CHAPTER XIII.
ANOTHER JOURNEY TO BOWES.
Mrs. Wilkinson did not leave her home for her long and tediousjourney without considerable parade. Her best new black silk dresswas packed up in order that due honour might be done to LordStapledean's hospitality, and so large a box was needed that Dumplingand the four-wheeled carriage were hardly able to take her to therailway-station. Then there arose the question who should drive her.Arthur offered to do so; but she was going on a journey of decidedhostility as regarded him, and under such circumstances she could notbring herself to use his services even over a portion of the road. Sothe stable-boy was her charioteer.
She talked about Lord Stapledean the whole evening before she went.Arthur would have explained to her something of that nobleman'scharacter if she would have permitted it. But she would not. When hehinted that she would find Lord Stapledean austere in his manner, sheanswered that his lordship no doubt had had his reasons for beingaustere with so very young a man as Arthur had been. When he told herabout the Bowes hotel, she merely shook her head significantly. Anobleman who had been so generous to her and hers as Lord Stapledeanwould hardly allow her to remain at the inn.
"I am very sorry that the journey is forced upon me," she said toArthur, as she sat with her bonnet on, waiting for the vehicle.
"I am sorry that you are going, mother, certainly," he had answered;"because I know that it will lead to disappointment."
"But I have no other course left open to me," she continued. "Icannot see my poor girls turned out houseless on the world." Andthen, refusing even to lean on her son's arm, she stepped up heavilyinto the carriage, and seated herself beside the boy.
"When shall we expect you, mamma?" said Sophia.
"It will be impossible for me to say; but I shall be sure to write assoon as I have seen his lordship. Good-bye to you, girls." And thenshe was driven away.
"It is a very foolish journey," said Arthur.
"Mamma feels that she is driven to it," said Sophia.
Mrs. Wilkinson had written to Lord Stapledean two days before shestarted, informing his lordship that it had become very necessarythat she should wait upon him on business connected with the living,and therefore she was aware that her coming would not be whollyunexpected. In due process of time she arrived at Bowes, very tiredand not a little disgusted at the great expense of her journey. Shehad travelled but little alone, and knew nothing as to the cost ofhotels, and not a great deal as to that of railways, coaches, andpost-chaises. But at last she found herself in the same little innwhich had previously received Arthur when he made the same journey.
"The lady can have a post-chaise, of course," said the landlady,speaking from the bar. "Oh, yes, Lord Stapledean is at home, safeenough. He's never very far away from it to the best of my belief."
"It's only a mile or so, is it?" said Mrs. Wilkinson.
"Seven long miles, ma'am," said the landlady.
"Seven miles! dear, dear. I declare I never was so tired in my life.You can put the box somewhere behind in the post-chaise, can't you?"
"Yes, ma'am; we can do that. Be you a-going to stay at hislordship's, then?"
To this question Mrs. Wilkinson made an ambiguous answer. Herconfidence was waning, now that she drew near to the centre of heraspirations. But at last she did exactly as her son had done beforeher. She said she would take her box; but that it was possible shemight want a bed that evening. "Very possible," the landlady said toherself.
"And you'll take a bite of something before you start, ma'am," shesaid, out loud. But, no; it was only now twelve o'clock, and shewould be at Bowes Lodge a very little after one. She had stillsufficient confidence in Lord Stapledean to feel sure of her lunch.When people reached Hurst Staple Vicarage about that hour, there wasalways something for them to eat. And so she started.
It was April now; but even in April that bleak northern fell was verycold. Nothing more inhospitable than that road could be seen. Itwas unsheltered, swept by every blast, very steep, and mercilesslyoppressed by turnpikes. Twice in those seven miles one-and-sixpencewas inexorably demanded from her.
"But I know one gate always clears the other, when they are so near,"she argued.
"Noa, they doant," was all the answer she received from the turnpikewoman, who held a baby under each arm.
"I am sure the woman is robbing me," said poor Mrs. Wilkinson.
"No, she beant," said the post-boy. They are good hearty people inthat part of the world; but they do not brook suspicion, and thecourtesies of life are somewhat neglected. And then she arrived atLord Stapledean's gate.
