The Three Brides

CHAPTER XVIII

Demonstrations

The hours of the soirée had been early; but the breakfast was so irregular and undecided as to time, that no one took much notice of an intimation which Jenkins had received from the grim Mrs. Grindstone that Mrs, Charnock Poynsett would take breakfast in her own room.  Indeed, they all felt glad that her views of etiquette did not bind them to their places; for Frank was burning to be off to Sirenwood, forgetting that it was far easier to be too early than too late for Sir Harry Vivian, who was wont to smoke till long after midnight, and was never visible till the midday repast.

And thus it was Lady Tyrrell who came to Frank alone.  “Early afoot,” she said; “you foolish, impatient fellow!  You will outrun my best advice.”

“Ah! but I’m armed.  I always told you we might trust to my mother, and it is all right.  She loves Lenore with all her heart, and consents freely and gladly.”

“Indeed!  Well, the dear child has made her conquest!”

“I always knew she would when once reserve was broken down.”

“Did you get up the alarm on purpose?”

“Really, one would think I had done so.  One such moment was worth years of ordinary meetings!  Half the battle is won!”

“Have you seen your mother this morning?”

“No; but she knew I was coming.”

“Then you do not know what her feelings are on cooler reflection?”

“My mother would never retract what she has once assured me of,” said Frank, haughtily.

“Forgive me—of what has she assured you?”

“That she regards Eleonora as a dear daughter, and that implies doing the same for me as for my brothers.  If Sir Harry would but be so good as to come and see her—’

“Stay, Frank, you have not come that length.  You forget that if you have, as you say, gained half the battle, there is another half; and that my father very reasonably feels hurt at being the last to be favoured with the intelligence.”

“Dear Lady Tyrrell, you can see how it was.  There was no helping it when once I could speak to Lenore; and then no one would have let me utter a word till I had gone through the examination.  We never meant to go on a system of concealment; but you know how every one would have raved and stormed if I had betrayed a thought beyond old Driver, and yet it was only being at rest about Lenore that carried me through without breaking down.  Can’t you see?”

“You special pleader!  May you win over my father; but you must remember that we are a fallen house, unable to do all we wish.”

“If I might see Sir Harry!  I must make him forgive me.”

“I will see whether he is ready.”

Could Frank’s eyes have penetrated the walls, he would have seen Lady Tyrrell received with the words, “Well, my dear, I hope you have got rid of the young man—poor fellow!”

“I am afraid that cannot be done without your seeing him yourself.”

“Hang it!  I hate it!  I can’t abide it, Camilla.  He’s a nice lad, though he is his mother’s son; and Lenore’s heart is set on him, and I can’t bear vexing the child.”

“Lena cares for him only because she met him before she knew what life is like.  After one season she will understand what five hundred a year means.”

“Well, you ought to know your sister best; but if the lad has spoken to her, Lena is not the girl to stand his getting his congé so decidedly.”

“Exactly; it would only lead to heroics, and deepen the mischief.”

“Hang it!  Then what do you want me to say?”

“Stand up for your rights, and reduce him to submission by displeasure at not having been consulted.  Then explain how there can be no engagement at once; put him on his honour to leave her free till after her birthday in November.”

“What! have him dangling after her?  That’s no way to make her forget him.”

“She never will under direct opposition—she is too high-spirited for that; but if we leave it alone, and they are unpledged, there is a fair chance of her seeing the folly both for her and for him.”

“I don’t know that.  Lena may be high-flown; but things go deep with the child—deeper than they did with you, Camilla!”

Perhaps this was a stab, for there was bitterness in the answer.  “You mean that she is less willing to give up a fancy for the family good.  Remember, it is doubly imperative that Lena should marry a man whose means are in his own power, so that he could advance something.  This would be simply ruin—throwing up the whole thing, after all I have done to retrieve our position.”

“After all, Camilla, I am growing an old man, and poor Tom is gone.  I don’t know that the position is worth so much to me as the happiness to her, poor child!” said Sir Harry, wistfully.

“Happiness!” was the scornful answer.  “If you said ‘her own way,’ it would be nearer the truth.  A back street in London—going about in a cab—and occasional holidays on sufferance from Mrs. Poynsett.”

