The Bertrams

by Anthony Trollope

  CHAPTER XIII.

  LITTLEBATH.

  I abhor a mystery. I would fain, were it possible, have my tale runthrough from its little prologue to the customary marriage in itslast chapter, with all the smoothness incidental to ordinary life. Ihave no ambition to surprise my reader. Castles with unknown passagesare not compatible with my homely muse. I would as lief have to dowith a giant in my book--a real giant, such as Goliath--as with amurdering monk with a scowling eye. The age for such delights is, Ithink, gone. We may say historically of Mrs. Radcliffe's time thatthere were mysterious sorrows in those days. They are now as much outof date as are the giants.

  I would wish that a serene gratification might flow from my pages,unsullied by a single start. Now I am aware that there is that inthe last chapter which appears to offend against the spirit of calmrecital which I profess. People will begin to think that they are tobe kept in the dark as to who is who; that it is intended that theirinterest in the novel shall depend partly on a guess. I would wish tohave no guessing, and therefore I at once proceed to tell all aboutit.

  Miss Caroline Waddington was the granddaughter of old Mr. GeorgeBertram; and was, therefore, speaking with absolute technicalpropriety, the first-cousin once removed of her lover, young Mr.George Bertram--a degree of relationship which happily admits of loveand matrimony.

  Old Mr. Bertram has once or twice been alluded to as a bachelor; andmost of those who were best acquainted with him had no doubt of hisbeing so. To you, my reader, is permitted the great privilege ofknowing that he was married very early in life. He, doubtless, hadhis reasons for keeping this matter a secret at the time, and thevery early death of his wife saved him from the necessity of muchtalking about it afterwards. His wife had died in giving birth to adaughter, but the child had survived. There was then living a sisterof Mrs. Bertram's, who had been married some few years to a Mr.Baker, and the infant was received into this family, of which ourfriend Miss Baker was a child. Miss Baker was therefore a niece,by marriage, of Mr. Bertram. In this family, Caroline Bertram waseducated, and she and Mary Baker were brought up together as sisters.During this time Mr. Bertram did his duty by his daughter as regardsmoney, as far as his means then went, and was known in that family tobe her father; but elsewhere he was not so known. The Bakers livedin France, and the fact of his having any such domestic tie was notsuspected among his acquaintance in England.

  In the course of time his daughter married one Mr. Waddington, hardlywith the full consent of the Bakers, for Mr. Waddington's means weresmall--but not decidedly in opposition to it; nor had the marriagebeen opposed by Mr. Bertram. He of course was asked to assist insupplying money for the young couple. This he refused to give; buthe offered to Mr. Waddington occupation by which an income couldbe earned. Mr. Waddington wisely acceded to his views, and, had helived, would doubtless have lived to become a rich man. He died,however, within four years of his marriage, and it so fell out thathis wife did not survive him above a year or two.

  Of this marriage, Caroline Waddington, our heroine, was the soleoffspring. Mr. Waddington's commercial enterprises had not causedhim to live in London, though he had been required to be therefrequently. Mr. Bertram had, therefore, seen more of him than of hisown daughter. The infant had been born in the house of the Bakers,and there she was brought up. As an orphan of four years old, she hadcome under the care of Mary Baker, and under her care she remained.Miss Baker was therefore not in truth her aunt. What was their exactrelationship I leave as a calculation to those conversant with themysteries of genealogy. I believe myself that she was almost asnearly connected with her lover.

  When Mr. Waddington and his daughter were both dead, Mr. Bertram felthimself to be altogether relieved from family ties. He was not yetan old man, being then about fifty-five; but he was a very rich man.It was of course considered that he would provide liberally for hisgrandchild. But when asked to do so by Miss Baker, he had repliedthat she was provided for; that he had enabled the child's fatherto leave behind him four thousand pounds, which for a girl was aprovision sufficiently liberal; that he would not give rise to falsehopes that she would be his heiress; but that if his niece, MaryBaker, would take the charge of her, he would allow an income for thepurpose. This he had done with sufficient liberality.

  All that is mysterious has now, I believe, been unravelled, and wemay go back to our story. Of Mr. Pritchett, we should perhaps say aword. He had been habituated in his sundry money dealings to lookon Miss Baker as his patron's niece, and had always called her assuch. Indeed, the connection had been so far back that he usuallystyled her Miss Mary. But he did not know, nor--though he was verysuspicious on the matter--did he quite suspect what was the truth asto Miss Waddington. She was niece to his patron's niece; he knew nomore than that, excepting, of course, that she was the daughter ofMr. Waddington, and that she was mistress in her own right of fourthousand pounds.