"Be you she what sent the letter?" said the woman at the lodge,holding it only half open.
"Yes, my good woman; yes," said Mrs. Wilkinson, thinking that hertroubles were now nearly over. "I am the lady; I am Mrs. Wilkinson."
"Then my lord says as how you're to send up word what you've got tosay." And the woman still stood in the gateway.
"Send up word!" said Mrs. Wilkinson.
"Yees. Just send up word. Here's Jock can rin up."
"But Jock can't tell his lordship what I have to say to him. I haveto see his lordship on most important business," said she, in herdismay.
"I'm telling you no more that what my lord said his ain sell. He justcrawled down here his ain sell. 'If a woman comes,' said he, 'don'tlet her through the gate till she sends up word what she's got to sayto me.'" And the portress looked as though she were resolved to obeyher master's orders.
"Good heavens! There must be some mistake in this, I'm sure. I am theclergyman of Staplehurst--I mean his widow. Staplehurst, you know;his lordship's property."
"I didna know nothing aboot it."
"Oh, drive on, post-boy. There must be some mistake. The woman mustbe making some dreadful mistake."
At last the courage of the lodge-keeper gave way before theimportance of the post-chaise, and she did permit Mrs. Wilkinson toproceed.
"Mither," said the woman's eldest hope, "you'll cotch it noo."
"Eh, lad; weel. He'll no hang me." And so the woman consoled herself.
The house called Bowes Lodge looked damper and greener, more dull,silent, and melancholy, even than it had done when Arthur made hisvisit. The gravel sweep before the door was covered by weeds, and theshrubs looked as though they had known no gardener's care for years.The door itself did not even appear to be for purposes of ingress andegress, and the post-boy had to search among the boughs and foliagewith which the place was overgrown before he could find the bell.When found, it sounded with a hoarse, rusty, jangling noise, asthough angry at being disturbed in so unusual a manner.
But, rusty and angry as it was, it did evoke a servant--though notwithout considerable delay. A cross old man did come at last, andthe door was slowly opened. "Yes," said the man. "The marquis wasat home, no doubt. He was in the study. But that was no rule why heshould see folk." And then he looked very suspiciously at the bigtrunk, and muttered something to the post-boy, which Mrs. Wilkinsoncould not hear.
"Will you oblige me by giving my card to his lordship--Mrs.Wilkinson? I want to see him on very particular business. I wrote tohis lordship to say that I should be here."
"Wrote to his lordship, did you? Then it's my opinion he won't seeyou at all."
"Yes, he will. If you'll take him my card, I know he'll see me. Willyou oblige me, sir, by taking it into his lordship?" And she put onher most imperious look.
The man went, and Mrs. Wilkinson sat silent in the post-chaise for aquarter of an hour. Then the servant returned, informing her that shewas to send in her message. His lordship had given directions at thelodge that she was not to come up, and could not understand how ithad come to pass that the lady had forced her way to the hall-door.At any rate, he would not see her till he knew what it was about.
Now it was impossible for Mrs. Wilkinson to explain the exact natureof her very intricate case to Lord Stapledean's butler, and yet shecould not bring herself to give up the battle without making somefurther effort
. "It is about the vicarage at Hurst Staple," said she;"the vicarage at Hurst Staple," she repeated, impressing the wordson the man's memory. "Don't forget, now." The man gave a look ofineffable scorn, and then walked away, leaving Mrs. Wilkinson stillin the post-chaise.
And now came on an April shower, such as April showers are on theborders of Westmoreland. It rained and blew; and after a while therain turned to sleet. The post-boy buttoned up his coat, and gotunder the shelter of the portico; the horses drooped their heads, andshivered. Mrs. Wilkinson wished herself back at Hurst Staple--or evencomfortably settled at Littlebath, as her son had once suggested.
"His lordship don't know nothing about the vicarage," bellowed outthe butler, opening the hall-door only half way, so that his facejust appeared above the lock.
"Oh, dear! oh, dear!" said Mrs. Wilkinson. "Just let me down into thehall, and then I will explain it to you."
"Them 'orses 'll be foundered as sure as heggs," said the post-boy.
