CHAPTER XXXVI.
LADY COKE UPON LITTLETON
At Coombe Lorraine these things had been known and entered into some time ago. For Sir Roland had not left his son so wholly uncared for in a foreign land as Hilary in his sore heart believed. In his regiment there was a certain old major, lame, and addicted to violent language, but dry and sensible according to his lights, and truthful, and upright, and quarrelsome. Burning to be first, as he always did in every desperate conflict, Major Clumps saw the young fellows get in front of him, and his temper exploded always.
“Come back, come back, you – ” condemned offspring of canine lineage, he used to shout; “let an honest man have a fair start with you! Because my feet are – there you go again; no consideration, any of you!”
This Major Clumps was admirably “connected,” being the nephew of Lord de Lampnor, the husband of Lady Valeria’s friend. So that by this means it was brought round that Hilary’s doings should be reported. And Lady Valeria had received a letter in which her grandson’s exploits at the storming of Ciudad Rodrigo were so recounted that Alice wept, and the ancient lady smiled with pride; and even Sir Roland said, “Well, after all, that boy can do something.”
The following afternoon the master of Coombe Lorraine was sent for, to have a long talk with his mother about matters of business. Now Sir Roland particularly hated business; his income was enough for all his wants; his ambition (if ever he had any) was a vague and vaporous element; he left to his lawyers all matters of law; and even the management of his land, but for his mother’s strong opposition, he would gladly have left to a steward or agent, although the extent of his property scarcely justified such an appointment. So he entered his mother’s room that day with a languid step and reluctant air.
The lady paid very little heed to that. Perhaps she even enjoyed it a little. Holding that every man is bound to attend to his own affairs, she had little patience and no sympathy with such philosophic indifference. On the other hand, Sir Roland could not deny himself a little quiet smile, when he saw his mother’s great preparations to bring him both to book and deed.
Lady Valeria Lorraine was sitting as upright as she had sat throughout her life, and would sit, until she lay down for ever. On the table before her were several thick and portentously dirty documents, arranged and docketed by her own sagacious hand; and beyond these, and opened at pages for reference, lay certain old law-books of a most deterrent guise and attitude. Sheppard’s “Touchstone” (before Preston’s time), Littleton’s “Tenures,” Viner’s “Abridgment,” Comyn’s “Digest,” Glanville, Plowden, and other great authors, were here prepared to cause delicious confusion in the keenest feminine intellect; and Lady Valeria was quite sure now that they all contradicted one another.
After the formal salutation, which she always insisted upon, the venerable lady began to fuss about a little, and pretend to be at a loss with things. She was always dressed as if she expected a visit from the royal family; and it was as good as a lecture for any slovenly young girls to see how cleverly she avoided soil of dirty book, or dirtier parchment, upon her white cuffs or Flemish lace. Even her delicate pointed fingers, shrunken as they were with age, had a knack of flitting over grime, without attracting it.
“I daresay you are surprised,” she said, with her usual soft and courteous smile, “at seeing me employed like this, and turning lawyer in my old age.”
Sir Roland said something complimentary, knowing that it was expected of him. The ancient lady had always taught him – however erroneous the doctrine – that no man who is at a loss for the proper compliment to a lady deserves to be thought a gentleman. She always had treated her son as a gentleman, dearer to her than other gentlemen; but still to be regarded in that light mainly. And he, perhaps by inheritance, had been led to behave to his own son thus – a line of behaviour warmly resented by the impetuous Hilary.
“Now I beg you to attend – you must try to attend,” continued Lady Valeria: “rouse yourself up, if you please, dear Roland. This is not a question of astrologers, or any queer thing of that sort, but a common-sense matter, and, I might say, a difficult point of law, perhaps.”
“That being so,” Sir Roland answered, with a smile of bright relief, “our course becomes very simple. We have nothing that we need trouble ourselves to be puzzled with uncomfortably. Messrs. Crookson, Hack, and Clinker – they know how to keep in arrear, and to charge.”
“It is your own fault, my dear Roland, if they overcharge you. Everybody will do so, when they know that you mean to put up with it. Your dear father was under my guidance much more than you have ever been, and he never let people overcharge him – more than he could help, I mean.”
