CHAPTER XIV.
CARBURY MANOR.
"I don't think it quite nice, mamma; that's all. Of course if youhave made up your mind to go, I must go with you."
"What on earth can be more natural than that you should go to yourown cousin's house?"
"You know what I mean, mamma."
"It's done now, my dear, and I don't think there is anything at allin what you say."
This little conversation arose from Lady Carbury's announcementto her daughter of her intention of soliciting the hospitality ofCarbury Manor for the Whitsun week. It was very grievous to Henriettathat she should be taken to the house of a man who was in love withher, even though he was her cousin. But she had no escape. She couldnot remain in town by herself, nor could she even allude to hergrievance to anyone but to her mother. Lady Carbury, in order thatshe might be quite safe from opposition, had posted the followingletter to her cousin before she spoke to her daughter:--
Welbeck Street, 24th April, 18--.
MY DEAR ROGER,
We know how kind you are and how sincere, and that if what I am going to propose doesn't suit you'll say so at once. I have been working very hard,--too hard indeed, and I feel that nothing will do me so much real good as getting into the country for a day or two. Would you take us for a part of Whitsun week? We would come down on the 20th May and stay over the Sunday if you would keep us. Felix says he would run down though he would not trouble you for so long a time as we talk of staying.
I'm sure you must have been glad to hear of his being put upon that Great American Railway Board as a Director. It opens a new sphere of life to him, and will enable him to prove that he can make himself useful. I think it was a great confidence to place in one so young.
Of course you will say so at once if my little proposal interferes with any of your plans, but you have been so very very kind to us that I have no scruple in making it.
Henrietta joins with me in kind love.
Your affectionate cousin,
MATILDA CARBURY.
There was much in this letter that disturbed and even annoyed RogerCarbury. In the first place he felt that Henrietta should not bebrought to his house. Much as he loved her, dear as her presenceto him always was, he hardly wished to have her at Carbury unlessshe would come with a resolution to be its future mistress. In onerespect he did Lady Carbury an injustice. He knew that she wasanxious to forward his suit, and he thought that Henrietta was beingbrought to his house with that object. He had not heard that thegreat heiress was coming into his neighbourhood, and therefore knewnothing of Lady Carbury's scheme in that direction. He was, too,disgusted by the ill-founded pride which the mother expressed at herson's position as a director. Roger Carbury did not believe in theRailway. He did not believe in Fisker, nor in Melmotte, and certainlynot in the Board generally. Paul Montague had acted in opposition tohis advice in yielding to the seductions of Fisker. The whole thingwas to his mind false, fraudulent, and ruinous. Of what nature couldbe a Company which should have itself directed by such men as LordAlfred Grendall and Sir Felix Carbury? And then as to their greatChairman, did not everybody know, in spite of all the duchesses, thatMr. Melmotte was a gigantic swindler? Although there was more thanone immediate cause for bitterness between them, Roger loved PaulMontague well and could not bear with patience the appearance ofhis friend's name on such a list. And now he was asked for warmcongratulations because Sir Felix Carbury was one of the Board! Hedid not know which to despise most, Sir Felix for belonging to such aBoard, or the Board for having such a director. "New sphere of life!"he said to himself. "The only proper sphere for them all would beNewgate!"
And there was another trouble. He had asked Paul Montague to come toCarbury for this special week, and Paul had accepted the invitation.With the constancy, which was perhaps his strongest characteristic,he clung to his old affection for the man. He could not bear the ideaof a permanent quarrel, though he knew that there must be a quarrelif the man interfered with his dearest hopes. He had asked him downto Carbury intending that the name of Henrietta Carbury should notbe mentioned between them;--and now it was proposed to him thatHenrietta Carbury should be at the Manor House at the very time ofPaul's visit! He made up his mind at once that he must tell Paul notto come.
He wrote his two letters at once. That to Lady Carbury was veryshort. He would be delighted to see her and Henrietta at the timenamed,--and would be very glad should it suit Felix to come also.He did not say a word about the Board, or the young man's probableusefulness in his new sphere of life. To Montague his letter waslonger. "It is always best to be open and true," he said. "Since youwere kind enough to say that you would come to me, Lady Carbury hasproposed to visit me just at the same time and to bring her daughter.After what has passed between us I need hardly say that I could notmake you both welcome here together. It is not pleasant to me to haveto ask you to postpone your visit, but I think you will not accuse meof a want of hospitality towards you." Paul wrote back to say thathe was sure that there was no want of hospitality, and that he wouldremain in town.
