CHAPTER XII
Lady Lucy did not reply at once. She slowly drew forward the neglectedtea-table, made tea, and offered it to Sir James. He took itimpatiently, the Irish blood in him running hot and fast; and when shehad finished her cup, and still the silence lasted, except for thetrivial question-and-answer of the tea-making, he broke in upon it witha somewhat peremptory--
"Well?"
Lady Lucy clasped her hands on her lap. The hand which had been so farbare was now gloved like the other, and something in the spectacle ofthe long fingers, calmly interlocked and clad in spotless white kid,increased the secret exasperation in her companion.
"Believe me, dear Sir James," she said at last, lifting her clear browneyes, "I am very grateful to you. It must have been a great effort foryou to tell me this awful story, and I thank you for the confidence youhave reposed in me."
Sir James pushed his chair back.
"I did it, of course, for a special reason," he said, sharply. "I hope Ihave given you cause to change your mind."
She shook her head slowly.
"What have you proved to me? That Mrs. Sparling's crime was not sohideous as some of us supposed?--that she did not fall to the lowestdepths of all?--and that she endured great provocation? But couldanything really be more vile than the history of those weeks ofexcitement and fraud?--of base yielding to temptation?--of cruelty toher husband and child?--even as you have told it? Her conduct leddirectly to adultery and violence. If, by God's mercy, she was savedfrom the worst crimes imputed to her, does it make much difference tothe moral judgment we must form?"
He looked at her in amazement.
"No difference!--between murder and a kind of accident?--betweenadultery and fidelity?"
Lady Lucy hesitated--then resumed, with stubbornness: "You put it--likean advocate. But look at the indelible facts--look at the future. If myson married the daughter of such a woman and had children, what musthappen? First of all, could he, could any one, be free from the dread ofinherited lawlessness and passion? A woman does not gamble, steal, andtake life in a moment of violence without some exceptional flaw intemperament and will, and we see again and again how such flaws reappearin the descendants of weak and wicked people. Then again--Oliver mustrenounce and throw away all that is implied in family memories andtraditions. His wife could never speak to her children and his of herown mother and bringing up. They would be kept in ignorance, as sheherself was kept, till the time came that they must know. Say what youwill, Juliet Sparling was condemned to death for murder in a notoriouscase--after a trial which also branded her as a thief. Think of a boy atEton or Oxford--a girl in her first youth--hearing for the firsttime--perhaps in some casual way--the story of the woman whose blood ranin theirs!--What a cloud on a family!--what a danger and drawback foryoung lives!"
Her delicate features, under the crown of white hair, were once moreflooded with color, and the passion in her eyes held them steady underSir James's penetrating look. Through his inner mind there ran the cry:"Pharisee!--Hypocrite!"
But he fought on.
"Lady Lucy!--your son loves this girl--remember that! And in herself youadmit that she is blameless--all that you could desire for hiswife--remember that also."
"I remember both. But I was brought up by people who never admitted thatany feeling was beyond our control or ought to be indulged--againstright and reason."
"Supposing Oliver entirely declines to take your view?--supposing hemarries Miss Mallory?"
"He will not break my heart," she said, drawing a quicker breath. "Hewill get over it."
"But if he persists?"
"He must take the consequences. I cannot aid and abet him."
"And the girl herself? She has accepted him. She is young, innocent,full of tender and sensitive feeling. Is it possible that you should notweigh her claim against your fears and scruples?"
"I feel for her most sincerely."
Sir James suddenly threw out a restless foot, which caught Lady Lucy'sfox terrier, who was snoozing under the tea-table. He hastilyapologized, and the speaker resumed:
"But, in my opinion, she would do a far nobler thing if she regardedherself as bound to some extent to bear her mother's burden--to pay hermother's debt to society. It may sound harsh--but is it? Is a dedicatedlife necessarily an unhappy life? Would not everybody respect and revereher? She would sacrifice herself, as the Sister of Mercy does, or themissionary, and she would find her reward. But to enter a family with anunstained record, bearing with her such a name and such associations,would be, in my opinion, a wrong and selfish act!"
Lady Lucy drew herself to her full height. In the dusk of the decliningafternoon the black satin and white ruffles of her dress, her white headin its lace cap, her thin neck and shoulders, her tall slenderness, andthe rigidity of her attitude, made a formidable study in personality.Sir James's whole soul rose in one scornful and indignant protest. Buthe felt himself beaten. The only hope lay in Oliver himself.
He rose slowly from his chair.