“I quite perceive the distinction, mother. You have put it very clearly. But how does that bear upon the matter you have now to speak of?”
“In a great many ways. This account of Hilary’s desperate behaviour, as I must call it upon sound reflection, leads me to consider the great probability of something happening to him. There are many battles yet to be fought, and some of them may be worse than this. You remember what Mr. Malahide said when your dear father would insist upon that resettlement of the entire property in the year 1799.”
Sir Roland knew quite well that it was not his dear father at all, but his mother, who had insisted upon that very stringent and ill-advised proceeding, in which he himself had joined reluctantly, and only by dint of her persistence. However, he did not remind her of this.
“To be sure,” he replied, “I remember it clearly; and I have his very words somewhere. He declined to draw it in accordance with the instructions of our solicitors, until his own opinion upon it had been laid before the family – a most unusual course, he said, for counsel in chambers to adopt, but having some knowledge of the parties concerned, he hoped they would pardon his interference. And then his words were to this effect – ‘The operation of such a settlement may be most injurious. The parties will be tying their own hands most completely, without – as far as I can perceive – any adequate reason for doing so. Supposing, for instance, there should be occasion for raising money upon these estates during the joint lives of the grandson and granddaughter, and before the granddaughter is of age, there will be no means of doing it. The limitation to her, which is a most unusual one in such cases, will preclude the possibility of representing the fee-simple. The young lady is now just five years old, and if this extraordinary settlement is made, no marketable title can be deduced for the next sixteen years, except, of course, in the case of her decease.’ And many other objections he made, all of which, however, were overruled; and after that protest, he prepared the settlement.”
“The matter was hurried through your father’s state of health; for at that very time he was on his deathbed. But no harm whatever has come of it, which shows that we were right, and Mr. Malahide quite wrong. But I have been looking to see what would happen, in case poor Hilary – ah, it was his own fault that all these restrictions were introduced. Although he was scarcely twelve years old, he had shown himself so thoroughly volatile, so very easy to lead away, and, as it used to be called by vulgar people, so ‘happy-go-lucky,’ that your dear father wished, while he had the power, to disable him from lessening any further our lessened estates. And but for that settlement, where might we be?”
“You know, my dear mother, that I never liked that exceedingly complicated and most mistrustful settlement. And if I had not been so sick of all business, after the loss of my dear wife, even your powers of persuasion would have failed to make me execute it. At any rate, it has had one good effect. It has robbed poor Hilary, to a great extent, of the charms that he must have possessed for the Jews.”
“How can they discover such things? With a firm of trusty and most respectable lawyers – to me it is quite wonderful.”
“How many things are wondrous! and nothing more wondrous than man himself – except, of course, a Jew. They do find out; and they never let us find out how they managed it. But do let me ask you, my dear mother, what particular turn of thought has compelled you to be so learned?”
“You mean these books? Well, let me think. I quite forget what it was that I wanted. It is useless to flatter me, Roland, now. My memory is not as it was, nor my sight, nor any other gift. However, I ought to be very thankful; and I often try to be so.”
“Take a little time to think,” Sir Roland said, in his most gentle tone; “and then, if it does not occur to you, we can talk of it some other time.”
“Oh, now I remember! They told me something about the poor boy being smitten with some girl of inferior station. Of course, even he would have a little more sense than ever to dream of marrying her. But young men, although they mean nothing, are apt to say things that cost money. And above all others, Hilary may have given some grounds for damages – he is so inconsiderate! Now, if that should be so, and they give a large verdict, as a low-born jury always does against a well-born gentleman, several delicate points arise. In the first place, has he any legal right to fall in love under this settlement? And if not, how can any judgment take effect on his interest? And again, if he should fall in battle, would that stay proceedings? And if all these points should be settled against us, have we any power to raise the money? For I know that you have no money, Roland, except what you receive from land; as under my advice every farthing of accumulation has been laid out in buying back, field by field, portions of our lost property.”