  Mr. Pritchett was very anxious about his patron's wealth. Here wasMr. Bertram turned seventy years of age--Mr. Pritchett himself wassixty-six--and no one knew who was to be his heir. As far as he, Mr.Pritchett, was aware, he had no heir. Mr. George would naturally beso--so thought Mr. Pritchett; and the old man's apparent anxietyrespecting his nephew, the habit which he had now given himself foryears of paying the cost of that nephew's education, and the incomewhich he now allowed him, all led to such a conclusion. But then theuncle liked so well to lead, and Mr. George was so unwilling to beled! Had Waddington lived, he would have been the heir, doubtless.Miss Waddington might still be so, or even Miss Baker. Mr. Bertram,in his way, was certainly very fond of Miss Baker. It was thus thatMr. Pritchett speculated from day to day. George, however, was alwaysregarded by him as the favourite in the race.

  And now at last we may return to our story.

  Having seen his uncle, George's next business was to see hislady-love. His was a disposition which would not allow him to remainquiet while his hopes were so doubtful and his heart so racked. Hadhe been travelling with Miss Baker ever since, and living in dailyintercourse with Caroline, it is probable enough that he might bythis time have been half tired of her. But his love had had no suchsafety-valve, and was now, therefore, bubbling and boiling within hisheart in a manner very subversive of legal accuracy and injurious tolegal studies.

  It was absolutely necessary, he said to himself, that he should knowon what ground he stood; absolutely necessary, also, that he shouldbe able to talk to some one on the subject. So he wrote to MissBaker, saying that he intended to do himself the pleasure of renewinghis acquaintance with her at Littlebath, and he determined to seeArthur Wilkinson on his way. These were the days in which Wilkinsonwas taking pupils at Oxford, the days in which he used to think somuch of Adela Gauntlet.

  The meeting of the two friends was sufficiently joyous; for such lovesorrows as those which oppressed Bertram when sitting in the chambersof Mr. Neversaye Die rarely oppress a young man in moments whichwould otherwise be jovial. And Arthur had at this time gotten overone misery, and not yet fallen into another. He had obtained thefellowship which he had hardly expected, and was commencing the lifeof a don, with all a don's comforts around him.

  "Well, upon my word, I envy you, Arthur; I do, indeed," said Bertram,looking round his cousin's room at Balliol as they sat down to passan evening quietly together. "This was what I always looked forwardto, as you did also; you have obtained it, I have forsworn it."

  "Your envy cannot be very envious," said Wilkinson, laughing, "as allmy bliss is still within your own reach. You have still your rooms atOriel if you choose to go into them." For Bertram had been elected toa fellowship at that college.

  "All! that's easily said; but somehow it couldn't be. I don't knowwhy it is, Arthur; but I have panted to have the privileges of anordained priest, and yet it is not to be so. I have looked forward toordination as the highest ambition of a man, but yet I shall never beordained."

  "Why not, George?"

  "It is not my destiny."

  "On such a subject, do not t
alk such nonsense."

  "Well, at any rate it will not be my lot. I do not mind telling you,Arthur, but there is no one else to whom I could own how weak I am.There have been moments since I have been away in which I have swornto devote myself to this work, so sworn when every object aroundme was gifted with some solemn tie which should have made my oathsacred; and yet--"

  "Well--and yet? as yet everything is in your own power."

  "No, Arthur, no, it is not so; I am now one of the myrmidons ofthat most special of special pleaders, Mr. Neversaye Die. I havegiven myself over to the glories of a horse-hair wig; 'whereas'and 'heretofore' must now be my gospel; it is my doom to propagatefalsehood instead of truth. The struggle is severe at first; there isa little revulsion of feeling; but I shall do it very well after atime; as easily, I have no doubt, as Harcourt does."

  "It is Harcourt who has led you to this."

  "Perhaps so, partly; but no--I wrong myself in that. It has not beenHarcourt. I have been talked over; I have weakly allowed myself to betalked out of my own resolve, but it has not been done by Harcourt. Imust tell you all: it is for that that I came here."

  And then he told the history of his love; that history which to menof twenty-four and girls of twenty is of such vital importance. Ayoung man when first he loves, and first knows that his love isfrequent in the thoughts of the woman he has chosen, feels himselfto be separated from all humanity by an amber-tinted cloud--to beenveloped in a mystery of which common mortals know nothing. Heshakes his mane as he walks on with rapid step, and regards himselfalmost as a god.

  "And did she object to your taking orders?" asked Wilkinson.

  "Object! no, I am nothing to her; nothing on earth. She would nothave objected to my being a shoemaker; but she said that she wouldadvise me to think of the one trade as soon as the other."

