Complete Novels of Maria Edgeworth

by Maria Edgeworth

  On the first visit which Vivian and his mother paid after the death of Lord Lidhurst at Glistonbury Castle, they found there a young man very handsome, but of a dark, reserved countenance, whose physiognomy and manner immediately prepossessed them against him; on his part, he seemed to eye them with suspicion, and to be particularly uneasy whenever Vivian either mentioned the election or approached Lady Sarah. This young man was Mr. Lidhurst, Lord Glistonbury’s nephew and heir-at-law. It was obvious, almost at first sight, that the uncle disliked the nephew; but it was not so easy to perceive that the nephew despised the uncle. Mr. Lidhurst, though young, was an excellent politician; and his feelings were always regulated by his interests. He had more abilities than Lord Glistonbury, less vanity, but infinitely more ambition. In Lord Glistonbury, ambition was rather affected, as an air suited to his rank, and proper to increase his consequence: Mr. Lidhurst’s was an earnest, inordinate ambition, yet it was cold, silent, and calculating; his pride preyed upon him inwardly, but it never hurried him into saying or doing an extravagant thing. Those who were not actuated solely by ambition, he always looked upon as fools, and those who were, he considered, in general, as knaves: the one he marked as dupes, the other as rivals. He had been at the Bishop of — —’s, during Lord Lidhurst’s illness, and at the time of his death. Ever since Lady Julia’s arrival at the bishop’s, he had foreseen the probability of this event, and had, in consequence of the long-sightedness of his views, endeavoured to make himself agreeable to her. He found this impossible; but was, however, easily consoled by hearing that she had resolved never to marry; he only hoped that she would keep her resolution; and he was now at Glistonbury Castle, in the determination to propose for his other cousin, Lady Sarah, who would, perhaps, equally well secure to him his objects.

  “Well! my dear Vivian,” said Lord Glistonbury, drawing him aside, “how d’ye relish my nephew, Marmaduke Lidhurst? Need not be afraid to speak the truth, for I tell you at once that he is no particular favourite here; not en bonne odeur; but that’s only between you and me. He thinks that I don’t know that he considers me as a shallow fellow, because I haven’t my head crammed with a parcel of statistical tables, all the fiscal and financiering stuff which he has at his calculating fingers’ ends; but I trust that I am almost as good a politician as he is, and I’m free to believe, have rather more knowledge of the world —

  ‘In men, not books, experienced was my lord’ —

  Hey? Hey, Vivian? and can see through him with half an eye, I can tell him. — Wants to get Lady Sarah — Yes, yes; but never came near us till we lost my poor boy — he won’t win Lady Sarah either, or I’m much mistaken. Did you observe how jealous he was of you? — Right! — right! — he has penetration! — Stay, stay! you don’t know Marmaduke yet — don’t know half his schemes. How his brow clouded when we were talking of the election! I must hint to you, he has been sounding me upon that matter; he has a great mind to stand for this county — talks of starting at the first day of the poll. I told him it could not do, as I was engaged to you. He answered, that of course was only a conditional promise, in case none of my own relations stood. I fought shy, and he pressed confoundedly. — Gad! he would put me in a very awkward predicament, if he was really to stand! for you know what the world would say, if they saw me opposing my own nephew, a rising young man, and not for a relation either; and Marmaduke Lidhurst is just your deep fellow to plan such a thing and execute it, not caring at what or whose expense. I can tell him, however, I am not a man to be bullied out of my interest, or to be outwitted either. — Stand firm, Vivian, my good friend, and I’ll stand by you; depend on me! — I only wish — —” Here his lordship paused. “But I cannot say more to you now; for here is my precious heir-at-law coming to break up the confederacy. I’ll ride over and see you to-morrow; — now, let us all be mute before Marmaduke, our master politician, as becomes us — Hey! Vivian? Hey?”

