CHAPTER XLVI
THE SCENE OF SIR WILLOUGHBY'S GENERALSHIP
History, we may fear, will never know the qualities of leadershipinherent in Sir Willoughby Patterne to fit him for the post ofCommander of an army, seeing that he avoided the fatigues of theservice and preferred the honours bestowed in his country upon thequiet administrators of their own estates: but his possession ofparticular gifts, which are military, and especially of the prolepticmind, which is the stamp and sign-warrant of the heaven-sent General,was displayed on every urgent occasion when, in the midst ofdifficulties likely to have extinguished one less alert than he to thethreatening aspect of disaster, he had to manoeuvre himself.
He had received no intimation of Mr. Dale's presence in his house, norof the arrival of the dreaded women Lady Busshe and Lady Culmer: hislocked door was too great a terror to his domestics. Having finishedwith Vernon, after a tedious endeavour to bring the fellow to a senseof the policy of the step urged on him, he walked out on the lawn withthe desire to behold the opening of an interview not promising to leadto much, and possibly to profit by its failure. Clara had beenprepared, according to his directions, by Mrs. Mountstuart Jenkinson,as Vernon had been prepared by him. His wishes, candidly and kindlyexpressed both to Vernon and Mrs Mountstuart, were, that since the girlappeared disinclined to make him a happy man, she would make one of hiscousin. Intimating to Mrs. Mountstuart that he would be happierwithout her, he alluded to the benefit of the girl's money to poor oldVernon, the general escape from a scandal if old Vernon could manage tocatch her as she dropped, the harmonious arrangement it would be forall parties. And only on the condition of her taking Vernon would heconsent to give her up. This he said imperatively, adding that such wasthe meaning of the news she had received relating to Laetitia Dale.From what quarter had she received it? he asked. She shuffled in herreply, made a gesture to signify that it was in the air, universal, andfell upon the proposed arrangement. He would listen to none of Mrs.Mountstuart's woman-of-the-world instances of the folly of pressing itupon a girl who had shown herself a girl of spirit. She foretold thefailure. He would not be advised; he said: "It is my scheme"; andperhaps the look of mad benevolence about it induced the lady to trywhether there was a chance that it would hit the madness in our nature,and somehow succeed or lead to a pacification. Sir Willoughbycondescended to arrange things thus for Clara's good; he would thenproceed to realize his own. Such was the face he put upon it. We canwear what appearance we please before the world until we are found out,nor is the world's praise knocking upon hollowness always hollow music;but Mrs Mountstuart's laudation of his kindness and simplicitydisturbed him; for though he had recovered from his rebuff enough toimagine that Laetitia could not refuse him under reiterated pressure,he had let it be supposed that she was a submissive handmaidenthrobbing for her elevation; and Mrs Mountstuart's belief in itafflicted his recent bitter experience; his footing was not perfectlysecure. Besides, assuming it to be so, he considered the sort of prizehe had won; and a spasm of downright hatred of a world for which wemake mighty sacrifices to be repaid in a worn, thin, comparativelyvalueless coin, troubled his counting of his gains. Laetitia, it wastrue, had not passed through other hands in coming to him, as Vernonwould know it to be Clara's case: time only had worn her: but thecomfort of the reflection was annoyed by the physical contrast of thetwo. Hence an unusual melancholy in his tone that Mrs. Mountstuartthought touching. It had the scenic effect on her which greatlycontributes to delude the wits. She talked of him to Clara as being aman who had revealed an unsuspected depth.
Vernon took the communication curiously. He seemed readier to be inlove with his benevolent relative than with the lady. He was confused,undisguisedly moved, said the plan was impossible, out of the question,but thanked Willoughby for the best of intentions, thanked him warmly.After saying that the plan was impossible, the comical fellow allowedhimself to be pushed forth on the lawn to see how Miss Middleton mighthave come out of her interview with Mrs. Mountstuart. Willoughbyobserved Mrs. Mountstuart meet him, usher him to the place she hadquitted among the shrubs, and return to the open turf-spaces. He sprangto her.
"She will listen." Mrs. Mountstuart said: "She likes him, respects him,thinks he is a very sincere friend, clever, a scholar, and a goodmountaineer; and thinks you mean very kindly. So much I have impressedon her, but I have not done much for Mr. Whitford."
