possible consideration is due to him. I had better tell him the whole truth, and go or stay, as he may wish. I don’t see the good of going. What am I to do at Guestwick Manor? I did think that if we had all been there it might have cured some difficulties.’
Mrs Dale got up to leave him, but she could not go without saying some word of gratitude for all that he had attempted to do for them. She well knew what he meant by the curing of difficulties. He had intended to signify that had they lived together for a week at Guestwick the idea of flitting from Allington might possibly have been abandoned. It seemed now to Mrs Dale as though her brother-in-law were heaping coals of fire on head1 in return for that intention. She felt half-ashamed of what she was doing, almost acknowledging to herself that she should have borne with his sternness in return for the benefits he had done to her daughters. He she not feared their reproaches she would, even now, have given way.
‘I do not know what I ought to say to you for your kindness.’
‘Say nothing – either for my kindness or unkindness; but stay where you are, and let us love like Christians together, striving to think good and not evil.’ These were kind, loving words, showing in themselves a spirit of love and forbearance; but they were spoken in a harsh, unsympathizing voice, and the speaker, as he uttered them, looked gloomily at the fire. In truth the squire, as he spoke, was half ashamed of the war of the warmth of what he said.
‘At any rate I will not think evil,’ Mrs Dale answered, giving him her hand. After that she left him, and returned home. It was too late for her to abandon her project of moving and remain at the Small House; but as she went across the garden she almost confessed to herself that she repented of what she was doing.
In these days of the cold early spring, the way from, the lawn into the house, through the drawing-room window, was not as yet open and it was necessary to go round by the kitchen-garden on to the road and thence in by the front door; or else to pass through the back door, and into the house by the kitchen. This latter mode of entrance Mrs Dale now adopted; and as she made her way into the hall Lily came upon her, with very silent steps, out from the parlour, and arrested her progress. There was a smile upon Lily’s face as she lifted up her finger as if in caution, and no one looking at her would have supposed that she was herself in trouble. ‘Mamma,’ she said, pointing to the drawing-room door, and speaking almost in a whisper, ‘you must not go in there; come into the parlour.’
‘Who’ there? Where’s Bell?’ and Mrs Dale went into the parlour as she was bidden. ‘Bur who is there?’ she repeated.
‘He’s there!’
‘Who is he?’
‘Oh, mamma, don’t be a goose! Dr Crofts is there, of course, He’s been nearly an hour. I wonder how he is managing, for there is nothing on earth to sit upon but the old lump of a carpet. The room is strewed about with crockery, and Bell is such a figure! She has got on your old checked apron, and when he came in she was rolling up the fire-irons in brown paper. I don’t suppose she was ever in such a mess before. There’s one thing certain – he can’t kiss her hand.’
‘It’s you are the goose, Lily.’
‘But he’s in there certainly, unless he has gone out through the window, or up the chimney.’
‘What made you leave them?’
‘He met me here, in the passage, and spoke to me ever so seriously. “Come in,” I said, “and see Bell packing the pokers and tongs.” “I will go in,” he said, “but don’t come with me.” He was ever so serious, and I’m sure he had been thinking of it all the way along.’
‘And why should he not be serious?’
‘Oh, no, of course he ought to be serious; but are you not glad, mamma? I am so glad. We shall live alone together, you and I; but she will be so close to us! My belief is that he’ll stay there for ever unless somebody does something. I have been so tired of waiting and looking out for you. Perhaps he’s helping her to pack the things. Don’t you think we might go in; or would it be ill-natured?’
‘Lily, don’t be in too great a hurry to say anything. You may be mistaken, you know; and there’s many a slip between the cup and the lip.’
‘Yes, mamma, there is,’ said Lily, putting her hand inside her mother’s arm, ‘that’s true enough.’
‘Oh, my darling, forgive me,’ said the mother, suddenly remembering that the use of the old proverb at the present moment had been almost cruel.