  Notwithstanding this sort of jealousy of Marmaduke, and the bravadoing style in which Lord Glistonbury spoke of him, he spoke to him in a very different manner: it was apparent to Vivian that his lordship was under some awe of his nephew, and that, whilst he cherished this secret dislike, he dreaded coming to any open rupture with a man who was, as his lordship apprehended, so well able to make his own party good in the world. When Marmaduke did emerge from that depth of thought in which he generally seemed to be sunk, and when he did condescend to converse, or rather to speak, his theme was always of persons in power, or his sarcasms against those who never would obtain it; from any one thing he asserted, it could never be proved, but, from all he said, it might be inferred, that he valued human qualities and talents merely as they could, or could not, obtain a price in the political market. The power of speaking in public, as it is a means in England of acquiring all other species of power, he deemed the first of Heaven’s gifts; and successful parliamentary speakers were the only persons of whom he expressed admiration. As Vivian had spoken, and had been listened to in the House of Commons, he was in this respect an object of Marmaduke Lidhurst’s envy; but this envy was mitigated by contempt for our hero’s want of perseverance in ambition.

  “There is that Mr. Vivian of yours,” said he to his uncle, whilst Vivian was gone to talk to the ladies—”you’ll find he will be but a woman’s man, after all! — Heavens! with his fluency in public, what I would have done by this time of day! This poor fellow has no consistency of ambition — no great views — no reach of mind. Put him in for a borough, and he would be just as well content as if he carried the county. You’ll see he will, after another session or two, cut out, and retire without a pension, and settle down into a mere honest country gentleman. He would be no connexion to increase the consequence of your family. Lady Sarah Lidhurst would be quite lost with such a nobody! Her ladyship, I am convinced, has too much discrimination, and values herself too highly, to make such a missy match.”

  Lord Glistonbury coughed, and cleared his throat, and blew his nose, and seemed to suffer extremely, but chiefly under the repression of his usual loquacity. Nothing could be at once a greater proof of his respect for his nephew’s abilities, and of his lordship’s dislike to him, than this unnatural silence. Mr. Lidhurst’s compliments on Lady Sarah’s discrimination seemed, however, to be premature, and unmerited; for, during the course of this day, she treated all the vast efforts of her cousin Marmaduke’s gallantry with haughty neglect, and showed, what she had never before suffered to be visible in her manner, a marked preference for Mr. Vivian’s conversation. The sort of emulation which Mr. Lidhurst’s rivalship produced increased the value of the object; she, for whom there was a contention, immediately became a prize. Vivian was both provoked and amused by the alternate contempt and jealousy which Mr. Lidhurst betrayed; this gentleman’s desire to keep him out of the Glistonbury family, and to supplant him in Lady Sarah’s favour, piqued him to prove his influence, and determined him to maintain his ground. Insensibly, Vivian’s attentions to the lady became more vivacious; and he was vain of showing the ease, taste, and elegance of his gallantry; and he was flattered by the idea, that all the spectators perceived both its superiority and its success. Lady Sarah, whose manners had much improved since the departure of Miss Strictland, was so much embellished by our hero’s attentions, that he thought her quite charming. He had been prepared to expect fire under the ice, but he was agreeably surprised by this sudden spring of flowers from beneath the snow. The carriage was at the door in the evening, and had waited half an hour, before he was aware that it was time to depart.

  “You are right, my dear son!” Lady Mary began, the r moment they were seated in the carriage; “you are quite right, and I was quite wrong, about Lady Sarah Lidhurst: she has feeling, indeed — strong, generous feeling — and she shows it at the proper time: a fine, decided character! Her manners, to-day, so easy, and her countenance so animated, really she looked quite handsome, and I think her a charming woman. — What changes love can make! — Well, now I am satisfied: this is what
I always wished — connexion, family, fortune, every thing; and the very sort of character you require in a wife, — the very person, of all others, that is suited to you!”

  “If she were but a little more like her sister — or Selina Sidney even!” said Vivian, with a sigh.

  “That very word even — your saying like Selina Sidney even — shows that you have not much cause for sighing: for you see how quickly the mere fancy in these matters changes — and you may love Lady Sarah presently, as much as you loved even Lady Julia.”

  “Impossible! ma’am.”

  “Impossible! Why, my dear Charles, you astonish me! for you cannot but see the views and expectations of all the family, and of the young lady herself; and your attentions to-day were such as could bear but one construction.”

  “Were they, ma’am? I was not aware of that at the time — that is, I did not mean to engage myself — Good Heavens! surely I am not engaged? — You know a man is not bound, like a woman, by a few foolish words; compliments and gallantry are not such serious things with us men. Men never consider themselves engaged to a woman till they make an absolute proposal.”