"She consents to listen," said Willoughby, snatching at that as thedeath-blow to his friend Horace.
"She consents to listen, because you have arranged it so that if shedeclined she would be rather a savage."
"You think it will have no result?"
"None at all."
"Her listening will do."
"And you must be satisfied with it."
"We shall see."
"'Anything for peace', she says: and I don't say that a gentleman witha tongue would not have a chance. She wishes to please you."
"Old Vernon has no tongue for women, poor fellow! You will have us bespider or fly, and if a man can't spin a web all he can hope is not tobe caught in one. She knows his history, too, and that won't be in hisfavour. How did she look when you left them?"
"Not so bright: like a bit of china that wants dusting. She looked atrifle gauche, it struck me; more like a country girl with the hoydentaming in her than the well-bred creature she is. I did not suspect herto have feeling. You must remember, Sir Willoughby, that she has obeyedyour wishes, done her utmost: I do think we may say she has made someamends; and if she is to blame she repents, and you will not insist toofar."
"I do insist," said he.
"Beneficent, but a tyrant!"
"Well, well." He did not dislike the character.
They perceived Dr. Middleton wandering over the lawn, and Willoughbywent to him to put him on the wrong track: Mrs. Mountstuart swept intothe drawing-room. Willoughby quitted the Rev. Doctor, and hung aboutthe bower where he supposed his pair of dupes had by this time ceasedto stutter mutually:--or what if they had found the word of harmony? Hecould bear that, just bear it. He rounded the shrubs, and, behold, bothhad vanished. The trellis decorated emptiness. His idea was, that theyhad soon discovered their inability to be turtles: and desiring not tolose a moment while Clara was fretted by the scene, he rushed to thedrawing-room with the hope of lighting on her there, getting her tohimself, and finally, urgently, passionately offering her the solealternative of what she had immediately rejected. Why had he not usedpassion before, instead of limping crippled between temper and policy?He was capable of it: as soon as imagination in him conceived hispersonal feelings unwounded and unimperiled, the might of it inspiredhim with heroical confidence, and Clara grateful, Clara softly moved,led him to think of Clara melted. Thus anticipating her he burst intothe room.
One step there warned him that he was in the jaws of the world. We havethe phrase, that a man is himself under certain trying circumstances.There is no need to say it of Sir Willoughby: he was thrice himselfwhen danger menaced, himself inspired him. He could read at a singleglance the Polyphemus eye in the general head of a company. LadyBusshe, Lady Culmer, Mrs. Mountstuart, Mr. Dale, had a similarity inthe variety of their expressions that made up one giant eye for himperfectly, if awfully, legible. He discerned the fact that his demonsecret was abroad, universal. He ascribed it to fate. He was in thejaws of the world, on the world's teeth. This time he thought Laetitiamust have betrayed him, and bowing to Lady Busshe and Lady Culmer,gallantly pressing their fingers and responding to their becks andarchnesses, he ruminated on his defences before he should accost herfather. He did not want to be alone with the man, and he considered howhis presence might be made useful.
"I am glad to see you, Mr. Dale. Pray, be seated. Is it natureasserting her strength? or the efficacy of medicine? I fancy it can'tbe both. You have brought us back your daughter?"
Mr. Dale sank into a chair, unable to resist the hand forcing him.
"No, Sir Willoughby, no. I have not; I have not seen her since she c
amehome this morning from Patterne."
"Indeed? She is unwell?"
"I cannot say. She secludes herself."
"Has locked herself in," said Lady Busshe.
Willoughby threw her a smile. It made them intimate.
This was an advantage against the world, but an exposure of himself tothe abominable woman.
Dr. Middleton came up to Mr. Dale to apologize for not presenting hisdaughter Clara, whom he could find neither in nor out of the house.
"We have in Mr. Dale, as I suspected," he said to Willoughby, "a stoutally."
"If I may beg two minutes with you, Sir Willoughby," said Mr. Dale.
"Your visits are too rare for me to allow of your numbering theminutes," Willoughby replied. "We cannot let Mr. Dale escape us nowthat we have him, I think, Dr. Middleton."
"Not without ransom," said the Rev. Doctor.
