The Way We Live Now

by Anthony Trollope

  CHAPTER VI.

  ROGER CARBURY AND PAUL MONTAGUE.

  Roger Carbury, of Carbury Hall, the owner of a small property inSuffolk, was the head of the Carbury family. The Carburys had been inSuffolk a great many years,--certainly from the time of the War ofthe Roses,--and had always held up their heads. But they had neverheld them very high. It was not known that any had risen ever tothe honour of knighthood before Sir Patrick, going higher than that,had been made a baronet. They had, however, been true to theiracres and their acres true to them through the perils of civil wars,Reformation, Commonwealth, and Revolution, and the head Carbury ofthe day had always owned, and had always lived at, Carbury Hall. Atthe beginning of the present century the squire of Carbury had beena considerable man, if not in his county, at any rate in his part ofthe county. The income of the estate had sufficed to enable him tolive plenteously and hospitably, to drink port wine, to ride a stouthunter, and to keep an old lumbering coach for his wife's use whenshe went avisiting. He had an old butler who had never lived anywhereelse, and a boy from the village who was in a way apprenticed to thebutler. There was a cook, not too proud to wash up her own dishes,and a couple of young women;--while the house was kept by Mrs.Carbury herself, who marked and gave out her own linen, made her ownpreserves, and looked to the curing of her own hams. In the year 1800the Carbury property was sufficient for the Carbury house. Since thattime the Carbury property has considerably increased in value, andthe rents have been raised. Even the acreage has been extended bythe enclosure of commons. But the income is no longer comfortablyadequate to the wants of an English gentleman's household. If amoderate estate in land be left to a man now, there arises thequestion whether he is not damaged unless an income also be left tohim wherewith to keep up the estate. Land is a luxury, and of allluxuries is the most costly. Now the Carburys never had anything butland. Suffolk has not been made rich and great either by coal oriron. No great town had sprung up on the confines of the Carburyproperty. No eldest son had gone into trade or risen high in aprofession so as to add to the Carbury wealth. No great heiress hadbeen married. There had been no ruin,--no misfortune. But in the daysof which we write the Squire of Carbury Hall had become a poor mansimply through the wealth of others. His estate was supposed to bringhim in L2,000 a year. Had he been content to let the Manor House, tolive abroad, and to have an agent at home to deal with the tenants,he would undoubtedly have had enough to live luxuriously. But helived on his own land among his own people, as all the Carburysbefore him had done, and was poor because he was surrounded by richneighbours. The Longestaffes of Caversham,--of which family DollyLongestaffe was the eldest son and hope,--had the name of greatwealth, but the founder of the family had been a Lord Mayor ofLondon and a chandler as lately as in the reign of Queen Anne. TheHepworths, who could boast good blood enough on their own side, hadmarried into new money. The Primeros,--though the good nature of thecountry folk had accorded to the head of them the title of SquirePrimero,--had been trading Spaniards fifty years ago, and had boughtthe Bundlesham property from a great duke. The estates of those threegentlemen, with the domain of the Bishop of Elmham, lay all aroundthe Carbury property, and in regard to wealth enabled their ownersaltogether to overshadow our squire. The superior wealth of a bishopwas nothing to him. He desired that bishops should be rich, and wasamong those who thought that the country had been injured when theterritorial possessions of our prelates had been converted intostipends by Act of Parliament. But the grandeur of the Longestaffesand the too apparent wealth of the Primeros did oppress him, thoughhe was a man who would never breathe a word of such oppression intothe ear even of his dearest friend. It was his opinion,--which hedid not care to declare loudly, but which was fully understood to behis opinion by those with whom he lived intimately,--that a man'sstanding in the world should not depend at all upon his wealth. ThePrimeros were undoubtedly beneath him in the social scale, althoughthe young Primeros had three horses apiece, and killed legions ofpheasants annually at about 10_s_. a head. Hepworth of Eardly was avery good fellow, who gave himself no airs and understood his dutiesas a country gentleman; but he could not be more than on a par withCarbury of Carbury, though he was supposed to enjoy L7,000 a year.The Longestaffes were altogether oppressive. Their footmen, even inthe country, had powdered hair. They had a house in town,--a houseof their own,--and lived altogether as magnates. The lady was LadyPomona Longestaffe. The daughters, who certainly were handsome, hadbeen destined to marry peers. The only son, Dolly, had, or had had,a fortune of his own. They were an oppressive people in a countryneighbourhood. And to make the matter worse, rich as they were,they never were able to pay anybody anything that they owed. Theycontinued to live with all the appurtenances of wealth. The girlsalways had horses to ride, both in town and country. The acquaintanceof Dolly the reader has already made. Dolly, who certainly was a poorcreature though good natured, had energy in one direction. He wouldquarrel perseveringly with his father, who only had a life interestin the estate. The house at Caversham Park was during six or sevenmonths, of the year full of servants, if not of guests, and allthe tradesmen in the little towns around, Bungay, Beccles, andHarlestone, were aware that the Longestaffes were the great peopleof that country. Though occasionally much distressed for money,they would always execute the Longestaffe orders with submissivepunctuality, because there was an idea that the Longestaffe propertywas sound at the bottom. And, then, the owner of a property somanaged cannot scrutinise bills very closely.