Mrs. Wilkinson at last succeeded in making her way into the hall,and the horses were allowed to go round to the yard. And then atlast, after half a dozen more messages to and fro, she was informedthat Lord Stapledean would see her. So dreadful had been the contesthitherto, that this amount of success was very grateful. Her feelinglatterly had been one of intense hostility to the butler rather thanto her son. Now that she had conquered that most savage Cerberus,all would be pleasant with her. But, alas! she soon found that inpassing Cerberus she had made good her footing in a region as littledesirable as might be.
She was ushered into the same book-room in which Arthur had beenreceived, and soon found herself seated in the same chair, and on thesame spot. Lord Stapledean was thinner now, even than he had beenthen; he had a stoop in his shoulders, and his face and hair weremore gray. His eyes seemed to his visitor to be as sharp and almostas red as those of ferrets. As she entered, he just rose from hisseat and pointed to the chair on which she was to sit.
"Well, ma'am," said he; "what's all this about the clergyman's houseat Hurst Staple? I don't understand it at all."
"No, my lord; I'm sure your lordship can't understand. That's why Ihave thought it my duty to come all this way to explain it."
"All what way?"
"All the way from Hurst Staple, in Hampshire, my lord. When yourlordship was so considerate as to settle what my position in theparish was to be--"
"Settle your position in the parish!"
"Yes, my lord--as to my having the income and the house."
"What does the woman mean?" said he, looking down towards the rugbeneath his feet, but speaking quite out loud. "Settle her positionin the parish! Why, ma'am, I don't know who you are, and what yourposition is, or anything about you."
"I am the widow of the late vicar, Lord Stapledean; and when hedied--"
"I was fool enough to give the living to his son. I remember allabout it. He was an imprudent man, and lived beyond his means, andthere was nothing left for any of you--wasn't that it?"
"Yes, my lord," said Mrs. Wilkinson, who was so troubled in spiritthat she hardly knew what to say. "That is, we never lived beyond ourmeans at all, my lord. There were seven children; and they were alleducated most respectably. The only boy was sent to college; and Idon't think there was any imprudence--indeed I don't, my lord. Andthere was something saved; and the insurance was always regularlypaid; and--"
The marquis absolutely glared at her, as she went on with herdomestic defence. The household at Hurst Staple had been creditablymanaged, considering the income; and it was natural that she shouldwish to set her patron right. But every word that she said carriedher further away from her present object.
"And what on earth have you come to me for?" said Lord Stapledean.
"I'll tell your lordship, if you'll only allow me five minutes. Yourlordship remembers when poor Mr. Wilkinson died?"
"I don't remember anything about it."
"Your lordship was good enough to send for Arthur."
"Arthur!"
"Yes, my lord."
"Who's Arthur?"
"My boy, my lord. Don't you remember? He was just in orders then, andso you were good enough to put him into the living--that is to say,not exactly into the living; but to make him curate, as it were; andyou allocated the income to me; and--"
"Allocated the income!" said Lord Stapledean, putting up his hands intoken of unlimited surprise.
"Yes, my lord. Your lordship saw just how it was; and, as I could notexactly hold the living myself--"
"Hold the living yourself! Why, are you not a woman, ma'am?"
"Yes, my lord, of course; that was the reason. So you put Arthur intothe living, and you allocated the income to me. That is all settled.But now the question is about the house."
"The woman's mad," said Lord Stapledean, looking again to the carpet,but speaking quite out loud. "Stark mad. I think you'd better gohome, ma'am; a great deal better."
"My lord, if you'd only give yourself the trouble to understand me--"
"I don't understand a word you say. I have nothing to do with theincome, or the house, or with you, or with your son."
"Oh, yes, my lord, indeed you have."
"I tell you I haven't, ma'am; and what's more, I won't."
"He's going to marry, my lord," continued Mrs. Wilkinson, beginningto whimper; "and we are to be turned out of the house, unless youwill interfere to prevent it. And he wants me to go and live atLittlebath. And I'm sure your lordship meant me to have the housewhen you allocated the income."
"And you've come all the way to Bowes, have you, because your sonwants to enjoy his own income?"