Mr. Dale shook his head. "My strength, Sir Willoughby, will not sustainme long."
"You are at home, Mr. Dale."
"Not far from home, in truth, but too far for an invalid beginning togrow sensible of weakness."
"You will regard Patterne as your home, Mr. Dale," Willoughby repeatedfor the world to hear.
"Unconditionally?" Dr. Middleton inquired, with a humourous air ofdissenting.
Willoughby gave him a look that was coldly courteous, and then helooked at Lady Busshe. She nodded imperceptibly. Her eyebrows rose, andWilloughby returned a similar nod.
Translated, the signs ran thus:
"--Pestered by the Rev. gentleman:--I see you are. Is the story I haveheard correct?--Possibly it may err in a few details."
This was fettering himself in loose manacles.
But Lady Busshe would not be satisfied with the compliment of theintimate looks and nods. She thought she might still be behind Mrs.Mountstuart; and she was a bold woman, and anxious about him,half-crazed by the riddle of the pot she was boiling in, and havingvery few minutes to spare. Not extremely reticent by nature, privilegedby station, and made intimate with him by his covert looks, she stoodup to him. "One word to an old friend. Which is the father of thefortunate creature? I don't know how to behave to them." No time wasafforded him to be disgusted with her vulgarity and audacity.
He replied, feeling her rivet his gyves: "The house will be emptyto-morrow."
"I see. A decent withdrawal, and very well cloaked. We had a tale hereof her running off to decline the honour, afraid, or on her dignity orsomething."
How was it that the woman was ready to accept the altered posture ofaffairs in his house--if she had received a hint of them? He forgotthat he had prepared her in self-defence.
"From whom did you have that?" he asked.
"Her father. And the lady aunts declare it was the cousin she refused!"Willoughby's brain turned over. He righted it for action, and crossedthe room to the ladies Eleanor and Isabel. His ears tingled. He and hiswhole story discussed in public! Himself unroofed! And the marvel thathe of all men should be in such a tangle, naked and blown on, condemnedto use his cunningest arts to unwind and cover himself, struck him asthough the lord of his kind were running the gauntlet of a legion ofimps. He felt their lashes.
The ladies were talking to Mrs. Mountstuart and Lady Culmer of Vernonand the suitableness of Laetitia to a scholar. He made sign to them,and both rose.
"It is the hour for your drive. To the cottage! Mr. Dale is in. Shemust come. Her sick father! No delay, going or returning. Bring herhere at once."
"Poor man!" they sighed; and "Willoughby," said one, and the othersaid: "There is a strange misconception you will do well to correct."
They were about to murmur what it was. He swept his hand round, andexcusing themselves to their guests, obediently they retired.
Lady Busshe at his entreaty remained, and took a seat beside LadyCulmer and Mrs. Mountstuart.
She said to the latter: "You have tried scholars. What do you think?"
"Excellent, but hard to mix," was the reply.
"I never make experiments," said Lady Culmer.
"Some one must!" Mrs. Mountstuart groaned over her dull dinner-party.
Lady Busshe consoled her. "At any rate, the loss of a scholar is noloss to the county."
"They are well enough in towns," Lady Culmer said.
"And then I am sure you must have them by themselves."
"We have nothing to regret."
"My opinion."
The voice of Dr. Middleton in colloquy with Mr. Dale swelled on amelodious thunder: "For whom else should I plead as the passionateadvocate I proclaimed myself to you, sir? There is but one man known tome who would move me to back him upon such an adventure. Willoughby,join me. I am informing Mr. Dale . . ."
Willoughby stretched his hands out to Mr. Dale to support him on hislegs, though he had shown no sign of a wish to rise.
"You are feeling unwell, Mr. Dale."
"Do I look very ill, Sir Willoughby?"
"It will pass. Laetitia will be with us in twenty minutes." Mr. Dalestruck his hands in a clasp. He looked alarmingly ill, andsatisfactorily revealed to his host how he could be made to look so.