  "I cannot say that I think she showed either good feeling or goodtaste," said Wilkinson, stiffly.

  "Ah! my dear fellow, you do not know her. There was no bad taste init, as she said it. I would defy her to say anything in bad taste.But, Arthur, that does not matter. I have told her that I should goto the bar; and, as a man of honour, I must keep my word to her."

  His cousin had not much inclination to lecture him. Wilkinson himselfwas now a clergyman; but he had become so mainly because he hadfailed in obtaining the power of following any other profession. Hewould have gone to the bar had he been able; and felt himself by nomeans called to rebuke Bertram for doing what he would fain have donehimself.

  "But she has not accepted you, you say. Why should she be sounwilling that you should take orders? Her anxiety on your behalftells a strong tale in your own favour."

  "Ah! you say that because you do not understand her. She was ableto give me advice without giving the least shadow of encouragement.Indeed, when she did advise me, I had not even told her that I lovedher. But the fact is, I cannot bear this state any longer. I willknow the worst at any rate. I wish you could see her, Arthur; youwould not wonder that I should be uneasy."

  And so he went on with a lover's customary eloquence till a late hourin the night. Wilkinson was all patience; but about one o'clock hebegan to yawn, and then they went to bed. Early on the followingmorning, Bertram started for Littlebath.

  The Littlebath world lives mostly in lodgings, and Miss Baker andCaroline lived there as the world mostly does. There are three setsof persons who resort to Littlebath: there is the heavy fast, and thelighter fast set; there is also the pious set. Of the two fast setsneither is scandalously fast. The pace is never very awful. Of theheavies, it may be said that the gentlemen generally wear their coatspadded, are frequently seen standing idle about the parades andterraces, that they always keep a horse, and trot about the roads agood deal when the hounds go out. The ladies are addicted to whistand false hair, but pursue their pleasures with a discreet economy.Of the lighter fast set, assembly balls are the ruling passion; buteven in these there is no wild extravagance. The gentlemen of thisdivision keep usually two horses, on the sale of one of which theirmind is much bent. They drink plentifully of cherry-brandy on huntingdays; but, as a rule, they do not often misbehave themselves. Theyare very careful not to be caught in marriage, and talk about womenmuch as a crafty knowing salmon might be presumed to talk aboutanglers. The ladies are given to dancing, of course, and are noneof them nearly so old as you might perhaps be led to imagine. Theygreatly eschew card-playing; but, nevertheless, now and again one ofthem may be seen to lapse from her sphere and fall into that below,if we may justly say that the votaries of whist are below theworshippers of Terpsichore. Of the pious set much needs not besaid, as their light has never been hid under a bushel. In spite ofhunt-clubs and assembly-rooms, they are the predominant power. Theylive on the fat of the land. They are a strong, unctuous, moral,uncharitable people. The men never cease making money for themselves,nor the women making slippers for their clergymen.

  But though the residents at Littlebath are thus separated as arule into three classes, the classes do not always keep themselvesaccurately to their divisions. There will be some who own a doubleallegiance. One set will tread upon another. There will be those whocan hardly be placed in either. Miss Baker was among this latternumber: on principle, she was an admirer of the great divine on thedomestic comfort of whose toes so many fair fingers had employedthemselves; but, nevertheless, she was not averse to a rubber in itsmildest forms. Caroline did not play whist, but she occasionally gaveway to the allurement prevalent among the younger female world ofLittlebath.

  Miss Baker lived in lodgings, and Bertram therefore went to an hotel.Had she been mistress of the largest house in Littlebath, he wouldhardly have ventured to propose himself as a guest. The "Plough,"however, is a good inn, and he deposited himself there. The huntingseason at Littlebath had commenced, and Bertram soon found that hadhe so wished he could with but little trouble have provided himselfwith a stud in the coffee-room of his hotel.

  He had intended to call on Miss Baker on the evening of his arrival;but he had not actually told her that he would do so: and though hewalked down to the terrace in which she lived, his courage failed himwhen he got there, and he would not go in. "It may be that eveningcalls are not the thing at Littlebath," he said to himself; and so hewalked back to his hotel.

  And on the following day he did not go before two o'clock. Theconsequence was, that poor Miss Baker and her niece were kept at homein a state of miserable suspense. To them his visit was quite asimportant as to himself; and by one of them, the elder namely, it wasregarded with an anxiety quite as nervous.

  When he did call, he was received with all the hospitality due to anold friend. "Why had he not come to tea the night before? Tea hadbeen kept for him till eleven o'clock. Why, at any rate, had he notcome to breakfast? He had been much nicer in Jerusalem," Miss Bakersaid.