  “I know that is a common maxim with young men of the present day, but I consider it as dishonourable and base; and very sorry should I be to see it adopted by my son!” cried Lady Mary indignantly. “Ask your friend Mr. Russell’s opinion on this point: he long ago told you — I know he did — that if you had not serious thoughts of Lady Sarah Lidhurst, you would do very wrong, after all the reports that have gone abroad, to continue your intimacy with the Glistonburys, and thus to deceive her and her whole family — I only appeal to Mr. Russell; — will you ask your friend Russell’s opinion?”

  Vivian sighed again deeply for the loss of his friend Russell; but as he could not, without touching upon Lady Julia’s affairs, explain the cause of the coolness between him and his friend, he answered only, “that an appeal to Mr. Russell was unnecessary when he had his mother’s opinion.” Lady Mary’s wish for the Glistonbury connexion fortified her morality at this moment, and she replied, “Then my decided opinion is, that it would be an immoral and dishonourable action to break such a tacit engagement as this, which you have voluntarily contracted, and which you absolutely could not break without destroying the peace and happiness of a whole family. Even that cold Lady Glistonbury grew quite warm to-day; and you must see the cause. — And in Lady Glistonbury’s state of health, who could answer for the consequences of any disappointment about her favourite daughter, just after the loss of her son, too?”

  “No more, mother, for Heaven’s sake! I see it all — I feel it all — I must marry Lady Sarah, then. — By what fatality am I doomed, am I forced to marry a woman whom I cannot love, whose person and manners are peculiarly disagreeable to me, and when I’m half in love with another woman!”

  “That would be a shocking thing, indeed,” said Lady Mary, retracting, and alarmed; for now another train of associations was wakened, and she judged not by her worldly, but by her romantic system.—”I am sure I would not, upon any account, urge you to act against your feelings. I would not be responsible for such a marriage, if you are really in love with her sister, and if Lady Sarah’s person and manners are peculiarly and absolutely disagreeable to you. I should do a very wicked action — should destroy my son’s happiness and morals, perhaps, by insisting on such a marriage — Heaven forbid!” (A silence of a mile and a half long ensued.) “But, Charles, after all I saw to-day, how can I believe that Lady Sarah is so disagreeable to you?”

  “Ma’am, she happened not to be absolutely disagreeable to me to-day.”

  “Oh! well! then she may not happen to be disagreeable to you to-morrow, or the next day, or ever again! — And, as to the fancy for her sister, when all hope is over, you know love soon dies of itself.”

  So ended the conversation. — The next morning, at an unusual hour, Lord Glistonbury made his appearance at Castle Vivian, with an air of great vexation and embarrassment: he endeavoured to speak of trivial topics; but, one after another, these subjects dropped. Then Lady Mary, who saw that he was anxious to speak to her son, soon took occasion to withdraw, not without feeling some curiosity, and forming many conjectures, as to the object his lordship might have in view in this conference.

  Lord Glistonbury’s countenance exhibited, in quick alternation, a look of absolute determination and of utter indecision. At length, with abrupt effort, he said, “Vivian, have you seen the papers to-day?”

  “The newspapers? — yes! — no! — They are on the table — I did not look at them — Is there any thing extraordinary?”

  “Yes, faith! — extraordinary, very extraordinary! — But it is not here — it is not there — this is not the right paper — it is not in your paper. That’s extraordinary, too” — (then feeling in both pockets)—”I was a fool not to bring it with me — May be I have it — Yes, here it is! — Not public news, but private.”

  Vivian was all expectation, for he imagined that something about Lady Julia was coming. Lord Glistonbury, who, in his commerce with public men, had learned the art of paying in words, to gain time when in danger of a bankruptcy of ideas, went on, stringing sentences together, without much meaning, whilst he was collecting his thoughts and studying the countenance of his auditor.

  “You recollect my suggestions the last time I had the honour of speaking to you on a particular subject. I confess, Mr. Lidhurst’s conduct does not meet my ideas of propriety; but other persons are free to form what judgment they think fit upon the occasion. I shall submit the matter to you, Mr. Vivian, feeling myself called upon to come forward immediately to explain it to your satisfaction; and I do not fear to commit myself, by stating at once my sentiments, and the light in which it strikes me; for there must be some decision shown, somehow or other, and on some side or other. —— Decision is all in all in public business, as the great Bacon or somebody says — and nobody knows that better than Marmaduke.”

  Here his lordship grew warm, and quitting his parliamentary cant, assumed his familiar style.