"I was informing Mr. Dale that the petitioner enjoys our concurrentgood wishes: and mine in no degree less than yours, Willoughby,"observed Dr. Middleton, whose billows grew the bigger for a check. Hesupposed himself speaking confidentially. "Ladies have the trick, theyhave, I may say, the natural disposition for playing enigma now andagain. Pressure is often a sovereign specific. Let it be tried upon herall round from every radiating line of the circle. You she refuses.Then I venture to propose myself to appeal to her. My daughter hasassuredly an esteem for the applicant that will animate a woman'stongue in such a case. The ladies of the house will not be backward.Lastly, if necessary, we trust the lady's father to add his instances.My prescription is, to fatigue her negatives; and where no rootedobjection exists, I maintain it to be the unfailing receipt for theconduct of the siege. No woman can say No forever. The defence has notsuch resources against even a single assailant, and we shall havesolved the problem of continuous motion before she will have learned todeny in perpetuity. That I stand on."
Willoughby glanced at Mrs. Mountstuart.
"What is that?" she said. "Treason to our sex, Dr. Middleton?"
"I think I heard that no woman can say No forever!" remarked LadyBusshe.
"To a loyal gentleman, ma'am: assuming the field of the recurringrequest to be not unholy ground; consecrated to affirmatives rather."
Dr Middleton was attacked by three angry bees. They made him say yesand no alternately so many times that he had to admit in men a shiftieryieldingness than women were charged with.
Willoughby gesticulated as mute chorus on the side of the ladies; and alittle show of party spirit like that, coming upon their excitementunder the topic, inclined them to him genially. He drew Mr. Dale awaywhile the conflict subsided in sharp snaps of rifles and an intervalrejoinder of a cannon. Mr. Dale had shown by signs that he was growingfretfully restive under his burden of doubt.
"Sir Willoughby, I have a question. I beg you to lead me where I mayask it. I know my head is weak."
"Mr. Dale, it is answered when I say that my house is your home, andthat Laetitia will soon be with us."
"Then this report is true?"
"I know nothing of reports. You are answered."
"Can my daughter be accused of any shadow of falseness, dishonourabledealing?"
"As little as I."
Mr. Dale scanned his face. He saw no shadow.
"For I should go to my grave bankrupt if that could be said of her; andI have never yet felt poor, though you know the extent of a pensioner'sincome. Then this tale of a refusal . . . ?"
"Is nonsense."
"She has accepted?"
"There are situations, Mr. Dale, too delicate to be clothed in positivedefinitions."
"Ah, Sir Willoughby, but it becomes a father to see that his daughteris not forced into delicate situations. I hope all is well. I amconfused. I
t may be my head. She puzzles me. You are not . . . Can Iask it here? You are quite . . . ? Will you moderate my anxiety? Myinfirmities must excuse me."
Sir Willoughby conveyed by a shake of the head and a pressure of Mr.Dale's hand, that he was not, and that he was quite.
"Dr Middleton?" said Mr. Dale.
"He leaves us to-morrow."
"Really!" The invalid wore a look as if wine had been poured into him.He routed his host's calculations by calling to the Rev. Doctor. "Weare to lose you, sir?"
Willoughby attempted an interposition, but Dr. Middleton crashedthrough it like the lordly organ swallowing a flute.
"Not before I score my victory, Mr. Dale, and establish my friend uponhis rightful throne."
"You do not leave to-morrow, sir?"
"Have you heard, sir, that I leave to-morrow?"
Mr. Dale turned to Sir Willoughby.
The latter said: "Clara named to-day. To-morrow I thought preferable."
"Ah!" Dr. Middleton towered on the swelling exclamation, but with nodark light. He radiated splendidly. "Yes, then, to-morrow. That is, ifwe subdue the lady."
He advanced to Willoughby, seized his hand, squeezed it, thanked him,praised him. He spoke under his breath, for a wonder; but: "We are inyour debt lastingly, my friend", was heard, and he was impressive, heseemed subdued, and saying aloud: "Though I should wish to aid in thereduction of that fortress", he let it be seen that his mind was rid ofa load.
Dr. Middleton partly stupefied Willoughby by his way of taking it, buthis conduct was too serviceable to allow of speculation on hisreadiness to break the match. It was the turning-point of theengagement.
Lady Busshe made a stir.
"I cannot keep my horses waiting any longer," she said, and beckoned.Sir Willoughby was beside her immediately.