“Yes, my dear mother; and worse than that; every field so purchased has been declared or assured – or whatever they call it – to follow the trusts of this settlement; so that I verily believe if I wanted £5000 for any urgent family purposes, I must raise it – if at all – upon mere personal security. But surely, dear mother, you cannot find fault with the very efficient manner in which your own desires have been carried out.”
“Well, my son, I have acted for the best, and according to your dear father’s plans. When I married your father,” the old lady continued, with a soft quiet pride, which was quite her own, “it was believed, in the very best quarters, that the Duchess Dowager of Chalcorhin, of whom perhaps you may have heard me speak – ”
“Truly yes, mother, every other day.”
“And, my dear son, I have a right to do so of my own godmother, and great-aunt. The sneering spirit of the present day cannot rob us of all our advantages. However, your father (as was right and natural on his part) felt a conviction – as those low Methodists are always saying of themselves – that there would be a hundred thousand pounds, to help him in what he was thinking of. But her Grace was vexed at my marriage; and so, as you know, my dear Roland, I brought the Lorraines nothing.”
“Yes, my dear mother, you brought yourself, and your clear mind, and clever management.”
“Will you always think that of me, Roland, dear? Whatever happens, when I am gone, will you always believe that I did my best?”
Sir Roland was surprised at his mother’s very unusual state of mind. And he saw how her delicate face was softened from its calm composure. And the like emotion moved himself; for he was a man of strong feeling, though he deigned so rarely to let it out, and froze it so often with fatalism.
“My dearest mother,” he answered, bowing his silver hair over her snowy locks, “surely you know me well enough to make such a question needless. A more active and devoted mind never worked for one especial purpose – the welfare of those for whose sake you have abandoned show and grandeur. Ay, mother, and with as much success as our hereditary faults allowed. Since your labours began, we must have picked up fifty acres.”
“Is that all you know of it, Roland?” asked Lady Valeria, with a short sigh; “all my efforts will be thrown away, I greatly fear, when I am gone. One hundred and fifty-six acres and a half have been brought back into the Lorraine rent-roll, without even counting the hedge-rows. And now there are two things to be done, to carry on this great work well. That interloper, Sir Remnant Chapman, a man of comparatively modern race, holds more than two thousand acres of the best and oldest Lorraine land. He wishes young Alice to marry his son, and proposes a very handsome settlement. Why, Roland, you told me all about it – though not quite as soon as you should have done.”
“I do not perceive that I neglected my duty. If I did so, surprise must have ‘knocked me out of time,’ as our good Struan expresses it.”
“Mr. Hales! Mr. Hales, the clergyman! I cannot imagine what he could mean. But it must have been something low, of course; either badger-baiting, or prize-fighting – though people of really good position have a right to like such things. But now we must let that poor stupid Sir Remnant, who cannot even turn a compliment, have his own way about silly Alice, for the sake of more important things.”
“My dear mother, you sometimes try me. What can be more important than Alice? And to what overpowering influence is she to be sacrificed?”
“It is useless to talk like that, Sir Roland. She must do her best, like everybody else who is not of ignoble family. The girl has plenty of pride, and will be the first to perceive the necessity. ’Twill not be so much for the sake of the settlement, for that of course will go with her; but we must make it a stipulation, and have it set down under hand and seal, that Sir Remnant, and after his time his son, shall sell to us, at a valuation, any pieces of our own land which we may be able to repurchase. Now, Roland, you never would have thought of that. It is a most admirable plan, is it not?”
“It is worthy of your ingenuity, mother. But will Sir Remnant agree to it? He is fond of his acres, like all landowners.”
“One acre is as good as another to a man of modern lineage. Some of that land passed from us at the time of the great confiscation, and some was sold by that reckless man, the last Sir Hilary but one. The Chapmans have held very little of it for even so much as two centuries; how then can they be attached to it? No, no. You must make that condition, Roland, the first and the most essential point. As for the settlement, that is nothing; though of course you will also insist upon it. For a girl of Alice’s birth and appearance we could easily get a larger settlement and a much higher position, by sending her to London for one season, under Lady de Lampnor. But how would that help us towards getting back the land?”
“You look so learned,” said Sir Roland, smiling, “with all those books which you seem to have mastered, that surely we may employ you to draw the deed for signature by Sir Remnant.”