"It is useless, I see, to try and argue the matter further. But I warnyou: I do not believe that Oliver will obey you, and--forgive me LadyLucy!--but--frankly--I hope he will not. Nor will he suffer tooseverely, even if you, his mother, desert him. Miss Mallory has somefortune--"
"Oliver will not live upon his wife!"
"He may accept her aid till he has found some way of earning money. Whatamazes me--if you will allow me the liberty of an old friend--is thatyou should think a woman justified in coercing a son of mature age insuch a matter!"
His tone, his manner pierced Lady Lucy's pride. She threw back her headnervously, but her tone was calm:
"A woman to whom property has been intrusted must do her best to seethat the will and desires of those who placed it in her hands arecarried out!"
"Well, well!"--Sir James looked for his stick--"I am sorry forOliver--but"--he straightened himself--"it will make a bigger manof him."
Lady Lucy made no reply, but her expression was eloquent of a patiencewhich her old friend might abuse if he would.
"Does Ferrier know? Have you consulted him?" asked Sir James, turningabruptly.
"He will be here, I think, this afternoon--as usual," said Lady Lucy,evasively. "And, of course, he must know what concerns us so deeply."
As she spoke the hall-door bell was heard.
"That is probably he." She looked at her companion uncertainly. "Don'tgo, Sir James--unless you are really in a hurry."
The invitation was not urgent; but Sir James stayed, all the same.Ferrier was a man so interesting to his friends that no judgment of hiscould be indifferent to them. Moreover, there was a certain angrycuriosity as to how far Lady Lucy's influence would affect him. Chidetook inward note of the fact that his speculation took this form, andnot another. Oh! the hypocritical obstinacy of decent women!--the lackin them of heart, of generosity, of imagination!
The door opened, and Ferrier entered, with Marsham and the butler behindhim. Mr. Ferrier, in his London frock-coat, appeared rounder and heavierthan ever but for the contradictory vigor and lightness of his step, theshrewd cheerfulness of the eyes. It had been a hard week in Parliament,however, and his features and complexion showed signs of overwork andshort sleep.
For a few minutes, while tea was renewed, and the curtains closed, hemaintained a pleasant chat with Lady Lucy, while the other two looked ateach other in silence.
But when the servant had gone, Ferrier put down his cup unfinished. "Iam very sorry for you both," he said, gravely, looking from Lady Lucy toher son. "I need not say your letter this morning took me wholly bysurprise. I have since been doing my best to think of a way out."
There was a short pause--broken by Marsham, who was sitting a littleapart from the others, restlessly fingering a paper-knife.
"If you could persuade my mother to take a kind and reasonable view," hesaid, abruptly; "that is really the only way out."
Lady Lucy stiffened under the attack. Drawn on by Ferrier'sinterrogative glance,
she quietly repeated, with more detail, and evengreater austerity, the arguments and considerations she had made use ofin her wrestle with Sir James. Chide clearly perceived that heropposition was hardening with every successive explanation of it. Whathad been at first, no doubt, an instinctive recoil was now beingconverted into a plausible and reasoned case, and the oftener sherepeated it the stronger would she become on her own side and the morein love with her own contentions.
Ferrier listened attentively; took note of what she reported as to SirJames's fresh evidence; and when she ceased called upon Chide toexplain. Chide's second defence of Juliet Sparling as given to afellow-lawyer was a remarkable piece of technical statement, admirablyarranged, and unmarked by any trace of the personal feeling he had notbeen able to hide from Lady Lucy.
"Most interesting--most interesting," murmured Ferrier, as the storycame to an end. "A tragic and memorable case."
He pondered a little, his eyes on the carpet, while the others waited.Then he turned to Lady Lucy and took her hand.
"Dear lady!" he said, gently, "I think--you ought to give way!"
Lady Lucy's face quivered a little. She decidedly withdrew her hand.
"I am sorry you are both against me," she said, looking from one to theother. "I am sorry you help Oliver to think unkindly of me. But if Imust stand alone, I must. I cannot give way."
Ferrier raised his eyebrows with a little perplexed look. Thrusting hishands into his pockets, he went to stand by the fire, staring down intoit a minute or two, as though the flames might bring counsel.
"Miss Mallory is still ignorant, Oliver--is that so?" he said, at last.
"Entirely. But it is not possible she should continue to be so. She hasbegun to make inquiries, and I agree with Sir James it is right sheshould be told--"
"I propose to go down to Beechcote to-morrow," put in Sir James.
"Have you any idea what view Miss Mallory would be likely to take of thematter--as affecting her engagement?"