"No, my lord; he doesn't interfere about that. He knows he can'ttouch that, because your lordship allocated it to me--and, to do himjustice, I don't think he would if he could. And he's not a bad boy,my lord; only mistaken about this."
"Oh, he wants his own house, does he?"
"But it isn't his own house, you know. It has been my house eversince his father died. And if your lordship will remember--"
"I tell you what, Mrs. Wilkinson; it seems to me that your son shouldnot let you come out so far by yourself--"
"My lord!"
"And if you'll take my advice, you'll go home as fast as you can, andlive wherever he bids you."
"But, my lord--"
"At any rate, I must beg you not to trouble me any more about thematter. When I was a young man your husband read with me for a fewmonths; and I really think that two presentations to the living havebeen a sufficient payment for that. I know nothing about your son,and I don't want to know anything. I dare say he's as good as mostother clergymen--"
"Oh, yes; he is, my lord."
"But I don't care a straw who lives in the house."
"Don't you, my lord?" said Mrs. Wilkinson, very despondently.
"Not one straw. I never heard such a proposition from a woman in mylife--never. And now, if you'll allow me, I'll wish you good-morning,ma'am. Good-morning to you." And the marquis made a slight feint, asthough to raise himself from his chair.
Mrs. Wilkinson got up, and stood upright before him, with herhandkerchief to her eyes. It was very grievous to her to have failedso utterly. She still felt sure that if Lord Stapledean would onlybe made to understand the facts of the case, he would even yet takeher part. She had come so far to fight her battle, that she couldnot bring herself to leave the ground as long as a chance of victoryremained to her. How could she put the matter in the fewest words, soas to make the marquis understand the very--very truth?
"If your lordship would only allow me to recall to your memory thecircumstances of the case,--how you, yourself, allocated--"
Lord Stapledean turned suddenly at the bell-rope, and gave it atremendous pull--then another--and then a third, harder than theothers. Down came the rope about his ears, and the peal was heardringing through the house.
"Thompson," he said to the man, as he entered, "show that lady thedoor."
"Yes, my lord."
"Show her the d
oor immediately."
"Yes, my lord," said Thompson, standing irresolute. "Now, ma'am; thepost-chaise is waiting."
Mrs. Wilkinson had still strength enough to prevent collapse, and togather herself together with some little feminine dignity. "I think Ihave been very badly treated," she said, as she prepared to move.
"Thompson," shrieked the marquis, in his passion; "show that lady thedoor."
"Yes, my lord;" and Thompson gracefully waved his hand, pointing downthe passage. It was the only way in which he could show Mrs.Wilkinson the way out.
And then, obedient to necessity, she walked forth. Never had she heldher head so high, or tossed her bonnet with so proud a shake, as shedid in getting into that post-chaise. Thompson held the handle of thecarriage-door: he also offered her his arm, but she despised any suchaid. She climbed in unassisted; the post-boy mounted his jade; andso she was driven forth, not without titters from the woman at thelodge-gate. With heavy heart she reached the inn, and sat herselfdown to weep alone in her bedroom.
"So, you've come back?" said the landlady.
"Ugh!" exclaimed Mrs. Wilkinson.
We will not dwell long on her painful journey back to Hurst Staple;nor on the wretched reflections with which her mind was laden. Shesent on a line by post to her eldest daughter, so that she wasexpected; and Dumpling and the phaeton and the stable-boy were thereto meet her. She had feared that Arthur would come: but Arthur haddreaded the meeting also; and, having talked the matter over with hissisters, had remained at home. He was in the book-room, and hearingthe wheels, as the carriage drew up to the door, he went out to greethis mother on the steps.
At the first moment of meeting there was nothing said, but she warmlypressed the hand which he held out to her.
"What sort of a journey have you had?" said Sophia.
"Oh, it is a dreadful place!" said Mrs. Wilkinson.
"It is not a nice country," said Arthur.
By this time they were in the drawing-room, and the mother was seatedon a sofa, with one of her girls on each side of her.
"Sophy," she said, "get up for a moment; I want Arthur to come here."So Sophy did get up, and her son immediately taking her place, puthis arm round his mother's waist.
"Arthur," she whispered to him, "I fear I have been foolish aboutthis."