“I have little doubt that I could do it,” replied the ancient lady, who took everything as in earnest; “but I am not so strong as I was, and therefore I wish you to push things forward. I have given up, as you know, my proper attention to many little matters (which go on very badly without me) simply that all my small abilities might be devoted to this great purpose. I hope to have still a few years left – but two things I must see accomplished before I can leave this world in peace. Alice must marry Captain Chapman, upon the conditions which I have expressed, and Hilary must marry a fortune, with special clauses enabling him to invest it in land upon proper trusts. The boy is handsome enough for anything; and his fame for courage, and his martial bearing, and above all his regimentals, will make him irresistible. But he must not stay at the wars too long. It is too great a risk to run.”
“Well, my dear mother, I must confess that your scheme is a very fine one. Supposing, I mean, that the object is worth it; of which I am by no means sure. I have not made it the purpose of my life to recover the Lorraine estates; I have not toiled and schemed for that end; although,” he added with dry irony, which quite escaped his mother’s sense, “it is of course a far less exertion to sell one’s children, with that view. But there are several hitches in your little plan: for instance, Alice hates Captain Chapman, and Hilary loves a girl without a penny – though the Grower must have had good markets lately, according to the price of vegetables.” Clever as Sir Roland was, he made the mistake of the outer world: there are no such things as “good markets.”
“Alice is a mere child,” replied her grandmother, smiling placidly; “she cannot have the smallest idea yet, as to what she likes, or dislikes. The Captain is quite as well bred as his father; and he can drive four-in-hand. I wonder that she has shown such presumption, as either to like or dislike him. It is your fault, Roland. Perpetual indulgence sets children up to such dreadful things; of which they must be broken painfully, having been encouraged so.”
“My dear mother,” Sir Roland answered, keeping his own opinions to himself, “you clearly know how to manage young girls, a great deal better than I do. Will you talk to Alice (in your own convincing and most eloquent manner) if I send her up to you?”
“With the greatest pleasure,” said Lady Valeria, having long expected this: “you may safely leave her to me, I believe. Chits of girls must be taught their place. But I mean to be very quiet with her. Let me see her to-morrow, Roland; I am tired now, and could not manage her, without more talking than I am fit for. Therefore I will say ‘good evening.’”
CHAPTER XXXVII.
ACHES v. ACRES
Alice had “plenty of spirit of her own,” which of course she called “sense of dignity;” but in spite of it all, she was most unwilling to encounter her valiant grandmother. And she knew that this encounter was announced the moment she was sent for.
“Is my hair right? Are my bows right? Has the old dog left any paw-marks on me?” she asked herself; but would rather have died – as in her quick way she said to herself – than have confessed her fright by asking any of the maids to tell her. Betwixt herself and her grandmother there was little love lost, and still less kept; for each looked down upon the other from the heights of impartial duty. “A flighty, romantic, unfledged girl, with no deference towards her superiors” – “A cold-blooded, crafty, plotting old woman, without a bit of faith in any one;” – thus each would have seen the other’s image, if she had looked into her own mind, and faced its impressions honestly.
The elder lady, having cares of her own, contrived for the most part to do very well without seeing much of her grandchild; who on the other hand was quite resigned to the affliction of this absence. But Alice could never perceive the justice of the reproaches wherewith she was met, whenever she came, for not having come more often where she was not wanted.
Now with all her courage ready, and not a sign in eye, face, or bearing, of the disquietude all the while fluttering in the shadow of her heart, the young lady looked at the ancient lady respectfully, and saluted her. Two fairer types of youth and age, of innocence and experience, of maiden grace and matron dignity, scarcely need be sought for; and the resemblance of their features heightened the contrast of age and character. A sculptor might have been pleased to reckon the points of beauty inherited by the maiden from the matron – the slim round neck, the graceful carriage of the well-shaped head, the elliptic arch of brow, the broad yet softly-moulded forehead, as well as the straight nose and delicate chin – a strong resemblance of details, but in the expression of the whole an even stronger difference. For Alice, besides the bright play of youth and all its glistening carelessness, was gifted with a kinder and larger nature than her grandmother. And as a kind, large-fruited tree, to all who understand it, shows – even by its bark and foliage and the expression of its growth – the vigour of the virtue in it, and liberality of its juice; so a fine sweet human nature breathes and shines in the outer aspect, brightens the glance, and enriches the smile, and makes the whole creature charming.