  Carbury of Carbury had never owed a shilling that he could not pay,or his father before him. His orders to the tradesmen at Beccles werenot extensive, and care was used to see that the goods supplied wereneither overcharged nor unnecessary. The tradesmen, consequently, ofBeccles did not care much for Carbury of Carbury;--though perhaps oneor two of the elders among them entertained some ancient reverencefor the family. Roger Carbury, Esq., was Carbury of Carbury,--adistinction of itself, which, from its nature, could not belong tothe Longestaffes and Primeros, which did not even belong to theHepworths of Eardly. The very parish in which Carbury Hall stood,--orCarbury Manor House, as it was more properly called,--was Carburyparish. And there was Carbury Chase, partly in Carbury parish andpartly in Bundlesham,--but belonging, unfortunately, in its entiretyto the Bundlesham estate.

  Roger Carbury himself was all alone in the world. His nearestrelatives of the name were Sir Felix and Henrietta, but they were nomore than second cousins. He had sisters, but they had long sincebeen married and had gone away into the world with their husbands,one to India, and another to the far west of the United States. Atpresent he was not much short of forty years of age, and was stillunmarried. He was a stout, good-looking man, with a firmly set squareface, with features finely cut, a small mouth, good teeth, andwell-formed chin. His hair was red, curling round his head, whichwas now partly bald at the top. He wore no other beard than small,almost unnoticeable whiskers. His eyes were small, but bright, andvery cheery when his humour was good. He was about five feet nine inheight, having the appearance of great strength and perfect health.A more manly man to the eye was never seen. And he was one withwhom you would instinctively wish at first sight to be on goodterms,--partly because in looking at him there would come on you anunconscious conviction that he would be very stout in holding his ownagainst his opponents; partly also from a conviction equally strong,that he would be very pleasant to his friends.

  When Sir Patrick had come home from India as an invalid, RogerCarbury had hurried up to see him in London, and had proffered himall kindness. Would Sir Patrick and his wife and children like togo down to the old place in the country? Sir Patrick did not carea straw for the old place in the country, and so told his cousinin almost those very words. There had not, therefore, been muchfriendship during Sir Patrick's life. But when the violentill-conditioned old man was dead, Roger paid a second visit, andagain offered hospitality to the widow and her daughter,--and to theyoung baronet. The young baronet had just joined his regiment anddid not care to visit
his cousin in Suffolk; but Lady Carbury andHenrietta had spent a month there, and everything had been done tomake them happy. The effort as regarded Henrietta had been altogethersuccessful. As regarded the widow, it must be acknowledged thatCarbury Hall had not quite suited her tastes. She had already begunto sigh for the glories of a literary career. A career of somekind,--sufficient to repay her for the sufferings of her earlylife,--she certainly desired. "Dear cousin Roger," as she called him,had not seemed to her to have much power of assisting her in theseviews. She was a woman who did not care much for country charms.She had endeavoured to get up some mild excitement with thebishop, but the bishop had been too plain spoken and sincere forher. The Primeros had been odious; the Hepworths stupid; theLongestaffes,--she had endeavoured to make up a little friendshipwith Lady Pomona,--insufferably supercilious. She had declared toHenrietta "that Carbury Hall was very dull."