  “Gad! he has stolen a march upon us — out-generalled us — but, in my private opinion, not in the handsomest style possible — Hey, Vivian? — Hey?”

  “My dear lord, I have not heard the fact yet,” said Vivian.

  “Oh! the fact is simply — Look here, he has without my encouragement or concurrence — and, indeed, as he very well knew, contrary to my approbation and wishes — gone, and declared himself candidate for this county; and here’s his fine flourishing, patriotic, damned advertisement in the paper—’To the gentlemen, clergy, and freeholders of the county.’ —— Gad! how it startled me this morning! When I first saw it I rubbed my eyes, and could hardly believe it was Marmaduke. Though I pique myself on knowing a man’s style at the first line, yet I could not have believed it was his, unless I had seen his name at full length in these great abominable characters—’John Marmaduke Lidhurst.’—’Glastonbury Castle!’ too — as if I had countenanced the thing, or had promised my support; when he knew, that but yesterday I was arguing the point with him in my study, and told him I was engaged to you. Such an ungentlemanlike trick! — for you know it reduces me to the dilemma of supporting a man who is only my friend, against my nearest relation by blood, which, of course, would have an odd and awkward appearance in the eyes of the world!”

  Vivian expressed much concern for his lordship’s difficulties; but observed that the world would be very unjust if it blamed him, and he was sure his lordship had too much decision of character.

  “But, independently of the world,” interrupted his lordship, “even in our own family, amongst all the Lidhursts and their remotest connexions, there would be quite a league formed against me; and these family quarrels are ugly affairs; for though our feudal times are done away, party clanships have succeeded to feudal clanships; and we chiefs of parties must keep our followers in good humour, or we are nothing in the field — I should say in the house — Ha! ha! ha! —— I laugh, but it i
s a very serious business; for Marmaduke Lidhurst would be, in private or public, an impracticable enemy. Marmaduke’s a fellow capable of inextinguishable hatred; and he is everywhere, and knows every body, of all the clubs, a rising young man, who is listened to, and who would make his story credited. And then, with one’s nephew, one can’t settle these things in an honourable way — these family quarrels must be arranged amicably, not honourably; and that’s the difficulty: the laws of honour are dead letters in these cases, and the laws of the land do not reach these niceties of feeling. —— But of the most important fact you are still to be apprised.”

  “Indeed!” cried Vivian.

  “Yes, you have not yet heard Marmaduke’s master-stroke of policy!”

  “No! — What is it, my lord? — I am all attention — pray explain it to me.”

  “But there’s the delicacy — there’s the difficulty! — No, no, no. — Upon my soul, I cannot name it!” cried Lord Glistonbury. “It revolts my feelings — all my feelings — as a man, as a gentleman, as a father. Upon my honour, as a peer, I would speak if I could; but, for the soul of me, I cannot.”

  “You know, my dear lord,” said Vivian, “there can be no delicacies or difficulties with me; your lordship has done me the honour to live always on such a footing of intimacy with me, that surely there is not any thing you cannot say to me!”

  “Why, that’s true,” said Lord Glistonbury, quitting his affected air of distress, and endeavouring to throw off his real feeling of embarrassment: “you are right, my dear Vivian! we are certainly upon terms of such intimacy, that I ought not to be so scrupulous. But there are certain things, a well-born, well-bred man — in short, it would look so like — But, in fact, I am driven to the wall, and I must defend myself as well as I can against this nephew of mine — I know it will look like the most horrible thing upon earth, like what I would rather be decapitated than do — I know it will look, absolutely, as if I came here to ask you to marry my daughter, — which, you know, is a thing no gentleman could have the most remotely in his contemplation; but, since I am so pressed, I must tell you the exact truth, and explain to you, however difficult, Marmaduke’s master-stroke —— he has proposed for Lady Sarah; and has had the assurance to ask me whether there is or is not any truth in certain reports which he is pleased to affirm have gone abroad — Heaven knows how or why! —— And he urges me — the deep dog! for his cousin’s sake, to contradict those reports, in the only effectual manner, by a temporary cessation of the intimate intercourse between Castle Vivian and Glistonbury Castle, whilst Lady Sarah remains unmarried; or, if our master politician would speak plainly, till he has married her himself. —— At any rate, I have spoken frankly, Vivian, hey? you’ll allow; and I am entitled both to a candid interpretation of my motives, and to equal frankness of reply.”