But Alice, though blest with this very nice manner of contemplating humanity, was quite unable to bring it to bear upon the countenance of her grandmother. We all know how the very best benevolence perpetually is pulled up short; and even the turn of a word, or a look, or a breath of air with a chill in it scatters fine ideas into corners out of harmony.
“You may take a chair, my dear, if you please,” said Lady Valeria, graciously; “you seem to be rather pale to-day. I hope you have not taken anything likely to disagree with you. If you have, there is still a little drop left of my famous ginger cordial. You make a face! That is not becoming. You must get over those childish tricks. You are – let me see, how old are you?”
“Seventeen years and a half, madam; about last Wednesday fortnight.”
“It is always good to be accurate, Alice. ‘About’ is a very loose word indeed. It may have been either that day or another.”
“It must have been either that day or some other,” said Alice, gravely curtsying.
“You inherit this catchword style from your father. I pass it over, as you are so young. But the sooner you leave it off, the better. There are many things now that you must leave off. For instance, you must not pretend to be witty. It is not in our family.”
“I did not suppose that it was, grandmother.”
“There used to be some wit, when I was young, but none of it has descended. There is nothing more fatal to a young girl’s prospects than a sad ambition for jesting. And it is concerning your prospects now, that I wish to advise you kindly. I hear from your father a very sad thing – that you receive with ingratitude the plans which we have formed for you.”
“My father has not told me of any plans at all about me.”
“He may not have told you; but you know them well. Consulting your own welfare and the interest of the family, we have resolved that you should at once receive the addresses of Captain Chapman.”
“You cannot be so cruel, I am sure. Or if you are, my father cannot. I would sooner die than so degrade myself.”
“Young girls always talk like that when their fancy does not happen to be caught. When, however, that is the case, they care not how they degrade themselves. This throws upon their elders the duty of judging and deciding for them, as to what will conduce to their happiness.”
“To hear Captain Chapman’s name alone conduces to my misery.”
“I beg you, Alice, to explain what you mean. Your expressions are strong; and I am not sure that they are altogether respectful.”
“I mean them to be quite respectful, grandmother; and I do not mean them to be too strong. Indeed I should despair of making them so.”
“You are very provoking. Will you kindly state your objections to Captain Chapman?”
Alice for the first time dropped her eyes under the old lady’s steadfast gaze. She felt that her intuition was right, but she could not put it into words.
“Is it his appearance, may I ask? Is he too short for your ideal? Are his eyes too small, and his hair too thin? Does he slouch in walking, and turn his toes in? Is it any trumpery of that sort?” asked Lady Valeria, though in her heart such things were not scored as “trumpery.”
“Were such things trumpery when you were young?” her grandchild longed to ask, but duty and good training checked her.
“His appearance is bad enough,” she replied, “but I do not attach much importance to that.” “As if I believed it!” thought Lady Valeria.
“Then what is it that proves fatal to him in your sagacious judgment?”
“I beg you as a favour not to ask me, madam. I cannot – I cannot explain to you.”
“Nonsense, child,” said the old lady smiling, “you would not be so absurd if you had only seen a little good society. If you are so bashful, you may look away; but at any rate you must tell me.”
“Then it is this,” the maiden answered, with her grey eyes full on her grandmother’s face, and a rich blush adding to their lustre: “Captain Chapman is not what I call a good man.”
“In what way? How? What have you heard against him? If he is not perfect, you can make him so.”
“Never, never! He is a very bad man. He despises all women; and he – he looks – he stares quite insolently – even at me!”
“Well, this is a little too good, I declare!” exclaimed her grandmother, with as loud a laugh as good breeding ever indulges in. “My dear child, you must go to London; you must be presented at Court; you must learn a little of the ways of the world; and see the first gentleman in Europe. How his Royal Highness will laugh, to be sure! I shall send him the story through Lady de Lampnor, that a young lady hates and abhors her intended, because he even ventures to look at her!”