‘Do not mind it,’ said Lily, ‘it does not hurt me, it does me good; that is to say, when there is nobody by except yourself. But, with God’s help, here shall be no slip here, and she shall be happy. It is all the difference between one thing done in a hurry, and another done with much thinking. But they’ll remain there for even if we don’ t go in. Come, mamma, you open the door.’
Then Mrs Bell did open the door, giving some little premonitory notice with the handle, so that the couple inside might be warned of approaching footsteps. Crofts had not escaped, either through the window or up the chimney, but was seated in the middle of the room on an empty box, just opposite to Bell, who was seated upon the lump of carpeting. Bell still wore the checked apron as described by her sister. What might have been the state of her hands I will not pretend to say; but I do not believe that her lover had found anything amiss with them. ‘How do you do, doctor?’ said Mrs Dale, striving to use her accustomed voice, and to look as though there were nothing of special importance in his visit. ‘I have just come down from the Great House.’
‘Mamma, ’ said Bell, jumping up, ‘you must not call him doctor any more.’
‘Must I not? Has any one undoctored him?’
‘Oh, mamma, you understand,’ said Bell.
‘I understand,’ said Lily, going up to the doctor, and gibing him her cheek to kiss, ‘he is be my brother, and I mean to claim him as such form this moment. I expect him to do everything for us, and not to call a moment of his time his own.’
‘Mrs Dale,’ said the doctor, ‘Bell has consented that it shall be so, if you will consent.’
‘There is but little doubt of that,’ said Mrs Dale.
‘We shall not be rich –’ began the doctor.
‘I hate to be rich,’ said Bell. ‘I hate even to talk about it. I don’t think it quite manly even to think about it; and I’m sure it isn’t womanly.’
‘Bell was always a fanatic in praise of poverty,’ said Mrs Dale.
‘No; I’m no fanatic. I’m very fond of money earned. I would like to earn some myself if I knew how.’
‘Let her go out and visit the lady patients,’ said Lily. ‘They do in America.’2
Then they all went into the parlour and sat round the fire talking as though they were already one family. The proceeding, considering the nature of it –that a young lady, acknowledged to be great beauty and known to be of good birth, had on the occasion been asked and given in marriage – was carried on after a somewhat humdrum fashion, and in a manner that must be called commonplace. How different had it been when Crosbie had made his offer! Lily for the time had been raised to a pinnacle – a pinnacle which might be dangerous, but which was, at any rate, lofty. With what a pretty speech had Crosbie been greeted! How it had been felt by all concerned that the fortunes of the Small House were in the ascendant – felt, indeed, with some trepidation, but still with much inward triumph. How great had been the occasion, forcing Lily almost to lose herself in wonderment at what had occurred! There was no great occasion now, and no wonderment. No one, unless it was Crofts, felt very triumphant. But they were all very happy, and were sure that there was safety in their happiness. It was but the other day that one of them had been thrown rudely to the ground through the treachery of lover, but yet none of them feared treachery from this lover. Bell was as sure of her lot in life as though she were already being taken home to her modest house
in Guestwick. Mrs Dale already looked upon the man as her son, and the party of four as they at round the fire grouped themselves as though they already formed one family.