"You are admirable! perfect! Don't ask me to hold my tongue. I retract,I recant. It is a fatality. I have resolved upon that view. You couldstand the shot of beauty, not of brains. That is our report. There! Andit's delicious to feel that the county wins you. No tea. I cannotpossibly wait. And, oh! here she is. I must have a look at her. My dearLaetitia Dale!"
Willoughby hurried to Mr. Dale.
"You are not to be excited, sir: compose yourself. You will recover andbe strong to-morrow: you are at home; you are in your own house; youare in Laetitia's drawing-room. All will be clear to-morrow. Tillto-morrow we talk riddles by consent. Sit, I beg. You stay with us."
He met Laetitia and rescued her from Lady Busshe, murmuring, with theair of a lover who says, "my love! my sweet!" that she had done rightlyto come and come at once. Her father had been thrown into the propercondition of clammy nervousness to create the impression. Laetitia'sanxiety sat prettily on her long eyelashes as she bent over him in hischair.
Hereupon Dr. Corney appeared; and his name had a bracing effect on Mr.Dale. "Corney has come to drive me to the cottage," he said. "I amashamed of this public exhibition of myself, my dear. Let us go. Myhead is a poor one."
Dr. Corney had been intercepted. He broke from Sir Willoughby with adozen little nods of accurate understanding of him, even to beyond themark of the communications. He touched his patient's pulse lightly,briefly sighed with professional composure, and pronounced: "Rest. Mustnot be moved. No, no, nothing serious," he quieted Laetitia's fears,"but rest, rest. A change of residence for a night will tone him. Iwill bring him a draught in the course of the evening. Yes, yes, I'llfetch everything wanted from the cottage for you and for him. Reposeon Corney's forethought."
"You are sure, Dr. Corney?" said Laetitia, frightened on her father'saccount and on her own.
"Which aspect will be the best for Mr. Dale's bedroom?" the hospitableladies Eleanor and Isabel inquired.
"Southeast, decidedly: let him have the morning sun: a warm air, avigorous air, and a bright air, and the patient wakes and sings in hisbed."
Still doubtful whether she was in a trap, Laetitia whispered to herfather of the privacy and comforts of his home. He replied to her thathe thought he would rather be in his own home.
Dr Corney positively pronounced No to it.
Laetitia breathed again of home, but with the sigh of one overborne.
The ladies Eleanor and Isabel took the word from Willoughby, and said:"But you are at home, my dear. This is your home. Your father will beat least as well attended here as at the cottage."
She raised her eyelids on them mournfully, and by chance diverted herlook to Dr. Middleton, quite by chance.
It spoke eloquently to the assembly of all that Willoughby desired tobe imagined.
"But there is Crossjay," she cried. "My cousin has gone, and the boy isleft alone. I cannot have him left alone. If we, if, Dr. Corney, youare sure it is unsafe for papa to be moved to-day, Crossjay must . . .he cannot be left."
"Bring him with you, Corney," said Sir Willoughby; and the littledoctor heartily promised that he would, in the event of his findingCrossjay at the cottage, which he thought a distant probability.
"He gave me his word he would not go out till my return," saidLaetitia.
"And if Crossjay gave you his word," the accents of a new voicevibrated close by, "be certain that he will not come back with Dr.Corney unless he has authority in your handwriting."
Clara Middleton stepped gently to Laetitia, and with a manner that wasan embrace, as much as kissed her for what she was doing on behalf ofCrossjay. She put her lips in a pouting form to simulate saying: "Pressit."
"He is to come," said Laetitia.
"Then write him his permit."
There was a chatter about Crossjay and the sentinel true to his postthat he could be, during which Laetitia distressfully scribbled a linefor Dr. Corney to deliver to him. Clara stood near. She had rebukedherself for want of reserve in the presence of Lady Busshe and LadyCulmer, and she was guilty of a slightly excessive containment when shenext addressed Laetitia. It was, like Laetitia's look at Dr. Middleton,opportune: enough to make a man who watched as Willoughby did afatalist for life: the shadow of a difference in her bearing towardLaetitia sufficed to impute acting either to her present coolness orher previous warmth. Better still, when Dr. Middleton said: "So weleave to-morrow, my dear, and I hope you have written to theDarletons," Clara flushed and beamed, and repressed her animation on asudden, with one grave look, that might be thought regretful, to whereWilloughby stood.