  Bertram answered hardly with the spirit which had marked all that hehad said in that far-away land. "He had been afraid to disturb themso late; and had been unwilling to intrude so early." Miss Waddingtonlooked up at him from the collar she was working, and began to askherself whether she really did like him so much.

  "Of course you will dine with us," said Miss Baker. George said hewould, but assured her that he had not intended to give so muchtrouble. Could this be the same man, thought Caroline, who hadsnubbed Mr. M'Gabbery, and had stood by laughing when she slippedinto the water?

  All manner of questions were then asked and answered respecting theirdifferent journeys. Constantinople was described on one side, andthe Tyrol; and on the other the perils of the ride to Jaffa, thediscomforts of the Austrian boat to Alexandria, and the mannersof the ladies from India with whom Miss Baker and her niece hadtravelled in their passage from Egypt to Marseilles. Then they saidsomething about uncle George--not that Miss Baker so called him--andBertram said that he had learnt that Miss Baker had been staying atHadley.

  "Yes," said she; "when I am in town, I have always money mattersto arrange with Mr. Bertram, or rather to have arranged by Mr.Pritchett
; and I usually stay a day or two at Hadley. On thisoccasion I was there a week."

  George could not but think that up to the period of their meeting atJerusalem, Miss Baker had been instructed to be silent about Hadley,but that she was now permitted to speak out openly.

  And so they sat and talked for an hour. Caroline had given heraunt strict injunctions not to go out of the room, so as to leavethem together during Bertram's first visit. "Of course it would bepalpable that you did so for a purpose," said Caroline.

  "And why not?" said Miss Baker, innocently.

  "Never mind, aunt; but pray do not. I don't wish it." Miss Baker ofcourse obeyed, as she always did. And so George sat there, talkingabout anything or nothing, rather lack-a-daisically, till he got upto take his leave.

  "You have not a horse here, I suppose?" said Miss Baker.

  "No; but why do you ask? I can get one in ten minutes, no doubt."

  "Because Caroline will be so glad to have some one to ride with her."

  "Nothing will induce aunt Mary to mount a steed since the day she waslifted out of her saddle at Jaffa," said Caroline.

  "Oh, that journey, Mr. Bertram! but I am a stronger woman than I everthought I was to have lived through it."

  It was soon arranged that George should go back to his inn and hire ahorse, and that he and Caroline should then ride together. In anotherhour or so they were cantering up the face of Ridgebury Hill.

  But the ride produced very little. Caroline here required herattention, and George did not find it practicable to remain closeenough to his love, or long enough close to her, to say what he hadto say with that emphasis which he felt that the subject demanded.There were some little tender allusions to feats of horsemanship donein Syria, some mention of the Mount of Olives, of Miss Todd's picnic,and the pool of Siloam, which might, if properly handled, have ledto much; but they did lead to nothing: and when George helped MissWaddington to dismount at Miss Baker's door, that young lady hadalmost come to the conclusion that he had thought better of his love,and that it would be well that she should think better of hers.

  In accordance with our professed attempt at plain speaking, it maybe as well explained here that Miss Baker, with the view of soundingher uncle's views and wishes, had observed to him that George hadappeared to her to admire Caroline very much. Had the old manremarked, as he might so probably have done, that they were twofools, and would probably become two beggars, Miss Baker would haveknown that the match would be displeasing to him. But he had not doneso. "Ah!" he said; "did he? It is singular they should have met." NowMiss Baker in her wisdom had taken this as a strong hint that thematch would not be displeasing to him.

  Miss Baker had clearly been on George's side from the beginning.Perhaps, had she shown a little opposition, Caroline's ardour mighthave been heightened. As it was, she had professed to doubt. She hadnothing to say against George; much might doubtless be said in hisfavour, but--. In fact, Miss Waddington would have been glad to knowwhat were the intentions of Mr. George Bertram senior.

  "I really wish he had stayed away," she said to her aunt as they weregetting ready for dinner.

  "Nonsense, Caroline; why should he have stayed away? Why should youexpect him to stay away? Had he stayed away, you would have been thefirst to grumble. Don't be missish, my dear."

  "Missish! Upon my word, aunt Mary, you are becoming severe. What Imean is, that I don't think he cares so very much for me; and onthe whole, I am not--not _quite_ sure, whether--well, I won't sayanything more; only it does seem to me that you are much more in lovewith him than I am."

  Bertram came to dinner; and so also did one of the Littlebathcurates, a very energetic young man, but who had not yet achievedabove one or two pairs of worked slippers and a kettle-holder.Greater things, however, were no doubt in store for him if he wouldremain true to his mission. Aunt Mary had intended to ask no one; butCaroline had declared that it was out of the question to expect thatMr. Bertram should drink his wine by himself.