However little happiness either father or daughter had derived from their chosen ways, this idea was abhorrent to both; and Lady Tyrrell pressed her advantage.  “If we keep him waiting much longer he will be rushing after Lena, and if you show the least sign of relenting he will insist on dragging you to an interview with his mother.”

The threat was effectual; for Sir Harry had had passages-at arms enough with Mrs. Poynsett to make him dread her curt dry civility far more than either dun or bailiff, and he was at once roused to the determination to be explicit.

Frank met him, with crimson face and prepared speech.  “Good morning, Sir Harry!  I am afraid you may think that you have reason to complain of my not having spoken to you sooner; but I trusted to your previous knowledge of my feelings, and I was anxious to ascertain my position before laying it before you, though I don’t believe I should have succeeded unless my mind had been set at rest.”

Soft-hearted Sir Harry muttered, “I understand, but—”

The pause at that ‘but’ was so long that Frank ventured on going on.  “I have not had an official communication, but I know privately that I have passed well and stand favourably for promotion, so that my income will go on increasing, and my mother will make over to me five thousand pounds, as she has done to Miles and Julius, so that it can be settled on Eleonora at once.”

“There, there, that’s enough!” said Sir Harry, coerced by his daughter’s glances; “there’s plenty of time before coming to all that!  You see, my dear boy, I always liked you, and had an immense respect for your—your family; but, you see, Eleonora is young, and under the circumstances she ought not to engage herself.  She can’t any way marry before coming of age, and—considering all things—I should much prefer that this should go no further.”

“You ought both to be free!” said Lady Tyrrell.

“That I can never be!”

“Nor do you think that she can—only it sounds presumptuous,” smiled Lady Tyrrell.  “Who can say?  But things have to be proved; and considering what young untried hearts are, it is safer and happier for both that there should be perfect freedom, so that no harm should be done, if you found that you had not known your own minds.”

“It will make no difference to me.”

“Oh yes, we know that!” laughed Sir Harry.  “Only suppose you changed your mind, we could not be angry with you.”

“You don’t think I could!”

“No, no,” said Lady Tyrrell; “we think no such thing.  Don’t you see, if we did not trust your honour, we could not leave this in suspense.  All we desire is that these matters may be left till it is possible to see our way, when the affairs of the estate are wound up; for we can’t tell what the poor child will have.  Come, don’t repeat that it will make no difference.  It may not to you; but it must to us, and to your mother.”

“My mother expects nothing!” said Frank, eagerly; but it was a false step.

Sir Harry bristled up, saying, “Sir, my daughter shall go into no family that—that has not a proper appreciation of—and expectations befitting her position.”

“Dear papa,” exclaimed Lady Tyrrell, “he means no such thing.  He is only crediting his mother with his own romantic ardour and disinterestedness.—Hark! there actually is the gong.  Come and have some luncheon, and contain yourself, you foolish boy!”

“I am sorry I said anything that seemed unfitting,” said Frank, meekly.  “You know I could not mean it!”

“Yes, yes, yes, I bear no malice; only one does not like to see one’s own child courted without a voice in the matter, and to hear she is to be taken as a favour, expecting nothing.  But, there, we’ll say no more.  I like you, Frank Charnock! and only wish you had ten thousand a year, or were any one else; but you see—you see.  Well, let’s eat our luncheon.”

“Does she know this decision?” asked Frank, aside, as he held open the door for Lady Tyrrell.

“Yes, she knows it can go no further; though we are too merciful to deny you the beatific vision, provided you are good, and abstain from any more little tendresses for the present.—Ah!”—enter Cecil—“I thought we should see you to-day, my dear!”

“Yes; I am on my way to meet my husband at the station,” said Cecil, meeting her in the hall, and returning her kiss.

“Is Raymond coming home to-day?” said Frank, as he too exchanged greetings.  “Ah!  I remember; I did not see you at breakfast this morning.”

“No!” and there was signification in the voice; but Frank did not heed it, for coming down-stairs was Eleonora, her face full of a blushing sweetness, which gave it all the beauty it had ever lacked.