That was all that was ever said to him about the journey to Bowes.He was not the man to triumph over his mother's failure. He merelykissed her when her little confession was made, and pressed herslightly with his arm. From that time it was understood that Adelawas to be brought thither, as soon as might be, to reign the mistressof the vicarage; and that then, what further arrangements might benecessary, were to be made by them all at their perfect leisure. Thatquestion of the nursery might, at any rate, remain in abeyance fortwelve months.
Soon after that, it was decided in full conclave, that if Adelawould consent, the marriage should take place in the summer. Veryfrequent letters passed between Hurst Staple and Littlebath, andMrs. Wilkinson no longer alluded to them with severity, or even withdislike. Lord Stapledean had, at any rate, thoroughly convinced herthat the vicarage-house belonged to the vicar--to the vicar male, andnot to the vicar female; and now that her eyes had been opened onthis point, she found herself obliged to confess that Adela Gauntletwould not make a bad wife.
"Of course we shall be poor, mother; but we expect that."
"I hope you will, at least, be happy," said Mrs. Wilkinson, notliking at present to dwell on the subject of their poverty, as herconscience began to admonish her with reference to the three hundredand fifty pounds per annum.
"I should think I might be able to get pupils," continued Arthur."If I had two at one hundred and fifty pounds each, we might becomfortable enough."
"Perhaps Adela would not like to have lads in the house."
"Ah, mother, you don't know Adela. She will not object to anythingbecause she does not herself like it." And in this manner that affairwas so far settled.
And then Adela was invited to Hurst Staple, and she accepted theinvitation. She was not coy in declaring the pleasure with which shedid so, nor was she bashful or shamefaced in the matter. She lovedthe man that she was to marry--had long loved him; and now it waspermitted to her to declare her love. Now it was her duty to declareit, and to assure him, with all the pretty protestations in herpower, that her best efforts should be given to sweeten his cup, andsmooth his path. Her duty now was to seek his happiness, to share histroubles, to be one with him. In her mind it was not less her dutynow than it would be when, by God's ordinance, they should be onebone and one flesh.
While their mother had held her seat on her high horse, withreference to that question of the house, Sophia and Mary had almostprofessed hostility to Adela. They had given in no cordial adherenceto their brother's marriage; but now they were able to talk of theircoming sister with interest and affection. "I know that Adela wouldlike this, Arthur;" and "I'm sure that Adela would prefer that;" and"when we're gone, you know, Adela will do so and so." Arthur receivedall this with brotherly love and the kindest smiles, and thanked Godin his heart that his mother had taken that blessed journey to BowesLodge.
"Adela," he once said to her, as they were walking together, onelonely spring evening, along the reedy bank of that river, "Adela,had I had your courage, all this would have been settled long since."
"I don't know," she said; "but I am sure of this, that it is muchbetter as it is. Now we may fairly trust that we do know our ownminds. Love should be tried, perhaps, before it is trusted."
"I should have trusted yours at the first word you could have spoken,the first look you would have given me."
"And I should have done so too; and then we might have been wrong. Isit not well as it is, Arthur?"
And then he declared that it was very well; very well, indeed. Ah,yes! how could it have been better with him? He thought too of hispast sorrows, his deep woes, his great disappointments; of thatbitter day at Oxford when the lists came down; of the half-brokenheart with which he had returned from Bowes; of the wretchednessof that visit to West Putford. He thought of the sad hours hehad passed, seated idle and melancholy in the vicarage book-room,meditating on his forlorn condition. He had so often wailed over hisown lot, droning out a dirge, a melancholy vae victis for himself! Andnow, for the first time, he could change the note. Now, his song wasIo triumphe, as he walked along. He shouted out a joyful paean withthe voice of his heart. Had he taken the most double of all firsts,what more could fate have given to him? or, at any rate, what bettercould fate have done for him?
And to speak sooth, fate had certainly given to him quite as much ashe had deserved.
And then it was settled that they should be married early in theensuing June. "On the first," said Arthur. "No; the thirtieth," saidAdela, laughing. And then, as women always give more than they claim,it was settled that they should be married on the eleventh. Let ustrust that the day may always be regarded as propitious.
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