"She could have no view that was not unselfish and noble--like herself,"said Marsham, hotly. "What has that to do with it?" "'DEAR LADY,' HE SAID, GENTLY, 'I THINK YOU OUGHT TO GIVE WAY!'"]
"She might release you," was Ferrier's slow reply.
Marsham flushed.
"And you think I should be such a hound as to let her!"
Sir James only just prevented himself from throwing a triumphant look athis hostess.
"You will, of course, inform her of your mother's opposition?" saidFerrier.
"It will be impossible to keep it from her."
"Poor child!" murmured Ferrier--"poor child!"
Then he looked at Lady Lucy.
"May I take Oliver into the inner room a little while?" he asked,pointing to a farther drawing-room.
"By all means. I shall be here when you return."
Sir James had a few hurried words in private with Marsham, and then tookhis leave. As he and Lady Lucy shook hands, he gave her apenetrating look.
"Try and think of the girl!" he said, in a low voice; "_the girl_--inher first youth."
"I think of my son," was the unmoved reply. "Good-bye, Sir James. I feelthat we are adversaries, and I wish it were not so."
Sir James walked away, possessed by a savage desire to do some damage tothe cathedral in pith, as he passed it on his way to the door; or toshake his fist in the faces of Wilberforce and Lord Shaftesbury, whoseportraits adorned the staircase. The type of Catholic woman which hemost admired rose in his mind; compassionate, tender, infinitely softand loving--like the saints; save where "the faith" was concerned--likethe saints, again. This Protestant rigidity and self-sufficiency werethe deuce!
But he would go down to Beechcote, and he and Oliver between them wouldsee that child through.
* * * * *
Meanwhile, Ferrier and Marsham were in anxious conclave. Ferriercounselled delay. "Let the thing sleep a little. Don't announce theengagement. You and Miss Mallory will, of course, understand each other.You will correspond. But don't hurry it. So much consideration, atleast, is due to your mother's strong feeling."
Marsham assented, but despondently.
"You know my mother; time will make no difference."
"I'm not so sure--I'm not so sure," said Ferrier, cheerfully. "Did yourmother say anything about--finances?"
Marsham gave a gloomy smile.
"I shall be a pauper, of course--that was made quite plain to me."
"No, no!--that must be prevented!" said Ferrier, with energy.
Marsham was not quick to reply. His manner as he stood with his back tothe fire, his distinguished head well thrown back on his straight, leanshoulders, was the manner of a proud man suffering humiliation. He wasthirty-six, and rapidly becoming a politician of importance. Yet here hewas--poor and impotent, in the midst of great wealth, wholly dependent,by his father's monstrous will, on his mother's caprice--liable to bethwarted and commanded, as though he were a boy of fifteen. Up till nowLady Lucy's yoke had been tolerable; to-day it galled beyond endurance.
Moreover, there was something peculiarly irritating at the moment inFerrier's intervention. There had been increased Parliamentary frictionof late between the two men, in spite of the intimacy of their personalrelations. To be forced to owe fortune, career, and the permission tomarry as he pleased to Ferrier's influence with his mother was, at thisjuncture, a bitter pill for Oliver Marsham.
Ferrier understood him perfectly, and he had never displayed morekindness or more tact than in the conversation which passed betweenthem. Marsham finally agreed that Diana must be frankly informed of hismother's state of mind, and that a waiting policy offered the only hope.On this they were retiring to the front drawing-room when Lady Lucyopened the communicating door.
"A letter for you, Oliver."
He took it, and turned it over. The handwriting was unknown to him.
"Who brought this?" he asked of the butler standing behind his mother.
"A servant, sir, from Beechcote Manor, He was told to wait for ananswer."
"I will send one. Come when I ring."
The butler departed, and Marsham went hurriedly into the inner room,closing the door behind him. Ferrier and Lady Lucy were left, looking ateach other in anxiety. But before they could put it into words, Marshamreappeared, in evident agitation. He hurried to the bell and rang it.
Lady Lucy pointedly made no inquiry. But Ferrier spoke.
"No bad news, I hope?"
Marsham turned.
"She has been told?" he said, hoarsely, "Mrs. Colwood, her companion,speaks of 'shock.' I must go down at once."
Lady Lucy said nothing. She, too, had grown white.
The butler appeared. Marsham asked for the Sunday trains, ordered somepacking, went down-stairs to speak to the Beechcote messenger,and returned.
Ferrier retired into the farthest window, and Marsham approached hismother.