“You cannot understand me, madam. And I will not pretend to argue with you.”
“I should hope not indeed. If we spread this story at the beginning of the season, and have you presented while it is fresh, we may save you, even yet, from your monster, perhaps. There will be such eagerness to behold you, simply because you must not be looked at, that everybody will be at your feet, all closing their eyes for your sake, I should hope.”
Alice was a very sweet-tempered girl; but all the contempt with which in her heart she unconsciously regarded her grandmother was scarcely enough to keep her from flashing forth at this common raillery. Large tears of pride and injured delicacy formed in her eyes, but she held them in; only asking with a curtsy, “May I go now, if you please?”
“To be sure, you may go. You have done quite enough. You have made me laugh so that I want my tea. Only remember one serious thing – the interest of the family requires that you should soon learn to be looked at. You must begin to take lessons at once. Within six months you must be engaged, and within twelve months you must be married to Captain Stephen Chapman.”
“I trow not,” said Alice to herself, as with another curtsy, and a shudder, she retreated.
But she had not long been sitting by herself, and feeling the bitterness of defeat, before she determined, with womanly wit, to have a triumph somewhere; so she ran at once to her father’s room, and he of course was at home to her. “If you please, dear papa, you must shut your books, and you must come into this great chair, and you must not shut even one of your eyes, but listen in the most respectful manner to all I have to say to you.”
“Well, my dear,” Sir Roland answered; “what must be must. You are a thorough tyrant. The days are certainly getting longer; but they scarcely seem to be long enough for you to torment your father.”
“No candles, papa, if you please, as yet. What I have to say can be said in the dark, and that will enable you to look at me, papa, which otherwise you could scarcely do. Is it true that you are plotting to marry me to that odious Captain Chapman?”
Sir Roland began to think what to say; for his better nature often told him to wash his hands of this loathsome scheme.
“Are you so tired of me already,” said the quick girl, with sound of tears in her voice; “have I behaved so very badly, and shown so little love for you, that you want to kill me so very soon, father?”
“Alice, come Alice, you know how I love you; and that all that I care for is your own good.”
“And are we so utterly different, papa, in our tastes, and perceptions, and principles, that you can ever dream that it is good for me to marry Mr. Chapman?”
“Well, my dear, he is a very nice man, quiet, and gentle, and kind to every one, and most attentive to his father. He could place you in a very good position, Alice; and you would still be near me. Also, there are other reasons making it desirable.”
“What other reasons, papa, may I know? Something about land, I suppose. Land is at the bottom of every mischief.”
“You desperate little radical! Well, I will confess that land has a good deal to do with it.”
“Papa, am I worth twenty acres to you? Tell the truth now, am I?”
“My darling, you are so very foolish. How can you ask such a question!”
“Well, then, am I worth fifty? Come now, am I worth as much as fifty? Don’t be afraid now, and say that I am, if you really feel that I am not.”
“How many fifties – would you like to know? Come to me, and I will tell you.”
“No, not yet, papa. There is no kiss for you, unless you say I am worth a thousand!”
“You little coquette; You keep all your coquetries for your own old father, I do believe.”
“Then tell me that I am worth a thousand, father – a thousand acres of good rich land with trees and hedges, and cows and sheep – surely I never can be worth all that: or at any rate not to you, papa.”
“You are worth to me,” said Sir Roland Lorraine – as she fell into his arms, and sobbed, and kissed him, and stroked his white beard, and then sobbed again – “not a thousand acres, but ten thousand – land, and hearth, and home, and heart!”
“Then after all you do love me, father. I call nothing love that loves anything else. And how much,” she asked, with her arms round his neck, and her red lips curving to a crafty whisper – “how much should I be worth, if I married a man I despise and dislike? Enough for my grave, and no more, papa; just the size of your small book-table.”
Here she fell away, lost in her father’s arms, and for the moment could only sigh, with her lips and eyelids quivering; and Sir Roland watching her pale loving face, was inclined to hate his own mother. “You shall marry no one, my own child,” he whispered through her unbraided hair; “no one whom you do not love dearly, and who is not thoroughly worthy of you.”