But Bell was not seated next to her lover. Lily, when she had once accepted Crosbie seemed to think that she could never be too neat to him. She had been in no wise ashamed of her love, and had shown it constantly by some little caressing motion of her hand, leaning on his arm, looking into his face, as though she were continually desirous of some palpable assurance of his presence. It was not so at all with Bell. She was happy in loving and in being loved, but she required no overt testimonies of affection. I do not think it would have made her unhappy if some sudden need had required that Crofts should go to India and back before they were married. The thing was settled, and that was enough for her. But, on the other hand, when he spoke of the expediency of an immediate marriage, she raised no difficulty. As her mother was about to go into a new residence, it might be as well that that residence should be fitted to the wants of two persons instead of three. So they talked about chairs and tables, carpets and kitchens, in a most unromantic, homely, useful manner! A considerable portion of the furniture in the house they were now about to leave belonged to the squire – or to the house rather, as they were in the habit of saying. The older and more solid things – articles of household stuff that stand the wear of half a century – had been in the Small House when they came to it. There was, therefore, a question of buying new furniture for a house in Guestwick – a question not devoid of importance to the possessor of so moderate an income as that owned by Mrs Dale. In the first month or two they were to live in lodgings, and their goods were to be stored in some friendly warehouse. Under such circumstances would it not be well that Bell’s marriage should be so arranged that the lodging question might not be in any degree complicated by he necessities? This was the last suggestion made by Dr Crofts, induced no doubt by the great encouragement he had received.
‘That would be hardly possible,’ said Mrs Dale. ‘It only wants three weeks – and with the house in such a condition!’
‘James is joking,’ said Bell.
‘I was not joking at all,’ said the doctor.
‘Why not send for Mr Boyce, and carry her off at once on a pillion behind you?’ said Lily. ‘It’s just the sort of thing for primitive people to do. like you and Bell. All the same, Bell, I do wish you could have been married form this house.’
‘I don’t think it will make much difference,’ said Bell.
‘Only if you would have waited till summer we would have had such a nice party on the lawn. it sounds so ugly, being married form lodgings; doesn’t it, mamma?’
‘It doesn’t sound at all ugly to me,’ said Bell.
‘I shall always call you Dame Commonplace when you’re married,’ said Lily.
Then they had tea, and after tea Dr Crofts got on his horse and rode back to Guestwick.
‘Now many I talk about him?’ said Lily, as soon as the door was closed behind his back.
‘No; you may not.’
‘As if I hadn’t known it all along! And wasn’t it hard to bear that you should have scolded me with such pertinacious austerity, and that I wasn’t to say a word in answer!’
‘I don’t remember the austerity,’ said Mrs Dale.
‘Nor yet Lily’s silence,’ said Bell.
‘But it’s all settled now,’ said Lily, ‘and I’m downright happy. I never felt more satisfaction – never, Bell!’
‘Nor did I,’ said her mother; ‘I may truly say that I thank God for this good thing.’
CHAPTER 51
JOHN EAMES DOES THINGS WHICH HE
OUGHT NOT TO HAVE DONE1
JOHN EAMES succeeded in making his bargain with Sir Raffle Buffle. He accepted the private-secretaryship on the plainly expressed condition that he was to have leave of absence for a fortnight towards the end of April. Having arranged this he took an affectionate leave of Mr Love, who was really much affected at parting with him, discussed valedictory pots of porter in the big room, over which many wishes were expressed that he might be enabled to compass the length and breadth of old Huffle’s feet, uttered a last cutting joke at Mr Kissing as he met that gentleman hurrying through the passages with an enormous ledger in his hands, and then took his place in the comfortable armchair which FitzHoward had been forced to relinquish.
‘Don’t tell any of the fellows,’ said Fitz, ‘but I’m going to cut the concern altogether. My governor wouldn’t let me stop here in any other place than that of private secretary.’
‘Ah, your governor is a swell,’ said Eames
‘I don’t know about that,’ said FitzHoward. ‘Of course he has a good deal of family interest. My cousin is to come in for St Bungay at the next election, and then I can do better than remain here.’
‘That’s a matter of course,’ said Eames. ‘If my cousin were Member for St Bungay, I’d never stand anything east of Whitehall.’2
‘And I don’t mean,’ said FitzHoward. ‘This room, you know, is all very nice; but it is a bore coming into the City every day. And then one doesn’t like to be rung for like a servant. Not that I mean to put you out of conceit with it.’