  But then there had come a circumstance which altogether changed heropinions as to Carbury Hall, and its proprietor. The proprietorafter a few weeks followed them up to London, and made a mostmatter-of-fact offer to the mother for the daughter's hand. He was atthat time thirty-six, and Henrietta was not yet twenty. He was verycool;--some might have thought him phlegmatic in his love-making.Henrietta declared to her mother that she had not in the leastexpected it. But he was very urgent, and very persistent. LadyCarbury was eager on his side. Though the Carbury Manor House did notexactly suit her, it would do admirably for Henrietta. And as forage, to her thinking, she being then over forty, a man of thirty-sixwas young enough for any girl. But Henrietta had an opinion of herown. She liked her cousin, but did not love him. She was amazed, andeven annoyed by the offer. She had praised him and praised the houseso loudly to her mother,--having in her innocence never dreamed ofsuch a proposition as this,--so that now she found it difficult togive an adequate reason for her refusal. Yes;--she had undoubtedlysaid that her cousin was charming, but she had not meant charming inthat way. She did refuse the offer very plainly, but still with someapparent lack of persistency. When Roger suggested that she shouldtake a few months to think of it, and her mother supported Roger'ssuggestion, she could say nothing stronger than that she was afraidthat thinking about it would not do any good. Their first visit toCarbury had been made in September. In the following February shewent there again,--much against the grain as far as her own wisheswere concerned; and when there had been cold, constrained, almostdumb in the presence of her cousin. Before they left the offer wasrenewed, but Henrietta declared that she could not do as they wouldhave her. She could give no reason, only she did not love her cousinin that way. But Roger declared that he by no means intended toabandon his suit. In truth he verily loved the girl, and love withhim was a serious thing. All this happened a full year before thebeginning of our present story.

  But something else happened also. While that second visit was beingmade at Carbury there came to the hall a young man of whom RogerCarbury had said much to his cousins,--one Paul Montague, of whomsome short account shall be given in this chapter. The squire,--RogerCarbury was always called the squire about his own place,--hadanticipated no evil when he so timed this second visit of his cousinsto his house that they must of necessity meet Paul Montague there.But great harm had come of it. Paul Montague had fallen into lovewith his cousin's guest, and there had sprung up much unhappiness.

  Lady Carbury and Henrietta had been nearly a month at Carbury, andPaul Montague had been there barely a week, when Roger Carbury thusspoke to the guest who had last arrived. "I've got to tell yousomething, Paul."

  "Anything serious?"

  "Very serious to me. I may say so serious that nothing in my ownlife can approach it in importance." He had unconsciously assumedthat look, which his friend so thoroughly understood, indicating hisresolve to hold to what he believed to be his own, and to fight iffighting be necessary. Montague knew him well, and became half awarethat he had done something, he knew not what, militating against thisserious resolve of his friend. He looked up, but said nothing. "Ihave offered my hand in marriage to my cousin Henrietta," said Rogervery gravely.

  "Miss Carbury?"

  "Yes; to Henrietta Carbury. She has not accepted it. She has refusedme twice. But I still have hopes of success. Perhaps I have no rightto hope, but I do. I tell it you just as it is. Everything in life tome depends upon it. I think I may count upon your sympathy."

  "Why did you not tell me before?" said Paul Montague in a hoarsevoice.

