Marion Fay: A Novel

by Anthony Trollope

  CHAPTER V.

  MRS. RODEN.

  George Roden, the Post Office clerk, lived with his mother atHolloway, about three miles from his office. There they occupied asmall house which had been taken when their means were smaller eventhan at present;--for this had been done before the young man hadmade his way into the official elysium of St. Martin's-le-Grand.This had been effected about five years since, during which time hehad risen to an income of L170. As his mother had means of her ownamounting to about double as much, and as her personal expenses weresmall, they were enabled to live in comfort. She was a lady of whomnone around knew anything, but there had gone abroad a rumour amongher neighbours that there was something of a mystery attached to her,and there existed a prevailing feeling that she was at any rate awell-born lady. Few people at Holloway knew either her or her son.But there were some who condescended to watch them, and to talk aboutthem. It was ascertained that Mrs. Roden usually went to church onSunday morning, but that her son never did so. It was known, too,that a female friend called upon her regularly once a week; and itwas noted in the annals of Holloway that this female friend camealways at three o'clock on a Monday. Intelligent observers had becomeaware that the return visit was made in the course of the week, butnot always made on one certain day;--from which circumstances varioussurmises arose as to the means, whereabouts, and character of thevisitor. Mrs. Roden always went in a cab. The lady, whose name wassoon known to be Mrs. Vincent, came in a brougham, which for a timewas supposed to be her own peculiar property. The man who drove itwas so well arrayed as to hat, cravat, and coat, as to leave animpression that he must be a private servant; but one feminineobserver, keener than others, saw the man on an unfortunate daydescend from his box at a public-house, and knew at once that thetrousers were the trousers of a hired driver from a livery-stable.Nevertheless it was manifest that Mrs. Vincent was better to doin the world than Mrs. Roden, because she could afford to hire awould-be private carriage; and it was imagined also that she was alady accustomed to remain at home of an afternoon, probably with theobject of receiving visitors, because Mrs. Roden made her visitsindifferently on Thursday, Friday, or Saturday. It was suggested alsothat Mrs. Vincent was no friend to the young clerk, because it waswell known that he was never there when the lady came, and it wassupposed that he never accompanied his mother on the return visits.He had, indeed, on one occasion been seen to get out of the cab withhis mother at their own door, but it was strongly surmised that shehad then picked him up at the Post Office. His official engagementsmight, indeed, have accounted for all this naturally; but theladies of Holloway were well aware that the humanity of thePostmaster-General allowed a Saturday half-holiday to his otherwiseoverworked officials, and they were sure that so good a son as GeorgeRoden would occasionally have accompanied his mother, had there beenno especial reason against it. From this further surmises arose. Someglance had fallen from the eye of the visitor lady, or perhaps somechance word had been heard from her lips, which created an opinionthat she was religious. She probably objected to George Roden becausehe was anti-religious, or at any rate anti-church, meeting, orchapel-going. It had become quite decided at Holloway that Mrs.Vincent would not put up with the young clerk's infidelity. And itwas believed that there had been "words" between the two ladiesthemselves on the subject of religion,--as to which probably therewas no valid foundation, it being an ascertained fact that the twomaids who were employed by Mrs. Roden were never known to tellanything of their mistress.

  It was decided at Holloway that Mrs. Roden and Mrs. Vincent werecousins. They were like enough in face and near enough in age tohave been sisters; but old Mrs. Demijohn, of No. 10, Paradise Row,had declared that had George been a nephew his aunt would not havewearied in her endeavour to convert him. In such a case there wouldhave been intimacy in spite of disapproval. But a first cousin onceremoved might be allowed to go to the Mischief in his own way. Mrs.Vincent was supposed to be the elder cousin,--perhaps three or fouryears the elder,--and to have therefore something of an authority,but not much. She was stouter, too, less careful to hide what greyhairs years might have produced, and showing manifestly by thenature of her bonnets and shawls that she despised the vanities ofthe world. Not but that she was always handsomely dressed, as Mrs.Demijohn was very well aware. Less than a hundred a year could nothave clothed Mrs. Vincent, whereas Mrs. Roden, as all the worldperceived, did not spend half the money. But who does not know thata lady may repudiate vanity in rich silks and cultivate the world inwoollen stuffs, or even in calico? Nothing was more certain to Mrs.Demijohn than that Mrs. Vincent was severe, and that Mrs. Roden wassoft and gentle. It was assumed also that the two ladies were widows,as no husband or sign of a husband had appeared on the scene. Mrs.Vincent showed manifestly from her deportment, as well as from hertitle, that she had been a married woman. As to Mrs. Roden, ofcourse, there was no doubt.