‘It will do very well for me, ‘said Eames. ‘I never was very particular.’ And so they parted, Eames assuming the beautiful arm-chair and the peril of being asked to carry Sir Raffle’s shoes, while FitzHoward took the vacant desk in the big room till such time as some member of his family should come into Parliament for the borough of St Bungay.
But Eames, though he drank the porter, and quizzed FitzHoward, and gibed at Kissing, did not seat himself in his new arm-chair without some serious thoughts. He was aware that his career in London had not hitherto been one on which he could look back with self-respect. He had lived with friends whom he did not esteem; he had been idle, and sometimes worse than idle; and he had allowed himself to be hampered by the pretended love of a woman for whom he had never felt any true affection, and by whom he had been cozened out of various foolish promises which even yet were hanging over his head. As he sat with Sir Raffle’s notes before him, he thought almost with horror of the men and women in Burton Crescent. It was now about three years since he had first known Cradell, and he shuddered as he remembered how very poor a creature was he whom he had chosen for his bosom friend. He could not make for himself those excuses which we can make for him. He could not tell himself that he had been driven by circumstances to choose a friend, before he had learned to know what were the requisites for which he should look. He had lived on terms of closest intimacy with this man for three years, and now his eyes were opening themselves to the nature of his friend’s character. Cradell was in age three years his senior. ‘I won’t drop him,’ he said to himself; ‘but he is a poor creature.’ He thought, too, of the Lupexes, of Miss Spruce, and of Mrs Roper and tried to imagine what Lily Dale would do if she found herself among such people. It would be impossible that she should ever so find herself. He might as well ask her to drink at the bar of a gin-shop as to sit down in Mrs Roper’s drawing-room. If destiny had in store for him such good fortune as that of calling Lily his own, it was necessary that he should altogether alter his mode of life.
In truth his hobbledehoyhood was dropping off from him, as its old skin drops from a snake. Much of the feeling and something of the knowledge of manhood was coming on him, and he was beginning to recognize to himself that the future manner of his life must be to him a matter of very serious concern. No such thought had come near him when he first established himself in London. It seems to me that in this respect the fathers and mothers of the present generation understand but little of the inward nature of the young men for whom they are so anxious. They give them credit for so much that it is impossible they should have, and then deny them credit for so much that they possess! They expect from them when boys the discretion of men – that discretion which comes from thinking; but will not give them credit for any of that power of thought which alone can ul
timately produce good conduct. Young men are generally thoughtful – more thoughtful than their seniors; but the fruit of their thought is not as yet there. And then so little is done for the amusement of lads who are turned loose in London at nineteen or twenty. Can it be that any mother really expects her son to sit alone evening after evening in a dingy room drinking bad tea, and reading good books?3 And yet it seems that mothers do so expect – the very mothers who talk about the thoughtlessness of youth! O ye mothers who from year to year see your sons launched forth upon the perils of the world, and who are so careful with your good advice, with under-flannel shirting, with books of devotion and tooth-powder, does it never occur to you that provision should be made for amusement, for dancing, for parties, for the excitement and comfort of women’s society? That excitement your sons will have, and if it be not provided by you of one kind, will certainly be provided by themselves of another kind. If I were a mother sending lads out into the world, the matter most in my mind would be this – to what houses full of nicest girls could I get them admission, so that they might do their flirting in good company.
Poor John Eames had been so placed that he had been driven to do his flirting in very bad company, and he was now fully aware that it had been so. It wanted but two days to his departure for Guestwick Manor, and as he sat breathing a while after the manufacture of a large batch of Sir Raffle’s notes, he made up his mind that he would give Mrs Roper notice before he started, that on his return to London he would be seen no more in Burton Crescent. He would break his bonds altogether asunder, and if there should be any penalty for such breaking he would pay it in what best manner he might be able. He acknowledged to himself that he had been behaving badly to Amelia, confessing, indeed, more sin in that respect than he had in truth committed; but this, at any rate, was clear to him, that he must put himself on a proper footing in that quarter before he could venture to speak to Lily Dale.
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