He could do no more than look and speak before all the rest; the carriage was ordered for the sisters to go out together, and he lingered in vain for a few words in private, for Sir Harry kept him talking about Captain Duncombe’s wonderful colt, till Cecil had driven off one way, and their two hostesses the other; and he could only ride home to tell his mother how he had sped.

Better than Rosamond, better even than Charlie, was his mother as a confidante; and though she had been surprised into her affectionate acceptance of Eleonora, it was an indescribable delight to mother and son to find themselves once more in full sympathy; while he poured out all that had been pent up ever since his winter at Rockpier.  She almost made common cause with him in the question, what would Raymond say?  And it proved to be news to her that her eldest son was to be immediately expected at home.  Cecil had not come to see her, and had sent her no message; but ungracious inattention was not so uncommon as to excite much remark from one who never wished to take heed to it; and it was soon forgotten in the praise of Eleonora.

Cecil meanwhile was receiving Raymond at the station.  He was pleased to see her there in her pony-carriage, but a little startled by the brief coldness of her reply to his inquiry after his mother, and the tight compression of her lips all the time they were making their way through the town, where, as usual, he was hailed every two or three minutes by persons wanting a word with him.  When at last there was a free space, she began: “Raymond, I wish to know whether you mean me to be set at naught, and my friends deliberately insulted?”

“What?”

A gentleman here hurried up with “I’ll not detain you a minute.”

He did, however, keep them for what seemed a great many, to the chafing spirit which thought a husband should have no ears save for his wife’s wrongs; so she made her preface even more startling—“Raymond, I cannot remain in the house any longer with Lady Rosamond Charnock and those intolerable brothers of hers!”

“Perhaps you will explain yourself,” said Raymond, almost relieved by the evident exaggeration of the expressions.

“There has been a conspiracy to thwart and insult me—a regular conspiracy!”

“Cecil! let me understand you.  What can have happened?”

“When I arranged an evening for my friends to meet Mrs. Tallboys, I did not expect to have it swamped by a pack of children, and noisy nonsensical games, nor that both she and I should be insulted by practical jokes and a personal charade.”

“A party to meet Mrs. Tallboys?”

“A ladies’ party, a conversazione.”

“What—by my mother’s wish?”

“I was given to understand that I had carte blanche in visiting matters.”

“You did not ask her consent?”

“I saw no occasion.”

“You did not?”

“No.”

“Then, Cecil, I must say that whatever you may have to complain of, you have committed a grave act of disrespect.”

“I was told that I was free to arrange these things!”

“Free!” said Raymond, thoroughly roused; “free to write notes, and order the carriage, and play lady of the house; but did you think that made you free to bring an American mountebank of a woman to hold forth absurd trash in my mother’s own drawing-room, as soon as my back was turned?”

“I should have done the same had you been there.”

“Indeed!” ironically; “I did not know how far you had graduated in the Rights of Women.  So you invited these people?”

“Then the whole host of children was poured in on us, and everything imaginable done to interrupt, and render everything rational impossible.  I know it was Rosamond’s contrivance, she looked so triumphant, dressed in an absurd fancy dress, and her whole train doing nothing but turning me into ridicule, and Mrs. Tallboys too.  Whatever you choose to call her, you cannot approve of a stranger and foreigner being insulted here.  It is that about which I care—not myself; I have seen none of them since, nor shall I do so until a full apology has been made to my guest and to myself.”

“You have not told me the offence.”

“In the first place, there was an absurd form of Christmas-tree, to which one was dragged blindfold, and sedulously made ridiculous; and I—I had a dust-pan and brush.  Yes, I had, in mockery of our endeavours to purify that unhappy street.”

“I should have taken it as a little harmless fun,” said Raymond.  “Depend on it, it was so intended.”

“What, when Mrs. Tallboys had a padlock and key?  I see you are determined to laugh at it all.  Most likely they consulted you beforehand.”

“Cecil, I cannot have you talk such nonsense.  Is this all you have to complain of?”

“No.  There was a charade on the word Blockhead, where your brother Charles and the two De Lanceys caricatured what they supposed to be Mrs. Tallboys’ doctrines.”

“How did she receive it?”

“Most good-humouredly; but that made it no better on their part.”

“Are you sure it was not a mere ordinary piece of pleasantry, with perhaps a spice of personality, but nothing worth resenting?”