  Then there had come a sudden and rapid interchange of quick speakingbetween the men, each of them speaking the truth exactly, each ofthem declaring himself to be in the right and to be ill-used bythe other, each of them equally hot, equally generous, and equallyunreasonable. Montague at once asserted that he also loved HenriettaCarbury. He blurted out his assurance in the baldest and mostincomplete manner, but still in such words as to leave no doubt.No;--he had not said a word to her. He had intended to consult RogerCarbury himself,--should have done so in a day or two,--perhaps onthat very day had not Roger spoken to him. "You have neither of youa shilling in the world," said Roger; "and now you know what myfeelings are you must abandon it." Then Montague declared that hehad a right to speak to Miss Carbury. He did not suppose that MissCarbury cared a straw about him. He had not the least reason to thinkthat she did. It was altogether impossible. But he had a right to hischance. That chance was all the world to him. As to money,--he wouldnot admit that he was a pauper, and, moreover, he might earn anincome as well as other men. Had Carbury told him that the younglady had shown the slightest intention to receive his, Carbury's,addresses, he, Paul, would at once have disappeared from the scene.But as it was not so, he would not say that he would abandon hishope.

  The scene lasted for above an hour. When it was ended, Paul Montaguepacked up all his clothes and was driven away to the railway stationby Roger himself, without seeing either of the ladies. There had beenvery hot words between the men, but the last words which Roger spoketo the other on the railway platform were not quarrelsome in theirnature. "God bless you, old fellow," he said, pressing Paul's hands.Paul's eyes were full of tears, and he replied only by returning thepressure.

  Paul Montague's father and mother had long been dead. The father hadbeen a barrister in London, having perhaps some small fortune of hisown. He had, at any rate, left to this son, who was one among others,a sufficiency with which to begin the world. Paul when he had comeof age had found himself possessed of about L6,000. He was then atOxford, and was intended for the bar. An uncle of his, a youngerbrother of his father, had married a Carbury, the younger sisterof two, though older than her brother Roger. This uncle many yearssince had taken his wife out to California, and had there become anAmerican. He had a large tract of land, growing wool, and wheat, andfruit; but whether he prospered or whether he did not, had not alwaysbeen plain to the Montagues and Carburys at home. The intercoursebetween the two families had in the quite early days of PaulMontague's life, created an affection between him and Roger, who, aswill be understood by those who have carefully followed the abovefamily history, were not in any degree related to each other. Roger,when quite a young man, had had the charge of the boy's education,and had sent him to Oxford. But the Oxford scheme, to be followed bythe bar, and to end on some one of the many judicial benches of thecountry, had not succeeded. Paul had got into a "row" at Balliol, andhad been rusticated,--had then got into another row, and was sentdown. Indeed he had a talent for rows,--though, as Roger Carburyalways declared, there was nothing really wrong about any of them.Paul was then twenty-one, and he took himself and his money out toCalifornia, and joined his uncle. He had perhaps an idea,--based onvery insufficient grounds,--that rows are popular in California. Atthe end of three years he found that he did not like farming life inCalifornia,--and he found also that he did not like his uncle. So hereturned to England, but on returning was altogether unable to gethis L6,000 out of the Californian farm. Indeed he had been compelledto come away without any of it, with funds insufficient even to tak
ehim home, accepting with much dissatisfaction an assurance from hisuncle that an income amounting to ten per cent. upon his capitalshould be remitted to him with the regularity of clockwork. Theclock alluded to must have been one of Sam Slick's. It had gonevery badly. At the end of the first quarter there came the properremittance;--then half the amount;--then there was a long intervalwithout anything; then some dropping payments now and again;--andthen a twelvemonth without anything. At the end of that twelvemonthhe paid a second visit to California, having borrowed money fromRoger for his journey. He had now again returned, with some littlecash in hand, and with the additional security of a deed executed inhis favour by one Hamilton K. Fisker, who had gone into partnershipwith his uncle, and who had added a vast flour-mill to his uncle'sconcerns. In accordance with this deed he was to get twelve per cent.on his capital, and had enjoyed the gratification of seeing his nameput up as one of the firm, which now stood as Fisker, Montague, andMontague. A business declared by the two elder partners to be mostpromising had been opened at Fiskerville, about two hundred and fiftymiles from San Francisco, and the hearts of Fisker and the elderMontague were very high. Paul hated Fisker horribly, did not love hisuncle much, and would willingly have got back his L6,000 had he beenable. But he was not able, and returned as one of Fisker, Montague,and Montague, not altogether unhappy, as he had succeeded inobtaining enough of his back income to pay what he owed to Roger, andto live for a few months. He was intent on considering how he shouldbestow himself, consulting daily with Roger on the subject, whensuddenly Roger had perceived that the young man was becoming attachedto the girl whom he himself loved. What then occurred has been told.