"Good-bye, mother. I will write to you from Beechcote, where I shallstay at the little inn in the village. Have you no kind word that I maycarry with me?"
Lady Lucy looked at him steadily.
"I shall write myself to Miss Mallory, Oliver."
His pallor gave place to a flush of indignation.
"Is it necessary to do anything so cruel, mother?"
"I shall not write cruelly."
He shrugged his shoulders impatiently.
"Considering what you have made up your mind to do, I should havethought least said, soonest mended. However, if you must, you must. Ican only prepare Diana for your letter and soften it when it comes."
"In your new love, Oliver, have you quite forgotten the old?" LadyLucy's voice shook for the first time.
"I shall be only too glad to remember it, when you give me theopportunity," he said, sombrely.
"I have not been a bad mother to you, Oliver. I have claims upon you."
He did not reply, and his silence wounded Lady Lucy to the quick. Was ither fault if her husband, out of an eccentric distru
st of the characterof his son, and moved by a kind of old-fashioned and Spartan belief thata man must endure hardness before he is fit for luxury, had made her andnot Oliver the arbiter and legatee of his wealth? But Oliver had neverwanted for anything. He had only to ask. What right had she to thwarther husband's decision?
"Good-bye, mother," said Marsham again. "If you are writing to Isabelyou will, I suppose, discuss the matter with her. She is not unlikely toside with you--not for your reason, however--but because of some sillynonsense about politics. If she does, I beg she will not write to me. Itcould only embitter matters."
"I will give her your message. Good-bye, Oliver." He left the room, witha gesture of farewell to Ferrier.
* * * * *
Ferrier came back toward the fire. As he did so he was struck--painfullystruck--by a change in Lady Lucy. She was not pale, and her eyes weresingularly bright. Yet age was, for the first time, written in a facefrom which Time had so far taken but his lightest toll. It moved himstrangely; though, as to the matter in hand, his sympathies were allwith Oliver. But through thirty years Lady Lucy had been the only womanfor him. Since first, as a youth of twenty, he had seen her in herfather's house, he had never wavered. She was his senior by five years,and their first acquaintance had been one of boy-adoration on his sideand a charming elder-sisterliness on hers. Then he had declared himself,and she had refused him in order to marry Henry Marsham and HenryMarsham's fortune. It seemed to him then that he would soon forgether--soon find a warmer and more generous heart. But that was mereignorance of himself. After awhile he became the intimate friend of herhusband, herself, and her child. Something, indeed, had happened to hisaffection for her. He felt himself in no danger beside her, so far aspassion was concerned; and he knew very well that she would havebanished him forever at a moment's notice rather than give her husbandan hour's uneasiness. But to be near her, to be in her world, consulted,trusted, and flattered by her, to slip daily into his accustomed chair,to feel year by year the strands of friendship and of intimacy wovenmore closely between him and her--between him and hers--these thingsgradually filled all the space in his life left by politics or bythought. They deprived him of any other home, and this home became anecessity.
Then Henry Marsham died. Once more Ferrier asked Lady Lucy to marry him,and again she refused. He acquiesced; their old friendship was resumed;but, once more, with a difference. In a sense he had no longer anyillusions about her. He saw that while she believed herself to be actingunder the influence of religion and other high matters, she was, intruth, a narrow and rather cold-hearted woman, with a strong element ofworldliness, disguised in much placid moralizing. At the bottom of hissoul he resented her treatment of him, and despised himself forsubmitting to it. But the old habit had become a tyranny not to bebroken. Where else could he go for talk, for intimacy, for rest? And forall his disillusion there were still at her command occasionalfelicities of manner and strains of feeling--ethereally delicate andspiritual, like a stanza from the _Christian Year_--that moved him andpleased his taste as nothing else had power to move and please; steeped,as they were, in a far-off magic of youth and memory.
So he stayed by her, and she knew very well that he would stay by her tothe end.
He sat down beside her and took her hand.
"You are tired."
"It has been a miserable day."
"Shall I read to you? It would be wise, I think, to put it out of yourmind for a while, and come back to it fresh."
"It will be difficult to attend." Her smile was faint and sad. "But Iwill do my best."
He took up a volume of Dean Church's sermons, and began to read.Presently, as always, his subtler self became conscious of the irony ofthe situation. He was endeavoring to soothe her trouble by applying toit some of the noblest religious thought of our day, expressed in thenoblest language. Such an attempt implied some moral correspondencebetween the message and the listener. Yet all the time he was conscioushimself of cowardice and hypocrisy. What part of the Christian messagereally applied to Lady Lucy this afternoon but the searching words: "Hethat loveth not his brother whom he hath seen, how can he love God whomhe hath not seen?"