Chance works for us when we are good captains.
Willoughby's pride was high, though he knew himself to be keeping it uplike a fearfully dexterous juggler, and for an empty reward: but hewas in the toils of the world.
"Have you written? The post-bag leaves in half an hour," he addressedher.
"We are expected, but I will write," she replied: and her not havingyet written counted in his favour.
She went to write the letter. Dr. Corney had departed on his mission tofetch Crossjay and medicine. Lady Busshe was impatient to be gone."Corney," she said to Lady Culmer, "is a deadly gossip."
"Inveterate," was the answer.
"My poor horses!"
"Not the young pair of bays?"
"Luckily they are, my dear. And don't let me hear of dining to-night!"
Sir Willoughby was leading out Mr. Dale to a quiet room, contiguous tothe invalid gentleman's bedchamber. He resigned him to Laetitia in thehall, that he might have the pleasure of conducting the ladies to theircarriage.
"As little agitation as possible. Corney will soon be back," he said,bitterly admiring the graceful subservience of Laetitia's figure to herfather's weight on her arm.
He had won a desperate battle, but what had he won?
What had the world given him in return for his efforts to gain it?Just a shirt, it might be said: simple scanty clothing, no warmth.Lady Busshe was unbearable; she gabbled; she was ill-bred, permittedherself to speak of Dr. Middleton as ineligible, no loss to the county.And Mrs. Mountstuart was hardly much above her, with her inevitablestroke of caricature:--"You see Doctor Middleton's pulpit scamperingafter him with
legs!" Perhaps the Rev. Doctor did punish the world forhis having forsaken his pulpit, and might be conceived as haunted by itat his heels, but Willoughby was in the mood to abhor comic images; hehated the perpetrators of them and the grinners. Contempt of thislaughing empty world, for which he had performed a monstrousimmolation, led him to associate Dr. Middleton in his mind, and Claratoo, with the desireable things he had sacrificed--a shape of youth andhealth; a sparkling companion; a face of innumerable charms; and hisown veracity; his inner sense of his dignity; and his temper, and thelimpid frankness of his air of scorn, that was to him a visage ofcandid happiness in the dim retrospect. Haply also he had sacrificedmore: he looked scientifically into the future: he might havesacrificed a nameless more. And for what? he asked again. For thefavourable looks and tongues of these women whose looks and tongues hedetested!
"Dr Middleton says he is indebted to me: I am deeply in his debt," heremarked.
"It is we who are in your debt for a lovely romance, my dear SirWilloughby," said Lady Busshe, incapable of taking a correction, sothoroughly had he imbued her with his fiction, or with the belief thatshe had a good story to circulate. Away she drove, rattling her tongueto Lady Culmer.
"A hat and horn, and she would be in the old figure of a post-boy on ahue-and-cry sheet," said Mrs. Mountstuart.
Willoughby thanked the great lady for her services, and shecomplimented the polished gentleman on his noble self-possession. Butshe complained at the same time of being defrauded of her "charmer"Colonel De Craye, since luncheon. An absence of warmth in hercompliment caused Willoughby to shrink and think the wretched shirt hehad got from the world no covering after all: a breath flapped it.
"He comes to me to-morrow, I believe," she said, reflecting on hersuperior knowledge of facts in comparison with Lady Busshe, who wouldpresently be hearing of something novel, and exclaiming: "So, that iswhy you patronized the colonel!" And it was nothing of the sort, forMrs. Mountstuart could honestly say she was not the woman to make abusiness of her pleasure.
"Horace is an enviable fellow," said Willoughby, wise in The Book,which bids us ever, for an assuagement to fancy our friend's conditionworse than our own, and recommends the deglutition of irony as the mostbalsamic for wounds in the whole moral pharmacopoeia.
"I don't know," she replied, with a marked accent of deliberation.
"The colonel is to have you to himself to-morrow!"
"I can't be sure of what I shall have in the colonel!"
"Your perpetual sparkler?"
Mrs. Mountstuart set her head in motion. She left the matter silent.
"I'll come for him in the morning," she said, and her carriage whirledher off. Either she had guessed it, or Clara had confided to her thetreacherous passion of Horace De Craye.
However, the world was shut away from Patterne for the night.