  The whole evening was dull enough, and the work of disenchantment onCaroline's part was nearly accomplished; but Bertram, a few minutesbefore he went away, as the curate was expatiating to Miss Baker onthe excellence of his rector's last sermon, found an occasion to sayone word.

  "Miss Waddington, if I call to-morrow, early after breakfast, willyou see me?" Miss Waddington looked as though there were nothingin the proposition to ruffle her serenity, and said that she would.George's words had been tame enough, but there had been something inthe fire of his eye that at last reminded her of Jerusalem.

  On the next morning, punctually at ten, his knock was heard at thedoor. Caroline had at first persisted that her aunt should not absentherself; but even Miss Baker would not obey such an injunction asthis.

  "How do you expect that the poor young man is to behave?" she hadsaid. "I do not much care how he behaves," Caroline had replied. But,nevertheless, she did care.

  She was therefore sitting alone when Bertram entered the room. Hewalked up to her and took her hand, and as he did so he seemed to bealtogether a different man from that of yesterday. There was purposeenough in his countenance now, and a purpose, apparently, which hehad an intention of pursuing with some energy.

  "Miss Waddington," he said, still holding her hand; "Caroline! Or amI to apologize for calling you so? or is the privilege to be my own?"and then, still holding her hand, he stood as though expectant of ananswer that should settle the affair at once.

  "Our connection through your uncle entitles you to the privilege,"said Caroline, smiling, and using a woman's wiles to get out of thedifficulty.

  "I will take no privilege from you on such a basis. What I have toask of you must be given on my own account, or on my own refused.Caroline, since we parted in that room in Jerusalem, I have thoughtseriously of little else than of you. You could not answer me then;you gave me no answer; you did not know your own heart, you said. Youmust know it now. Absence has taught me much, and it must have taughtyou something."

  "And what has it taught you?" said she, with her eyes fixed on theground.

  "That the world has but one thing desirable for me, and that I shouldnot take a man's part unless I endeavoured to obtain it. I am here toask for it. And now, what has absence taught you?"

  "Oh, so many things! I cannot repeat my lesson in one word, as youdo."

  "Come, Caroline, I look at least for sincerity from you. You are toogood, too gracious to indulge a girlish vanity at the cost of a man'ssuspense."

  Missish and girlish! Miss Waddington felt that it behoved her to lookto her character. These were words which had not usually been appliedto her.

  "Indeed, Mr. Bertram, I should think myself unpardonable to keep youin suspense."

  "Then answer me," said he. He had by this time let go her hand, andwas standing at a little distance from her, on the hearth-rug. Neverhad lady been wooed in a sterner manner; but Caroline almost feltthat she liked him the better for it. He had simpered and said hislittle nothings so like an ordinary gentleman during their ride, thathis present brusqueness was quite a relief to her.

  But still she did not answer him at once. She essayed to stick herneedle into her work, and pricked her finger in lieu of it.

  "Come, Caroline; am I wrong in supposing that now at least you mustknow your own feelings? Or shall I tell you again how dearly, howtruly I love you?"

  "No!--no!--no!"

  "Answer me, then. In honest, plain, Christian sincerity, answer me;as a true woman should answer a true man. Do you love me?"

  For a moment there was no answer.

  "Well, I will not ask again. I will not torment you."

  "Oh, Mr. Bertram! What am I to say? What would you have me say? Donot be so stern with me."

  "Stern!"

  "Well, are you not stern?" And coming up close to him, she lookedinto his face.

  "Caroline," said he, "will you be my wife?"

  "I will." It was a motion of the lips rather than a spoken word; but,nevertheless, he heard it. Fool th
at he was not to have heard itbefore in the beating of her heart; not to have seen it in the tearin her eye; not to have felt it in the warmth of her hand.

  On that afternoon Miss Waddington's ride was much more energetic,and on that evening Miss Baker did not think it necessary to catch acurate to drink wine with George Bertram. He was made quite at home,and given to understand that he had better leave the dining-room whenthe ladies did so.

  There was much talked over that evening and the next day: the upshotof which was, that no marriage could take place till next summer;that perhaps it might be expedient to postpone it till the summertwelvemonths. To this George put, or would have put, an absoluteveto; but Miss Baker only shook her head, and smilingly said thatshe thought it must be so. Nothing was to be done before Christmas;but as Miss Baker was to be at Hadley very early in January, sheundertook to inform Mr. Bertram, and gave strong hopes that he wouldbe prevailed on to favour the marriage.

  "It can make no difference to my purpose whether he does or no," saidGeorge, very independently.