Yet he read on. The delicate ascetic face of his companion grew calmer;he himself felt a certain refreshment and rest. There was no one else inthe world with whom he could sit like this, to whom he could speak orread of the inner life. Lucy Marsham had made him what he was, achildless bachelor, with certain memories in his past life of which hewas ashamed--representing the revenge of a strong man's temperament andphysical nature. But in the old age she had all but reached, and he wasapproaching, she was still the one dear and indispensable friend. If shemust needs be harsh and tyrannical--well, he must try and mitigate theeffects, for herself and others. But his utmost effort must restrainitself within certain limits. He was not at all sure that if offendedin some mortal point, she might not do without him. But so long as theyboth lived, he could not do without her.
* * * * *
Early the following morning Alicia Drake appeared in Eaton Square, andby two o'clock Mrs. Fotheringham was also there. She had rushed up fromLeeds by the first possible train, summoned by Alicia's letter. LadyLucy and her daughter held conference, and Miss Drake was admitted totheir counsels.
"Of course, mamma," said Isabel Fotheringham, "I don't at all agree withyou in the matter. Nobody is responsible for their mothers and fathers.We make ourselves. But I shall not be sorry if the discovery freesOliver from a marriage which would have been a rope round his neck. Sheis a foolish, arrogant, sentimental girl, brought up on the mostwrong-headed principles, and she could _never_ have made a decent wifefor him. She will, I hope, have the sense to see it--and he will be wellout of it."
"Oliver, at present, is very determined," said Lady Lucy, in a tone ofdepression.
"Oh, well, of course, having just proposed to her, he must, of course,behave like a gentleman--and not like a cad. But she can't possibly holdhim to it. You will write to her, mamma--and so shall I."
"We shall make him, I fear, very angry."
"Oliver? Well, there are moments in every family when it is no useshirking. We have to think of Oliver's career, and what he may do forhis party, and for reform. You think he proposed to her in that walk onthe hill?" said Mrs. Fotheringham, turning to her cousin Alicia.
Alicia woke up from a brown-study of her own. She was dressed with herusual perfection in a gray cloth, just suggesting the change of season.Her felt hat with its plume of feathers lay on her lap, and her hair,slightly loosened by the journey, captured the eye by its abundance andbeauty. The violets on her breast perfumed the room, and the rings uponher hands flashed just as much as is permitted to an unmarried girl, andno more. As Mrs. Fotheringham looked at her, she said to herself:"Another Redfern! Really Alicia is too extravagant!"
On that head no one could have reproached herself. A cheap coat andskirt, much worn, a hat of no particular color or shape, frayed glovesand disreputable boots, proclaimed both the parsimony of her father'swill and the independence of her opinions.
"Oh, of course he proposed on the hill," replied Alicia, thoughtfully."And you say, Aunt Lucy, that _he_ guessed--and she knew nothing?Yes!--I was certain he guessed."
"But she knows now," said Lady Lucy; "and, of course, we must all bevery sorry for her."
"Oh, of course!" said Isabel. "But she will soon get over it. You won'tfind it will do her any harm. People will make her a heroine."
"I should advise her not to go about with that cousin," said Alicia,softly.
"The girl who told you?"
"She was an outsider! She told me, evidently, to spite her cousin, whoseemed not to have paid her enough attention, and then wanted me toswear secrecy."
"Well, if her mother was a sister of Juliet Sparling, you can't expectmuch, can you? What a mercy it has all come out so soon! The mess wouldhave been infinitely greater if the engagement had gone on afew weeks."
&n
bsp; "My dear," said her mother, gravely, "we must not reckon upon Oliver'syielding to our persuasions."
Isabel smiled and shrugged her shoulders. Oliver condemn himself to thesimple life!--to the forfeiture of half a million of money--for the sakeof the _beaux yeux_ of Diana Mallory! Oliver, who had never faced anyhardship or gone without any luxury in his life!
Alicia said nothing; but the alertness of her brilliant eyes showed theactivity of the brain behind them. While Mrs. Fotheringham went off tocommittees, Miss Drake spent the rest of the day in ministering to LadyLucy, who found her company, her gossip about Beechcote, her sympatheticyet restrained attitude toward the whole matter, quite invaluable. But,in spite of these aids, the hours of waiting and suspense passedheavily, and Alicia said to herself that Cousin Lucy was beginning tolook frail.