  In regard to all this the reader may take the settled opinions ofMrs. Demijohn and of Holloway as being nearly true. Riddles may beread very accurately by those who will give sufficient attentionand ample time to the reading of them. They who will devote twelvehours a day to the unravelling of acrostics, may discover nearly allthe enigmas of a weekly newspaper with a separate editor for suchdifficulties. Mrs. Demijohn had almost arrived at the facts. The twoladies were second cousins. Mrs. Vincent was a widow, was religious,was austere, was fairly well off, and had quarrelled altogether withher distant relative George of the Post Office. Mrs. Roden, thoughshe went to church, was not so well given to religious observances asher cousin would have her. Hence words had come which Mrs. Roden hadborne with equanimity, but had received without effect. Neverthelessthe two women loved each other dearly, and it was a great part of thelife of each of them that these weekly visits should be made. Therewas one great fact, as to which Mrs. Demijohn and Holloway were inthe wrong. Mrs. Roden was not a widow.

  It was not till the Kingsburys had left London that George told hismother of his engagement. She was well acquainted with his intimacywith Lord Hampstead, and knew that he had been staying at HendonHall with the Kingsbury family. There had been no reticence betweenthe mother and son as to these people, in regard to whom she hadfrequently cautioned him that there was danger in such associationswith people moving altogether in a different sphere. In answer tothis the son had always declared that he did not see the danger.He had not run after Lord Hampstead. Circumstances had thrown themtogether. They had originally met each other in a small politicaldebating society, and gradually friendship had grown. The lord hadsought him, and not he the lord. That, according to his own idea, hadbeen right. Difference in rank, difference in wealth, difference insocial regard required as much as that. He, when he had discoveredwho was the young man whom he had met, stood off somewhat, andallowed the friendship to spring from the other side. He had beenslow to accept favour,--even at first to accept hospitality. Butwhenever the ice had, as he said, been thoroughly broken, then hethought that there was no reason why they should not pull eachother out of the cold water together. As for danger, what was thereto fear? The Marchioness would not like it? Very probably. TheMarchioness was not very much to Hampstead, and was nothing at allto him. The Marquis would not really like it. Perhaps not. But inchoosing a friend a young man is not supposed to follow altogetherhis father's likings,--much less need the chosen friend follow them.But the Marquis, as George pointed out to his mother, was hardlymore like other marquises than the son was like other marquis's sons.There was a Radical strain in the family, as was made clear by thattailor who was still sitting for the borough of Edgeware. Mrs. Roden,however, though she lived so much alone, seeing hardly anything ofthe world except as Mrs. Vincent might be supposed to represent theworld, had learned that the feelings and political convictions ofthe Marquis were hardly what they had been before he had married hispresent wife. "You may be sure, George," she had said, "that like tolike is as safe a motto for friendship as it is for love."

  "Not a doubt, mother," he replied; "but before you
act upon it youmust define 'like.' What makes two men like--or a man and a woman?"

  "Outside circumstances of the world more than anything else," sheanswered, boldly.

  "I would fancy that the inside circumstances of the mind would havemore to do with it." She shook her head at him, pleasantly, softly,and lovingly,--but still with a settled purpose of contradiction. "Ihave admitted all along," he continued, "that low birth--"

  "I have said nothing of low birth!" Here was a point on which theredid not exist full confidence between the mother and son, but inregard to which the mother was always attempting to reassure the son,while he would assume something against himself which she would notallow to pass without an attempt of faint denial.

  "That birth low by comparison," he continued, going on with hissentence, "should not take upon itself as much as may be allowedto nobility by descent is certain. Though the young prince may besuperior in his gifts to the young shoeblack, and would best show hisprinceliness by cultivating the shoeblack, still the shoeblack shouldwait to be cultivated. The world has created a state of things inwhich the shoeblack cannot do otherwise without showing an arroganceand impudence by which he could achieve nothing."

  "Which, too, would make him black his shoes very badly."

  "No doubt. That will have to come to pass any way, because the nobleremployments to which he will be raised by the appreciating princewill cause him to drop his shoes."

  "Is Lord Hampstead to cause you to drop the Post Office?"

  "Not at all. He is not a prince nor am I a shoeblack. Though we arefar apart, we are not so far apart as to make such a change essentialto our acquaintance. But I was saying-- I don't know what I wassaying."

  "You were defining what 'like' means. But people always get muddledwhen they attempt definitions," said the mother.

  "Though it depends somewhat on externals, it has more to do withinternals. That is what I mean. A man and woman might live togetherwith most enduring love, though one had been noble and wealthy andthe other poor and a nobody. But a thorough brute and a human beingof fine conditions can hardly live together and love each other."

  "That is true," she said. "That I fear is true."

  "I hope it is true."

  "It has often to be tried, generally to the great detriment of thebetter nature."

  All this, however, had been said before George Roden had spoken aword to Lady Frances, and had referred only to the friendship as itwas growing between her son and the young lord.