Suffolk is not especially a picturesque county, nor can it be saidthat the scenery round Carbury was either grand or beautiful; butthere were little prettinesses attached to the house itself and thegrounds around it which gave it a charm of its own. The CarburyRiver,--so called, though at no place is it so wide but that anactive schoolboy might jump across it,--runs, or rather creeps intothe Waveney, and in its course is robbed by a moat which surroundsCarbury Manor House. The moat has been rather a trouble to theproprietors, and especially so to Roger, as in these days of sanitaryconsiderations it has been felt necessary either to keep it cleanwith at any rate moving water in it, or else to fill it up andabolish it altogether. That plan of abolishing it had to be thoughtof and was seriously discussed about ten years since; but then it wasdecided that such a proceeding would altogether alter the characterof the house, would destroy the gardens, and would create a waste ofmud all round the place which it would take years to beautify, oreven to make endurable. And then an important question had been askedby an intelligent farmer who had long been a tenant on the property;"Fill un oop;--eh, eh; sooner said than doone, squoire. Where be thestoof to come from?" The squire, therefore, had given up that idea,and instead of abolishing his moat had made it prettier than ever.The high road from Bungay to Beccles ran close to the house,--soclose that the gable ends of the building were separated from itonly by the breadth of the moat. A short, private road, not abovea hundred yards in length, led to the bridge which faced the frontdoor. The bridge was old, and high, with sundry architecturalpretensions, and guarded by iron gates in the centre, which, however,were very rarely closed. Between the bridge and the front door therewas a sweep of ground just sufficient for the turning of a carriage,and on either side of this the house was brought close to the water,so that the entrance was in a recess, or irregular quadrangle, ofwhich the bridge and moat formed one side. At the back of the housethere were large gardens screened from the road by a wall ten feethigh, in which there were yew trees and cypresses said to be ofwonderful antiquity. The gardens were partly inside the moat, butchiefly beyond them, and were joined by two bridges--a foot bridgeand one with a carriage way,--and there was another bridge at the endof the house furthest from the road, leading from the back door tothe stables and farmyard.
The house itself had been built in the time of Charles II., whenthat which we call Tudor architecture was giving way to a cheaper,less picturesque, though perhaps more useful form. But Carbury ManorHouse, through the whole county, had the reputation of being a Tudorbuilding. The windows were long, and for the most part low, made withstrong mullions, and still contained small, old-fashioned panes; forthe squire had not as yet gone to the expense of plate glass. Therewas one high bow window, which belonged to the library, and whichlooked out on to the gravel sweep, at the left of the front door asyou entered it. All the other chief rooms faced upon the garden. Thehouse it
self was built of a stone that had become buff, or almostyellow with years, and was very pretty. It was still covered withtiles, as were all the attached buildings. It was only two storieshigh, except at the end, where the kitchens were placed and theoffices, which thus rose above the other part of the edifice. Therooms throughout were low, and for the most part long and narrow,with large wide fire-places and deep wainscotings. Taking italtogether, one would be inclined to say, that it was picturesquerather than comfortable. Such as it was its owner was very proudof it,--with a pride of which he never spoke to anyone, which heendeavoured studiously to conceal, but which had made itself knownto all who knew him well. The houses of the gentry around him weresuperior to his in material comfort and general accommodation, but tonone of them belonged that thoroughly established look of old countyposition which belonged to Carbury. Bundlesham, where the Primeroslived, was the finest house in that part of the county, but itlooked as if it had been built within the last twenty years. Itwas surrounded by new shrubs and new lawns, by new walls and newouthouses, and savoured of trade;--so at least thought Roger Carbury,though he never said the words. Caversham was a very large mansion,built in the early part of George III.'s reign, when men did carethat things about them should be comfortable, but did not care thatthey should be picturesque. There was nothing at all to recommendCaversham but its size. Eardly Park, the seat of the Hepworths, had,as a park, some pretensions. Carbury possessed nothing that could becalled a park, the enclosures beyond the gardens being merely so manyhome paddocks. But the house of Eardly was ugly and bad. The Bishop'spalace was an excellent gentleman's residence, but then that too wascomparatively modern, and had no peculiar features of its own. NowCarbury Manor House was peculiar, and in the eyes of its owner waspre-eminently beautiful.
It often troubled him to think what would come of the place whenhe was gone. He was at present forty years old, and was perhaps ashealthy a man as you could find in the whole county. Those aroundwho had known him as he grew into manhood among them, especially thefarmers of the neighbourhood, still regarded him as a young man. Theyspoke of him at the country fairs as the young squire. When in hishappiest moods he could be almost a boy, and he still had somethingof old-fashioned boyish reverence for his elders. But of late therehad grown up a great care within his breast,--a care which does notoften, perhaps, in these days bear so heavily on men's hearts as itused to do. He had asked his cousin to marry him,--having assuredhimself with certainty that he did love her better than any otherwoman,--and she had declined. She had refused him more than once,and he believed her implicitly when she told him that she couldnot love him. He had a way of believing people, especially whensuch belief was opposed to his own interests, and had none of thatself-confidence which makes a man think that if opportunity beallowed him he can win a woman even in spite of herself. But if itwere fated that he should not succeed with Henrietta, then,--so hefelt assured,--no marriage would now be possible to him. In that casehe must look out for an heir, and could regard himself simply as astop-gap among the Carburys. In that case he could never enjoy theluxury of doing the best he could with the property in order that ason of his own might enjoy it.