  Not a word was said to Lady Carbury or her daughter of the realcause of Paul's sudden disappearance. It had been necessary that heshould go to London. Each of the ladies probably guessed somethingof the truth, but neither spoke a word to the other on the subject.Before they left the Manor the squire again pleaded his cause withHenrietta, but he pleaded it in vain. Henrietta was colder thanever,--but she made use of one unfortunate phrase which destroyed allthe effect which her coldness might have had. She said that she wastoo young to think of marrying yet. She had meant to imply that thedifference in their ages was too great, but had not known how tosay it. It was easy to tell her that in a twelvemonth she would beolder;--but it was impossible to convince her that any number oftwelvemonths would alter the disparity between her and her cousin.But even that disparity was not now her strongest reason for feelingsure that she could not marry Roger Carbury.

  Within a week of the departure of Lady Carbury from the Manor House,Paul Montague returned, and returned as a still dear friend. He hadpromised before he went that he would not see Henrietta again forthree months, but he would promise nothing further. "If she won'ttake you, there is no reason why I shouldn't try." That had beenhis argument. Roger would not accede to the justice even of this.It seemed to him that Paul was bound to retire altogether, partlybecause he had got no income, partly because of Roger's previousclaim,--partly no doubt in gratitude, but of this last reason Rogernever said a word. If Paul did not see this himself, Paul was notsuch a man as his friend had taken him to be.

  Paul did see it himself, and had many scruples. But why should hisfriend be a dog in the manger? He would yield at once to RogerCarbury's older claims if Roger could make anything of them. Indeedhe could have no chance if the girl were disposed to take Roger forher husband. Roger had all the advantage of Carbury Manor at hisback, whereas he had nothing but his share in the doubtful businessof Fisker, Montague, and Montague, in a wretched little town 250miles further off than San Francisco! But if, with all this, Rogercould not prevail, why should he not try? What Roger said about wantof money was mere nonsense. Paul was sure that his friend would havecreated no such difficulty had not he himself been interested. Pauldeclared to himself that he had money, though doubtful money, andthat he certainly would not give up Henrietta on that score.

  He came up to London at various times in search of certain employmentwhich had been half promised him, and, after the expiration of thethree months, constantly saw Lady Carbury and her daughter. But fromtime to time he had given renewed promises to Roger Carbury thathe would not declare his passion,--now for two months, then forsix weeks, then for a month. In the meantime the two men were fastfriends,--so fast that Montague spent by far the greater part ofhis time as his friend's guest,--and all this was done with theunderstanding that Roger Carbury was to blaze up into hostile wrathshould Paul ever receive the privilege to call himself HenriettaCarbury's favoured lover, but that everything was to be smoothbetween them should Henrietta be persuaded to become the mistress ofCarbury Hall. So things went on up to the night at which Montaguemet Henrietta at Madame Melmotte's ball. The reader should also beinformed that there had been already a former love affair in theyoung life of Paul Montague. There had been, and indeed there stillwas, a widow, one Mrs. Hurtle, whom he had been desperately anxiousto marry before his second journey to California;--but the marriagehad been prevented by the interference of Roger Carbury.