  The young lord had come on various occasions to the house atHolloway, and had there made himself thoroughly pleasant to hisfriend's mother. Lord Hampstead had a way of making himself pleasantin which he never failed when he chose to exercise it. And he didexercise it almost always,--always, indeed, unless he was drivento be courteously disagreeable by opposition to his own peculiaropinion. In shooting, fishing, and other occupations not approved of,he would fall into a line of argument, seemingly and indeed trulygood-humoured, which was apt, however, to be aggravating to hisopponent. In this way he would make himself thoroughly odious to hisstepmother, with whom he had not one sentiment in common. In otherrespects his manners were invariably sweet, with an assumptionof intimacy which was not unbecoming; and thus he had greatlyrecommended himself to Mrs. Roden. Who does not know the fashionin which the normal young man conducts himself when he is making amorning call? He has come there because he means to be civil. Hewould not be there unless he wished to make himself popular. He iscarrying out some recognized purpose of society. He would fain beagreeable if it were possible. He would enjoy the moment if he could.But it is clearly his conviction that he is bound to get through acertain amount of altogether uninteresting conversation, and thento get himself out of the room with as little awkwardness as may be.Unless there be a pretty girl, and chance favour him with her specialcompanionship, he does not for a moment suppose that any socialpleasure is to be enjoyed. That rational amusement can be got outof talking to Mrs. Jones does not enter into his mind. And yetMrs. Jones is probably a fair specimen of that general society inwhich every one wishes to mingle. Society is to him generally madeup of several parts, each of which is a pain, though the totalis deemed to be desirable. The pretty girl episode is no doubtan exception,--though that also has its pains when matter forconversation does not come readily, or when conversation, coming tooreadily, is rebuked. The morning call may be regarded as a periodof unmitigated agony. Now it has to be asserted on Lord Hampstead'sbehalf that he could talk with almost any Mrs. Jones freely andpleasantly while he remained, and take his departure without thatdislocating struggle which is too common. He would make himself atease, and discourse as though he had known the lady all his life.There is nothing which a woman likes so much as this, and by doingthis Lord Hampstead had done much, if not to overcome, at any rate toquiet the sense of danger of which Mrs. Roden had spoken.

  But this refers to a time in which nothing was known at Holloway asto Lady Frances. Very little had been said of the family between themother and son. Of the Marquis George Roden had wished to thinkwell, but had hardly succeeded. Of the stepmother he had never evenwished to do so. She had from the first been known to him as a womanthoroughly wedded to aristocratic prejudices,--who regarded herselfas endowed with certain privileges which made her altogether superiorto other human beings. Hampstead himself could not even pretend torespect her. Of her Roden had said very little to his mother, simplyspeaking of her as the Marchioness, who was in no way related toHampstead. Of Lady Frances he had simply said that there was a girlthere endowed with such a spirit, that of all girls of her class shemust surely be the best and noblest. Then his mother had shudderedinwardly, thinking that here too there might be possible danger; butshe had shrunk from speaking of the special danger even to her son.

  "How has the visit gone?" Mrs. Roden asked, when her son had alreadybeen some hours in the house. This was after that last visit toHendon Hall, in which Lady Frances had promised to become his wife.

  "Pretty well, taking it altogether."

  "I know that something has disappointed you."

  "No, indeed, nothing. I have been somewhat abashed."

  "What have they said to you?" she asked.

  "Very little but what was kind,--just one word at the last."

  "Something, I know, has hurt you," said the mother.

  "Lady Kingsbury has made me aware that she dislikes me thoroughly. Itis very odd how one person can do that to another almost without aword spoken."

  "I told you, George, that there would be danger in going there."

  "There would be no danger in that if there were nothing more."

  "What more is there then?"

  "There would be no danger in that if Lady Kingsbury was simplyHampstead's stepmother."

  "What more is she?"

  "She is stepmother also to Lady Frances. Oh, mother!"

  "George, what has happened?" she asked.

  "I have asked Lady Frances to be my wife."

  "Your wife?"

  "And she has promised."

  "Oh, George!"

  "Yes, indeed, mother. Now you can perceive that she indeed may bea danger. When I think of the power of tormenting her stepdaughterwhich may rest in her hands I can hardly forgive myself for doing asI have done."

  "And the Marquis?" asked the mother.

  "I know nothing as yet as to what his feelings may be. I have hadno opportunity of speaking to him since the little occurrence tookplace. A word escaped me, an unthought-of word, which her ladyshipoverheard, and for which she rebuked me. Then I left the house."

  "What word?"

  "Just a common word of greeting, a word that would be common amongdear friends, but which, coming from me to her, told all the story.I forgot the prefix which was due from such a one as I am to suchas she is. I can understand with what horror I must henceforward beregarded by Lady Kingsbury."

  "What will the Marquis say?"

  "I shall be a horror to him also,--an unutterable horror. The ideaof contact
so vile will cure him at once of all his little Radicallongings."

  "And Hampstead?"

  "Nothing, I think, can cure Hampstead of his convictions;--but evenhe is not well pleased."

  "Has he quarrelled with you?"

  "No, not that. He is too noble to quarrel on such offence. He is toonoble even to take offence on such a cause. But he refuses to believethat good will come of it. And you, mother?"

  "Oh, George, I doubt, I doubt."

  "You will not congratulate me?"

  "What am I to say? I fear more than I can hope."

  "When I tell you that she is noble at all points, noble in heart,noble in beauty, noble in that dignity which a woman should alwayscarry with her, that she is as sweet a creature as God ever createdto bless a man with, will you not then congratulate me?"

  "I would her birth were other than it is," said the mother.

  "I would have her altered in nothing," said the son. "Her birth isthe smallest thing about her, but such as she is I would have heraltered in nothing."