Now Sir Felix was the next heir. Roger was hampered by no entail,and could leave every acre of the property as he pleased. In onerespect the natural succession to it by Sir Felix would generally beconsidered fortunate. It had happened that a title had been won in alower branch of the family, and were this succession to take placethe family title and the family property would go together. No doubtto Sir Felix himself such an arrangement would seem to be the mostproper thing in the world,--as it would also to Lady Carbury were itnot that she looked to Carbury Manor as the future home of anotherchild. But to all this the present owner of the property had verystrong objections. It was not only that he thought ill of the baronethimself,--so ill as to feel thoroughly convinced that no goodcould come from that quarter,--but he thought ill also of thebaronetcy itself. Sir Patrick, to his thinking, had been altogetherunjustifiable in accepting an enduring title, knowing that he wouldleave behind him no property adequate for its support. A baronet, sothought Roger Carbury, should be a rich man, rich enough to grace therank which he assumed to wear. A title, according to Roger's doctrineon such subjects, could make no man a gentleman, but, if improperlyworn, might degrade a man who would otherwise be a gentleman. Hethought that a gentleman, born and bred, acknowledged as such withoutdoubt, could not be made more than a gentleman by all the titleswhich the Queen could give. With these old-fashioned notions Rogerhated the title which had fallen upon a branch of his family. Hecertainly would not leave his property to support the title which SirFelix unfortunately possessed. But Sir Felix was the natural heir,and this man felt himself constrained, almost as by some divine law,to see that his land went by natural descent. Though he was in nodegree fettered as to its disposition, he did not presume himself tohave more than a life interest in the estate. It was his duty to seethat it went from Carbury to Carbury as long as there was a Carburyto hold it, and especially his duty to see that it should go fromhis hands, at his death, unimpaired in extent or value. There wasno reason why he should himself die for the next twenty or thirtyyears,--but were he to die Sir Felix would undoubtedly dissipate theacres, and then there would be an end of Carbury. But in such casehe, Roger Carbury, would at any rate have done his duty. He knew thatno human arrangements can be fixed, let the care in making them beever so great. To his thinking it would be better that the estateshould be dissipated by a Carbury than held together by a stranger.He would stick to the old name while there was one to bear it, andto the old family while a member of it was left. So thinking he hadalready made his will, leaving the entire property to the man whom ofall others he most despised, should he himself die without child.
In the afternoon of the day on which Lady Carbury was expected, hewandered about the place thinking of all this. How infinitely betterit would be that he should have an heir of his own. How wonderfullybeautiful would the world be to him if at last his cousin wouldconsent to be his wife! How wearily insipid must it be if no suchconsent could be obtained from her. And then he thought much of herwelfare too. In very truth he did not like Lady Carbury. He sawthrough her character, judging her with almost absolute accuracy. Thewoman was affectionate, seeking good things for others rather thanfor herself; but she was essentially worldly, believing that goodcould come out of evil, that falsehood might in certain conditions bebetter than truth, that shams and pretences might do the work of trueservice, that a strong house might be built upon the sand! It waslamentable to him that the girl he loved should be subjected to thisteaching, and live in an atmosphere so burdened with falsehood. Wouldnot the touch of pitch at last defile her? In his heart of hearts hebelieved that she loved Paul Montague; and of Paul himself he wasbeginning to fear evil. What but a sham could be a man who consentedto pretend to sit as one of a Board of Directors to manage anenormous enterprise with such colleagues as Lord Alfred Grendall andSir Felix Carbury, under the absolute control of such a one as Mr.Augustus Melmotte? Was not this building a house upon the sand witha vengeance? What a life it would be for Henrietta Carbury were sheto marry a man striving to become rich without labour and withoutcapital, and who might one day be wealthy and the next a beggar,--acity adventurer, who of all men was to him the vilest and mostdishonest? He strove to think well of Paul Montague, but such was thelife which he feared the young man was preparing for himself.
Then he went into the house and wandered up through the rooms whichthe two ladies were to occupy. As their host, a host without awife or mother or sister, it was his duty to see that things werecomfortable, but it may be doubted whether he would have been socareful had the mother been coming alone. In the smaller room of thetwo the hangings were all white, and the room was sweet with Mayflowers; and he brought a white rose from the hot-house, and placedit in a glass on the dressing table. Surely she would know who put itthere.
Then he stood at the open window, looking down upon the la
wn, gazingvacantly for half an hour, till he heard the wheels of the carriagebefore the front door. During that half hour he resolved that hewould try again as though there had as yet been no repulse.
The Way We Live Now Page 16
